Shiva: Vista Mansion

[x-maverick.livejournal.com]

Maverick arrives at the Xavier Institute, seeking asylum.




The rental car paused at the metal gates of the Xavier Institute. The wrought-iron looked decorative, but more than likely was not the only layer of defense the institution relied on. People often called him an idealist, a dreamer, or a visionary - one one thing to be certain of was that Charles Xavier was not likely to be an idiot.

Honesty, then, would be the best policy.

At the buzz from the intercom at the gate, the car's window rolled down.

"David North to see Jim Logan, please. It's a rather urgent matter."

Haller, detouring from the kitchen to intercept the buzzer, was briefly afflicted with Proper Noun Confusion. Granted he went by enough names that it wasn't unusual to find them being reused, but it was odd to hear two in the same breath. There was also the less personal consideration that whoever was at the gate knew Logan's first name. And that Logan had a first name.

But something about the man's introduction was nagging at him. The telepath's finger paused over the intercom button. North . . . that was it. He'd read this name in that file from 2005, when Haroun had been crippled by that man Arkady. Jim straightened, suddenly alert.

"Logan left us a while ago," the telepath said into the intercom, "but we might be able to find him for you. I recognize your name, Mr. North. Is is extremely urgent?"

"I should say so," North responded, leaning back into his seat and cursing his timing to apparently just miss crossing paths with his old partner again. "If it means anything to you, Weapon X is active again. If it doesn't, you can contact Elisabeth Braddock, I'm certain she'll vouch for me." She's been inside my head, after all, North thought to himself with a small smirk and the echo of a headache.

"All right." Jim hesitated for a moment, then made a decision. "I'll buzz you in." A quick telepathic word to Charles appraised the professor of the situation, but in Jim's estimation of the risk was slim -- if not because of North's previous relationship with the team, then because no one who actually knew Betsy would be suicidal enough to use her as a false alibi.

Pulling into the semicircular driveway, David exited the car and removed his sunglasses to take in the extent of the mansion. This is where Logan wound up? he wondered. The ivy-covered walls and marble steps seemed utterly at odds with what he remembered of the man. Then again, he wondered, with all the jumbling around in their brains, how well did any of them know each other?

Wincing slightly at the pull of muscles along his left side, the former Weapon X operative walked up to the massive doors and, with a shrug, rapped his knuckles firmly against the wood. Fox among the wolves, he reminded himself.

Jim answered the door, and was mildly surprised to see North was only an inch or two shorter than he. The man looked to be in his early forties, with greying hair and a week's worth of beard. If he was uncomfortable or uncertain here, his posture didn't show it; his eyes simply took in the surroundings with a certain slow deliberation.

"I'm David Haller," Jim said, moving aside for the man to pass. He drew out his phone and hit his speed dial. "I'm the student counselor here. One minute, I'm going to try Betsy."

North only gave a nod of acknowledgement as he perused the foyer. Without Logan here he had nothing to leverage these people with, nothing but the goodwill of Charles Xavier - a man who'd already given him enough sanctuary from Arkady Rossovich, and the chance to regain his former life. The jury is out on who owes whom the favor there, then, he thought to himself, folding his hands behind his back.

"Mister Haller," he announced flatly, "I don't mean to be blunt, but in the past forty-eight hours I have found myself engaging in significant amounts of unsavory activies ranging from identity fraud and burglary to being smashed through plaster by a former friend whom I regrettably had to kill so if I could, please, speak with one of the X-Men, I would appreciate it greatly."

His voice, tinged with the decades-old echoes of harsh German sibilants, belied the utter exhaustion he felt, and a hand instinctively went to the tapes in his pocket. "I do believe it is a matter of life and death," North explained, "Particularly my own."

Jim raised a hand as voicemail picked up. He left a brief message giving North's name and asking Betsy call him back as soon as possible, then hung up.

"I can't reach Betsy," Jim replied, turning to North, "but if you need an X-Man, you can talk to me." As he stared the man down the blue of his right eye bleached to grey, increasing the contrast with the opposing brown. "Don't worry about sparing my sensibilities. You'd be surprised at my tolerance for unsavory activities."

"One of the last men to say that had a leg ripped off for his troubles," North replied, then reached into his pocket to pull out the computer tapes, still bundled in the plastic bag he'd retrieved them in. "For the past three years, I've been across the globe trying my damnedest to uncover any remnants of the Weapon X project. What became of it, where the other operatives are, what happened to send us underground. Early last year I sprung my former XO out of a prison in Peru to get a lead, and it brought me to this. Also nearly got me killed which is why I'm rather damned certain this is important. It's also encrypted, which is where I need a bit of help. If I'm liable to be killed over it, I'd like to know what I'm dying for."

Despite his years at the mansion -- and, perhaps more to the point, dating the woman he did -- a part of Jim would never accept he regularly spoke to people who lived things out of a James Bond movie. North himself had been a sleeper agent, most of his memories sealed away until the block had been forcibly removed. There remained a corner of his brain that insisted these things did not happen to real people, in spite of the fact same brain had once helped hold back a tidal wave. But right now the disbelief was only a distant echo. It was another aspect talking to North; the same part that was all business, and didn't even blink at mention of murder.

"Understandable," Jim said, glancing at the deceptively innocuous tapes in North's hand. "There's someone who works with Betsy who's good at code-breaking. Doug Ramsey. He could do it." His eyes traveled back to North's. "The X-Men live here, but so do students. Has anyone been following you?"

North shook his head. "Safehouse in Montreal. Booked a one-way flight there, standard exfiltration procedure when an op stateside went south. Given how quick Mastodon found me in DC, I'd say... two, three days head start before they start looking at other avenues. If your Ramsey's as good as you say he is," he held out the tapes to Haller. "I'll happily be just a memory. So tell me, Mister Haller, how is Elisabeth these days? Running a think-tank in New York, or so I'm given to understand."

"All I can tell you is that's what their tax reports say." Jim accepted the tapes, the grey retreating from his iris. He was glad to hear it was unlikely the school would come under attack. It meant Jack had no need to pull out the man's spine for making January even more traumatic. The telepath relaxed a little. "Betsy herself is doing all right -- she got caught in the attack on Manhattan a few months ago, but she's recovered." Physically, at least.

"Good to hear," North answered noncommittally, turning once more to look around the mansion. "Since she's not in residence, perhaps you could direct me to Charles Xavier? I believe I have a favor to request."

"Sure. He already knows you're here." Jim paused for a moment to reach out to the professor, then nodded to himself. "He's up to speed now. I'll show you to his study so you can talk -- I'll call Doug." Belatedly, he wondered why North had asked about Betsy; it seemed a strange time for the man to make small talk. The Germanic accent had flattened out, too. Then again, with Logan gone she was the only one North seemed to be on more than nodding terms with. Perhaps the man was trying to reinforce the only connection he had.

North raised an eyebrow, then nodded with a smile. "Ah, telepaths. Work with them for years, never stops being unnerving. Thank you, Mister Haller. I want you to know, I sincerely have no intention of bringing trouble to your door. It seems to somehow find us though, doesn't it?"

Jim returned a half-smile. "True. Then again, you tour the globe incognito stealing secret files, and I dress up in black leather and hit people. At this point I think we can safely say trouble has evolved from something we attract and become a lifestyle choice."