Charles Xavier was tired. He felt the weight of every one of his years, as if a stone for each hung around his neck. Years, responsibility, the weight of his own conscience -- all different pressures that at times like these he felt might snap his elderly frame if he let them. He was old, and the world was getting more dangerous for mutants every moment. On nights like this one it felt as though all his efforts -- and the efforts of his children -- were useless.
It was the end of a long, pointless day testifying before a commission on Mutant Rights, and the sheer power of the willful ignorance and bigotry that had been displayed had worn him to the bone. He had struggled to keep his mental shields up against the force of such violent emotion, struggled against the impulse to slide into key minds and change them through insidious manipulation. These people flaunted their hatred like a banner, and more and more humans were answering their rallying cry every day.
“Thank you, Scott,” he said, at the door to his hotel suite. “I will see you in the morning.” A slight movement of Scott’s body that would have been imperceptible to most indicated that Scott had expected to accompany him inside, but after the briefest of pauses he simply nodded his agreement. Charles stifled a sigh of relief as the younger man continued down the hall to his own room. He wheeled himself into the suite, finally relaxing his stiff spine and feeling the lines of fatigue deepen on his face. He was not sure at times why he felt he had to keep up the illusion of unwavering strength even to his own children, but the habits of a lifetime were not so easily shed.
The door to the suite had already swung closed behind him when he saw the large man, dimly outlined in the light of a single lamp, a predatory alertness in every line of his body. So this is how it ends for me, Charles thought, surprised almost equally by the presence of the assassin and the relief that washed through him at the thought.
At the same time that he dropped his mental shields, preparing perhaps a moment too late a telepathic assault, the man stepped aside. Behind him, curled up in a chair, was a figure familiar enough to Charles to cause him to halt his attack. “Rogue,” he said, as she ran up to him, kneeling beside his wheelchair. “My dear,” he said, as she leaned her head against him, her distress echoing within his mind before he was fully able to shield himself again. He looked up at the man, observing how he remained within arm’s reach of Rogue, recognizing his stance now of one as protection, not aggression. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Logan. We have much to discuss.”
Logan watched Marie lean against the man in the wheelchair, suppressing his urge to pull her back towards him. This is what they were here for. Given Marie’s description of the Professor, at first the frailty of the old man had surprised him, but now he saw the inherent power in the man’s calm voice and keen blue gaze. He watched as the Professor held up a hand to the side of Marie’s face. “May I look?” he asked her.
Marie placed her hand over his. “Yes. But Charles...be careful.” The Professor nodded in acknowledgement, and then they both closed their eyes and tensed. The connection only lasted a few minutes, but both Marie and the Professor were pale and shaken when it was complete. Logan could hold back no more, he put his hand on Marie’s shoulder where she knelt and she reached back to reassuringly squeeze it.
“Rogue,” the Professor said, a new sadness in his eyes. “Such pain you’ve endured.” He looked up Logan now. “Thank you for taking care of her. You were right to seek me out.” Logan shifted uncomfortably, as the Professor kept his keen gaze focused on him. “Will you allow me...?” he asked.
Logan reared back in surprise. The Professor wanted to look in his head? The idea gave him the creeps. He could trust the guy to help Marie on her say so, but to let someone into his thoughts? He looked at Marie, and then back at the Professor. “Will it help her?” he asked gruffly.
The Professor seemed to consider the question carefully. “It might, although I have already seen what has occurred with Sabretooth through her eyes. It might also help us understand why you are being pursued by so many different forces. I will admit that Magneto’s interest in this affair puzzles me greatly.”
Logan regarded the Professor watchfully, but could sense no ill intent. He rolled his shoulders, and then cracked his neck. Finally, he took a deep breath, and kneeled before the older man. He felt Marie, now standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder as he had done for her. The Professor placed his hand along the side of Logan’s face, and closed his eyes.
Logan closed his eyes as well, and it was the oddest feeling -- his memories of the last few days seemed to be unspooling, traveling from his head to those of the other man, faster than he could track. Then more memories -- flashes, now -- fuzzy images from his time in the lab, a cage fight, that blonde in Nogales. And then the tenor of the memories changed -- tinged with green and pain and fear, like his nightmares. Submerged in a tank, his lungs choked with fluid, the burn of liquid metal in his bones, waking in the cold and snow with the terror of the blades in his hands....
Distantly, Logan heard himself howl, although in his memory or in the present, he had no idea. He felt the Professor break the connection instantly, and suddenly he was back in the hotel room, the memories fading almost as quickly as they had emerged, although his heart was still racing and a cold sweat covered his body. He had popped his claws reflexively at some point, one hand was dug deep into the carpet at his side.
He felt warmth and comfort at his back, and realized that Marie was kneeling behind him now, her cheek pressed to his shoulderblade, both arms wrapped tightly around him. He retracted his claws and managed to half-turn to hold her to him. “It’s okay,” he rasped, although whether he was trying to reassure her or himself he wasn’t certain.
The Professor leaned back in his chair, his eyes growing distant as he sorted through the influx of information. “Perhaps some tea would be beneficial,” he said.
Logan watched Marie fiddle with the room’s coffeemaker to heat the water for tea. She seemed much calmer now that she was in the presence of her mentor. Although he still sensed tension, the underlying panic that had tinged her scent for days was mostly dissipated, her heartbeat slow and regular. He, on the other hand, still felt very much on edge. The way the Professor had drawn those memories from his head -- it was unsettling. And if the Professor had not broken off the contact -- would he have been able to resurface memories from even earlier -- from the life that Logan had lost?
They sat down at the small table. Logan couldn’t remember the last time he drank tea, but he had to admit something about it soothed his raw nerves. An echo of an image came to mind. A willowy Asian woman in traditional dress, his hands on a warm bowl of tea, steam hot on his face as he rotated the bowl to drink from the side as a guest should...
Logan shook his head to clear it, and saw the Professor observing him closely. “I am sorry, Logan,” he said. “I had not realized that accessing your memories might cause you pain. The waters of your mind have been stirred, and you may feel the effects of it for a short time. I was not aware of what had been done to you.”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “Do you know why I can’t remember?”
The Professor shook his head. “I cannot tell. With more exploration, perhaps. But at present it may be wise to let your mind settle.”
Logan was definitely on board with that plan. Anyway, they were here for Marie. He looked at her. She was staring into her cup of tea as if the answers might be found there. “You can help her?” he asked. At that she looked up, and Logan’s heart lurched as he saw the vulnerability in her eyes that she had been trying to disguise.
The Professor looked at Rogue with compassion. “I believe so,” he said. “But we must take a different tactic this time, Rogue. The previous personalities were controlled through a process of both integration and compartmentalization. You were able to integrate the aspects that were compatible with your own personality, and contain the rest. I do not believe that Sabretooth can be integrated. The core of his personality is dominance, and he will never cease in his desire to subjugate you. We must try to contain him entirely, with a barrier more inviolable than any you have created before. But I believe it can be done.”
Marie closed her eyes, and Logan saw some of the tension leave her body. Before he realized his own intent, he had pulled her close to his side in relief, his head buried in her hair. Startled at his own action, he looked up at the Professor, but saw only understanding and approval in the clear blue eyes.
“With your permission, I will contact Scott,” the Professor said. “He was also able to determine that it was General Stryker who gave the orders to apprehend Logan, and he has been compiling information since the attempt was made.” Logan looked to Marie, who nodded her assent. Logan expected the Professor to pick up the phone, but he simply closed his eyes for a moment. Neat trick, Logan thought.
Within a few minutes, they heard a gentle knock at the door. Marie went to answer it. “Rogue!” a man’s voice said in surprise. As Marie held the door open wider, Logan’s eyes narrowed on the ruby visor, and he felt a rumble start in his chest. “This guy?” he growled.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter may not be so exciting, it's kind of a necessary transition chapter. I had planned to make this and the next one chapter, but since this first part was longer than I intended we'll have to save the Scott/Logan fireworks for next chapter. :-)
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading -- and reviewing! (hint, hint).