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FIC: Summer's End, 14/18, PG13/R, W/R

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  • fyrdrakken@JUNO.COM
    DISCLAIMERS REPOSTED IN PART 0 * * * [Poor Marc. Right up until he saw me glue myself to the face of the guy who’d just got done kicking his ass, I think he
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 4, 2001

      * * *

      [Poor Marc. Right up until he saw me glue myself to the face of the guy
      who’d just got done kicking his ass, I think he thought he had a chance.]

      It was enough to make Marie really feel for the guy. *No one* was
      particularly sorry that the bullying Jerod had taken such a pounding he
      was *still* in the infirmary, and as far as she was concerned Haroun was
      a condescending asshole whose ego could desperately benefit from
      receiving a few good beatings — but Sharon, Angelica and Marc were decent
      types. Marie was glad that the trio had escaped without lingering damages
      — though that was due more to deliberate care on Logan’s part than to
      luck alone.

      The X-Men were still a topic to be avoided, but Logan and the
      non-superhero dealings of Xavier’s School were an absorbing enough topic.
      Angelica in particular was charmed by the idea of an entire campus in
      which students were free to use their powers, rather than a
      strictly-defined area of the administration building.

      A certain amount of comparison between powers of the two student bodies
      also took place, leading Marc to wish aloud for a few bolt-throwing
      lessons from Ms. Munroe and Rogue to be put in the position of trying to
      judge whether Sam could outblast Haroun. (She had no idea.)

      When Marie finally parted company from the others, they were debating the
      best methods of suggesting to Emma that Xavier’s School be sounded out
      for — cooperative learning? Exchange programs? Informal interscholastic
      competitions? She was still giggling at the mental image of the Rocket
      Boy Races and Flamethrowing Finals as she made her way to the phones.

      Perfect timing, too — caught her parents after dinner, so she wasn’t

      "Hi, Mom!"

      "Marie! Joseph, it’s Marie! How you doing, honey?"

      Marie gave her father a few minutes to pick up the extension before

      "Hi, baby!"

      "Hi, Dad! Mom, Dad — I have something to tell you..."

      "What’s that, sugar?"

      "I’m cured. I can — I can touch people and not have to worry about it. I
      can get rid of the gloves and scarves. I can come home and pass for

      "That’s wonderful, sweetheart!"

      "Sounds like we were right to send you to that other school!"

      Marie gritted her teeth. "Guess so," not wanting to admit that she’d been
      lying to her parents about her control for months now.

      "So Ms. Frost is able to teach you, then."

      Alarm bells went off at her father’s tone. "Mm, not really. I’m — I’m
      pretty well taught already." The absolute truth.

      "After less than a week?"

      Marie winced. "We — we had a breakthrough," she said feebly.

      "Well, honey, that’s just wonderful."

      Marie frowned disbelieving. Afer all this time waiting for her to gain
      control so they could... "So you’ll come get me, then?" She shouldn’t
      have had to suggest it at all, they should have started making plans for
      a pickup date as soon as they were told she could pass...

      "In the middle of the school year? Honey, it’s your senior year —
      wouldn’t you rather go ahead and finish before leaving?"

      "I’d — I’d rather have gone ahead and finished at Xavier’s — my friends
      are there," acerbically.

      "Baby, Professor Xavier wasn’t able to do anything in more than a year,
      and Ms. Frost fixed you right up in a few *days*. You’re better off
      sticking with her for a while, seeing what she can teach you."

      Ah, the penalties of lying. "Dad — Ms. Frost didn’t teach me *anything*.
      I learned to control my gift at Xavier’s months ago, practicing with a...
      friend of mine. I just said I didn’t have control ‘cause I wasn’t ready
      to come home."

      "Now that’s a little bit convenient, don’t you think?"

      Speechless, Marie listened to her father as he continued.

      "Professor Xavier let you slack off and have fun with your friends and
      didn’t make you worry about being normal, and then Ms. Frost comes along
      and makes you *work* for a change, and *now* you want to come home?"

      Confusion and disbelief chased themselves around in her head, pursued by
      rising anger, as she wondered what the hell was going on.

      "Sugar, what you’ve been given is a gift from God. Ms. Frost is going to
      show you how to use it the best you can."

      The roiling emotions were cleared, chased out by an icy wash of terror
      that rapidly mutated to frigid fury. Her mother would *never* have
      referred to her power as a gift of any kind, let alone a divine one — nor
      would her father have agreed with the description.

      If they were in their right minds, that was.

      That *bitch*. That chilly, conniving, scheming, backstabbing,
      manipulative, mindcontrolling BITCH.

      Emma Frost had literally changed her parents’ minds.

      Marie went through the motions of saying the appropriate goodbyes and
      ending the call, but she barely knew what she said or what her parents
      answered. She was too preoccupied with thoughts of how best to deal with
      the Ice Bitch. Hanging up the phone, she didn’t step aside but instead
      leaned against it, rapt in thought.

      The knowledge that one was being held in the clutches of an amoral
      telepath for unknown but presumably nefarious purposes was disturbing.
      Especially when paired with the realization that one’s parents were
      enthralled into putting said telepath in the unassailable position of a
      school administrator with the full authority to "take disciplinary
      action" and "prevent truancy." Which meant that if she tried calling or
      even running away to the cops or other authorities, she’d probably find
      herself turned in to Frosty.

      Had she been alone in this, she might have been frightened.

      "Are you gonna just stand there all *night*? Some of us need to use the
      *phone*," griped an unpleasant voice behind her.

      Marie turned to glare at the girl. "One more call, then I’m done."
      Placing her back firmly to the budding temper tantrum, she dialed.

      Logan answered on the fifth ring. "What?" Judging by the guarded tone, he
      might have been expecting an unwelcome call.

      Had she been in a better mood, she might have teased him about it, asked
      if he’d been getting guilt-trip calls from the X-Crew or something. But
      right now she wasn’t feeling at all playful. "I told my parents."


      "They didn’t believe me — or didn’t believe that Frost wasn’t the one
      responsible for what I’ve learned. They want me to stay, they *said*."
      She hoped he’d reach the same conclusion she had. Helping him out, "Mom
      said I had a gift from God and Ms. Frost would teach me how to use it

      Logan had overheard enough conversations with her parents to know how out
      of character *that* statement was. She hoped.

      She was right. "*Shit*. She managed to reach your parents all the way
      down in Mississippi?"

      "Think so."

      "Are you being listened to? Right now?"

      "Yes." The girl behind her was muttering impatiently.

      "All right. Plan C?"

      "The place and time you were thinking — but I don’t want to wait."

      "Tonight, you mean?"


      "Okay. I’ll be there."

      "See you then." She hung up, ignoring the girl’s exaggerated cry of

      Because that had been the *last* of the other thoughts she had gotten
      from Logan during their kiss.

      [Two AM, under *this* tree,] with a mental image of a large oak with
      overhanging limbs conveniently close to the wall surrounding the school
      grounds, [tomorrow night.]

      And as she had told him, she didn’t want to wait till then.

      * * *

      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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