Categories > Movies > X-Men: The Movie > Rise Firebird


by Plutospawn 0 reviews

Moira frowned. "What does he know?" "Enough to hear the truth," Hank replied.

Category: X-Men: The Movie - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Iceman, Wolverine - Published: 2005-10-21 - Updated: 2005-10-21 - 1097 words

Henry McCoy was speechless as he straightened his glasses. He tried to give the younger man with him a reassuring smile and was fairly certain that he failed miserably. Hank fixed his collar and opened the door to the examination room.
"I'll run some test work, Bobby," he promised. "I won't stop working on this until we have a solution."
"Dr. McCoy." Bobby's eyes darted towards his feet. "Don't tell Rogue about this. Please?"
"I wouldn't," Hank replied.
"Thanks," Bobby said. "I mean, I appreciate it."
"Take care, Bobby."
Hank watched the teen hurry off down the hallway. He shook his head. When he had been Bobby's age, he had been accepting college scholarships, both for his academic work and athletic prowess. He liked to think of those as simple days when he was just Hank, Edna's and Norton's son, before he knew the name Charles Xavier. He shuddered to think of how he would have turned out had he been fighting super villains at that age instead of just growing up.
"Quiet night."
Hank spun around and wafted the cigar smoke away with a hand. "Logan!" he hissed. "I am in serious doubt over the functionality of your mental capacities. Moira will skin you alive if she catches you smoking in her facility."
Logan raised an eyebrow. He gave the cigar between his fingers an offhand glance before he rubbed it out on his palm. "The popsicle looks a little better."
"Why would you call him that?" Hank demanded, a bit too sharply.
Logan shrugged. "Better than what he calls me when he thinks I'm out of earshot."
Hank smirked. "Maybe you deserved to be called whatever name he chose."
"This coming from a shag carpet?" Logan replied. He turned serious. "Look, I've got a question for you."
"I'll answer if I can," Hank said.
"I don't like being here," Logan said. "I don't have a friendly history with research facilities."
"Ah, yes," Hank murmured. "The metal bones. Quite fascinating."
"This place smells like death," Logan interrupted. "Feel like talking?"
"Death, you say?" Hank swallowed. "That's really something you should discuss with Moira-"
"I'm discussing it with you," Logan growled. "Now, my instincts are screaming about this place and if I can't trust it, I don't want a group of kids just wandering around it."
"You have valid concerns, Logan," Hank said, his pace a façade of calm. "But I will not talk about this without Moira's consent."
"I ain't playing games with you," Logan said. "Talk. Now."
"It is a personal matter, that I was not involved in," Hank insisted. "You speak to Moira."
"So this is the camaraderie that Charles always boasts about his X-Men havin'?" Arms crossed over her chest, Moira wore a frown. She walked down the hall towards the two men. "I smell cigar smoke."
"How are things with Peter?" Hank asked her.
"I just got off the phone with Charles," Moira said. "He's sendin' the girl you wanted along with a Kurt Wagner here on the next available plane."
"Wonderful." Hank smiled.
"You and me need to talk, doll," Logan said.
"I can see that we do," Moira replied. "Last time I checked, you were a guest here. Who do you think you are smokin' in my facility, harassin' my friend and how dare you call me doll?"
"Logan has some questions," Hank said. "In regards to the original purpose of the facility."
"Original purpose?" Moira frowned. "What does he know?"
"Enough to hear the truth," Hank replied.
Moira met Logan's gaze and slowly nodded. "Aye," she said. "Let's head back to my office, the three of us. We can talk in private there."
The three adults walked briskly through the corridors, Logan keeping a keen eye on the Scottish woman. Sean Cassidy was waiting inside Moira's office, the man had told Logan he was the groundskeeper, but the glance he shared with Moira spoke volumes.
"Ye're looking a bit pale, Moira dear," Sean noted. "Anything wrong?"
"Fix me some tea, will you, Sean?" Moira asked as she sat down. "Have a seat boys."
Hank obliged and sat in front of her desk. Logan remained standing by the doorway.
"I should've expected that a human with a mutant research facility would seem odd," Moira said.
"Oh, not odd," Logan snorted. "I've met humans with mutant research facilities before. Ever hear of William Striker?"
Sean slammed the teacup down on the table. "Ye watch yer tone, boy," he warned. "The lady's done nothing to deserve this."
"You and what army's going to make me, Irish?" Logan growled.
"Just me," Sean promised.
"Oh dear," Hank muttered.
"Sean, I can take care of myself," Moira said. "You should sit down, Logan. I brought you here to talk, not to bounce testosterone off of Mr. Cassidy."
"You talk, I'll listen." Logan made no move to sit down.
"I had a son," Moira said. She turned around the picture frame on her desk so that Logan could see it. She still hadn't replaced the frame that Hank broke. "Kevin. It became clear a little after his eleventh birthday that he was a mutant. I tried to help him."
"Help him how?" Logan asked. "Like McCoy's botched cure?"
Hank winced, Moira just gave the feral man a humorless smile. "No," she replied. "Kevin was a very powerful mutant, but his abilities were also taxin' to his physical form. I spent all my time on perfectin' containment suits and containment rooms so that he wouldn't burn his body out. It dinnae work, of course."
"So he died?"
"No." Moira glanced down at the tea Sean had placed in front of her. "He took his first replacement body. A twenty-one year old intern at the facility and when that body burned out, he moved on to a cab driver, then a single mother, then a six year old boy, then a police officer..."
"Moira, let it go," Sean urged. "That's not the important part of the story."
"Those people are important!" Moira glared at him with red rimmed eyes. "Those people had lives and families and dreams and they died because of one selfish boy. And that boy became more twisted every time he claimed a new victim."
"Don't beat yerself up like this, Moira." Sean kneaded her shoulder with his hand.
"The man has a right to know that my intentions are good," Moira said. "That they're right and not misguided."
"What happened to your son?" Logan asked.
Moira took a sip of her tea and set the cup on the table softly. "I killed him."
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