A Stolen Season - Part Five

by Khaki


POV: Dr. John Thacker (original character)

"What?!?!"

The captain standing in front of me cringes in reaction to my shout, and I take a little bit of pride at that. I've never been in the military, but I didn't become a billionaire standing in the background and letting other people take control.

"The healer and the question mark escaped," he repeated, more timidly this time.

The healer and the question mark. That's how I'd designated the mutants, by their abilities. The healer is the only mutant with regenerative abilities in the school, and the question mark had been classified as such because her abilities can't be determined by the nanos. Her DNA seems to fluctuate even as they try to read it. That's what saved her life. I want to see her mutation in action before deciding on her fate.

"How did they escape?" I ask, my teeth gritted together in frustration.

"They fled in a vehicle. We gave chase, but..."

"No, captain," I say, my voice shaking in anger as I try to keep my emotions under control. "You were told to secure the healer first. How did he escape?"

"We couldn't find him right away, so I thought we..."

"You thought!?!" I scream. "I am responsible for this mission, not you. I report directly to the president about our progress, not you. I gave you strict instructions to capture the healer first."

"But sir, we couldn't find him."

"You wasted time collecting dead bodies and processing mutants who couldn't escape from a wet paper bag." I let out an exasperated sigh, trying to think of a way to explain my plan to this simpleton. "The nanos destroyed the brain stems of those mutants scheduled for disposal and severed the spinal cords of those mutants kept alive for processing. The only threat you faced was the healer because, given time, his spinal cord will regenerate. All the other surviving mutants are permanent quadriplegics. That is why I told you to find him first and that is why you were instructed to physically restrain him. Do you understand how incredibly incompetent it was to disobey orders?"

"Sir, if I could just explain," he says, holding his hands out in a calming gesture.

"Ok," I snap, "what?"

"The reason why we couldn't find him is that there are a hidden sublevels to the mansion. They are well hidden and strongly fortified. That's what took the time. We searched everywhere else. The healer had to be down there and it took us too long to reach him."

"That's... why would a private school have secret levels?"

"Well, sir. Judging from the X's all over the walls, the black leather uniforms, and the modified Blackbird jet we found, I'd say that this private school was the headquarters for the X-Men."

"The X-Men? Are you sure?" I ask, incredulous.

"As sure as anyone can be, sir."

I've never gone from absolute anger to all-consuming euphoria so quickly. The X-Men? It's a remarkable find. Just the discovery that Charles Xavier, mutant advocate, had been harboring a school full of mutant children was incredible, but him, the creator of the X-Men? It's unbelievable. We've effectively taken out one of two strongest opponents to mutant extermination without even knowing it. Now all we have to do is find the Brotherhood, and mutantkind will crumble before us.

**********

POV: Rogue

"Marie, uh," Logan pulls his hand away and runs his fingers through his hair.

"I've gotta..." He looks up at the ceiling then down at the carpet, like he can't bear to meet my eyes.

"Gotta tell ya..." Looking away isn't enough. Now, he's standing up and starting to pace back and forth in front of the bed. Whatever he's trying to tell me is really upsetting him.

"Logan, it's ok. Just say the words," I coax.

"They didn't leave us," he blurts out.

"Logan, you told me that before, but you didn't say what you meant. Where are we going to meet up with..."

"No, Marie," he says, shaking his head and looking down at his feet. Then, he stops pacing and turns sorrowful, haunted eyes towards me. "They didn't leave at all. They were still there."

"Where? The mansion was quiet. We were in the lower levels, if they were hiding down there..."

"No, Marie," he interrupts again, shaking his head vigorously and moving back to sit by my side on the bed. "They were... most of 'em were like Jeanie."

Jean? No, Jean died, he couldn't mean... But then it all made sense. That's why he was so upset while we were sneaking our way back upstairs, why he was growling in the foyer, and why he'd wanted me to close my eyes. I thought there'd been a battle and he didn't want me to see the dead and dying soldiers the X-Men had left behind, when in fact, he didn't want me to see the dead... dead X-Men? Dead children? No. No, they were innocent. Humans couldn't be so cold as to slaughter children.

"I didn't wanna touch ya," Logan continued, "'cause I was hoping it'd wear off and you wouldn't have ta get my memories, but it isn't. I... when I touch you, I want ya to try to push away my thoughts. You shouldn't have ta... I don't want to you see."

Stunned, I found myself gasping for breath, trying to understand. Not everyone. It couldn't be. Not literally everyone. Wait. Didn't Logan say...

"Logan, you said *most* of them were like Jean. Who... What happened to the others?"

Letting out a long, weary sigh, he says, "Cyke and a few of the other kids were loaded up into a van. I don't know where they are, but as soon as you're ok, we're gonna find 'em. I... Back at the school, I couldn't get to 'em. There were too many soldiers around. If I tried, they would've got us, too. I wanted... but I couldn't get to 'em."

I want to hug him, to hold him in my arms and take away the pain, but I can't. I can't even get off of this bed. Instead, I say, "Logan, it's not your fault. We'll go; we'll go and find them. It'll be ok."

He looks down at me, lying limp on the bed, and apologizes, "I'm sorry, Marie. I'll touch you now. I just... try not to see my memories, ok? Just promise you'll try."

"I'll try, Logan," I promise. I can count on one hand the number of people I've touched since I manifested, and I haven't been able to keep one out of my head. Still, I'll try for Logan.

He leans over to kiss me without a barrier between us for only the second time in my life, but...

"Stop," I say, and he does, his face hovering just inches away from my own. He looks confused, almost hurt. "It took you about a half hour to heal from this paralysis, right?"

"Yeah, about," he answers, definitely puzzled.

"You can't kiss me." Ok, now he really does look hurt. "If you collapse on top of me, I won't be able to push you off. I'll absorb everything and you'll die."

He nods, understanding my concerns now. "Ok, how about I sit on the floor by the bed and kiss ya? Then, I'll fall back away from you."

"Yes, that's better," I agree.

He settles himself down on the floor, and asks, "Ready, darlin'?"

When I don't object, he leans forward and brushes soft, tender lips against my own. For a second, it's heaven and then it's hell.

No matter how hard I try to push them away, the images flood my mind. I shut my eyes tight against the flashing horrors, but it doesn't help. The pictures float behind my eyes, inseparable from the healing strength that Logan's passing to me, and with the visions come other sensations.

I see Hank's glazed, unseeing eyes, staring into nothingness, Bobby and Kitty collapsed against each other, hands clasped in an eternal embrace, Jubilee's twisted form, lying like a discarded doll in the foyer, and 'Ro outside, crushing her precious roses beneath her unmoving body. I see children, piled on the lawn like morbid tinker toys by the bench where I'd eaten lunch yesterday. The smell of fresh death fills the air, coating my skin with its horrid perfume. Worst of all, though, is the silence. Where before, life echoed in every room, now there is only quiet. No voices, no heartbeats, no breathing disturbs the tomb-like stillness.

Then, I hear the callused, rough voices of men, the humans who did this. I want to change things. I want to paint the walls with the blood of the guilty. I want to watch them suffer before succumbing to the inevitability of their death. I want to smell their blood and hear their screams. I want revenge.

Just as quickly as they started, the memories stop as Logan falls away from me, breaking skin contact. Still, everything that has been haunting him, now haunts me as well.

When I was seventeen, I put my first real boyfriend into a coma and lost my first family because of prejudice. Now that I'm twenty-two, I've lost my second family for much the same reason. I can't help but wonder how old I'll be when I lose Logan.


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