Renere, 'to unspin, to undo, unravel what had been spun'

by Lise

II.
~

Now

*

Even though it's only two in the afternoon, the bar's in full swing. A fourteen-year-old named Sam-- no relation to Guthrie-- is telling a story about the time he went rail-hopping and met up with Hank of the Avengers because Hank's car had broken down.

I miss Hank.

Nate's slouched over by the piano, trying to teach Mikhail how to play 'Chopsticks'. I chuckle, and wish fleetingly for a polaroid to capture his expression and the intense dissatisfaction in his eyes. He sees me, and stands up, all scowls. Waves at his table, and I sit down.

He says to me, "Do you have any idea how flonqing annoying that piano is?"

I nod. Of course I do. So does Bobby, and Lorna, though she won't say anything, and Ilsa, and Franklin too, even, though he enjoys the annoyance because it staves off boredom. I answer, "Did you have any luck--"

Shakes his head, and I lay a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Nate. Next time."

He mutters, "Yeah."

There are eight tables in here now, as well as the bar that Nate built himself out of old house timbers. Stools are scattered around, wooden, metallic, even a few weird plastic-hybrids that look like they came from a futuristic shift, Star-Trek style. There are never enough seats, so people sit on the floor, against the wall, in little groups. There are never enough glasses, either, but no one seems to notice.

My routine for the day involves going through the curtain at the back, and into the fire pits to find out who's cooking dinner, then into the gardens to make sure that there are some edible potatoes. I have to work on the generator some more, try and make water from wine, electricity from nothing but paper and string.

Paper is something that we never seem to run out of, these days. I think Nate found a warehouse full of it last time he went out; Domino gave me four water-soaked notebooks full of new paper last time I saw her. Paper is a useful commodity, a tradeable, visible resource. Nate values it, because he's recording a kind of-- annals, of us. I think he's convinced that somewhere down the line, people will read it.

Given what reading Destiny's journals got me, all of us... Ironic, isn't it, that Nate's doing what I couldn't, giving the details to the end-game.

Maybe he should hope that no one's going to be around to read them.

~*~

Then

*

The more I found out about the volume I had, the less I wanted other people to know about what Irene Adler saw. I believed that the journals were genuine, and I believed that Irene had prophetic powers. And she warned me about power given to the wrong people-- I believed her there, too, remembering the games that the Professor played on us, last time. These are all good people, but ones with destinies; it's the bit players that set the scene.

Martyrs, too.

I remember Peter's face when Moira and I came back to the Mansion, and brought the notes that Mystique so serendipitously left intact. I should have known he wasn't going to be all right with the cure to Legacy being this easy to find...

Hank announced it, and then demonstrated the cure's-- fatal results. To save others, the first test subject must die. I should have known then, as well-- no. Honestly, I did know what he would do. I always knew that, if he could give his life for Legacy, he would have. It was what he wanted.

Poor Peter. Poor, caring, fool-hardy Peter. I loved him, in ways that never really stopped. Throughout being with Pete Wisdom, being in love with him, throughout all of that-- part of me would always love Peter's kind nature, like a dear friend. He was always a dear friend.

Yet another dear friend that had to die to serve. Another that, if we'd done more, worked more-- So many people die. That many didn't have to. I toasted Peter the night after his sacrifice, at the funeral Xavier held, and called his name as a 'lost friend.'

"To lost friends."

I want that on my tomb, if there's anyone left alive that can carve it.

~

Ceilia was a surprising comfort, that night. I suppose she's lost more than her share, as well. As a doctor, as a mutant, as a Latina, as someone who works in one of the busiest hospitals in New York, with one of the highest death rates. I cried on her shoulder, and then I went to bed. The next morning, I got on a plane to Russia, to give Peter back his home.

And, on the plane back to New York, I'd made my decision-- I wanted to leave the team. I couldn't handle being around. I wanted out, at least for a while. I was going to go find my own destiny. Peter's loss hit me, hard enough that I was done with heroism. And Irene hadn't shown me what to do to protect Peter; I was done with her.

At least, I thought I was.

" 'Ro," I said to her, the day I got back from Russia, "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course, Kitty. Do come in."

I walked into her attic, where she appeared to be organizing her shelves. Such a normal thing to do for someone so noble. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her shuffles books and papers and the occasional trinket from one bookcase to another. She asked me, "What may I do for you?"

I moved a little farther into the room, still keeping my distance. I didn't know what to say... how to broach this with her. She tilted her head, watching me with patient eyes.

I finally gathered my courage. "I-- I'm thinking about leaving for a while."

Storm frowned thoughtfully, and I could see that she was trying to assess the situation without jumping to conclusions. "Are you sure this is what you want to do-- Katherine?"

I answered her, "I just need some-- time. With Peter gone..."

She smiled at me, gently, and nodded. "Then, it is what you should do."

I went back to my room, and tried not to cry. The last of Peter's things were in his room, and I decided that now was as good a time as any to clear them up... I should have done this before I went, but the wound was too raw. Now, I could decide what, if anything, should be sent to Russia, what should be kept, what--

I trudged into his room, and slowly gathered up his things. Art supplies, clothing, mementos of a life that was gone, a martyr to serve a cause he needed to die for in order to feel whole. I searched through boxes of things, pieces of his life, and remembered everything about Peter that I cared about.

And then, I dug around in the bottom of his trunk, and pulled out a little wooden box with Illyana's name carved in the top. A shiver went up my spine; you ask me now, I'd say it was from Destiny's crude drawing of the designs around the 'I'--two circles, and a triangle, with the caption, 'death wakes the fear, the sight, sightsight, in ghost...'

But that's volume six; I hadn't read it yet.

Grasping at the lid with shaky fingers, I tried to undo the latch. I felt a tingle go through me as some long-dead spell she'd cast finally came to fruition. Tuned into my DNA, or bio-signature, or soul-- whatever 'Yana knew to key the lock to-- the lid popped open with a quiet 'snap'.

I raised the lid, and moved the first layer of papers off the top-- letters in Illyana's neat script, some in Russian, some in English. I put them aside, and lifted the flimsily bound book out from its resting place. Opening it carefully to a random page, the first thing that jumped out at me, in big bold print, was 'and the twelve, twelve monkeys, animals all, shall not survive their first encounter with him.'

Beside this, was a nice, big, fat 'A'.

I would have recognised the handwriting anywhere-- I'd been staring at it non-stop for the last two weeks. It was Irene Adler's.

~

"Look, I'm not saying you have to believe me! Just-- don't dismiss this."

Rogue and Logan eyed each other doubtfully, and I waved a printed-out sheet in front of their face angrily. "I know she's not the be-all, end-all of the future. But there are some things here that we should be taking into account!"

Logan was smoking, as usual, and muttered, "Listen, darlin'--"

I glared at him. "What? You've seen what she can do. I've got something here. I know it. It can't just be coincidence."

Rogue stepped up, placating face at the ready. "Ah'm not sayin' that you don't, sugah. Irenie was good. But--" and her face turned dubious, "even she wasn't this good."

I tried again, took a breath. "Rogue, you were a child." As she got irate, I added quickly, "And! You never had experience with her diaries. Mystique and Irene kept them from you."

Her ire fell, and now her face was just thoughtful. "Ah don't want to admit it, but you've got a point, sugah."

"Besides. Why would she have given a diary to Illyana? Why would she have done that?" Logan raised an eyebrow, while I waved around my papers again. "Look here. 'Yana even put in a little note of her own about not knowing quite what to do with this book until she knew more about it."

The actual letter was addressed 'to whom it may concern', and said at the end: 'I don't know what to do. The blind woman wanted me to have this, to protect it. Do I tell anyone? I don't know. I do not think-- I do not know what knowledge will do to the timeline. What I might be unleashing. Better to keep it quiet. Just for now.'

I faltered a little, wondering if I was doing the right thing, but added, "She must have locked it away right before she died."

Logan shook his head. "Even if this is all true, even if they're not fake, Kitty, what do you wanna do about it?"

I looked at Rogue. "You know that Irene had a gift. You two saw it just the other day." Rogue nodded cautiously, and I continued, "Well, it told her some things that we might want a heads up about."

They shook their heads; Rogue answered, "Honey, we'll be able to handle anything that comes our way-- we did before. And, are ya sure you're going about this for the right reasons?..."

She trailed off, and I walked out, angrily. I could tell she thought I had gone a little off because of what happened to Peter-- and maybe I had. It didn't change the fact that I was right.

But I can't blame them for not believing me. There were so many reasons not to. If I hadn't gone half-crazy, I don't think I would have believed me, either. At least, I thought I was half-crazy at the time. Rogue and Logan did-- they did everything in their power to dissuade me from my path. They didn't think I was chosing wisely. But still... something compelled me to try and find out a little more about Irene Adler. And there was only one person that I could think of that would be able to tell me anything about the woman who made these prophesies; her lover, Mystique.

~

Finding the time to look for Raven was easier than I thought. Once the X-men had officially taken me off their 'active' list, I was pretty much free to do what I pleased. For the time being, I was content to lounge around in hotels in Britain; I'd always felt at home here, and while there were some ghosts, they were quiet enough to give me room to maneuver. Take a little time to try and decide what to do. At the start of the new semester, a month away, I wanted to register for college somewhere in the States... but until then, I was free to use my resources to track down Mystique.

I knew that she was important.

Secrets were locked away in that woman's head that needed to be saved, needed to be protected in case something happened to her. She might know why 'Yana had Destiny's diary, she might know why, for some reason, two had fallen into my possession. She might be able to tell me what to think about all these things I was just beginning to understand.

And she was the only one that would believe me.

Again, I was given the role of shepherd, but it was to such a stubborn flock that I never knew. First I had to find the woman, and I wasn't getting any help from anyone. Rogue tried, admittedly, and she gave me a list of places to check out when I phoned her. Even she wasn't able to find Raven Darkholme if she didn't want to be found. But I was determined; if I had to, I'd go to the Pentagon and phase through every single wall until I found her. This was the extend of my curiousity, my need to know.

It paid off, eventually. I should have known; Mystique's a jet setter, someone who needs limelight and changing scenery and all sorts of people all around her; she needs a crowd to blend into as well as stand out in.

And so, I found her in Monaco, at one of the thousand dollar tables.

The only reason I was sure it was her was because I'd had the foresight to steal a genetic scanner from Hank. I felt guilty about the theft, but it would be the only way I could find out for sure that the Princess of Belgium really was Raven Darkholme in disguise. But sure enough, as soon as I came within a hundred feet of the Princess, the monitor stuck discreetly in my ear started ringing shrilly.

I turned off the box, and tucked it away in my purse. Then, I took a breath, smoothed out my gown, and approached her Highness, Princess Astrid.

In a low voice, I said politely, "Your Highness?"

She turned around, and almost dropped her drink in surprise. "Dear Katherine!"

That settled it; I'd been right. With Rogue's help, and my intuition-- as well as Irene's suggestion of Monaco, book six, page twenty-- I'd found one of the most elusive mutants on the planet. I replied, even quieter, "May we talk, Your Highness?"

She looked angry, but answered, "But of course, Katherine." She handed her glass to her male escort, and clenched my upper arm tightly. "Why don't we find ourselves a nice little nook to catch up in?"

Raven all but dragged me off the casino floor, and into one of the quieter rooms. Once there, she said angrily, "What's the meaning of this, Pryde?"

I said, a little excited, "So it IS you, Mystique?"

"Of course it's me, you ninny. Why did you pull me off the roulette wheel? I was winning."

I was a little daunted. "--I have to talk to you, Mystique."

She was all but tapping her foot. "Obviously. What do you want, Kitty?"

I gulped, but I hadn't flown halfway around the world to be put off by a little brusqueness. If I understood her correctly, this was how Raven discouraged people from thinking she was anything but business. I said, "I have two of Destiny's journals. They just--" I paused, searching for the right words, "--fell into my lap."

Her eyes narrowed, but she stopped being quite so annoyed. "And?"

Mystique didn't comment on the fact that I now had two, instead of just the one, and it made me lose my pacing even more. "And-- it can't be coincidence, can it?"

She looked smug, and a little wistful. "Nothing about Irene was coincidence."

I replied, "Do you know where the others are?"

She actually grinned at me. "I might know where some are." Her face became serious again. "But why would I give them to you?"

My back straightened, and I suddenly forgot that I was in Monaco, in one of the most exclusive casinos in the world; and that the only reason I was allowed past the front door in the first place was a phone call from Remy LeBeau. I answered her, "Because I'm going to figure out what they mean."

Raven started to laugh.

"I am! I'm so close, now, and if I just had more to go on..."

She gulped, trying to swallow her chuckles, in vain. "I'm sorry, Katherine. I'm not laughing at you." She finally got control of herself. "It's just, you sound so much like I did, so many years ago."

I got angry. "You don't think I can do it?"

She sobered up, and stared at me. I got the suspicion she was evaluating me for something. "I don't know, Kitty."

We were dancing in circles, going around and around and accomplishing nothing. "Will you help me, Mystique, or not."

She smiled again, but it wasn't the easygoing laugh that I'd just witnessed; this was a different woman. "Perhaps." She moved closer to me. "It depends."

I stood my ground. "On what?"

"On what you intend to do with the information."

I frowned, puzzled. "I want to stop whatever she saw-- don't you?"

She laughed again, bitterly, and answered, "It's not possible. Best not to try."

"Raven," I said, "You can't want the destruction that Irene saw to come to be."

Mystique glared at me angrily. "The only reason I put up with you, Pryde, is because, all those years ago, my Irene saw that you would be the one to see things the way they are, the real gameboard. Believe it or not, but her gift was flawless." She paused. "I believe in her."

I answered softly, "I can't."

She shrugged, and said, eyes hard, "Then that is your loss. I'm willing to help you because, when things fall apart, there is going to have to be someone to pick up the pieces."

Again. Why Raven chose me to be that person, I can't guess. Perhaps because, one night in New York, Rogue and I saved her life-- and she didn't want to dump this in her daughter's lap. Perhaps, I looked a little like her fallen lover. Maybe it was because Irene had chosen me.

Maybe I was just there. It doesn't matter now. What matters is picking up the pieces.

We went back onto the floor, and she took the arm of her companion. She said pleasantly, "Call me Raven, like I told you." After a pause, she added, "Find me here, in a month." She lowered her voice to a murmur. "When you believe."

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