Pieces of Your Soul: Part Three

by Kerri

Just before 5:00 pm, the door bell rang. Thomas left the library where he was in the middle of proofing Charlotte's work to answer it.

He swung one of the double doors open to find a man in a hoverchair, dressed in a dinner jacket, accompanied by a group of people. The man in the chair, Charles Xavier, he recognized from the newspapers and various magazines. The man looked rather put out.

"I am to meet Dr. Henry McCoy here," he said.

"Of course," Thomas opened the other door to allow for easy entrance. "Come in." He led the way to the two story great room. "Please, everyone, have a seat."

Hank bounded down the stairs, wearing the suit he'd just changed into, with a smile on his face. "You all had to come?"

Xavier let out a breath. "Cable is attending with us, the others have plans of their own and wished only to stop by and meet your friends."

Jean and Rogue both gazed at the tall Indian, clearly infatuated. Scott nudged his wife, then again when he didn't get her attention. "Honey..."

"So, where's your date, Hank?" Bobby asked, ready to meet the granny he was going to tease Hank about for the next decade.

Bishop glared at Thomas as a matter of routine, then did a slow circle of the room, looking into closets and through other doors. The weapon in his hands was on and primed. He moved to the staircase and looked up, frozen in his footsteps.

Charlotte moved down carefully, carrying her shoes in one hand and an evening wrap in the other. She wore a black silk sheath, the fabric skimmed her curves, falling in a straight skirt, ending mid-thigh. Her hair was pulled back, the long curls brushed her bare arms to fall past her waist. Her only piece of jewelry was a black medallion on a matching chain. She wasn't paying attention and didn't see the large black man in the way until she nearly bumped into him.

"Hi," she said, using the bannister to balance herself as she slipped on her shoes.

Bishop's jaw dropped. He didn't move.

"Bishop?" Hank said.

"Grandmother," the XSE officer whispered.

Different, but she'd been in similar situations over the years. She smiled and stepped around him, to approach the group. "Boy, Hank, I had no idea you'd get this kind of response." She offered her hand to Xavier. "Good evening Professor. It's nice to finally meet you. I feel I know you, all of you," she included the group with her smile, "from my correspondence with Hank."

"Let me perform the introductions properly." Hank took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Charlotte Ashcroft, Scott and Jean Summers."

She shook hands with both of them. "I understand you both moonlight as den parents."

Scott reddened while Jean grinned.

"This is Rogue."

"Rogue, Hank says you are a quick draw with a credit card."

Rogue grinned. "Ah like to shop."

"Doesn't every woman?"

Remy took her hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to the back, looking at her over his dark glasses, his red on black eyes gleaming. ~"Bonjour, chere.~ Remy LeBeau."

~"Bonjour."~ Her accent was quite acceptable. "How is Jean-Luc these days?"

His eyes shuttered, the grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly. "You know my father?"

"I knew your adopted father years ago. It has been a long time since I lived in New Orleans."

"Last I heard he's okay."

"This is Robert Drake."

Bobby's jaw was still agape, giving Hank a rare moment of satisfaction.

"Does he speak or is he a mute?" she asked Hank.

"Bishop you've met," Hank indicated the armed man still staring at her. "This is Nathan Summers," he turned her towards the last man. He also wore a formal suit, indicating he was the fourth in their party this evening. His face was set in stern lines, belying the undercurrent she felt flow out of him. He extended his hand to her. "We've met."

She placed her hand in his and felt him draw her away from Hank. "We have? I don't recall..." Almost like she had no will of her own.

"It hasn't happened yet." He looked down at her, closing off his mind. It was an intimate moment. He held her eyes.

This was just a bit more than she could take at one time. "I'd like you all to meet Thomas, my son." She gently tugged her hand away from Nathan and looked back at her son, willing him to come to her aid.

He obeyed the call, the good son he was, stepping forward and nodding to everyone. He stood next to her, one arm around her shoulders.

"See, Jean, ya aren't the only one wi' a boy lookin' older than ya," Rogue observed.

Charlotte gave her an inquiring look, then comprehension dawned. Nathan Summers.

"Will you all join us for dinner?" she asked. "I'll call the restaurant and add more people to the reservation."

The others all claimed other plans, backing out of the apartment. Bishop remained. "I will wait for you here," he told Xavier abruptly, his eyes still on Charlotte. "Wolverine will come down shortly."

Charlotte looked at Thomas. <Okay with you he stays here?>

He smiled at her. "Go have a good time. Everything will be fine here. The car should be waiting for you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Must we discuss your curfew?"

She laughed, the tense moment passing, and picked up her wrap. Hank stepped forward, but Nathan beat him to it, taking the fragile length of black cashmere and settling it across her shoulders, moving her hair from underneath the confining folds. He tucked her hand under his arm and drew her towards the door.

At the elevator, Hank finally registered Bishop's last statement. His face paled, not that anyone noticed with image inducer, and he stepped back. "I neglected to tell Thomas something. I'll meet you downstairs." He went back to the apartment door.

The elevator doors opened just as the access door to the roof slammed shut. Logan saw the people at the elevator and hung back, waiting for them to leave. The woman got his attention, he saw her profile as she looked up at Cable, then her face as she turned to answer Xavier. He felt something twist up inside, knowing he knew her.

Just before the the door closed she looked up and right into his eyes. Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something.

The elevator door closed on them. He saw Beast entering an apartment and went to knocked on that door.

It opened immediately, and he saw Hank and Thomas both staring at him. "Problem?" he asked darkly.

"So, what's with Cable?" Rogue asked. The five of them stood outside the movie theater waiting for their turn to get in. They were seeing '8 mm', the new Nicholas Cage movie. "Cuttin' in on Hank's action, that don' seem like him a'tall."

"Did you get a good look at her?" Bobby was still in denial. "That couldn't be *anybody's* mother."

"It doesn't," Jean said thoughtfully, not listening to Bobby. "I don't know why he acted that way. When he got a look at her there was a flash of recognition that got by him, then he went dead, psychically. He deliberately shielded everything, even the everyday 'normal' things that get out. I think he knows her."

Remy laughed. "Jeannie, dat be an understatement. Your boy 'knows' her. Dat look he give her could've set de house on fire." He pushed aside the fact she knew Jean-Luc, determined not to think about it now.

"Ah don' think she knows him," Rogue added, ignoring Remy completely.

"Not yet," he smirked.

Hank managed to escort Charlotte into the restaurant, leaving Cable to push Xavier's 'public appearance' wheelchair inside.

He seated her, then appropriated the chair to her left. The maitre'd made himself helpful and removed the chair from her right to accommodate the wheelchair. Cable sat across from her, the ideal position to make her nervous, if she were prone to nervousness. Which she might be any moment if he didn't stop staring at her like she had grown another head.

"Ms. Ashcroft, Henry told us you are working on a written history of an Indian tribe." Xavier opened the conversation, very displeased with the other two. The testosterone level seemed to have jumped a thousand points.

"Please call me Charlotte. Yes, I am. I lived with the Quapoa tribe for a time. Thomas' father was a shaman."

"When was that?"

"During the 1800's."

The waiter chose that moment to offer Xavier the wine list. As the oldest male at the table, the waiter gave him the honor of choosing their wine.

Xavier took it gratefully, needing the distraction. Henry had mentioned something about her being 300 years old, hadn't he?

Logan stood in the library near the balcony. He didn't know what he was doing here. He hadn't intended on coming with them at all, but he felt...compelled to be here.

He was looking at the portrait over the fireplace, a painting of a young woman. She had golden amber eyes that seemed to share secrets with him, a mouth made for passion, and a humorous slant to her face. The face was alive, vibrant. She looked like someone he dreamed about sometimes, dreams that were always half forgotten before he was fully awake, never quite seemed to be 'real' to him. He'd always assumed the girl in the dreams was either a face he'd glimpsed long ago or a false memory.

Thomas sat at the desk, a large book in his lap, a laptop open and running in front of him. Bishop was elsewhere in the house. He wasn't too worried about strangers in here. There was nothing here that wasn't disposable. All the important things were stored at truly secure sites. He wore his body armor, just as Charlotte did. He couldn't be harmed. Besides, she wouldn't have left if she thought Bishop was a risk. And Logan? Well, he knew what she thought of him, didn't he? The man wore it around his neck.

"Who's that?"

Thomas looked up at the question. Logan pointed to the painting.

"Lady Charlotte Ashcroft. It was painted in 1785 in New York."

"She's a relative?" Stupid question. They both had the same eyes.

You could say that. "Yes." He closed the book and the laptop. "How about a beer?"

Logan nodded. "Sounds good. How long ya think they'll be out?"

"Wait till you try the beer first, will you?"

After giving Thomas a blank look, it dawned on Logan the other man was making a joke. He chuckled a bit, feeling the rusty machinery inside kick into life. He'd been angst-y way too much lately, even for an X-man.

During intermission, Xavier finally got an opportunity to speak privately with Charlotte. Hank and Cable both left for fresh air, the air clearing somewhat of tension.

"Hank mentioned that you're a telepath." His voice was low pitched to avoid eavesdroppers.

She nodded, turning in her seat, slipping her shoes off. <Yes. My father was what you would classify these days as a gamma level telepath. Back then he was just considered a very shrewd businessman. His family produces quite a few 'paths, really. Not very strong, they tend to blend in well with the population.>

<You are strong, though.>

<That's due to my mother. She was Torelan.>

<Torelan? You mean an alien?> No wonder her thought signature was...different.

<Yes. She came to this world in the 1400's, ended up marrying my father in 1690. They didn't have a chance to grow old together. A carriage accident took them in 1723.>

<You've seemed to have adjusted to this life rather well.>

<I had a purpose. Thomas was born in 1799, gave me a reason to keep on living. I continue to find a reason everyday.> Most days it was enough.

<I noticed Bishop's reaction to you.> And Cable's, though he wasn't going to mention that here and now.

<You know, I am occasionally confronted with the past, but I have no clue as to what I did to earn him.>

<He is from the future.>

<I see. That explains the hardware, and his attitude. Does it explain Nathan's?>

After a few bottles of good beer, he had to admit the kid had taste in malts, Logan was finally relaxing. Bishop refused alcohol, but unbent long enough to have a soda.

Thomas searched the cupboards for something full of fat and salt to snack on. "I know there has to be some," he said aloud. "Mom had the place stocked and cleaned yesterday." He reached overhead to the cabinet above the industrial refrigerator. "Aha!" He pulled down bags of chips, pretzels and cans of nuts. "Damn. Mom probably told the housekeeper no pork rinds."

"Man's got a right to pork rinds."

Thomas chuckled. "Not in this household. Man's got a right to not tick his mother off, especially when she can take you in a fair fight. And between the three of us, I've *never* seen her fight fair yet."

"What, yer mother?" Logan mocked him. He looked around. "Where is yer mother?"

"She went to dinner and the concert with Hank and his friends."

"I only saw a girl with 'em." Now he connected the woman in the elevator to the portrait. They resembled each other.

"That's her. Doesn't look her age."

Bishop frowned at him. "You don't even remember what your mate looks like?" Sometimes he believed Logan's claim of not remembering anything was a crutch he leaned on to forget things he didn't want to acknowledge.

The bottle paused midway to Logan's mouth. "What are ya talkin' about, rookie?"

Thomas suddenly wished to be anywhere but here.

"You are bonded to her. You wear the magic."

Logan turned his eyes to Thomas. "Ya want to explain?"

"No."

"Wrong answer." The pleasant little buzz he'd had was gone. His face was white, his eyes burning into the other man's.

"Not my place to explain anything." Thomas took his beer and left the kitchen. Before he got to the door, a hand spun him around, adamantium claws poised to run him through.

"I got to know if I'm crazy."

"You're not crazy." But he had to be, just contemplating this conversation. "Let's go talk in the library."

[next part]

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