1X04 – Midsummer Night’s Dream – Act IV

1X04 – Midsummer Night’s Dream – Act IV

“The storm which rocked through the Islands last night was much stronger than predicted,” a man sipped at his coffee as he watched the morning news, “meteorologists believe it was a result of an uncharacteristic global shift in weather patterns which started a few days go over the middle-east, an area which has been having scattered showers, despite all environmental factors, leading to what should be drought-like conditions. While the locals have been benefitting from the rainfall, scientists are at a loss to explain the unseasonal rain storms though many are pointing to Global Warming as a likely culprit in the shifting and erratic weather.”

His dog came over and nudged his leg, whining slightly.

“Last night’s storm was responsible for flooding that claimed the life of one person on Molokai,” the reporter continued, “as well as thousands of dollars in damages to homes and businesses. A long-range personal aircraft also crashed last night on Oahu outside Kaneohe, so far officials are blaming a lightning strike which was reported to ground control during the flight, they will know more once the wreckage is cleared and the data recorder examined. Flight plans show the craft to have come from Alaska with four people on board, all of which are believed to have perished in the crash.”

The dog continued to whine, shaking its tail expectantly. With a resigned sigh the man stood and the dog ran to the door, hopping slightly on his rear legs. Grabbing his coat and walking stick, he opened the door and let his dog out for a walk.

He let the dog run ahead as he went through his morning ritual, walking the length of his acreage. Before long, his dog began to bark loudly and steadily. Following the noise, he headed through the trees, first seeing the nylon fabric of a ripped parachute swaying in the wind. Pushing it aside, he got a better look at what his dog was alerting him to.

Lying on the ground with a deep gash on the side of his head was a boy, barely a teenager. Stepping forward to see if the kid was still breathing, he heard a loud pop and crunch. Glancing down, he moved his foot off the remains of ruby colored glasses.

…

Rogue tipped her sunglasses up onto her forehead as she entered the warehouse, motorcycle helmet dangling in her hand. Dom was sitting in the living room watching TV and John was at the kitchen island, scribbling in one of his notebooks.

“You’re back early,” Dom commented and Pyro glanced up as if he hadn’t even noticed her arrival.

“I forgot how annoying prognostics can be,” she said with a sigh, sitting the helmet on the island before heading over to the fridge, “I love Irene to death but she can be so frustrating at times.”

“King Croesus of Lydia went to the Pythia and asked if he should go up against the Persians,” Pyro paused when he saw the confused look on Rogue’s face, “ah, a King back in like 550 BC went to the Oracle of Delphi,” he clarified, “anyway, the prophetess said that if Croesus attacked the Persians he would destroy a great empire,” he spoke gravely, then his mood suddenly changed and he laughed, “turned out it was his empire that got trashed. Silly man, there are some things you just don’t do, like attack the Persians if your name isn’t Alexander…” he thought about it for a split second, “or invade Russia in winter if your name is Napoleon… or ever, really.”

“Right,” Rogue said blankly, “thanks for the history lesson ‘professor’.”

“Give the old woman a break,” Dom said as Rogue grabbed a bottle of water, “it can’t be easy to know the future.”

“She doesn’t ‘see the future’,” she corrected him, “she picks up on the telepathic field of the universal consciousness and her brain acts like a computer, able to see in real time all the factors and probabilities of any given instance.”

“So she knows what someone will do,” he shrugged, “and in turn how that will affect another and so on. Basically, she sees the future.”

“Yeah, well, anyway,” Rogue ran her hand through her hair, “what’s good knowing the future if you don’t do anything about it,” she leaned back against the now closed fridge door, “she makes all these hints and cryptic statements. Like your King Crawdad, that wasn’t a prophecy, that was the Oracle being a smart ass.”

“Croesus,” Pyro corrected, “and dunno, I think knowing the future would be terribly boring.”

Rogue frowned, knowing what the man thought of boring. “I’m not talking about every little detail, but the big things, the important things.”

“Like if you’ll ever gain control of your mutation?” the Aussie asked and Rogue looked at him sharply. “Let’s face it Rogue, you can’t believe you’ll get control because someone tells you you will, you have to believe it because you actually believe you will.”

She shook her head at him, he didn’t know what he was talking about, “Says the man who had control from the beginning.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “but I’m Australian, we’re special.”

“Special in the head,” rolling her eyes, she headed towards the stairs, “get me when you guys are ready to go out.”

“Will do,” John called after her then went back to filling the notebook with his chicken-scratch.

As she went to her room, all she could think about was the fact that most all mutants of her age had control over their mutants, perhaps not perfected it, but control. Only those who had late blooming secondary mutations suffered as she did. If she didn’t have control of her primary mutation after having it for so long… would she ever?

…

“Yes,” LeFlore nodded to Jim as she pulled away the pink fabric. “I think you’re right, the shade is just off enough to compliment her hair without blending.”

“It would make a lovely summer dress,” the man agreed, then noticed his watch. “I am sorry but I have another appointment to get to.”

“I think we’ve covered everything,” LeFlore nodded thoughtfully, “now I just need to sew the darn things together.”

“You’d do fabulous,” Jim told the woman before turning to Meg, “and you’ll look fabulous, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Yeah, thank you,” she smiled at him but it was hard for her not to feel like she was kidding herself. She looked like some mythical creature and while that was on some level pretty darn cool, part of her would do anything just to look and feel normal, like everyone else.

Tim headed out, giving a few departing words to Warren on his way. LeFlore fiddled with some of the fabric, “I should have this finished in four weeks, five on the outside.”

“Tidy,” Meg said as she picked up some of the sketches, this one of a dress, her wings drawn out lightly in pencil with notes made to the side. She wasn’t sure how it was going to work but she had seen what LeFlore had done with Warren’s clothes.

“You ready to go?” Warren asked and she sat the sketch down.

“I guess so,” she looked to LeFlore.

“I have everything I need,” the woman told her.

“Thank you,” Meg gave her a smile, having to admit that she was indeed looking forward to seeing the results of the sketches that littered the work table.

“Always a pleasure,” LeFlore smiled and headed off towards another work bench.

“You know,” Warren said quietly, “I had the option, still have the option, to have my wings removed.”

Meg looked up at him sharply.

“They’re just bones,” he shrugged, “remove them at the joint, a little skin graft, probably wouldn’t look completely normal but a lot easier to explain than these,” he gestured to the wings.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked before she really even thought.

“Would make things a lot easier,” he gave a laugh, “the papers write me as some playboy but very few ladies have gotten the pleasure of seeing…” Warren blinked and realized who he was talking to, “anyway, every time I consider having them clipped, I think about everything they’ve taught me.”

“Taught you?” Meg frowned.

“Yeah, you see,” he took a second to gather his words, “doesn’t matter how rich your parents are, all kids have that desire to both fit in and stand out. It’s the part of being a kid that makes it such a frustrating and confusing time. I could have easily turned into some male Paris Hilton or some such, but I didn’t, because having something so obviously different taught me the value of both, fitting in and standing out.”

She considered his words and to her they felt hollow, again, at least he looked mostly normal and could afford the likes of Jim Colt and Madam LeFlore, “So, I’m suppose to learn from all this?”

He ignored her snark, “Yes, but what, I don’t know. It’s just like deciding what you want to do when you grow up, what kind of person you want to be…” he trailed off.

“Not helpful,” she frowned.

“Sorry, this all sounded easier back when I agreed to it,” he admitted, grabbing his coat from where it was laying across a chair, “could you give me a hand? I can do it myself but it’s just easier if I get help.”

“Sure,” she shrugged and as he pulled the coat onto one arm she straightened it out and draped it over the tips of his wings so he could easily slid in the other.

“Thanks, Meg,” Warren turned and straightened the fabric out while she grabbed her own coat. “If only it was that easy for me,” he said as she easily slid her coat around her wings which were completely dropped.

“Well,” a little grin came to her face, “you work with what you have, right?”

He laughed, “And don’t you ever forget it.”

…

As Scott came back to consciousness, there was the familiar texture of cotton over his closed eyes as pressure began to build behind his lids. Taking deep breaths, his body ached and his arm was heavy in a cast. There was beeping and noises, the only place he could be was a hospital.

The last thing he remembered was falling…

“We’ve taped your eyes shut,” a female voice said, “try not to open them, I’ll get the doctor.”

He heard footsteps fade away, weakly he lifted his free hand to his head. There were bandages across his forehead, a blindfold holding the cotton across his tapped eyes…

“Dad, Mom,” he croaked out, “Alex!”

“Scott,” a man was near him now, “calm down, you’ve been through a trauma.”

“Doctor Windsor?” he asked of the familiar voice.

“I came as soon as I heard you were found,” the man said evenly as he moved around, checking Scott’s vitals, “you fractured your radius, gained some cuts and bruises, all which will heal nicely, but I’m more worried about the blow you took to your head. There was some swelling, you possibly seized, your scans worry me.”

The doctor’s words barely registered, there was only one thing on Scott’s mind, “My parents, they were on the plane, where are they?”

Nothing but silence.

“Where are they?!?”

“We’re here,” a woman’s voice said next to him. “Shall I radio in?”

“Yeah,” Scott glanced over at Jean as he kept his eyes on the controls of the plane, “we need our approach vector and runway.”

She nodded and started to fiddle with the radio to call it in as Scott stared out at the white capped mountains in the distance. They looked like a blanket of blood red covering the land.

“You know,” JP called from the back, “I can’t help thinking it’s possible the Brotherhood could be onto this lead, the news reports are questionable enough, what with an unexplained sonic boom and all that.”

“Bucket Head has a few recruiters,” Logan said with a light growl, “if any are around, I’ll smell ‘em out.”

“The Professor didn’t sense any other mutants,” Jean had her hand over the mic of her headset. “We’ll send him a message and ask him or Betsy to do another search. In case they showed up recently,” she said the last few words quickly then went back to speaking to the person on the other end of the radio.

“JP,” Scott came to a decision, “if the mutant is hiding outside the city then the team won’t need us to help find him, so if there are known Brotherhood on the ground, you and I will handle it, unless it’s Creed, otherwise we’ll leave him to Logan,” there was a snort from said man’s direction.

“Sounds good,” JP nodded.

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to worry about the Brotherhood for once,” he stared out into the red skies, “we recruit this new mutant and go home.”

…

“You can pick me up outside Forge Industries,” Ororo said into her phone, shooting half a glance over at the man leaning up against the fireplace. “I’ll see you in a bit.

“I suppose you want to talk about important things now,” Forge said sadly as lifted himself from his perch. “Your messages mentioned some questionable projects I might be involved in.”

“Yes,” she turned towards as she tapped her phone against her other hand, wondering how best to approach the subject. “What do you know about Sentinel?”

“The government’s super secret A.I. program to track mutants?” he answered casually. “It’s black ops of the deepest, darkest color. The Army has it so tightly wrapped they won’t even let DARPA in on it, and this is what DARPA does.”

“We sort of… broke it,” she gave a wry grin.

“So I heard,” he grinned back at her, then shrugged, “but that’s all I know about it. Words and whispers. You see, there’s a… conflict of interest, me being a mutant and all. I’m not allowed anywhere near it.”

Storm frowned, “You almost sound as if that is a bad thing, and not because you would have access to shut it down.”

“From what I’ve been told,” he shrugged unabashedly, “Sentinel is as much a work of art as it is an A.I.”

“Kitty and Doug said much the same,” she continued to frown as she considered how unconcerned he was.

“I’ve heard good things about them, Katherine Pryde, Douglas Ramsey,” Forge’s eyes lit up, “and they’ll be graduating soon too, yes? If they’d be interested in a job, have ‘em give me a call, great pay and benefits, mutant friendly, plus the government gives us fun toys to play with.”

With a frustrated sigh, she rubbed at her temple. “Forge… Jonathan… how can you be so callus towards the situation?”

“And what would the situation be?” he frowned at her. “Cause all I see is three sides fighting it out like a frat party bender.”

“A bender?” the word surprised her.

“Yes,” he nodded, walking towards the patio balcony, “the Brotherhood has thrown all the furniture in the pool. The Government is spiking the drinks. And Xavier is lamely threatening to call campus security only to discover the guards are doing keg-stands in the kitchen.”

“That’s…” she continued to frown, “a colorful analogy.”

“But no less true,” he countered.

“Then where are you at this party?” her words were amused.

“Well, having been shunned by the most beautiful woman in school,” he looked her up and down sadly, “I found the game room and making use of it while everyone else acts the fool.”

“Is that what you think we are… what I am?” she frowned again, “Fools.”

“I’ve heard about your X-Men,” he splayed his hands, “I’m not sure what you hope to gain.”

“Peace, understanding,” Ororo responded immediately, “co-existence.”

“A foolish dream,” he spoke slowly, quietly. “I’m sorry, ‘Ro, but that’s just how it is.”

She shook her head sternly, “You were never this cynical.”

“I think maybe I was,” Forge slumped his shoulders, “I just never noticed until now.”

“What changed?” she asked quietly, “Why do you continue to work for the government, and DARPA. They build weapons to be used against us, your own kind. Why?”

“Why?” he let out a sad laugh. “You know why I was raised in Oklahoma instead of Wyoming? Because my people were forced there during removal so that settlers could have their land, then settlers ended up taking that land too,” his laugh turned bitter, “but I was a dutiful son, a proud son, joined the military. Lost my leg, my hand, and my best friend during a rescue mission I’m not allowed to talk about,” he swept his hands wide, nearly knocking over the items on the mantle, “I come back to bury him and his funeral is picketed by people who wouldn’t understand honor and respect if it bit them in the ass. Calling him a murderer and immoral and…” he couldn’t continue, simply shook his head and trembled.

Stillness settled between them, Storm wanting to reach out to him but knowing to do so would only put them back where they were before, two lost souls entirely too dependent on the other.

“I’ve built something here,” he finally spoke, “started with high tech limb replacements,” he looked at his own glove covered hand, “and now I have contracts for the military, the Martian rovers have my tech on them, and you know why?”

“Why?” she asked softly.

“Because I learned that taking sides… is a waste of time,” he spoke firmly, his jaw set. “In the end, you’re gonna get screwed over, one way or another, so might as well look out for yourself.”

“You don’t really believe that…” she tried.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, “I really don’t.”

She stood tall, “They will come for you, they will only find you so useful before you become a liability.” Internally she winced realizing just how much she sounded like Magneto in that moment.

“Then let them come,” there was little arrogance in his words. “I’ve chosen a side, mine.”

“Well then,” she maintained her composure, though storm clouds started to gather outside, “I’ll leave you to your work, we have nothing more to discuss. Thank you for lunch.”

With her head held high, Storm grabbed her shawl and shoes before turning to leave, this time heading to the balcony. She needed to be one with nature, to feel the wind on her face. Gathering the elements around her, she stepped up onto the balustrade.

“’Ro,” Forge called to her from the door, “you want to look into a Colonel Trask, he’s the spearhead of the Sentinel project. Terribly anti-mutant, but a brilliant programmer and engineer. He was involved in designing weapons systems for everything from submarines to fighter jets before he gained enough pull to start his own project,” he paused before saying softly, “be careful around him, and this whole mess, it’d be too easy to get yourself hurt.”

“Thank you, Forge,” she didn’t bother to turn and look at him, “and I’ve missed you too,” with that she stepped off, wrapping herself in wind to glide her to the alleyway below.

…

Dr Windsor moved to the side, his white lab coat making a shuffling sound as Scott had his eyes closed, lying on the table.

“I’m turning off the light,” the small amount of glow behind his eyelids disappeared and he knew the area he was in had gone pitch black. “Now, open your eyes.”

Timidly, Scott did as he was instructed, unable to make out much of anything in the absolute dark.

“I’m going to run the machine now,” his doctor said and shortly there was the hum of equipment as he began to slowly move backwards. The CAT scan had its lights covered over with electrical tape and the glow from the sensors was not enough to set off his optic beam.

A few minutes later, Scott was brought out of the machine and the hum died, the familiar form of his glasses placed in his hands. Sitting up, he put them on.

“Ready for me to turn on the lights,” the doctor asked and when Scott acknowledged yes, the man flipped the switch. “Why don’t you wait with me in the office while I go over the new scans?”

“Yes, sir,” he said numbly, not really caring at all about what was happening with his eyes. Sliding off the table he followed the doctor out and into the office, practically falling into one of the office chairs as Dr Windsor sat across from him at his desk, checking out the scans on his computer.

“It’s as I feared,” the man frowned, “when you hit your head you caused swelling which partially cut off blood flow to your occipital lobe, it controls how the mind processes visual input,” he turned the screen so Scott could see the images from the scan, “this small area here is now dead, I believe that is why you can no longer turn off your ability to take and compress the red spectrum of visual light. You have physically lost the brain cells responsible for either control or to see in normal light. We’d have to do more tests to know for sure which.”

“Can…” this caught his attention, “can I be fixed?”

“Once brain cells die, they stay dead,” the man frowned, then looked at him thoughtfully, “but it is possible that other parts of the brain could pick up the slack, we could also try experimental surgery.”

“Surgery?” for some reason he really didn’t like the way the man said that word.

“Excuse me,” there was a knock on the door and an Air Force Captain invited himself into the room.

“Captain,” the doctor acknowledged him and Scott turned in his seat to see the man, he recognized him as one of his father’s fellow flight trainers.

“Dr Windsor,” the Captain nodded then turned to Scott, “I need to speak to Scott for a moment,” he paused, taking a breath. “The medical examiner has released your parent’s remains. Per your father’s wishes, arrangements are being made to fly them back to Alaska for burial,” Scott couldn’t look at him anymore, staring down at the ground, wishing this was just some bad dream. “I know you’ve been staying in the hospital the past few days but your grandfather wants you to come stay with him immediately. I can understand if you don’t want to fly, one of our carriers will be leaving for San Diego in a couple of days, from there I’m sure we can arrange for transfer up the coast.”

“Um, Captain,” the doctor stood up, “a word please.”

The two men walked out into the hall and shut the door, Scott’s mind awash of recent memories.

“I believe Scott should stay in my care,” he heard the doctor say through the door.

“It’s not your call,” the Captain said, “his grandfather is the only family he has left.”

“The old man is in no condition to take care of a teenager,” Windsor countered and Scott guessed his father must have talked to the doctor about his grandfather’s health.

“He’s still his grandfather,” the other man pointed out, “and if Scott stays around here it’s only a matter of time before the military gets their hands on him and we both know that’s the last thing Chris wanted.”

“Scott is special,” the doctor wasn’t having any of it, “not only does he have a mutation but he’s suffered brain damage.”

“Has the damage made him physically or mentally disabled?” the Captain asked knowing full well the answer. Scott still had his arm in a cast but other than not being able to shut down his optic blast he was in great health for someone who crash landed his parachute. The doctor didn’t answer because he knew the question was rhetorical. “Right now isn’t the time for him to be poked and prodded when that’s not going to do any good for him anyway, he needs to be with his family,” there was a slight pause, “what’s left of it. I gave his grandfather the name of a special school he might be interested in sending Scott after he’s had time to recover, it caters to those who are… different.”

“School, what school?”

“The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, New York,” it was the first Scott had heard of it, “apparently the guys who run it are different themselves.”

“Xavier,” he said the word as if he had heard it somewhere before and was trying to place it.

“Chris was looking into it before…” he stopped himself, “anyway, it checks out. They also have a doctor there, Hank McCoy, he should be more than able to take care of Scott.”

“McCoy,” he repeated the name, “I know of him. What else do you know of this school?”

“It’s a school for mutants, run by mutants,” the Captain offered unhelpfully, “it’s new, has maybe a handful of students. Chris already signed off on it, he talked to Xavier himself. I believe he was going to talk to Scott about it when they got back.”

There was a little bit of a pause before the doctor said, “Perhaps this is for the best, for Scott to be among others like himself.”

“The boy needs his family,” the Captain agreed, “and not made to feel like he’s a lab experiment.”

“Of course,” Windsor seemed a little distracted as if lost in thought.

Moments later, the door opened up and the two walked inside. The Captain turned to him, “Your family’s belongings are being boxed up to ship back with them. We’ll go by to get what you want to take with you on the ship.”

“No,” Scott shook his head, trying not to cry, knowing he had to be strong, “I want to go with them, I already left them once, I don’t want them to be alone.”

X-Men: The (fan fic) Series

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