X-Men: Dark Mirror

by Marjorie M. Liu

  She placed his soul inside the flesh, settled him sweet, and with a kiss and a touch unwound a golden thread, pinning it to his heart, pinning it to hers.

  And then he opened his eyes and the world was red again and Jean stood in front of him, radiant in that red, and he leaned forward and hugged her.

  21

  They did not attend the mutant-rights march. Jean used her telekinesis to gather up the bodies. Careful, quick, because Logan heard helicopters coming: news reporters or the police, who had probably noticed some commotion on the rooftop. A beautiful thing, being able to hear them coming.

  He thought it was another beautiful thing to see their impostors, those lost men and women, float through the air to the mini-jet. Beautiful, because Jean was back to her old self, powers intact. And yet, he felt an odd sadness in his heart when he looked at the woman he had lived in. Patty, dead. He even felt sorry for Mindy, whose heart had stopped soon after Scott left her body.

  The rest of them stared unblinking, unmoving. Logan studied their faces, trying not to be distracted by the smells and sounds rushing through him, or the familiar weight of his skeleton, grounding him to earth. He rubbed his knuckles and felt a good sharpness just beneath his skin.

  The X-Men piled into the mini-jet. Maguire sat upright in the back, eyes open but unseeing, restrained only by the force of Jean's mind. Drool dripped down his chin.

  Scott spared him a quick glance before powering the jet engines.

  "Well," he said, quiet. "At least we're home."

  It was good to be home again. Little comforts, like the luxury of hot coffee in the morning, a shower, actual toilets. Beds, washers and dryers, a closet full of clothes, not going hungry because forty dollars might have to last five people on a trip across America.

  And yet, Rogue would not give up those memories for anything.

  Maybe one I would. If I could, I would change that, at least.

  A man dead. Rogue thought about calling the administrator at Belldonne to wheedle out the name she had wanted so badly. She knew what Logan would say: that she was a glutton for punishment, better to leave well enough alone.

  She stood in the doorway of the infirmary and watched Logan sit on the edge of Jubilee's bed. The girl was still asleep.

  Remy was not. He lay very still in the next bed with only his eyes moving, glittering in the light. He looked terrible; the left side of his body was one large bruise and his lips were cracked. He said nothing to her, simply waiting. Rogue remembered what it was like without her powers—her fear and insecurity—how she had been uncomfortable touching even when she could.

  You need to grow up, she told herself. Or else stop complaining about the hand that's been given you. The only thing keeping you from being happy is yourself It doesn't have anything to do with skin.

  No, nothing at all to do with that. Rogue reached into her pocket to finger the card that Suzy had given her. Nine of spades, dreams and illusion. Her skin was the illusion, her excuse. Untouchable body, untouchable heart: the perfect recipe for never getting hurt.

  Rogue walked to Remy. She watched him take a deep breath. He did not say anything, just reached for her. Rogue fought her instincts and did not pull away as his fingers wrapped loose around her covered wrist. She sat down beside him and kissed the air above his head.

  "I'm glad to see your eyes again," he murmured. "I missed that about you."

  "That so?" she asked lightly. "I was here the entire time, sugah. I'm sure you saw plenty."

  "No," he said, and his hand tightened. 'Tour body wasn't what I missed."

  Heat spread through her face. She forgot how to speak.

  Remy smiled.

  Logan paid no attention to the lovebirds. A distant part of him was happy for Rogue, that she was there and touching and being touched. About time, he thought. Maybe the trip into someone else's body had been good for her, after all.

  It certainly had not been good for Logan, nor Jubilee. He watched the girl's face, hurting for her, trying not to imagine what had happened but knowing exacdy: each punch, each touch fueled by rage.

  When she finally began to stir, to open her eyes, he felt a moment of panic.

  This was a bad idea. What were you thinking, making yourself the first thing she sees? You'll scare the kid.

  He stood, but before he could take a step he felt a small hand grab his fingers. Jubilee still had her eyes closed.

  "Hey, Wolvie," she whispered.

  Logan swallowed hard. "Hey. How're you feeling, darlin?"

  "Not bad," she said, and tugged on his hand. He sat, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the bed in case she freaked out and he needed to run. But she just smiled, and finally opened her eyes.

  "I'm sorry," he said. He had not intended to apologize for anything, but the words slipped out, hoarse and broken.

  "Wasn't you," she said. "I figured that out."

  "But it was my body. I thought ... I thought you would be afraid of me for that."

  "Dude," she said, those fearless blue eyes still staring at him. "You're crazy."

  A short gasp of laughter escaped him. Gentle, slow, he reached out and ruffled her hair.

  "Yeah, kid," he whispered. "I suppose I am."

  The rest of the team eventually trickled into the infirmary. They brought chairs with them, or perched on empty beds. It was good to be together. Home, again. Jean gazed around at all their faces, familiar as her own, and for a moment missed those worn human bodies that had carried them across the country, and which now lay in comas, kept alive by machines.

  For a while no one said much, and then, slowly, with great detail and occasional laughter, they told their stories—the escape, the journey—or here at the Mansion, the unraveling mystery of the impostors.

  "So that's how it goes," Jean said, when almost everything else had been told and all that was left was the how and why of their survival. "All those times I thought I felt Cerebro or my counterpart, it was really just the Phoenix."

  "I still don't get it," Rogue said. Remy sat behind her with his arm draped over her shoulder, his hands occasionally playing with her hair. Rogue had a lot of color in her cheeks.

  "The Phoenix force is separate from my mutant abilities, although it does add to and enhance them. When I was taken from my body, the Phoenix was left behind, but it. . . recognized the difference. It knew that I was gone—me, Jean Grey—and it went searching for me. I think it would have stayed, but Jeffs body wasn't compatible for what it wanted. When I got face-to-face with my body, though, the Phoenix ... arranged things to its satisfaction."

  "Meaning it switched you back?"

  "Exactly."

  "Nice," Logan said. Jubilee sat close beside him, not a sign of unease in her slim body. Jean thought Logan looked more rattled. She did not blame him; knowing that her body had been used to harm Remy . .. well, it did not get much worse than that. She still felt responsible.

  "I called the hospital," Scott said, propping his feet up on a bed railing. "There's no change in Maguire. He's still a vegetable. Same with our... hosts."

  "As far as Maguire goes, there isn't ever going to be a change," Jean said. "His identity got eaten alive by those five, and they're too lost in him to ever return to their own bodies. They are stuck there together until the day he dies." Not that Patty or Mindy ever had a choice in the matter. Their bodies had died in the fight; they were lost forever.

  "He is a relatively young man," Kurt said, his voice heavy with meaning, and that was something Jean did not want to think about. Maguire's body was in the most terrible kind of prison, the darkest mirror for minds with nothing to do but reflect upon each other the worst of their madness. Jean had returned to Maguire's mind one more time before dropping him and the others off at a private hospital where Xavier had connections, the influence to buy quality care without any questions asked.

  She did not want to enter his mind again. At least not for some time.

  "We do bear some of the responsibility," Ororo s
aid quietly, looking over Logan's shoulder at the teddy bear in his lap. "We killed his family."

  "We killed a lot more than that," Scott said. "We have a lot to answer for."

  "Even if it was just an accident?" Jubilee asked.

  "Dead is dead," Rogue said, looking at her hands. "Doesn't matter if you kill by accident. There's always a price to pay."

  "Perhaps we did not pay enough," Kurt mused.

  Logan held up the teddy bear, its fur scruffy and worn and sweet.

  "We're paying," he said quietly. "I think we'll keep paying, for a long time yet."

  A low chime sounded through the room: the alarm. Scott ran to the wall monitor and patched in to the main computer.

  "Trouble," he said. "The Brotherhood, maybe. Police reports are coming in from Atlanta."

  They all looked at each other, silent and unmoving.

  "We'll be careful this time," Jean said, but her voice wavered, uncertain.

  "Yeah," Logan said, handing the teddy bear to Jubilee. He stared into the girl's broken face and said, "I guess we know the alternative."

  Epilogue

  Several weeks later, an envelope from a law office in North Dakota arrived for Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Logan, Rogue, and Kurt Wagner. The envelope contained two letters and a key. The first letter was dated two days after their arrival home in New York.

  "What's that?" Jean asked, peering over Scott's shoulder.

  "It's James," Scott said. "He finally remembered where he heard the name. He's leaving his home and land in care of the school."

  "Oh," she breathed. "Oh, my."

  The second letter, from the attorney, said just a little more.

  That afternoon the five of them flew out to North Dakota to bury James. They dug the hole with shovels and pickaxes, and laid him to rest beside his wife. They did not say any words, but sat beside his grave for a time, watching the sun cross the sky and the grass thrush in the wind. The lilac tree, though it had no blooms, looked especially pretty.

  They left after the stars came out. Dog went with them.

  About the Author

  Marjorie M. Liu is an attorney who has worked and traveled throughout Asia. When not writing, she enjoys reading comic books, designing websites, and returning to old movie favorites, some of which involve light sabers, various applications of the Force, and small green men with pointy ears. To learn more, please visit her website at www.marjoriemliu.com

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