"Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of the kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas time." ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder
Silence flooded the office but it took a while for Charles to notice the quiet. Eddies of angry voices continued to swirl unpleasantly in his mind, along with the realization that he might have misstepped by hiring the Frost woman so soon after meeting her.
Pain flared in his eyes, dragging Charles back from the mental edge of the abyss he'd been teetering on. Early evening sunlight blazed through the window, nearly blinding in its intensity and enough - barely - to drag the old man out of his mental fugue. He blinked and glanced around the room, mildly surprised to find himself alone. At some point Scott and Emma left, abandoning him to stew in his own unhappy thoughts.
Enough wool-gathering, I need to get some work done. A scowl curled his lips as he wheeled his way around to his desk and opened the now hated laptop. Before now, it was merely a tool to keep school records, handle business, and deal with the banks and insurance companies. Now... well now it was an absolutely sorry substitute for Cerebro.
With a tired sigh, he navigated to Google and began the first of many searches. Top on his agenda, as it had been since the incident began, was the hunt for information on the train situation. Again, he was drawn to the clip of a growing crowd of confused bystanders and agitated commuters, all huddled up around a blocked subway opening. Police tape and uniformed officers refused to let them down into the depths.
If he turned the sound up, he could hear a groaning that was an odd mix of a train going down tracks, and the sound of a massive beast's stomach giving a famished rumble before a massive belch of oily black smoke puffed out of the opening. The sight made his gut sour even though he understood the logic behind it. If the Weapon was as volatile and deadly as Fantomex painted it, then they couldn't risk the government getting their hands on the corpse. Not now, not ever. Not even the bodies were safe for government consumption at that point, so while Charles understood on an intellectual level why it was done, that didn't mean he could forget their first introduction to IX and this particular power.
He could still see the satellite overlays of a town that once existed before it was wiped clean off the face of the earth back when IX and X had been Weapons of the government. The memories of X's testing still tormented his dreams. Charles understood the power was a tool, one that - in the hands of the government - had been turned to terrible things. With the X-Men it was used to keep such dangerous material away from the sort of people who would use it again. Still, something about the fire always made his skin crawl. Of all Zen's powers, the fire bothered Charles on a visceral level. Perhaps it's because he saw it through Malcom's eyes and mind that first time, felt how horrified the little boy had been about the flame beasts that ate, and ate, and ate the world.
A tired hum vibrated his throat as he began combing through the various media outlets, trying to find the tiny kernels of truth among a sea of political spin. In this instance, it seemed like the media machine had been carefully managed. Every article he read prattled on about natural gas, an explosion, no survivors. There was no mention of a government operation, field testing of a mutant killing machine, or the group of mutants who'd been forced to intervene when said test went too far.
No mention of mutants at all, even though Charles knew they had to be aware of who put a stop to the test. Those flames were distinct. Not many mutants could produce the level of heat needed to turn an entire train to melted slag. No, they knew who put a stop to it, and yet they weren't bringing it up in the media even though having mutants wipe out a train full of innocent humans would play well into the anti-mutant hysteria currently sweeping the nation. No, they didn't want to risk their own dirty secrets getting air time. Charles would take this particular bit of cease-fire; if they were willing to bury the truth, he'd go along to get along.
Relief sighed through him before he turned his focus out to the greater world. Much to his own chagrin, he'd been forced to ask Bobby to help set up filters so that he wasn't trapped in a sea of internet searches and innate babble. Together, they'd outlined parameters that would allow the system to hunt for information pertaining to mutants around the world, and how they were fairing after the wave.
Much like the train story, Charles learned over the last few bitter months how much of the news was managed by outside influences. Sometimes, the spin was so hard one way or the other that not the slightest hint of truth made it through. It was infuriating, not to mention exhausting, to try and find buried grains of fact that hadn't been bent entirely out of shape.
Not for the first time, his heart and mind longed for Cerebro. A tool he'd taken for granted, and now wished to have back more than anything in the world. To let his mind expand, circle the globe, pinpoint problems and go directly to the source for his information. He never had to try and read between the lines before, and it was a poor substitute for what he'd once been capable of.
Charles felt like a blind man abandoned in a dark forest, every step could trip him up, hungry beasts prowled through the trees, unseen until their claws raked him. How did anyone get anything done in this day and age with such poor information to go off of? It vexed him, but he had no choice. Not now anyway.
The first bit of news he came across was in the form of an ongoing live stream on a Swedish news site. At first glance, it looked like the typical sort of politician going over yet another government program, but then a word caught his attention and brought his full focus onto the broadcast. Blonde and blue-eyed, as many Swedes were, the woman's light hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and a sleek pair of silver-rimmed glasses shielded eyes nearly the same shade of robin's blue Charles himself boasted. Instead of the more risque outfits that the ladies in American media favored today, she wore a nicely fitted lilac pantsuit, the color flattering her Nordic beauty and softening her almost too sharp features.
He glanced down, making note of her name - Mara Borgman - one that rang a distant bell in his mind. Yes, she was a mid-level political figure in that country. One who was low enough that if the policy failed, then the egg would be on her face and none of the higher-ups would get smeared, yet high enough to be aware of how this would impact her nation and to speak on the issue with authority. A good choice for such a controversial message. One that felt like a healing balm on his battered soul. If countries like Sweden existed, then maybe not all hope for human/mutant relations was lost.
"We are all human, and any one of us could be born with a mutation or give birth to a child with such a gift. Turning our backs on those who are different, unique, is not only foolish, it's dangerous. Mutants didn't ask for the powers they've been given, but as a nation, Sweden will not blame an entire people for the cowardly acts of a few. We have no confirmation that mutants were behind the attacks felt around the world. More than that, they were also victims of the wave, and we will not stand by as other nations cast their mutant population out or worse," she paused, a pause Charles felt echoing from the past and into the future because he knew what she wanted to say. What would be politically incorrect to say. That certain nations were doing far more than shunning the mutants in their midst. "Locking them away for the mere crime of being born with a different genetic configuration than themselves.
Again, Sweden is now accepting asylum seekers for any mutant fleeing a country of oppression. We will not stand by and watch as violence sweeps the world and innocents die over a mere chance of birth."
For the first time in what felt like ages, Charles gave a genuine smile. Asylum. At least one place in the world that wasn't sharpening the knife to put an end to the mutant problem.
Reluctantly, he navigated away from the hopeful message and his stomach immediately sank. If the first story was a ray of sunlight cutting through the clouds, this one was the ground breaking open beneath him and showing just how deep the pit went. How deadly, and how quickly hate could spread. This one came in the form of one of his least favorite applications, Twitter. Little more than an echo chamber that reinforced extremist beliefs, one where any horrid thing could wing its way around the world for all to consume in minutes. The initial tweet included a video that reminded him of a certain genre of psychological horror movie, the Blair Witch Project, mixed with the gut churning footage that could have been plucked from the 1940's and the endless atrocities that played out over that dreadful war.
Charles's hand shook as he clicked on the first Tweet, one that already had over 40k views, 2k comments, and endless quote tweets spawning by the moment. The follow up tweet gave context, more than he wished to know.
User - Fawkesy Guy
This footage was uploaded to a shared account by Nguyễn Tuấn before he was arrested for treason.
If not for the serious nature of the thread, he might have chuckled at the user name, one whose avatar was a porcelain Guy Fawkes mask.
Reluctantly, Charles clicked play. He'd learned in his forays into the chaos of Twitter and other media platforms to make certain that auto-play was turned off. There were were too many awful things in the world, he refused to be ambushed by videos that ranged from police shootings, mob justice, and mutants being lynched to new puppies running for the first time, tiny children cursing, and everything in between. No, he'd much rather pick and choose what to watch based on the context of the Tweet than have it sprung on him unsuspecting.
The video started in a thick patch of undergrowth. He could hear the harsh panting of the man recording, and could feel his head start to ache at the shaky camera work while he tried desperately to get close enough to show the world the truth without ending up as part of the line.
Pain bit into Charles' soul as he watched the ragged group of what could only be simple villagers forced to their task by armed guards. The same sort his own country once spent a horrid twenty years attempting to beat into submission. These people, the children and grandchildren who'd survived that initial war, now bent their backs, digging a long trench he hoped desperately wasn't what he thought it was.
All along the line, men with guns ranged, barking orders to dig faster, deeper, kicking those who weren't working fast enough to satisfy. At the half-minute mark, the gun-wielders forced the diggers to kneel. Shot by terrible shot, they were slaughtered. Bodies tumbled back into the freshly dug grave as the one bearing witness sobbed under his breath, obviously trying his best to muffle the noise even as he whispered his desperate plea over and over again, like a mantra hissed into a pit of despair.
The footage was shaky, armature, and desperate. A soft voice, one choked with terror and disbelief spoke in a hurried whisper, "Họ đang giết chúng ta. Toàn bộ ngôi làng bị tàn sát vì chứa chấp kẻ thù của nhà nước Cộng sản. Làm ơn, xin hãy giúp chúng tôi. Cứu chúng tôi." In the video, subtitles the color of blood spilled the message across the bottom of the screen, "They're killing us. Whole villages slaughtered. Please, please help us. Save us."
Under the post, countless theories fought it out in true Twitter fashion. Many users claimed it was a fake, demanded proof, accused the users of lying and stirring the pot for clicks. Others disputed that bitterly, stating that the Vietnamese government had gone full on Hideki Tojo and were using the current crisis as a blanket green-light to finally kill off every enemy - real or imagined - to the state. Mutants, Cambodians, ethnic minorities, everyone with the slightest whiff of controversy were targets for the renegade government.
There were even rumors, absurd though they were, that the mutants in Vietnam had been seeded by the hated former French overlords and were sleeper agents plotting to overthrow the current government. Once more, the flames of hatred burned in the jungles of Vietnam, and it wouldn't only be mutant-kind whose blood watered the trees.
As much as he hated to, Charles kept digging. Of course, everything he found had a spin on it one way or the other, and facts were few and far between. It appeared that Nguyễn Tuấn was real enough, and a reporter. One who'd apparently gone dark on all his platforms exactly two weeks ago after this particular footage hit the web.
The hunt for information brought up even uglier rumors. That China was following a similar path, though one far more curated and hidden than the massacre going on in Vietnam. Media blackouts were rolling across the vast country, all the posts he could find read like hostage letters, as if a soldier stood over the influencer with his gun pointed, making damned sure the posts fit with the government narrative.
Charles wondered if the killing had started there yet, or if they were simply rounding up and locking their mutant population away like so many others. Were they suffering the same treatment as the Tibetens? If so, they were keeping it tightly under wraps. Then again, he recognized he wasn't the most tech-savvy man in the world. Why should he be, when he once had access to all that humanity had to offer?
Exhaustion beat at him, not the sort of tiredness that could be solved with a good night's sleep, no. It was the sort of all consuming wear that spoke of a tiredness of the soul. I don't know how much more I can take. Charles shook his head, denying the thought. This was his mess. He made it, now he would have to live through the consequences. People were dying, and his power was the leaver governments were using to commit such atrocious crimes on their own people. The least he could do was bear witness.
In a distant part of Charles' damaged psyche, he wondered what good he was doing with this. How was he helping anything by picking at the wounds inflicted by his power? What am I doing to make amends, to leave the world in a better place than where I found it? How can I make peace with what happened, and go forward without inflicting even more damage? Unpleasant questions chased themselves around his mind.
It was tempting to snap the laptop closed without bothering to shut the blasted thing down properly, or better yet, fling it out the window and into the lake. Perhaps the fish would get better use out of it than he currently was. Charles buried his face in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes hard enough to send little starbursts across his blackened vision. I'm not useless.
"I'm not useless."
A bare whisper of noise in the quiet room, but words Charles forced from his lips all the same. "I'm not useless," he repeated, forcing himself to think of all the good he'd brought to the world. The countless children he'd found over the years and taken into the school. Kids who might have ended up dead, on the streets, or lost to groups like Magneto's. Young hearts he shielded and kept safe, nurtured, and taught that there was more to the world than us vs them. More than just the struggle.
Scott. Just thinking of the name brought a fond smile to the old man's lips. Of everything he'd done, Charles knew that taking in his pseudo-son was his true legacy. Watching the wary boy grow into a strong man who stood by his convictions and strove daily to protect and train the new generation warmed his heart. But, even that was tainted now, wasn't it? The last few months hadn't been kind to the optical mutant. No, not kind at all. There were a few points where he wasn't sure Scott would survive his own grief, not that he thought Scott would actively suicide, no. But passively? Yes, that was his greatest fear. One that almost came to pass prior to the first mission, a fiasco from start to finish that showed Charles how far his son in all but name had fallen.
You haven't done enough to protect them, have you? You built these pretty walls, and kept them sheltered and safe, but you left them weak.
That unpleasant thought came with a posh British accent, and for a mere heartbeat, Charles wondered if he was actually the problem. Could Frost's perspective, her tainted point of view be more accurate than his own? Did she have the right of things, and he was the foolish one, hoping against hope that humanity could be something more than what it was?
He shook that thought away hard enough to make his headache spike. No, he wasn't the one in the wrong here. Not about this. Frost allowed her past to jade her perspective of the world, that was all, but Charles wouldn't let it do the same to him. Not even with the Wave and its fallout. He refused to give up on his dreams, and the truth he'd been fighting for since he was old enough to understand how different he was from everyone else.
"There's only one path forward, humanity and mutants must find a way to co-exist. We cannot survive a battle against one another, that way lies extinction."
Purest conviction rang in the declaration. After building the school, he'd dedicated himself to shaping the next generation. The future would be born by the shoulders of today's young mutants, and he would help guide them onto the proper path. The path with the least amount of bloodshed.
Perhaps the Wave had shaken some of their faith, but Charles refused to give in and flip his morals or twist them into something unrecognizable, not even in the name of false safety. What good would it do to train the children to fight against humans? It would cement in their minds that humans were the problem. They wouldn't be able to recognize them as misguided brothers and sisters, those who'd strayed from the path but who could, with time and effort, be brought back to a sane way of thinking. That's what Frost refused to understand. The moment the students started looking at humans as the enemy, it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy. He refused to allow his school to become some sort of hive for a rebellion.
Feeling more steady, Charles closed out of the Vietnam searches, he turned his sight a little closer to home. There wasn't much he or anyone else could do about China and what they did to their own people, but maybe there were other areas in the world that could be nudged in the right direction.
Charles focused on Mexico, pulling up an article about a new megachurch being constructed in the heart of Mexico City. While he knew the country had always had a Catholic bend, it felt like over the last few decades it was starting to overtake common sense.
Mexico, like some other Latin American countries, held with a lot of the old beliefs. Some would even say superstitions. They were one of the few countries on the planet that down right didn't believe in mutation. At all. The stance on mutation in the country was simply that it was a lie cooked up by America and other first world countries as a way to control the population.
A boogie man that could be trotted out any time any other country or their own population got out of control. The perfect stick to beat people with and use to increase the military. When confronted by the science, they waved their hand and said anyone could make anything up and that numbers spat out by a computer programmed by man were hardly to be believed.
Those few living specimens trotted out before them were considered merely freaks of nature, no different from Siamese-twins or two bit circus oddities. Unfortunate birth defects that should be left alone or even put out of their misery as infants, not worshiped as some new form of man. When it came to the less visible mutation, they were labeled charlatans and magicians. If the US and other countries wanted to be tricked by sleight-of-hand, let them. The Mexican people weren't fooled so easily.
It was a take that always left Charles shaking his head with exasperation. There were none so blind as those who refused to see, and Mexico pulled the religious wool so far down their eyes that it was amazing they could still breathe through it.
Of course, the country wasn't a monolith. The mutants in Mexico were few and far between, which made it easier for the government to perpetuate the myth that they weren't real.
Reluctance nearly stayed his hand, but he found himself incapable of halting his own self-flegration at this point, so Charles pushed the play button on the embedded YouTube clip. The priest wasn't like the pale, scholarly men with graying hair and somber faces many Churches employed. No, this particular warrior of God was built along far different lines. A tall hispanic man, boasting a truly splendid mustache, arms that spoke of hard labor in his youth, and a chest that would make a bull proud, he stood like a Crusader of old. The sort who should be in full plate armor, swinging a claymore at the ungodly heathen hordes.
The sort of man who leads others into battle. Even before he started the video, Charles felt unease prickle across his skin, making the hairs along his arms stand on end.
"God has sent down demons to test his most loyal followers, but we will stand tall against these unclean beings, monsters who wear the skin of man yet wield powers from Satan himself. It is not enough that we merely shun them, no. The Bible tells us what needs to be done. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live! Such unholiness can only be cleansed with the purifying flame."
The words were spoken in booming Spanish that tasted almost prophetic. For a country so adamant in its own delusions, even they couldn't ignore having power beyond their comprehension reach out and grip them by the throat. Power that nearly snuffed out every living candle, every mind. Human and mutant both stood on the edge of oblivion and the truth could no longer be denied.
Even for Mexico, this particular Priest was on the extreme end, but the mere fact that a church was built with this man as its head was troubling. Perhaps a sign of things to come.
Mutants could no longer be brushed under the rug as a joke or simple birth defect. No, they were now an active threat. Charles wished things would have stayed the same, before the wave life for mutants in the Latin American nations was tricky but not impossible. Now? Well, now he feared for them. If the Church wanted sacrifices to the more vicious face of their god, then yet more mutant blood would be spilled. Or in this case, burned.
"This is a sign, brothers and sisters, a sign long awaited! We are living in blessed times, but also cursed times. For the faithful and for the world, we will all know the face of God. Prepare yourselves, my children, for this is but the first of the horsemen. The end is nigh."
Near-delirious cheers met the Priest's words, and another harsh splinter of dread wracked Charles at their joyous tone. What would happen if no other signs came about, if Judgement Day failed to materialize in a timely manner? Charles couldn't help but wonder with a mix of morbid fascination and endless dred, if whole nations might not take the Jim Jones route to hasten the resurrection.
"No, that wouldn't happen."
It wouldn't. Would it?
The sky was overcast, its vibrant blue hidden behind sullen gun-metal gray clouds that threatened snow, but Kitty knew it was a lie. They were the sort of clouds that hung around for days and days without managing to spit out a single flake. Just made everything feel cold and dreary. It didn't help that they'd had a warm snap a couple weeks ago that melted off most of the snow, leaving sad mud-stained piles here and there, while most of the dead grass showed through in half-bald patches. Soon, spring would paint the world anew and allow them to all grow and heal, but days like today made the promise of spring feel like a distant dream. Something mostly forgotten, a lie they told themselves to make it through the cold winter nights as they prayed for the warmth of the sun to wake the slumbering earth.
Kitty shook her head, and bit her bottom lip as a blast of icy wind nearly drove her back into the mansion. Why not go back? Zen couldn't really be out here, could he? It was freezing. She sniffed, feeling her nose already starting to go red with the cold. Of course he wasn't out here, but she'd checked all his inside haunts, and found them all empty of her prickly friend.
A question burned in her mind, one that Kitty needed the answer to, and the girl was starting to think Zen was hiding from her on purpose. She wouldn't let the arctic wind keep her from her goal. Squaring her shoulders, Kitty bullied her way through the wintery bluster and headed towards the familiar tree. He'd slipped away from the assembly while Kitty was distracted with plans for Christmas, and now, nearly an hour later, she was still hunting for him. He'd be great at Hide-and-Seek, Kitty thought, tagging the mental note for later. Her, Zen and Malcom would have to play one boring afternoon, but not until after it warmed up a little.
Tucking her hands deep under her arms, Kitty grumbled under her breath as she walked right into the teeth of the wind. It didn't take long to reach her target, and she had to resist the urge to give him a good hard smack for going to such lengths to escape her. Why did boys have to be so bratty all the time? It was like they lived to make her fret over them.
"Really?" Kitty all but hissed as she glared down at the teen bundled in an honest to goodness blanket, a book tucked in his lap as he did his homework. Out here in the middle of the wilds, their breath puffing out in plumes of steam, acting as if doing his homework in sub-zero temperatures was a perfectly normal thing to do.
"Yes?" Zen asked, looking up at her like she was the strange one and not him. How could he even sit like that as if he wasn't covered in wounds? She could still see the bruises on his face and from the stiff way he sat, she knew it couldn't be comfortable. So why?
The silence stretched as she waited for him to add something more substantial. Of course, he didn't. No, he went back to reading the hecking book as if she wasn't standing there waiting for an answer. "Why are you hiding out here? It's way too cold to be outside doing homework."
Again, the silence stretched. This time, Zen had the decency to pluck a thin black bookmark off the dead grass and tuck it into the book before shutting it and looking up at her again, giving her his undivided attention. "You were looking for me?" Somehow, he made the question sound innocent, as if he hadn't come all the way out here to dodge her.
"Yes," she snipped, the word a feline hiss of pure annoyance. "What's up with you and Frost?"
A muscle jumped in his jaw, a subtle sign of him clenching his teeth. "Nothing."
"You know her."
Again, that subtle twitch. This time, the silence lingered unpleasantly on the frozen air between them. As she watched, Zen's hand rubbed at the deep bruises along his jawline and oddly subconscious gesture she wasn't sure he was even aware of. That reminder of his vulnerability, the wounds she knew were hidden beneath his clothing made her own anxiety spike. Sitting out here couldn't be good for his damaged body, so why hide here? Why go to such lengths to avoid her and the conversation he had to know was coming?
"I do not," he finally forced out, the lie felt heavy, so blatantly obvious Kitty stared at him in cold accusation.
"Don't lie, you know her! Who is she to you?" The last words held that sharp twist she'd learned over the months of being his friend. A note of command. It was a tone Kitty mastered over the many hours she'd worked to befriend and understand him. Somewhere along the line, she'd learned how to get him to go along with what she wanted even if he had no interest in doing it. As long as she used the proper tone, he wouldn't refuse her unless it went against Xavier's rules.
At least, he never had before.
Zen's fists clenched, and he gave his head a single sharp shake of negation. "Leave it alone, Katherine." Four bare words, each stripped of emotion. The shock of her true name spoken so harshly felt like a slap, making the girl jerk back in surprise. She wasn't aware he even knew her real name.
Tears glittered in her eyes as she stared down at him. Kitty hated the way her lip trembled as she fought not to cry. "Why won't you tell me?"
Again, that muscle jumped in his jaw. Realization blazed through Kitty's mind. Something weird was going on here. Every time she asked, he almost answered, but then something stopped him. Or someone. Anger erupted in Kitty's chest, so hot and fierce it tore a gasp from her throat.
"You can't tell me, can you?" she whispered, that righteous fury blistering the words.
Zen looked away, unwilling or perhaps unable to acknowledge the truth even enough to nod.
"Stay right here." The commanding tone froze him to the spot, but Kitty was too enraged to notice. No, she had other matters to tend to, and she wouldn't be denied twice.
If Zen couldn't tell her the truth, then by all that was shiny, Frost would.
Emma's gaze traced over the office, lightly touching on each feature. Everything in the space held the same degree of refined elegance the rest of the house boasted, but it was as generic and cheerful as a high end hotel room with about as much personality. Like the new dormitory wing, the staff wing of the school had been upgraded during the latest round of renovations. New office space had been added so the teachers had a separate dedicated workspace, allowing them to keep work and private life in their places. She could appreciate the neat line Xavier chose to draw between work and personal space.
Far too often, boarding schools neglected that. They forced live-in staff to forever mingle work and off time to the point there was never a moment or space to breathe that didn't involve the job. Perhaps it was as simple as Xavier having the money and space to give staff the luxury of two rooms, but Emma didn't think so. During her early teaching years, she'd tried out a few different boarding schools before settling on the last. All of them required her to use her living area as office space. Any meetings with students were conducted in shared conference rooms.
It was nice, having an office of her own. Emma's thoughts shifted to décor, and what she'd need to buy to truly put her claim on the room. Give it that personal touch, and erase that impersonal look.
With a click of her tongue, Emma studies the brush strokes of the Eloise Harriet Stannard painting of a basket of strawberries and decided, after a long minute, that it was a recreation and not the original. Then again, as wealthy a man as he was, Xavier probably hadn't had time to restock his art collection after the latest disaster. On the other hand, a wise man would keep the originals in a different location all together, considering how often a school filled with mutant children had the propensity of blowing up.
A child's face appeared in the basket of strawberries, and Emma managed to keep from leaping back through sheer will-power alone. She arched a single eyebrow in question at the interruption to her afternoon. The girl, however, had not expected her to be standing two feet away from the wall she was attempting to phase through and gave a most satisfying meep of surprise. A light snort escaped the woman when the face jerked back until only a nose sat among the ripe berries like a particularly unattractive bit of fruit. Then, even that vanished, only for the face and the rest of the student's body to barge through the wall next to the painting. This time well away from where Emma was standing.
Her dark curls were pulled up in a rough pony-tail with her long bangs in a windswept tangle around her face. Emma could smell the winter chill wafting off the girl and wondered what brought her to Emma's doorstep - or would that be wall-front?- Her curiosity would have to wait, first they needed to settle a few points on manners.
"Good afternoon, Miss Pryde. While I'm always willing to take time out of my day to speak with students, it is highly irregular to have them come barging through the walls to get to me. Please see yourself out, and knock first before entering my office in the proper way." The mild lecture and absolute lack of reaction to her sudden and unexpected appearance arrested whatever the girl was about to say. Her jaw dropped open, before snapping shut as dark eyes spat fire at the blonde teacher for half a breath before she turned and stomped back through the wall from whence she'd come.
It took precisely eight seconds for her to go around to the actual door and give it three booming knocks. Kitty jerked the door open without bothering to wait for Emma to give her permission to enter. She considered forcing the girl to try again, but a headache was already starting to dig at her temples, and Emma didn't have the time or energy to try and force proper etiquette on the girl right now. Not when the brat's thoughts all but screamed at her of fear and not undeserved suspicion.
Before Kitty could voice her accusations, Emma took control of the situation. "Please have a seat," she offered before taking her own chair behind the desk, deliberately taking advantage of the semi-formal setting to reinforce her standing as a person of authority. As she suspected, the trappings of teacher vs. student worked on the girl's subconscious, reminding her of her surroundings and exactly who she was about to tangle with.
With a rather impressive scowl, Kitty perched on the very edge of the seat, all but vibrating with the need to express herself. A sigh tried to escape, but Emma forced it down. It was going to be a long afternoon, and even with the precautions she'd taken, IX still managed to give her away to some degree.
"How do you know Zen? He knows you, I know he does," she demanded, no longer able to contain herself and skipping over the formalities all together.
Before speaking, Emma forced the girl to wait while she straightened the files on her desk and turned to tuck them into the cabinet. Only then did she give Kitty the full force of her attention. That made some of the bravado evaporate as Emma pinned her with cool regard. "I beg your pardon?"
"How do you know Zen?" Kitty repeated, slower this time.
"What gave you the impression that we know one another?"
That made the girl bristle, and if she scooted any closer to the edge of her chair, she would fall right off. "Because he reacted to you. It was totally obvious he knew you from before. When I asked him about it, he lied to me. He never lies!"
A cold curl touched Emma's lips at that; an expression too frozen to ever be mistaken for a smile. "Clearly he does lie if you caught him at it."
Kitty gave a huff of annoyance, and Emma almost ruined this farce of a confrontation by laughing as the little teen attempted to match her glare-for-glare. She was a vibrating ball of emotion, but perhaps one day she would grow into her boldness. For now, it was far too big for her. "You did something to him," Kitty accused, hitting the nail on the head with startling accuracy. "Every time he tried to tell me, he stopped. The same way he does when he tries going against the Professor's orders."
"Oh? Does he regularly try to break the rules laid down for him by Xavier?"
The question made Kitty jerk back before her glare turned up several notches. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it? You just admitted that you've seen this reaction often enough to recognize it. That means he's attempted to break the rules enough times for you to be familiar with the tic," Emma pressed, driving her point home with irrefutable logic.
Bouncy curls danced around Kitty's face as she shook her head in negation. Then a hint of shameful pink dusted her cheeks. "It-I," she paused, trying to gather her scattered wits. However the girl saw this confrontation going down, it was obviously not playing out the way she envisioned and it left her flat-footed. Oh little girl, you are far too young to think to win against me.
Anger burned in Emma's stomach at the thought of anyone going out of their way to befriend that monster. It set her teeth on edge, and then to have said person come into her space and demand answers about their shared past as if she were the enemy? All of it pushed Emma's buttons the wrong way, but she refused to allow even a hint of her ire to shine through.
Kitty took a deep breath before forcing the words out. "I've seen the reaction whenever I try to break the rules and he tries to stop me; like staying out after curfew. He isn't allowed to do that, but he doesn't want me to break the rules either."
That earned a light scoff from Emma even as her eyes narrowed at the things the girl hadn't voiced out loud. Like the level of influence this child had over the living Weapon, and how he reached when trying to contradict her orders or when said orders came into conflict with prior ones given by Xavier. Dangerous. It was a situation she would have to keep a weather eye on since she doubted anyone else had noticed that little tidbit.
"How, exactly, did you get tangled up with someone—" something "—like Zen?"
Emma hesitated over the name, not liking the way it felt on her tongue. Naming something like that felt wrong on a primal level. Of course Kitty would try and name a living killing-machine, as if giving it a name would make it a real boy.
That earned Emma another dark glare. Emotion played over her features, flowing with her every thought. Even if Emma hadn't been a telepath, she'd be able to read her like an open book. "Because, everyone deserves a second chance. Zen was as much a victim as the other mutants captured and experimented on. It's not his fault, and blaming him for something he had no control over is wrong. All we can do is try to help him adjust and learn to live a normal life even after everything he's been through."
Pretty words, simplistic ideals for a simple girl. Emma couldn't keep the harsh sound of scorn from escaping her throat, making kitty blink in surprise at her. "Do you honestly believe that? After all the blood he's spilled, do you truly believe he can be rehabilitated?"
As she spoke, Emma slipped deeper into Kitty's mind, tasting the girl's own insecure thoughts. The memory of hot blood spilling over her hands while she tried to keep Syrin alive after the attack. How she'd been an active participant in his punishment over the following months after Xavier began this hairbrained scheme to attempt to humanize the Weapon. Maybe Sinister was right, all of the adults in this place are fools. Someone needs to watch out for these children and keep them safe from good intentions.
"We have to try," Kitty said, but the words wavered around the edges, and Emma dug a little deeper. She sensed the lingering fear the girl felt any time the Zen mask slipped a little too much, and she found herself face to face with IX.
Something akin to sorrow crossed Emma's face at the girl's willful blindness. "You and I both know that the only thing keeping Zen from becoming IX is an old and tired man who's had more than his share of damage and heartache since IX and X crashed into your lives. A Weapon like IX requires a handler, and who's to say the next person to have that dubious honor will have Charles Xavier's moral compass." She shook her head and locked eyes with Kitty, refusing to allow her to hide from the truth. "Zen is a ticking time bomb, and you and I both know exactly how skin-deep the mask is. It only takes a bit of scratching to see the truth underneath. IX lives at the heart of Zen, and it wouldn't take much at all to bring it back to the surface."
Kitty shook her head, opened her mouth, closed it and stood. Her dark eyes were troubled as she dipped her head in resignation. "Thank you for your time, sorry I bothered you," the girl muttered before all but fleeing the office to get away from the truth Emma so brazenly spoke.
Watching the girl's retreat, Emma sat back with a satisfied smile, pleased with how neatly she'd managed to deflect Kitty's suspicion and side-track the girl entirely. Now, if she could only get the child to recognize the fire she was playing with, they might be headed in the right direction.
Numbness made a home in the small bones of Zen's hands and feet. Shivers wracked his thin frame, making the stitches burn and groan as he tucked the blanket tighter around himself in an effort to conserve what little warmth he had. Slowly, the sun sank towards the horizon. With every finger-length it fell, the temperature dropped.
Still, he remained frozen in place, a mental clock carefully whittling down the hours, the minutes until curfew when Kitty's order would come into direct conflict with his Wielder's commandments.
Time passed slowly while the cold inched up his limbs, and his own internal power remained painfully out of reach. Though if he focused, Zen could feel the energy stirring in the depths of himself. It wouldn't be long before he could rekindle it, reignite it for lack of a better word. Then he would be able to heal the damage, erase his failure from bruised, stitched skin even if he couldn't wipe it from his mind. Yes, they'd completed the mission well within the stated parameters for success, but Zen knew he failed on a personal level. That failure, that mistake allowed a pale serpent to slither her way into his Wielder's home. One he had no ability to slay now that she wore the false skin of a teacher.
He allowed a threat to the students to exist because he hadn't been enough to stop the horde, not with the weapons he'd brought to the fight. Zen sighed, rubbing his hands together in a futile effort to generate a bit of warmth. The memory of ice-swept trees teased him, and made him long for X's back to curl against. At least with the feral, they could share body heat. He ached for that warmth, or even the comforting heat of a fire, but Kitty's orders were too strict for that. No, he had to stay right there until she returned. That didn't give him enough leeway to find firewood or set up a proper fire pit. The last thing any of them needed was for him to start an out of control forest fire.
So he waited, watching the sun inch every closer to the horizon, but Kitty never returned.
Four minutes before curfew, the exact amount of time it would take him to walk back to the building, Zen stumbled to his feet. Numbness nearly made him fall, but he pushed through it and forced his chilled body forward while the seconds ticked away in his mind.
Blood began flowing sluggishly, hardly enough to thaw the chill that had settled deep into his bones, but enough that he made to the dorm room a hair before curfew.
Unlike him, Pietro didn't have a curfew, and Zen found himself thankful for the tiny reprieve when he realized the speed mutant wasn't in their shared living space. With numb fingers, he stripped out of the frozen clothes and slid into the warmest set of pajamas he owned. Thoughts of X helped heat his blood as Zen burrowed down into the blankets and waited for the pain he knew would awaken as his body thawed.
Tomorrow, he would be healed tomorrow. His punishment for failure paid in full. At least until she decided to claim her pound of flesh.
Bang. A pause, the desperate pleading ending in a cut-off scream, bang. Repeat. Again. Again. Again, getting closer. No matter how hard he fought the binds, they held him in place. A rat in a trap waiting for the exterminator to reach him. Fuck that, I won't let that bastard shoot me. I might not be able to move a lot, but it's sure the fuck enough to dodge a bullet or ten. He'll run out of ammo before he hits me.
Pain jolted Pietro awake, and for a long minute all he could do was stare dully up at the ceiling, scowling at the way the blankets tangled and trapped his legs and the awkward landing that left the upper half of his body on the floor while his legs were still bound up in the sheets from his night thrashing.
He hated that dream - memory - nightmare. Why couldn't the past stay dead and buried where it belonged? It didn't help anyone to linger over it, and it sure as fuck wasn't helping his sleep any. It was done and over with. Zero was dead, the facility destroyed, even Stryker hadn't survived. IX and X are still alive.
Alive, true, but were they really? Were the Weapons still alive? They'd been so utterly changed by Xavier and the school that even Pietro had a hard time remembering exactly who Zen was.
Speaking of Zen, he grumbled and tilted his head back to look at the bed across from his own. Damn the teachers anyway. There were more than enough bedrooms now. He'd thrown the biggest fit of his life when Zen came trotting into his new room with his box of belongings like an unwanted pet who refused to stay lost. Of course, Xavier's orders stood. He and Zen were roomies from now until he graduated and there was nothing he could do to wiggle out of that reality.
To his surprise, Zen hadn't popped up to stare at him like he always did whenever Pietro's nightmares got bad enough to wake him. Then again, Pietro was about eighty percent certain that the little bastard didn't sleep. Maybe the scientists removed that need with his emotions. He was awake whenever Pietro went to bed, and awake when he woke. In all the time they'd shared a room, the speed mutant could honestly say he'd never witnessed the assassin at rest. Not once.
It was another mark in the creep factor for the shorter teen. The lump on the bed was suspiciously still, and now that he wasn't drowning in the remnants of the nightmare, there was a smell in the room that must have triggered the awful dream. A slightly burned meat smell, and a bit of smoke.
Pietro hated the fear clenching his gut, he wasn't worried about the little prick. No, not that. Never that. But, if he managed to die in their room for some reason then of course he would be blamed for it. Right. That's what had him scrambling to his feet and nearly face-planting twice before he reached the other bed.
Zen was flat on his back, looking more like a corpse than ever and Pietro thought his heart might stop when he finally saw the slight rise and fall of that narrow chest. The ugly bruising that had blotched the teen's chin was gone, but it almost looked like someone had given him a punch to the face, hard enough to blacken both eyes. It took him a minute to realize the circles were from utter exhaustion, dark smudges below his eyes that made him look like an abuse victim.
That odd stink lingered around the boy, and made Pietro shift uneasily from foot to foot. The fact that Zen hadn't opened those empty eyes to stare at him was disconcerting to say the least. He was alive, wasn't he? "This is stupid," Pietro muttered, again feeling that awkward sense of wrongness when Zen's eyes didn't open at the words. Biting his lip, he reached out and lightly pressed a finger against the pale throat. An odd sense of relief flooded him when he felt the strong thump of the assassin's heartbeat. Heh, and people think he doesn't have a heart.
Almost without his permission, his hand shifted downward, nudging the blanket out of the way and pushing open the button-top pajamas so he could get a look at the massive wound he'd caught sight of the other night before bed. Of course, Zen never bothered to dress in the bathroom. Pietro had gotten used to it, but he'd nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw all the marks covering the boy almost from head to toe. He looked like he'd been in a car accident, or maybe had a tumble into a wood chipper.
Pietro gaped at him, unable to even form any sort of question. Stitches were everywhere and he could hardly believe it. In the end, he hadn't been able to get a single word out, simply shook his head and crawled into bed vowing to put the sight from his mind. He didn't like the tiny seed of worry for the brat the damage caused. He should be happy Zen was suffering, not feeling like he might throw up at the sight of the viscous wounds. How bad were they that the bastard hadn't been able to heal them on his own? Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.
Now he stared blankly at the pink lines, dotted with what looked like blisters where the stitches had been burned away. Again, his stomach clenched uncomfortably. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath, fighting back the urge to shake Zen away and make him go down to the medical wing. "Next time let Beast cut them out you dumbass."
With an exasperated sigh, Pietro found himself tucking the blanket back in place. They were going to have a talk about this once Zen woke up. If he wanted to fry himself, he better stop doing it in their shared room.
The tap on his door was light enough that, if not for his enhanced hearing, Hank wouldn't have been aware of his reluctant patient. Setting aside the word puzzle he'd been working through as he stood and stretched, relishing the line of pops that crackled along his spine. Better, much better. Even though Zen's fangs had been pulled long ago, the bridge of his nose still gave an unexpected twinge every time he caught the killer's scent lingering on the edge of his domain.
For a moment, Hank stood still, eyes closed as he drew in a deep breath, tasting the undercurrents to get an idea of what brought Zen to his door. No fresh blood, no pain scent so the odds of broken bones was slim, no other scents with him. Relief washed through him at that, at least this wasn't yet another disaster he needed to sort out.
One of the best things that could have happened was Kitty taking the student killer under her wing. Mostly because, for all her small size, her wing was a dragon's wing, and once she laid her claim on the lad a lot of the more physical bullying had come to an end. Along with the accidents and friendly-fire that sent more than one non-assassin student to the med-bay.
While befriending someone like Zen probably wasn't the safest course of action, Hank couldn't help but acknowledge it was good for his ongoing mental health. He still had nightmares about IX and the parade of victims trailing in his wake. He'd done some of his best work that day, each move a precise dance as he and Charles fought death himself for Ororo's life. As callous as it was, he was willing to risk one student's well-being if it meant keeping the rest of them safe.
Not that he thought Zen would actually harm the girl, of course not. All one had to do was see the two together to know that however it came about, the once-killer saw himself as Kitty's protector as much as she saw herself as his savior. They really were two of a kind, if it wasn't for the fact that the boy was so inextricably bound to X, Hank figured they might end up making a pair of it. But no, while there was affection there, at least on Kitty's end, he didn't think such a relationship would work out in the long run. Not when Zen was about as emotionally receptive as a turnip.
I better let him in before he scurries off. He opened the door and gently ushered the reluctant teen into the exam area. "I'm surprised to see you so soon. To be frank, I thought I'd have to track you down myself to get that follow up."
Zen studied him with unreadable green eyes, but that tiny flare of scent that he couldn't help but label as fear even if nothing in his face or body gave the lingering anxiety away. "You told me to come after I healed," Zen said in that bland way of his that always itched at Hank's instincts. Worse, the way he said it made it clear that he'd taken Hank's request as an order. Something he tried to avoid as much as possible. Times like this made him wonder how Charles was holding up under the responsibility.
Then again, his old friend's mental health wasn't doing well at all, and Zen had precious little to do with that deterioration. A problem for another day. Yes, but one that would have to be addressed sooner rather than later. They all knew Charles couldn't continue on as he was, not and stay sane, but the blasted man was rebuffing all their attempts to get help for him. Unfortunately, they were currently at a stalemate when it came to the Professor. They'd have to wait until something gave, the only question was would they all survive if Charles broke completely? Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.
"Right, well thank you for coming. When were you able to heal?" Hank asked as he motioned at Zen's shirt. Only a slight hesitation before the garment was removed, and Zen took a seat on the exam table. Hank almost winced at the ram-rod straightness the teen sat with. Little things like that would always differentiate him from the rest of the students. No teen slump for him.
"One-forty-three this morning, sir."
Hank fought the urge to roll his eyes both at the preciseness of the time and at being called sir. He was many things, but a sir wasn't one of them. "You can call me Hank, or Doctor if you are more comfortable with that." If his hand wasn't on Zen's shoulder, probing at where the dog bite had been less than forty-eight hours ago, he wouldn't have felt the subtle flinch at the word doctor. "Or whatever you feel comfortable calling me, it's fine," Hank amended, hating the fear scent that burned the back of his nose.
Every time he thought of the scientists and doctors behind what was done to Zen and Logan, it made his teeth ache with the urge to rip their throats out. Men and women who'd once sworn the same oath as he had - do no harm - broke that sacred trust in the worst way imaginable. Inflicting endless harm in their quest to create the perfect killing machines. He hated the fact that they'd succeeded so well with this particular subject.
"Has this happened before? Depleting your personal power to the point you couldn't heal your own wounds?" Hank asked as he pressed the pad of his thumb lightly over the once badly broken collar bone.
"Yes," he hesitated, mouth starting to shape a word before changing his mind. "Hank."
He bit back a sigh, wishing he'd just let the mutant call him sir. He seemed far more comfortable with that form of address. While he waited for Zen to elaborate, he gently guided his arm through a range of motions to check for any lingering damage. "Please tell me if anything I do causes you pain."
"I will."
"I mean it, Zen. If you feel the slightest twinge, I need to know. We don't know if waiting to heal resulted in the wounds knitting fully or not. That's why I wanted to see for myself. What's the longest it's taken you before you could heal?"
At that, Zen rolled his eyes in such a typical teenage way that he almost believed it. Almost. "The longest was seventy-two hours."
Hank blinked at that. "Why so long?"
"I nearly burned my power out burning a town. It was the first time I'd created a fire that large and I almost couldn't contain and smother it."
Hank flinched at that, memories crashed over him of maps and markers. So many little red dots. It took more effort than was pretty not to sink his claws in at that. How easy it was to forget the oceans of blood this singular mutant once spilled. And could spill again if Charles ever loses control of him. Not a happy thought. Not at all.
Forcing himself to move past the moment, Hank cleared his throat. "What about this time? Was it the fire again? Does the fire take more out of you than your other abilities?"
Zen opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned. "The fire is the most difficult to control. There is a tipping point where I can no longer control it. If I don't put up shielding first, it will burn everything."
The fur along Hank's spine stiffened, bristling uncomfortably against his white lab coat. Again, he was forced to redirect back to the topic at hand. Healing. Right, that's why they were here, not to delve into Zen's bloody past or his possibly world-ending powers.
Claw-tipped fingers gently pressed along the full length of the once splintered bone. "Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating," Hank said, unable to keep the admiration out of his tone. He'd seen a number of different healing mutations in his time, but Zen's was quite unlike the rest. "Your clavicle was broken in half less than two days ago, a break bad enough that if you'd been any one else I would have needed to screw it back together and perhaps remove splinters of bone, now the hematoma is gone. I can't even feel a bit of callus. It's almost like the break never happened."
Again, that subtle twitch of discomfort. Times like this made him wish he had a touch of Charles' gift. What was going through that brain of his? Perhaps it was better not to know.
Twenty minutes later, Hank declared himself satisfied and gave Zen a clean bill of health. "Thank you." The words felt forced, stiff in the sterile air of the lab. "May I go?"
Hank took a step back, giving Zen some breathing room before settling his golden eyes on the still figure. He sighed, running blunt claws through the fur along his jawline before he nodded. As Zen turned to leave, Hank spoke up, "I would never deliberately harm you. My practice is healing, not tearing people apart."
With a small hop, Zen slid off the exam table before pulling his shirt back on. When his head reappeared, he pinned Hank with a look that froze him to the spot; emerald eyes hauntingly empty. "And if tearing me apart would give you the ability to heal others as I heal?"
To his shame, Hank hesitated.
The corner of Zen's lips quirked up in a sardonic smile. "We are all expendable, Dr. McCoy. As a doctor, you know that more than most." The word doctor rang with a flavor of contempt he'd never heard from Zen before.
Before Hank could even think of a reply, Zen was gone, shutting the door with a quietness that vibrated around him worse than any slam could. Shame burned in his veins, but for the life of him Hank couldn't think of a good reply to that.
Tiny puffs of exasperation escaped the girl as she stomped up the stairs and flung the door to the roof open with a level of dramatics that weren't exactly warranted, but darn it, she'd been looking all over the school for him. Kitty was not amused by the way Zen turned his head just enough to give her a questioning side-eye before his attention returned to the grounds and the kids running wild in the weak sunlight.
A tiny spark of relief flashed through her when she saw the ugly splotched bruises were gone. His face once again looked pristine, clean of damage even if the bags under his eyes were still darker than she liked. It was an improvement, and she knew if he healed the bruises, then the rest of the damage was probably taken care of too.
Good, that was good. Kitty hated to think of how vulnerable he was without the ability to heal. That his energy could be depleted enough to make the passive power falter wasn't a revelation she enjoyed learning. It made her all the more protective of him.
For February, it was a decent sort of day. While the cold still seasoned the air with winter gusts, the sunshine and bright blue sky gave the illusion of warmth. Enough to draw a good portion of the students out to enjoy the fresh - if chilly - air.
"There you are," Kitty grumbled, stomping over to the handrail and leaning against it. With a disgruntled little hiss, she gave Zen's shoulder a rough bump with her own only to find herself annoyed when the short teen didn't even sway under the mild attack. It felt like trying to knock over a stout building. What he lacked in height and weight, he made up for with wiry muscle. "I've been looking all over school for you. If it wasn't for Rogue's sharp eye, I never would have thought to check the fluffing roof, why are you up here anyway?" Kitty demanded, her rich brown eyes spitting fire even as she scoured the ground until she found the large maple tree Rogue was currently situated under. How the other girl managed to spot Zen all the way up here, she'd never know, but Kitty was grateful for her eagle-eye all the same, and that was while she'd been reading a book.
"Keeping watch."
"What?"
Now it was Zen's turn to give a mocking huff, the exact one she'd offered him moments ago echoed back at her. "I'm keeping watch, it's easier to keep an eye on everyone from up here."
"Oh." That made an odd sort of sense, at least for someone like Zen who saw himself as less a student and more security staff or would that be a guard dog? Same difference, but it still made her nibble her lower lip in worry. She didn't want to admit the truth that, when she couldn't find him, she'd been terrified that Xavier sent him off on another dangerous mission. Kitty wasn't quite willing to barge in on the man and demand answers, but that would have been her next stop if she hadn't found Zen outside. By the time she'd asked Rouge, she was getting more than a little desperate.
It was impossible to forget the near two days it took for her friend to recover from the last excursion, and that was the first time Kitty realized that Zen wasn't indestructible. With his healing ability and physical skills, it was easy to forget that even someone like him could be overpowered. Heck, that's why he was a student now, wasn't it? The X-Men won against X and IX, which Kitty was forever grateful for. She'd heard enough stories from Pietro and Adelaide to know exactly what would have happened to the school if the Professor hadn't won during that initial attack. Unlike Alice, those two had no issue telling tales for anyone who dared ask.
As much as Kitty hated it, she couldn't help but ask. Curiosity was her middle name after all, and she had to live up to her monicore. She couldn't help but ask, and learned far more than was strictly good for her mental health. If IX and X had won, well, Kitty and her classmates would be dead - if they were lucky - or taken to the labs to be experimented on if they weren't. A fate she was heartily glad to pass up on, even if it did prove the point that Zen wasn't infallible. A good thing when he was an enemy, but a little more disconcerting now that he was her best friend.
"So," she said before sidling a little closer, already feeling the chill of the afternoon seeping through her many layers. They'd have to go in soon before her fingers turned into icicles.
"So?"
"Sooo," she drew the word out, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "I have a mission for you."
Part of her cringed at the way his spine straightened at those words, all of that impressive focus narrowing down on her and making her feel tiny in the face of it. Kitty cleared her throat before pushing forward. "Yes, should you choose to accept it," the tone of her voice made it abundantly clear that only one choice would be accepted, "we are going to stage Christmas in February."
Zen blinked at her, confusion written large across his features even as his eyes took on that distant look that meant he was checking his inner dictionary for a term not immediately familiar. "The annual festival of the Christian church commemorating the birth of Jesus: celebrated on December 25th and now generally observed as a legal holiday and, for many, an occasion for exchanging gifts."
He didn't so much as tell her the definition as he mouthed it out loud as if that might put it into some sort of context that would make it make sense in this setting. "You're wanting to have a birthday party for Jesus even though his birthday was two months ago? Would he even be interested in such a thing?"
Kitty blinked, then blinked again before a sputtering laugh spilled from her lips. While she might not know a lot about Christmas, being Jewish, most of what she'd gleaned centered around shopping mall displays and friends' second-hand accounts of how the holidays went, even she knew it wasn't a birthday party for Jesus. Considering the purely baffled look on his face, Kitty realized Zen had no idea who Jesus was, which was a whole different level of awkward and confusing. Then again, she doubted the mad scientist who made him spend a whole lot of time proselytizing to their gang of killers.
Moments like this hurt in ways Kitty couldn't explain. There were whole swaths of knowledge Zen lacked, areas of cultural context he simply didn't have. While the scientists might have dumped the whole Encyclopedia Britannica into his brain, it didn't seem like the info had integrated in useful ways. Sure, if his attention was brought to an idea he could pull the knowledge up but even that didn't always help. Jesus's birthday being a prime example of how a dictionary definition was hardly a substitute for lived experience.
Worse than that, it showed Kitty how much had been denied her friend. Not only did he not remember his own childhood, he didn't even know who Santa was. How sad was that? "Okay, first off there are two different types of Christmas. The religious one, which I guess you could call Jesus's birthday," a slight hesitation entered her voice at that, and Kitty began to wonder if this was the best idea she'd ever had. A Jewish girl and a living robot who didn't know who Jesus was planning Christmas in February. Maybe she should get someone else to help out? At least someone to add to the two-sum who'd celebrated Christmas and knew how to host it?
She shook her head, mahogany curls flying around her face as she rejected any such notion. The best way for Zen to learn was by doing, and they had the whole internet to work with! How hard could it be? They totally had this. "Anyway, Jesus is the, er-" her thoughts spun, trying frantically to figure out a way to describe Jesus and Christianity and that whole thing without it devolving into a conversation she wasn't equipped to handle. "Okay, okay, let's keep it simple. Jesus is a prophet of God, and some people believe he is the Son of God and he's kind of the founder of the Christian religion." She held up a hand when Zen opened his mouth, a ton of questions already flashing through his emerald eyes like a school of silver fish.
"Nope! We aren't going to mess with that can of worms. I don't know. If you really want to know, go read the Bible or something. ANYWAY, the second type of Christmas is known as secular Christmas, it doesn't have any religion or Jesus stuff in it, so we can skip all that. That one has Santa Claus, and flying reindeer, and gifts for all the good little girls and boys." Her lungs ached a bit as she sucked in a giant gust of air, already trying to plow over whatever questions he might have, but Zen had gotten used to her way of speaking and quickly butted in before she could finish.
"So, we're going to celebrate Jesus's birthday on a day they weren't born, but not him. Will it be Santa's birthday? Reindeer can't fly." It would have been funny if not for the oh so serious and slightly worried look Zen had on his face, as if he thought she was the crazy one. Then again, the whole thing did sound a little bit nuts when you tried to describe it to someone who wasn't brought up with the idea.
Grumbling under her breath, Kitty grabbed one of his arms and began bodily dragging him towards the door. "Let's take this to the library. I can't explain it properly."
Before long, she and her reluctant accomplice were camped out in front of two computer terminals. "Okay, we're looking for Christmas traditions. What do people do to celebrate? What fun things can we do? Are there any foods or drinks we need to make? How does gift giving work? Then once we have a good list, we'll figure out what we want to do."
Zen folded his arms and scowled at her. "You still haven't explained why we are celebrating this birthday party now instead of the 25th of December. What's the point? Why not wait until next year for this nonsense." The scowl reminded her unpleasantly of Pietro, and not for the first time Kitty wondered if it really was a good idea to force the two boys to spend so much time together. Pietro was hardly a good role model. Not the sort of person she'd want Zen to base his faux personality off of.
"First, it's not a birthday party. It's a holiday celebration. And for two, we're doing this for Malcom. He thinks that Santa is mad at us since he didn't come on Christmas eve and leave gifts when we were at camp. I might have promised him that I would write to Santa personally and let him know that we are back in the mansion now so he can find us. I'm not going to break his heart and let him believe that Santa hates us because we're mutants!"
Zen tilted his head, and dread filled her gut. There was a look on his face that she couldn't quite decipher, even if it was one she knew far too well. It was the 'I've heard what you said, but I'm taking it in a way you can't even begin to understand and some utter nonsense is about to come out of my mouth' look and she hated it.
"So this Santa is going to break into the house and leave gifts? Is he a danger to the children? We shouldn't let a stranger into the house even if he is bearing gifts."
Again, Kitty was left speechless when she realized he thought Santa was a real person. We had a birthday party for Jesus, played pin the tail on the donkey, and Santa burglarized the house but instead of taking things he left gifts. She shook her head, as amusing as the image was, Kitty couldn't help the slight chill skittering down her spine at the frost in Zen's tone at the thought of a strange man breaking into the house. It was probably a good thing he wasn't real.
Kitty couldn't help the exasperated sigh that escaped her though, this was going to be a lot tricker than she thought it would be. "Santa isn't a real person, he's like...a myth! People believe in him but he isn't real. It's the parents and family members who buy gifts and wrap them up, then they sneak them under the tree while the kids are sleeping so that they'll be surprised in the morning."
"Why would parents lie to their children about breaking and entering? Wouldn't it be more stressful for them to imagine a stranger rummaging around their house while they slept?"
"Honestly, I don't know. Not important. What's important is that we figure out what we want to do. Let's focus on that."
A small sniff of annoyance escaped the ex-assassin at that but Kitty ignored it. She rummaged through her backpack until she found the slim notebook, its cover a composite of chonky kittens frolicking in a field of daisies. Perhaps the book was a bit on the nose for her name, but they were cute darn it!
"Here's the plan, we are going to find out the traditions for Santa Christmas, not Jesus Christmas. Start searching, I'm sure Lord Google will teach you a thing or two about the holiday," Kitty said, her own fingers already flying across the keyboard, on the hunt for knowledge.
"Candy canes, sugar plums? Are they made with real plums? Maybe rolled in sugar? Hm," she muttered under her breath, skimming over the different traditional snacks and treats. Maybe they'd start with one of Zen's amazing breakfasts, then what? They needed a tree, didn't they? Should they cut one down and bring it inside? The thought made her skin crawl a little, trees were absolutely full of bugs and the last thing she wanted was the mansion infested with spiders. What if there was a squirrel in it? Or bats!
"Kitty?"
"Mm?" she asked, most of her attention still on the screen as she nibbled on the end of her purple gel pen, plans forming and being discarded at an astonishing rate as she read.
"Exactly how many days is Christmas celebrated?" The odd question was enough to pull all of Kitty's attention to Zen and the confused frown on his face. She frowned too when she saw him looking at, was that a financial report? Why was he even looking at something like that?
"One?" she said, hating the way the word lilted a little at the end not a solid answer but more of a baffled question as she started to doubt her own knowledge of the holiday.
Zen shook his head, "according to this, there are 12 and the sort of gifts people give is not practical. This is an alarming number of birds. Who would even want this many birds? Are we supposed to hire all these people? I've been over every inch of the school and grounds and haven't found an aviary. If these are traditional gifts, where are all the birds hiding?" The poor teen was looking more and more confused as he read over the list. "Do we eat them?"
That suggestion pulled a remarkably bird-like squawk from Kitty. "Budge over, what the heck are you even looking at, what birds?"
She quickly scanned the document before bursting out with laughter. "Zen, that's not real. It's a Christmas song."
"If it isn't real, then why are they showing how much these gifts cost year-over-year?" he snipped back, pointing at the evidence in black and white on the screen.
"That's just a gimmick to show how much inflation rose over the year by doing a spoof report about how much the Twelve Days of Christmas would cost. No one is buying this stuff, where would we even get leaping Lords? Would they be real Lords or just actors? What would they leap over? That whole song is wildly impractical. If my boyfriend got me a bunch of milk maids I'd dump him for sure."
"Would cows come with the maids? They have to have cows to milk, right? Or maybe goats?" Zen was sounding even more baffled and Kitty cracked up laughing again. How could anyone believe that was real? Sometimes he could be so adorably dumb, it amazed her.
It took a few minutes for her to catch her breath, but she finally did. "Okay, those aren't the sort of gifts we want to get people, but great catch. Carols! That's important." She turned and attacked her notebook again. "Lets see, 12 Days of Christmas, Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, Jingle Bells. I wonder if anyone plays the piano? Maybe... hmm."
After the whole song fiasco, Zen took more of a back seat, content to watch Kitty in her frantic scribbling and muttering. Three hours in, he vanished but Kitty didn't notice. At least, not until he sat back down with a tray of milk and oreo cookies. "Break?"
"Yes!"
"Jingo bills, jingo bills, jingo all da wayyyy," Malcom's voice hummed in the background, accented by the soft pop and crackle of the fire in front of them. The five-year-old was sprawled comfortably on his stomach on the floor, legs kicking in slow, meditative ticks and tocks while he focused all his attention on the sheet of paper in front of him. Crayons were scattered like cookie crumbs all around the boy, picked up and discarded as needed.
Kitty sat cross-legged next to him, most of her focus on the letter she was writing to Santa while Malcom worked on his project. The single line of lyrics repeated again and again, she wasn't sure if it was because that was his favorite, or the only line he remembered, but either way it was oddly comfortable, almost like white noise. With a soft accompanying hum, she glanced at his page, smiling at the picture taking shape. There were four brownish blobs with stick legs and twigs on their heads, reindeer she assumed. Next to them was a tall, round, red blob with stick arms and legs, Santa. The deer had their heads down near the ground and looked like they were eating from little piles of brown dots.
"What are they eating?" she asked, surprised it wasn't grass or hay.
Malcom glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes for a second before he registered the question. "Oh! It's special reindeer food. Mama and I usta make it every year for them. You mix oats, and raisins, and dry cramberries, and you sprinkle it in the yard for the reindeers sos that they can refuel!"
"That's such a good idea, and since they're making a special trip just for us we'll have to make sure they get a proper feeding of course." Kitty fished out her journal and added a note: Make reindeer feed, oats, raisins, dry cranberries. Maybe put out bowls with the reindeer names on them? What were their names again? Look up.
With a pleased hum, Kitty tucked the book away before returning to the letter. Well, it was about as good as it was going to get.
"Okay, here's what I've got, let me know what you think," Kitty said before reading the letter out loud. "Dear Santa Clause, I know it is a lot to ask, but I am writing to let you know that we are once again at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. We had to leave during the holidays due to unforeseen circumstances, and we forgot to leave the new address for you to reach us. Would it be at all possible for you to visit on February 16th? Thank you so much, and we hope to see you then! Signed - The students of Xavier's Institute."
It was obvious a lot of the bigger words were a bit much for Malcom to grasp, but he understood the gist of the message and grinned before giving her a double-thumbs up. "Purrrrrfect," he said with a grin, something one of the other students taught him not that long ago and he never missed a chance to use it, especially when it came to Kitty. She wrinkled her nose at him and gave him a teasing swat before carefully folding the letter and putting it in an envelope. This she labeled:
Santa Clause
123 Elf Road
North Pole, 88888
The address came from a quick Google search, and sounded as good as anything else. Once Malcom was done with his, she added it to an envelope for him, and helped him carefully shape the letters in his childish scrawl. A little awkward, but more or less legible. "Okay, now we need to go get these into the mailbox. It's a bit wet and sloshy today so make sure you put your rainboots and slicker on."
Malcom jumped to his feet with a shout of joy, "okay Kitty!" before he darted out of the room. It didn't take him long to come running back, red boots in place and his green dino slicker more or less put on right. A fond smile brushed her lips as she stood and straightened the coat out before buttoning it. Soft green triangles marched up the back of the coat, and the hood was a dinosaur head. The outfit made him look as cute as a button, and Kitty grinned, hoping he didn't outgrow the animal clothes phase any time soon.
Like an over-eager puppy, Malcom ran circles around her while they headed to the door. She almost tripped over him twice, but didn't have the heart to scold him, not when he was finally getting back to normal. Not an ounce of fear or wariness showed in his bright laugh. Seeing him run down the path, jumping into each puddle to make the water splash around him in muddy waves, made her laugh right along with him. Sure he would be a total mess by the time they made it back to the mansion, but Kitty didn't mind. No, his unbridled joy was absolutely worth the cleanup.
"Kitty!" Malcom shouted as he leaped into yet another puddle, splashing nearly half the liquid out of the depression he gave two more big jumps before turning to scowl up at her, little hands on his hips and an exaggeratedly serious look on his heart-shaped face.
"Yeah?" she asked wearily, careful to stand outside of the splash zone.
He held up his hands and waved dramatically at the muddy drive. "We gonna have snow, right? If we don't, then Santa is going to get really muddy an the 'fesser won't like all that mud in the house. We just got all the things fixed up, can't have Santa stomping mud all over, huh? So it has to snow."
Kitty couldn't stop the fond smile from stretching her lips. While the logic might be childish, the cure to muddy weather is snow - of course - he had a point. "Agreed little bean, it will totally snow. Not a doubt, we will have a white Christmas." And I know just the teacher to ask to make sure it happens, too, she thought with a mischievous grin. Sometimes holiday magic needed a little push in the right direction. After adding that to her mental to-do list, she shooed him back towards the end of the lane.
Sooner than she would have thought possible, they'd made it all the way down the path to the front gate and the mailbox built into the wall. "Come here," with a pretend huff and wheeze as if he weighed way more than he did, Kitty lifted Malcom up so he could slip their letters into the slot. "Thank you, Kitty!"
"You're welcome, buddy," Kitty murmured, cuddling him close before she rubbed noses with him. "Race you back!" she shouted before bolting back towards the mansion. With a squeal of laughter, he chased after her.
Lavender scented bubbles floated around the exhausted girl, and Kitty let her mind drift while her fingers and toes pruned up. As much as she loved spending time with Malcom, there were times when she thought he'd plum wear her out. Once she'd gotten him back into the mansion, they had to get him out of his absolutely soaked and mud-splattered clothes. A task that felt like she needed eight arms to accomplish, but since she only had two she had to work four times as hard to get the squirming child free of the mess.
Finally stripped of the worst of it, she wrangled him into the tub for a quick scrub-down that turned into a thirty-minute splash-a-thon that saw more water on the floor than in the tub and far too many towels sacrificed to the cause of keeping the disaster more-or-less contained.
Kitty almost pulled her own hair out in frustration by the time it was over. Bathing young children really ought to be an Olympic sport, nothing could convince her exhausted back-muscles of anything else. When he was finally scrubbed clean, tossed into a toasty set of pajamas, and given yet another snack, Kitty dumped him in the living-room with a gaggle of older kids to watch for a while. She needed a break.
If I was a little bit older, I'd need a glass of wine or something. She chuckled at the thought of sweet little Malcom driving her to drink. He might be a handful at times, but Kitty loved that kid with her whole heart. Sometimes it felt like she was more mom than pseudo-sister, and it made her shudder at the thought. There weren't going to be any kids for her in the near future, that was for sure! But... Kitty could see herself as a mother in her twenties. Her late twenties. Actually, maybe her thirties. Yeah, thirty sounded better. Then she could focus on school, getting a good job, and not breaking her back every night trying to keep adorable little rug-rats clean.
Still, she couldn't help thinking about it. The idea of little mini-Kitty's (kittens?) running around with curly hair and maybe their dad's eyes. For just a moment, she saw brilliant green eyes framed with her dark curls before she laughed and shook her head. No way. Would she have a boy or a girl? Twins? Kitty shuddered at the thought. No thank you! Two is one too many, that was for certain. A happy sigh escaped the teen as she settled back in the water until only her face was above the almost too-hot liquid.
One of the things she loved most about the mansion were the tubs. All of them were deep and wide enough to really stretch out and float in. Whenever she felt stressed or anxious, Kitty loved drawing a hot bath, spicing it with bubbles and bath salt before letting all the stress and worry bleed out of her pores.
It was only when she started dozing that Kitty finally pulled the plug and reluctantly dragged herself up out of the water's warm embrace. Sometimes, she thought she might have been a seal or a dolphin in a past life. For as long as she could remember, Kitty loved the water. Pools, the ocean, lakes, rivers, ponds, streams, hot tubs, bath tubs, she loved them all. I wonder if Zen has ever seen the ocean. It was a question to tuck away, one to ask on a boring day when she had nothing better to do. Still, she couldn't help wondering how he would react to that vast expanse of water. A whole world existed beneath the glistening surface, depths unfathomable. It made her feel small, but in the best sort of way. The ocean was a natural wonder that left her in awe every time she faced it.
Shivers raced across her damp skin as Kitty dried herself off as quickly as she could. This was the worst part of taking a bath, getting out. She hated it, and wished she could skip right to crawling into her nice toasty bed. Nope, not yet. One more thing to do. Reasonably dry, she scrambled into her purple fleece pajamas. Better, but still not the best. Grumbling under her breath she pulled on some thick, fluffy grippy socks covered in bath ducks before she began the hunt.
Not in the living room, or the dining room, or the parlor, or the game room, Kitty finally found her target in the library of all places.
Storm managed to procure one of the large circular tables, and had what looked like several classes worth of homework and assignments in various piles of completion around her. A brilliant grin lit Kitty's face at the sight, it looked like even teachers procrastinate on homework sometimes. "Is there something I can help you with, Kitty?" Her rich voice jolted the girl out of her silly thoughts, and Kitty couldn't help but notice the slight tone of exasperation in the woman's voice. It was the sort of tone one parent got when a child walks blithely past the other in order to get their preferred adult to help them open the pack of gummies even if said parent was in the middle of cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
Taking a breath, Kitty began. "Okay, so here's the thing. I need your help. It's, well it's not something Scott or Beast or one of them can do, it'll take your unique talent to pull off, and I know we really shouldn't change the weather on a whim, but this is really, really important, and I just need you to make it snow on the sixteenth of February. Please, pretty please, we have to have snow!"
A sigh that reminded Kitty a bit too much of the one she'd given after Malcom jumped in the first puddle escaped Storm before she set the current paper aside and gave Kitty her full regard. "You are correct, changing the weather on a whim is not something I like to do. Not only does it draw attention to us, but it can cause issues with the local ecosystem."
"But we get snow in February a lot of the time! We just aren't getting any when we need to, and it doesn't have to last. Just for the day. That's all I need." She rushed the words out, so eager to explain the words almost tripped off her tongue in their rush to escape.
"What is all of this about? Why do you need snow on that particular day? If you're merely wanting abidance for a date then-"
"No! Oh my goodness, nothing like that," Kitty squawked, heat burning her cheeks at the thought. Dating? Boys? Ick! "We're going to do Christmas in February since we weren't here to do it in December."
"We are, are we? Why? If memory serves me, that is not exactly a holiday you celebrate."
Kitty hesitated, carefully marshaling her thoughts so that she could explain. "Yes, that's true. Normally, I wouldn't have any reason to put together a Christmas celebration, but well, a lot of other kids do. Celebrate it, I mean, and they missed out on something that is important to them. That, and Zen didn't even know about Christmas. Isn't that sad? He should experience that. He's going to help me put it all together."
That earned the girl an unimpressed look. "None of that tells me why it has to be now. Christmas is celebrated every year, so why not wait until it comes around again, instead of trying to force it?"
"Because of Malcom." The words were almost a whisper, nearly choked with emotion. "He was crying, and thought that Santa didn't like us anymore because we were mutants and everyone is mad at mutants right now. He thought that's why Santa didn't come. I can't let him believe that. I just can't. Even if I have to get into a Santa costume myself, and learn every tradition this holiday has to offer, and have it happen in the w-wrong month, I won't leave him believing that Santa hates him because he's a mutant." Tears burned in Kitty's eyes and her breath hitched in her throat.
In an instant, Storm was out of the chair and took the girl in her arms. That was all it took, the dam broke, and Kitty sobbed into Storm's snow-colored hair. Her heart breaking all over again at how badly damaged they all were. Malcom's hurt felt like a burn on her skin, it ached fiercely, and Kitty had to do anything and everything she could to ease that agony. "Shhh, it's okay. I have you. No worries, we will have a white Christmas. Even if it is in February. I'll make certain of it."
"Thank you," Kitty choked out, clinging to Storm as if she were the only solid thing in the world.
"You are most welcome young one, and if you need any other help, do not fear to ask. Setting up Christmas can be a big undertaking, and having Zen as your assistant might be more hindrance than help."
That earned a watery chuckle. "True, he thought the Twelve Days of Christmas were actual gifts people were supposed to give each other."
Teacher and student both burst out in laughter at that. "If nothing else, it will be the most interesting Christmas."
Four boxes of Ninja-style Valentines sat next to a blue cereal bowl filled with tiny scraps of paper on Kitty's purple bedspread. Large gothic butterflies splayed over the blanket, elegant in flight, and reminding her of the coming spring. Kitty's head bobbed softly as Christmas music beat through her headphones. Dashing through the snow...
After hours of research, Kitty decided the best path forward when it came to gifts - not involving birds or milk maids - would be Secret Santa. Thus the bowl full of names waiting to be paired. Kitty couldn't suppress the Cheshire cat grin as she mixed the bowl and wondered exactly who would match with who.
Opening the first box of Valentines, she grinned down at the adorable chibi ninja with slogans like, "Have a Kickin' Valentine's Day," "Valentine, you steal my heart," and " I get a kick out of you." Kitty would never admit it, but the little ninja reminded her of Zen, and as the second half of this Elf duo, it felt fitting.
Why Valentines? Because the next hurdle to Christmas in February she'd run into was the simple fact that all the Christmas stuff was long gone from the shop fronts. So she'd have to improvise. Cupid would have to donate his confections to this late holiday extravaganza.
Another thing that made these particular Valentines perfect in every way was the magic circle. Each Valentine had a scratch off circle where you could write the name of the sender so the receiver would have to scratch it off to find out who it was. That's how she'd let everyone know who their gift receivers would be.
Kitty pulled out a notepad she'd managed to scrounge from the Dollar Store, tucked deep in the back of one of the fifty-cent bins. Bordered with candy canes, the lines bright red, and a happy Santa at the top saying "Letters From The North Pole" on a wooden sign. It was perfect, even though Kitty wasn't looking forward to handwriting every letter to everyone, but she would do it because that was the Christmas magic she was looking to inspire in everyone:
Good Morning Valentine, Secret Santa,
Scratch the circle to learn who will be your gift recipient! Our Christmas Ninjas were hard at work, and have paired everyone off for this super late Christmas addition. A little birdie winged all the way up to the North Pole and delivered a vital message to the real Santa Claus, letting him know that a very important house got missed on the 25th of December. We need all our Secret Santa's to help out and get some gifts prepared for the 16th of February. On that day, we will celebrate our woefully belated Christmas day.
Please see scheduled events below:
9:00 - Zen's AMAZING Crepe bonanza breakfast
10:00 - Snowmen, snowball fights, and winter wonderland
12:00 - Christmas movies and Hot Cocoa to warm up
4:00 - Ice Skating Adventure, skates will be provided by our resident Iceman
6:00 - Christmas Dinner
8:00 - Presents!
With all our love, the most unexpected of Christmas Elves,
Kitty and Zen
P.S.
We borrowed some holiday magic from Cupid since it's his month and all the Christmas stuff was all sold out, so enjoy the heart-shaped winter festivities!
With each name pairing, she carefully wrote out the letters to explain exactly what was going down on February 16th. She'd picked that date for a specific reason. Everyone who was anyone knew that February 15th was discount chocolate day. The glorious day where all the stores slashed the prices on all the Valentines candy. That would save her poor piggy bank a good chunk of change.
I'll have to ask if Zen has any money. Kitty giggled at the thought. Did the Professor give him an allowance? She'd never seen him spend any money, so who knew? That was okay, she had enough saved up to pull it off. Maybe. Hopefully. No matter, I'll make it work one way or another. Kitty knew if she really needed help, Storm had her back. Warmth filled her chest at the memory of the teacher showing her all the Christmas stuff in storage and basically giving her free rein to do as she wished.
Times like this made Kitty love the school all the more. Even with all the crazy stuff that happened, she knew that everyone here wished the best for the students. Their mental health mattered just as much as their physical well-being. Most of the time, anyway. Kitty couldn't help but frown at the memories of Zen's rather rocky introduction to the school. That hadn't been the best few months for any of them, and Kitty knew they still had a lot to work through to smooth out the snares of the past. But it was getting better! The only real holdout was Pietro, and even he was finally starting to taper off the physical attacks.
Kitty reached out and gave the bowl another vigorous stir, she would let fate decide the pairs and not cheat and pick pairs she thought would work better or be fun to see play out. Closing her eyes, she snagged the first name. Emma. Her nose wrinkled at the name, but she'd decided from the start to include everyone and that included her, too. Their rather awkward confrontation lingered unhappily in her mind. She put the name next to her note book and snagged the next. Kitty.
"You have got to be kidding me!" Kitty all but screeched at the unfairness of the universe. Of everyone in the bowl, she had to get her? How was that fair?
She glowered at the name, her fingers twitched with the urge to toss her name back and draw again. No, that wouldn't do, not when she'd promised herself to stick with what luck gave her.
"Fine," she grumbled before scrawling the two names on her notebook. Kitty - Emma. Now she'd have to think about what to get the wicked witch of the west. Maybe a new personality?
Annoyance bubbled in her stomach, but Kitty pushed it away. There was too much to do for her to sit and whine about the cruddy hand luck gave her. On to the next pairing. With a swish of paper, she drew the next name. Hank. Then the second. Malcom. That drew a smile on her lips. Not a bad mashup. Hank was good with kids, and he'd find something the little boy would adore, Kitty knew it. Look how well he'd handled Alice. A hint of shame tried to crawl up her throat at the memory of yelling at the damaged girl. Not her best moment for sure. I should do something nice for her to make up for it. Kitty added the note in her journal before moving on.
The next name to pop was Pietro. Holding her breath, Kitty pulled out a second name with fingers that shook. Zen.
Kitty dropped the name back into the bowl with a little hiss of dismay. Nope, absolutely not. Screw luck, she wasn't about to let her friend get murdered by some sort of awful prank gift via Pietro. Without a second thought, Kitty wrote: Xavier - Zen.
Xavier would know exactly what sort of gift her stoic friend would like, and wouldn't make things weird. Now, this was the only cheat she would allow herself. The rest, Kitty promised to let fate decide.
Stretching, Zen let his arms extend, relishing the ability to move without pain. The workout room was free of students for the moment, so few of them liked getting up as early as him. In the back of his mind, he could almost hear Wade's snarky comments as he finished a round of pullups. Why bother, kid? You're always going to look like a toddler! Perhaps that was true, well not the toddler part, but he would always look small. The way he'd been developed allowed nothing else. But that didn't mean he had to be weak.
Zen's frame would never be the type that bulked up with muscle, but he spent enough time in the gym to keep up with his fitness not for the sake of his physique, but because he knew better than most that powers or no, it was better by far to have strength and stamina on your side for when things didn't go to plan. There'd been more than one instance where the only thing that kept him from getting killed, or, worse, from losing his prey, was that extra stamina the target wasn't expecting out of him.
Far too many mutants with power similar to his didn't keep up with their physical training. They believed their mutation was enough to see them through, but more often than not it wasn't the case. When the chips were down, Zen refused to rely on powers or weapons because both can and often were taken at the most inopportune time.
"Ah, here you are."
Kitty's voice drew him out of thoughts of the past. A hint of something almost itchy passed through him at the interruption, but he pushed it away. Bending down, he snagged a hand-towel off the floor and wiped the sweat from his brow before giving the girl his full attention. "Yes?" The word was a bit more clipped than it should have been, making her droop a little before perking back up.
There was a stack of red envelopes in her hands nearly an inch thick and her eyes flashed with a level of excitement that didn't bode well for him. The fact that she'd gotten up at six in the morning to chase him down made that obvious.
"Yes?" he repeated, a little more weary this time. Kitty's adventures rarely ended well for him but Zen was incapable of denying her.
Another wide grin set his teeth on edge as she held out the stack to him. "I have a mission for you."
Their shared room was still dark, and Zen took care to make no noise as he changed out of his sweaty workout clothes and slipped into a more casual outfit. The stack of envelopes along with Kitty's mission lingered in his mind, and a false smile that was a little more blood thirsty than it ought to be crossed his lips as he inched over the invisible line Pietro had drawn separating their space in two on that first night. A line he'd never crossed before.
Five steps, and he stood over the bane of his existence. As always, the speed mutant was a restless sleeper. Buried under a proverbial mountain of blankets, he twitched, shifted, muttered, and at times cried out as nightmares stalked his sleep, never allowing him to rest properly. Still moving with care, he eased the letter with Pietro's name written in bold letters across the front under the sleeping mutants pillow before ghosting away like a phantom in the early morning hours. After all, he had many more such letters to deliver.
The students were easy enough, most were sleeping. Though a few were easier still, out and about early enough that he didn't have to worry about them coming back and spotting him.
"Wha?"
The sleep soft voice caught Zen off guard, and he quickly dropped and rolled, tucking himself under Syrin's bed as she stirred from sleep. His heart thudded heavy in his chest, ears throbbing with the memory of her scream. A sound so intense that he thought his head might explode under the force of it. Of all the students, she was the one he treaded most carefully around, the memory of pain and her own fear of him kept the distance intact even though she still claimed Kitty as a friend.
Their dynamic baffled Zen. How Kitty could remain friends with a girl he nearly murdered while still wanting to be his friend did not compute. He knew he wasn't the only one who found Kitty's behavior on the odd side. She was unique even among mutants. Still, it wouldn't do to be found slinking around her room in the early morning while the girl slept, so he stayed perfectly still.
The weight on the bed shifted as she rolled into a more comfortable position, still Zen waited. He listened carefully to the sound of her breathing, and only when he heard it slide into the depths of sleep did he dare inch out from under the bed. Of course, he could have simply disappeared, but what would be the challenge in that?
He was rarely given the opportunity to polish his less than savory skills which is why he leapt at the chance when Kitty gave him the order. Deliver each letter to the assigned person's room without being seen. Of course, she hadn't said anything about doing it while the owner of said rooms were asleep in their beds, but that gave the task more of a challenge.
Once the students were sorted out, Zen headed for the teacher wing. Closing his eyes, he pressed a hand against the first door and let his senses expand, focusing on the room to get a feel for who might be in it. Empty. Good, he didn't want to slip into this particular space while she occupied it. That was a risk he wasn't quite willing to take.
However, that didn't mean he couldn't add his own message. Zen looked down at the envelope with Frost written across the front. Closing his eyes, he carefully focused his power. Where his thumb rested against the bottom right corner of the red envelope three numbers burned themselves into the paper. 129.
Zen put a hand on the knob and focused. Open. The door unlocked with the same obedience every other lock showed when they yielded to his mutation. Good. Let her make of this what she will.
Pleased with himself, he stood over her neatly made bed before setting the card on her pillow.
The odd noise of paper crumpling pulled Pietro out of his restless tossing and turning. He shifted around until he found the rather shabby looking envelope bent almost in half tucked under his pillow. The fuck? That hadn't been there before he went to sleep, Pietro would bet a week's worth of desserts on it. So what the hell was it doing here?
Then he recognized the handwriting and groaned. Kitty. Heat burned his cheeks at the thought of the curly-haired girl standing over him while he slept. Then he paled dramatically, the grip he had on the envelope became ginger, instantly terrified of all the things that he might set off by opening it.
His stomach clenched unhappily at the thought of everything Kitty might do to him with a simple letter. Glitter bomb anyone? Then there was the fact that she'd snuck into his room to put it here. Dread flooded him at the realization and Pietro's hand jolted up to his head. Relief flooded him when he touched hair. It felt the same as it had when he went to bed. All his hair still seemed to be in one place, though who knew if it was still the same color knowing that little hell cat.
Pietro frowned a little, truth be told, he hadn't actually done anything terrible to Zen lately. Whenever he thought of it, his mind flashed to those raw wounds, blistered where stitches had been burned away, and his stomach would churn uncomfortably at the thought of pranking him. So, maybe this wasn't a prank?
Taking his courage in both hands, Pietro inched the envelope open and stared in absolute bafflement at the Ninja Valentine inside.
Trust Kitty to turn Valentines into Christmas. Silly girl couldn't leave well enough alone, and yet he couldn't quite stop the smile from blooming on his face as he read over her schedule. Who makes a Christmas day schedule in the first place? Still, it looked fun, childish.
Oh Wanda, you would have loved it here.
For the first time in a long time, the thought of his sister didn't sear him with agony. No, the thought of her tired smile simply filled him with a melancholy sort of love. You'll have to live for the both of us, little brother, he could almost hear her say. Yes, he would live for both of them.
Emma froze when she spotted the rectangle of red sitting so innocently on her pillow, like a splash of fresh blood. Anger and fear fought a nasty battle in her chest since she knew she'd locked the door. Then a memory flashed unbidden in her mind of a certain assassin's ability to disappear and reappear at will.
The necklace around her throat felt heavy, a collar keeping her chained to this hated building even as the urge to run, to put as much distance between her and IX as possible snaked through her system. Because of course it was him. Gritting her teeth, she stalked over to the bed and snatched the envelope up. The feminine script of her name looked nothing like IX's mechanical writing, but then she spotted his signature.
Oh yes, he wanted her to know exactly who'd trespassed into her space to leave this missive even if he wasn't the one who wrote it. The urge to run spiked when she realized another truth. One she knew IX had to know, wasn't that why he'd left it where he did? How he did?
Poison wasn't the only way to get around her defenses after all. Should he strike a killing blow while she slept, then Emma wouldn't be able to save herself. The utter vulnerability of that truth stole her breath and damned near sent her running for the hills.
Then the stone on her chest seemed to heat, to grow heavy with the knowledge that she wasn't here by choice and the consequences of running may be far worse than a relatively quick and painless death delivered at the hand of her sister's killer.
Another part of her itched to find the bastard and bind his mind so tight that he wouldn't ever think to trespass again. Of course, that thought was dismissed almost as quickly as it formed. Binding their past was risky enough, and even then he'd still managed to give her away to a degree. He'd outed her to Kitty yet the girl hadn't thought to take her concerns to Xavier. Interesting, very interesting, but not quite relevant to the current issue.
No, the issue was Charles himself. While the man's mind was indeed fragile at the moment, that didn't make his power any less great. Should he notice her meddling in his puppet's mind, the repercussions could be dire. More so now that his hold on said power was so shaky. When he broke, he could easily take them all with him. Emma did not want to be the trigger that set that man off. No, thank you.
As much as she loathed the idea, she would have to trust that Xavier's laws would protect her from IX.
With a reluctant sigh, she opened the envelope and rolled her eyes at the child's antics. Storm. The name revealed itself after a bit of etching from one manicured fingernail. While she wouldn't have minded finding the perfect gift for one of the students, Emma couldn't help but be pleased with her pairing. There was a cloak she'd seen not long ago that would fit the Weather wielder beautifully.
Dust streaked her nose, and Kitty didn't want to think about the cobwebs that had to be in her hair. Her lower lip trembled and she thought about abandoning the project as a lost cause. How could there be so many pieces? It was a tree! Who thought to make it in twenty different parts? Worse, the single page of directions she could find was written in a language that looked more like squiggly lines than letters and absolutely bore no relation to English.
Of course, this morning she hadn't found hide nor hair of Zen. That worried her. The last time he'd vanished, he came back covered in stitches and brought Frost with him. Not something Kitty wanted a repeat of. Then again, he wasn't usually one to bring home strays. Hopefully, that would be a one time thing.
Which meant she'd been alone for her current Christmas adventure, aka, setting up the fake tree. Kitty managed to drag the whole mess into the living room. It helped that she started at six in the morning on a Sunday, she thought she would have it all set up before anyone woke up and they'd be surprised and happy to help decorate, but at this point she was more than a little tempted to throw the whole mess in the trash, go outside and chop one of the hecking trees down to drag back into the house. At least that would be all in one piece.
"Need a hand?"
Kitty jolted up and quickly rubbed at her eyes to hide the gathering moisture. "Oh! Hey Bobby, sorry I didn't see you there. I don't suppose you've put one of these together before?" Hope fluttered in her voice, and he gave a boyish smile.
"Not this one, but I'm sure it can't be that hard."
A bubbling laugh escaped her as she waved a dramatic hand at the chaos of spiky green limbs scattered around the floor. "That's what I thought two hours ago."
Bobby's deep chuckle mixed with her higher one as he plopped down on the floor next to her and snagged the piece of crumpled paper out of her hand. He looked at it, frowned, turned it around, and frowned harder. "Kitty, where's the English one?"
"If I knew that, I'd probably be farther along than this!" She lightly kicked one of the branches, making it roll away from her. "I don't know why, but they refuse to stick into the circles right. Every time I think I'm there, it gets wonky." She'd managed to put the three main pieces together, a trio of circles with the pointy part on top, but getting the branches in was the issue. Kitty put the first one in, then the next, by the third Bobby had a pretty good idea what she meant. The third branch pointed way too far down, and no matter how she finagled with it, the green fuzzy sticks pointed sadly at the ground and looked entirely unfestive.
"SEE!" Kitty wailed, now the tears did fall down her round cheeks as her exasperation reached a peak. "It doesn't work! Maybe we should cut a tree down."
Bobby snorted with laughter at that before shaking his head. "I don't think the teachers would be thrilled with that. Not to mention, we don't have any of the stuff for a live tree."
"What do you mean?" Kitty asked, curiously blazing on her open face.
"Well, with a live tree, you have to have a stand for it that you can put sugar water in so it doesn't dry out. Also, Christmas trees come from the Christmas tree farm. They treat them and shake out all the bugs and stuff. You wouldn't want a bunch of spiders hatching and spilling into the mansion would you?"
Kitty paled dramatically at the thought before shaking her head hard enough to make the hair whip around her face. "N-no. No thank you! Okay, let's figure this out then."
Exhaustion pulled at Scott's eyelids, making the math problems he was attempting to grade fuzz. A small mountain of papers sprawled extravagantly across his desk, a silent accusation of his slacking off. End of term was rushing towards them at break-neck speed, and he knew he'd been putting things off, but hadn't realized it was quite that much until he gathered it all up after some not-so-gentle prodding by Ororo about needing to get the gradebooks updated.
Of course, he hadn't exactly meant to stay up all night grading, yet here they were. With a groan he stood and pressed his balled-up fists in his lower back before stretching. Joint after joint gave a satisfying crackle as stiff muscles stretched. "Am I getting old?" he muttered to the quiet room, disbelief flavoring the words.
Part of him never thought he would live long enough to feel old. X-Men had a habit of dying young. Pain tore a jagged line through his thoughts. Jean didn't have back aches or feel like death warmed over from pulling an all-nighter at her age because she was dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
The horrid word repeated again and again in his skull, a savage drumbeat that formed the background of his every thought now. Perhaps that, more than falling behind on his grading, is what kept him from the cold comfort of his bed. A bed that felt both too big and too small. Worse, it was cold. So very cold with just him in it.
I need a distraction or I'll drive myself mad.
Shoving away from the desk, Scott slunk out the door to do the rounds of the school. Maybe after he knew everyone was safe and secure he could let his tired body fall into bed for a few troubled hours of sleep before nightmares drove him out again. You should see someone about this, it isn't healthy.
He snorted at the almost alien thought. Yeah right, what would he even say? My girlfriend, who really should have been my wife but we'd never gotten around to it, killed herself to save us all and I don't know why. So how exactly are we going to move forward and make this better because there are no answers to be had and I can't actually live with only half a heart?
Right, as if pills or talking it out could ever fix everything that was wrong with him. No, that was the last thing he needed. Someone telling him he needed to man up and get over it. That people died every day and what made his loss so special that it ruined him? No, he didn't need anyone else berating him for his utter failure to cope. He did that well enough on his own.
"Are you sure we have all the pieces? Gah, why are there so many pieces! Who thought that this was a good idea? Ours at home only had three pieces!"
"I don't know," Kitty's wail of despair made Scott's heart jolt unpleasantly in his chest even as he registered it was Bobby and not Zen who happened to be her co-conspirator in whatever bit of mischief they were now tangled up in.
He froze in the doorway to the main living-room and felt his heart constrict so painfully that he wondered if maybe he was having a heart attack. There, Kitty and Bobby sat among the branches of the fake Christmas tree looking as frustrated and baffled as two teens possibly could.
Time reversed itself, and suddenly it was him and Jean seated among the chaos of branches trying desperately to put it together.
"Not like that, silly! Look, you have it upside down. They need to hook from the top."
Jean's young voice rang in his head, so real he couldn't believe she wasn't here. Closing his eyes, he fought back the tears that desperately burned in his eyes even as he struggled to force air back into his lungs as the past tried to savage him. It took nearly five minutes to master himself, and every ounce of perseverance and courage he possessed to step into the room and clear his throat. "Need a hand?" The words were gruffer than he cared to admit, but the relief on the two young faces warmed his shattered heart even as he moved to organize the chaos.
"First, you need to organize the branches, there are three different lengths, here, here and here." He showed them how to get the mess sorted into piles before he went over to the stand. "Look here," he pointed out a small, faded red dot on each of the hoops. "These need to line up." After adjusting the stand, he began hooking the branches. "Some of them are a little wonky, so you need to inch them in until you feel them stabilize. You can't go all the way down or they flop."
In a mere ten minutes, he'd done what they couldn't manage in over two hours. Scott stood, brushed his hands off, and gave them his classic grin, ignoring the way his heart ached even as their looks of awe and admiration warmed him. "Easy-peasy when you know what you're doing."
"Thank you, you're amazing!" Kitty chirped before bouncing forward to give him a quick hug.
Bobby rolled his eyes at the girl even as he stood and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment that he hadn't been able to figure it out himself. "Yeah, thanks man."
"Any time," Scott whispered as he hugged Kitty back. "Well, why don't you guys go find everyone. We'll get this tree decorated. Yeah?"
"Yeah!" They both cheered before running out of the room.
Scott stood alone, staring at the old tree. Yes, it might be a beast to put together, but once it was up? It was stunning. Incredibly lifelike, each branch full of sprigs for ordainments to hang on. "Miss you, Jean. You should have been here to help teach the next generation how to put it together. You were always the best at it."
Bobby shoved his hands in his pockets and stared up at the much larger teen. "Nothing's wrong," he muttered under his breath before he kicked a stone hard enough to make it skitter off the path and bounce off the bark of one of the pine trees. They'd gotten the fake tree up a week ago, and Bobby couldn't shake the unease stalking him through the halls. An itch between his shoulder-blades that he couldn't scratch.
"Right, tell me another one." Peter's rumbling voice drew him back into the reluctant conversation. "You've been jumping at shadows. Did you vex Kitty again?"
He flinched at that. They'd all been on the receiving end of Kitty's annoyance enough times to know how like a hunted animal it could make a person feel. That made Bobby frown, because it was an oddly similar feeling but not. Yet he couldn't think of a good way to describe it. I feel like someone is watching my every move no matter what I do or where I go. Maybe it's a ghost? There was no way to put that into words in a way that wouldn't make him sound like he needed his head shrunk.
Bobby bit his lip before jumping to something else that was bothering him ever since Kitty began her Christmas craziness. "It's just, with all this Christmas stuff, you know?"
"What about it?" Peter asked as they walked. Clouds covered the sun, but weren't thick enough to worry about rain. It just gave everything a dreary overcast that made Bobby desperate for spring, or better yet summer. For all that his power was ice, he loved the sun. When he went too long without its warmth, Bobby found it hard to get out of bed. His mom used to tease him that he was more plant than boy when he was little with how droopy he got during the long winter days without sunshine.
"Well," Bobby huffed, suddenly embarrassed, but he'd already started and Peter was a good guy to talk to. The sort who always listened and more often than not could help untangle tricky emotions. "Before everything went crazy, I always went home for Christmas."
"Ah," a world of understanding flavored that sound and made Bobby hunch his shoulders.
"Yeah, John fucked that up for me big time," Bobby spat out, the burning anger he felt at his ex-roomie and once best friend burned like a sullen coal in his gut. "Not only did he out me to them, but he made us look like a bunch of terrorists. My brother called the cops, it was a nightmare."
Peter shifted over enough to gently bump shoulders. "I think John always resented your close ties to your family."
Bobby grunted at that, hating the truth in the words. "I guess. The worst part is I don't even have a picture of them, you know? I mean, I always went back during breaks and anything so why would I need a family photo? But now-" his voice trailed off into painful silence.
"Now you can't go back," Peter's blunt words dug into him like knives, but Bobby didn't dispute them.
"No," he muttered, again feeling that uncomfortable burning itch on his back as if someone were staring holes into him. He twisted around, glaring at the innocent trees as if they were a bunch of Ents that would start moving at any moment. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, even if-if they would take me back." Bobby tried not to choke on the words but he forced himself to continue. "I don't think I would feel safe there. Not now. Not after what Ronny did. How could I ever go back knowing my own brother turned me into the police? Not to mention I still think there are warrants out on us or whatever. We did kind of squash a couple jets."
Peter snorted at that. "I think the Professor probably got that sorted out when he talked to the president."
"Huh, I guess you're right. Still, I can't go back. It's just not home anymore, not after everything that happened."
"Perhaps, but things change. They're bad now, but that doesn't mean they will be bad forever. Time may not heal all wounds, but it does give us distance and allows for perspectives to shift. Even if that house can never be home again, that doesn't mean you won't find another home or that you can't reestablish your familial relationships in the future when things have settled some."
Bobby gave a wistful smile. "You're always the smart one, eh?"
"I try," he said with a dramatic bow that made Bobby laugh weakly.
Zen walked up to the front door, careful to keep his steps loose and easy. The way he moved wouldn't draw the eye even though it was the small hours of the morning. He didn't slink, instead moving like someone who belonged.
A glance at the front porch showed a newness to the paint that reminded him of the mansion when they'd returned. Trauma carefully smoothed over, all the damage tucked away. Erased as though it had never been.
Yet, not all signs were so easily hidden. There were parts of the lawn that still looked marred from the flames, winter closing in too fast for new growth to wipe away the proof of what went down in this unassuming neighborhood a few short months ago.
Closing his eyes, Zen rested his hand on the white door. A thin line of power trickled through his palm into the metal and wood, seeking out the lock and teasing it open. For a moment, he hesitated on the threshold. The weight of the dagger sheathed on his hip felt oddly heavy, hungry to be about its work.
No. He shook his head. It wasn't that sort of mission. The people in this house were humans. Not mutants who needed to be culled, or taken for the Doctor's experiments. They were not his targets.
With the scope of the mission firmly in mind, Zen slipped into the slumbering house and eased the door shut behind him.
"Mrow?"
Zen nearly jumped out of his skin as a fat marmalade feline stalked out of the shadows to greet him, almost as if the animal was waiting for him to appear. Every muscle fought against each other as he struggled to contain his instincts. The dagger that appeared in his hand of its own volition seemed to vibrate in his hand, eager to fly.
A slight frown tugged at his lips as he glared at the small animal. Kitty forgot that bit of information in her colorful retelling. That's the problem with third hand information, important bits are always lost. He knew Kitty's source, Rogue, but he hadn't wanted to approach the stand-offish teen and her odd interest in touching him. Not good, he shouldn't have allowed his own discomfort to jeopardize the mission. Sloppy, living the life of a civilian is making you soft.
True, but he didn't know what to do about it. How to counteract the decay. Finish the mission and return to base.
Letting him slip back into the proper mindset, Zen began ghosting through the single-family home. Unlike every other mission of this nature, he allowed himself to really take in the space instead of seeking out the prey and dispatching it.
Smaller than the mansion, yet there was a tidiness to the home that most of the school lacked. Perhaps it was fewer children, fewer people, less mess to keep contained. The smallness felt almost comfortable. Less territory to defend, yet fewer entries and exits to guard or exploit.
Another thought nagged at him. One Zen had a harder time denying. Like a phantom, he ghosted up the stairs and came to a stop at the door so neatly labeled with: RONNY'S ROOM, STAY THE F**K OUT!
Moving in nearly a trance, Zen eased the door open. Unlike the rest of the house, this one wasn't neat as a pin. It felt more like the rooms in the mansion, clothes tossed on the floor, school books scattered sloppily over the desk. Papers forgotten on the floor. A typical teenage living space.
A light snore brought his piercing gaze to the soft lump on the bed. While the information might have been third hand, Kitty still gave him more than enough of the sordid details to know of this brother's betrayal. How he'd called the police, directly resulting in X getting shot and nearly getting the whole group blown out of the sky by fighter jets.
Children who should have been safe. They had X with them, and had retreated to what ought to have been a safe haven. I sacrificed myself to keep the captured mutants safe. X stayed behind to guard the rest, and yet this child nearly got them all killed.
Perhaps the better gift would be to remove the danger from this home? Put an end to the threat. Zen stared down at the sleeping child with the cold eyes of a hunting hawk. His face was rounder, still plump with childhood. Yet, he could see shades of the ice mutant in the boy's bone structure.
The hilt of the dagger felt comfortable in his hand, familiar in a way being Zen never could be. This is what I'm built for, he's a threat. If I remove him then Bobby can return without being in danger. It's the most logical course of action.
Zen don't you dare, it's not your choice to make. Get the gift and get home!
Kitty's voice echoed in his mind, and Zen hesitated. Conflicting information fought inside him. These people were Bobby's family, yet they turned on him when he proved more powerful. Of course, that fit perfectly with the assassin's worldview. Humans often turned on their mutant offspring, it was almost expected. Wasn't that why Bobby kept it from them in the first place?
No the conundrum was Bobby himself.
The odd flavor of sorrow he could almost taste while Bobby talked about them as if they hadn't betrayed him. As if he wished to return even though they proved a danger to him. Why would he wish to return? I don't understand.
Zen's thumb brushed along the handle of the dagger, a tiny restless movement. He should silence this false brother, make the home safe for Bobby to return. That was the right course of action, after all, the ice mutant said it himself; he didn't feel safe here, yet yearned to return.
Conflict burned through the assassin as logic fought against the mysteries of emotion and inexplicable human bonds. Finally, the balance tipped and Zen made his choice.