Chapter 6 The Logic of Ice Cream for Beer
I let the X-mice go to their little powwow. I change clothes. Kids seeing me all bloody is never good, for any reason. I head back to the kitchen planning to actually eat something this time, without being interrupted. One lone boy sits at the bar eating his weight in ice cream, glasses as big as his face, watching me intently.
"Hey." He speaks first. He must know of me already.
"I hope you ate dinner first," I say, trying to at least act like I should belong. I never know what to say to kids this age, not little, but no back bone yet to get a bit cocky, before I really start to not like them.
"I'm Mike, and you are Mr. Logan."
"That's right." Telepath, maybe.
"I know why you are here."
"Really? Anyone coming into this place is either hungry or thirsty, and I am both. But they don't keep what I'm really thirsty for, so soda will have to do."
"She will come back here." Stating a fact, no hesitation, still slurping right from the carton.
"Who? What do you know?" I've gotta not scare this kid into running off. Control, Logan, control!
"What kind of mutant are you anyway? They call you Wolverine, but you don't have any fur?"
I can't tell him I have animal instincts to kill. I pop them for him and his eyes light up like a kid in a candy shop, not scared at all. I use one to split the cap off the soda bottle, make them look useful.
"I can also hear things, stuff most people can't hear." And smell. I can tell the difference between someone I met before and a stranger by how they smell. My whole body is filled with metal, and I can heal fast enough that I bet I could get blown in half and still walk away, but he doesn't need to know that, especially with ice cream. "So how did you get here?"
"I can see bits of the future, but only in chunks. Not like cheating in school and stuff, but people."
"Oh." It makes sense, to him, just not to me at this moment. I could ask him a ton of stuff right now.
"You see, my dad thought I should get the cure, even if it didn't last. My mom said I should keep what I'm born with. I wasn't like weird looking or anything. But my dad, he let me stay home from school one day, took me to this doctor's office place. People were screaming and throwing things. He was trying to get me in the door, and someone shot him. My mom sent me here, not long after. "
"Michael, I hope you have finished all of your school work?" The Professor barges in with his usual perfect timing.
"Yes sir."
"Good, it will be lights out shortly."
"Okay. 'Night Mr. Logan." He walks away, scuffing the feet of his pajamas on the floor.
"Wonderful child, Michael. So young for his mutation. Is there any mint chocolate chip left?"
"So what happened to his dad?" I ask, ignoring any reasoning to make this into something.
"Clinics are still available for the cure. Protesters are covering them as heavily as they were before. This time it escalated into violence, no one was safe. This level of volatility has risen in many cities. Many families have been broken apart out of fear, not for actually being a mutant, but fear of violence inflicted on entire families."
"The team-" I have to change the subject; it's getting too heavy, and all I really want to do is eat.
"They are going to St. Louis. A group of prisoners are being transferred. I know they are all mutants, and clear of any wrong doing. We are going to intercept and relocate them to safe houses for the time being."
"Count of Monte Cristo, isn't that a little much for even you, Chuck, intervening with government?"
"Times have changed, Logan." That tone reminds me that not only have I left the mansion, but staying on the fringes of society has sheltered me from the fear Storm kept away from this house, allowing its residents to keep their innocence.
"That boy, Michael?"
"He sees how people relate to each other. He can sense suffering and anguish. In a way, he sees the future, but not of his own time." His tone saddens slightly. "He carries guilt like no one his age should. Michael could envision his mother would be very sad, but couldn't see how. He thinks it is his fault for being a mutant that his father brought him to that place."
I really could go for a beer right now. These kids' stories are getting sadder every time I come back here.
"Would it be out of place to ask you to assist Bobby with surveillance this evening, with the team away?"
"It's fine. I figured I wasn't going to sleep much anyway."
"Thank you. I know he will value an extra set of eyes."
He left, walking away from the kitchen, something I still can't get over. I don't hear the slightest hum of the wheelchair anymore, the sound so distinctive to the Professor. I knew exactly where he was by that hum.
I had a lot of thinking to do. I had to figure out what that boy was trying to tell me. Pain and anguish. Was that part of Marie's future, or is she hurt now? But he said she will return. I'm not good at waiting. I react. I can change plans when the situation changes. I can lead. But I don't wait. There's not much to do when I have to wait. Waiting is as detrimental as second guessing, knowing there are other options I could be taking right now, those other options could mean a better outcome. Better outcomes mean people get to live. Constantly searching for that better outcome, feeling the people I might lose could slip through my fingers, only comes out of waiting. Holding on too tight can do the same.
If I wait and stay at the school, and what Michael says proves true, she will return. I'll take on a few missions, take back the Danger Room from Colossus. Fill my time without waiting, or lie to myself with that answer. If I hit the road, find a trail to follow, she might not be ready to be found. I could waste months chasing her, hurting the situation even more. Pain and anguish. I have hurt her enough. It is now her turn to make the decisions, and I will be here, waiting.
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