Chapter 28: “Cracks in the Dam (X2)”
Early in November, early in the morning, Rogue’s gloved knuckles knocked on the door, muffled but distinct. When no one answered, she opened it carefully and stuck her head in. Bobby was behind her, peering over her shoulder into the darkness. “John?” she hissed.
She heard Flea’s raspy, drowsy voice. “Allerdyce, wake up! Rogue wants you.”
John’s voice was as thick as syrup, and a bitter syrup at that. “Tell her I’m sleeping. That’s why the lights are off.”
She felt Bobby fidgeting behind her and spoke quickly before he could say something that wouldn’t help the situation. “Come on, John, we have practice. Peter should have got you up.”
“He tried. It’s Saturday morning! And I was working till four on my history paper. Tell Jubilee we can do it later, for fuck’s sake.”
Bobby’s voice was annoyed, too loud and right in her ear. “Field trip, John, remember?! We have to hold practice early because we’re going on a field trip. Do we need to get you a PDA?”
“No, you need to get me a lock on my door to keep annoying people out. I need to sleep!”
“Me, too,” Flea mumbled.
Now Bobby and John both had their backs up and Rogue realized there was no way she’d succeed. “Okay, John, you sleep. It’s just one practice. We’ll miss you.” The last had sounded too sugary — never a good approach with Pyro. Oh well. She shut the door and walked to the gym with a fuming Bobby, trying to seem upbeat so he’d calm down.
She still didn’t understand. Bobby could be patient with almost anyone except John. Now he was practically grinding his teeth. “Seriously, does he have any sense of responsibility? When you make a commitment, you make a —”
She cut him off. “I know, I know, but it’s only one practice. We’re all sweating mid-terms and papers now. I didn’t want to wake up either.”
“But you got up anyway!”
“Bobby, it’s not your problem. Why do you take everything John does so to heart? It’s a waste of energy.”
Rogue could not stand feuds. She had watched her family cut in two because of her father’s escalating battles with his brother. They battled over religion, politics and the family business, but eventually they seemed to fight out of habit. In addition to a lot of ridiculous Thanksgivings and Christmases where more bitter words were chewed than turkey, their feud had meant the loss of her best friend and cousin, Ellen-May. Their friendship had been burned in the same fire as the old photographs her father had ripped from the family albums. If only the girls had been a little older, they could have found ways to secretly remain in contact; but they were only 10 years old and dependent on car rides and permissions. Her cousin had no computer and Marie no cell phone. There was no solution. A stupid boy feud had cut out a piece of her heart, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again in her new home.
And so, at her insistence, John had become the third wheel in her relationship with Bobby. If she and her boyfriend were going somewhere, she made sure John joined them. At first, it had been both artificial and wearying, and she felt like she had two badly socialized hounds on short leashes, tugging in opposite directions. She still didn’t know what had caused their rift, but little by little, they came to tolerate each other. Eventually, the three were a stable little unit, though if she left them alone too long, the hair would rise on their backs and they’d start snapping and growling all over again.
“Aren’t you being a bit of a martyr, Rogue?” Jubilee asked her after practice that morning, still panting from the obstacle course she had led them through. The ‘New X-Men’ were working hard under her direction, even beginning to function as something of a team. To the younger students, they were the epitome of infinite, unassailable coolness. “I mean, it’s awesome that you got Bobby and John speaking again, but you’re allowed to be alone with your boyfriend sometimes.”
Rogue wiped her sweaty brow with a towel. “We’re alone plenty, Jubes! We go for walks and… other things I won’t mention, thank you. But those boys need each other and I want them to realize it.” She didn’t know what to make of the way Jubilee stared at her in response, tongue pushing her cheek out.
Kitty, who had, as usual, watched the practice from the bleachers, wandered down to them, advanced computational theory text tucked under her arm. “You looked good today, guys. But Rogue, you don’t come out of your tuck fast enough. And Jubilee, you keep leaving your left flank open.”
Rogue narrowed her eyes in annoyance. “6.4 from the Russian judge,” she mumbled.
Kitty just threw her a satisfied smile. “Better get showered; buses leave for the museum in 45 minutes,” she reminded them and walked away.
A stray lock of hair had fallen into Rogue’s face and she blew a huffing breath at it. “That girl can sometimes be a bit irritatin’”
Jubilee nodded. “Yeah, too bad she’s right about you and your tuck.”
“Hmphh, and about your left flank, suga’!”
As she showered, Rogue considered her desire to include John in her’s and Bobby’s life. It was more than just altruism. She liked having John around. Not that Bobby wasn’t everything she could want in a boyfriend. He was cute, courteous, comic, considerate; but he could be, and she regretted the pun, a bit icy. There were a lot of hidden places inside him she just wasn’t allowed to see. He seemed to find some way to be offended in even the most innocent situations. It was a bit exhausting sometimes.
John, on the other hand, had a way of cutting through bullshit that she found a huge relief. She envied him his sharp wit and the way he didn’t care what people thought of him. Where Bobby was obsessively careful with his image — how many hours could one boy spend grooming of his curls? — John almost dared people to judge him. To her quiet, Southern good-girl upbringing, this was thrilling to be around.
It was 10 a.m. and the weather was unusually balmy for November as the students left Westchester in two school buses, headed for Manhattan. The ride was the predictable pleasant chaos. As usual, the New X-Men found themselves surrounded by their fans. Bobby had let himself be led forward by his new roommate — Derek Tran, animal psychic, age 13 — who needed to show him the comic books he’d brought along. Rogue took the opportunity to cross the aisle and sit with John.
“John!” called Gwynn Cully, a 12 year-old girl with a highly imperfect ability to transmute elements.
“You’re sitting right in front of me, nutball,” John shot back. “You don’t need to shout.”
“Sorry. Can you do some fire tricks?!” she asked, and other kids nodded their agreement with this plan.
John made a big show of looking bored, but then he peered towards the front of the bus to see if the teachers were watching and, seeing that the coast was clear, crouched down conspiratorially in his seat, whipping out his lighter. Maybe it was because he had ready audiences around him every day, but John had been practicing hard on his fire control, perfecting little stunts that could be hilarious or dazzling. The results of that control were starting to show up in his combat training, too. Rogue played the foil to his bad boy and rolled her eyes, but in reality, she enjoyed it when he acted the showman.
“Whoa, ho!” he narrated in a whisper as little fireballs jumped through little fire hoops. Rogue enjoyed the performance as much as the kids, even though she missed half of it while she played lookout. She noticed Derek twisting around to look back in their direction, as if he suddenly wished he had stayed with John and the “cool” kids instead of moving forward with Bobby. She was startled as a fireball appeared in front of her face, buzzing like a little fly. She swatted at it in mock irritation, turning to see John grinning at her. Then the fireball flew a circle around her head before flying up to the ceiling and bursting like a mini-nova.
Rogue cried out in surprise, and from the front of the bus came the censorious voice of Mr. Summers. “John, no powers while we’re away from the school! Don’t make me remind you again.” Rogue was sure she felt more chastened than John, especially when she caught Bobby glaring back their way, annoyed and disappointed. Well, shit! It’s not my fault! she thought. John, on the other hand, was snickering about the incident with his pint-sized audience,
The Museum of Natural History had recently updated and expanded some of its exhibit halls, and it was packed with visitors. Rogue knew she should be more interested in the displays, but the crowds were annoying and, furthermore, she was distracted by the growling of her belly.
John gave her a quizzical look. “Hey, was that your stomach or the stuffed hyena in the diorama?”
“Very funny. Hey Bobby,” she hissed and he left the group of kids he was standing with to join her and John. “Let’s go to the cafeteria. I’m starving!”
“I told you not to skip breakfast,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Dad,” she said and John snickered. “I wasn’t hungry then, but now I am. Please?”
Bobby looked towards the teachers guiltily. “Okay. Just for a few minutes, right?” He pulled the floor plan from his pocket and studied it carefully. “Cafeteria’s on the ground floor. Follow me.”
With some French fries and an apple in her, she started to feel better. John had, surprisingly, offered to buy Bobby an ice cream bar, and that gesture seemed to make them all relax.
Bobby licked the last of the chocolate from his lips and asked her, “You having a good time?”
“Yeah, I guess. I remember field trips when I was a little kid. It didn’t matter where we were going, just that we were escaping from the classroom for a day! I was always so excited the night before, I could hardly fall asleep.”
Bobby wiped his mouth and then wrapped the wooden stick from his ice cream carefully in the napkin. “My Grandpa Stewart used to take me and Ronny to the Museum of Science in Boston. We went so many times, I knew the whole place by heart.”
John snorted, “What, the old man couldn’t think of anywhere else to take you?”
“No, I always I begged to go there. And Ronny was happy to go anywhere I went.” Bobby went quiet for a second and she knew he was thinking about the angry distance that had grown between the brothers. Then she watched him resolutely put his Bobby smile back in place and continue. “I remember I would go up to people and explain the exhibits and answer their questions. Sometimes they asked me if I worked for the museum, which was funny since I was like eleven.”
John slumped in his chair, stretching his legs under the table, where they bumped Rogue’s feet. “My favorite place to go with my mom was the Castle.”
“There’s a castle in Syracuse?” she asked, amused.
“No, that’s just what they called it. It was a big mansion run by this puppet theatre. They had shows there every weekend and also this amazing workshop full of puppets and fake fur and googly eyes and shit. I don’t know where mom was — I think she had to work Saturdays — but sometimes she would drop me off at the Castle, and I would sit there all day making puppets. I remember this one was like a Godzilla but with pink spikes coming out of its head. Me and these other kids made a city out of cardboard for him to destroy. I can’t remember it all, but I know I was happy there.”
Rogue looked over at Bobby who was watching John intently, as if the story meant more to him than she could understand. Just for a second she felt jealous. Bobby seemed more interested in this dumb puppet story than anything she had ever told him about her life. She was surprised at this moment of jealousy. Hadn’t she wanted to bring the boys together? But maybe Jubilee had a point: Rogue didn’t have to be a martyr.
“You still have the Godzilla puppet?” Bobby asked John.
“Heh, probably mom does in a box somewhere. Or else fuckface made her throw it out along with everything else she ever cared about.”
“Maybe you’ll go back one day and look for it,” Rogue said, and the boys both turned to her as if they had forgotten she was there.
John snorted. “If I ever go back there, It’ll be to deliver a little surprise to my dear Step-Dad.” He flipped out his lighter and struck a flame. The three of them stared into its depths, hypnotized by the bright abyss of John’s hatred.
“What if your mom’s not with him anymore?” Bobby asked.
“Nah, she’s weak. She’ll never leave, no matter what he does to her. No matter what he did to me.” The flame danced, graceful and hungry, like a beautiful tiger, curling to strike. “Yeah, I’ll just knock on the door. Hi, remember me? Nah, not ‘John.’ I have a new name now…”
“Hey, buddy, you got a light?” came a voice behind them. Rogue turned and saw a teen with dark curly hair holding out a cigarette.
***
The X-Men were seated or standing around the library on the second floor of the mansion. Scott would have preferred to be in the sub-basement's tactical room, but the “poignant light of the setting sun” had prompted Charles to choose this space.
Fine, Scott thought. I can cope. But it was just one more distraction on a day that needed singularity of purpose. As they debriefed on the Presidential attack and made plans to find the mutant attacker, he had trouble keeping his thoughts away from Jean and the way her powers seemed to be escaping her control. Her sudden power surge at the museum had been the first time she’d lost it in public. How long would it be before a serious accident happened, or until she exposed them? Despite his desire to respect her privacy, the time had come to talk to Charles about what was happening.
*Scott, I’m fine,* came the voice in his head, and he felt like he’d been caught jerking off at his computer again.
*Let’s just focus on the meeting, Jean,* he answered her and tightened the barriers around his thoughts.
“I’ve been trying to track him with Cerebro,” Charles was saying, “but his movements are inexplicably erratic. When I have more exact co-ordinates, Storm, Jean, I’ll need you to take the jet and try and pick him up. Scott, stay with me a minute.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered. Jean passed close to him as she followed Ororo out of the room, her fingertips dangling with an invitation to touch. But he didn’t reach out, and he regretted the act of peevishness the moment she was gone.
When they were alone, Scott said, “Do you think we should cancel your meeting with Magneto? There’s a lot to do today without another field trip.”
Charles shook his head. “No, the prison authorities said he put in a special request to see me. Even if he’s not behind the attacks, he may have learned something from his broadcaster in the Brotherhood. We’ll leave at five as planned.”
Scott nodded as if still considering the matter. In fact, he was bracing himself to broach the subject of Jean’s powers. He remembered another loose end the day had unraveled and decided he’d warm up on that topic. “I hate to bring up school business when we’re dealing with a crisis, but we should discuss what we’re going to do about John Allerdyce. His behavior is becoming impossible. You saw what happened at the museum today. He skips classes whenever he feels like it, breaks curfew… Twice this term, he’s gone truant — twice that I know of, anyway. And you’ve heard who he’s spending his time with.”
Xavier looked away, his face vanishing into shadow. “The whole situation has me very discouraged. And his involvement with Gambit is not the kind of extra-curricular activity we’re suggesting for our students.”
Scott laughed grimly. “‘A Young Mutant’s Guide to Jewel Theft.’” He sat down beside Xavier. “You’re making my argument for me, Charles. I know John’s been your special student, but I need you to give me back my authority here.”
“Yes, I understand. I waited to see if he wished to resume his writing tutorials, but judging by the scorn he heaps on literature in general in my English seminars, his priorities have changed. I think his new infatuation with revolutionary thought is driven by a terrible sense of betrayal. I fear the choices he might make.”
“Perhaps we need to put some limits on him now. If he’s testing us, let’s show him we care enough to instill some discipline.”
“Perhaps you’re right. If only I could have been more sensitive to… Never mind. We must deal with where he is now. You have my permission to handle the situation as you see fit. Now I must get down to Cerebro and track our fugitive mutant.” Sudden comprehension crossed Xavier’s face and he put a hand on Scott’s arm. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted. I think there’s something else you want to say to me.”
Scott wasn’t surprised by the comment. Telepaths, even when they weren’t actively reading minds, could be eerily sensitive. No turning back, he thought. “This is difficult, Charles. What it is… I’m worried about Jean.” Charles nodded seriously, but just as Scott steadied himself to continue, he heard the noise of an engine. It was a familiar sound because he had built this particular machine from the ground up. His stolen masterpiece was returning. “Shit!” he spat out. “Why today of all days?!”
He could see that Xavier had already made mental contact with the new arrival, and try as he might, his mentor couldn’t conceal his pleasure. “Please, Scott. He’s a good man and he fought bravely as a member of your team.”
“No! He fought, but he doesn’t know the meaning of teamwork. In my book, that makes him more of a liability than an asset.” He turned around and headed for the door. What was he going to do? Throw Logan out? He couldn’t; it was Xavier’s house and Xavier wanted him here, apparently.
“Scott, what is it you wanted to say about Jean?”
Jean! Where is she? he asked himself, seeing more red than usual. If Logan goes near her, I’ll kill him! He hurried from the room.
“Keep your cool, Scott,” he heard Charles call after him.
When the students and staff of the Institute returned from the field trip, John hadn’t followed the crowd inside. He slipped off the bus and hid behind the topiary walls of a secluded side garden, making sure he was out of sight before Cyclops exited from the other bus. With all the shit going down in Washington, he was hoping that his ill-advised stunt in the museum’s cafeteria would be forgotten. Maybe he just needed to keep a low profile for the weekend. He sat down on a stone bench, the seat supported by carved cherubs, to consider what had happened. Rogue and Bobby had been at him for most of the trip home, asking why he couldn’t have just given the kid a light, avoided the confrontation.
Well, he had his answers. First of all, he didn’t owe anything to anyone who hadn’t earned it. Second and more importantly, all strangers were potential enemies. In the first minute, you set the tone for the whole relationship. Show any weakness, you mark yourself as a target. He had learned that fast enough on the streets and in Keever’s gang. Maybe these old survival techniques didn’t actually make a lot of sense now that he was a student at Xavier’s, but he wasn’t in the mood for regrets. Besides, he wasn’t going to be at the school forever; maybe he wouldn’t even graduate. Life, he knew, was unpredictable. Losing his street smarts would be a bad plan.
Considering all the shitty places he might be at the moment, the little garden was a miracle of peace. He had been there the better part of an hour when a sleek, well-fed rat ran into the garden and stood up on its hind legs in front of him, whiskers twitching.
“Little hint,” John told the rat. “When someone is hiding, maybe they don’t want to be found.” The rat scratched his ear, turned and ran out of the garden. John looked towards the gap in the hedge and shortly, as expected, Derek Tran walked in, the rat now balanced on his shoulder. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring it to the museum, Tran.”
Derek came and stood beside him, scratching his shiny black head the same way the rat had scratched his ear. “Mr. Summers said I had to leave Xeric at home. But she hates being locked in her cage.”
“I don’t blame her,” John replied.
“He was trying to find you when we got back. Mr. Summers, I mean. He looked really mad.”
“Where is he now?”
“The X-Men and the Professor went into the library. I guess they’re figuring out how to go after the assassin.” John picked up a small rock and tossed it over the top of the hedge. Derek picked up a rock of his own and sent it flying in the same direction. The rat on his shoulder balanced admirably through the maneuver. “Do you think the government will arrest all the mutants?” the boy asked.
“What? No!”
“Maybe they’ll come here and round us up!”
John was tired. The idea of climbing into his bed was beginning to appeal. “No, look, you’re safe here. No one knows about the school. And your teachers are super heroes, for fuck’s sake. They won’t let anything happen.” Derek nodded, though he didn’t look convinced. “Hey,” John said. “I got to get inside. Where’s Summers now?”
“Hold on…” Derek answered, getting that distant psychic look on his face like Xavier and Dr. Grey got. “There’s a sparrow on the ledge of the library. Let me just get into her eyes.” The boy grew very still and his mouth dropped open. He wavered a bit on unsteady legs and John put a steadying hand on his back until he returned to himself. “Yeah, he’s still in there with the Professor.”
“Cool, let’s go.”
They ran quickly across the front lawn like spies, darting from tree to tree, along the hedgerows and around the circular driveway. Derek followed him step-for-step like John was the master ninja and he was his disciple.
They stopped in a small grove of ash trees to consider the final run for the front door. “Are you going to get kicked out of school?” Derek whispered, reaching in to his windbreaker to extract his rat who he’d put inside for safekeeping
John’s stomach contracted. “No. Why? Summers say anything like that?”
“No, just some of the kids said…” He trailed off. “If you run away, can I go with you?”
John’s eyes went wide. “What are you talking about? I’m not running away, knucklehead!”
“Yeah, I heard you tell Rogue that if they kept bugging you, maybe you’d just pack your things and fuck off!”
John slapped his forehead. “Jesus Christ, don’t start listening to everything I say. I’m full of shit half the time.” Derek’s brow furrowed at that and John laughed. “Besides, kid, where do you think we would go?”
“Anywhere! We were both streetwise, right? We know how to survive.”
“You were on the street for maybe ten minutes before Storm and Bobby picked you up. Don’t make yourself out to be the Artful Dodger. What’s with you, all of a sudden? You’re doing great here! Bobby told everyone how proud he is. You don’t want to go and disappoint Iceman, do you?”
“No, but… Bobby’s not, you know, tough like you. You’re a survivor. You and me… we could kick ass!”
“Stop it,” John said sharply, a dangerous anger rising in him. He couldn’t listen to this for another minute. “Just stop it, Tran.” He turned and hissed at the kid with a ferocity that surprised him. “You do not know me, okay? You don’t know what happened to me; what I had to do to survive.”
“But you did survive!”
“And you don’t know the fucking cost, all right?!” John had forgotten all about stealth. “Don’t you fuck up! You… you want a role model? Be like Bobby. Learn how to make friends and be a good student. The only lesson to learn from me is, play with matches, you get burned.”
Derek gave him a resentful glare. “Whatever. Next time I’ll leave you the fuck alone.” He turned and ran back the across the lawn the way they had come. Shit, John thought. Sorry, kid, but I don’t need you hanging on my neck. I’ve got enough troubles.
He looked around to see if the coast was clear and then ran across the driveway to the front steps. The library was in the back, so if he hurried, he’d make it to his room without being seen. He reached for the doorknob and then pulled his hand away, as if it the metal might be electrified, or jinxed. Something felt different. Something important was slipping through his fingers. Get it together, he told himself, cursing his paranoia. This is your home. You made a place for yourself here. You’re going to be an X-Man. Still, he hesitated to enter and that’s when he heard the sound of the motorcycle pulling up behind him.
The man was as hot as ever, stepping off the bike, squatting a bit to adjust himself in his tight jeans. He turned and caught John staring.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, gruffly but without any real threat as he walked up the steps. “I hope you’re not gonna offer me head again.”
John smirked, all his worries vanishing in the man’s thrilling presence. “Nah, I’ve been servicing the varsity football squad all day. I’m worn out.”
Logan shook his head and laughed. “Damn, kid, you must make life interesting at Chuck’s little prep school.” He opened both sides of the double front door and marched in like he owned the place. John was about to follow when he heard Rogue’s voice inside. He hid himself behind the open door to listen. She only had to say two words for John to know she was still crushing on Logan. Not that he could blame her. He imagined running his hands over that furry torso as the man sweated and grunted above him. Fuck! Drake’s there, too! He had to stick his head around the corner and take a peek. Bobby was totally pissing a territory ring around Rogue. Was he kidding? Battling for mating rights with the Wolverine? Could even Rogue take him seriously?
John wanted to sneak in and up the stairs without being seen, but first Ms. Monroe appeared and then Dr. Grey, still flirting with Logan as if six months hadn’t gone by. John would have loved to see her dump Summers for the wild man. He could live vicariously through that. Hell, he knew she had a wild side; he’d seen it back in May — a dark and scary half that was the polar opposite of her usual science geek. Yeah, that Jean could fuck the Wolverine in half.
“Find what you were looking for, Logan?” said an all-too-familiar voice. John ducked behind the door again.
Logan answered Summers with cold bravado. “More or less.” Territorial pissing was clearly the theme of the day.
Jean said, “I’ll see you boys. Later.”
Summers mumbled something to her and she replied, “You, too.” She traded goodbyes with Logan and then she was gone. Would the two men get into it? John couldn’t help it; he ducked low to the ground and peeked around the door again.
“Aren’t you going to welcome me home?” Logan asked and John could practically smell the testosterone in the air. “Your bike needs gas.” He tossed the keys at Summers. Nice.
John knew Summers was holding himself in check, but he still threw back the keys with force. “Then fill her up.” John saw his head shift. “Mr. Allerdyce? Is that you on the floor?”
Shit!
John stood up slowly, looking around at the ground as if he’d dropped something. “Oh, hey, Mr. Summers. What’s happening?” Logan took the opportunity to leave, giving John a smile that said You’re busted, kid as he passed.
John could still see the anger stiffening Summers’s face as he told him, “My office. Five minutes.”
John cursed his heart for beating fast, his armpits for their rank fear sweat as he waited outside the office. He could hear Summers on the phone. “Yes, I can hold, but only for a minute.” John sat on one of the chairs outside the door, but when it scraped and echoed in the high-ceilinged hallway, Summers called out. “Is that you, Mr. Allerdyce? Come in and sit down.”
John sauntered into the room like the whole meeting was his idea. Part of his brain warned him to act more humble, but it wasn’t a part of his brain he cared to listen to. He slumped down in a chair upholstered in burgundy leather and waited, making a game of writing Summers’s speech in his head before he heard it: “There’s more to school than just your studies, blah blah.” Or he might say: “The rules are not written for everyone except you, blah blah.” And maybe a bit of: “Believe it or not, we worry about you, St. John and when you just take off without permission blah blah…”
The Assistant Headmaster was seated behind the desk, going over some document while he talked on the phone. “Yes, hello. I’m phoning about an item on our credit card bill. The vendor is one ‘Janus Dog Node,’ and the charge is for $25,000. Yes, 25,000 even. Now let me make it clear that I do not know this vendor, nor have we made any purchases that…” He stopped and looked more closely at the document. “Oh, you’re right. Yes, it is a credit. I see that now. That… makes no sense, either. No, there’s no contact information. Thank you, yes, I would appreciate it if you looked into this matter and got back to me. No, Monday will be fine.” He hung up, staring at the paper as if demanding it explain itself.
The silence was bugging John, so he broke it. “Not the worst kind of problem to have, is it?” he said. “Someone just gave you $25,000? I’d leave well enough alone.”
Scott put down the statement and smoothed it against the desk with both hands before raising his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, John. It’s always a problem when things don’t follow logical patterns. There are rules in this world, and understanding them can mean the difference between a life of chaos and one of progress.”
Ooh, segue trap! You want to play rhetoric games, Cyclops? I can play rhetoric games. “Right, you have to understand them. But if they’re someone else’s rules, maybe you need to understand them so you can get around them.” John was suddenly enjoying himself. Maybe this would even be fun.
Summers rose from his chair and walked around the desk to John’s side. He perched himself on the edge, staring down at John. “I’m starting to think you don’t even want to be at this school.”
The fun ended abruptly. Silence hung for a second before John sat up from his slump and said, “What?”
As he had in foyer, he could see Summers’s carefully controlled anger. It was a dog the man held tight on a leash, and you knew that it was just itching to break free and sink its teeth into something. “We have given you a home here, opportunities to study and grow and, frankly, your behavior mocks our efforts.”
“My behavior?” John asked, tilting his head in consternation. “Which behavior is that? The 86 I got on my calculus quiz? The 92 I got on my history paper? Maybe it’s the way I’ve been practicing my power control exercises every day.” His voice had begun to rise. Summers responded by lowering his, tightening the leash.
“You think that since you understand our rules, you can get around them. You’re mistaken.” John mentally gave the teacher a point for using his words against him. “Where do you think that attitude is going to take you?”
“Uh, I dunno, college scholarship? Skid Row? Life’s full of surprises.”
“I am so sick of your mouth, Allerdyce.”
The gloves were off, and that was fine with John. You hate me, man? I hate you double. John gripped the arms of his chair. His impulse was to jump up, toss it to the ground, storm out. But that’s what Summers wanted: an excuse to expel him. John relaxed his hands. New game, new rules. “You want to know where I’m going, Mr. Summers? I’m going to graduate with honors, something no one would have ever thought possible. And then I’m going to be an X-Man.”
The teacher raised his eyebrows. “Really? That would be a surprise.”
John’s fist clenched, but he wouldn’t be goaded. Not by this dweeb in tweed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m working my ass off in Jubilee’s practices.”
“You ever miss them? This morning for instance?”
The words were a knife in his chest. “What the fuck! Jubilee hands in attendance sheets to you now?!”
“As a matter of fact, yes. That was one of the conditions we imposed when she started her practices.”
“She should have told us…” John said through gritted teeth. He had lost his composure; lost the game.
Scott stood and moved behind his desk, opening a file in which John saw a snapshot of himself from the day he arrived. A feral beast, skinny, eyes full of mistrust. Unlike John, Scott was fully in control of himself, his eyes inscrutable behind his glasses. “Here’s what I see when I look at you, St. John. I see a loner. Sure, you’re a smart kid, but you don’t know the meaning of teamwork. We go to the museum as a group, but you have to make it your own show. While we’re there, a national incident occurs that endangers us all. What are you doing while this is happening? Lighting a kid on fire in the cafeteria. What does that tell you about your ability to be team player?”
John felt his throat close up. He choked out: “That’s not fair. I didn’t know about the President…”
Scott folded his hands on the desk. “An X-Man?! You are not ready for that kind of responsibility. How could your teammates count on you? If I have a say in the matter — and I most certainly do — you will not be a member of my team next year.”
John was almost blind with hatred; his hand itched to reach for his lighter. Obscenities of Rococo-ostentation coalesced on his tongue. “Are we finished… sir?” he asked.
“Not yet.” Summers looked down into his file again. “You have been absent without permission three times in the last six weeks. Today you endangered us all. While I don’t think it would be unfair to expel you from the school for that alone, I also worry that you would be a serious danger to yourself outside this institution. Therefore, I have decided to punish you with grounding. You will remain on the school property, even on weekends, and you will not participate in field trips. The duration of the punishment will be one month.”
John sat perfectly still. He looked across at the teacher. “You know, I realized you were a fascist asshole the first time I saw you.” Summers’s face didn’t change, so John dug himself in deeper. “Bet you wish it was Logan instead of me you were spanking.”
Did the man’s lip twitch? A vein rise on his forehead? “Two months,” Summers replied tightly.
They stared at each other in silence, and John hated the void of Summers’s dark glasses, hated the way there was nowhere to focus his fury. He imagined pulling the glasses off the man and watching him crawl around, eyes tightly shut, not knowing when and from where Pyro would strike.
“If there are any more violations of the rules during that time,” Summers continued, “we may be forced to conclude that you do not belong here at our school.”
“Are we done now?” John asked as casually as he could, though his voice that had begun to quaver.
“Yes, you’re dismissed.”
John left the room and walked up the stairs like a zombie. His bed was calling him. He would crawl in and pull the covers over his head. He would stay there until tomorrow and he wouldn’t think about anything.
The final insult just made him sleepier: Neal, standing on the second floor landing, telling Gwynn and a few other kids who used to think John was the man, “Allerdyce just had another long meeting with Mr. Summers. Are you becoming the best of friends now, John? Are you going to spend your evenings cleaning the toilet in his bathroom?” John noticed that Derek was there, too, staring at him with dark, accusation.
Was it cool how he ignored Neal and just trudged up the stairs, step by weary step? Did that impress the kids? Because it was the best he could do.
***
It was dark when he woke up. He had slept right through dinner. Why hadn’t Peter got him up? Or Flea? He realized that the news of his latest run-in with authority would have spread. Maybe all the good little gifted youngsters were going to shun him. Fine, fuck you all. I got lots of friends.
He felt his way over to Peter’s nightstand and turned on the reading lamp. He opened the drawer and found his roommate’s cell phone. Looking towards the door for a second to make sure he was alone, he dialed quickly.
Remy’s answered in a whisper. “Oui?”
“Hey, man, it’s me, John.”
“Yes, I can ’ear dat. What you wanting, John-John?”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I am working. I may ’ave to ’ang up, si necessaire, hokay?”
“Yeah, cool. Listen about today —”
“Yes, I come to de Museum; you haren’t dere.”
“I know I wasn’t there, that’s what I’m trying to explain… See, there was this attack on the President, right?”
“You are the hassassin, John-John?”
“Very funny.”
“No, not so funny. Not so funny you waste my time, oui?”
“Will you shut your face and listen a minute? We had to get out of there —”
“Is not important, hokay? I show up, you weren’t dere. Dat’s the facts. I’m t’inking maybe the time is up. What you t’ink?”
“You mean… you have to go? What time is up?”
“I mean toi et moi, n’est-ce pas? Remy is t’inking you got other t’ings more important. Maybe you back with dat Bobby guy. De little white sheep, henh?”
“No! You are not listening! That’s what drives me crazy about you, Remy! You think you know exactly what’s going on all the time, but you don’t fucking listen!”
“Oops, got to go, cher. My pigeon about to fly de coop, you know? Hey, maybe I see you again a few years. You grow up a bit and den call me.”
John’s jaw tightened like a bow string, but before he could shoot his poison arrow, the line went dead. “Fuckfuck FUCK YOU!” he screamed into the dead box. He stuffed the phone back into the drawer and slammed it so hard, the lamp almost fell off. As he righted it, Peter’s clock radio snapped on. Out of it came Jones’ voice. “John? Are you doing anything? Come to our room.” The radio shut down again.
“Leave me alone!” he screamed. He turned off the light and stumbled through the dark back to his bed. He just wanted to sleep a bit more. Maybe a week or a month…
The overhead fluorescents snapped on.
“Dammit, Jones,” he moaned. But at least it was good to know someone in the universe wanted to see him. He walked to Jones and Doug’s dorm room and dropped drowsily on one of the beds. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
Jones was seated by the massive computer station, which seemed to grow drives and peripherals by the day. Doug sat on the other bed, sipping through a straw from a large, red drink container. Jones pointed to a small screen on which an overhead camera caught a nurse as she checked IVs in a hospital room. “Check it out.”
John got up wearily and sat in the empty chair beside him, sighing.
“GO NUDE, SAD JON,” Doug said.
“What? What does that mean? Hey, it’s a spy camera. In a hospital ward? They couldn’t even put it in a locker room or something?”
Doug snorted. “DONNA JUG DOSE!” he commented.
“What the fuck are you going on about?” John asked.
“He’s talking in anagrams today,” Jones said as he expanded the cam window. “Here, look at the faces now.”
John peered closer. The nurse had left and he could see the two patients clearly. A young man and woman. “Hey, it’s the coma couple!”
“Yeah, some guy on Peep Net is a cleaner at the hospital. He set it up last night.”
John found himself smiling. “That is awesome!”
“Actually it’s kind of boring,” Jones said, blinking open YouTubes of bikini-clad girls on another screen.
“No way, man. It’s like an Andy Warhol movie. The context makes it brilliant. It’s about the beauty and banality of life’s random accidents.”
“O, DON JADE GUNS!” Doug contributed.
John rubbed his temples and asked, “Anagrams of what?”
“‘Doug and Jones,’” Jones replied. “We had to figure out a name for our company.”
Doug waved a hand under his nose and made a sour face, “U DO GAS END, JON!”
John gave him the finger. “Your company? What do you guys do?”
Doug slurped his drink as Jones explained. “Well, we make it possible for people to move money around without anyone knowing. It’s pretty simple. I made a network that runs parallel to but not incidental with the Internet, and Doug programmed the interface.”
“That doesn’t sound very legal,” John said.
“That’s what Doug says. I guess don’t tell the teachers. Anyway, we’re also making donations to worthy causes, so it all works out.”
John lapsed into silence. He watched the coma couple on the screen, and thought about how their big wedding had been derailed by the accident that separated them from the world around them — isolated even in their togetherness. The compressed sound of their breathing apparatus was hypnotic and depressing. Maybe he’d join them… just sneak in to the ward and sleep forever, too.
He looked over to find both boys watching him curiously. They had to know what had happened today, but they hadn’t deserted him. He was moved by their loyalty. He cleared his throat. “Listen, I may have to, uh, go away sometime soon.”
Jones said, “Why?”
John squared his shoulders. “You know, school’s just not the best place for me anymore. Maybe time to try something different. Anyway, I may need a favor.”
“What?”
“I’m not totally sure yet. Maybe just, um, if I need to communicate with someone. Is there a way I can get hold of you guys in case I —”
“JANUS DOG NODE,” Doug said and abandoned the world of anagrams. “Just type that into any search engine anywhere and we’ll see it.” He looked at Jones who nodded in confirmation. “Hey, there’s something else. Should I show him?”
Jones nodded again, although he looked less certain this time. He blinked up a video window. “This is from Thursday night,” he said. Another surveillance camera, this time in the Danger Room. John had the sudden fear that the video would show Bobby and Rogue somehow fucking despite her lethal touch. His heart beat faster, but the unlikely couple was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he saw a strange shadow in the dim room. Panels began opening in the wall, firing missiles that were being blasted out of existence by fiery forms.
The assault increased to include aerial robots, grenades and fire launchers. The counterattack ramped up to meet the threat, until the screen was a riot of smoke and light. Then out of the smoke, there came a noise that, even through the small speakers, gave him chills.
“Akhsîfni divrr’rBrekhti Dràvan!” it said, and the voice sounded barely human. Lights burst and strobed as something moved through the dimness.
“I am fire,” Doug translated, his voice suddenly small and frightened. “I am life incarnate.”
John’s mouth was dry. “Wh-what language is it?”
“I don’t know. Not like anything I’ve heard before.”
The voice descended into a low rending sound — like the beams of the earth were being tortured, like the floor of reality was about to collapse under them all — and Jean Grey, eyes shining like the sun, stepped out of the smoke.
“JEAN GOD SOUND,” Doug whispered, as the almost-familiar figure spotted the camera, and flicked the picture dark with a wave of her steaming hand.
It was 10 o’clock in the evening, and Kitty had put up with two hours of a chick flick called “Wedding Cake” which Rahne was watching in their room along with Jubilee. Having witnessed Jubilee in practice with the New X-Men over the last two-and-a-half months, Kitty was shocked that such a ballsy, tough-minded girl could even stand the gooey fantasy. How could Jubilee enjoy propaganda that claimed only a trip down the aisle with the right man could make a woman’s life meaningful? But she seemed to love it, screaming and laughing along with Rahne, commenting on wedding dresses and the absurd twists and turns of the central romance.
Now Rahne had gone down to make them popcorn before they started watching — yes, sad but true — “Wedding Cake 2: Another Layer.”
When Kitty had started her first year at the School for Gifted Youngsters, she found the distractions impossible. Even if Rahne kept quiet while they were studying (not always a given), the noises of rampant adolescence crept through the walls and the vents. At first, they had almost driven her mad.
But something changed after Lance left; she had begun to find comfort in the house full of young mutants. It had been a stark contrast to her tense, quiet life at home with her parents. The Prydes had spent their time in hushed anxiety, waiting for the portentous knock on the door. It had started to seem inevitable that she would soon be taken away and shipped off to a concentration camp for mutants. In Westchester, at least, she wasn’t the only one facing the uncertainty. Furthermore, there were people here to fight for her. So, amazingly, she could study with “Wedding Cake” in the background, or with Jubilee on the phone to Mike Haddad in Boston:
“No, not much. You know how it is around here: work, work, work. What about you? Yeah, Mr. Quesada always gives the hardest assignments! Kind of reminds me of Dr. Grey. Did I what? Uh, yeah, we know about it. Of course. I’m just glad the assassin failed. Can you imagine the shit storm? No, Mike, don’t… don’t worry about me. Hey, we keep a low profile here, right?”
Okay, if Kitty wanted to be honest with herself, she was doing more eavesdropping than studying, but if Jubilee had wanted privacy, she should have left the room. The call ended with a few Hollywood-caliber “I-love-you-toos,” before Jubilee lay down on Rahne’s bed, curled into herself. Kitty couldn’t resist breaking the silence. “How’s Mike? Adjusting to life in the real world?”
Jubilee’s response was robotically chipper. “Yeah, he’s great! Acing his classes, working on a mutant bill of rights for the school district! He’s so brave.”
“Yeah,” Kitty said, nodding appreciatively. “You’re not so bad yourself. Kind of surprised me that you didn’t mention the New X-Men to him.” She let the statement hang in the air. Jubilee mumbled into the mattress and Kitty had to ask, “What? I couldn’t hear you.”
“I said he wouldn’t understand.”
“Why not?”
Jubilee sat up, pushing the hair from her face. “Kitty! He’s all Mahatma Gandhi about everything! Any time I bring up actually fighting he freaks out! We, uh, sort of agree not to talk about shit like that.”
Kitty bit her pencil. “But ‘shit like that’ is the most important thing in your life, isn’t it?”
Jubilee dropped back onto the bed with a groan. “Yes! Okay? And that means we can’t talk about fucking anything! It’s driving me crazy. It’s like this enormous albatross just hanging there over our heads.” She flapped her arms in the air. “And we can’t say anything when it craps on us. Fuck!”
“Sucks,” was all Kitty could think to say.
Jubilee sat up again, locking Kitty in her sights. “And what the hell’s your story, Pryde? You show up to almost every practice and sit there in back, as if the bleachers were the best place in the mansion to do your homework.”
Kitty felt herself blush. She turned back to her books. “It-It’s just… interesting. You know, watching you guys all sweating like gorillas. Very amusing.”
“Bullshit. I haven’t said anything because I figure one day you’ll come down from your tower and join us. You even wore sweats once and I was sure! But, no, Kitty stands alone.”
A wave of anger spun Kitty around. “You have a problem with that?”
Jubilee flipped the hair from her face, suddenly calm and intensely beautiful. “Yeah, I do. I think you want to be practicing there with us but you’re scared. You’re like this walking psychology experiment. Approach-avoidance-approach-avoidance.”
“Very clever.” Kitty flipped her hair, too. She could be as poised as Jubilee if it came down to it. After all, she had faced down Magneto and won that particular battle of wits. “Why don’t you write your term paper on me for the Professor?”
Jubilee went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “And what’s weird is that you’re not some scared little suburban girl. Bobby told me all about the Turcott clinic. You planned the operation, you went in first and scouted the whole place. He said you were awesome, that all you thought about was saving Lance.”
Kitty was furious. “Yeah, and look how well that worked out! You sure you want me, Jubilee? Maybe I can kill your whole damn team!”
The door burst open. “Popcorn!” Rahne shouted enthusiastically.
The orgy of sleep had thrown off his internal clock. His watch showed 3:30 in the morning. John could hear Pete’s breath rumbling in his big chest and, in counterpoint, Flea’s higher breaths, punctuated occasionally by the scared moans the boy sometimes made in his sleep. John listened a while and found himself praying that whatever horror Flea was facing down in his nightmares would show him mercy — maybe turn into a puppy or something. John climbed out of bed and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt.
You don’t get away that easily, he thought. You’ll just have to tough it out, kid.
He slipped from the room and padded down the hallway to the bathroom, peeing for what seemed a long time. His head was full of fog, but he could hear all his mental processes firing up. He knew he wouldn’t sleep any more that night. As he walked back into the empty hall of the home he had come to know so well, he suddenly choked up. All the hurt and fear that he’d covered over with the heavy wool of sleep rose up in him.
I don’t want to leave! Let me stay. I promise, I’ll be good. And from deep in his bowels, the anger answered, Shut up, you pussy! You don’t need these sanctimonious fools. The only one you need is YOU! But he wouldn’t listen to the anger. He had blown it. He’d taken another home and burned it down around him, as surely as he had burned his home with Keever and the gang; with Big John Barrow and his greasy spoon, with his mom. He was the common denominator; he was the fuck up. No use assigning the blame elsewhere.
“Bobby,” he whispered into the night and wished, like a beaten dog that never stopped following his sadistic master, that he could curl up against Bobby, smell him, excite him, bring him off, and then lie there in that damp warmth until everything was better. He found himself in front of Bobby’s door. What would happen if he slipped inside? If he was quiet, he wouldn’t wake up Derek, asleep in John’s former bed. Derek came from a good home, probably slept deep and nightmare-free. John’s hand was on the doorknob when he came to his senses.
No, that’s gone! Be strong, Pyro, or you’re finished.
This time, he heeded the voice. He centered himself, breathed deep like an X-Man, and walked away. He turned the corner to head downstairs…
…and found himself facing a soldier. A big, fucking, not-a-hologram, grenades and grease goddamn soldier. Aiming a gun at him.