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Twenty Four Hours Later:
The Motel 6 was a crummy little place. The wallpaper was stock yet the beds were something of a dream to someone who really lacked the luxuries. Jean's bedroom in her home was filled with stuffed bears, painted pink with lace sheets. The bed was hard due to not being slept in most days, and it remained clean due to her mothers incessant worrying. Sometimes, things needed to be messy. Just like this room. It had two beds, plain sheets that smelled like grandma's clothing, pillows that were beat to hell and back and a picture of a flower in a golden vase on the wall.
The bathroom was small, but one thing about the shower, it had the best water pressure that money could buy. Soaps and towels were set up, used and recently cleaned with a little bit of fluff but not much. If anyone had better, they would notice it. But not the wayward two.
Room 6A was occupied by Jean and Wolverine, clothes that were borrowed or bought strewn across Wolverine's bed while the straight jacket that Jean previously had on was in the bathroom. As well as her hospital gown. Jean was cleaned up, able to brush her hair with minor interference, but it was back to bed to sleep amongst the wrappers of burgers that were left behind. As the sun sets, she wakes up, remaining in the bed with her legs crossed, yellow dress draped and covering, hair spilling down her shoulders, brush in hand and a few thick locks grabbed to idly brush out as she stares into space.
And she wore a smile.
Logan returns late, although he'd called to let her know he'd be out. When he does, he shrugs off his jacket, "Hey there, kiddo," he says. "Got some good news. Found yer Professor. Caught him messin' around wit' some dude in a bull outfit and some giant green juvie. And I think Howard Stark was there, which don't make sense since he's dead an' all," he said.
He sees the beatific expression on her face and cocks his head, "You all right, girlie?"
Jean barely moved as Logan opens the door. He was like a darkspot in the brightness even as the sun goes down. It wasn't bad on his part, it just that he projected anger and it was something that she was fearful of and tried to ignore. Mostly for his own sake, and probably hers.
"You saw him?" Her eyes brighten, her smile widening, then.. frowning again. "I don't kno.. Stark? Isn't he famous?" But she leaves that little tidbit alone. She didn't understand the term messing around, she figured that some guy in a bull suit was the Professor's friend. The smile she bore fades a little as her eyes widen unnaturally, almost looking as if she were stoned.
"Yes. There's a family here. A mother with her children. And they're happy." She glances up towards the ceiling. "They're having fun. And I hear a song in my head. I think they're singing or someone wants to sing. And.. there's a small one. A little.. small one.." Her fingers pull away from her hair as she slowly brushes, pinching the air in front of her. "It's so small and I can hear it's wonder.."
Logan moves over to the bed and takes a seat, drawing a cigarette from his pack and lighting it. "Hey, long as it makes ya happy, I ain't particular about where it comes from. Good fer them, I say," he says. He lays out on the bed, stretching out and drawing deep on his smoke before exhaling. "You enjoy it. We can go see the Prof whenever yer ready. No rush," he says.
She stops brushing her hair, dropping the brush down upon the pillow as she takes a lean forward to reach over and snatch the cigarette out of his mouth. She coughs a little, her head turning to the side, which allows the thick of red to fall upon his face.
"There's a little bit of fear. Just a little bit. Worry. I don't know if it's me doing that to the woman but I can feel it. It's not strong but it's there. But she's happy."
She places the cigarette in between her lips, then inhales, her coughs harsh enough for her to roll back away and hold the cigarette away from her as if it were a disease. "AUGH.." She manages out, patting her chest. "The Professor, was he healthy?"
Logan takes the smoke back and sits up, scooting over a little to let Jean sit next to him if she likes, "Most people got more'n one feelin' goin' on in their head, I figure, darlin'. Long as happy's the one winnin' out, I'd say she's got it pretty plush," he says.
"An' I c'n smoke these 'cause I ain't ever gonna get sick from 'em. Same ain't true fer you, although everybody's gonna die sometime. An' yeah, Prof seemed fine, far as I can tell. Kind of a square, but that ain't surprisin'."
Motel 6, people think that they could really hide away in a place like this while waiting on a moment that'll change their very lifetimes. With the woman and her three (4) children, she had made a few phone calls the week before and set up a get away plan to sneak away from her abusive husband sight unseen. But what she didn't realize, was that he knew all along. He had his friends watch the house while he was working, set up one of the neighboring wives he had an affair with to stop by and keep her company at times.
It was a long con of gas-lighting and false confidence, she thought she was safe.
A 1961 buick special pulled into the parking lot of Motel 6, the lights already dimmed on the automobile, the car shutting off with a whisper as the man slowly got out of the car. He closed it quiet, only the faint click of the door was heard as he approaches the room 3A. A flash of the light gives way to a revolver, his gloved hands twisting against each other as he listened in on his children playing. He smelled of booze and hate, and the stink of the other woman who left her perfume lingering upon his collar.
Jean crawls to the edge of the bed, but she doesn't allow her feet to dangle. The mood changed considerably, whether it was the talk of iniment death or the feelings of the man that approaches the other door, her face scrunches up tightly as the lamp upon the dresser top begins to rattle softly. The smoke that trails from the cigarette that Logan holds begins to bend in her direction, even flecks of ash seemingly fall upon her knee at a different angle than what it's supposed to.
"If he's a Professor, isn't he supposed to be square?" She asks politely. "I've never graduated high school." Her shoulders shrug faintly, her right eye twitching. Something was wrong. "You can't ever leave me, you know. I'm going to find you where ever you go. I don't think I want to leave this to chance. I'm going to kill you and they'll never find your bodies."
NAACP MEETING
NOT FAR AWAY
"Be that as it may, a nonviolent approach will appear less threatening to the people of this island," says Charles Xavier as he sits at a table with other academics and colleagues.
"Non-threatening and not useful," says another white man at the table. "Publicity is what moves these th—"
The talk goes on for another hour, but as Xavier is leaving he begins shaking hands with some of the members who were kind enough to ask him to speak this evening. Tomorrow morning he plans to fly to Birmingham to discuss some matters with the SCLC.
Xavier doesn't care to drive for himself, and instead had to rent a driver for the night. Because of the time, none of his former students were available. "An alright evening, sir?" asks the driver as Charles takes a seat in the back. "Splendid discourse as per usual."
The car pulls away and Xavier takes the moment to look over the headlines of a newspaper on the seat; something about a diner causes him to raise his eyebrows.
Logan cocks his head as he hears Xavier's voice when he gets into the car, "Speak of the devil, I hear yer pal now. Sounds like he just got into a car a coupla blocks away. Think you can use yer noggin to, I dunno, send him a psychic smoke signal or somethin'? Me got big wampum mutant?" he says, dragging on his cigarette and going to peer out the window as he gets up. Hell, he'll run out in the street and cut the guy's tires as he passes if he has to, but Jean's method is less messy.
"He's here? I mean near?" The lamp flies from the dresser to crash upon the floor, but it went ignored from the excitement and pure dread that she felt in the moment.
Excitement..
Happiness
Funny
Hopeful
Murderous rage that was tipping and turning at the edges just in time for the mans hand to press against the door in silent prayer before rearing back and smashing it open with a heavy push of his body weight. Motel 6 was a good place to hang out. It was a good place to lay low. But there were a many code violations as witnessed by how easily the door was knocked from the hinges and splintered wood left in it's wake.
Jean takes a step back from the window with a short crouch, her eyes upon the back of Logan's head as she takes up a shard of the lamp glass within her hand. As she clutches it, the broken ceramic begins to cut into her palm, her fingers squeezing it as the narrow eyed vacant gaze eases upon her target.
The woman and children a few doors down scream in terror..
And a heavy projection and a familiar psychic signature broadcasts on all channel.
The reflection from the window causes Xavier's face to light up in the reds of tail lights and the whites of headlights. He's thinking about needing to get some sleep before he boards the plane. Sleeping on flights was never an option because all of those voices are screaming out in unannounced fear about potential catastrophe. Everyone keeps themselves in check, but their insides are far too nervous for Xavier to get a wink of sleep.
But then, something is wrong.
"Hector, please turn around."
"Sir?"
"Please turn around and take a left on 135th."
"But I'm…" The words are cut off as Xavier holds two fingers to his temple. The car turns around abruptly, almost colliding with another one as it begins to speed up.
<Jean?>
'You thought you could leave? You thought you could get away?'
The shouts were loud enough to wake the rest of the denizens of Motel 6, the panicked emotions overcrowding the homicidal tendancies, each light flicking on as silhouettes rush towards the windows to look outside and doors to open and shut almost immediately. Some people didn't want to get involved. While a few rooms that had the best amenities contained phones, at least two of them picked up to dial the emergency line. There were still some good people left in the world, even as one man with a baseball bat made of the best wood snatches it from beneath his desk to round the corner in his robe and slippers.
She was close, creeping up behind Logan, her hand raised and drawn back over her head. "You thought you could leave? You thought you could get away?" She asks, her voice in hushed tones, continuing "I'm sorry! I just want to save the children!"
'You only killed them!' The man shouts.
Jean snaps out of it almost immediately, the sound of the professors voice breaking through the cloud of everything else. Her eyes remain wide as she looks towards the ceramic shard in her hand, dropping it like a shock with a slight step back. "Professor?" She says aloud, but she was certain he could hear her.
"Someones going to die, you have to hurry!" Was said to both of the men, and the shouting a few doors down increased in it's loudness.
The reason that Charles Xavier hates driving is that he may or may not be that particularly good at it. Because having a conversation with Jean Grey and controlling someone who is driving a car at the same time can be a difficult proposition, it should not be surprising that the vehicle smashes into a parked car, clipping one of the headlights in the process.
"Lucky I bought the insurance," Xavier replies as the car pulls into the motel parking lot.
<I'm coming. Point them out to me mentally> he sends to her. The vehicle stops and he pops the door before running through the parking lot, hoping that he's headed in the right direction.
The driver shakes his head as Xavier leaves his mind, wondering how the hell he got here.
Logan, in full aggressive glory bursts out the room nearly the same time that Charles exits out the car in a full tilt run. He notices the Professor, actually smells him really, good clean cut nerdy type, and gestures towards the room a few doors down. Practicing caution above all else (and not wanting to get arrested for murder), he keeps his claws hidden, approaching the door with a jog as the sounds of shouting grows closer.
How does Jean point? Aside from Logan leading the charge, the lights that head the doorframe burst and shatters into a shower of glass, causing the man from within to jerk and fire his gun to plant the bullet into the wall. The woman and children scream, the three (4) crowded into the corner, the kids cradling themselves as the mother uses her whole self to keep them shielded from their father.
Jean doesn't emerge from her room, not quite yet. She holds onto that voice within her head as much as she could to keep the rest of them out.
Xavier stops running because he needs to concentrate. He closes his eyes and goes into the room, reaches into the minds of every occupant. Immediately he can tell the danger therein, even before the shot. He can feel the tension, the anger. Taking a deep breath, Charles sends a mind-shock into the man, attempting to knock him out cold. "Sleep," he says under his breath.
'You almost killed them!' The woman screams.
'Mommyy..' The children cry.
'You think I wouldn't find out you *!' - The man levels the gun towards the woman, taking one step forward to prepare to end it all with a quick shot. He knew that they were coming, the authorities, and he knew that soon enough, other people would darken the doorstep to either apprehend or beat him to death. Or worse. He'd have to kill them too. A murder suicide, is what the headlines would read. But he's not thinking about that now.
Sleep
It starts with a tickle. Right at the back of the neck, heavy pressure soon at the base which creeps towards the brain and then the eyes. His hand falls slack, revolver circling around his finger as his body starts to lean.
Logan was quick enough to snatch the gun from the mans hand, but purposefully lazy enough to allow the man to collapse upon the ground, slightly harmed, but it was deserving. Of course there was a little bewilderment, his gaze gone towards the man upon the floor and the Professor who was right outside the door. "…I need a beer." He grunts.
Finally, Jean rushes out of the hallway, standing just outside the door of where they had taken up residence, both hands cupped over her mouth, eyes wide, filled with tears. It was over, she could tell. She couldn't feel anything but relief, even the man who grabbed the baseball bat ready to rock some heads in stood with shoulders slumped. Phew!
"Professor?" Jean calls out quietly. It was over, she already knew that. But man, that burger was boiling right up at the back of her throat and it took the will of (insertsomeonehere) to keep it all down.
A fraction of a second after Jean calls out quietly, Xavier appears in the doorway and looks to her. His blue eyes meet hers for a long moment as he breathes heavily from the run. Finally, he nods slowly to her in appreciation. There's no smile, this is far too serious for that, but she'll be able to feel his admiration towards her for a job well done.