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xp_logsMarie goes to see Charles about the afternoon's events and to vent a little of her frustration at him for the ongoing danger into which the children seem to keep falling. She can't stay angry at him, though, not when he's honest and as perturbed about things as she is herself.
On a Sunday, the Professor wouldn't be in his office. Marie had intended to go to his rooms and speak to him, reasonable and calmly, -I am calm and mature-, but by the time she got to his rooms she was almost in tears. Her knock resonated in the silent hall that led to his door. She waited, arms crossed, biting her lip, and trying not to shuffle her feet
Charles, who had been enjoying a relaxing afternoon of tea, opera, and no Super Bowl whatsoever, was roused out of his quiet contemplation by Marie's distress while she was still halfway down the hall, and opened the door at her knock, gesturing her inside.
"Marie, please, come in. What's happened?"
"What's happened..." Marie gave a short, bitter laugh and stepped into his rooms, looking around without really seeing anything. She spun to face him, her hands rising to tug her hair. "This can't keep happening. It has to stop." She dropped her hands and started pacing the room. "You can't not know... I don't know what's worse. Maybe it's worse if you know and just aren't doing anything about it."
Charles noddeded. "Why don't you come in, have a cup of tea, take a deep breath, and tell me about it?" The edge of her thoughts brushed him--as angry as she was, it was nearly impossible _not_ to hear them--and his knuckles whitened slightly on his own cup. "Are the children all right? Safe, at least, and unharmed?"
"Safe is a lie," Marie said automatically. She turned to face him and stared at him for a long moment, the mind of someone freshly dead restless behind her eyes. Then her expression softened a little and she exhaled slowly. "Tea would be nice, thanks. Artie and Yana are physically well. So are the rest of us." She sat down in one of the high-backed chairs near the small table where his tea service was laid out. She sat with her back straight, hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed, the outward picture of composure.
"As safe as can be immediately managed, then," Charles said calmly, and poured the tea. "What happened?"
"What I know, I know mostly from the second man I killed, and what I heard. Shiro is involved with the Yakuza, through some channel. I would have thought that might have been detected somehow, but maybe I'm overly optimistic. And Piotr apparently has ties with the Russian mafia." Marie accepted a cup of tea from Charles and added sugar and milk. Her movements were smooth and automatic and she kept her eyes fixed on her own hands. "Apparently the Yakuza were employed to coerce Piotr to return to his mafia employers and Yana was snatched right out from under Paige and I, in front of Artie, to use as leverage." She stopped speaking and looked up at him, waiting to see if any of her words were a surprise.
Charles set his own teacup down with a hand that trembled slightly. "Thank God they weren't hurt. I'll be speaking to Shiro and Piotr about this as soon as possible, to make sure the incident isn't repeated--and the children, as well, of course, unless they'd feel more comfortable with Moira." He paused, picked up his tea again, and took a deliberate, calming sip. "How are you?"
"Angry," she said honestly. "I'd really like to kill a few more people, just to get it out of my system, and that makes me angrier, that I've turned into someone who thinks like that. Paige..." Marie put her cup down and rubbed at her forehead. "You'll need to talk to Paige too. I don't know if she's killed anyone before today. This has to stop, Charles." The use of his full name was almost a plea. "We can't go on like this. It's too much."
Charles nodded heavily, looking shrunken and old in his chair. "I wish I could tell you that everything was well in hand, that I had foreseen and planned for . . . any of the things that have happened in the last year, but that would be a lie. If ceaselessly watching for threat would make us safe, I would do that--but we saw how futile that became, this past summer. If changing the minds of the entire world would keep another invader from stepping across our doorstep, I would be in Cerebro even now with a wrench and a soldering iron, and let my soul stand as the price of it--but that, too, would fail. All that seems left is to go on, as best we can; to pick up the pieces and make the most of them. I wish that were enough."
"Then let me help." Marie rose and crossed to where Charles sat. She dropped to her knees beside him and reached out to put her grey-gloved hands on his near arm. "Let me help /more/. I'll be ready. I was this time. Give me something to do - in the meantime, I'll make my own way and learn everything I can, I already am. I can't go back. My feet are on this path. I'm not a child anymore. I can make a difference." She was intensely serious, looking up at him with her hands warm and strong on his arm. She wanted to lend him strength, make her gift work in reverse for a moment, to make him strong again.
"You are." He patted her hand. "More than I can say, just by staying, and standing despite it all. And I haven't given up on seeing you in Manhattanville, either--I promised you a letter of recommendation, after all, and I will see it delivered. Until then . . . " He smiled. "I've heard at least five of the younger children name your class as their favorite. Help me keep them safe and happy, and find time for your own happiness, and we can deal with the rest of the world as it comes."
Marie rested her cheek on his arm for a moment. "I don't think I'll be going to school, but I've been wrong before. Whatever it takes to make the world stop hurting the children, these and others after them, I'll do. I was going to yell at you but you're just as stuck as the rest of us, aren't you?" She shook her head and summonned up a smile. "I find my happiness here and there. Don't worry. Just remember that I'm part of that 'we', won't you?"
"Of course. And please don't hesitate to yell at me if I need it, in return." He smiled slightly. "I trust you won't abuse the privilege."
Marie laughed at him a little. "I wouldn't dare." She stood and then leaned over to hug Charles briefly, careful of his tea. "I'm still angry," she said as she straightened up. "I'll just save it until I have somewhere to put it. I'd better get back, I have another batch of brownies in the oven. The first pan evaporated mysteriously before they were even cool. Something about fresh baking in the presence of teenagers causes that phenomenon. I know you probably have a lot to take care of right now, so I'll let you be. I'm sorry for interupting your afternoon."
Charles waved this off. "There are a great many things more important than opera, and this is certainly one of them; I'm sorry I couldn't be of any greater comfort. Go defend your brownies, and I'll do what I can."
"Thank you. I know this isn't easy for you either." Marie looked at Charles with great sympathy. "A house full of handfuls and a world that comes knocking too often isn't easy for anyone. I'm just doing damage control with chocolate and pizza and video games because it's all I can do. I'm sorry I can't do more. That's kind of why I wanted to go to school at all."
"Mm. At least I avoided children of my own on top of everything else; teenage rebellion is difficult enough when it _isn't_ meant personally. We'll find a way." He smiled again. "But if we continue to stay here apologizing to one another, your band of dessert thieves will certainly strike.again. We both do everything we can, and there is no shame in that."
"Yes, they will, and they'll burn themselves at it. They've no sense when chocolate's involved." Marie paused at the door and looked back at him for a moment. "Thank you for /everything/," she said before she let herself out. Her words held weight that spoke of more than just their conversation and his kindness, encompassing all his hard work. She went back to the west galley with her anger tempered by concern for Charles as well as the rest of them.
Charles watched her go, then softly closed the door; after a thoughtful moment, however, he reached for the telephone rather than the stereo remote, dialing a particular number from memory.
"Hello, Leonard? It's Charles. I'm sorry to interrupt your Sunday, but I'd like to ask a favor . . ."
On a Sunday, the Professor wouldn't be in his office. Marie had intended to go to his rooms and speak to him, reasonable and calmly, -I am calm and mature-, but by the time she got to his rooms she was almost in tears. Her knock resonated in the silent hall that led to his door. She waited, arms crossed, biting her lip, and trying not to shuffle her feet
Charles, who had been enjoying a relaxing afternoon of tea, opera, and no Super Bowl whatsoever, was roused out of his quiet contemplation by Marie's distress while she was still halfway down the hall, and opened the door at her knock, gesturing her inside.
"Marie, please, come in. What's happened?"
"What's happened..." Marie gave a short, bitter laugh and stepped into his rooms, looking around without really seeing anything. She spun to face him, her hands rising to tug her hair. "This can't keep happening. It has to stop." She dropped her hands and started pacing the room. "You can't not know... I don't know what's worse. Maybe it's worse if you know and just aren't doing anything about it."
Charles noddeded. "Why don't you come in, have a cup of tea, take a deep breath, and tell me about it?" The edge of her thoughts brushed him--as angry as she was, it was nearly impossible _not_ to hear them--and his knuckles whitened slightly on his own cup. "Are the children all right? Safe, at least, and unharmed?"
"Safe is a lie," Marie said automatically. She turned to face him and stared at him for a long moment, the mind of someone freshly dead restless behind her eyes. Then her expression softened a little and she exhaled slowly. "Tea would be nice, thanks. Artie and Yana are physically well. So are the rest of us." She sat down in one of the high-backed chairs near the small table where his tea service was laid out. She sat with her back straight, hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed, the outward picture of composure.
"As safe as can be immediately managed, then," Charles said calmly, and poured the tea. "What happened?"
"What I know, I know mostly from the second man I killed, and what I heard. Shiro is involved with the Yakuza, through some channel. I would have thought that might have been detected somehow, but maybe I'm overly optimistic. And Piotr apparently has ties with the Russian mafia." Marie accepted a cup of tea from Charles and added sugar and milk. Her movements were smooth and automatic and she kept her eyes fixed on her own hands. "Apparently the Yakuza were employed to coerce Piotr to return to his mafia employers and Yana was snatched right out from under Paige and I, in front of Artie, to use as leverage." She stopped speaking and looked up at him, waiting to see if any of her words were a surprise.
Charles set his own teacup down with a hand that trembled slightly. "Thank God they weren't hurt. I'll be speaking to Shiro and Piotr about this as soon as possible, to make sure the incident isn't repeated--and the children, as well, of course, unless they'd feel more comfortable with Moira." He paused, picked up his tea again, and took a deliberate, calming sip. "How are you?"
"Angry," she said honestly. "I'd really like to kill a few more people, just to get it out of my system, and that makes me angrier, that I've turned into someone who thinks like that. Paige..." Marie put her cup down and rubbed at her forehead. "You'll need to talk to Paige too. I don't know if she's killed anyone before today. This has to stop, Charles." The use of his full name was almost a plea. "We can't go on like this. It's too much."
Charles nodded heavily, looking shrunken and old in his chair. "I wish I could tell you that everything was well in hand, that I had foreseen and planned for . . . any of the things that have happened in the last year, but that would be a lie. If ceaselessly watching for threat would make us safe, I would do that--but we saw how futile that became, this past summer. If changing the minds of the entire world would keep another invader from stepping across our doorstep, I would be in Cerebro even now with a wrench and a soldering iron, and let my soul stand as the price of it--but that, too, would fail. All that seems left is to go on, as best we can; to pick up the pieces and make the most of them. I wish that were enough."
"Then let me help." Marie rose and crossed to where Charles sat. She dropped to her knees beside him and reached out to put her grey-gloved hands on his near arm. "Let me help /more/. I'll be ready. I was this time. Give me something to do - in the meantime, I'll make my own way and learn everything I can, I already am. I can't go back. My feet are on this path. I'm not a child anymore. I can make a difference." She was intensely serious, looking up at him with her hands warm and strong on his arm. She wanted to lend him strength, make her gift work in reverse for a moment, to make him strong again.
"You are." He patted her hand. "More than I can say, just by staying, and standing despite it all. And I haven't given up on seeing you in Manhattanville, either--I promised you a letter of recommendation, after all, and I will see it delivered. Until then . . . " He smiled. "I've heard at least five of the younger children name your class as their favorite. Help me keep them safe and happy, and find time for your own happiness, and we can deal with the rest of the world as it comes."
Marie rested her cheek on his arm for a moment. "I don't think I'll be going to school, but I've been wrong before. Whatever it takes to make the world stop hurting the children, these and others after them, I'll do. I was going to yell at you but you're just as stuck as the rest of us, aren't you?" She shook her head and summonned up a smile. "I find my happiness here and there. Don't worry. Just remember that I'm part of that 'we', won't you?"
"Of course. And please don't hesitate to yell at me if I need it, in return." He smiled slightly. "I trust you won't abuse the privilege."
Marie laughed at him a little. "I wouldn't dare." She stood and then leaned over to hug Charles briefly, careful of his tea. "I'm still angry," she said as she straightened up. "I'll just save it until I have somewhere to put it. I'd better get back, I have another batch of brownies in the oven. The first pan evaporated mysteriously before they were even cool. Something about fresh baking in the presence of teenagers causes that phenomenon. I know you probably have a lot to take care of right now, so I'll let you be. I'm sorry for interupting your afternoon."
Charles waved this off. "There are a great many things more important than opera, and this is certainly one of them; I'm sorry I couldn't be of any greater comfort. Go defend your brownies, and I'll do what I can."
"Thank you. I know this isn't easy for you either." Marie looked at Charles with great sympathy. "A house full of handfuls and a world that comes knocking too often isn't easy for anyone. I'm just doing damage control with chocolate and pizza and video games because it's all I can do. I'm sorry I can't do more. That's kind of why I wanted to go to school at all."
"Mm. At least I avoided children of my own on top of everything else; teenage rebellion is difficult enough when it _isn't_ meant personally. We'll find a way." He smiled again. "But if we continue to stay here apologizing to one another, your band of dessert thieves will certainly strike.again. We both do everything we can, and there is no shame in that."
"Yes, they will, and they'll burn themselves at it. They've no sense when chocolate's involved." Marie paused at the door and looked back at him for a moment. "Thank you for /everything/," she said before she let herself out. Her words held weight that spoke of more than just their conversation and his kindness, encompassing all his hard work. She went back to the west galley with her anger tempered by concern for Charles as well as the rest of them.
Charles watched her go, then softly closed the door; after a thoughtful moment, however, he reached for the telephone rather than the stereo remote, dialing a particular number from memory.
"Hello, Leonard? It's Charles. I'm sorry to interrupt your Sunday, but I'd like to ask a favor . . ."
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