1X04 – Midsummer Night’s Dream – Act III

1X04 – Midsummer Night’s Dream – Act III

“If we gather this here,” LeFlore had a cut up shirt draped over Meg who was in a tank top, “put a seam here, we can mimic the long sleeve look without her having to go through hoops to get dressed.”

“It’ll be perfect for winter,” Jim nodded, then gestured to the green fabric LeFlore was holding, “but let’s use the blue, don’t want to be too matchy-matchy, otherwise her wings will blend right in.”

“Of course,” the seamstress whipped the fabric away and picked up the blue fleece.

“Actually,” Meg said quietly, a bit overwhelmed, “I was hoping to maybe do just that. Hide my wings.”

“Now why would you want to do such a silly thing?” Jim stared at her blankly.

“I…” part of Meg wanted to be able to fly with her wings, but the other was ashamed of them. If she didn’t have them then she could try living a normal life, but… “you’re right. I’d have to dye my hair, get my ears clipped, and cover my eyes too, it would never work.”

“Oh, I can make anything work, sweetheart,” Jim pointed out, “but why would you want to hide your natural beauty?”

“Natural freakiness you mean,” she mumbled under her breath, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

“Oh, now hush,” the stylist admonished her, turning her to face the mirror proper, “you’re a beautiful young woman with the ultimate fashion accessories. You should embrace it, not hide it.”

“But I have to hide,” she shook her head, “every time I go out I have to cover my wings.”

Jim crossed his arms, “Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight.”

…

“And we’re back at cruising altitude,” Scott said from the front, Kitty taking that as the signal to be able to pull out her laptop.

“Who wants lunch?” Bobby asked as he stood and grabbed a cooler from behind his seat, pulling it around to sit in front of him. “I was in a hurry to pack and the chef was prepping breakfast so told her to throw together what she could.”

“That chef is a miracle worker when it comes to food,” JP commented, holding the cooler lid for Bobby.

Kitty giggled, “We swear she has a secondary mutation, cuisine-kinesis.”

“Let’s see,” Bobby was rummaging, “this one says Kosher so I’m guessing that’s yours,” Bobby handed over the saran wrapped sandwich and a bottle of juice to the younger girl.

“Thankies,” Kitty graciously took the items and sat them next to her computer on the limited space of the fold down table.

“Extra beef, Logan, extra mayo, JP,” Bobby handed them out before standing to head to the cockpit, “mustard only” he passed a sub and drink to Scott, “vinaigrette with a Diet Coke,” was Jean’s.

“Thank you, Bobby,” Jean smiled and Scott nodded his appreciation as well.

“You know,” Bobby leaned against the small divider behind the pilot’s chair, “no offense to your plane, and I’m going to regret this come budget time, but I’m starting to think Jean’s right, we could use a faster plane, a jet engine one, like, oh, Starscream.”

“Starscream is a F-15 fighter jet,” Scott shook his head at the man, “it seats two.”

“Then what about Jetfire?” Bobby tried again.

Kitty glanced up, “Jetfire is a SR-71 Blackbird, even I know that.”

Logan snickered, “I doubt the government is just going to let civilians fly around in fighter jets and stealth bombers.”

“Alright, point taken,” Bobby conceded, “but there has to be a civilian aircraft that can do what we want that’s a reasonable price.”

“Like I said,” Scott assured him, “I’ll look into it.”

“Cool,” he nodded and started back to his seat, “but whatever, don’t—”

“Forget the receipt,” Scott waved him off, “yes, I remember. Kind of hard to forget the pound of Kool-aid powder you put in my shower head the last time.”

“Still can’t believe it took you all day before you realized you were a shade of green,” Kitty giggled and the rest of the cabin laughed at the man’s expense.

Scott shook his head but even he began to chuckle.

…

“There you go,” Rogue finished putting boxes in the attic for Irene and made her way back down the ladder which was attached to the drop door. As she pushed it into place she asked, “Anything else you need done?”

“Nothing I can’t handle on my own,” Irene assured her.

Rogue frowned, following the woman down the stairs. “I’m not around as often as I’d like, gotta feel useful, you know.”

“Then you can keep St. John from burning down the bar tonight,” Irene waved her off and headed towards the living room.

“Why is he gonna set the bar on fire,” then after she had a second to think about what she just said, “this time?”

“Why else,” Irene said wryly, “he’ll get bored.”

“Gotcha,” she checked her watch, it just after twelve, plenty of time yet, “anything I can do for you until then?”

“No,” she eased back into her seat, “you’ve done enough,” it was a statement, not a jibe, “you’ll always do too much, try too hard, one day it will get you killed.”

Rogue blinked, the words coming from anyone else could be brushed off as hyperbole but when it came from a prognostic… “What have you seen?”

“You always ask that,” Irene tsk’d at her, “always impatient to know the outcome, to know how it’s all going to end.”

She let out a choked laugh, “You don’t just causally mention how someone might die and not expect them to be at least a little bit curious.”

“Perhaps,” the lady shrugged.

“And you’re just gonna leave it at that, aren’t you,” Rogue shook her head, picking up the empty coffee mugs from earlier and taking them towards the kitchen so she could clean them.

“A person who is anxious to get to the future,” Irene spoke gravely, “is one who is running from the past. When a person runs that fast, they run right past the present.”

…

Storm sat on a stool at the kitchen island, picking at the remains of a Greek feta cheese salad, a glass of a red wine nearly finished. The two of them remained quiet though most of their lunch, but when they did speak there was enough nostalgia to fill a lifetime.

It was nice… she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed being in his company…

And later, once she left, she would remember why she made herself forget.

Forge picked up the wine bottle and topped off their glasses, “Do you remember Nairobi?”

“Of course I do,” she frowned at him, “we were both too late.”

“Yes,” he echoed her frowned as he brought his wine glass to his lips, “it should have been foretelling for us to meet through such tragedy, that we would share a similar fate.”

“Neither of us were ready for that kind of commitment, you know that,” she shook her head, “I moved from place to place, basically living off the streets, I… I was losing control of my powers… and you…”

“Were a cripple,” Jonathan’s voice was hard and cold.

“It wasn’t about that,” she defended herself sternly, “it was never about that.”

“But you still left,” he said sadly, staring into his wine glass as he swirled the liquid around.

“You were a mess, Jonathan,” she said quietly, “I was a mess. It never would have worked.”

“I know,” he looked over the rim at her, “doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Is that why you wanted me here,” she frowned at him, “to reopen old wounds?”

“No,” he said simply, putting the wine glass delicately onto the table, “to make sure they were closed.”

…

Jim and LeFlore were discussing design options while Megan picked at a salad Angel had brought in. “Miss Monroe said she wouldn’t be back until later and to eat without her?”

“That’s what she said,” he nodded, taking a bite of his deli sandwich.

“You know when she’ll be back?” the girl continued to push her food around.

“Not sure, considering the old friend she’s visiting,” he chuckled to himself, “it could be awhile. But this is good, gives us a chance to talk.”

Meg glanced up at the man, “I thought Jean might have put you up to this.”

“You’re a smart girl, Meg,” he didn’t deny Jean’s involvement, “you know everyone cares about you.”

“Right,” she said wryly as she speared a cherry tomato, “they all look at me like I’m one after school special just waiting to happen,” frustrated, she dropped her fork into the bowl, “and they can’t come out and say anything either, no, they send you to pacify me with clothes.”

“Okay, the clothes were my idea,” he told her pointedly, “because I’ve been where you are. You think it’s easy hiding these suckers,” he gestured to where his wings drooped loosely.

Frowning, she conceded his point, but still, “At least the rest of you looks normal.”

“True,” he nodded, “but I have a lot more people paying attention to me, and in any case,” he waved his hands as if to clear the subject, “it doesn’t matter how alike or dissimilar we are, the point is, nobody likes to feel different, singled out, because of things beyond their control, but as mutants, that’s just a part of who we are, we can’t let it get to us.”

“Are your next words going to be ‘easier said than done’?” she replied dryly.

“Well, they were,” he said cheekily.

Meg gave a bit of a chortle then took a breath, “Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate the clothes, shopping can be tedious, but I look around every day at people doing great things, mutant or no, and I wonder where my place is in all that. As a mutant I do nothing, ‘cept look like a pixie, and I can’t blend in as a human, I’m not smart like Jean or Doctor McCoy, I mean, even Bobby of all people can do, like, calculus in his head or something.”

“Well then,” Warren went back to his sandwich, “good thing you’re only sixteen.”

She tilted her head slightly, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“You still have a couple years to decide what you want to do with your life,” he shrugged, then gave her a little conspiratorial grin, “and here’s a hint, you’re allowed to change your mind as many times, and as often, as you want.”

“Now that…” Meg pulled a face, “was totally worthy of an after school special.”

“Hey,” he smiled back unabashedly, “you work with what you have.”

…

Being a veteran of war, Christopher Summers knew how to coax a plane into breaking the laws of physics to do what needed to be done. As he tried to right the plane he barely had time to look over his shoulder before one of his sons disappeared into the night.

“ALEX!” he screamed but his words were as useful as Scott’s.

The plane tried to jerk again and he held the controls fast, the whole thing about to fall apart. Nothing was responding, not even the landing gear, and at the rate the engine was burning he’d be lucky if the whole plane didn’t blow up before he got over land.

Taking one hand off the wheel he quickly reached over to confirm what he had already feared. The man had seen enough to know a mortal wound when he saw one. Touching his wife’s neck to look for a pulse, it was already clammy and cold.

Christopher then looked down at his leg where a piece of metal had literally pinned him to the seat. If he took it out he’d bleed to death before he got his parachute on.

The situation was clear to him, with the lights of Kaneohe in the not too far distance, he righted the plane as best he could and prayed that he was giving his son a chance and wasn’t making a mistake.

…

Scott stared at the opening his brother had slipped through, tears streaming down his face. This was his fault, he created the hole in the first place, he couldn’t reach him in time…

“Scott,” he father called to him and he could barely acknowledge the words. “SCOTT!”

“Dad?” his head shot forward and tried to focus on his father who was attempting to keep the plane level.

“You see a parachute?” he asked and numbly Scott looked around. “A parachute, Scott, do you see one?”

“Yeah,” he called out, climbing up onto the seat, remembering what happened to Alex, keeping a firm grip as he made his way to the other side of the cabin where the chutes were hooked to the wall.

“Good,” his dad said, “you remember how to use it, right?”

Scott nodded his head then realized he father wanted verbal answers, “I remember.”

“We’re coming up on Kaneohe,” he messed with some of the controls, “the wind should push you towards shore, you’ll make landfall, stick your landing and you’ll be okay.”

“Dad?” it clicked in his mind, Scott was to jump alone, “What about you, Mom?”

There was a pause, Scott noticing his mother wasn’t moving except vibrating in response to the plane’s actions, then his father glanced slightly over his shoulder, “Neither of us are in a condition to jump, son, I’m going to land this plane, having you jump is just a precaution.”

Tears swelled in his eyes, nearly fogging up his rose quartz glasses, “No, I wanna stay with you.”

“Damn it, Scott,” his father rarely got crossed, “I need you to do this for me, okay. Put on the chute and jump.”

Several deep breaths later Scott reluctantly did as his father told, slipping the parachute onto his back, making sure to get all the clasps done up. He turned towards the gap in the hull, the wind whipping past and the pelting rain making small puddles on the deck.

“Dad,” he lost his nerve, still seeing his brother’s face as he slipped from the plane.

“It’s okay, Scott,” his father assured him, “just as we practiced.”

Swallowing hard, Scott moved forward, falling slightly and grabbing onto a piece of the structure, avoiding the jagged edges of the ripped metal.

“Scott,” his father called out and for a moment he hoped he had changed his mind, instead he said, “I love you, your mother and I love you, don’t ever forget that, son.”

He stared at his father with tears in his eyes, knowing in his gut that this was very likely the last time he would ever see his parents again but not wanting to believe it. “I love you too, dad.”

The older man nodded to him and turned his attention back to the controls, attempting to keep the wounded plane on course. Staring forward into the darkness, Scott breathed deeply and moved to the threshold of the gap, the rain striking his face. One last check that he had the chute on tight and his glasses were snug on his face, Scott closed his eyes, took a breath, and jumped.

Scott righted himself, pulling the rip cord almost immediately and feeling himself being lurched from a free fall into something a little more controlled even though the wind and rain pounded against him. From his vantage point he could see the damaged plane flying forward, the lights of the island in front of him. He was pushed forward, the wind rocking him back and forth as the chute threaten to collapse in on itself.

It didn’t take long for the plane to disappear from sight and the sea turn into forest below his feet. The island was full of trees and wooded areas, he attempted to aim for one of the sources of light but found himself being pushed farther to the left towards the mountain. He knew he wouldn’t have to worry about hitting it directly, he was losing altitude too quickly for that to happen.

Rain and wind assaulted him, pushing him down towards a group of trees.

“No, no,” he tried to maneuver himself away from the trees but the wind wouldn’t let him, instead the chute collapsed and he went into free fall almost thirty feet above the ground.

First he felt the smaller tree limbs that made up the tops of the trees, they smacked against him, leaving small bruises in their wake. This slowed him down marginally as he began to hit the larger branches. Throwing his hands out he attempted to either grab hold or at least keep himself from knocking into them too roughly.

The chute caught on a branch and he jerked to the side, swinging into the trunk of one of the trees. Unable to control his descent any longer, his head struck against a branch. As his mind blacked out, all he could do was fall and wonder what was worse:

Dying or Surviving.

X-Men: The (fan fic) Series

A series of short stories in a fictional X-Men TV Universe.