Strung

by queenB

Ah, when the heroin is in my blood
And that blood is in my head
Then thank God that I'm as good as dead
Then thank your God that I'm not aware
And thank God that I just don't care
And I guess I just don't know

Lou Reed and The Velvet Underground, Heroin

"Emma? How are ye holdin' up?"

Emma Frost rubbed her forehead as she stared out her office window toward the black rain clouds rolling in over the Massachusetts Academy. Her migraines had gotten worse since her powers had disappeared. Every day since she lost her telepathy, she felt as though her thoughts were pounding against the wall of her own skull, saturated in a buzzing haze of white noise. She tried desperately to escape the confines of her single mind, tried and failed every attempt to make a connection with the now quiet minds around her. It was an unconscious habit that was driving her steadily insane.

"I'm fine, Sean. Just tired."

She turned away from the window and walked to her desk. Collapsing into her chair with a sigh, she asked, "So how are the students? How is Jonothon doing?"

Sean chose a seat across the desk from Emma and sat uneasily, his large frame an odd contrast to the delicate Victorian chair. "The kids are doin' just fine. I think they all understand why ye have been more withdrawn lately. 'Tis quite understandable. But Jono? I am worried about the lad."

Emma furrowed her brow. "So he's still moping down in that rat's nest of a basement?"

"Aye."

"What do you think we should do?"

"If Professor Xavier were still around, I'd say we should take Jono to see him."

She took a deep breath and spread her palms on the desk in front of her. "But he's not, is he? And even if he was, I'm not sure he could be of any help without his telepathy. As far as we know, there's not a single telepath on the planet that hasn't been affected by this... disturbance."

"Nae. He might not be. I hate to suggest this, but the lad might need psychiatric help. Among other things."

Wincing inwardly at the mere thought of sending Jono away for psychiatric care, Emma took a moment to collect herself before she ventured, "Options?"

Shifting slightly in his chair, Sean folded his hands in his lap, then changed positions again, resting his large arms on the chair's relatively tiny frame. "I took the liberty of contacting Moira. She suggested a holistic approach. If it weren't for her... condition... she would be glad to take him on at Muir for a while, but..."

Shutting her eyes briefly and taking another deep breath, she interrupted him. "I see. Then we will just have to find another option."

"Aye, we will."

She opened her eyes and looked deep into Sean's, concern and a hint of anxiety etched on her features. "Do you think you could contact Dr. Samson?"

"I'll look into it first thing in the morning."

Leaning back in her chair, Emma folded her hands in her lap and said absently, "Well, it's a start at least."

Banshee stood from his chair and prepared to leave the room as he said gently, "Aye. That it is. A step in the right direction, I think. 'Tis the right thing to do."

"For his sake, Sean. I hope it is. I really do."

Hot needle slips into the vein, straight and pure as an arrow shot into the sky. Dull electricity up the arm to the heart to the brain to the heart, the heart, the heart. Where the heart should be... if he had one. Like the Tin Man. So much like that, he thinks. Just like that. Yes. That is him.

Jonothon Starsmore could not believe how quiet the world had become. It was silent and cold as a tomb. His voice was gone, his sunshine was gone... his already dismal life had fallen to tiny, broken bits at his feet. The world still churned lively as a freak-show circus outside the darkened basement where he spent the majority of his time, but he hardly noticed. He was finding it difficult to care about a world he couldn't ever be a part of again.

He shuffled through the dank cement-walled room, his dirty brown hair falling into his eyes and his bandages trailing loosely from his neck, barely keeping in the psionic furnace that blazed in his chest contained. Kicking up a pile of newspapers, he searched for the one thing that still kept him sane, the one thing that could still calm and soothe him. The only thing that had been constant throughout the past few years of complete and utter hell.

Jono trailed a finger down the neck of his acoustic guitar as he sat on the room's battered and mildewed couch. He propped her gently on his lap, closed his eyes and strummed a few chords. This would have to be his voice from now on, he thought. Music would have to speak for him for the rest of his life. Music had always made more sense to him than words anyway. Words were just a person's way of breaking the truth down into bite-sized pieces. Words were false, words were just a veiled attempt at meaning. Yes, that was it. He never knew why he didn't think of it before... Yes, life would be better without words to get in the way.

He played a simple, rambling melody. One that had always haunted him. One he hoped to eventually turn into a song. As his fingers worked at the strings and his head bent over the guitar, he suddenly felt as if the world would be okay again, even without his telepathy, even without Paige and the hope he gave her. He had this one true thing. And that would be enough to get him through. It would give him the strength to wait until things righted themselves. After all, he had promised Paige he would hang on. Yes, tomorrow would come. And the next day, and the next. It would be okay.

It would have to be.

His fingers glided over the chords, creating new patterns and rhythms, replacing the old melody with a newer adaptation, a fresher harmony. He was no longer thinking, he was simply being. The music poured from his soul, giving voice to all the pain and frustration of his young life and for once, he felt free.

Yes. He thought, this was it. This was what it was all about. The music crescendoed in his thoughts and in his ears and suddenly the world was no longer silent. He knew it would all be okay... if only, if only... Just then one of the guitar strings snapped, twanging jarringly, even violently, souring the beautiful melody that hung in the air only moments before.

Jono cursed mutely to himself. Yes, this was truly his lot in life. Nothing ever went right.

He flung his guitar onto the couch and quickly got to his feet, his mood quickly deteriorating as he scoured the disheveled room for a new string. After a few minutes and a torrent of profane thoughts, he finally found the cigar box he kept all his strings and picks in. When he opened it, he found nothing but a few empty plastic wrappers and two broken tortoise-shell guitar picks.

Suddenly, he felt as if the world were crashing on top of him, as if the room would soon collapse and bury him beneath mounds of rubble and debris. Everything seemed to churn and spin around him. He felt as if he would soon claw out of his own skin and his palms grew clammy as he balled his fingers into a tight fist. He had to get out of there before he exploded... literally and figuratively. He had to get away. He couldn't take this pitiful excuse of a life anymore. It wasn't really living. It was waiting. And he had just run out of patience.

He knew he desperately needed to get into town, but walking was hardly an option. He knew it would attract attention he did not want, plus it was a long way on foot. So he found a crumpled piece of paper and scribbled almost illegibly on it, "Please take me to Snow Valley." He thought for a few seconds, tapping his pen nervously against the tabletop. He then quickly jotted down the rest of his message, "I need guitar strings."

Shoving his socked feet into a pair of beat-up Doc Martens, Jono trudged up the stairs of the basement, his shoelaces trailing thoughtlessly behind him. He shuffled down the halls of the school, his head hanging low and his back hunched. Finally, he found someone with car privileges; his had been taken away weeks before. Emma and Sean had said it was because they were concerned about his well being. They didn't want him to go off on his own, didn't want his depression to get the best of him.

He handed Monet his sloppy note, hoping she would simply have pity on him and keep the questions to a minimum. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at her as she took a deep breath and ran a hand through her thick, dark hair. He shoved his own hands deeper into his pockets as he waited for her decision. She studied him for a few moments before she said, "I will take you, Jonothon. Just let me get my coat."

Soon, he would be free again.

Slow and easy, pulsing toward the brain. Ears fill with the rhythm of pumping blood... if that's what he's got inside. Is he even human? Can he still bleed? Does it even matter? Bloody Hell, no. Nothing matters. It almost feels like he's got a heart again. Almost feels real again. Almost... but not quite.

Angelo Espinosa sat far from the main house of the Massachusetts Academy taking one of the few simple but guilty pleasures left to him. As he pulled yellow tobacco smoke into his lungs, he turned his head up toward the late afternoon sky. It looked like it was going to storm soon, the clouds floating in the sky were just as gray as the skin hanging from his thin bones. Angelo always loved the rain. It made everything new, washed away the dust and the grime and made way for something better, something not so tired. A good, hard rainstorm could make the world whole again.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he stretched out on the green lawn and watched the storm move in. He could use a downpour, anything to shake him out of the funk he felt himself slipping into. Things had gotten weird during the last few months. Just when he started to feel like he had found a place where he could belong, circumstances had started to slip out of control. Over and over he was reminded of how incredibly terrible and unfair life could be. Jubilee was kidnapped and most likely tortured by her captor, the psychopath named Bastion. Then the revelation that Monet wasn't really Monet and that Penance was... well he was still trying to get a handle on that. Then something catastrophic happened on the Astral Plane... whatever the Hell that was... and Ms. Frost lost her powers and Jono lost his voice. And then Paige left because of an illness in her family.

Paige. He felt like if only she were there, things would make sense. That if she were around everything would be better somehow. Now he was left to deal with a crazy mockery of school life on his own. He'd also have to deal with Jono by himself. He wasn't sure if he had the strength to get his friend though the bout of severe depression he was currently mired in. But he'd have to. That's what friends were for, after all. He just couldn't help thinking that everything would be easier if he didn't feel so damned alone.

As he ground his cigarette butt into the dirt, a large drop of rain fell from the sky and struck his cheek. It was going to be a cold, wet night. As much as he loved the rain, he knew he'd better get inside soon if he didn't want to catch his death. Besides, it was time he checked in on Jono. He hadn't seen him all day and he hoped his friend hadn't fallen even deeper into his depression.

Over the last week, he had seen Jono at his worst. Angelo had even begun to think that the brooding persona his friend had first assumed when he arrived at the school would be an improvement over the state he was currently in. At least then he could "talk." Now Angelo couldn't even begin to read anything from him but a sense of great loss and desperation. He rarely emerged from the dank basement in the bowels of the main house where he sat strumming his guitar, often in complete darkness. Yes, things were definitely bad for Chamber. Emma and Sean had asked him to be a friend to Jono, to pay him extra attention. But he began to wonder how he could help someone who couldn't even give voice to his pain? How the Hell was he supposed to help someone who didn't even seem to want to reach out for help?

Well he would have to try, that much he was sure of. Angelo walked back to the school as the sky opened wide above him and the rain fell in torrents. Yes, at the moment, he was all that Jono had. He just hoped his help would be enough.

He thinks he can see himself, or at least hear himself as he rustles wearily in his shabby clothes. Is that really him there? Who is the stranger that's sitting so snug inside? And why didn't he take better care? If he could laugh, he just might. It's so damned funny, really. So funny. So funny that if he could laugh he just might burst, or he might just forget to breathe. Breathing used to be so simple. Now he can't even remember what it felt like.

"How's Momma doin', Sam?"

Paige shifted uneasily in her seat at the large table in the Guthrie family kitchen as her brother emerged from their Mother's bedroom. "She's fine, just restin' now. She's tired, Paige. Just plumb wore out."

Propping her elbows on the table, she let her head rest in her hands as she said, "Yeah. She is. Ah think us being here is doing her a world of good, don't ya think?"

Her brother nodded as he opened the refrigerator and poured himself a tall glass of lemonade. "Ah think so. Ah hope so."

Paige fidgeted some more in her chair and took a deep breath as she folded and unfolded a napkin that lay on the table in front of her. She had forgotten how slow time passed on the farm. Before she left to attend the Xavier's School in Massachusetts, she had never noticed the hours and days creeping by at a snail's pace. In those days she took comfort in the hard, but satisfying work of helping her mother maintain the family and the farm while she dreamed of something bigger, something more. Often she wished to return to the simpler, somehow easier life of rural Kentucky. But now that she was back the slow dragging of time was torturous.

Sam placed a glass of lemonade in front of her as he pulled a chair out from under the table and sat across from her. Absently stirring at a slice of lemon floating in the sweet beverage, she released a heavy sigh and looked at her brother as he said, "Ya know ya don't have to stay if ya don't want to. Ah'm here now. Ah can take care of Momma."

Smiling weakly at him, she said, "Ah know. Ah want to be here."

Sam smiled back at her, his eyes twinkling with the knowing smile that only an older brother could have. "No ya don't."

She took a sip from her glass and placed it back on the table. "But Ah need to be. Ah want to be. It's just..."

"Ya got so much goin' on back at school? People you're worried about?"

Paige nodded. "Things have just been so weird lately. Ah just feel a world away from it all. And it doesn't seem right."

"You're telling me."

Since he had joined her at home, Sam had told her of his decision to leave the X-Men. She knew it was a difficult decision for him, she knew being an X-Man was always his dream. She had to admit she was surprised. For much of her life her brother had seemed infallible, a hero in every sense of the word. When he went into the mines to make sure the family had food on the table after their father passed away, she admired him. When he left it all behind to save the world, he became her personal hero. The last few weeks with him had definitely been eye-opening, but she treasured them. It was nice to know her brother was just as real and confused as she was. And while her heart ached for what she left behind in Massachusetts, it was nice to finally see her brother as more than a yard stick to measure herself against. It was nice to finally have him as a friend.

Sam brushed a shock of blonde hair away from his eyes and looked hard at his sister as he said, "If Ah've learned anything in the last few months it's that you've got to be true to yourself. If going back to Massachusetts will help ya do that, then go. Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Besides, Ah've got some serious thinkin' to do. Ya won't be rainin' on mah parade."

Pushing her chair away from the table and standing slowly, Paige said quietly, "Thanks, Sam. Ah really needed to hear that. Ah'll keep that in mind."

Grinning as he raised his glass again, Sam said, "No problem, sis. It's what Ah'm here for."

"Um. Ah think Ah'm gonna take a walk before it gets dark. Can ya make sure everyone's settled in for me?"

"Sure. Do what ya need to."

Paige smiled at her brother and then went to find her tennis shoes in the living room. The mountain soil still had a chill to it. It was too soon in the season to go barefoot, too soon to feel the warm grass under the soles of her feet. She hurried out onto the porch and let the screen door slam absently behind her. If her mother was awake and well, no doubt she'd scold her for her carelessness. As she strode out into the clear air of the Kentucky afternoon, she took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill her lungs, penetrating her, soothing her. She walked absently: past the barn, past the fields. Her thoughts were heavy with the Sam's suggestion. How could she leave things like this? There was so much to take care of, so much to do. She couldn't leave the burden on Sam alone. But still, she was young, she had a chance to learn about her powers and the world like Sam did. How could she not take it? If she stayed in Kentucky and her mother never gained back her strength, would she be stuck there forever? Paige knew that she would soon be stifled by life on the farm once she knew the lures of life outside of Cumberland County. She would stay a few more weeks, a few more months. Then she would leave. She knew her mother wouldn't want her to miss the opportunities that waited for her back East. No, she wouldn't want that at all.

After close to half an hour of aimless walking, she stopped at one of her favorite spots on the Guthrie property. It was a beautiful view of the valley below. No matter how many times she had visited it, it never ceased to take her breath away. Today however, it put a hollow feeling in her chest. The last time she stood there it was with Jonothon. Jono. Now that his voice was gone, now that he was suddenly left silent by a disturbance on the Astral Plane, all the mind games and petty arguments they had endured over the last year or so had seemed to pale and wane. Lord, she really missed him. Genuinely and truly.

She breathed a deep sigh and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, mutely wishing they were his. Maybe he was the reason her move to Kentucky was so difficult. She wasn't exactly sure. All she knew was that she wished she could see him again soon and know for sure that he was okay. She remembered the promise he made to her in the airport lounge before she left Massachusetts. He had to be well. A promise was a promise, after all.

Marvin Casey had lived alone a long time, if what he did every day could be considered living. If he was coherent enough to have a philosophical conversation, most likely he would call his current state of being surviving instead of living. He'd seen a lot in his days, though the last few years had pretty much kicked him in the teeth repeatedly. He'd been called many names, too: hero, veteran, father, thief, bum, strung-out, junkie. He stopped paying attention long ago. Nothing much struck his attention these days. The most sacred things in the world had become a bottle in his hand and a stash in his pocket.

So he barely noticed as a kid in a leather jacket watched him stick a needle in his arm. As long as he wasn't a cop, it didn't bother him. As long as he didn't stop him from feeding the burn, from feeling his daily dose of oblivion. He just smiled a toothless grin and figured the kid was lost, that he wandered deep into the alley by mistake, that he would move along soon enough and leave him in peace.

He was only slightly surprised when the kid pulled a wad of bills from his jacket and dropped them on the greasy pavement. He laughed as he mutely pointed to the needle. So that's what it would take to get the kid out his face. He felt in his pocket for a loose vial and blearily counted the money. Three times what Casey had paid for it. Yeah, he could gain a profit. Sure, he could always get more. He was connected, he was a big man and well, what was the harm in sharing the wealth? Make a little money and get his peace back? As the black sky churned above his head, his only thought was that it was turning out to be a half-decent day... in the grand scheme of things.

Monster. Look at him; he's a monster. Who are you calling a monster, monster? Who are you but him? Him but you... It's so beautiful from where he is. Where does he think he is? The white noise has its own melody if he listens closely enough. It seems to almost make sense from there. If only he wasn't so alone. All alone inside his mind. Fit to burst, fit to pop. Fit to scream. Maybe it's good he's gone silent. Maybe it'll keep the rest of the world from burning as angry as the cauldron in his belly. Because he might tell them... oh, he'd tell them. There'd be no going back.

Dripping wet, Angelo trudged through the foyer of the school, his boots squeaking noisily on the hardwood floor. As he carelessly wrung his sleeves dry, spattering rainwater behind him, he heard Monet say coolly, "If Ms. Frost saw you engaged in such irresponsible activities she would severely reprimand you."

He merely scowled at her as he retorted, "Then I'm real lucky you're not her, chica."

Monet folded her arms over her chest and leaned against a door frame as she asked, "And what were you doing outside? Trying to perfect your impersonation of a drowned rat?"

Removing his soaked shoes, he merely answered, "Can the sarcasm, M. I'm not in the mood."

He sat on a small wooden bench and removed his socks, resisting the urge to wring them out in the middle of the foyer just to spite Monet, but instead stuffed them in his shoes to take care of later. After a minute or two of silence, he thought she would just get bored and move onto other more interesting activities. However, when he looked up she was still standing in the doorway, looking at him expectantly.

He shook his head once and glared at her. "Que? Que pasa?! Why are you still here?"

"I took Jonothon into town today."

Suddenly serious, Angelo asked, "Really? Why?"

"He needed guitar strings," stated Monet flatly.

"And he didn't ask you to get them for him? He wanted to go with you?"

She nodded. "That is correct."

"Did he seem okay? Did he try and communicate with you at all?"

"Not really. He wrote a note indicating he wanted to go, but besides that nothing."

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Nada?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she stepped away from the door frame as she elaborated, "I did lose sight of him for a while at the music store. But it was only for about fifteen minutes. I did not think anything of it. I know how he values his personal space. Especially now."

Angelo bounded up the stairs towards the boys dorm to change into some dry clothes and called out behind him, "This is a good sign. Maybe this means he'll be back to his old gloomy self soon. I'll go check on him. Gracias!"

It definitely had to be an improvement, Angelo thought. Maybe getting through to Jono wouldn't be so impossible. Maybe, just maybe this was his first step toward reclaiming his life. As he discarded his wet clothes and donned a dry pair of sweats, his hopes for his friend grew steadily better. It was the first time he had been out of the school grounds since he went with Paige to the airport.

Yes, it had to be a good sign, he thought again as he shuffled out of his room and headed toward the basement. As he descended the stairs, loud, roaring music pounded in his ears and a strange scent mingled with the musky smell the basement always seemed to have. He thought the angry strains of the Ministry album he had given to Jono on his birthday were another good sign. Jono had barely played the stereo since he lost his telepathy. Except for the music of his own acoustic guitar, Chamber had mostly been brooding in silence. The complete silence was one of the things Angelo found most eerie about the last few weeks with Jono. Even though he had no true voice, Jono had always surrounded himself with sound: a blaring television, a C.D. blasting from the stereo. Yes, this was much more like him. This Angelo could deal with.

He tried to turned the knob of the basement door and found it locked tight. He knocked hard on the door and raised his voice against the raging music, "Hombre! It's me. It's Angelo! Let me in!"

He waited a few moments, expecting to hear the lock click and release, expecting to see the tired visage of his friend inviting him into the room. But it never happened. After a few minutes, he pounded hard on the door. "Jono! Let me in, hombre!"

But the door remained locked tight. Angelo got down on his knees and peered through the small crack under the door. There on the floor all he could see was a dim glow coming from the room. The strange scent he had picked up as he descended the stairs was stronger down there. It smelled a little like burning flesh and something he hadn't smelled since his life in the barrio. Things were definitely not good.

Angelo quickly got to his feet and rattled the doorknob desperately in his hands. "Jono! Jono!! Let me in now!!"

Sweet mother Mary, he had to get in that room. He wasn't exactly sure what was going though his friend's mind, wasn't exactly sure what he was doing. But he knew he had to get in there and quick. Acting on pure reflex, he leaned back and slammed a thin shoulder against the door. The lock didn't budge. He lowered his face to the lock and peered at the keyhole. With barely a thought, he extended the skin of his fingers into the lock, the small ribbons of gray flesh feeling for a weakness in the lock's tumbler. The wheels and hinges of the old lock were sharp and ragged with time and use. They tore and scraped roughly at his skin. He bit his lip, ignoring the pain, concentrating on slipping the lock free. His fingers shook with anxiety and his unsteady hands were far from accurate. As blood tricked down one of his long fingers, he felt one of the central bolts give. He then braced his now bloody hands on either side of the narrow hallway and kicked hard near the lock. Once, twice, three times.

"You'd better be okay in there, you bastard!"

He pounded his foot once more and finally the lock gave and the door swung violently open, the antique, crystal knob crunching into the cement wall with a dull thud. As Angelo rushed into the room, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, the acrid smell of seared flesh and fabric hit his brain like a hammer. His eyes darted across the room and he saw his friend curled up in a ball, an orange glow radiating out of his bandaged chest.

He scurried over to Jono as he said over the music, "It's me. It's Ange. Are you okay, hombre?"

As soon as he was by his friend's side, he knew he was definitely not okay. Angelo could see his eyes rolled back in his head and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. But his chest was the worst. The psionic fire in his torso was burning slowly at his bandages, at the clothes he wore over them, at his skin underneath. As he placed his tender, torn hands on Jono's shoulders, his friend was hot to the touch. It was as if he was smoldering himself slowly away.

As Chamber shook violently under his shaky grip, Angelo began to get a handle on what he was going through. Despite his friend's odd metabolism and strange reaction, he suddenly recognized all the classic symptoms of a heroin overdose. The blackened spoon, the empty syringe and the vile on the floor only confirmed his fears. From talks the two had over the years he knew Jono, like himself, had experimented with drugs before they both arrived in Massachusetts. It was apart of both their old lives. Something neither one of them wanted to experience again. He knew that Jono had been completely sober since the manifestation of his power. Both had assumed that Chamber couldn't even take any drugs if he had wanted to.

It was an assumption he was beginning to regret.

As he looked at the still partially filled vial, he knew his friend hadn't taken a lethal dose. But with his bizarre metabolism, there was no telling the effect even a little amount of narcotic would have on him. Sadly, they were finding out together first hand.

The C.D. spiraled to a finish, leaving the room suddenly silent. He gritted his teeth and seethed, "How could you do this?! If you get through this, I'm gonna kill you myself."

Just then he heard something rustling in the room behind him. He turned to see Monet standing about six feet away, her mouth agape. Tears suddenly obscuring his vision, he screamed, "Go get Sean! Ahora!"

She stood rooted to the spot for a few more seconds before understanding crept across her features. As her eyes grew suddenly wide, she literally flew from the room in a panic.

After he watched her leave, he lowered his head, his forehead resting in his friend's dark, damp hair. "I'm going to get you through this, amigo. It's going to be okay. Hang in there. Just hang in there. It's all going to be okay."

But as soon as the words left his lips, he knew they were nothing but lies.

Pain? It's all going away now. Just a dull ache. A warm rumbling where his chest should be if life made any sense. The world is glazed in sugar-coated maybe like he knew it would be. Can't lift his head because it might fly away. Stay still. Stay still. Keep it like a little pet. Keep it locked in a box. Keep it tight while he floats to oblivion.

Emma pressed her palm on the cold glass of the infirmary observation lounge window as she watched Hank McCoy slowly orbit Jonothon. Orange and yellow psionic flames licked at the boy's quickly disappearing form, often flaring violently in the large room and Dr. McCoy wore a bulky suit to protect him from his patient.

She took a deep, defeated breath as Sean placed a large hand on her shoulder and asked, "Any progress?"

Shaking her head, she folded her arms tightly around herself and said quietly, "No. It's getting worse by the hour. Hank is going to put him into containment soon... but there's nothing he can do. Chamber is, he is..."

"Burning himself out? Aye."

Emma took a deep breath and after a few moments asked, "How are the kids?"

"They're fine. As well as can be expected. Angelo is with Everett. He's watching out for the lad."

"Paige? Have you called Paige?"

"Nae. Not yet. I was just going to do that. She will want to be here, of course."

So much to be done, Emma thought. She knew she was lucky to have Sean. He could handle all the things she couldn't, the things that at the moment she didn't have the strength for. He was a good man, the kids were blessed to have him. After a few more moments of silence, she said softly, her voice tiny and remote in the small room, "We were lucky we could get Hank here to do what he's done. But sadly, I think the only thing that could help Jonothon is himself. His psionic power was the only thing holding his body together as it was. If only..."

Sean gripped her by the shoulders and turned her to face him as he said sternly, "Don't say it. Don't even think it. If ye had yuir telepathy, even ye, the great, powerful White Queen, might not have been able to stop this. There's so little we really know about the lad's powers. We don't know that telepathy would even help him once this began."

She sniffed quietly once and then raised her eyes to look at him, even through him, with dry eyes as she said flatly, "No. But I could have prevented it."

"This isn't about ye, Emma."

Pulling herself out of Sean's grasp and resting her forehead against the glass window, she stared blankly at the tiled floor of the infirmary. "No. It's not. It's about a scared young man suddenly left alone in a world he didn't think he could ever be a part of again. But do you know what really gets me? Do you know what's the worst thing about all of this?"

Sean stood next to her at the glass, keeping his distance but offering comfort by his mere presence. "What's that?"

She turned her head once more to look at him as she said, "He didn't want this to happen. That much I am sure of. He just wanted a few hours of escape. Jonothon Starsmore may be many things, but he's definitely not a quitter. He never thought it would happen like this."

"Aye, but it has. God help us all, it has."

She watched as McCoy assembled a large, cylinder-like containment apparatus around Jonothon. They had decided it was the best hope for him. Maybe if they kept his psionic energy from dissipating he might eventually heal himself, pull himself back together into some form or another. There was so little they really knew about his powers. They thought they had all the time in the world to learn how they worked. They all thought that eventually they would discover the nature of Chamber's mutation. But one crisis after another had delayed their progress with the boy. Sadly, they had finally run out of time.

Hank McCoy's voice boomed over the intercom in the observation area, jarring Emma out of her thoughts. He was telling them that containment was complete, that they could come in a see Jonothon if they wanted.

She slipped wordlessly out of the room and opened the large, electronically operated steel doors that led to the infirmary. The doors swished shut behind her and she approached Dr. McCoy as he removed the bulky containment suit and head-gear. "Thank you, Hank. It was good of you to come."

The large, blue-furred man nodded solemnly before he said, "I am just sorry I could not do more for the young man."

She turned away from Beast, her eyes focusing blearily on the large tube in the center of the room. "You did all you could," she whispered as she walked to where what was left of Jonothon Starsmore, or of what he was turning into, rested.

She heard Sean enter the room, the large door quietly swishing shut behind him, and ask, "So what do we do now, Hank?"

The doctor answered the question as best he could, "We wait, my friend. We wait."

She found a metal chair and pulled it next to the bio-bed as it scraped noisily across the cold, tile floor. That was what she would do, then. She would wait. The world could fall apart in a bright ball of flames and she would be there by her student... waiting. Waiting until the end.

He can see them now, tangled together in their gigantic web. One string bent and broken, one frayed and torn. They're so alone with nothing to connect them, nothing to bridge the space between here and there. There. And. Here is so far away. He thinks he can reach it, he thinks he can make it, make them whole again. Yes, it all begins to make sense now. It's so beautiful when he looks just so. And he feels sorry for them, because they cannot see it. Because they are so alone.

Everett Thomas wrapped his fingers tightly around the metal tray as he walked down the hall towards the infirmary. He had asked Mr. Cassidy to bring the tray of food to Ms. Frost, much to the headmaster's objection. He wanted to see her, wanted to see Chamber. In a way he felt he had to. They... she needed to know that she wasn't alone, that the world still held hope, that her students still needed her. During his time at the Xavier School he had learned of the Hellions tragedy and the guilt his headmaster still held in her heart. He only assumed that over the last twenty-four hours she had been reliving it all over again, that she was thinking her time with her newest students was yet another failure.

Everett had always been an intuitive, sensitive boy and he could not help but place himself in her shoes. He would help the best he could. But as he adjusted the tray in his grip and pressed the button to open the cold infirmary door, he had no idea what he would say once he was inside. He only knew he needed to be seen, needed to be a palpable reminder of Emma Frost's commitment to the next generation of mutants.

As the door closed behind him, he saw his instructor's tired form sagging in her chair, her head hung sleepily to one side. He swallowed hard and walked toward her, the scent of the warm coffee he carried penetrated the sterile, antiseptic room. He pulled a small table close to her and set down the simple meal of cucumber sandwiches and tomato soup as she blinked herself awake. Sean had said they were her favorites, her comfort food. He had found it reassuring she enjoyed such simple delicacies. Somehow it made her more human, more real.

She looked up at her student, her blue, distant eyes bright against her pale face as he said quietly and simply, "You must be hungry."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as she removed the lid from the tray and said, "Thank you, Everett. This is very thoughtful.

Looking over the tiny sandwiches and bowl of soup, she grasped the mug of black coffee tightly in her hands and as she took a delicate sip she motioned for Synch to leave. "You can go now. I'll be fine."

He stood for a moment contemplating her words and demeanor, almost obeying her wishes, almost turning away and taking the easy route through the crisis. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't think you should be alone."

An amused smirk surfaced on the White Queen's face as she scoffed, "Alone? I have spent my entire life alone, Everett. I'll be fine. And while I appreciate your charity, perhaps you should spend it on someone who needs it."

He took a deep breath and said quietly. "That's what I'm trying to do."

Releasing a heavy sigh, Emma shook her head and gestured towards another chair. "Fine suit yourself. Jonothon probably needs another visitor anyway. He's probably sick to death of me."

Everett pulled the chair beside her as he finally gazed at the long tube his teacher sat next to. He saw no trace of his friend, just a gaseous mass of swirling colors and flames. When he had heard what was happening, what had happened to Jono he never thought it could be so... beautiful.

"Everett. You're gawking."

He blinked once, then twice as he backed away from the containment unit and sat in his cold, metal chair. "I'm sorry. I just... I'm sorry."

They sat in silence a long while, she sipping her coffee quietly, he fidgeting in his chair. Finally he volunteered, "Do you think he can sense that we're here?"

Emma responded flatly, "I don't know. It's impossible to tell."

He traced the hem of his shirt with an index finger as he said, "I'd like to think he can. I think he knows that we're here. You know, that we care about him?"

"Always the optimist, aren't you? I envy you, Everett. The world must seem such a bright and promising place to you."

"And you're saying it's not?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he had a chance to weigh them.

She placed her empty cup on the table and then slowly massaged her temples as she said tiredly, "What I am saying, Everett, is that the world is what you make of it. And for much of us it is nothing but pain, disillusionment and sorrow. We do what we can, what we must to make it worthwhile. And then..."

"Then something like this happens. Something senseless and horrible and unfair. What do we do then, Ms. Frost? Do we curl up and let it get the best of us?"

She breathed a deep sigh and looked him straight in the eyes. "No. That's not what I'm saying. Look. I really don't want to have this conversation. Not now."

"Fine."

"Fine."

He watched her pick idly at one of the small, square sandwiches then place it back on the tray uneaten. She then folded her arms over her chest and blurted out, "Since when are you so disrespectful of your elders? You have always been such a polite young man."

Everett smirked. "Since I watched one of the 'elders' I respect most in the world beat herself up over something that wasn't her fault."

Returning his smile, Emma said, "You have definitely been spending too much time with Sean. You're starting to sound alike."

"And this is a bad thing?"

Emma swallowed a spoonful of soup and touched her mouth with a napkin. "No. I did not say that."

Everett smiled in satisfaction as he watched his teacher eat half the bowl of soup and two of the finger sandwiches. After a while, she looked up at him, her eyes not as distanced as before and her complexion a little less pale. "There. You've seen me eat and you've even seen me smile. Goal accomplished. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to be alone for a little while."

He grinned at he moved to collect her tray. It wasn't a complete turn around, but it would have to do. Yes, he had made some progress. Things would be okay again. In time. He had to have faith. He looked to his teacher again as she stared intently at the containment cylinder. "It'll all be okay. You just have to have a little hope, Ms. Frost."

Her eyes grew wide as she repeated absently, "Yes. A little hope."

He watched her get shakily to her feet as she walked to Jono's bio-bed, a mingling of shock and intense joy on her face. He let the tray fall back down to the table with a clatter. "Ms. Frost? Ms. Frost? What is it?"

She placed her hands on the thick glass of the containment cylinder as she said, "It's Jonothon. He's, he's... here?"

She collapsed against the tube, her knees buckling under her own weight as Everett rushed to the room's comm panel, tapping anxiously on its buttons. "Dr. McCoy! Mr. Cassidy! Get in here! Something's wrong."

He ran to Emma's side, supporting her weight as Jono's psionic form pulsed brightly beneath them. "Can't you feel it, Everett? There's nothing wrong. Something's finally right. Can't you see it?"

The room spun around Everett as he felt himself being pulled... somewhere? No, he was still in the infirmary. It was just different, somehow. He then realized he was seeing the world through his teacher's eyes, that he was in telepathic contact with her. Her telepathy was working again. He wasn't sure how or why, but it was. Instinctfully, he reached out with his mutant aura and made contact with her. The world around him felt distorted and electric. It was buzzing with all kinds of possibility, sensation. The room spun again and he was outside of himself. From his training, he knew he was on the Astral Plane.

"Can you feel it now?"

"Yes. Yes, I can."

He felt Emma smiling directly into his thoughts. He never knew the world could feel so radiant, so alive. "He's doing this. He's here."

"Who?"

"Jonothon."

Everett explored his surroundings, trying to locate his friend with his limited grasp of the borrowed telepathic powers. "You won't find him Everett. He's everywhere."

Tears formed in Everett's eyes as he was snapped back into himself by the klaxons of the infirmary. He whispered quietly to himself, to his friend, to the entire world. "Oh, Jono. It's so beautiful. I had no idea."

He felt the large, furry hands of Dr. McCoy on his shoulders as he was gently pushed away from Emma and the bio-bed. He slowly opened his eyes to the harsh light of the all too real, suddenly blinding infirmary. He heard Emma's voice calling out first to Hank and then to Sean, "Open it! Let him out! Let him be free! It's what he wants."

Sean Cassidy wrapped his arms tightly around Emma, trying to quiet her, to comfort her. "Shh. 'Tis gonna be alright, Lass. Just calm yuirself. It will be okay."

Dr. McCoy punched a series of buttons and flipped a few switches as he shook his head in dismay. "I do not understand what is happening. It is like he is... evaporating."

A quiet psionic whisper passed though Everett's thoughts and suddenly the chaotic scene taking place in front of him began to make some sense. He rose from his chair and garnered all his focus and strength. "She's right, Dr. McCoy. It's what he wants. It's what Jono wants. Set him free."

The two men turned to look at him, question and bewilderment apparent in both their features. Everett took a deep breath. "I don't know how it happened, but Jono is... well, he's repairing the Astral Plane somehow. Ms. Frost has her powers back. And I synched with her and well... Maybe I can synch with Jono? Maybe I can show you?"

Behind him he heard Ms. Frost's voice rise in timbre as she nearly shrieked, "No, Everett! Don't. Sean, don't let him!!"

He felt Dr. McCoy's reassuring grip on his arm as he said calmly, "It would not be wise at this juncture, Everett. We do not know the nature of Chamber's current mutation. We could be forced to watch the same catastrophic metamorphosis happen to you. For your sake and all of those who care about you, don't."

Everett looked up into the stern but concerned eyes of Dr. McCoy as logic began to penetrate his thoughts. As much as he wanted to reach out to Chamber, maybe even try and offer him an anchor to cling to, he had no idea if his gamble would work. The more he thought about it, he began to realize that a tether outside the Astral Plane was the last thing his friend needed. He looked up into the blue face of Beast and pleaded quietly, "I won't make contact with Jono. But, please. Just trust Ms. Frost on this? She's right. It's what he wants."

Hank looked over his shoulder at Sean, who was still holding tightly onto a much calmer Emma. He nodded once and released his grip and she rushed to the tube as Hank entered the codes to release the containment field. As the upper half rose with a hydraulic hiss, Emma stated, "He is a part of the Plane, now. In his own way, Jonothon has become whole again."

A smile crept across Everett's face as Emma continued speaking, tears of joy welling in her eyes as she fell to her knees. "Oh, Jonothon... it's so radiant. So beautiful. You've made us all whole again. Thank you."

And as the red and orange mist of what was left of Jonothon Starsmore drifted out of the chamber that held him, Everett could have sworn he heard the words, "Yer welcome."

As the air plane flew over the Ohio river valley, Paige Guthrie stared absently out the window. Was it only a day before when she was wandering the fields outside her family's farm wishing to be on a jet exactly like this one on her way back to her new life, her new friends, to Jonothon? Lord, she never thought it would be like this, never thought she'd get a call from Mr. Cassidy, his voice steady and sure, but still obviously steeped in sadness. No, she never thought it would be like this at all.

He had said Jono had an accident, that they didn't know how badly he was injured, that they thought she should come as quickly as possible. Paige didn't know what to expect. Her mind reeled between thoughts of horror and a never ending collage of heart- wrenching scenarios. One thing she was certain of: it had to be serious or they wouldn't have called her.

She reclined her head against the thick window as the plane skimmed across a thin veil of clouds. She blinked as the sun broke free from a dense mass of clouds far in the distance. Shielding her eyes briefly with her hand, Paige thought to herself, 'Sunshine. That's what Jono always called me.'

What was happening to him now? Would even know her when he saw her? Lord, could the plane fly any faster? What would she do once she saw him? As the sunlight played over the clouds, making them shimmer with gold and red, she thought, 'I'll be his sunshine. That's all I can be. All I can do is be there for him. Maybe that will give him strength.'

As the words hung in her mind, she felt a soft, almost velvety presence mingling with her own thoughts. "Jono?" she said aloud as the passenger in the next seat looked at her askance.

She blushed and leaned back in her seat, folding her arms tightly against herself, suddenly disoriented and confused. As she took a deep breath in an effort to regain command of her surroundings and perceptions, she heard a voice whisper directly into her mind, a voice she would always remember for the rest of her days. You always were my sunshine. You gave me hope. Don't ever let yer light go out, gel. It's what makes you beautiful. It's what makes you whole.

Then he was gone, leaving as suddenly as he came, a quiet nothingness left in the wake of his warm, psionic embrace. Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered quietly, "Oh, Jono. I'm too late. I'm so sorry."

She closed her eyes tightly against the emptiness penetrating her senses and prayed once more for the plane to fly faster, prayed for it to take her swiftly home to Massachusetts.

He can feel it all now, churning brightly beneath him, above him, inside him. He understands it all now... the pain, the sorrow, the joy, the triumph. He never thought it would be so pure, he never knew how much he could mean. He never knew the world was so... beautiful. Bright. Glorious.

back to queenB's stories | X-Men archive | comicfic.net