Chapter 3
The waitress ambled over to his two person table again, looking bored but like she was still trying. Her face was youthful enough but the wrinkles on her neck and creases in her ears pegged her somewhere in the middle aged range, if the article on skin deterioration Hank read was a good judge.
Telling age or even occasionally ethnicity in others had never been his strongest area. He tended to ignore the appearance of others unless something caught his attention. People usually just looked the same, like people, to him, unless he made an effort.
Funny how he never noticed other people but worried so much about his own appearance and how normal he looked. Raven, no doubt would have called him out on it with her usual bluntness; she also would have said he only cared about being normal and thus was prejudiced against his own. Sometimes he might even say she had a point. He only noticed abnormalities and thought about how to alter them. There were always exceptions, like the first time he saw Raven, he noticed her before he ever knew there was anything different about her. Not that he cared to take himself back to that time or subject.
"You want another refill?" Betty asked.
Hank pushed his cup forward, "Yes, please. Thank you very much!"
The clock on the wall was entirely too loud. The wooden chair supporting him squeaked every time he shifted but he stayed in it anyway, refusing to move by some twisted bit of paranoid logic. Hank fidgeted endlessly, unable to hold still or leave the cheap napkin alone. He polished the silverware at his table and drank so much coffee he suspected he might not sleep for a week.
Even so, they did not come. There was no sign of Charles or Moira, not a hair. He waited for hours, he waited seven hours past the agreed time but they never arrived.
Shoulders drooping and head hung low, he finally accepted the inevitable truth and drove home. The feeling was comparable to the emptiness he felt when Erik and the others left them on a beach with a crashed jet, a paralyzed friend, and no way to escape. Hank would be telling a boldface lie if he said it didn't frighten him to the marrow of his bones.
It was not hopeless though, he knew, and there was no reason to jump to conclusions. Things happen and it was hardly like they could call him to let him know they would not be arriving. It was bound to happen at some point. He was terribly worried but he had no intention of writing them off as lost. They would turn up in two weeks, of course, and they would tell him how sorry they were for worrying him. Things would go back to normal.
He assured the others of the same, going into a very long, drawn out explanation as to why they could have been unable to come. It did not have to mean bad news, it could mean they found a bus load of new mutants and had no time to break away. It clearly did not need to mean the rumors about Trask Industry developing mutant detection systems was real or at all threatening to Charles even if he worked in the general vicinity. Darwin was quick, too quick, to join him in adopting that theory to the others.
All those assurances didn't prevent Alex, Darwin, Sean, and himself from being sudden staple patrons in each meeting spot through the entire next two weeks. After "Patrick" and "Rachelle" still did not come, they couldn't pretend anymore. Regardless, they remained faithful patrons for the next two weeks following as well. Everyone knew, regardless, that things had gone wrong, openly admitting it was the hold back.
Still, new mutants arrived at the school during those tense few weeks of searching and waiting. They had been sent by Charles with very real identification cards to alter names, ages, or residence. They knew it was Charles, and knew it for a brilliant move that it was since each card was supposedly issued various years earlier, perfect covers. The trouble was, the new additions were given the cards at various times before they lost contact. Each new face told them the same, no one had seen Charles or Moira in recent weeks.
After the second week of no contact, Hank posed as a janitor, trying to find them in all the places they had planned to hit, but there was nothing. He found records erased, which was good news, but he did not find them. When he made careful inquiries about Patrick Francis he was always met with the same answer; transferred to a different division. It was always a dead end, and a little too much like what they usually faced when they tried to track down any mutants supposedly transferred home from the war.
Though he did not want to, he recognized the signs, the paper trail, the method. He did not tell the others about the similarities for fear of causing a panic at the school.
If Charles had been captured he could reveal them all. The telepath behind Cerebro could... well, it was only borrowing trouble to contemplate such possibilities. Beyond that, he could not picture Charles ever giving any of them away, not even under torture. After all he had gone through to keep them safe there was no way he would throw it all away. Hank would wager he would die before he gave away the school. Moira would do the same and he knew it. There was no reason to terrify the others when he had no proof and no way to change anything.
They had never been able to find anyone else after they were spirited away. They might never know what really happened. He did not want to believe that or consider it an honest outcome but he did, could not help entertaining it.
Everyone in the mansion-turned-school, whether they really knew Charles and Moira or not, had begun to feel the tension hanging like smoke over the burned toast sitting on the kitchen counter. The longer their leaders were missing the more wary the atmosphere was in general.
Darwin sighed into his steaming cup of coffee, "It's been a week since the last new mutant showed up."
"We can do math too, Darwin." Alex muttered irritably right before he caught a small projectile midair that was suspiciously shaped like Scott Summers vaulting his tiny body from the kitchen counter, presumably in a child's attempt at an ambush. "Scotty! What did I say about climbing furniture!"
Little Scott paid no mind at all to the reprimand and attempted to jump directly from Alex's arms using his chest as a springboard, forcing Alex to juggle wildly, "I can fly!" He insisted, flapping his arms along with the pillowcases he tied to his arms, letting out several loud yells.
"Sorry." Sean offered, not looking up from his bowl of oatmeal, "I didn't know he was watching me practice."
Hank shook his head in exasperation, "I caught Jean in a free-fall off the banister yesterday with a sheet tied around her neck. You really have to stop flying over the house, Sean. They are young and impressionable. They also imitate everything they see at this age."
Alex was containing a small child with minimal success, muttering substitute swear words aimed at Banshee.
"There was that time he flew in the house too." Darwin offered, "That really kicked off the little kids trying it."
"I said I was sorry..." Sean insisted, "But as loud as some of them are, maybe they will develop my powers with some practice."
"That not how mutations work." Hank mumbled to his hands, not feeling much like getting involved in another argument between Sean and his lack of common sense.
"Scott, Jean, and Kurt do not need encouragement to do that!" Alex snarled, dangling the boy upside down.
"Fine, yeah, I got it." Sean shoved away from the island and deposited his bowl in the sink before exiting the kitchen with a dejected sigh. No doubt he thought they were fun killers but they had small children in the house to think of now.
Hank shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing himself to have some sort of magical transformation into someone that knew how to handle everyone. He wished he was good at it like Charles. He never knew what to say to make peace the way Charles did. He almost thought even Erik had been better at that kind of thing than he currently had a handle on. To say he wanted Charles and Moira back for that sounded an awfully lot like a child crying for mommy and daddy to fix things so he dared not verbalize it. They all wanted them back anyway so there was hardly need to voice the obvious.
Ororo stood in the doorway, white hair partially hiding her face from view as she watching the spectacle, judging them all for their total lack of skill as adults, no doubt, before she went to rummage in the fridge. She spoke very rarely to any of them though she seemed far more talkative with the children. Charles was still the only person that could have reached her just now. Hank felt like a failure every time those dark eyes fixed on him, studying him, but not allowing him close.
At least Scott was laughing now as Alex swung him like a pendulum instead of screaming. Darwin made an effort to subtly detach the pillowcases on each backward swing.
Alex was much happier with him little brother around where he knew the boy was safe. Even with everything else, Alex had lost a thousand pounds from his shoulders even if Scott caused him no end of trouble the way younger brother's usually did.
Scott also planned to marry Jean any day now, so there was also that. Jean was less inclined to agree and had not even accepted the Crackerjack box ring Scott tried to give her as an engagement ring. Sean kept telling the little boy he needed to work on being less annoying than his big brother if he wanted to get the girl. Darwin kindly assured Scott that women needed time to consider big questions like that, which the little boy seemed essentially satisfied with, but he still pouted most of the day before.
Hank had to wonder why Charles put him in charge of the school, he really did. A headmaster he was not. He could teach all day, work in the lab, but... running things? He would have willingly stayed blue the rest of his life if he could only step down and be replaced by Charles once again.
Proceeding without him was not without its headaches, though searching without finding a sign was becoming taxing. They contrived plans, search every establishment they could get at but they found nothing, not a sign for five months. Five months! It felt terminally long, not knowing for five months.
He dreamed every night of finding Charles, sometimes they were happy dreams where everything worked out in the end. Most of the time the dreams were less so, things he would rather not think about. It never stopped him from dreaming no matter how hard he tried not to dwell on all the horrible potentials.
The door suddenly swooshed open to reveal an ashen Sean, "Come here," was all he got out before he was gone again.
Panic hit all three men at once. Alex nearly dropped Scott on his head when they all rushed for the door. Scott and Ororo follow at their heels like lost puppies, curious and worried without understanding why.
"Tragically, the shooting was fatal." The man in a dark suit and tie reported to the camera, papers held up just so, "As one of the first and only female agents in the CIA, many consider it a particular blow to the progressive working force. Though her life was cut short, coworkers were quick to assure us that she will be missed and that the perpetrators will be apprehended as soon as possible." The anchor's voice sounded tinny over the television, his expression less empathetic than it should have been, "The memorial service honoring her service and mourning Officer Moira MacTaggert's tragic death in the line of duty will be held at the-" Hank missed every single word after, his ears somehow giving out and fading to static. It felt like someone suddenly stuffed his brain with cotton.
"No..." Darwin whispered like all the air had been stolen from him.
Hank did not blame him, he personally could not breathe at all and he found himself dropping like a sack of potatoes onto the couch on the other end as Sean.
Alex punched the back of the couch repeatedly, jarring it forward a full twelve inches even with Sean and Hank both sitting on it. The blond stormed out of the room promptly, snapping a "don't follow me" over his shoulder along with leaving a trail of red sparks behind. Hank knew without confirming that Havok would be down in the bunker the rest of the day and maybe the next. They would probably need to bring him sandwiches and water at some point, if things were not on fire at least.
When Hank looked up Darwin was gone too and he had no idea where he might have gone nor could he spare the brainpower to conjure good guesses.
They killed Moira. They killed her! She was a human, he had thought for sure they would let her go eventually. He thought if either of them were release it would be Moira. She was CIA, one of their own, in a way. Granted, Trask had been denied a contract with the government recently but it did not really stop several branches from working with him. It never stopped them from shipping mutants right from the front line to his door. He never really expected... he really thought she would be... that she would eventually show up, maybe a bit battered, but alive. If they would kill Moira... there was no hope at all for Charles, a mutant.
Maybe they killed her because she knew too much. They killed her because she would not keep their secrets. Their only human contact was gone. Moira was gone. Just like that, like she meant nothing. He knew Trask was likely at the root of it, he'd dug up that much. With deep pockets like those, what did any of them care about one or two lives lost? It made sense. It did, he should have been prepared for that.
After long minutes of total silence Scott crawled into Sean's lap, attaching himself like a koala. It was only when he noticed Scott clinging that he realized Banshee was crying, fat, silent tears rolling down his face. Sean cared for Moira, Hank should have thought of that too.
"It's okay." Scott whispered into Sean's ear, "You can cry. I cry sometimes too. Alex says we can cry here."
Hank withered, folding in on himself, huddling against the arm of the couch. His skin was turning blue in some places and he was shaking from head to toe. He felt like he was going into shock, like information overload, which had never happened to him before. He had felt something like this when the other teacher's had been taken and never came back but now... now it was Charles, their rock that would never be coming home. It was real now, not some simple idea, a theory. Now he knew with absolute certainty that Charles was wherever all the others had gone. They were never going to see Charles or Moira ever again. How could that be? How? Charles was so strong! He was... untouchable, he was Charles!
Ororo edged in on the couch bedside him, staring for a moment before scooting up beside him. He wondered absently if the children even knew why they were upset. Wordlessly, she cuddled in at his side, petting the blue fur already springing up on his arms. After he did not seem calmed by it she settled on her knees and rested her head on his shoulder. She didn't move for a very long while and neither did he. It was easier to sit very quietly. More than one person came in to ask what had happened but neither he nor Sean managed to answer that question the rest of the day.
It was grief, and probably shock. They had lost a friend, someone they fought beside, survived beside, and a strong support system. They had also lost a mentor, a teacher, a guide, because they all knew full well that if Moira was dead, Charles was too. There was no way one would have gone down without the other. Moira was as fierce as she was loyal, it was probably the reason they killed her.
A day later Hank overheard Darwin talking to another of the new teachers. Darwin ask aloud the one question Hank had been dreading to even ponder for so many reasons; "I wonder how long they were alive... how long did they keep them before they killed them? I mean, could we have... if we'd found them... could we have saved them?"
"I'm sure there was nothing to be done. You did everything you could." Piotr was quick to respond, young and overly optimistic.
"Did we?" Darwin shook his head, despondent, "They went out there, right into the lion's den for us and we all sat here in this cushy house and let them. When they needed us, where exactly were we?"
Yes, where had they been while their friends were tortured and killed, or worse, harvested? How much had they really risked to find them? How many boats did they rock to get them back alive? The truth was, they risked very little, not wanting to get themselves back on records. Deep down, after they vanished, not one of them really believed Charles would come back alive. They counted him dead long before reality caught up with them. Those deaths were on them, on their inaction. The question was, where should they go from there? Hank had never felt more lost.
Days later, the television stations lit up with news on all five stations that a person involved in the assassination of the president had escaped. Though he was technically not named, no "Mutant leader escaped" flashing over the screen, but they all knew. Erik was free once again.
That news was more than a little stunning after they were only just wrapping their minds around the last blow. Alex swore up one way and down the other, in enough of a rage to set the lamp and a few other things on fire before he got himself in check.
Darwin was worried there could be some form of connection between Moira's death and the escape even if they didn't know what it could be. Like, possibly, they killed them because of the escape. Possibly Erik escaped days before and the public had not been told. Not that he had a full theory as to why Magneto's escape would force it. Well, they actually could think of a theory, a reason to dispose of evidence, to purge connections; fear of discovery.
Magneto could have gone after Charles and would not have been hindered by thoughts of secrecy. Not that he would have, he'd left Charles and the rest of them to die before, but maybe the humans weren't up to date on that.
Hank very much hoped it was not connected because that might mean Moira had been alive for five months and they had left her to rot. If there was a connection, if that was true, Hank did not know how any of them would live with it.
Patrick held on, rocking back and forth, arms curled tightly around the figure. He swayed gently, keeping them in motion in an attempt to bring the only comfort he could gather his mind for. There was too much silence, too much still air. The tiny room was dark, fridged. It was like being dead, he thought. His mind felt so much like dandelion puffs scattered in the wind and he wondered, not for the first time, if he would be able to find all the pieces.
Patrick rocked the body in his arms, "Everything is going to be just fine, you'll see, Rachelle. Everything will be all right."
She seemed so small now, so thin and fragile, like a glass doll that could shatter if he touched her wrong. His mother used to have dolls like that, beautiful but untouchable. Or he thought he remembered that particular feminine touch in his home so he assumed it was his mother. It was not a detail he could recall clearly, only moderately touch.
He picked at the dry blood absently until he realized it was her blood, her skin, and not his own. It made him fidget with his own scabbed flesh, unable to help himself. His finger needed something to occupy them while she stayed still on the floor.
"Everything will be all right, love."
His eyes were so heavy, so very heavy, they burned to keep them open. He rolled his head from side to side in an attempt to stay awake, knowing he could not afford to sleep in this place, not now, not when she was so weak. It was a battle and he struggled to pull up equations to solve or simply keep himself rocking steadily. He had to stay awake! He could not sleep, she needed him. But he was so tired. Perhaps if he only closed his eyes for a few seconds, just enough to soothe them, then he would be better.
"Don't worry about a thing, love." He told her, or perhaps himself.
In a desperate attempt to keep himself from slipping under he began to tell her about mutations even though he could not think how he knew anything about genetics. He must have studied it at one point or another. It hardly mattered in this case so long as he kept the slurred words rolling off his tongue rather than close his eyes the way he so badly longed to. His legs ached horribly but it was not enough to overpower the pull of sleep. He needed to stay...
His eyes fell shut and did not blink open again.