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FIC: Summer's End, 16/18, PG13/R, W/R

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  • fyrdrakken@JUNO.COM
    DISCLAIMERS REPOSTED IN PART 0 * * * What makes you such a bitch, Emma? _Breeding,_ darling. Top class breeding. — Jean and Emma, NEW X-MEN #116, by
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 4, 2001

      * * *

      "What makes you such a bitch, Emma?"
      "_Breeding,_ darling. Top class breeding."
      — Jean and Emma, NEW X-MEN #116, by Grant Morrison

      * * *

      What with making certain that no one had been injured more seriously than
      a few bruises during that little fiasco and sending the students back to
      their beds, it was well past three AM when Emma found herself free to
      return to her own bed. Rather than sleeping, she nursed her Rogue-induced
      migraine while mulling over what had been learned from her telepathic
      examination of Logan’s psyche.

      [What we have here,] Emma thought drowsily, [is a man who’s really a
      decent enough person. Likes children and animals, not especially fond of
      most other people but not wishing them any harm. Prefers to live and let
      live, considers them innocent until proven guilty and all that. But this
      man, Logan, has gotten hurt before. Badly. And he’s got company. An
      animal, like an attack dog — no, a wolverine. An attack wolverine. It’s a
      very well-trained wolverine. It can answer the door for him whenever
      someone on the outside knocks, and it can talk when he’s there for it to
      get the words from. The Wolverine actually handles most of his contact
      with the outside world. And the Wolverine, being a wolverine, pretty much
      hates people. Aside from a *very* few exceptions — like his mate — the
      Wolverine would prefer to see the whole teeming mass of humanity dead,
      and is willing to help as many along that route as possible. Logan keeps
      the Wolverine on a leash most of the time — he may even pull it back
      entirely when he’s dealing with someone he knows and trusts. But if
      something happens to take Logan out of the picture, if he’s traumatized
      to the point of withdrawal or angry enough to release the beast or, God
      help us, being controlled by a telepath — if the Wolverine gets loose
      without Logan there to rein it in, then there’s hell to pay. Because the
      Wolverine will kill whatever — *whoever* — is in its path until something
      stops it — or until everyone is dead...]

      She set her jaw grimly. [And I came *that* close to turning it loose
      among my students tonight... Under the circumstances, I think that losing
      Rogue was an acceptable price to pay for getting rid of the Wolverine
      without fatalities.] She adjusted the washrag forming a cold compress on
      her forehead. [Still, a bloody shame I didn’t tell him he had the job
      when he was asking for it. He would have been useful — as a combat
      trainer *and* as a telepath-proof, gun-and-knife-proof fighter. It would
      have been one hell of a coup to have stolen one of the X-Men, too. And
      why am I *not* surprised to learn that Xavier’s School for the Gifted was
      training a small mutant attack force on the side? I *knew* that air of
      noble principles had to be a cover of some kind...]

      Emma studied her clear pink nail polish thoughtfully. [Chipping. Need to
      redo them. Hard to believe that Xavier let a "teacher" bone an underaged
      student like that, no matter *how* useful he is or *how* difficult she
      may have been to manage. I wonder... I wonder if Xavier even *knew*?] She
      sat up as the implications of the thought began to unfold, absently
      letting the damp rag fall into her lap. [He’s so prudish about using his
      talent, he might well have *been* completely oblivious. Especially with
      the pair of them being as difficult to read as they both are.] A smile
      began to slowly blossom on her face. [If he knew, he might refuse to take
      Logan back — and where he goes, goes Rogue. That’s one X-Man and one
      *future* X-Man lost to him, even if *we* can’t have them. And since
      Magneto nearly killed Rogue, I can’t see them going to the Brotherhood,
      either.] Absentmindedly she began to flake the peeling polish from one
      thumbnail, remembering what she had learned of the girl during the
      highly-publicized trial of Erik Lensherr and through her own later
      research and surveillance. [I don’t think that either of them is really
      the crusading type. If they aren’t part of a team, they’ll more than
      likely just go their own way. Two powerful players taken off the board —

      Emma rose from the bed and made her way to the desk, beginning to flip
      through her Rolodex. [Where *is* that number — ah, "Xavier’s School for
      the Gifted." I think I need to make a phone call, just as a courtesy from
      one educator to another, to warn him about the pedophile who used to be
      on his staff. Just as soon as it gets to a decent hour...] The smile on
      her face was chilling, predatory.

      * * *

      She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
      Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
      Adamantium-Revealing X-Rays, and Official Listener for the Occasional
      Aussie Vowels

      "Okay, then, you have to promise if I say something you don't like you
      won't do that voice that sounds like people with wet and bubbly stuff in
      their lungs buried under the ground being crushed to death by giant worms
      -- Delirium, SANDMAN #41, by Neil Gaiman
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