Chapter 14
She opened her eyes slowly, realizing as she did so that she was unaware of having closed them. She looked around, trying to find Archetype, but her eyes could not penetrate the mist which surrounded her.
After a few moments of listening for any sign of Archetype, she decided to simply sit down and wait. She leaned back, and landed unceremoniously on her rear end. She jumped up instantly, and felt around. The chair was gone. After a moment, she realized that the entire house was gone, and that she was standing in the middle of nowhere.
Rather than panicking, she decided to wait and see what happened next. She quieted her breathing and listened intently. After a moment, she felt the faint stirrings of a breeze behind her. The wind blew some of the mist away, revealing a small path in front of her.
Okay, I can take a hint, she thought.
She followed the path, which seemed to twist and turn unexpectedly. After a few minutes, she found herself standing before a large, flat rock. She stepped on top of it, and noticed that the path disappeared back into the mist as she did so.
The mound which she had seen before the mist had borne down on her was still there, but it was... changed. Fires burned at either end, and the mist swirled around it in a clockwise motion, making it appear to be in the center of a hurricane. The dark, star-speckled night sky could be seen above it.
Archetype stood atop the mound, just as she had seen him before, seemingly listening for something., his eyes distant. She watched him for a moment, then focused her eyes on the mist surrounding them. She could see bright spots appear within the maelstrom, formed by lightning flashes which congealed into spheres of electricity, then floated out of the mist and approached Archetype.
Rogue had not seen ball lightning before, but had often seen Ororo frustrate herself trying to determine the right 'mix' of natural forces needed to create it. Ororo had given up on the whole idea some months before, when both she and Henry had agreed that whatever was missing was not found in a normal environment. Ororo, Rogue decided, would be more than a little annoyed to see not one, but three spheres of ball lightning floating in the air. They surrounded Archetype, then circled him, as if in an orbit, trails of vapor following them.
The spheres broke their orbit around him and returned into the mist. Soon, the mist swirled, spinning slowly. It slowly started to gain definition, turning into a long tendril of fog, which soon began to glow. The glow started as a pure white, but threads of red, yellow, and green soon appeared within it. The spin of the mist increased, and it was soon moving faster than the eye could follow. The mist suddenly split into three tendrils, one for each of the three colors. The tendrils wove patterns in the air, interlocking in a complex weave of color.
They moved towards Archetype, gaining definition as they advanced. Each tendril developed two glowing points at the front. In a few moments, it became obvious that the shapes were dragons, which wove around him and intertwined. Their heads rose above him, looking down with stern expressions.
Will looked up at them, his face apprehensive. "Is there any other choice?" he asked in a quiet voice.
The ethereal dragons said nothing, but their eyes glowed brighter for an instant.
Archetype sighed and nodded, his head dropping. "Of course. There never is."
The dragons bore down upon him and struck. Archetype screamed in agony and fell to his knees. Rogue cried out and tried to rush to his aid, but found that she could not leave the rock on which she was standing.
Rogue recalled her promise of earlier that night. "Sorry, Will," she muttered as she tried to breach the unseen barrier. She watched Archetype writhe as flames coursed over his body. The fire focused on the insides of his forearms for a few moments, then died down. He groaned slightly, then collapsed in a faint.
The world dimmed for a moment, then Rogue realized that the car was where it had been earlier in the night. They had returned to the "real" world.
She rushed to his side and listened to his breathing, which seemed regular. She spent a few wild moments deciding how to carry him, finally resorting to wrapping her sweater around him and bringing him inside.
She laid him down on his bed, talking to him reassuringly. "You're okay, Will. Everything's going to be all right. It's over now..." He just groaned, then lapsed into unconsciousness. After a moment of searching through the bathroom, she found some bandages, which she wrapped around his bleeding arms, after having put on her gloves.
She stayed by his side for the rest of the night.
Rogue opened her eyes blearily, then awoke in an instant when she realized that the bed was empty. She looked around the room wildly, then noticed the sound of running water. She got up and walked over to the bathroom door. "Will," she asked, "are you okay?"
"I'm feeling better," he replied. "Be out in a minute."
"Okay." She went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. A few minutes later, Archetype walked out in a T-shirt and sweatpants, toweling his hair dry. "There's a towel for you hanging on the bar," he told her.
"Thanks." She looked at his arms. "You took off the bandages?"
"Looks like my arms healed while I was out. So, what do you think?" he asked, holding out his arms, palms up.
The tattoos covered his lower arms, and wound around them in a pattern so complex that Rogue's eyes became lost trying to follow them. She noticed that each band - the red, the yellow, and the green - ended at some point with a head, which gripped the other end of one of the other colors, resulting in a single, unbroken ribbon. "Snakes?" she asked.
"Dragons," he said as he sat down. "I can't be too sure yet, but I think I'm supposed to be some sort of Pendragon."
"Pendragon?" she asked, puzzled. "You mean like ArthurPendragon?"
He nodded. "I think I'd like to rest for another day or so, then we'll head out."
"Where to now?"
"Well, first I thought that you might want to visit your friends in Excalibur. I have a good general idea of where Muir Island is."
"Okay, then where?"
"I have something to do in Cornwall, in southern England. More specifically, in Glastonbury."
"What's there?"
"You'll see. Go on, take your shower. I'll start breakfast."
Rogue felt much better after her shower, and the smell of frying sausage reminded her of just how hungry she was. "I totally forgot about dinner last night," she confessed as she came out in jeans and a sweatshirt.
"I know. I just found it in the oven. For now, however, we have poached eggs, hash browns, and sausage."
"Great, I'm starved," she said as she sat down. She looked at him, noticing that his eyes were distant. "You okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he assured her. "I'm just going to take another day or so to come back down to earth. I'll just sit around and read, or maybe take a nap. Unless there's something you'd like to do, of course."
She shook her head. "I could use the rest myself. Will we need to get anything?"
"I think I can scrounge us up another meal if I have to. Is there anywhere you want to go?"
"Not really. Where will you want to go after Glastonbury?"
"I don't know. We've got four days, at least. How does a whirlwind tour of Europe sound?"
"Fantastic! How are we traveling?"
"First class all the way. Any cities you want on the itinerary?"
"Paris!" she said instantly, her eyes bright.
"Don't be uncertain, dear," he said blandly. "Tell me what you really want."
"Can I help it if I love Paris?"
"I won't hold it against you."
"What will you hold against me?" she asked with an arch look.
"Why don't we talk about that?"
They were both joking, of course, and they spent the day resting, either dozing in their chairs or reading quietly. At one point, Rogue awoke to find Archetype looking at her silently, his eyes thoughtful. "What's wrong?" she asked, yawning.
"Nothing," he said quietly. "You just look so gosh-darned cute when you're asleep."
"Thanks," she said, smiling, as she got up and stretched. "What time is it?"
"About three. Feel like going for a walk?"
"Why not?" She slipped on some sneakers, brushed her hair, and met him at the door.
"Where's your coat?" he asked. He carried a small bag with him.
"I didn't bring one. I didn't think it would get this cold."
"Here," he said, rummaging through his coats and handing her one.
"What's in the bag?" she asked.
"You'll see."
The breeze was brisk, but not chilly, and the sun was out. They walked along the road for a while, until they came to a large clearing. "This looks about right," he said, opening the bag and handing the contents to her. "Here you go."
"You've got to be kidding me. A kite?"
"Why not? It's perfect kite weather."
"Isn't this just a little childish?"
"You're making a common mistake, Rogue. You're confusing childish with childlike." As he spoke, he took out another kite, which he proceeded to reel out and run with, allowing it to catch the breeze.
Rogue watched him for a moment, shrugged, then unreeled her own kite.
An hour later, they decided to head back. "I should give Excalibur a call and let them know that we're coming." she said.
"We can take care of that in town, when we get dinner."
"We're eating out again?"
"Why not? Besides, it'll give us an excuse to return the car."
An hour later, they were deciding where to eat. "How about something simple?" Rogue asked. "We can eat fancy when we get to Paris."
"All right. How about a burger?"
"That's simple enough for me."
One meal of burgers, fish, and chips later, they found a pay phone, where Rogue called Muir Island. "Kitty said come over anytime," she told him as she hung up.
"Let's get back and pack up, then." An instant later, they were in the cabin. "I'll wrap up the food and put it in a box."
"Why?"
"So we can give it to Excalibur. No sense in letting it go to waste."
Fifteen minutes later, they were ready. Archetype pulled an atlas of the British Isles off his bookshelf and opened it. "Now where exactly is Muir Island?" he asked her.
"Right here," she said, pointing.
His eyes became unfocused again. "Got it." Everything went dark for a moment, and they found themselves about two hundred yards away from the main entrance to the genetic research station. "This is the right place, isn't it?"
"You were right," she assured him. "See? Here comes Brian Braddock now." She was referring, of course, to the man once known as Captain Britain, who was flying towards them from the other side of the island.
"Rogue, we have a problem," Archetype said sharply.
"What's that?"
"He's not slowing down."
Boom
Chapter 15
Katherine Pryde was not, by nature, a forgetful person. She was, however, somewhat obsessive when she found a problem that intrigued her, and Moria MacTaggart had run into a problem with one of the gene-sequencing programs the night before. When she had picked up the call from Rogue, she had only half-listened to her as she rewrote some code in her mind, and had promptly forgotten about it ten seconds after she had hung up the phone.
The alert siren, however, brought her back to reality instantly. She slapped the intercom. "Kitty to Kurt. Who sounded the alarm?"
"I don't know yet. Wait a minute. Brian is outside, in the middle of one verdammt big crater."
"Any idea why?"
"No, I... Hold it, that's Rogue!"
"Rogue?" Kitty quickly put the pieces together. "Kurt, hold it. This isn't what..." She was cut off by the bamf sound of Kurt's teleportation process. She cursed and started running.
When Brian Braddock witnessed the sudden appearance of two people on the island, he followed his usual pattern of acting first and asking questions later. He moved at his top speed, reasoning that the resulting shock wave would be more effective than a direct impact.
He didn't, however, think about flying debris. Shards of rock flew in all directions, with the net result being similar to that of a shrapnel grenade.
Rogue, of course, was unharmed, and was simply thrown thirty feet or so by the shock wave. She scrambled up instantly, and leaped over to Braddock, who was arising from the crater which he had created. "What in the hell are you doing?" she shrieked at him.
"Rogue?" he asked, confused. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you call ahead?"
"I did, you idiot! "Me and Archetype called over fifteen minutes ago! Isn't that right..." Her voice trailed off when she realized that Archetype was still sprawled on the ground, face down. "Will!" she cried as she rushed to his side, turning him over.
His eyes stared into space, unseeing, and the jagged wound across his neck still held the shard of rock which had flown into it. "Oh God..." she muttered to herself, as she quickly removed the stone as gingerly as possible. "This may take a while. Come on, powers, get your ass in gear..."
"Rogue," Braddock said quietly, shocked by what he had just done, "he's gone. There's nothing we can do."
She whirled on him angrily, eyes flashing. "If I didn't have to keep an eye on him, and if you weren't Betsy's brother, I'd flatten you right now."
Archetype, meanwhile, had recovered consciousness, or was, at least, on the way there. His eyes opened slowly, and were highly unfocused. The first thing he saw was a blur, but he recognized Rogue's outfit. She was standing in front of a much larger object, which appeared to tower over her.
His reaction was instantaneous. A twist of his mind altered local space, and Braddock was hurled a good kilometer away, landing in the ocean.
Archetype staggered to his feet, his neck askew and his eyes glowing. He straightened his neck, causing a series of crunching noises within his spine as he did so. Rogue watched, fascinated, as the wound in his neck closed. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, his eyes literally alight.
"I'm fine," she assured him. Then she stared at him, watching his hair grey and his face become more lined. She realized that she was watching the aging which took place when he overextended himself. "You're aging again," she pointed out.
"I'll recover," he said, grimacing. "I just..." He suddenly stopped talking, whirled quickly, and swung at the air in front of him. His fist connected with Kurt's chin, and Kurt hit the ground, groaning. "You're sure that these people are friends?" he asked, looking back at her.
"I don't understand," she confessed, "I called ahead! I don't know why they're..." She gasped as he was hit from behind by an energy blast.
"Meggan! Wait!" She shouted. "Nobody's attacking!" The blond shapeshifter stood above them, energy still crackling in one hand.
"Why is Brian in the bloody ocean, then?" she snapped back angrily.
"He attacked us! Archetype was just defending himself."
"And I'm going to continue doing so," he growled as he stood up. He glanced at Meggan, and she was teleported to a position at ground level. "I have no desire to harm anyone here, Ma'am, but I've been attacked three times in the past five minutes, and it's starting to piss me off!" Her eyes were incandescent now, and the air around him seemed to shimmer as he tried to restrain his temper.
"Meggan, Brian really did attack us," Rogue said calmly, trying to placate them both at once.
Meggan held her breath for a moment, then exhaled. "Why didn't you let us know you were coming?" she asked in a controlled voice.
"I called Kitty before we left! Didn't she tell you guys?"
"I haven't seen Kitty since last night," Meggan replied. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, no..."
"Nobody got your message," Archetype confirmed wryly. Then he looked over his shoulder at the rapidly advancing forms of Rahne Sinclair and Peter Wisdom. "Would you mind explaining the situation to those two?"
"No problem," Meggan replied. She flew over to the approaching two and settled them down.
"Here comes Kitty," Rogue observed. "She'll get this straightened out."
About two minutes later, after Kitty had explained the situation to the others, Archetype cut off her apologies with a wave of his hand. "Forget it. I'm the last person who'll voice a complaint against someone else's memory. How's your jaw, Mister Wagner?"
"Fine. You just stunned me, that's all."
"Good. That was my intention."
"How did you know where I was going to end up, anyway?"
"I felt the shift in local space-time."
"You get used to it," Rogue said, seeing Kurt's look of confusion.
"Would anybody mind if I sat down?" Archetype asked, doing so before anyone could answer. "I feel like I've been in a car wreck."
"I guess you'd know," Rogue quipped.
"Cheap shot."
"We'll get Moria to take a look at you," Kitty assured him.
He smiled grimly. "For all the good it'll do."
"I do not believe this," Moria MacTaggart said as she looked upon row after row of static-filled monitors. "Magneto doesn't affect our systems this badly. Have things been this bad at the mansion, Rogue?"
She shook her head. "No. But the past few days have been a little hard on him. He said it'll take him another day or two to clear his head."
"I'll just have to give him an old-fashioned physical, then." She tapped on the window glass and motioned Archetype out of the scanner.
"Problem?" he asked as he entered the room.
"I can't get any readings on you. We'll just do a standard physical."
"All right," he shrugged. He looked pointedly at Rogue.
"I'm gonna go catch up on things with Kitty," she announced.
"Do that," he said.
"All right," Moria said after Rogue had shut the door, "strip and get on the table."
"Well, okay," he replied dubiously, "but I'm expecting dinner and a movie after it's all over."
Moria's jaw dropped, then her face hardened. "Just for that remark, I'm adding a prostate exam to the list."
"Promise?"
An hour or so later, they walked into the living quarters of the complex. "Any problems?" Rogue asked him.
"The doctor can certify that I'm perfectly healthy, inside and out," he replied with a perfectly straight face. "By the way, if you're planning on spending the night, the doctor and I have agreed that it would be best if I stayed at the house, rather than in the complex. If I'm around the equipment too long, I could damage it permanently."
"There's a lot of sensitive material in our files," Kitty fretted.
"The short-term effect is negligible," he assured her. "Actually, I have to take care of something outside, anyway. I'll go over to the other island. That should be far enough."
"Want a lift?" Rogue asked.
"No need," he said, as he opened one of his Doors. He walked into it, and the Door vanished.
"What's he going to do?" Kurt asked.
"I'm not sure. He's been channeling energy from all kinds of mystical places for days now."
"How old is he?" Kitty asked.
"That seems to depend on what kind of day he's had."
"Excuse me?"
"You'll have to see it to believe it. How old does he look to you?"
Kitty thought a moment. "Well, the hair threw me for a minute. I'd say he's in his mid-thirties."
"I checked his files. He's thirty-two. The point is that when he's injured, he ages, then gets younger as he heals. He's pretty sure he's immortal."
Wisdom whistled softly. "I'm glad he's on our side. I wouldn't want to get on the bad side of a man who could collect on an old grudge years later."
"He seems a little... distracted, though," Kurt observed.
That led into an explanation of Archetype's powers, and his theories regarding their origin. "He's an omipath?" Kitty asked.
"We don't know yet. We don't think he's reached the upper levels of his powers. The Professor and Jean have been working with him to test his limits."
"Has Betsy been helping at all?" Braddock asked.
Rogue fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment. "To be honest, Brian, he's been avoiding Betsy for the most part. I think he's been trying to avoid an uncomfortable situation."
"How so?"
"Before he got his place in western Ireland, he lived in Belfast. I got the feeling that his views on Irish politics get a little extreme."
Brian's nostrils flared. "You think he might be I.R.A.?"
"No. He doesn't seem the type to join a group like that. He may be a sympathizer, though. Don't quote me on that," she added hastily. "I have no proof one way or the other. It may just be a basic dislike of the English. I kind of got the idea when he said we were going to Cornwall instead of England."
"What's he planning to do there?" Kurt asked, trying to head off an argument.
"He said that he had something to do at Glastonbury Tor."
Wisdom frowned. "The Tor? What would he have to do there?"
"I'm not sure. I'm not sure he is. He gets these hunches pretty regularly, and he just follows them." Rogue had decided to avoid a conversation mentioning the Sidhe. She simply didn't know enough to explain it to them. She was, after a few minutes, able to shift the conversation away from Archetype, and they were soon catching up and reminiscing about old times.
Meggan, who had been quietly reading in her chair, suddenly snapped her head up. "What the devil was that noise?"
"What noise?" everyone asked at once.
Rogue suddenly understood. "It's him."
Meggan rushed over to the adjoining room, which faced the island of Little Muir. She threw the curtain aside and gasped.
Archetype sat, cross-legged, at the center of the island. Waves of energy coursed over the island, flowing over the rocky ground and approaching him. They seemed to enter his body from the base of his spine, and traveled upwards through his frame, leaving through a point at the center of his forehead, where they returned to the ground.
Wisdom looked at Rogue. "You mean you're getting used to that?"
Rogue shrugged in return. "You sort of get numb after a while."
It turned out to be Wisdom, surprisingly, who had the explanation for Archetype's actions. "The one saving grace that Black Air had was that they drummed a lot of stuff about mysticism and the occult into my head. They were willing to use anything to get ahead in the power game. The energy that he was channeling was leaving his body through what's called the third eye in Eastern mysticism. If he was recharging his batteries, Rogue, that's the way he'd probably go about it."
"I'll take your word for it. He went back to the house, right?"
"Right," Meggan confirmed. "I'll have to talk with him later. I've never thought of doing that."
"Doing what?" Kitty asked.
"Remember that book on electrical power you lent me?"
"The one with the historical perspective?"
"That's the one. He just became a Tesla coil."
Kitty looked dubious. "You've got to be kidding. No one's used those in years."
"Actually, Kitty, there's been a lot of research done into Tesla's principles over the past few years," Braddock disagreed. "Edison smeared Tesla in America, but he wasn't as successful in Europe." He smiled slightly. "It's a bit ironic, in a way. The huge office buildings and research labs that Edison inspired are lit by florescent bulbs today, which were invented by Tesla."
"Anyway," Meggan continued, "what he did was let the energy pass through him, through his body's energy field, then return back to the earth. Nothing was used up, but it recharged his body's systems as it went through him. I guess it's sort of like how a kidney machine purifies the blood of a diabetic. From what I saw of his body's energy field, he's a little tired, but a lot healthier than he was a few minutes ago."
"From what I've seen of how his powers work, he's gonna sleep for a few hours," Rogue mused.
"Wrong answer, but thank you for playing," Archetype said from behind her.
By now, Rogue was too used to this sort of thing to even bother turning around. The others, however, did double takes. "Feeling better?" she asked.
"Much, thanks," he said as he flexed his arms. "I need to loosen up, though. Mister Wagner, might I have a brief word with you?" He and Kurt talked quietly for a few moments, then returned.
"We've decided to get a bit of exercise," Archetype told the others. "A brief fencing match will take place outside in fifteen minutes. Mister Wagner has been kind enough to lend me one of his rapiers. Standard right-of-way rules, Mister Wagner?"
"I have no problem with that," Kurt replied. "Meggan, you should remember enough of what I've taught you to act as a referee for the match."
"Okay," she agreed. "Do you want to change?" she asked, looking at Archetype.
"Not a bad idea," he decided. "Be back in a minute." He vanished, reappearing a few minutes later wearing a white turtleneck and black jeans. "Do you use a mask when you train, Mister Wagner?"
"Not when I'm using foil, but I'd prefer to for rapier."
"I prefer not to use a mask, if you don't mind."
"Suit yourself."
They chose a suitable spot outside the complex and took their opening stances. Kurt took an offensive position, while Archetype chose a defensive stance. "En garde, Herr Wagner," Archetype said, inclining his head.
They were both fast, and soon the others had trouble keeping track of who had the upper hand. Meggan, who was the most experienced fencer outside of the two competitors, felt that they were evenly matched. Kurt had an edge in experience, but Archetype seemed to have an intuitive feel for just where the next thrust or sweep of Kurt's blade was going to be.
After a few minutes, however, Archetype jumped back, placing his rapier underneath his left shoulder, and holding it in place with his arm. "Stop," he said shortly.
"What is it?" Kurt said, putting up his sword.
"We've got company coming," he replied, pointing.
The helicopters were still some distance away, but Meggan's eyesight was good enough to pick out some details. "They've got Black Air markings, Kurt."
"Wonderful," Kurt groaned. "I thought we dealt with them last time. I'm sorry, Rogue, but your vacation just ended. We'll need your help against these murderers."
"No problem," Rogue replied.
"That may not be necessary, Mister Wagner," Archetype cut in. "What are your feelings on extreme prejudice?"
"I don't want anyone killed," Kurt said firmly.
"Understood." Archetype looked at the advancing helicopters and furrowed his brow for a moment. They suddenly started spinning in place, unable to maneuver.
"What did you do?" Kitty asked curiously.
"Teleported their tail rotors off. Where do you want the passengers?"
Kitty and Kurt looked at one another for a moment, then shrugged. "The ocean?"
"You got it." His eyes flashed for a moment, and they saw the splashes that the six men made as they hit the water. "What about the choppers?"
"Can you drop them on Little Muir? We've wanted a chance to see just how advanced the Black Air technology is."
"There you go." The choppers appeared at ground level.
"Did the teleportation affect the electronic systems?" Kitty asked.
"No, but I'd better keep my distance so that I don't fry them accidentally. I'd watch out for boobytraps, if I were you. If these guys are as paranoid as you say, they've probably got some major security built in."
"I can handle that," Meggan supplied. "If the security has an electronic or chemical basis, I can cancel it out."
"Good," Kurt said. "You and Kitty get to work on downloading all the information those heaps have in them. See if you can identify any armaments while you're at it. I want to know who's supplying Black Air these days."
"I thought you'd dealt with these guys, Kurt," Rogue said.
"We destroyed their main bases, but they've gone underground, and we've had some trouble tracking them down. If we can find out who's arming them, it'll be a big help."
"Will I be needed for anything else?" Archetype asked.
Kurt shook his head. "I don't think so. Why don't you two get a bite to eat? Rahne's cooking tonight."
Rogue made a face. "Can we order out?"
Dinner was actually quite good. Moria, while masquerading as housekeeper for the X-Men, had become a proficient cook, and had passed that knowledge along to Rahne.
"So," Kitty asked Archetype as they ate, "what do you have to do in Glastonbury?"
"I don't know yet," he confessed. "I probably won't know until I get there."
"Why Glastonbury?" Moria cut in. "There's nothing there but the old monastery."
"You're not up on your history, Doctor," he replied in a chiding tone. "The original monastery was, according to legend, founded by a group of both Christian monks and Druids, who were in turn instructed by Jesus himself."
"Hold it," Rahne interrupted. "The legends say that Jesus was in Cornwall?"
"I just recite them, Miss Sinclair, I don't explain them. The legend goes on to say that the priests and Druids worshipped together, believing that they worshipped the same God, only in different ways. Later, when Christianity became hostile towards other faiths, the Druids retreated into the mists, and entered the realm of Avalon."
"Bradley uses that theme in The Mists of Avalon, doesn't she?" Kitty asked.
"Yes. I've studied most of the available translations of Druidic and Arthurian lore that are out there. It's a hobby that predates my... transformation." He stood up. "Does anybody want help with the dishes?"
"We've got a dishwasher," Kitty supplied. "Get some rest. You've had a busy day."
"I've got a feeling that it's not over yet," he replied distantly, his eyes staring into space.
"Why do you say that?" Brian asked.
"Just a hunch. Good night, all." He disappeared again.
"Why do I get the feeling that man should come with subtitles?" Kitty mused.
"He's a complicated guy," Rogue agreed.
"That reminds me," Moria said, "I wanted to let you know. Those tattoos of his aren't tattoos."
"They're not?"
"No. The pigmentation of his skin has been altered. Those snakes on his arms are similar to birthmarks. If you hadn't told me that they were only a few hours old, I'd think that he'd been born with them."
Rogue shook her head. "I'm telling you, they date from last night."
"No," Meggan said with a mysterious smile, "he was born with them."
Rogue looked at her for a moment, confused, then yawned. "I think I'd better hit the sack myself. I've been doing all of the driving for the past few days, and it's starting to catch up with me."
"We set up the spare bed for you," Meggan supplied. "Come on. Were we able to salvage all of your things?"
"After I moved a few rocks, yeah. The suitcase died, though."
Rahne Sinclair had always been a night person. It often got her into trouble - no, more trouble, she corrected herself - with Reverend Craig, who believed that it was one more reason to brand her as a wicked child. As she had grown up, she had learned to appreciate her freedom, and often went out to wander around under the moonlight when the weather permitted. The night had proven to be clear, although it was, as usual, quite cold.
This was, however, no problem for someone who had a built-in fur coat. She shifted into her transitional form as she stepped outside, and wandered along the shore of the island, listening to the pounding of the surf against the rocks. She savored the salt tang in the air, made even stronger by her enhanced senses, and gazed at the lights of the town in the distance.
As she passed by the house, she caught an unfamiliar scent. "Is that you, Mister Archetype?"
Archetype walked out of the shadows, his eyes glowing slightly. "You can't sleep either?"
"No." She looked at him for a moment. "You don't seem too bothered by my appearance."
He shrugged. "If I can deal with an eight-hundred pound Cookie Monster look-alike at the mansion, I can certainly put up with a werewolfette. You a night owl?"
"Aye. I think it might be a result of my mutation. Aren't you cold?" she asked, noticing that he was barefoot and shirtless.
"I tend to ignore weather. It's not like I'm going to freeze to death."
"I guess not." She paused a moment. "I'm sorry I wasn't very sociable to you earlier. I tend to be a little shy."
"Don't worry about it. So do I. Tell me, do you know anything about the history of this island?"
"I've spent more time here than anyone else, except for the Lady, of course. What did you want to know?"
"Was there ever a battle here?"
Rahne frowned. "I think so. With Vikings in the tenth century, I think."
He nodded. "That explains a few things."
"What things?"
"What did Rogue tell you about my abilities?"
"She said that you're in contact with the collective soul."
"That's as good a way of putting it as any. Anyway, if something left a psychic imprint that was strong enough, I can feel it. See that pile of stones over there?" he asked, pointing to a small tripod of rocks about a hundred yards away. "That's a burial mound."
"It is?"
He nodded. "One of the good doctor's ancestors is buried there. I think I'll tell her in the morning. He was a clan chief. Of course he'd have to be, to rate a cairn. Well," he said, "I'd better get to bed. See you in the morning, Miss Sinclair."
"Good night. Wait a minute," she said as he walked off. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Certainly."
"Rogue told us a little about what happened to you last night. I'm just curious - with the way you're in contact with all different cultures at the same time, what do you choose when it comes to a religious faith?"
He shrugged. "It's all the same to me - literally. To me, all religions are seeking the same thing. It's only the methods they use and the degree to which they tolerate differences of opinion that divide them. The primary reason that I chose Wicca was because it fits in well with my ancestry, and because it says that all other religions are equally valid. Besides, it just feels right to me. Good night, Miss Sinclair."
"Good night."
She stood there for a while, staring at the cairn.
The next morning, Archetype walked in at about ten. "You all set to go?" he asked Rogue.
She nodded. "Where are we going after this?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to do today. I may wind up getting banged up again."
"Try not to get killed this time."
"Oh, all right," he said in a petulant, childish voice.
"Mind if we come along?" Kitty asked "I have to admit, I'm curious."
"Fine with me," he shrugged. "Be prepared to walk, though. Do you know anything about the Tor?"
"Not much," Kitty admitted. "It's at the top of a hill, right?"
"Right. A path has been carved into the hill that winds back and forth, up and down. You approach the top nine times, then go back down nine times, then back up nine times, then finally reach the top."
"What's at the top?"
"That depends on where you are at the time," he replied with a mysterious smile.
"That one flew right by me," Kurt confessed.
"Ask Rogue about my lecture on levels of meaning," Archetype advised. "Shall we go?"
The Midnight Runner flew over the Cornish countryside at Mach One, its visual and radar cloaks keeping it invisible to the rest of the world.
"Look, Braddock, all I can tell you is that it's necessary for you to be there," Archetype said in an irritated voice. "I don't know exactly why."
"You're the one with the lock on cosmic meaning," Brian countered. "Don't you have any clue as to why you're doing this?"
Archetype started to speak, then stopped himself, and breathed sharply. "What do you know about Arthurian legend?"
"Not much," Brian admitted. "I was more into science than literature when I grew up."
"The Tor, according to some versions of the legend, is Avalon. That, theoretically, was the final resting place for Arthur. Whether or not it's factually true, it's probably true in the collective psyche, which makes it a place that has a lot of untapped power. I'm going to try and channel some of that psychic energy, the same way I did at Muir." He frowned. "Something else is going to happen, though."
"What's that?" Meggan asked.
"I have no idea. That's one of the reasons you're all coming along. I tend to run with dangerous forces. If it turns out to be something that I can't handle, then you're my backup. Hopefully, you can put whatever I let out back into its box."
"We're the damage control, then," Wisdom remarked.
"Essentially. I doubt if you'll be directly involved with anything."
"Approaching Glastonbury," Kitty announced. "Where should we land, Kurt?"
"Just pick a good spot within walking distance." He looked at Archetype. "Any suggestions from your end would be welcome."
Archetype scratched his chin for a moment. "Mister Braddock: stay close to me. It may be possible that I'll become violent for a few moments. Miss Meggan, monitor me if you can. You might be able to predict my next move."
"That'd be a first," muttered Rogue.
"Be nice," Archetype said. "Just be prepared for anything."
"Touchdown," Kitty announced. "Opening outside hatch. Bring your coats, everyone. It look like a storm's brewing."
"In more ways than one," Archetype replied.
They stepped out into a veil of mist. The sun had not yet been up long enough to burn off the fog which had risen from the nearby lake during the night. Rogue, who had not packed her uniform for the trip, slipped on her sweater. Kitty looked at her, raised one eyebrow, and followed. "Where did you get that sweater?" she asked in a low whisper.
Fog seems to encourage whispering, because the speaker has no real way of knowing if someone is nearby. "He gave it to me," Rogue whispered back.
"Gave? Do have any idea how much that sweater is worth?"
"Nope. What is it? Seventy, eighty bucks?"
"Try about three hundred."
Rogue gaped at her for a moment. "You're kidding."
Kitty shook her head. "What is he, rich?"
"You wouldn't believe it. Any idea where we're going?" She had noticed that they were taking a rather meandering route, but she mostly wanted to deflect Kitty's attention from the fact that her mouth was still hanging open. She looked at her sweater, and swallowed.
An hour later, she swallowed again, this time from thirst. They had been walking ever since they had stepped off the plane, and had traveled up and down the hill so many times that she had lost count.
One of the disadvantages of being able to fly, Rogue reflected, was that you lost perspective as to how much of a pain in the butt it was to walk everywhere. Her feet ached, and the rising sun had not only burned off the mist, but had raised the temperature enough to make her sweater a hindrance. She shrugged it off, tying the sleeves around her waist.
"Is it much farther, Papa Smurf?" Wisdom panted.
"We're nearly there." Rogue had noticed, with some resentment, that neither he nor Meggan had shown any sign of tiring. They both, in fact, seemed even more energetic than before.
"All right, we're done," he announced as they reached the summit.
"Excalibur," Kurt said in a weak voice, "at ease!" They all, with the exception of Meggan and Archetype, dropped to the ground.
Archetype looked at Meggan. "Sorry looking bunch, aren't they?"
"Kurt," Kitty muttered, "remind me to kill him after I've taken my nap."
"You have time for one," Archetype informed her. "Nothing's going to happen for about a half-hour or so."
"What happens then?"
"I don't want to spoil the surprise. Now if you'll excuse me, I have preparations to make." He removed the blue denim shirt that he had worn, revealing his tattoos, then took off his shoes and socks, tossing them a few feet away. "I can understand why you stay barefoot, Miss Meggan. If there was this much concentrated power around me, I'd stay in contact with it as much as possible."
"It's not just that," Meggan confessed. "I was barefoot until I was in my teens, so my foot bones were never molded into the shape would make shoes comfortable."
"Is that why you two are disgustingly chipper?" Braddock groaned. "You've been drawing power from the ambient magical energy?"
"'Fraid so, luv," Meggan said with a smirk. "I'm cheating."
"I've been doing it for a reason, at least," Archetype said. "Now please be quiet, all of you. This is going to require some concentration." He closed his eyes, raising his hands, palms up, to waist level, and slowly turned around clockwise in a full circle. His eyes, when he opened them again, were glowing.
His gaze wandered over the area, and seemed to go in all directions, without rhyme or reason. He wandered aimlessly for a few seconds, then looked at an spot in front of him for a moment, his face twisted in a grimace of confusion.
"Okay," he said, "now what?"
Then his face brightened. "Of course." He took one step forward, and stood on empty air.
Kitty's jaw dropped. "You didn't tell me he could fly," she whispered to Rogue.
"He's not," she whispered back. "I'll explain later." They were both quelled into silence by a glare from Meggan.
Wisdom, who was flat on his back, felt the first breath of wind. "Wonderful," he muttered as he belted up his trenchcoat.
As Archetype continued to walk above them, weaving a twisting, sinuous path in the air, they all felt the air become charged, as if a lightning bolt were about to strike. They did, in fact, hear the rumble of distant thunder, which grew louder by the moment.
"I don't want any of you getting hurt," he told them. "This should prevent that." There was a strange timbre to his voice which was almost an echo.
He waved his hand, and everything seemed to darken suddenly, day becoming twilight.
"Meggan," Braddock hissed urgently, "what the hell is happening?"
"He put us someplace where we can watch him without being in danger." Meggan said simply, as they watched Archetype step back onto solid ground. "We're on another level."
"Levels of meaning," Rogue whispered to herself. "That'swhat he was talking about!"
The rumble grew louder, and they realized that it was coming from one direction. They all looked at the darkened hillside, and saw the flickering shadows of movement.
The herd of deer leaped over the hill in a blur, sprinting across the plateau straight towards Archetype. They bore down on him, fully intent on trampling him to get across the stretch of open land, back into the shelter of trees.
He simply raised his right hand, palm up, and the herd split in two and flowed around him as if he were as immobile as a tree.
Strangely, they did not continue across to the other slope of the hill, but spread out along the top of the hill, making a rough circle. Rahne gasped as one ran right through her.
They all felt, rather than heard, the approach of the stag.
Braddock, who had been taken, unwillingly, on the hunting trips of his father's friends as a boy, was convinced that it was the largest buck that he had ever - no, that anyone had ever seen. Its antlers had nine points, and it bore the scars of countless fights proudly. "That thing must be ancient," he whispered.
"You have no idea," Meggan replied.
The other deer lowed their heads in submission to the ancient beast, who looked at them steadily, then fixed his gaze on Archetype, who just looked at him steadily. He stood in a crouch, as if he were about to bolt.
"That thing's going to attack him!" Kitty gasped.
"Anybody remember what his last words were, just in case anyone asks later?" Wisdom asked.
Archetype nodded his head slightly to the stag. It was the sort of gesture of respect that one gave to an equal, rather than as the answer to a question.
The stag, unbelievably, nodded in return. He and Archetype circled one another warily, and then he charged.
Rogue wanted to shut her eyes, but found that she couldn't. She therefore saw the impossible leap that Archetype made, a full ten feet, right over the deadly advance of the stag. He landed on his feet, and turned to face the stag as it recovered from its charge.
The stag turned around quickly, and came back for another charge. This time Archetype sidestepped the strike, moving too quickly for the stag to adjust its point of aim.
This continued for a long time. Archetype would leap over or sidestep the charges of the stag. They appeared evenly matched, but Rogue could see that Archetype was beginning to tire. His face was becoming more lined, and his hair was greying rapidly. "He can't take much more of this," she whispered. "He has to change his strategy."
As Archetype rolled through the now muddy ground yet again, he seemed to come to the same conclusion. He looked around frantically, as if searching for something that he couldn't find. His attention distracted, he provided an opportunity for the stag to slash his back with his antlers.
Rogue gasped as Archetype arched his back in pain, staggering blindly for a moment. He stumbled, and landed face first in the mud.
As he rose slowly, he stared at the ground dumbly for a moment. Rogue saw his attention wander moving from the mud at his feet to his hands, then finally to the tattoos, barely visible through the mud, which adorned his arms. She saw the flash of realization in his eyes, although realization of just what, she had no idea.
"He's got an idea," she whispered.
Archetype took a deep breath and put his right hand on the ground. They all saw the dragons flow off his arm, slither across the grass, and burrow into the earth.
He stood up, eyes defiant, and faced the stag again. He raised his left arm, palm outward, and the dragons on that arm started to writhe and hiss. They all heard the whisper of scales grinding against one another.
The stag backed up, uncertain for a moment, then charged again.
Archetype narrowed his eyes for a moment, and one of the dragon heads rose up off his arm, opened its mouth, and shot a jet of flame at the stag, which reared up and broke off its charge.
Archetype continued to counter the attacks of the stag with jets of flame, but did not press his advantage. "What's he doing?" Kitty whispered. "He could char broil that thing in an instant."
"I don't think he's supposed to," Rogue whispered back. "Something else is going to happen."
A few minutes later, they saw the ground behind Archetype start to buckle and churn. The dragons from his right arm wriggled out of the turf, dragging a black, pitted thing along with them. They made their way to Archetype, who held his arm out to them, beckoning them to come back. He crouched slightly, putting his bare arm closer to the ground. The stag, panicking, tried to attack, but the flame roaring in front of him terrified him too much.
The dragons crawled back up Archetype's arms, and the end of the black object fell into his hand. As his hand wrapped around it, the dragons reared up again, and wreathed the object in flame. The object started to glow, and the black started to melt and fall away, revealing the sword beneath, a bright blade which looked like it had been forged yesterday.
The stag was nearly hysterical now, and was desperately trying to find an opening to attack. He backed up and charged again, but Archetype's dragons shot from his left arm, stretched out, and wrapped themselves around its antlers. Archetype braced himself, pulled sharply, and the stag crashed to the ground.
The stag stood up, enraged, then backed up for another charge. Archetype looked at him sadly, sighed, and took a defensive stance with his sword.
The stag stomped the ground for a moment, then charged. Archetype stood stock still for a long moment, then dropped to one knee, and struck. The dragons leapt out, hurling the stag a few feet high, placing the deadly antlers out of harm's way. Archetype then braced himself, and thrust the sword directly into the stag's chest.
Rogue had never heard a deer scream before. The sound was chilling. The stag was impaled on the sword, its blood pouring down the blade. An impossibly large amount of blood gushed from the wound, covering Archetype completely, flowing over the ground. The flow became a torrent, and the ground became a lake, which Rogue and the others seemed to float harmlessly above. Archetype and the stag seemed to sink into the lake of blood, disappearing into its depths. As they did so, they seemed to melt together, merging into one being, which sank into the crimson sea.
"Where is he?" Rogue asked, panicking. "Meggan, tell me where he is!"
"I have no idea," Meggan said as calmly as if she had been asked a bit of trivia.
"Rogue," Kurt said, taking her shoulder and pointing, "look."
The sword, point first, slowly rose from the surface of the pool of blood, which was rapidly receding. Archetype, eyes glowing, inexplicably, spotlessly clean, stood in the center of the plateau, holding the sword aloft, the dragons writhing along his forearms once again. He waved the sword absently, and the light returned to normal.
They all stared at one another for a moment, then at Archetype. "Is it over?" Rahne asked timidly.
He nodded, then walked away.
Rogue started to follow him, but Meggan's hand on her arm stopped her. "He's going to need at least a few minutes alone, Rogue. He has to come back to earth."
Rogue looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Was any of that real?"
Meggan didn't say anything, but pointed at Archetype's back, and the bloody scar that ran all the way down it.
Chapter 16
"Where will you be going now?" Kurt asked.
They had all returned to the research center to relax and debrief. Moira had examined Archetype again, pronouncing him fully healthy, although he did complain of feeling "different".
"Well, this young lady," he replied, nodding at Rogue, "wanted to see Paris. Since I have some business interests there, we'll leave this afternoon. We'll make one last stop in Brussels, then it's back to New York."
"What's there to see in Brussels?" Kitty inquired.
"The best chocolate in the world," he said with a dreamy smile. He stood up, pulling a calling card out of his wallet. "May I use your phone for a moment? I'd like to make some hotel reservations."
Moria waved her hand imperiously. "Put that thing away. If we can afford neutronium barbells for Brian, we can pay for a phone call to Paris. The phone's over there."
Archetype tilted his head in acknowledgment and started dialing, then stopped. "Uh oh."
"What?" Rogue asked.
"I just remembered that I don't speak French."
"Let me," she said, taking the phone. "Do you want a double suite again?"
He nodded. "Tell them we'll be there in three hours or so. I'll just teleport us over."
"Why not take the Chunnel?" Meggan asked.
"Because I'm wanted for questioning by British authorities," he replied calmly.
Braddock's head shot up at that. "For what?"
"I'm considered a suspected Sinn Fein member. I'm not," he said hastily, seeing how Braddock was tensing up, "but I have made statements, on record, critical of Britain's Ulster policy."
"And your feelings on the Irish Republican Army?"
"Those are my own business, Mister Braddock," Archetype said flatly, "and they have no bearing on my association with the X-Men." He stood up. "I believe that I've just worn out my welcome. Rogue, if you have no objections, we'll leave immediately. I'll go get my coat." He left the room.
"That could have gone better," Rahne muttered.
"I warned you about his political views, Brian," Rogue said, hurt. "Why did you even bring it up?"
Braddock found that he didn't have an answer for her.
A few minutes later, after Rogue had finished stuffing her things into the large suitcase that Kitty had given her, she met Archetype at the main door to the center. "All set," she said. "We're going straight to Paris?"
"Yes. Our reservations at the George V are set."
Her jaw dropped. "We're staying at the George V? That place costs a fortune!"
"Yes," he agreed. "Lucky for us, I've got a fortune."
"What about food?"
He shrugged. "We'll find something." He turned to the members of Excalibur, who had filtered into the room to see them off. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said, nodding curtly.
"Mister Riley," Meggan said, "Brian has something that he'd like to say to you." She turned to Braddock with a hard look. "Don't you, Brian?"
Braddock looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I want to apologize for my attitude earlier. I've been on the wrong side of the government myself, so I really didn't have any cause to be short with you."
"That's all right, Mister Braddock." Archetype said magnanimously. "I'm used to rubbing people the wrong way. If I can get used to Cyclops, I can get used to you... even if you are symbolic of a corrupt, morally bankrupt imperialist policy."
"Gee, thanks," Braddock said dryly.
"No charge. Honestly, Braddock, I've nothing against you personally, but I lived in Belfast for a few years, and that tends to harden one's heart. If it makes you feel any better, I'm equal opportunity: I also support the Scottish National Party."
"Really?" Moria asked, "How so?"
"I've made a few donations over the years. To be honest, what I'd like to see is a breakup of the Commonwealth into its component parts: Erie, Cymru, Alba, Cornwall, and England."
"Unlikely," Kurt remarked.
"Hey, I can dream, can't I? You all set?" he asked Rogue.
"Ready. Let's go to Paris. Bye, guys!" she said brightly as they winked out.
"An immortal billionaire with Celtic nationalist ambitions," Wisdom mused. "Well, I know what I'm doing next time I take a vacation."
"What's that?" Kitty asked.
"Looking into dual citizenship."
"Do you want to go anywhere in particular? I was going to place us by the Arc d'Triumphe." They stood in the black, featureless terrain which lay within Archetype's Doors.
"Not really. Let's just walk for a while. I haven't been to Paris in a while, and I've always had something or other distracting me every other time I've been here. Do you have a lot to do with your business contacts?"
He shook his head. "Not really. Actually, Rogue, I'll let you in on a little secret: I made my money by being lazy."
She frowned. "I don't get it."
"I'm a silent partner in most of my businesses. If I find somebody who wants to start a business, I lend them the starting capital, then let them run it their own way. They have an option of buying me out if they want, but most don't because I can come in and help out if things get bad. This way, I can make a profit and not have to do anything. It's a nice little system that fits in well with my personal philosophy."
"What's that?"
"There are two forces which get things done in life: self-interest and laziness."
"Isn't that just a bit cynical?"
"Not really. Think about it: why do most people drive to places they could easily walk to?"
"Because it's easier to drive."
"Exactly. They're too lazy to expend the effort to walk. And why do most people get up and go to work every day?"
"Personal satisfaction?"
"Very good. Now, can we have a realistic answer?"
"To get the money they need to survive," she said glumly.
"Or the things that they want. My first rule of business is to appeal to my client's base nature, then work my way up."
"If you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow?" she asked with a smile.
"You are a quick study."
"Thank you."
They made the rounds of a few art galleries, then went to a rather posh outdoor café, where, although Rogue found the food delicious, Archetype found it somewhat lacking. "I can do better," he disclosed, "and at better prices than they're asking."
"Oh, stop complaining," Rogue said cheerfully. "At least you're not the one sweating behind the stove."
"Good point. We'll stop at the hotel and check in once we're done here. After that, our itinerary is up to you."
"Great." Her face became a bit more serious. "Will, can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"Exactly what happened to you last night?"
He sat for a few moments, eyes distant. "Before I can explain that, I think I may have to tell you something about what happened to me when I recovered from my accident. I wandered all over the world for the better part of two years, feeling drawn to specific places."
"Like where?"
"Stonehenge, for one. Also Maccu Picchu, Ur, Luxor, Rome, Istanbul, Beijing, Knossos, Jerusalem, Mali, and Tibet, for starters. Notice any connections?"
"They're all ancient sites. But why Mali?"
"It was the center of an empire in the 1400s. Essentially, I went to places that had massive psychic energy associated with them." His eyes became sad for a moment. "I was also drawn to places that had negative associations attached to them."
"Like where?"
"We're only a few hours drive away from one of them. Omaha Beach."
"Oh."
"Also, there was the Coliseum, the Bastille, the Appian Way..."
"Where?"
"The road along which Spartacus and his army were crucified. There was also Transylvania..."
"What? You went to see Dracula?"
"No, his historical counterpart, Vlad Tsepes. And of course, there was what I refer to as the Grand Tour."
"What was that?"
"Dachau. Bergen-Belsen. Treblinka. Auschwitz-Berkanow. I'm sure you get the idea."
"How can you be so flippant about that?"
"It's either that or go into hysterics. As bad as it sounds just to hear about it, imagine feeling the psychic imprints left by those places. To hear the echoes, however faint, of each dying child..."
"Will!" Rogue said sharply, seeing that he was drifting off. "Snap out of it!"
His head snapped up. He blinked, then inhaled sharply. "Thanks. You have no idea how easy it is to get lost in those collective memories. I almost collapsed at Auschwitz. Anyway, what happened last night was, as far as my experiences with those places go, one of the better ones."
"You see, the Celts believed that the king was bound to the land, and that the crops were dependent on the health of the king. For centuries, the kings underwent a ceremony that tied them to the land. Because the deer were a major food source for the people, the king was also considered the master of the hunt, and was given power over the herds by the gods. But in order to claim that power, the king had to conquer the old king of the herd, the King Stag. Now, whether that battle took place on a physical or psychic level, I have no idea. Anyway, what I went through was a concentrated form of the psychic events that bound the Celtic kings to the land."
"So now you're a king?"
"On a psychic level, sure. I wouldn't make any bets on my finding a throne, though."
"Well, your Majesty," she said, standing up, "shall we get to our hotel?"
"Okay, but if I stay here, does that make you a lady in waiting?" He ducked to avoid the baguette she threw at him.
Their suite at the George V was divided by a set of sliding doors, which the bellhop opened as they entered. "Will you require anything, madam?"
"No, that will be all, thank you," Rogue replied, handing him a generous tip. She and Archetype had decided that, since she was fluent in French, she would be 'in charge' while they were in France.
As the door shut, she leaned back, falling onto the bed, and sighed. "I could get used to this."
"Should I start serving you breakfast in bed every day when we get back to Salem Center?"
"Let me get back to you on that."
"I await with bated breath." He yawned. "I think a nap is in order."
"Are you okay?" she asked with some concern.
"I'm fine. Last night drained me a little, that's all. I just need a few hours sleep."
"I could stand a nap, myself. Here's an idea: we get two or three hours sleep, then go out on the town."
"I can live with that. Actually, this way I can mix with business with pleasure."
"Really? How?"
"You'll see. Do you want to factor in some shopping time?"
"With a blank check? Are you kidding? Of course." She waved him away. "Now scoot. I'm scheduled for a coma, and you're making me late."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, shooting her a two-fingered salute. He shut the doors behind him as he left.
Rogue called the front desk for a wake-up call to be made three hours later, then shut the curtains, stripped down to her underwear, and settled underneath the covers with a contented sigh.
The ring of the telephone jarred her awake, and she fumbled for the receiver. "H'lo?" she mumbled.
"Hello, Miss O'Hara!" a female voice answered. The voice had the bright, cheerful quality that makes most sleepy people want to reach through the phone line and strangle the speaker. "This is the wake-up call which you requested!"
"Thank you," Rogue said as she put the receiver back into the cradle. After thinking about the wisdom of the whole thing for a few moments, she slid out of bed and stood up, stretching.
She started to reach for a bathrobe, but then decided that if she could handle seeing Will nude, then he could handle her in her underwear. She strode up to the doors, sliding them open.
Archetype lay on his stomach, his breathing deep and regular. His face was expressionless, and Rogue was amazed by how much younger he looked when in repose.
"Archetype?" she asked softly. "Will? Are you asleep?"
"Now that's a question that simply can't be answered yes," he replied. He opened his eyes as he turned over, and cocked one eyebrow as he saw her. "My, my, aren't we casual today."
"Hey, I saw you naked. I thought you deserved a free show."
"Did you hear me complaining? What time is it?"
"About four, local time. What's on the program?"
"That's up to you. You know Paris better than I do, so you're calling the shots. Any idea if we're running too late for the Louvre?"
She frowned. "I don't know. Like I said before, I haven't been here in a while. Why don't we set that for tomorrow, just to be safe?"
"Makes sense. Okay then, we let you bankrupt me for a while, then we go eat. One hour?"
"I'll be ready in less than that."
He nodded. "Just let me shower and change."
As she showered, Rogue realized that she had undergone a shift in her perceptions of Will. One of the idiosyncrasies of the life which she chose to lead was that one often spent months, or sometimes even years, being acquainted with people whose real names you never knew, or never considered. She had worked beside, and against, Pietro Maximoff many times, for example, but she still thought of that name as the 'other' name of Quicksilver. She, of course, had, for her own reasons, gone by the name Rogue for almost as long as she could remember. Her life before that name was a dim memory, one that she had left behind her.
But the code names acted as a barrier, and the dropping of them in casual conversation was often considered, in the rather esoteric community that she and the other X-Men belonged to, a form of intimacy, a willingness to avoid pretense. When one thought of an individual by their real name first, it meant that you had bonded with them in a special way. It was a process, she remembered Kurt had once told her, similar to the duzen process in German society, where one stopped using the formal mode of address and shifted to the familiar one. As she considered this, Rogue decided that she was glad that this had happened in her relationship with Will, and smiled.
Forty-five minutes later, they were walking the streets of Paris. Rogue was dressed in jeans and a blouse, since she was planning on wearing what she brought out of the store. Archetype was dressed in his usual grey tweed jacket and slacks, with a white turtleneck and a black vest, to which he had added a silver pocket watch. He had donned his hat as they left the hotel.
"Do you have anywhere particular in mind?" he asked her.
"Not really. I'll just look in the windows. If I see something that catches my eye, I'll go in."
"Let me see if I can find an English language local paper."
"I'll get it," she offered as they passed by a news stand. After she paid for the paper and handed it to him, she asked, "is that to read while you're waiting for me?"
"It's either this or twiddle my thumbs. I'm not built right for doing nothing. Does any of that clothing appeal to you?" he asked, gesturing at a nearby window.
She looked for a moment. The clothing was stylish, but not the ridiculously outrageous stuff that you saw on the runway floor. "It's got potential," she admitted. "Let's go in."
He opened the door for her as they entered. "Old-fashioned gentleman, remember?" he commented as she looked at him.
She enjoyed herself for an hour or so, but decided to stay conservative for the night, as he had mentioned that they might be visiting some of his businesses. She saw no reason to make Will undergo embarrassment among people whose respect was essential. She finally settled on a velour evening gown in a shade that matched the color of her hair, her black evening gloves, and a choker with a green stone. "Well?" she asked him. "How do I look?"
"Exquisite," he assured her. "Are you done?"
"I think I've done enough damage for one day. Let's get going."
He nodded and handed a credit card to the attendant. After he signed the receipt, they left and hailed a taxi. He gave their destination to the driver, and fifteen minutes later, they stepped out in front of the restaurant.
"'The Green Willow'?" Rogue asked, translating the sign in the front.
"An Irish reference that most people wouldn't get."
The restaurant was designed in an open manner, and a small fountain in the center bubbled pleasantly. Hanging plants and trellises of ivy gave the impression of being in a garden, and a large fireplace against one wall gave the place a homey feel.
"Will!" a beefy man in a white tuxedo cried. He was grinning, and embraced Will warmly. "How are you doing, you scoundrel?"
"I'm great, Robby. May," he said, looking at Rogue to indicate that he meant her, "This is Robert Brennan. He and I went to the Culinary Academy together. Robby, Miss May O'Hara."
"Charmed, Miss," he greeted her, shaking her gloved hand warmly. "My condolences that you have to be saddled with this old lump."
"Now don't start spreading tales, Robby," Will chided him.
"Oh, no Robby, do spread them, do!" she gushed. "I like him!" she told Will.
"You would. How's business, Robby?" Will asked.
"Fantastic! I've had to expand the kitchen somewhat, but other than that, it's been smooth as silk."
"How are the books?"
"We're up twenty percent over last year."
"When does the crowd come in?"
"Not for another two hours. Come on, sit down, both of you!" He guided them to a table.
"What's the special tonight?" Will asked.
"Duck l'orange with stuffing and double-baked potatoes."
"Sounds good to me."
"Me too," Rogue added.
"Just give me a few minutes to warm up some bread, and we'll get you started," Robby offered. "And yes, Will, I know, olive oil for you, not butter."
"I'm surprised you remember," Will said with a smile. "It has been three years, after all."
Robby shrugged. "You have a knack with money, I have a good memory."
"And a talent for cooking," Will pointed out. "Why do you think I hired you?"
"Because I have the blackmail photos. Back in a few." He walked off to the kitchen.
"Blackmail photos?" Rogue asked.
"They'll never prove it. The girl was a professional model, and we were doing an artistic rendering of the rites of Pan. That's not what makes it a scandalous photo, though. The details of the photo could ruin my culinary reputation."
"Why?" she asked, not believing a word.
"Because I'm eating a Quarter Pounder."
Robby waved Will's money aside as he tried to pay for the meal. "Forget it. I owe you enough favors over the years that I can spare you a free meal. How was it, by the way? I want your professional opinion."
"It was delicious, Robby. But I have to admit, it was a bit heavier than what I'm used to. The people I cook for now are all health nuts, so I make my meals a bit lighter."
Robby nodded. "I can see that. The French like their meals heavy. Just thank God we're not in Germany."
Will shuddered in mock horror. "By the way, how's Jean-Paul?"
"He finishes his dissertation this semester. I'll tell him you asked."
"Thanks. I'll give you a call in a few weeks. If you need anything, let Jeff know. Ready, May?"
"All set. Thanks for the meal, Robby. Good luck!"
"Thanks, miss. Keep this wretch out of trouble."
"I'll try. Who's Jean-Paul?" she asked after they had left.
"His lover. He's working on a sociology degree, as I recall."
"Oh."
"You took that a lot better than I expected. Most people would have done a double take, at least."
"That's right, you wouldn't know. My momma, Mystique, is bi."
"Really?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "I guess that makes sense, in a way."
"What do you mean?"
"That's just my psychology background talking. I was just thinking. Most mutant abilities manifest themselves in adolescence, right?"
"Right."
"Well, what would the ability to be either male or female at will do to someone's sexual identity? Which way would they go, AC or DC? I think being bisexual would be the only rational choice that biology could give someone who was a shapeshifter."
Rogue thought about it for a moment. "I never thought about it that way. I'll avoid telling her that you said that."
"Why's that?"
She sighed. "Her lover, Destiny, died about two years ago. She's been a bit sensitive on the subject since, and if she heard that you'd said that, she might try to see just how effective your healing abilities are."
Rogue dragged him into the nearest dance club that she could find, and tried to get him to join her on the floor. "Come on! I want to see how well you can dance!" she told him over the din of the music.
"Rogue," he said falteringly, "I'm not very comfortable with this... I'd like to go back outside, please..." He was suddenly nervous, his eyes darting around the room, hesitant and wary.
"Oh, no," she replied, not noticing his distress in her enthusiasm. "I'm getting at least one dance out of you this trip!" She continued to drag him into the crowd, holding the sleeve of his jacket.
"I said no!" he half shouted, slipping out of his jacket and moving back outside as fast he could without actually pushing people out of the way.
Rogue looked at him for a moment, holding the jacket in one hand, then folded it over one arm and followed him.
She found him outside the club, leaning against the wall. He was breathing heavily, and his face was covered in sweat. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked him.
He regained his composure and looked at her. "Ororo is a claustrophobe, right?"
"Yeah. What does that have to do with you?"
"I'm an ocolophobe. Being in a crowd sends me into a panic attack."
"Oh."
"Add to that the fact that I get psychic backwash from all the people in there, and you can see why I was a little uncomfortable. I'm sorry. I should have warned you."
"That's okay. Are you all right?"
He nodded. "I just have to catch my breath. You wanted to dance, right?"
"Look, we don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable..."
"I've got a compromise."
They found a small pawnshop a few blocks away, where Will bought a portable stereo with a CD player. A quick trip to an all-night store produced a largish stack of CDs that they could agree upon. They hailed another taxi and returned to the hotel.
"Any preferences for the first album?" he asked her as they entered their suite.
"How about the 10,000 Maniacs one?" she suggested as she kicked off her shoes.
"Your wish is my command." He popped the disc into the player, then fiddled with the volume a bit. In a moment, "Noah's Dove" emanated from the speakers. "That too loud?"
"Actually, it's a little quiet. Your hearing is sharp, isn't it?"
He nodded. "That's another reason I had to leave the club early. The sound was hurting my ears." He turned to her. "May I have the honor of this dance, miss?"
"Well, since you asked nicely..."
They were both wearing gloves, and the fact that Will was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with a high collar made Rogue a little daring, resting her head against his shoulder. "You smell good," she noted.
"Thank you. So do you. What's that perfume, by the way?"
"Erin Mist. I got it while we were in Dublin."
"They misnamed it. It should be called Criminal Assault."
"I take it you like it."
"You could say that."
They slow danced through Natalie Merchant's low voice. As the final notes of "I'm Not the Man" faded away, Rogue sighed.
"Do you want me to change the disc?" Will asked.
"No," she said softly. "Let's just stay like this for a while, okay?"
"Whatever you say."
Just how long they stood, there, silent, Rogue wasn't sure, but after a time, she stepped back from Will, looking at him with affection. "Thanks. You have no idea how much I needed that."
"No problem."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him seriously.
"What do you mean?"
"Let's sit down," she said. After they had planted themselves in the large couch, she looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments. "I hope I'm not about to insult you with what I'm about to ask."
"What's that?" he asked.
"As old-fashioned as the question seems, what are your intentions towards me?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's direct enough, isn't it?" He pursed his lips for a moment, lost in thought.
"I like you, Rogue," he said. "I like you a lot. I'm very glad that you came along. If I'd made this trip on my own, I probably would have just stayed in Ireland for a week, gone crazy from boredom, then headed back to New York, and would be in even worse shape than I was when I left. Being around you is good for me."
"Why?" she asked curiously.
"You help me find a focus for my energy. Without a focus, I tend to be off in all directions at once, never settling down. I couldn't have asked for a more pleasant traveling companion.
"Would I be interested in making our relationship something more... intense? Yes, I would. That is, if you're not opposed," he added hastily.
"If you're asking me if I'm opposed to our becoming boyfriend and girlfriend," Rogue, said, trying to stifle a laugh, "then the answer's no. You really picked a roundabout way of getting there, though."
"Blame it on my literary background," he said, smiling. "I can say absolutely nothing in a hundred words or more."
They spent the next three days making the rounds of the usual Parisian landmarks, such as the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Louvre. They also visited the Rodin Museum at Will's insistence. Rogue spent quite a bit of time looking at The Kiss. "You like this one?" Will asked her.
She nodded. "I've always liked this one. I've never been one for modern art, but this is an exception."
"Rodin worked in the period back when modern art was striving to mean something, before it went totally gaga. We'll get a folio on the way out."
"Thanks. What's next?"
"I think we'll settle our bill at the hotel and get going for Brussells. We really have been gone a while, and we ought to get back to the mansion."
"Yeah," she sighed, "you're right. Shouldn't we get some more souvenirs for the others?"
"Good idea. Any suggestions?"
"I don't know. Let's just window shop and see what we find."
After two or three hours, they decided that they had gathered enough trinkets to give the other X-Men, and went back to the hotel to pack and check out. "Can you ask the manager to call our bellhop over?" he asked as they descended to the lobby.
"Sure."
A few minutes later, the young man was hurrying to the front desk. "Yes, Madam?"
"We wanted to thank you for your excellent service," Rogue told him, as Will handed him a large tip.
"Thank you, sir!" he replied.
Will nodded, smiling, and he and Rogue went outside to hail a taxi to the airport.
They spent less than a day in Belgium. Most of their time was spent in confectionery shops, where Will spent ridiculous amounts of money on candy. "I give some of this to my business contacts," he explained.
"Thank God. We'd have to roll you around the mansion if you ate all of this."
"Be nice. Our flight back's in four hours. Would you rather see the town or get some rest?"
"Why don't we find a café and eat up? I'm not looking forward to more airline food."
"I can't argue with that. By the way, what do you want to tell the others when we get back?"
"About what?"
"Us."
"Let's just tell them the truth: that we've decided to become an item."
"Cyclops might have some problems with that," he pointed out. "He still doesn't trust me, you know."
"We'll deal with Scott when we get to him. Now let's go eat."
As they walked around, looking for a restaurant, Will stopped at a florist's street cart and purchased a white rose, which he handed to Rogue. "For you, my dear," he said with a florid bow as he handed it to her, "because I like you." Rogue just smiled and took it with a curtsey, bringing it to her nose and holding it close to her face.
"Could you get me a pillow again?" Rogue asked as they boarded the plane.
"Sure. You going to sleep all the way back?"
"I just might. I want to shift my body clock back to New York time. How about you?"
"I'll just read. I'll sleep when we get back home."
"I was wondering when you'd slip up," she said, smiling.
"Excuse me?"
"You just called the mansion 'home'. You really are one of us now."
He smiled slowly. "I guess I am now, aren't I? Get to sleep, beautiful. I'll wake you when we're there."
Rogue closed her eyes and nodded off, still smiling.
A few hours later, she moved in her sleep, resting her head against Will's shoulder. He looked at her, smiled, closed his book, and turned off the light.