The following week, Sherry was greeted by Lockheed in the common room. She screamed at first, until Kitty emerged from a wall and chided, "Bad dragon! She's never seen anyone like you before! Hi, Sherry, I'm Kitty Pryde, and this alien dragon is Lockheed! Welcome aboard!"
Rogue entered in a more conventional manner, i.e. through a door, and smiled. "Hey there. Y'all gonna be okay. Lockheed looks kinda weird, but you'll get used to him. Wait'll you meet Peter Rasputin!"
To Sherry's shock a metal man came in. "Did someone mention me? Oh, a new face. Welcome to what our students facetiously call Mutant High." He transformed back into flesh and blood. Given his size alone, Sherry did not find this all that reassuring. Still less when a young man apparently made of ice walked in and also transformed.
"Hey there. I'm Bobby. People call me Iceman, because..." his hand changed to ice, "...well, there you go."
Sherry murmured, "There are two possibilities. One: I am having the weirdest dream I have ever had. Two: this is all real...but just as weird."
With a BAMF, a blue demon with only three fingers on each hand, tattoos she recognised as holy symbols and, of all things, a long tail, materialised, clinging to the ceiling. "Guten Morgen, gnädige Frau," he greeted her gently. "Please don't be alarmed. I am probably the weirdest sight you'll see today. I am Kurt Wagner, otherwise known in circuses as," he somersaulted down, landed gracefully and bowed, finishing, "the Incredible Nightcrawler!"
"They teach you modesty as well? Doubt it," Logan growled as he came in. Kurt only smiled. Rogue tossed Logan an apple; one of his claws flashed out and accurately skewered it. "Thanks, kid."
"And these," Xavier pronounced as he wheeled in, "are a few of my X-Men. I grant you that their appearances are extraordinary by human standards, but I thought it best that you be thrown in at the deep end, as it were. Everyone, this is Sherry Thomas, who will be serving as secretary to our new counsellor, Dr. Alison McEwan. Have you had breakfast?"
"What do...you guys...eat?" Sherry managed.
"Pretty much what you guys eat," Logan answered, munching on his apple. "Whatever you might've heard about mutants, we eat, drink, sleep and pee much the same as you do."
Feeling oddly reassured, Sherry laughed. She soon found, as Alison had, that the food was absolutely delicious. Some of it was actually grown on site in the Institute's garden, tended by Andrea Bell, M.D. "It's very relaxing," she smiled as some carrots apparently dug their way out of the soil and flew to her. Sherry was fascinated to see telekinesis in action.
"Is that a perk of your job?"
"It's more of a vocation," Andrea smiled again. "It has its own challenges. Every day I learn something new." She tsked and a slug flew off the celery. "Pest control, for example," she quipped. "Kitty favours salt or repellent, but I don't like using chemical solutions. Unfortunately the slugs are too stupid -" she gestured idly and another slug was catapulted away, "- to stay away. Still, I soldier on."
"I love this place," Sherry enthused.
Andrea smiled gently and patted her hand. "That's the spirit."
When told how much Professor Xavier would be paying her, she gasped to Alison, "How much?! My God, that's more than you were getting at your former office! You weren't kidding about saying goodbye to my mortgage problems!"
"Plus there's security by way of the X-Men," Alison smiled. "Just let anyone try to come here with robbery, rape or mayhem in mind!"
The next evening a guy attempted to do just that. He sneaked into the grounds, avoiding the security...unaware that Alison already knew he was there and what he intended. But she allowed him to proceed. The first person he met was Sherry, who was working at her desk. She looked up, unconcerned. The guy, carrying a swag bag, was clearly intent on theft.
"Better split, dude," she warned pleasantly. "Trust me, this is not a good place to try to rob."
"I avoided the security," he demurred.
Sherry smiled. "No, you didn't. Not the real security. For a start, everyone already knows you're here, Brian McDermott."
He gaped. "How'd you -?"
"My friend Alison told me."
"Told -?"
"By telepathy, which is how she knew you'd come. And now, unless you want more trouble than you know what to do with from the guy behind you, I really think you should leave."
"Think I'm gonna fall for that old cliché, huh?" he sneered.
Then there was a snikt behind him. He froze. A voice low with menace growled, "There's a reason why clichés become clichés, bub."
How d'you want me to kill 'im? Slice 'n' dice, or just run 'im through? I'm easy either way.
Logan, came the dry, mildly exasperated reply, this may surprise you, but I do not want him killed at all.
Y'know, since you came back you've been even less fun than you were.
How fortunate it is that I know perfectly well you don't mean that. This is one of those times when killing our antagonist is not necessary - merely frightening him will suffice.
It'll teach 'im a lesson.
Perhaps, but of what use is a lesson in proper behaviour as you die, mmm?
Okay, okay. He's about ready to pop. Yep, there he goes.
Sure enough the would-be thief gulped and ran out. Sherry thought amusedly, He's all yours, Kitty. She knew her thoughts would be relayed via Alison.
In the next room he encountered a girl with a tablet and threw a wild punch; he was no adherent to social mores that said ‛no hitting girls'. Though it was on target, it never connected, because Kitty had turned insubstantial the moment he had moved. He overbalanced as his punch passed through her jaw rather than connecting.
"Whoops," she quipped. "You wanna try that again?"
Stunned, he did indeed try again. The punch had the same effect on her, i.e. none at all. She smiled impishly.
Then he screamed in terror as a blue - oh, God, it had to be a demon! - flashed into existence with a BAMF. "Guten Abend, Herr Dieb," the unholy apparition (paradoxically festooned with tattooed symbols which even he knew were in fact holy) greeted him merrily. "You vill not be needing zis, I think," it added, and its prehensile tail grabbed the swag bag.
Unable to take any more, McDermott screamed again and tried to flee - except that somehow he had now turned upside down and his feet were off the floor, pointing towards the ceiling. Whatever was holding him up, it was unbreakable, as he found out when he tried to struggle and discovered it was utterly futile.
"You," a thirty-ish black-haired woman told him severely, "are going nowhere...except to see our boss. After that, you'll probably believe you're a six-year-old girl with dirty blonde pigtails who has a violent but non-fatal allergy to peanuts - and an irresistible desire to eat 'em anyway."
There are limits, you know, Xavier thought mildly, amused at the notion. However, justice will be done. I'm in my study. Send him here, it you would.
"You'll know where to go," the woman told McDermott, as he was flipped right side up and landed safely if not gracefully on the ground. He somehow found it was impossible for him to do anything other than follow her pointing finger. He walked jerkily to what appeared to be a study. There sat a bald man in a wheelchair. Though his smile was pleasant enough, McDermott was more scared of him than of anyone or anything he'd seen that evening.
With excellent reason, of course.
Now then, Mr. McDermott, the man said - without moving his lips - let's see about changing your ways, shall we?
McDermott wet himself. "Please don't hurt me," he begged.
You do realise, of course, that there are many things I or the others could do to you, ranging from mild physical inconvenience to, ah, termination. But the point of this Institute is to demonstrate that mutants, such as the ones you have seen and been terrorised by, mean no harm whatsoever. However, he reproved, theft simply cannot be tolerated. Let me see...what would be appropriate? Ah, I know...
The next day a homeless shelter was surprised to see him volunteering for all the hardest and/or dirtiest jobs to be had, i.e. all the jobs no-one wanted to do but which had to be done regardless. The supervisor was puzzled, but appreciative. She discovered from a baffled cop that he was a prime suspect in several recent robberies, yet here he was, apparently - almost obsessively - devoted to charity work.
Later they were both startled to learn from the NYPD that all the stolen articles had been returned, with sincere-sounding notes of apology.
"One more case off the books," the cop declared. There were rumours that a mutant had caught the guy, and had changed his mind for him instead of doing anything more drastic. Sergeant Jeff Murphy hoped it was true...the mutants were doing the job of the police for them if it was, and not a shot fired. Works for me, he decided. Everybody wins. Even the ex-thief - 'cause he gets to live.
"I was gonna skewer him," Logan growled mildly.
"As I am well aware," Xavier nodded. "However, he was merely a petty thief. His, ah, reception was a useful exercise for my X-Men, and there was really no need to harm him in any way. He is now paying in full for his crimes with charity work. Certainly he will not be back - not will he ever, ever steal anything ever again. The mere thought will cause him to break out in hives."
"Coulda killed him."
"Of course we could have. But to what purpose? No, my friend. This incident will make its way into the community and probably gain in the telling. But it will show beyond question that we favour non-violent solutions, even towards those who mean us harm, and that we are law-abiding."
"Fair enough," Logan shrugged. Then he chuckled. "Plus it was kinda fun teasin' him."
"Quite," Xavier smiled.
That night Alison and Sherry cuddled up together in Sherry's room, enjoying a pizza. They'd laughed when the delivery boy was disconcerted to meet Kurt, who solemnly said, "Danke, junger Mann," and paid him.
Starting on a slice, Sherry giggled, "Poor kid must've been freaked out when Kurt answered the door." She sighed. "I can barely believe it myself. He looks like people's idea of a demon, but he's religious - and so kind," she added approvingly.
"He may look demonic, but he's as human as anyone else," Alison agreed, taking another slice. "Mmm, I love ham and pineapple. That's the whole point of this Institute: to take anyone, no matter how different they look."
"The salary doesn't hurt, either," Sherry quipped, and stretched. "Hey, how did you come to work here?"
Alison chuckled. "A personal visit by Charles. He spoke to me telepathically, and without realising it I answered the same way. When he told me I couldn't believe it, but he proved it by relating things from my past that absolutely no-one else knows - some things even you don't know," she added fondly, dabbing Sherry's nose with a mayo-covered breadstick in mischief.
Sherry chuckled in turn and dabbed right back. "Like what?"
"How I popped my cherry, for a start," Alison sighed contentedly. Each wiped the other's nose as the good friends they were.
"Steven Jameson," Sherry frowned. "It's no secret. He had you at the school's Christmas dinner when we were seventeen. I stood jigger for you. Damn near got caught, too."
"No," Alison said softly. "It was John Mayhew who first had me, a year earlier. Ooh, he was nice. I liked it so much."
Sherry stared at her, then smiled slowly. "You dark horse, you. A secret lover."
"One-night stand," Alison admitted ruefully, and blushed slightly. "I...got drunk. I was more than willing. He had a birthmark on his cock, and I teased him about it. Liked it, though." She sighed again, this time in regret. "I might have become his steady, if that driver's tyre hadn't blown out. He skidded, lost control, and poor John was in his way."
"I remember, yeah," Sherry nodded. "What a shame." Now she smiled. "But he gave you your start as a randy bitch, didn't he?" They laughed together, and Sherry held up her Coors. "To John Mayhew, cherry-popper to randy young virgins."
Alison returned the toast with her own Stella. "To John. Rest in peace, you lovely guy." They drank. "So do you like it here?"
"Love it," Sherry answered. She leered. "I'm gonna invite Tom, Mike and Isaac over to help christen my room."
"Did Isaac spank you?"
"How do you - oh, right, telepathy. Duh. Yeah, he did. God, I came so hard." She licked her lips. "He sucked Tom's cock, too. Tom was so surprised at first, but he liked it. Ooh, it was terrific, seeing two black guys sucking each other off and fucking," she purred. She gazed at Alison. "Wanna join in? Plenty of room."
"Sorry?" Alison gaped.
Sherry chuckled. "Think I didn't notice? You've fancied me for years. I might not be a telepath, but a woman knows these things. I know you want to keep us professional and friendly, and I love you for that, but the truth is...oh, God, I might as well admit it." Boldly she squeezed Alison's breast, feeling the hardening nipple. "I've fancied you for almost as long. If you're willing, boss, we can drop our panties and get down an' dirty right now."
Alison's breath caught in her throat. The thought of living out her Sherry-centred fantasies for real...it was almost more than she could cope with.
Almost.
Equally bold, she kissed Sherry full on the lips. She had meant it to be just friendly, but Sherry slid her tongue into Alison's mouth and the kiss turned French - wet and dirty.
"Ooh, nice," Sherry breathed. "You've been having sexual fantasies about me, haven't you?"
"I thought I was the telepath," Alison quipped. Her breath caught again as she felt Sherry's hand slide between her legs. She did nothing whatsoever to discourage this...to put it mildly. More accurately, she opened her legs slightly to invite more - and got it, as Sherry started fingering her clit. "Oh, God, that feels good, Sherry. I...ohh...I've dreamed about this," she gasped. Now she squeezed Sherry's breast.
She found Sherry wasn't wearing a bra.
"Now who's the dirty bitch?"
"Confession," Sherry whispered in her ear, gently biting it, "I was kidding about the panties...I'm not wearing any."
"Going commando? Naughty girl." Now her breathing was heavier. She knew she was wet...and that Sherry was enjoying it.
"I often do. Saves time on laundry, plus," she joked, "it makes frigging at work easier."
"Mmm, I thought I smelled pussy more than once," Alison quipped.
Sherry squeezed her breast again, playing with the nipple. "An' you enjoyed it. Don't deny it, sensualist."
"Do you know how I smell when I get a sweat on?" Alison husked, breathing faster now as well as deeper.
"No, but I'm looking forward to finding out!"
Alison couldn't help but laugh. Then there were no more words, only each taking off the other's clothes, caresses, kisses, a little biting, fondling, and...
(Author's note: Well, you get the idea. There really is too much lesbian sex in my fics. Women proving they don't need men for sexual pleasure...I often wonder what this says about me. Oh well. Suffice to say, both thoroughly enjoyed it.)
Later, a fragrant Sherry sniffed Alison's armpit in delight, kissing it. "Mmm, I always imagined how delicious you smelled when you got it on. I was right. It's so rare for a blonde not to shave."
"I like my own scent," Alison confided, enjoying Sherry's scent in turn, which she could swear was a blend of musk and honeysuckle. "That's mostly why I don't shave - the hair captures the scent."
"Mmm, it does indeed," Sherry murmured, nuzzling Alison.
"Plus I get less chafing. Plus...a woman should be able to leave her armpits hairy if she wants to, rather than conforming to society's norms."
Sherry kissed her armpit again. "Would you like it if I stopped shaving them? Truth to tell, most days I have at least stubble, because I forget."
"I noticed," Alison chuckled. "Your choice, of course, but...yeah, I would like it."
"Then bang goes the razor," Sherry nodded.
"No, keep it," Alison entreated her, "I draw the line at legs. Those I do shave."
"And...my pussy?" Sherry purred.
Alison kissed her and gazed into her beautiful green eyes . "Sherry, that's your choice, too. I honestly don't mind a woman's pubic hair. Shave your cunt or not, it's up to you."
Sherry nodded. "I'll try different styles, see what you like."
The other woman sighed. "So much for professionalism. Now we're discussing grooming choices."
"And enjoying the scent of our own sweaty naked bodies," Sherry agreed, grinning. "Damn, we should've done this years ago."
But Alison shook her head. "It wouldn't have been right years ago. We needed time to build our relationship. And our friendship."
"And our love," Sherry conceded warmly. "Alison McEwan, I love you."
"You're saying that with your hand between my legs," Alison observed wryly.
"I mean it," Sherry told her gently. "It's not just me getting into your pants...although I did, and I had a lot of fun. Alison, you've been a dear friend and a terrific boss...and if you'll have me, I'll happily be your lover. Honestly, I do love you."
In the face of Sherry's obviously sincere affection, Alison decided to do away with being professional. "Sherry, I love you, too. I would never have gotten my PhD without your support. You've been the best secretary, the best rock, the best friend...and I will gladly accept you as my lover, if you'll accept me." They kissed, this time with sweet affection. Then Alison looked wry. "Better tell Logan, though - he doesn't like secrets."
"Oh, don't worry about him," Sherry said merrily. She'd already gotten to know Logan, and she knew one thing about him that Alison doubtless didn't. "He'll know."
"Sorry?"
"Alison, I promise you: he will know. Whether you tell him or not."
Puzzled, Alison stared at her. "Is every mutant here a telepath?"
Sherry chuckled. "Logan doesn't need it. Trust me, lover, he'll know. Bet you a dinner I'm right."
Xavier's School for Gifted Children, the Dining Room
The next morning
Logan was eating a bowl of cereal as both women walked in. He accepted a kiss from Alison...then frowned. He put his head to one side, looking at Alison, then to the other, looking at Sherry, who was helping herself to waffles. He shrugged and nodded. "Hmm. Should've seen that coming."
While Alison gaped, Sherry just chuckled. "Toldja. I'll put you out of your misery, Alison: he has such a sensitive sense of smell, he can detect our shared scents - even though we've showered. So he knows we've fucked." She grinned. "I like poached salmon."
"So that's it," Alison understood. "I should've known. He's a beast in more ways than one." She kissed Logan again. "No offence meant."
"None taken," he rumbled. "Can't take offence at the truth."
Sherry looked at Logan. "Do you mind? Us fucking, I mean?"
"Learned not to be jealous a while ago," he told her, remembering Jean and Scott. "You've known each other longer. Wouldn't wanna muscle in."
Alison looked at him severely. "Logan, you should know by now: I fuck whomever I like. Now I like you a lot." She kissed him. "But I happen to like Sherry a lot, too." She also kissed Sherry. "Neither changes how I feel about the other. Okay?"
He shrugged again. "Okay." He chuckled. "Just don't expect me to fuck Sherry, too."
The two women exchanged glances...and jointly poured milk on his head. "You wish, you randy beast!" Sherry laughed. "You're not my type!"
Just as well, Alison sent amusedly, I don't think I could cope with you both in a threesome!
All three laughed.
Kurt materialised. "Guten Morgen die Damen. Logan," he smiled. "Please, vhat is zer joke?"
"Girl talk," both women told him.
Nightcrawler sighed. "Again viz zer ‛girl talk'. I svear, I vill rule zer vorld if I learn what zat means."
Marie and Kitty entered as he said it, and giggled with the older women at the standing joke.
"Newsflash, elf," Logan growled, finishing his cereal, "you're too late. Women already do."
The women all laughed.
The next visitor to the Institute was far more welcome and had a much more benign intent. Xavier opened the front door, to see a man of some 170cm, with thinning mousy blond hair and and a neat beard. His eyes were warm and brown. "Greetings," Xavier smiled. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He received a merry smile in response. "Well, let me do a bit of logical deduction. This is the Xavier School for Gifted Children, which apparently harbours both mutant and purely human children. The only mutant of whom I am aware who supports this controversial yet essential objective is one Professor Charles Xavier. Therefore, you are he. You are, or he is, the person I'm looking for. I believe I have a great deal to contribute to the Institute, and it may in turn be the answer I'm looking for. Ian Holloway is the name," he smiled again.
They shook hands. Xavier said, "I am indeed Charles Xavier. Precisely what answer to which problem are you seeking, may I ask?"
"Before we go any further, I should warn you not to attempt to read my mind, as I know you're capable of with lesser humans and mutants," Ian cautioned. "My mind has more than adequate defences against any intrusion. The facets of my IQ which are understood start at 200 and go up from there." Xavier's eyebrow rose. "Unfortunately this is gradually killing me - every time I employ my mental abilities, the effort drains me physically. Tell me honestly, how old do I look?"
Xavier frowned. "Well, looks can be deceiving. But I would say, mmm, late forties, fifty at most."
"Thank you," the man returned pleasantly, "that's quite flattering - some have said I look 60 or so. But I am in fact 21." Now both of Xavier's eyebrows rose. "My mutant power first manifested when I was 15 and looked my age if not a little younger, if you'll forgive the vanity - and within a year I looked 20. This process has continued and worsened over the last six years. As I said, my mental abilities are draining my physical body. I have no idea as yet as to how this drainage might be addressed.
"I have theoretical reason to believe by reductio ad absurdum reasoning that there is at least one answer to this, possibly as many as three. The question is: can I determine such an answer via my mutant talent before said talent kills me? The time factor is unfortunately indeterminate, i.e. I have absolutely no idea how long I have before I die. It occurred to me that it might be prudent to seek out expert mutant help, and all the research I've done suggests strongly that there is no-one who is more of a mutant expert than you yourself. Hence my presence here.
"I am entirely willing to teach your students on a variety of subjects, and being independently wealthy, owing to my understanding of the stock market as a chaotic entity rather than, as most economists stupidly insist, a linear one, I require no salary whatsoever. Not that I'll refuse one should you offer it," he added, grinning. "So might I be included in your faculty? Is there room there for a dying genius?"
"For a genius, certainly," Xavier nodded, "though I shall definitely reserve my opinion on the ‛dying' part on optimistic grounds."
"Where there's life, eh?" Ian smiled. "Oh, I'm much the same. Logically I should be dead, but as Roj Blake rightly said, Logic has never explained what ‛dead' means. I love TV shows such as Blake's 7."
"As do I," Xavier nodded again, "except that I am old enough to remember that one the first time around."
Ian chuckled. "I see myself more as Avon than Blake, though. Vanity, perhaps, but Avon was a computer genius, as am I."
"Indeed. Then you should appreciate meeting one of my students and X-Men, Kitty Pryde." Kitty, would you come to the front door, please? You need not restrict yourself merely to the ordinary corridors for once. I would like you to meet our latest visitor, whom I promise is not a thief of any kind and will certainly not attempt to strike you.
Sure, Kitty sent back. With her phasing ability she was there in less than thirty seconds, emerging through the outer wall. "Hi there! Kitty Pryde, resident computer whiz."
"From Illinois," the stranger observed, "most likely Deerfield, from the accent."
Kitty was impressed. "Hey, you're good!"
They got to talking about IT as they wandered through the Institute, and soon left even Xavier behind. "It's so great to talk computers with someone whose eyes don't glaze over as soon as you mention 'em," Kitty enthused. "My friend Marie - Rogue is her X-Man handle - does her best, but she only knows how to use 'em. You," she said admiringly, "can program 'em!"
"In any language you care to name," he nodded, "even COBOL."
Kitty giggled. "Oh, c'mon, that one's older than I am!"
"Mmm, it's older than I am, too."
"Permit me to say," Xavier noted, bemused, "that I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"COBOL is the COmmon Business Oriented Language," Ian expanded, "which in theory is gradually being phased out in favour of newer languages. In practice, there are still billions of lines of code in COBOL in the business world, and thousands of key programs are written in it. The task is too great, and the programs too deeply entrenched, to be gotten rid of easily."
"I see," Xavier nodded, though in fact he didn't.
Alison was passing through with a file in her hand (Rebecca Davis, a.k.a. Sparkler, in whom Kitty was already showing interest). "Hey there, newbie. I'm Dr. Alison McEwan. I haven't been here long, either." They shook hands.
"Ian Holloway," Ian returned. "This is not judgemental in any way, but your body language says you're a sensualist."
"Actually, ‛randy slut' might be more accurate," she grinned saucily.
"Good," he grinned back, "randy sluts are more fun."
"Ian," she purred, "I live for fun." She slinked away, her hips swaying. Ian appreciated the view.
"Too often in her classes the boys can't concentrate," Kitty shook her head. She didn't mention that she found Alison just as distracting. Over the last year she had gravitated more towards girls; it helped her and Marie resolve things re Bobby.
Rebecca, she mused impishly, is helping even more...ooh, that shapely butt...!
They met Marie, who smiled politely. "She bendin' your ear 'bout computers? Same old Kitty, she don't change," she opined fondly. Kitty giggled. Clearly the two were friends. Ian smiled and made as if to stroke Marie's cheek, but she shied away. "Please don't."
"Sorry," Ian frowned. "You don't like to be touched?"
"It ain't that," Marie shook her head, "I do like it. It's what happens when you touch my skin. Somethin' awful. Y'all are drained enough, I reckon you're a lot younger than your face says you are. Don't wanna make it worse."
"So what'll happen?" he asked gently.
"Your thoughts, your memories an' your energy will drain into me," Marie told him in a low voice, "an' for a while l'll become as smart as you are."
"May I try? Take the risk?" he inquired interestedly.
"Best not," she whispered.
Ian smiled gently. "But if I do, I'll understand you better - and I might just be able to help you. I promise my mental discipline is more than adequate to break the neural connection no more than a second or two after it's formed." He offered his hand encouragingly. "I freely accept the risk. I'm Ian."
"Marie," she whispered. She glanced at Xavier. "Is it okay, Charles?"
"The choice is yours - and his, Marie," he answered quietly.
She slowly took off her glove. Their hands moved closer...and touched.
Both shuddered, but after only a second Ian jerked his hand away. "My God," he whispered, shaken, "you've got some talent there."
"So do you," she replied, feeling the sheer power of his intellect (wow, never knew that word before!). "You got a real genius there," she acknowledged. "You okay?" she asked concernedly. "I...I didn't mean to hurt you."
He managed a smile. "Anna Marie D'Ancanto of Caldecott County, Mississippi, I freely accepted the risk. No wonder you're here," he shook his head. "Wow. I see the problem - and the danger. Problem: touching your bare skin creates a connection via the nerves, and a conduit is opened, flowing into you. This is extremely debilitating to the person touching you. Could even be fatal with prolonged or, ah, intimate contact."
"I know, that's what I'm most afraid of," she answered in a small voice, "that one day I'll kill someone an' not even mean to."
"Hence the long sleeves, the gloves, and the reluctance to touch...even though touching and being touched are vital to a growing teenager," he added with sympathy. "We need to solve that problem before you get much older. Which of course is why you're here."
"I...I had a chance to take it away," she confided, "but I refused it. The Worthington thing - which y'all know about now," she understood, "same as you know my full name an' where I'm from."
He nodded. "Quite right, too. They're mis-selling it, Marie. It's not a cure so much as an answer. An option. For some, I grant you, it's the right answer. Yvonne Grace, for example, the former Blue Ghost. She certainly doesn't miss being a mutant, which for her is fair enough. Your friend Logan, though, would likely be dead without his healing power - that, or he would've died of old age even before Charles was born, never mind either of us."
"Or you," she sympathised, "you're only 21, but you look a lot older. You poor guy," she murmured, and stroked his cheek, but with her gloves on it was safe enough. "I wish I could help you." She wasn't to know it, but soon she would.
"Hey, I know what'll cheer you up," Kitty suggested brightly, "air hockey, or Angry Birds! C'mon, Marie!" She took her friend's gloved hand and directed her towards the game room; Marie chuckled and let herself be led.
Once they'd gone, Ian said soberly, "Now there is a tragedy. The first boy she ever kissed, she nearly killed him with no malicious intent whatsoever. I got a lot from her in our contact, and she got a lot from me. I think I aged about a year, but it was worth it. Hmm. I think a thin membranous plastic, sprayed on, might be at least a temporary answer - something transparent, so she forgets she even has it on. Something thick enough to prevent nervous contact, but thin enough to let her feel a touch. She needs it, Charles. She needs something."
"And if she does not receive it," Xavier brooded, "she might well resort to the Worthington treatment - or ally herself with anyone who promises an end to her pain, even if they have malicious intent. Her ability is dangerous in more contexts than just the fatal debilitating factor, for she takes knowledge, too. Imagine what a vengeful Rogue might do."
"Mmm. She might even grow...callous. She might stop caring about what damage she does. Her presence here is as much to protect other people from her as it is to protect her from other people."
"Exactly what I fear," Xavier agreed. He cleared his throat. "Your appointment to my faculty is hereby confirmed. Welcome to the Institute. You shall receive a salary, even though," he smiled, "you don't need it. I feel it wouldn't be right otherwise."
Ian smiled. "Thanks, Charles. Or should it be ‛Professor'?"
"Either would do," Xavier nodded, and grimaced. "Far better than Logan's occasional urge to call me ‛Chuck' or ‛Charlie', certainly."
Ian chuckled. "I bet."
Abruptly the topic of their conversation rounded a corner - and he reached a wrong conclusion. He instantly popped his claws and attacked - only to suddenly find himself on the floor with Ian jabbing two fingers into his chest. To his shock, Logan could not move at all.
"Logan, I presume," Ian said coldly. "Try anything else and we'll see if you really are unkillable."
"Please stand down, Logan," Xavier requested mildly. "While I appreciate the intent, I assure you Ian Holloway is no danger to us whatsoever. On the contrary, he is our newest member of staff."
"Oh," Logan ventured sheepishly, retracting his claws. He looked at Ian. "Sorry. Hey, how're you doin' that?"
"A long and complex story which starts in Tibet, about 12,000 feet up Everest," Ian chuckled. He helped Logan up.
The Wolverine looked him over with a new respect. Anyone who could get the better of him in a scrap deserved it.
Later Ian ran into Kitty again; she was working on the Sentinel AI. He frowned when she told him what it was and what it was intended for. "Mmm, they really are scared of us, aren't they? Just being able to track us is bad enough, but armed with the ‛cure' as well, and with that AI, which I can tell is highly unstable...brr. If the Sentinels ever go online, there's every chance they'll go out of control. Has that occurred to this Trask guy?"
"Don't think so," Kitty shook her head. "Or if it has, he isn't worried about it. That's what's so scary about it: AI out of control. People have been scared of that for years, but now they're doing it deliberately. Look out, world, here comes Skynet."
"But they only consider mutants as a threat, not everyone."
"Now they do," Kitty agreed. "But being so open-ended, who says they're gonna stop there? Next thing will be detection of mutant X-gene carriers. Then anyone who has even one mutant in their family tree." She shivered. "It'll be worse than the Nazis. We'll be treated as inhuman as the Jews were, or the blacks, or the gays. We gotta stop 'em."
"I agree," Ian said grimly. "But this is only the bare bones, isn't it? We need the full AI program to develop any kind of answer."
As Logan joined them, he growled, "I got just one answer for 'em." His claws flashed out.
"Well, that'll be effective, I grant you," Ian conceded, and sighed. "I just hope it'll be enough."
As he left the room, he was deep in thought...dangerous though he knew that was. For some reason Marie's plight had touched him greatly, and he found himself wanting to help her.
Knowing what it'll cost...there are so many things I need to solve. Trask and the Sentinels. The Riemann Hypothesis. P versus NP.
But...this I can do. I should. She needs touches for her personal and psychological development, and right now she can't, not without hospitalising or even killing anyone.
Logically a barrier solution should be most efficacious. Thick enough to prevent nerve contact, but thin enough to let her feel the touch. Transparent, too - and matt, so it doesn't shine like clingfilm. Porous, to allow perspiration - remember, ladies don't sweat; Alison does, but by her own admission she's anything but a lady! - and scent to pass through, yet the pores must be small enough to effectively seal her off. Let's see...work on the chemical formula, it's likely to be complex...
Do I in fact have the time, before I...?
He calculated it, allowing for known and unknown factors. The answer was:
Yes...probably.
Two hours' contemplation had him arriving at a complex chemical formula, which he prepared in the lab. Then he visited Marie in her quarters an hour later and handed her an aerosol can.
"What's this?" she naturally asked, curious.
"A partial, temporary answer to your problem," he replied. "It's a porous spray-on polymer, extremely thin, matt and transparent, so it doesn't show. I'd have a shower before using it," he advised. "The pores will let your skin breathe, while being too small to allow nerve contact. Spray it on all over and it should insulate you from the usual effects of touching." He looked rueful. "I, uh, can't do anything at the moment with orifice...access...so you still can't kiss or have sex. But it's a start," he encouraged.
Marie regarded the can, fascinated. "Wow," she enthused. "You're right, it's a start. A good start," she bubbled. "Can I try it now?"
"Sure," he smiled. Since I want to see how it works out and I now have even more limited time, he mused, you'd better try it now.
She dashed out to the communal shower, embarrassed to find a naked Alison there. "Oh, sorry, I kinda need the shower."
Alison shut off the water and exited, stark naked. She smiled gently at the teenager's embarrassment. "Marie, it's just us girls. Would you be embarrassed to see Kitty naked and dripping wet?"
"Kinda," Marie admitted.
"Oh," Alison comprehended. She resisted the mild temptation to read Marie's mind. Instead she looked at her as a counsellor should, and readily deduced that Marie's parents had been old-fashioned and hence Marie would be, too. Whereas I am a dirty shameless slut. Hmm. She's very pretty and attractive...but then again there's her mutant power to consider. I love my life and I don't want it to end because I lacked the self-discipline to refrain from seducing everyone I meet.
Shame, really, her being a redhead. I hope it's natural - seems to be. For some reason I've never gone down on a redhead - I bet her cunt would be hot and spicy, if I dared give her tongue. It'd be nice, but...no, it's not worth the risk.
Marie blushed as she asked, "Um, are you checkin' me out?"
Alison smiled warmly, if a little seductively. "Yes, I am," she confessed. "Sorry. I'm a shameless slut."
"I'm not offended," Marie murmured. "It ain't offensive to be liked by someone. An' it I may say so, folks shouldn't think of you as a shameless slut. Ain't for them to judge. Says in the Bible, Judge not, lest ye be judged, or somethin' like that."
Chuckling, Alison revealed, "Marie, it's mainly me who thinks of me that way. I am. I'm proud of it."
"Oh," Marie understood. "Then y'all are a liberated woman, an' good for you!"
"Thank you!" Alison beamed. She towelled off vigorously. "Shower's all yours, sweetheart." She paused, looked impish. "Have you seen Logan around?"
Now Marie chuckled. "Gonna jump his bones, huh?"
"Charles said you'd been listening, you naughty girl," Alison laughed, admitting it. "Did you like it?"
"A lot," Marie murmured. "He ain't just an animal, despite what folks think. Even him, sometimes. He's a good man. He deserves a nice time."
Alison's smile turned gentle. "He does, yes. He'd probably never admit it, but he is a good man. Even when he's rough he treats me with respect."
"An' you deserve it. You help folks, don't you?"
The older woman nodded. "I love it. It's more than a job - it's a calling. I help everyone I can, however I can." She took a brief peek into Marie's mind, just to see what she was about, and from that she realised what the can was for. "You go for it, Marie, and the best of luck to you."
"Thank you," Marie nodded, and smiled saucily. "Last I saw Logan, he was doin' maintenance on the new Blackbird."
"Then I have an appointment with the hangar bay," Alison nodded again. They shared a woman-to-woman look, and she licked her lips. "I promise I'll give him a good time."
For the record, she did.
Meanwhile Marie stripped, showered herself clean, dried off and then applied the spray. She was fascinated to see it was completely see-through and there was no visible sign of its presence at all. Plus it wasn't as cold as she'd halfway expected. She dressed. Nothing felt different.
She returned to the common room to find Ian, the Professor and Dr. Bell there. With intuition, not telepathy, the Professor declared, "You appear to have a different attitude, Marie."
"You're not wearing your gloves," the doctor warned her.
"Don't need 'em," Marie replied, "if this plastic thing Ian made works out. Ian, can I test it? I apologise in advance if I hurt you."
"Doubt is understandable," Ian acknowledged, "but a little faith is called for here. Go ahead, Marie." He reached out a hand to her.
Hesitantly she reached back. Their fingers came closer, closer...and, as Xavier and Andrea watched with bated breath, they touched.
Nothing happened.
"What do you feel, Marie?" Ian asked keenly.
"Just you touchin' me," came the murmured reply. "It ain't happenin'." She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. Nothing continued to happen. "I...I can feel you touchin' me, but it ain't happenin'." Her voice rose in a happy squeal. "It ain't happenin'! Thank you!" For the first time in longer than she cared to think about, Marie hugged him, totally unafraid of skin contact. "It works!"
"Remarkable," Xavier breathed. "Even for a man of your intellect, an outstanding achievement."
"It's not the complete answer she needs," Ian admitted, "for example she still can't kiss or, uh, get intimate, but it's a start. A similar solution may be possible for her mouth and other areas...but," he smiled ruefully, "that'll be a problem for someone else to solve."
"Why?" Marie frowned.
Xavier got it first. "Oh, no," he breathed, horrified. Sure enough, Ian swayed, and collapsed bonelessly. Marie cried out in shock.
Andrea immediately took charge, lifting him with her telekinesis and calling sharply, "Kurt! Four to sick bay, now!"
"Jawhol, Herr Doktor," Kurt answered worriedly, and with a BAMF the four vanished with him.