Chapter 8
The next morning, Rogue woke up a bit later than usual, coming to consciousness gradually. She found herself in that state where one is halfway between dream and wakefulness. She reviewed her night with Archetype - no, Will - in her mind. Idly, she wondered if he would be interested in a second date.
She was startled awake by a knock on her door. She got up, pulled her oversize T-shirt straight, and cracked open the door.
Ororo was on the other side. "Are you all right, Rogue?" she asked. "You don't usually sleep this late."
Rogue beamed in response. "Storm, I feel great! Come on in," she said, opening the door fully. Ororo walked in and sat down on the chair by Rogue's desk.
"You seem cheerful this morning. I take it your date went well."
Rogue thought a moment. "I'm not even sure if it was a date - at least in his eyes. Anyway, it was wonderful! We went to a gallery, ate out at a cafe... and he bought me this!" she picked up the stag, which she had placed on her night table, and showed it to Ororo. "It cost a ridiculous amount of money, but he said he's so loaded, he'll never miss it..."
Ororo laughed. "Slow down, Rogue. You sound like a teenager. Did Archetype tell you anything about himself?"
Rogue took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, but she still felt giddy. "For one thing, he'd prefer it if we call him Will. He'll call each of us by our code names, or Mister or Ms., until he considers us friends. To be honest, we didn't talk all that much." She smiled slightly. "I guess I'll have to go out with him a few more times to learn anything more."
"You're a charlatan, Rogue," Ororo said, smiling, as she stood up. "Hank wanted me to remind you about your physical. You and Archetype - sorry, Will - will have a debriefing with both him and the Professor afterwards."
"Okay. Tell Hank I'll be down in about fifteen - no, make it twenty minutes. I'll wake up Will."
"You'll miss breakfast, you realize."
"I had a big meal last night. I'll be fine. See you later."
Rogue took a quick shower, put on a T-shirt and cutoffs, and went over to Archetype's room. When there was no response to her knock, she opened the door and peered in. He was still in bed, sprawled on his back, head buried underneath a pillow. She tiptoed over to the side of the bed and watched him for a moment.
He was totally dead to the world. She studied his body underneath the sheets, looking at him from head (or neck) to toe. His body, she decided, could best be described as efficient. He wasn't in any way a mass of muscle like Peter or Logan, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, either. He had what the Professor had once described as an Apollonian physique, which was designed for stealth and flexibility rather than brute strength.
As her eyes traveled to his waist, she realized that he wasn't wearing anything underneath the sheets. After an inner struggle (which, she had to admit to herself, was rather short-lived), she took hold of the edge of the sheet, and started to slowly lift it up.
"I'm sorry, madam, but the management's policy is that there is to be no viewer interaction with the exhibits."
Rogue jumped back quickly, blushing furiously. "I'm... I was just... I..."
"No, don't tell me. Let me guess," he said as he lifted up the pillow. His hair was tousled and his eyes bleary, but a twinkle could still be seen in them. "As part of your assignment from Xavier to learn about me, you were trying to determine whether I was Jewish or not."
Rogue fled at that point.
Ten minutes later, Archetype came down into the kitchen. "Hullo," he said blearily to Xavier.
"Good morning," Xavier replied.
"Please don't use that phrase around me, Xavier. I am a firm believer that those two words belong together as much as the phrase 'government intelligence'."
"That's right," Henry put in. "I forgot that you're not a morning person."
"That's not true," Archetype objected. "I am a morning person... one to three in the morning."
"If you like, we could delay your debriefing for a while," Xavier offered.
"There's no need," he replied. "I just need an hour or two to get my mental house in order. I'll be fine."
"Where's Rogue?" Bobby asked.
"Last I saw her," Betsy said, "she was heading back to her room. She was muttering something about maintaining a hands-off policy." The amazing thing was that Archetype managed to keep a straight face.
Since it was raining that morning, Archetype decided to do his morning run on a treadmill that Henry set up for him in the Danger Room. After he had finished his katas, he entered the debriefing room, where Xavier, Henry, and Rogue were waiting for him. "Sorry if I'm late," he muttered.
"Don't worry about it," Xavier replied. "Given how chaotic things are here at times, we aren't sticklers for punctuality. Have a seat." After Archetype was comfortably settled in one of the overstuffed chairs, Xavier activated the room's main console, along with three of the smaller ones underneath it. "Let me explain a bit about how we run our review sessions before we get started. We keep a camera and a scanner array focused on each individual training participant, as a way of analyzing mutant abilities, combat skill, and physical condition. We also use a wide-angle scan to analyze team performance as a whole."
"Understood," Archetype assured him. "Did you learn anything interesting during our run yesterday?"
"Well," Henry said evasively, "yes and no. Our readings of you, Rogue, were very complete, and frankly, given how much information we have on your abilities, they yielded no surprises."
"What about him?" Rogue asked.
"He's a problem. We don't have much, and what we dohave raises more questions than it answers."
Archetype frowned. "I don't understand. You were scanning me the entire time, weren't you?"
"The entire time you were here, yes," Xavier answered. "Unfortunately, you spent very little time here during the session."
Understanding dawned on Archetype's face. "You couldn't track me while I was in transit." It was not a question.
"Exactly. Because of that, all of our readings are a bit spotty. I'm going to contact Forge in Washington to see if he can help us get around that problem. In the meantime, we'll be cross referencing our data on you with our files of Nightcrawler's teleportation process to see if we can find any parallels."
Archetype shrugged. "Whatever you think is best, Xavier. I may have an ego, but I'm smart enough to let you do your work without interfering. As long as you let me know what your results are, and try to keep the files as secure as possible, I have no problem with your sharing your information."
"You surprise me, Archetype," Henry admitted. "I would expect you to be fanatical about your privacy."
"Normally I am, but I knew that when I joined this outfit, I'd have to make some sacrifices. This will be a relatively minor one. Now, what are some of your unanswered questions?"
"Well," Xavier said, tapping at his keyboard, "your E.K.G. became a bit unusual at the beginning of the session."
"How so?"
"It attained the same state as during your run yesterday," Henry informed him. "Your brain patterns became much more complex."
"I can't give you a precise answer on that," Archetype replied. "All I have to work with is a theory."
"We'll take what we can get."
"The collective unconscious, by definition, is present in all people to some degree or another. I think that my connection with it is, for some reason, a much more intimate one than normal. When I'm in an unfamiliar situation, I achieve a state which might be considered a reverse nirvana. Instead of being totally focused, I become highly unfocused, letting my intuition guide me completely.
"Now, intuition can be described as a mental process which utilizes the subconscious, rather than the conscious, functions of the brain. Because I draw information from the collective unconscious, in addition to my own, my brain wave pattern would logically be more complex."
Henry thought for a moment, then looked at Xavier. "I could accept that as a working theory."
"So could I." He looked at Archetype. "If your theory is correct, your dreams would be very complex."
"You have no idea. I spend a lot of my waking hours trying to figure out just what my dreams mean. I have dreams where I deal with archetypes using aspects that have no relation to Western culture, so I usually have no idea just what their significance is. I've been doing some study on Eastern religions and mythologies to fill that gap in my knowledge."
"I did some traveling in the Orient about fifteen years ago," Xavier informed him. "I'll see if I have anything that could be of some use to you."
"I'd appreciate it. I had one dream last month that I think had something to do with the cult of Kali." He shuddered. "I still get chills thinking about it."
"Let's move on," Henry announced. "I noticed that you used a combination of your Doors and teleportation for during the session."
"Yes. If an object is moving - or if I am - it's easier for me to use a Door than to teleport."
"Why's that?" Rogue asked.
"A Door is a pretty simple thing to construct. It's just a connection point between two places. When I teleport an object, however, it's a field effect, and I need a moment to get the dimensions of the 'hole' that the object makes in space-time. If the object is moving, the shape of that 'hole' is constantly changing. It's much easier for me to create a Door, and let the object fall into it."
"That raises another question," Henry remarked. "Kurt - you may know him better as Nightcrawler - has always had problems with teleporting against the pull of gravity. Teleporting straight up is, for him, the hardest thing to accomplish. Do you have that problem?"
"Not that I've been able to find. In fact, one of the first tests that I gave myself, once I realized what I was capable of, was to teleport about one or two miles into the air. My logic was that I'd be much less likely to run into anything solid."
"Sensible," Xavier agreed. "Did you have any problems?"
"None. Actually, I may use that method if I ever find myself in free fall. If I fall down into a Door, and come out falling up, then I can reduce my velocity quickly, then teleport down to ground level when my velocity hits zero."
"Or into Blackbird Gold," Henry added. "It has V-TOL capabilities."
"That could work, too. Shall we continue?"
Xavier nodded. "That pretty much covers our questions for you at this point. The rest of our questions are for you, Rogue."
"All right, shoot."
"You're the only one of us to have direct experience with Archetype's teleportation process. How would you describe the experience?"
Rogue pursed her lips for a moment. "There's not much to say, Professor. There were a lot of flashes of light, like what you'd see if you were looking right at a camera as someone took a picture of you. Then I felt a jerk..."
"I swear I never touched you," Archetype interrupted. She elbowed him in the stomach.
"It was like being grabbed and dragged along for a short distance. It took the breath right out of me. After that happened a few times..."
"Wait a minute," Henry interjected. "You were teleporting for only a few seconds."
"Uh uh," she disagreed. "It went on for about two minutes."
"I think I can clear this up," Archetype offered. "Remember what I told you my first day here. Time has little meaning when I, or anyone else, is in transit. You," he said, looking at Rogue, "spent a greater amount of subjective time in transit than actual objective time elapsed."
"Did you get that?" Rogue asked Henry.
"I think he lost me on that sharp left at the end."
"Anyway," Rogue continued, "each time it happened, I got a little more tired. By the time it was over, I was exhausted, and dizzy as hell. I just couldn't stay on my feet after that."
"A state in concordance with your description of the process yesterday," Henry said, looking at Archetype. He looked at his notes. "Well, that concludes my questions. Any comments, Rogue?"
"Just one," she said, "and it's for Archetype. Would one teleport have that sort of effect?"
He shook his head. "No. The disorientation effect from one transit is negligible."
"We might want to look into finding a way for you to send us to a safe area if case one of us gets injured in combat. It might be a way for us to avoid another Morlock Massacre."
"I'd heard rumors about the Morlocks," Archetype said, frowning, "but I couldn't manage a teleport of that scale. There would be too many people involved."
"She doesn't mean the Morlocks themselves," Xavier clarified. "Three of our members were severely injured in combat during the Massacre. Had we been able to help them in time, they might not have taken so long to recover. If you can evacuate our wounded to Muir Island, then we would have a better chance of helping them."
"Now that's something that I've been meaning to ask you about," Archetype said, straightening up in his chair. "If I'm to do that sort of thing, I'll need three things from you to help me."
Xavier's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"
"One: I need some sort of telemetry aid that I can use to pinpoint my own location. If I don't know where I am, there's not a whole hell of a lot that I'll be able to do for you. Two: the X-Men will each have to carry some sort of locator beacon, set on a secure frequency, so that I can find them in an emergency. Three - and I know I'm asking a lot here - I need the locations of Muir Island and other safe zones that you've established, so I know where to send you. I'm willing to make a concession of my own in return, by the way."
"And that is?"
"In addition to your safe areas, I will provide you with all the locations of my own safe houses, save six - I'm leaving one secure area on each continent, in case your system becomes compromised."
Xavier brooded for a moment. "I'll have to think about it. That should do for now. Rogue, you're scheduled for security watch this afternoon. Archetype, report to Bishop for a review of security procedures. He'll issue you a smart key and do retinal scans on you. You're both dismissed."
After they had left, Henry turned to Xavier. "Warren mentioned to you that those two went out on a date last night?"
"Yes."
"Do you think it wise that he become enmeshed with our lives so rapidly?"
"I don't see anything wrong with it, Hank. In a way, I'm glad that he's trying to fit in here. All my information on him made me afraid that he was going to shut himself up in his room and only pop out when there was an emergency. Besides, it's not often that Rogue gets any attention. Archetype seems to realize what her boundaries are, and he's chosen to respect them. In any case, what can we do - forbid them to see one another? Do either one of them seem like people who'd obey that sort of order?"
"Good point. Maybe it will be good for both of them. While we're on the subject, how do you think Scott will take the idea of Archetype having information on our secure locations?"
"I don't know. Scott seems to realize that his suspicion of Archetype is irrational, so maybe he'll moderate the histrionics a bit. And even if he chooses not to - well, he's outvoted by the rest of the team."
"We still haven't answered the big question, though."
"Oh? What's that?"
"How will Archetype act when he's under the gun?"
Chapter 9
"Come on, rookie, one more rep!"
Logan and Archetype were in the weight room of the gymnasium, on the third day of Archetype's physical training program. Logan was proving to be a hard taskmaster.
"Right, right, right..." Archetype muttered to himself, as he hefted the barbells yet again. He pumped out fifteen lifts of the forty-pound weights, then slowly set them on the ground. "Satisfied?" he asked Logan with some asperity.
"Good enough," Logan shrugged, which earned him a glare. "But you forgot to put them back on the rack." Archetype, still muttering, replaced the weights.
"Today we're adding something to your routine." Logan informed him.
"What's that?" was the weary response.
"Well, since you're overheated from lifting those itty bitty weights," he continued heartlessly, "we'll just cool you down a little bit."
Archetype looked at him, confused.
"Hit the pool, rookie!" Logan roared.
Logan had the sort of voice which was tailor-made for a drill sergeant. Archetype, however, was not as easy to rattle as most. "Shall I change first?" he asked evenly.
Logan was somewhat impressed. Very few people could keep calm like that when confronted with the demeanor he was projecting. "Get some swim trunks on," he grunted. "We put some in the locker with your name on it. You've got two minutes."
Archetype grinned. "I'll only need one," he said, and vanished.
One minute later, they were both standing at the side of the mansion's indoor pool. "I want you to do four laps, to the other end and back," Logan informed him. "This pool's a bit smaller than the one outside, so by the time the weather warms up, you should be able to do five laps on the outside pool."
Archetype looked at the pool dubiously. "I suppose I should let you know now, I'm not a fantastic swimmer. The North Atlantic doesn't exactly encourage casual dips into the ocean. I haven't been swimming in years."
"The real purpose of this is to make you use muscles that you wouldn't ordinarily get to in a regular workout. Your style'll improve gradually... if you do it right. Now get moving," he said, as he pushed Archetype into the water.
Archetype floundered for a few seconds, then got himself under control. After shooting a look at Logan which was full of venom, he began using the breast stroke to cross the pool. He continued that stroke for three laps, then used the back stroke for the last lap.
"That'll be enough," Logan announced. "Come on out." He threw Archetype a towel as he emerged from the pool. "You're gonna have to practice a bit more."
"I suppose I'd better get used to this," Archetype replied resignedly. "I hate swimming, but if..." He was interrupted by a high-pitched klaxon and flashing red light.
"Come on, rookie!" Logan barked, tearing into a run. "We've got work to do!"
"I take it that that's the call to arms," Archetype replied dryly.
"You got it. Follow me!"
They entered the War Room to find Xavier and Ororo standing in front of the TAC Display. "What's up?" Logan asked.
"A terrorist group is in front of the Japanese Embassy in Washington. The leader's threatening to blow it up. Given his appearance, he's most likely a mutant."
"Has he given a reason yet?" Logan asked.
"He's babbling something about the Japanese being in league with the Swiss banks and the United Nations."
"Along with the Bavarian Illuminati," Archetype said disgustedly. "A classic paranoid delusion."
"I agree," Xavier replied. "Normally, I'd just let the police handle this, but I was able to get a close-up of the device he's been brandishing about. See for yourselves." He punched a button, and an image appeared in the holographic display, suspended in the air. A man stood there, brandishing a small cylindrical device in his right hand. His left arm was pinning a young Asian woman around the neck. Xavier zoomed in, so that the man's right hand filled the 'screen'. "Anybody recognize it?"
"A SHIELD micro-nuke," Logan said. "Fury oughta review his security."
"Who do we have on call right now?" Ororo asked.
Xavier concentrated for a moment. "Henry, Bobby, Rogue, Bishop, and you three."
"You're considering me a team member for now?" Archetype asked.
"Given the circumstances, I don't have much choice," Xavier said. Then he paused. "That didn't come out the way I intended," he apologized.
Archetype waved that off. "I can have us all there in less than a minute. Can you give me a map of the area?"
"Easily," Xavier said, moving his hands towards the keyboard.
"Wait," Archetype interrupted. "We'll all need time to get into uniform. While we're changing, you can do something to make this easier for me."
Xavier nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
"You get some of your information from satellites, right?"
"Yes. We piggyback our transmissions over existing frequencies."
"Can you temporarily override a satellite that has a camera?"
Xavier frowned. "I think so. Why?"
"Here's what I want: Find one of those satellites, one over North America. Zoom in here, on the mansion, then zoom out again, as far back as the satellite will allow, then zoom in on the area of Washington where we'll need to be. It'll save me a step while we're in transit, and I'll be able to drop us in the most strategically placed area."
"It'll be ready by the time you get back here. Get moving." Xavier moved to the communications console to alert the other members on the grounds.
Archetype disappeared, and Ororo and Logan ran to the locker rooms. Archetype teleported back to the War Room, in uniform, three minutes later. The others were down within five, and saw Xavier and Archetype reviewing the satellite coverage that Archetype had requested.
"All right, I'm ready," Archetype announced. He looked at Ororo. "Do you want us on ground level, or on the top of a building nearby?"
Ororo thought a moment. "The authorities are going to be nervous enough as it is. Put us on top of a building if you can."
Archetype nodded. "Everybody get close to me... not thatclose, Rogue. Face that direction, so the guy's right in front of us. We'll be about half a block away. Okay, on three... two... one!" There was a flash of light, and they were facing the Japanese Embassy, which was about three stories below them.
"What's the plan, boss?" Wolverine asked Storm.
"We try to reason with him," she replied. "If that does not work... I don't know."
"Archetype," Bishop spoke up, "can you place me on that rooftop over there?" He pointed two buildings over.
"Yes. You want a clean shot, right?"
"Right."
"Bishop," Storm said in a warning tone.
"It's on stun setting, Storm," Bishop assured her.
"Make sure it stays there. Bobby, will you be able to affect your target from this range?"
"No problem, Storm."
"Beast, Wolverine, Archetype, Rogue: come with me. Henry, you may have to disarm the device. Rogue, could you throw it into orbit if you had to?"
Rogue looked doubtful. "I might, but if it blows before it gets high enough, it won't make any difference."
Ororo frowned. "Logan, what would you suggest?"
"There's not much I can do, 'Roro. It might be a good idea if I stay in the background. The guy's probably jittery enough as it is. If I spook him, he may decide to blow the damn thing."
Storm sighed heavily. "You might be right. Archetype, what would you suggest?"
"Let me try talking to him for a few minutes. If he doesn't settle down, I'll take more direct action."
"What sort of action?" Henry asked.
"I won't know until I do it. Let's go." He teleported the five of them down to street level, and they made their way through the police barricade.
One officer tried to stop them. "Stay right where you are, muties!"
Archetype gave the officer an irritated look. "First place, officer, I'm not a mutant. Secondly, we just may be the only chance you've got of disarming that lunatic. Thirdly, if you shoot us, you may startle him, and we all go boom. Now point that pop gun of yours at the right person, will you? Who's in charge around here?"
"I am," a man in a suit and sunglasses said. "Agent Beattie, FBI. Put that thing away, officer. You guys are the X-Men, right? I recognize you from that day in Dallas. I was there."
"We're here to help if we can," Ororo informed him. "What can you tell us?"
"Not much. He hasn't issued any demands, but we've confirmed that that thing is a SHIELD mini-nuke grenade, and it's set with a deadman switch. If he let's go of it, it'll blow. That's why none of our snipers has taken him down yet."
Immediately, Storm tapped her communicator. "Bishop, this is Storm. The device has a deadman switch. Do not, I repeat, do not fire."
"Acknowledged," said Bishop over the comlink.
"Can I talk with him?" Archetype asked.
Beattie thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, sure. Our negotiator can't get here for another ten minutes. Try to stall him if you can, Chief."
Archetype nodded. "I'll do my best. Hook me up with a radio and earpiece, so you can hear us. I may have to give you a signal."
Two minutes later, Archetype was walking towards the terrorist and his hostage. "I'm not armed," he announced, holding his hands up. "I'm just here to talk with you."
"You're another mutant, ain't ya?" the man said, desperate hope in his voice. His skin was orange, and he was about five feet tall. He was still gripping the terrified hostage. His voice was ragged and nervous.
"Oh yeah," Logan said from the listening post that had been set up behind the police line, "he's nuts."
"I'm with the X-Men, if that's what you mean," Archetype said in a friendly manner, as he stopped about five yards away from them. "We'd like to know just why you're doing this."
"The flatscans ain't gonna leave us alone, man," the man babbled. "They're gonna put us in camps and put microchips in our brains! They're workin' with the U.N. to make us all become part of the World Army, and they're gonna send us out into space to fight in the wars on other planets. They're doin' the work of the Devil, man, and God wants me to send 'em all to hell!"
"Lovely," Henry groaned, "we're dealing with a paranoid schizophrenic who has the Bomb."
"There's no way I can get you to give this up?" Archetype asked as he used his power to get a general look at the man's mind. All he got was images of death and self-destruction.
"No!"
Archetype sighed. "Just checking." He furrowed his brow for a moment.
And the terrorist's right hand, bomb and all, disappeared.
The terrorist's eyes widened for a moment, and he screamed. He released his hostage, and clutched his bloody stump, which was bleeding orange. The hostage bolted, and ran to Archetype, who calmed her down slightly, and pointed towards the police line. She understood, moving towards the waiting officers, who rushed her to safety.
Archetype shook his head sadly as he walked back towards the police line. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically to Agent Beattie. "He wasn't sane enough to listen to reason. I didn't have any alternative."
"We were going to shoot him up with something that would have caused instant rigor mortis," Beattie said quietly. "He would have been a statue for the two days or so he would have lived. You saved his life. Hell, you saves thousands of lives! Don't be sorry for that."
Archetype shook his head again. "There had to have been another alternative that I missed," he said quietly. He looked at Ororo. "Shall we return to base, Storm?"
"Yes," she said sympathetically. "Let's go."
"One question," Henry asked a few minutes later, when they had all regrouped in the parlor room at the mansion.
"What's that?" Archetype said distantly.
"Where's the bomb now?"
"Somewhere in the vicinity of the solar corona would be my best guess. I figured one more nuclear
explosion in that neighborhood wouldn't do any harm."
"Look, bub, we were listening in," Logan said. "He didn't leave you any choice. Anything else we could have done would have set off the bomb."
"Yes," Archetype replied, not sounding convinced, "I guess you're right. I'd better get started on dinner. If you'll all excuse me?" He rose and went to the kitchen.
"You might want to change first," Xavier reminded him.
Archetype looked down at himself. "Oh. Right," he said half to himself. "I'll start dinner in a moment." He walked over to the stairs.
"He didn't even teleport," Bobby remarked. "He must reallybe upset."
"He is," Xavier said, "but not for the reasons you'd think. He was looking for a way to end the stalemate without resorting to using his powers. I ran into the same thing myself, while I was earning my Ph.D. in psychology. Using my powers felt like... not cheating, but rather that my skills weren't up to the task. I always felt that my training should have been better."
"Think he'll be okay?" Rogue asked, concerned.
"Let's just give him some time. If it seems that he's becoming majorly depressed, then we'll take steps." He frowned. "That's something that we might want to watch out for."
"What is?" Ororo asked.
"I remember Emma Frost telling me once that Manuel de la Rocha - Empath - was highly vulnerable to the emotional states of those around him. It's quite possible that there is some psychological fallout that Archetype experiences as a result of his power."
"Meaning that if there's a major change in the collective consciousness, then Archetype will be affected," Henry added.
"Is there anything we can do to help him?" Rogue asked.
Xavier held up his hands. "I have no idea right now, Rogue. His powers are unlike anything I've encountered before. The only person I know of whose abilities were comparable was Doug Ramsey. I was just beginning to understand his abilities when I went into space, and by the time I got back..."
"He was dead," Ororo said sadly. "Can we change the subject, Charles? I am in no mood to dwell on our darker times."
"Me neither," Rogue added. "I'm gonna go get changed." She went up to her room, got undressed, and tossed her uniform back in her closet. She hadn't been in contact with anything, and the material that it was made from was breathable enough to wear several times without washing. When she came out, clad in her usual casual dress of jeans, blouse and gloves, Will was just starting down the stairs, apparently lost in thought.
"You need any help with dinner?" she asked him.
He looked up for a moment, startled. "Um... sure," he replied, "if you don't mind peeling some potatoes. I was going to make that eye round roast I took out of the freezer this morning."
"No problem," she said. She followed him down to the kitchen, and started peeling potatoes while he lit the oven, then seasoned and tied up the meat. He then pulled out what appeared to be a hypodermic needle from one of the drawers.
Warren, who was just walking into the kitchen, did a double take. "What in the hell is that thing?" he exclaimed.
"A flavor injector," Will replied, as he used the instrument to gather up the liquid which remained in the meat tray. "It's used to add broths and other flavors to roasted meats and birds." He placed the needle in the roast and depressed the plunger. Warren simply nodded, not really knowing how to reply, as the roast was placed in the broiler.
"Okay," Will said as he opened the refrigerator, "What do we have for a vegetable course?" He peered inside, and sighed. "Not a whole hell of a lot. Where do you keep the canned stuff?"
Warren pointed to the proper cabinet, and Will, after a minute's search, emerged with two cans of sliced mushrooms and a can of beef broth. "Next question," he said, looking at Rogue. "Where's the wine kept around here?"
"Down in the basement," she replied.
"What do you need?" Warren asked. "I can get it."
"Madiera, if you have it. It doesn't have to be an old vintage."
Warren nodded, went to the elevator, and went down one floor. After weaving his way through the heater room and the room where the old furniture was kept, he entered the wine cellar. He flicked on the overhead light, and, after a few minutes of searching, procured a bottle of Madiera.
"Will this work?" he asked Will when he returned. Will was sautéing the mushrooms in a bit of butter.
Will peered at the label. "Perfect. Remind me to tell Xavier that I took it." He poured a generous portion of the wine into a saucepan, to which he added the mushrooms and the broth. "Now we just have to let this reduce a bit," he said as he put the heat down to its bare minimum. "Let's see," he said reflectively, "what should we do for dessert?"
"Do you have time to bake something?" Rogue asked as she finished with the potatoes.
He shook his head. "No. Are you done with those?" She nodded. "Then let's get them in the oven." He cut the potatoes into quarters, then put them in a large bowl, coated them with a small amount of cooking oil, added some rosemary, then opened the oven and placed them in the roasting pan. "Now, dessert, dessert..." me muttered to himself as he closed the oven door. "We need something fast... got it! Is there any ice cream in the freezer?"
Warren peered inside. "Yes. A full gallon."
"Perfect. Could you take it out, please? I'll be back in a minute," Will replied, and winked out.
"The frightening thing is that I'm starting to get used to that," Rogue told Warren.
"Where do you think he went?"
She shrugged. "Who knows? I'm given up trying to predict just what he'll do." Then she smiled. "I've got to admit, though, it makes life interesting."
A few minutes later, Will reappeared. "Took a while to find pitted ones." He was holding a large clear plastic bag, filled with black cherries. "Can you two take off the stems while I get something else? Thanks," he said and vanished again.
"That man's going to give me whiplash," Rogue muttered.
"Let's just humor him for a minute," Warren said. "He's piqued my curiosity."
About three minutes later, Will returned again, with a bottle of brandy in his hand. "Where did you go for that?" Warren asked him.
"France. Here, let me help with that." With three sets of hands, the cherries were stemmed rather quickly. Will placed them in a pan and poured a generous amount of the brandy over them. "We'll just let that soak," he said. "Next question... ice cream dishes."
"Third cabinet from the right, top shelf," Rogue informed him.
Will found a full set of the dishes, washed them, then placed a generous scoop of the ice cream in each one. He then put them on two plates and placed them in the freezer. "There," he said. "Now all we have to do is set the table."
One hour later, after the dishes had been put out and Will had removed the roast from the oven, placing it on a large platter and the potatoes in a bowl, the rest of the X-Men gathered in the kitchen.
"Aren't Cyclops and Phoenix eating with us tonight?" Will asked.
"They usually eat by themselves these days," Xavier replied. "What's for dinner?"
"Round eye roast, seasoned pan-baked potatoes, mushroom gravy, and a surprise for dessert."
"Sounds good to me ," Logan said. "Want me to cut the meat?"
"Sure, so long as you use a regular knife and not those shish kabobs of yours."
"No problem." Logan sliced the roast, and the plates were passed around.
"This is delicious," Ororo said as she tasted the potatoes.
"Thank you," Will replied. "Just save room for dessert."
"You seem in a better humor than earlier," she observed.
"Cooking always seems to improve my mood. My life tends to be pretty chaotic, and cooking is one area where I can have a good idea of what the end result is going to be."
They made small talk among themselves until it was time for dessert. Will took the two plates of ice cream out of the freezer, placed them on the island, and put the bowl of cherries and the bottle of brandy on a small cart that the New Mutants used to use when they were eating in the parlor. He then poured another cup of the brandy into the bowl.
"Okay," Bobby said, "I'll bite. Just what is that?"
Will smiled slightly, pulling the spark lighter for the range from his pocket. "Cherries Jubilee." He then lit a spark just above the cherries. The brandy caught fire instantly, and flames rose about a foot above the pan. He then spooned a small portion of the cherries onto each dish of ice cream and passed them down. "Bon Appetiet."
Chapter 10
The next day was cloudy, overcast, and somewhat dreary. Everyone who came down to breakfast that morning was somewhat dejected as a result of the weather. Everyone, that is, but Archetype.
"Good morning, everyone!" he declared as he bounced into the kitchen.
"What's so good about it?" Warren groused. "It's gonna be a downpour today. Didn't you hear that thunder before?"
"Of course I did. Isn't it great? What are the breakfast orders today?"
"You like weather like this?" Bobby said incredulously.
"Like it? I love it! Can't any of you feel it?"
"Feel what?" Warren said in exasperation. "The rain in your face? The feeling you get when your underwear's wet?"
"There's no romance in you, you know that?" Archetype said accusingly.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Betsy replied with a sly smile.
Archetype went on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "A thunderstorm is the manifestation of a multitude of natural forces - a pure form of the energies which are the stuff of life itself. It's both destructive and cleansing at the same time, clearing out the deadwood and debris that's been gathering. Think of it as Mother Nature's dishwasher."
"I'd rather take a shower, thanks," Logan replied.
"I have to agree with his opinion, Logan," Ororo put in. "I don't often think about it, because I'm so accustomed to the sensations, but his assessment of the dynamics of a thunderstorm are quite correct."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Storm," Archetype told her. He was interrupted by a low rumble in the skies outside. "That's my cue," he announced, walking towards the back door.
"You don't mean you're actually going out in that?" Betsy asked him as the rain started to spatter against the window.
"You got it," he replied as he left the room. A moment later, they heard the back door open, then close.
"I'm starting to think that Scott's right," Warren said. "Maybe he is crazy."
"Well, if he is sensitive to natural forces," Henry mused, "then a thunderstorm would be an ideal way for him to recharge his batteries, so to speak. It might be a good idea to talk to Meggan in Excalibur. Her powers are based in nature as well, so maybe..."
CRACK-BOOM!
The sound of a thunderclap made everyone jump out of their seats.
"What the hell was that?" Warren, now fully awake, exclaimed.
"It was a lightning strike, just outside," Bobby said. He looked at Ororo. "Did you have anything to do with that?"
Ororo just shook her head. She seemed as stunned as the rest of them. A moment later, Rogue flew into the kitchen.
"Uh, guys," she said hesitantly, "I think you'd all better look outside." They all got up out of their chairs and went to the window just in time to see the next lightning bolt strike.
Right where Archetype was standing.
The bolt of lightning struck his outstretched right hand, passing through his body and entering the ground through his left hand. His entire body was bathed in witchfire, and small streamers of electricity danced over his frame.
"Shit!" Bobby said. "He's being electrocuted!"
Rogue shook her head. "I don't think so. He got hit once before, and it didn't seem to do anything to him."
"What's that sound?" Betsy asked.
Logan listened intently. "He's... laughing."
"Just what the hell did you think you were doing?" Henry asked Archetype when he had returned to the mansion.
"Recharging my batteries," was Archetype's answer. He was grinning broadly, and pacing all over the room, not staying in any one place for long.
"Why didn't you just put your finger in a light socket and get the same effect?" Bobby asked sarcastically.
"I wasn't dealing with the electricity as much as the natural forces which caused it to occur. They passed through me on their way back into the earth." He paused for a moment, frowning. "The scientific explanation just won't work. Let's try a systems theory approach. The atmosphere and the ground are just part of the larger Gaian system."
"Gaian system?" Rogue asked.
"The Gaia theory postulates that all of the natural systems of the earth function in the same manner as the different systems of a living organism. Basically it says that the earth itself is a giant super-organism, and that everything on it, from rocks to people, has a function within the system."
"Sounds pretty mystical to me," Warren replied doubtfully.
"When you're dealing with things on the level that systems theory does, the line between science and mysticism tends to get blurred a bit. The interaction between individual entities in systems theory is comparable to the quantum mechanics view - that everything that exists is a system of connected energy states, and that everything that exists is connected, in some way, with everything else. What I just did was essentially a way for me to strengthen the bond between myself and the earth. Since the human connection with the earth is one of the most intimate relations within the Collective, it allows me to enhance my own abilities."
"Are you talking about the collective conscious or unconscious?" Henry asked.
"I'm starting to get the idea that the line between the two is nowhere near as discrete as we like to think. For now, I'm going to refer to them as a single unit."
"How do you feel?" Rogue asked.
"A little wired, to be honest. It's going to take me a while to wind down. What do we have on the agenda today, and can I see the morning paper, please?" He took it from Warren, and started leafing through it very quickly. When he reached the financial section, he flipped to the stock section, took a pen out of his pocket, and started circling certain listings, while at the same time crossing out others.
"What are you doing?" Warren asked him.
"Deciding what to buy and what to sell." He frowned for a moment. "Do you own any stock in Dynastar Computing?"
Warren thought for a moment. "I think so. Why?"
"Dump it, today. Tell Xavier to do the same."
"Any particular reason why?"
"I've just got a bad feeling about it today. If you take a big loss because of it, I'll pay the difference." He looked at Warren pointedly. "Trust me on this."
Warren blinked twice, then went to Xavier's study.
"In the financial world, the Dow plummeted earlier this morning when Dynastar Computing announced that its new operating system, anticipated for several months, will be delayed until next year. The company president resigned at the request of the board of directors."
Warren turned to Archetype as a commercial came on the television screen. "Okay," he asked, "just how did you know that the stock was going to drop today?"
Archetype frowned. "It's not something that I can put into words. I just got a flash that investing in that company was a bad idea. I get those sorts of impulses sometimes, and I've just learned to trust in them over time."
"Have you been getting any about us?" Bobby asked.
He shook his head. "No. I doubt that I will until something is about to happen. I usually get a few hours notice. "
"Is there any pattern to them?" Xavier asked.
"No, they're totally random. Well," he said, "what's on the agenda for this afternoon?"
"You said that earlier," Logan pointed out.
"Repetition is the soul of wit."
"Your group session will be at two," Xavier told him. "Pleasetry not to kill anyone this time."
Archetype gave him a look of pure innocence. "Now do I look like the type who'd do that sort of thing?"
Warren looked at Xavier. "You do have a copy of my will, right?"
"The game which you are about to play could best be termed 'reverse tag' " Xavier announced over the loudspeaker in the Danger Room. "In this case, the person who is 'it' has to avoid the other players for as long as possible."
"Does contact with powers count," Archetype asked, "Or will only physical contact be allowed?"
"Physical contact only," was the reply.
"I suppose I get three guesses as to who's 'it'," Archetype replied dryly.
"Hope you're well rested," Bobby told him with a smile.
"By the way, Archetype," Scott added, "the lights are now shatterproof."
"That's all right, Mister Summers," Archetype replied brightly, "I make it a point not to repeat myself." He cocked his head for a moment. "Maybe this will be more appropriate."
The change was almost unnoticeable at first. Archetype crouched a bit lower onto the ground, covering his face with his crossed arms. When he raised his head again, the grey in his eyes was so predominant, they appeared almost to be glowing. The air around him seemed to darken, becoming thicker. His form became cloaked in shadow, leaving only his glowing eyes clearly visible. When he spread out his arms again, his gloved hands extended like claws, powerful and deadly. He radiated a menace which was as dark as the stars were bright.
He stood up slowly, ponderously, weighed down with a bulk that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, growling, and thunderous. It was the voice of a god.
"Now," it said, "who's first?"
"I can't believe what just happened," Henry told them ten minutes later in the debriefing room. "How could you just surrender to him!"
"Are you kidding, Hank?" Scott said incredulously. "I had to think about the safety of the team. He would have made mincemeat out of us. You saw what he looked like."
"Scott, I was watching him through the monitor, and I saw nothing that suggested that he was a threat to any of you."
"Henry, that is absurd," Ororo objected. "We were right there, and..." She stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing, and turned. "Archetype..." she said dangerously.
Archetype turned to her, raising one eyebrow. "Yes?" he asked in a long drawl.
"Did you use your mental abilities against us back there?"
"No," he replied, "I used yours."
"Mine?" she asked, surprised.
"Yours. And Bobby's, and Rogue's, and Wolverine's..."
"Wait a minute," Logan interrupted him, "I don't have any psychic abilities."
"She was asking about mental abilities, not psychic abilities."
"So what's the difference?"
"That fact that you're talking with me at all means that you've reached a certain level of mental development. This means that, to some degree, you are in contact with the Collective. When I did what I just did, I wasn't aiming for anything too specific. I just had a basic goal of intimidating all of you into submission. I have no idea just how that intention manifested itself in each of you. What did you see back there?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Logan grumbled.
"Suit yourself," Archetype replied, shrugging. "Does anybody want to speak up? The floor is open."
"I saw Slaymaster," Betsy put in, her voice dead.
Archetype looked puzzled. "Who?"
"The man who blinded me."
Archetype shook his head in exasperation. "Could someone explain all of this to me?"
"Later," Xavier told him. "Does anyone else have anything to say?"
"Not in public," Rogue muttered under her breath.
"All right, that's it for now," Xavier said. "Why don't we clean up and take a break before dinner?"
"Oh, shit!" Archetype cried, standing up suddenly. "Dinner! I haven't had a chance to start anything yet! Things may be running a little late tonight," he said, and disappeared.
"We might want to consider giving him an occasional break from the cooking," Ororo mused. "The meals that he has been making have been somewhat complicated."
"I think we can blame that on his training," Henry supplied. "He went to cooking school, so he's probably constitutionally incapable of making something simple."
"Well, whatever he makes," Logan said, "It's one less time you guys have to put up with my cooking."
"Thank God for that," Henry muttered.
"What was that, Hank?"
"Oh, nothing."
Dinner that night was a stir-fry concoction which Archetype admitted had been thrown together at the last minute. "There's really not much in the refrigerator. Is there a store around here that's open twenty-four hours?"
"Not around here," Bobby said, "but there are quite a few in Manhattan."
"All right, I'll go there then." He glanced at a pad and pencil in the next room, which appeared in his hand. "Any requests?"
Several suggestions for snacks were bandied about in the next few minutes. "Now, what about dinner?" Archetype said to himself. A cookbook appeared in the air in front of him and remained there, suspended. He opened it up and leafed through the pages.
"Um... Archetype?" Henry asked in an uncertain tone.
"Yes, Doctor McCoy?" Archetype replied absently.
"You aren't a telekinetic, are you?"
"No, why?"
"What's holding the book up?"
"Hmm? Oh," he said, looking sheepish. "I forgot that you haven't seen this trick yet." He glanced at Ororo, who was sitting at his right. "What's underneath the book?" he asked her.
Ororo bent down slightly in her chair, looking up at the underside of the book. "There is nothing down there," she reported.
"All right, now look at it from my point of view," he instructed her, taking the book into his hands and lifting it up. Suspended in the air was a rectangle of dark-colored wood, surrounded by a blue aura.
"That is one of your Doors, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes. The other end is on the desk in my room. I use this method if I have to keep something suspended in the air. How does chicken tetrazini sound for Tuesday night?"
"That will work," Xavier said. "By the way, we want to talk to you about your cooking."
Archetype looked up at that, a worried expression on his face. "Is something wrong? I know that this meal was somewhat rushed, but..."
"No nothing like that," Xavier replied hurriedly, "it's just that you've done most of the cooking over the past few days. We thought that you might appreciate an occasional break."
Archetype frowned. "All right. Why not Friday? That way, I can take care of whatever business I have to do."
"That reminds me," Warren cut in. "I've been meaning to ask you how you manage to keep track of your money."
"Probably the same way you do. I have a financial advisor."
"Does he know anything about us?" Xavier asked.
"No. As a matter of fact, he doesn't even know where I am at any given time. Over the past few years, I've cultivated an image of being a member of the jet set. We do most of our communication over computer, so he thinks I'm always off in some exotic locale. I just check in to tell him what I want him to buy or sell at any given time, and I pay him a surprise visit once every quarter just to keep him on his toes. Most of my money isn't in stocks now, anyway. I deal mostly in antiquities and precious metals."
"Which metals?"
"All of them, really. Gold, silver, platinum, and palladium. I deal in both coins and ingots."
"Swiss Bank?" Warren asked.
"Of course. The banking laws in the U.S. make things too difficult for me. It may be a prudent idea for me to vanish one of these days, and having my money in something as portable and untraceable as gold gives me one less thing to worry about."
"What if you can't get to Switzerland?" Betsy asked.
"No problem. I have two bars hidden here."
"In the U.S.?"
"No, here in the mansion."
Xavier gaped at him. "You have two hundred pounds of gold hidden somewhere around here?"
"Yes. I wanted a cool million to play with if things got hairy."
Bobby looked at Henry. "Do you still have that metal detector you bought one summer?"
"I can check."
"Don't bother, gentlemen," Archetype cut in. "I have already taken steps to make the gold undetectable. I'm keeping it a pocket dimension which is accessible from a certain location in the mansion. The silver, however, I'm more than willing to share." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver coin. "An American Eagle," he said. "I have a lock box full of them."
"What antiques do you collect?" Xavier asked.
"I do blades mostly - swords, daggers, and some of the more imaginative concealed weapons from the past." He smirked. "I also admit to a weakness to some of the James Bond type gadgets."
"You and Forge ought to get along very well, then," Ororo told him. "I expect him to build a fusion-powered potato peeler any day now."
"I really don't go for anything too complicated. I just look for the item that does the job most efficiently." He stood up and stretched. "Well, I'm stuffed. A warning to whoever does the dishes: that wok is made of seasoned cast iron. Use only a paper towel and water on it when you clean it. If you use soap, you will ruin it, and I will then be forced to ruin you. See you in the morning - I'm off to read myself to sleep." With that he left the dining room and ascended the stairs.
As he turned the corner into the wing which housed the men's' dormitory, Archetype slowly sagged against the wall, removing his glasses and rubbing his temples as he did so.
It was at its worst when he was fatigued. The link between the Chorus and himself was unpredictable at best, and sometimes he found himself overpowered by their song. He needed to get some sleep, he decided, before things got out of hand.
He opened the door to his room and clomped in slowly, kicking his shoes to the foot of his bed. He hung his vest on the hat rack and closed the door, not bothering to put on the light. He crossed the room and sat down in the leather high-backed easy chair which he had purchased the day before. The chair was an antique, but had been refurbished by a local furniture restorer. Archetype had liked the chair as soon as he had seen it. He had some sympathy for something which, like him, had been brought back from the brink and stitched back together.
Archetype was incapable of sleeping while sitting up, but he usually needed a few minutes to wind down before nodding off. He let his eyes wander lazily around the room. Suddenly, he found his eyes fixed directly on the open window across from him.
It had been closed when he had last left.
Straining to look casual, he slowly rose from the chair and stretched, scanning the room as he did so. He found a heat signature against one wall of the room, by his desk.
Turning the light on was out of the question; because his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he would be as vulnerable as his opponent. He decided that a direct assault would be best, and tensed his muscles for a jump.
He leapt over the side of the chair, balancing on one hand. Rather than landing on his feet, he let his momentum push him forward onto the floor, where he slid on the uncovered floorboards towards the heat aura in front of him. He readied for a strike and lashed out with his legs.
His target moved... straight up?
Archetype was, despite his abilities, still bound by a few of the laws of physics. He slid right past where his target had been and crashed into the table by his desk. The stag statue which he had purchased with Rogue flew off the table and sailed - rather gracefully, Archetype thought - through the air to land, with a resounding thunk, right on Archetype's head, eliciting a low groan from him. Before he could take the time to get up, a hand grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor, holding him up off his feet.
Time to get serious, he decided. He flicked his wrist, and his dagger flew into his right hand. He held it just below the chin of his opponent. His unknown foe did not appear to be fazed by the prospect of becoming an unwilling blood donor, and he watched the hand which was not currently wrapped around his throat reach towards his desk lamp and turn it on.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. "Rogue?"
It was obvious that she was not happy. The tension lines on her face were plain to see, and the set of her mouth was somewhere between a frown and a snarl. Her free hand was balled into a fist.
Archetype pulled his dagger back, replacing it in his sheath. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked her.
"What am I doing?" she replied softly, half to herself. She strode to the window, still holding him with one hand, and threw him outside.
Xavier, who was working with Henry in his office, heard a low cry, which seemed to fade off into the distance. He looked at Henry. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Xavier blinked once. "Never mind."
Rogue, who had grabbed Archetype just before he hit the ground, flew him across the front lawn, keeping him about three feet above the ground. She then pulled up sharply, zooming to a height of about ten thousand meters, at which point she hovered. "What the hell was that stunt you pulled earlier?" she demanded of Archetype as she shook him by the collar.
It should have been difficult for Archetype to even breathe, given the constriction which Rogue was placing on his throat. He was, however, able to say three words: "Let... me...go."
"You aren't going anywhere until..."
"I said... LET-ME-GO!" Archetype's eyes became twin stars of silver for a moment, and Rogue rose up two feet higher when she found that she was holding an empty turtleneck.
"Now," she heard behind her, "can we discuss this reasonably?" She spun around to find Archetype standing on a small patch of lawn which was floating in midair.
"I'm safe in guessing that something that you saw during the Danger Room session was disturbing to you in some manner," he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Damn right," she spat.
He rolled his eyes. "Look, I told you earlier. I have no idea what you saw, and couldn't control what was going to happen. That stunt was a first for me."
She looked at him suspiciously. "You mean you've never done that before?"
"Never," he said harshly. "I had no more of an idea of what was going to happen than you did."
"You could have warned us."
"I was treating you as enemies for the purposes of the scenario. Would you warn Magneto if you were going to punch his lights out?"
"No," she admitted. "But I still think it was a pretty sneaky thing to do."
"I have to be sneaky, Rogue. If I'm not, I may as well paint a target on my chest and change my code name to Cannonfodder."
Rogue had to smile. "I think Sam may have something to say about that."
Archetype's mouth curled up at one corner, resulting in a sort of half-smile. "I suppose so. Can we go back down now?"
"Yeah. Hang on," she said, reaching for him.
He held up one hand. "Wait. Are you willing to help me with an experiment?"
She gave him a dubious look. "What kind of experiment?"
"It'll be easy. Drop down about one hundred feet."
"All right," she said, doing so. "Now what?" she yelled up at him.
"If this doesn't work," he replied as he stepped off his patch of ground, "catch me!" He dropped straight down.
Rogue gasped and maneuvered herself so that she would be in a position to grab him. When he was about three feet away from her, however, he disappeared, and showed up again about ten feet higher, falling up. His speed decreased gradually, and when he was almost at a full stop, another patch of grass appeared below him, which he landed on easily.
He stood there for a moment, breathing hard. "I wasn't entirely sure that would work. Thanks for the backup."
"No problem." As she watched him, Rogue saw that his attention became distant for a moment. "What's wrong?"
He shook his head as if clearing it of something. "The Chorus is just getting a little loud, that's all."
"What's the Chorus?"
"It's what I've decided to call the voices in my head. I'll explain on the way down. Can we go now?"
"Sure. Hold on." She let him support his weight by putting his left arm over her shoulder as she wrapped her right arm around his waist and grabbed the waistband of his pants. She slowly started to descend. "Let me know if I'm going too fast," she advised him.
"Drop like a rock, for all I care," he shrugged.
Rogue exhaled sharply, annoyed. "Whatever you say," she replied. She relaxed her will, and her flight abilities were switched off. She and Archetype began to drop... well, like a pair of rocks.
Rogue knew that she was being somewhat cruel, but she felt some small need for revenge. "If you're nice to me," she yelled to Archetype over the howling wind, "I might slow us down when we get close to the ground."
Archetype grinned suddenly, and the grin sent chills down Rogue's spine. "No need," he said. He then pushed himself out of her grasp and plummeted to the ground.
Rogue gaped at the rapidly diminishing figure of Archetype for a moment, then sped after him.
"What are you, crazy?" she yelled as she made an approach which would allow her to catch him without killing him.
"I don't think so, but then I wouldn't be the best judge of that, now would I? Hey, watch this," he said as he flattened his arms against his sides and angled his descent to minimize wind resistance. His speed quickly increased to terminal velocity, and Rogue was forced again to try to catch up with him.
No need to panic, she told herself. I'll catch him with plenty to room to spare. Then she saw him disappear, then reappear another two hundred feet in front of her.
Okay, she decided, time to panic. She pulled her commbadge out of her pocket and activated it. "Rogue to Phoenix!" she yelled.
"Phoenix here," was the reply. "What's wrong, Rogue?"
"Don't ask me to explain, Jean - there ain't time. Archetype's in freefall right above the lake. I can't get to him in time. Can you catch him?"
"I'm over the lake now," Jean replied. "I've alerted everybody on the grounds. Warren and I are going to try and intercept him, and Ororo's going to use her winds to slow him down."
"Right," Rogue confirmed. She had gained enough distance on Archetype to be able to see his face. He seemed passive, even tranquil, keeping his body loose and relaxed. He glanced up at Rogue, raised one eyebrow, and closed his eyes.
"Rogue," Jean's voice came in over the link, "Warren and I are in position. We'll grab him as he passes by us."
"Gotcha, Jean. I'll stay as close to him as..." Rogue paused, noticing a small rectangle of black appearing in the air below Archetype. "He's opened a Door," she informed the others. "He may be trying to slow himself down again."
Bobby's voice suddenly cut in over the link. "No, he's not!"
"What do you mean?" Warren asked.
"A Door just formed RIGHT ABOVE THE LAKE!"
"WHAT?" Rogue shrieked. She accelerated to her top speed in a desperate attempt to catch up with Archetype.
She was however, too late. Archetype fell into the Door and hit the lake one second later, causing a splash which sent water fifteen feet into the air.
"Oh my God," Rogue whispered to herself. Ten seconds later, she and the others were at the lake, trying to locate Archetype.
"I'll find him," Bobby announced as his ice form became more abstract. He plunged into the lake, reaching out with his powers to find any objects which had a higher density than the lake water. He found Archetype's body a few seconds later. It wasn't moving.
Bobby quickly created an ice raft just below Archetype. The buoyancy of the raft lifted the body to the surface. When the raft broke the surface of the water, Jean carefully cradled Archetype's body in a telekinetic field and carried him to the shore of the lake, where she lowered him gently to the ground.
Henry, Scott and Xavier, who had come over land from the mansion, arrived a few moments later. "Hank, check his vitals," Xavier ordered.
Henry shook his head. "There wouldn't be any point."
Archetype's limbs were broken and twisted in all directions. His head was craned at an impossible angle, and the depression in the middle of his chest gave mute testimony to the fact that all of his ribs had broken with the impact of his fall.
Rogue was in shock, stammering to Xavier, "I - I tried to stop him, Professor... he would... wouldn't let me... oh God... what have I done?..."
"It's not your fault, Rogue," Jean said soothingly. "You did everything you could to save him."
"I was the one who took him up there in the first place!" Rogue almost shrieked in reply. "Of course it's my fault!" She broke into tears, dropping to her knees.
Hank, you'd better give her a sedative before she goes into hysterics, Xavier projected.
Understood. "Bobby," Henry said softly, "could you help me move him inside?"
"Sure," Bobby replied in a subdued tone. He and Henry bent down to lift the body, each of them taking a shoulder. As they heaved him up, Bobby tried awkwardly to place one of Archetype's arms over his shoulder for better support by gingerly handling the arm by the wrist.
The hand which the wrist was attached to apparently decided that it had other ideas, because it grabbed Bobby's wrist in a crushing grip. Bobby yelled in both pain and surprise, dropping Archetype like a hot rock. Henry didn't have time to compensate for the lack of support, and tried to hold Archetype up and help Bobby at the same time. The effort put him off balance, however, and the end result was that they all fell to the ground in a heap.
Jean, Betsy and Xavier all gasped at once and grimaced in pain. Put up your shields, both of you! he barked mentally, as he did so himself.
The non-psis, meanwhile, rushed in to help Bobby and Henry, who were trying to untangle themselves. Henry managed to pry Archetype's fingers from Bobby's wrist, and they both scrambled away from him.
Jean and Rogue rushed back to the others and joined the circle which surrounded the now writhing body of Archetype. They all cringed as they heard a noise which sounded like wood cracking apart. "His bones are knitting themselves back together," Xavier marveled. "Not even Logan's powers go this far."
Then Archetype opened his eyes. They were glowing silver again, and they were set in a face which was contorted in agony. He slowly moved his broken arms and gripped the sides of his head with his shattered hands. Slowly, he began to twist his head back into its proper position. Bobby became ill and had to look away as Archetype's screams echoed over the grounds, drowning out the crunch of grinding bones as a shattered ribcage rebuilt itself and mangled limbs straightened.
It was all over in about two minutes. Archetype rolled over onto his hands and knees and deposited the contents of his stomach onto the ground. He then rose up to his knees, and finally stood up.
His face was etched in pain, and it was undeniable: he had aged. He had the face of a man in his fifties, and the silver in his hair had become much more pronounced. He took three steps, and fainted dead away.
They moved him to the infirmary, and placed him under monitoring. That didn't turn out very well, however, because all they received on their instrumentation was static.
"It's a by-product, or a side effect, of his powers," Xavier explained. "He's emitting so much psychic energy that the electronics can't cut through it."
"But none of the rest of you do that," Scott mused. "Why him?"
"Most psis work within a specific band of psychic energy which fits in pretty narrowly with the EKG pattern of the individual's brain. Because Archetype draws energy from the collective consciousness, countless patterns overlap, and the end result is static. The effect is somewhat like what you'd get if you had a radio which received all stations at once."
Scott nodded. "What do we do now?" he asked, turning to Henry.
"For now, we watch him and see what happens. I've put in a glucose drip so that he'll have some nutrients to repair himself with. Beyond that, I'm out of my league."
"I'll take first watch," Rogue said quickly.
"No," Xavier told her sternly. "You're going up to your room to get some rest. Hank?"
Henry unlocked a nearby cabinet and removed a brown glass bottle, shaking out five large pills. "Take these just before you go to bed," he told Rogue.
"Isn't this a bit much?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow.
"You know how quickly your body burns off medication," Henry pointed out. "These should keep you out for eight to twelve hours. You need the rest," he said, silencing her objections. "If anything happens, we'll let you know."
Rogue exhaled sharply in frustration and stalked off to her room. When she had closed her door, however, she collapsed against it, shaking uncontrollably. She changed into one of her favorite oversize T-shirts and took the pills Henry had given her. As she pulled the covers back on her bed, she glanced at her bureau, which held an assortment of stuffed animals which she had gathered over the years. She grabbed a large, overstuffed teddy bear, burrowed under the sheets, and quickly fell asleep, clutching the bear as if it were a lifeline.