Chapter Ten
Scott glanced up
at the conference room's elegant grandfather clock for the fifth
time in as many minutes. It had been well over half an hour since
Jean had gone to get her brunch, during which time he had called
together the senior faculty members to help him with the briefing.
Now, they were all waiting for the person for whose benefit this
meeting had been called, and Scott wasn't the only one starting to
get just the slightest bit...antsy.
"What on earth can be
taking her so long?" he muttered to himself, crossly brushing an
imaginary dust speck from the immaculately polished table.
"Perhaps
she is caught up in a conversation with one of the students?" Hank
suggested with a small shrug, looking over to Ororo. The elemental
shook her snowy head, her blue eyes concerned.
"No," she
frowned, "it is not like Jean to loose track of the time like that.
Maybe I should go down to look for her."
"I'd give her a
few more minutes," Erik said, leaning back in his chair. "It was
a long flight, after all. Perhaps she wanted to...freshen up?"
Scott
shot him a look from behind his glasses, then turned to the
Professor. "Look, I don't know what it is but I just have the
feeling that something is wrong. I'm with Ororo on this. It's not
like Jean to keep us waiting."
The Professor nodded slowly,
his brow furrowed and his lips a narrow line. "I am not sensing any
kind of disturbance," he noted, "but I agree that we have waited
long enough. Scott, go find her. If you do happen to run into any
trouble, however—"
"I'll contact you at once," Scott
nodded grimly, already rising from his chair. "Give me five
minutes. I'll be right back."
Ororo looked like she was
about to stand as well, but she apparently thought better of it and
remained in her seat. Scott gave her an understanding look—which
was completely obscured by his ruby-quartz glasses—then quickly
crossed the large room, closing the heavy, wooden door behind
him.
#######
Scott was so wrapped up in his thoughts
that he nearly plowed straight into a small group of four chatting
students who were just leaving the dining hall. Stopping short, Scott
blinked in surprise as the students let out an alarmed shout.
"Oh,
Mr. Summers!" Anna gasped, her pale cheeks flushed a brilliant
shade of green. "I'm sorry! We...we just didn't see you
there...!"
"Did any of you see my wife in there?" Scott
asked with a gesture towards the nearly empty cafeteria behind them.
"Yeah," Adam nodded, his coarse, silvery skin almost
sparkling in the sunlight streaming in through the window at the end
of the hall. "She sat at our table. But she left a while
ago."
"How long ago?" Scott inquired, trying to keep his
growing concern from his voice. "Did she happen to tell you where
she was going?"
The uncomfortable looks the students were
sharing did nothing to assuage Scott's fears. He frowned, his
demeanor growing almost threatening as he crossed his arms over his
chest.
"Well?" he prompted.
"We don't know
where she went," Anna stated, her gaze steady as she looked Scott
straight in the glasses. "She left, like, maybe around ten minutes
ago. We talked for a while when she was eating...you know, about
class and the homework she'd left for us and stuff. And that was
it." She frowned. "Why, is something the matter?"
Scott
shook his head, his lips tightening as he exhaled sharply through his
nose. "No," he told her. "I was supposed to meet her when she
was done eating, that's all. Only thing is, I haven't been able
to find her yet."
"Well, she's got to be somewhere,"
Holly smiled, although her expression seemed oddly strained.
"Good
luck with your quest, Mr. Summers," Adam joked, moving to walk past
him so he could continue on his way down the hall. "But we promised
to meet some kids outside for a game of baseball, so..."
He
trailed off, as if waiting for Scott's permission to leave. Scott
furrowed his brow suspiciously. From the way they were acting, it was
clear that these kids were not on their way to an innocent baseball
game. They were definitely up to something, and Scott believed he
could guess what it was.
"Thanks," he said as the teens
turned to make their escape. "And I won't keep you from your
game, don't worry. But just remember—"he added, causing the
students to turn back to him with slightly wary expressions. He
smirked, shooting them his best 'I'm on to you' look. "The
medbay—in fact, the entire subbasement—is off limits to all
students for the time being. It will continue to be off limits until
I specifically tell you otherwise. Am I understood?"
The
students seemed to deflate almost as one. Anna squeezed her orange
eyes tightly closed, hissing something through her teeth that sounded
almost like a swear. Scott's smirk deepened. Gotcha...
"Yes,
Mr. Summers," the four teens mumbled.
"Now go on, get out
of here," Scott said with a playful, shooing gesture. "Go get
some fresh air. I'll make sure you're updated if there are any
breaking developments—if you catch my meaning." He would have
winked, but he was quite aware it would be a meaningless
gesture.
Anna's bright eyes widened until they were almost
round. "Really?!" she exclaimed excitedly.
"As long as
you promise not to poke your noses where they don't belong,"
Scott said sternly. "I don't need to tell you how serious a
security violation of that magnitude would be...or how strictly it
would be punished."
Paul swallowed nervously, turning to
Anna with wide, yellow eyes. Anna didn't seem to notice his
reaction.
"OK, Mr. Summers, we promise," she said. Then
she turned to the others. "Come on, guys. You heard what the man
said. Let's get out of here!"
Scott shook his head as he
watched the students leave, wondering whether he should warn the
Professor about what they had been up to. He had just dismissed the
concern as unnecessary when a thought occurred to him that froze him
in place. If Jean had picked up on their all-too-obvious plans to
break into the medbay and spy on their intruder—
Suddenly,
he realized what the disquieting feeling that had been setting him on
edge almost since he had left Jean actually was. His mental link with
her, their special telepathic bond...he couldn't feel it. That
could just mean that her shields were up and particularly strong, but
why would she need such strong shields in the mansion? Unless she had
gone to see the intruder by herself. But, he had called Hank away
from his post! There would be no one down there to warn her...to stop
her...!
Scott scowled darkly, firmly suppressing a sudden,
chill burst of guilty dread as he ran as fast as he could for the
elevator to the medbay.
#######
Kurt Wagner burst
through the taut film that separated him from the light glowing just
beyond, the terror of the empty blankness that had been pulling at
him, clawing at his clothing and his sensitive tail still roaring in
his ears. He squeezed his thick fingers tighter around Jean's
slender hand, giving a sharp yank as he helped her push through as
well.
Jean coughed and panted, desperate for air as she
leaned unabashedly against Kurt's shoulder for support. She was
trembling, her legs as weak as water as she struggled to come to
terms with what had just happened.
"That," she gasped,
"was not normal."
"What wasn't?" Kurt asked with a
sardonic raise of his eyebrow. "Getting us both trapped in
Belasco's little mini-Limbo because you were too frightened and
pig-headed to listen to me?" He snorted. "What's so abnormal
about that? Happens all the time."
Jean glared, then sighed.
"OK, maybe I deserved that," she acknowledged curtly. "But that
wasn't what I meant. That weird...nothingness that we just passed
through. That funny filmy stuff we had to break through to
get...wherever we are now. I have never sensed anything like that
before. It strikes me as..."
"As what?" Kurt pressed,
his churlish attitude unable to completely hide his curiosity.
"As
unnatural," Jean finished with a dissatisfied frown. "As...I
don't know...as artificial somehow. And it's not only that."
She
shook her head, squinting her eyes as she struggled to put her
feelings into words. Kurt just watched her, his narrow features
carefully expressionless as she went on.
"None of what I
have seen so far feels like it belongs to you; that it originated
from you," she said, knowing her words were wholly inadequate even
before she noticed the confusion darkening his golden eyes. "If you
weren't here with me now, I could almost swear I had entered the
mind of a different person all together."
"You have,"
Kurt scowled, his caustic tone causing her to take an unconscious
step back. "This hasn't been my mind for a very long time now.
Belasco is the one in control here. He has been for...well, for more
years than I really care to count. And for all that time, I have been
nothing more than a shadow, a ghost, if you will, of the man you knew
as Kurt Wagner, haunting Belasco's twisted thoughts. At least that
is how things were...until she came." He turned away from her,
closing his eyes as if in pain.
"Until she...?" Jean
shook her head, not understanding. "Who is 'she'? What do you
mean, Kurt?"
The russet-skinned man opened his mouth as if
to speak, but he shut it again almost at once, his eyes widening as
he caught sight of something over Jean's shoulder. Jean turned
around, her own eyes widening in amazement as she followed his
startled gaze.
"Oh, my God," Jean gasped in startled
amazement. "Where are we?"
The
two mutants were standing in the shade of an abandoned awning on the
outskirts of a bustling city square. The lunch-time crowd that had
flooded the open-air market was just beginning to let up as the
shopkeepers and businessmen finished their meals and wrapped up their
conversations, strolling off to resume their work. The sun was
starting to peek out from behind the clouds that had previously
shrouded it; its fresh, spring-time light making even the cramped,
litter-strewn alleys of the medieval city seem vibrant and
picturesque.
"I don't know," Kurt responded, his eyes
almost round as he drank in the impossible sight before him. "If I
were to take a wild guess, I'd say this was Florence, but it looks
very different from the last time I was there with the circus. Almost
unrecognizable, in fact."
"Then what makes you think this
is Florence?"
Kurt turned to her almost absently, too
distracted by the people and the noise to actually focus on her.
"Because," he said, "Belasco was originally from Florence. He
was a contemporary of the poet Dante Alighieri."
Just then,
he gave a sudden start, his tail twitching as a disturbing thought
occurred to him.
"Jean," he exclaimed, "can these
people see us? Can you tell if Belasco knows we're here?"
"I'm
not sure," Jean said, concerned. "Why do you ask?"
"Look
at that tall man heading for the bridge," he pointed. "Who does
he remind you of?"
Jean looked from the tall, dark-haired
man to Kurt, then gasped in alarm as she noted the uncanny
resemblance.
"Oh, God," she breathed. "Do you think he
could be Belasco in disguise?"
Kurt frowned, keeping his
eyes trained on the tall man and his shorter companion.
"Perhaps,"
he mused, his expression softening slightly as he watched the tall
young man laugh with his friend. "Or perhaps he is the man Belasco
was before he became the demon we know."
"Should we follow
him?" Jean asked.
Kurt looked at her then and almost smiled.
"Do you really think I would blend into that crowd,
Liebling?"
Jean stiffened slightly at that last word, her
heart clenching in her chest. She stared at the russet-skinned man
before her, feeling that she was seeing him for the first time. And
it was the first time that she truly recognized him as her old friend
and teammate. Slowly, she smiled back, struggling to hide her
reaction behind a shaky laugh. This really was Kurt, and he was
alive!
"Well, like you said, this is your mind, isn't it?"
she replied. "Couldn't you try to change your appearance, like in
a dream?"
Kurt looked startled by the suggestion. "I don't
really know," he said thoughtfully. "I've never tried it on
purpose before."
"Well, try it now," Jean said, glancing
back at the two men. "If we stand here too long, we're going to
lose them."
Kurt nodded, his face taking on a look of total
concentration as he stared at Jean. The telepath was just about to
protest, when she noticed a change in her clothes. Looking down, she
saw her slightly rumpled business suit had been replaced with a
colorful gown similar to the gowns many of the women in the market
were wearing. She grinned in astonishment, but when she looked up to
praise Kurt she was startled to see a pale man with dark hair, dark
eyes, and a long, aquiline nose looking back at her. He, too, was
dressed in medieval garb.
"Basil Rathbone," the man
explained with a somewhat self-conscious smile. Then his smile turned
slightly sardonic. "I haven't been feeling much like an Errol
Flynn character of late."
Jean was surprised to feel her
eyes stinging as she brought her hand to her mouth. "No, it's
perfect, Kurt," she told him through her fingers, unable to
completely hide her smile. Acting entirely on impulse, she stepped
forward, wrapping the taller man in a tight embrace. Her unshed tears
nearly fell when she felt him return it.
"What—"Kurt
started, then he cleared his throat, pulling away from her with a
slightly suspicious frown. "What was that for?"
Jean just
shook her head, her lips still twitching as she fought to reign in
her emotions. "Come on," she said, stepping out from under the
awning and into the bright sunlight. "Let's go after those two
men before they get away."
#######
Kurt and Jean
caught up with their quarry just as the two men reached the old
bridge. Trying to make themselves as unnoticeable as possible, the
eavesdroppers leaned over the railing, ostensibly engaged in watching
the water flow by as they surreptitiously listened in on their
neighbors' conversation.
"Listen to me, my friend," the
taller of the two men was saying, a playful smile quirking across his
pale, narrow face. "You have been holed up with your dusty scrolls
and papers for far too long. I say enough with the poetry and the
politics! It's time for you to have some fun."
"No,
Brunetto, you listen to me," the shorter man snapped. "You don't
seem to realize that I have a great deal of important work to do. If
I ever hope to be eligible for a political office in this city, I
first must enroll in the guild of physicians and apothecaries. And
that requires a great deal of hard work and responsibility—something
you would know nothing about."
"Pish," Brunetto
retorted. "Your responsibilities can certainly wait an hour for you
to return to them. Of what use will you be to the great city of
Florence if you starve yourself of sunshine, life, and laughter—not
to mention food. Did I mention food? Because I don't know about
you, Dante, but I need my lunch and a glass or two of good wine
before I can even think of returning to work."
"I wouldn't
exactly call what you do 'work'," Dante snorted with a scornful
sneer.
Brunetto clasped a dramatic hand to his heart. "Ow!
My friend, you wound me with your biting words. Of course what I do
is work. Do you think it's easy trying to decipher the mysteries of
the universe? And if, in the meantime, a few lovely ladies or
exceedingly rich gentlemen decide they would rather their silver
necklace or their copper buttons were made of gold, who am I to deny
them?"
"Your brand of alchemy is nothing more than a scam,
Brunetto, and you are nothing more than a cheap con artist."
"I
object to the word 'cheap' being used to describe me," Brunetto
frowned, haughtily drawing himself up. "I am a very expensive con
artist. Lord knows those rich snobs can certainly spare the cash. And
there is real gold dust in the paint I use." He waved off the look
Dante shot him. "Besides, I only do that to help fund my real work;
my research into how and why the world was made and what comes
afterwards once we leave it."
"God made the world,"
Dante snapped. "And His kingdom is what awaits us after death. That
is all you need to know or to worry yourself over. Unless, of course,
you would rather spend an eternity in the Inferno for your continuous
blasphemies."
Brunetto quirked an eyebrow. "If the Devil
agreed to answer my questions, I might just consider it worth
it."
Dante stared, his mouth slightly open. "Do not talk
that way, Brunetto Donati, not even in jest." He shook his head.
"Honestly, if you weren't my wife's cousin—"
"Oh,
come off it," Brunetto smirked with a laugh. "You know we make a
great pair—you with your dreaming and I with my scheming. And
speaking of scheming, look who just stepped onto our bridge."
All
color drained from Dante's pale cheeks as his eyes followed his
friend's gesturing hand. He drew in a short, shaky breath, barely
managing to gasp out a single, reverent word as he clasped a
trembling hand over his thumping heart.
"Beatrice!"
"Right
on the first guess," Brunetto grinned. "Beatrice Portinari, the
unfairly beautiful young wife of that sickeningly wealthy banker who
has in his charge all my father's accounts. At least, all the
accounts of the man my mother claimed to be my father."
He
snorted a brief burst of derisive laughter. "Did you know the ugly
old fossil has actually promised that when I finally reach the
so-called 'responsible' age of thirty he will include me in his
will? Isn't that kind of him after twenty-odd years of pretending I
don't exist? Knowing my father, though, I'll probably inherit the
family cat."
Dante shot him a wry smirk, clapping a
supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "Well, Brunetto, I for
one hope you're right."
His friend looked down at him,
seeming almost surprised. "About the will?"
Dante's
smirk deepened. "About the cat."
"Ha," Brunetto
retorted with a sniff, shaking away Dante's hand. "You're
getting quite witty in your old age, my friend."
Dante
opened his mouth to make a come-back, but Brunetto startled him with
a sudden grin.
"But enough of this talk," he said
brusquely, straightening his coat and smoothing his shiny, black
hair. "Come on, let's go say hello."
"Brunetto, no!
Wait!"
But Brunetto was already sauntering up to the small
group of young ladies standing just across the way.
"Buon
giorno, Signora Portinari!" Brunetto said with a gallant bow,
pointedly ignoring his friend's distress. "It is a lovely day, is
it not?"
Beatrice smiled, quickly lifting a pale hand to
smother a giggle as her small entourage of richly dressed ladies
gasped and blushed at the young man's shamelessly forward behavior.
"Indeed it is, signore," she responded, politely lowering
her eyes. "It's wonderful to see the sun again after all the rain
we've had recently."
"Ah, yes," Brunetto nodded
sagely. "The weather has been quite trying of late. But enough
about the weather," he proclaimed, jumping up to sit on the bridge
railing. "Let's talk about me."
Beatrice looked up in
startled amusement. "About you?" she repeated.
"More
precisely," Brunetto corrected, reaching out to take her hand in
his and press it to his chest, looking deep into her eyes, "about
us. I love you, Beatrice. I've always loved you. I want you to
leave your husband and run away with me. Please say you
will!"
Beatrice's entourage seemed unsure whether to laugh
at this outrageous display or to shout in indignation. Beatrice
solved their dilemma for them by demurely removing her hand from
Brunetto's grasp a moment before he brought it to his lips for a
kiss.
"As much as I enjoy our little chats, Signore Donati,"
she said primly, drawing herself up with the smallest of smiles. "I
really can't waste any more time in the company of a rogue such as
you. You may have no thought for your own reputation, my brash
scoundrel, but to a lady such as myself, honor is everything."
"My
lady, your words are as wise as they are painful," Brunetto said
with a theatrical sigh. "So, once again I am rejected. My heart
must now seek its comfort from the arms of another." He jumped down
from the railing, landing right in the middle of Beatrice's
entourage. "Any of you girls interested?" he asked with a
wink.
Dante cringed in sympathy as Brunetto suddenly found
himself assaulted by a dozen hands, three fans, and a bouquet of
spring flowers all slapping and hitting and pushing him away, but
both men were laughing even so—as were the girls who weren't
shouting out their own rejections and insults against Brunetto's
character. Mere moments later, the girls were gone, leaving Brunetto,
Dante, and their two clandestine spectators alone in the middle of
the old bridge.
"If only she weren't married, eh Dante,"
Brunetto sighed, nudging his friend playfully as he leaned over the
side to watch the water flow under the bridge. After a moment, Dante
walked over to join him.
"You treat the lady with a
familiarity that is neither warranted nor proper," he said softly.
"And I don't think it's right."
"She doesn't
mind," Brunetto smiled, although he didn't look up. "None of
them do, really. If they did, I would probably have been fined or
banished or locked in irons or something long ago. If you ask me, I
think they rather enjoy the attention."
"It's still not
right," Dante insisted. "She had a point when she spoke of her
honor. You risk everything she has playing foolish games like that.
We aren't children anymore, Brunetto. Even words said in jest can
carry weight."
Brunetto stared at the sparkling water, his
expression tight and serious. Then, without warning, he slapped his
hands against the railing, forcefully shoving himself upright as he
turned on his heel and started to march away.
"You're
right," he called over his shoulder, all trace of good humor gone
from his voice. "It's not a game anymore. In fact, it never was.
I've got to get back to my laboratory."
"But what about
our lunch—?"Dante started.
"I'm not hungry,"
Brunetto called back. "I'll meet up with you some other time.
Good day, Dante."
"OK...I guess I'll just see you
later, then," Dante said softly, his expression baffled and
concerned as he too turned away and started walking in the opposite
direction from his friend.
"What do you think all that was
about?" Jean asked, stepping away from the railing with a baffled
expression of her own.
Kurt regarded her. "Clearly, they are
both in love with the same unattainable woman," he said. Then he
smirked. "For a telepath, you aren't very perceptive are
you?"
Jean's green eyes flashed. "I already told you
that this place, these memories seem artificial somehow," she said
slowly, trying to keep up her calm demeanor. "And what we just saw
only confirmed that impression. I don't know if it's me or a side
effect of that strange duality I sensed before, but watching those
people was like watching a scene being played out on TV. There was no
emotional presence there to sense. They may as well have been
holograms or cardboard cut-outs for all I could tell."
Kurt
frowned, his dark eyes suddenly disturbed. "And what about me?"
he asked, sounding almost nervous. "What do you sense when you look
at me?"
Jean closed her eyes, taking in a deep, calming
breath as she narrowed her focus. "I sense
guilt...anger...fear...pain..."
And something else. Something so deep and strong she had nearly
missed it. A shimmer of white against the sun, slender brown hands
guiding blue as they dug into rich soil... Jean opened her eyes,
looking into Kurt's disguised face with a carefully unreadable
expression
"And hope," she finished at last, tilting her
head slightly. Could it be that Kurt was harboring an 'unattainable'
love of his own? How long had he been hiding these feelings? Did
Ororo know?
Jean shook that thought away, afraid he might
become angry if he realized what she had just seen. "Your presence
here is real, Kurt," she assured him. "Real and solid. The rest
of this..."
She trailed off, gazing around the medieval city
with a frustrated shake of her head. "What happened to you all
those years ago?" she said softly, slowly turning back to look at
him. "Who could have done this to you?"
"Xavier said the
answer was in here somewhere," Kurt told her, tapping his temple
with a long finger. "All I have to do is find it."
"All
'we' have to do, you mean," Jean corrected. "And I think the
best place to start would be that Brunetto's lab."
"I
agree," Kurt said. "Except for one thing." He straightened,
shooting her an imposing glare. "I'm going alone."
"Now
wait one minute—"
"Look, Jean, I don't know what
Charles was thinking when he sent you in here and I don't care.
Your presence here is a liability I can't afford, and I want you
out. If I even have a hope of regaining control from Belasco, I'm
going to need—"
"You're going to need help," Jean
cut in with a frown. "And before you start blaming Charles for this
whole mess, know this first. Charles didn't send me in here, Kurt.
He doesn't even know about it. I came on my own." She shook her
head, embarrassed. "I don't even know why I did it, to tell you
the truth," she admitted sheepishly. "It was a foolish,
ill-advised move on my part—"
"I'll say!" Kurt
exclaimed, his pale face flushing angrily. "Not only did you wake
Belasco, forcing me to go into hiding again, but you nearly got us
both killed! If I hadn't—"
"And I thank you for that,"
Jean interrupted again before he could finish the thought. "You
went out of your way to rescue me—twice!—even after all the
stupid things I said and did. But now I have an opportunity to return
the favor. Let me help you, Kurt. Let me prove myself as much a
friend to you as you have always been to me."
"It's not
as easy as that," Kurt snapped, running a frustrated hand through
his black hair. "Belasco is looking for us even now, and if he
finds us that fire-pit will be the least of your worries."
"All
the more reason for us to get going," Jean said, giving his hand a
gentle pull as she started walking in the direction Brunetto had
gone. "If we keep moving, it will be harder for him to locate
us."
Kurt glared for a moment, then shook his head with a
slight sneer. "I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?" he
stated more than asked.
"I'm not leaving you, Kurt, if
that's what you mean," she said firmly. "Like it or not, we're
in this together. Now, let's go find Brunetto. He has to hold at
least some of the answers to all this or else his memories wouldn't
be here, now would they?"
Kurt still looked conflicted, but
Jean could tell her words had touched him. A moment later, he
confirmed that impression with a small smile, a smile that came and
went so quickly that if she hadn't been looking for it, she would
have missed it.
"Then come along, meine Freundin," he said
brusquely, leading the way towards an open doorway across the cobbled
street. "Follow me."
Jean nodded, striding after him into
the blackness without hesitation. Once she was inside, Kurt grabbed
her hand, startling her.
"Hang on tight," he warned her.
Before she could react, Jean suddenly felt herself falling, tumbling
helplessly through the same horrible, blinding nothingness they had
passed through after escaping from Belasco's trap. But this time,
she held on to Kurt's hand out of trust instead of fear—and she
knew he noticed the difference.
#######
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Beatrice Portinari is a
real historical figure. Her father was a Florentine citizen and she
married a wealthy banker. She died in 1290 at the age of 24.
According to Boccaccio's life of Dante, the poet first met her when
they were both nine and they met maybe once after that in 1283 on May
Day. She became the subject of many of his poems.
Dante became
a member of the guild of physicians and apothecaries in Florence and
became actively involved in politics at the age of thirty. This story
takes place shortly before Beatrice's death, though, so he's not in
the guild yet and so not eligable for office.
I chose the name
Brunetto for Belasco because the philosopher and scholar Brunetto
Latini probably had an influence on Dante's education and also
because Brunetto looks kind of like Belasco if you
squint. I made his last name Donati because Dante's wife had a
relative named Corso Donati, and I thought it might be interesting to
for Dante and Belasco to have family ties as well as being
friends--especially considering what happens to them later on.
Thus
concludes the Author's Notes for this chapter. :D Stay tuned for
Ch. 11!