There was silence in every room, save one. The big screen TV in the rec room was on and surrounded by the entire population of the mansion, ages five to 50. (Yeah, they all knew the professor was way older than that, but no one could ever get him drunk enough to actually slip up and tell. Jubes and Hank had almost done it one day but all they managed was to get him intoxicated enough to drive his wheelchair down the BMX ramp out back while singing "I Can Fly" as he sailed through the air into the lake. Somehow though, the asshat kept enough of his neurons firing to not give his secret away. Bastard.) All the air in the room was currently held hostage in respective lungs as the commercial started to air. Each word out of Billy Mays' mouth was another punch to Rogue's soul and looking around the room showed that the other adults were feeling much the same way. This was it. Their fates were now sealed.
Billy was finally swept off screen and everyone exhaled loudly. Xavier turned to grin at his X-Men only to have the happiness fade away as he registered all the "hiding a body isn't that hard" looks being directed his way. He turned his wheelchair and left, most of the younger residents exiting with him so they could go about their days, now confident that only the adults were being auctioned off.
He heard a few thumps coming from the direction of the rec room, slightly muffled, as if people were collapsing into chairs and couches. He shook his head sadly, shored up his resolve and wheeled through the massive hole in the mansion wall that used to house his office door. Time to watch for the email requests. He did feel bad about forcing this upon his loyal subjects, but what else was there for a retired superhero to do? They couldn't sit around and knit all day even if Scott had won that award two years ago at the Miss Homemaker of New York contest for his knitted baby carrier. If only they gave away cash prizes... He let that thought fade away as a grin started to pull at his cheek again. Well, at least orchestrating jobs would provide something for him to do and, hopefully, some entertainment along with it.
Hank trudged down the hallway into his lab, taking quick stock when the door opened to make sure nothing had been violated in his absence. Seeing no signs of tampering, he tried to find the happiness that normally came from entering this room, but failed drastically. He simply could no get over this blatant exploitation that Xavier was currently engaging in. Shaking his head sadly, he walked over to his desk and sank into the cushioned chair, raking his hands through the fur covering his head (I felt that this needed to be specified) and watching a few azure strands fall to the desk in front of him.
He sat up a few minutes later and scrubbed his hand across his face. Time to stop moping around. If he wanted to keep residing in the mansion, which had this utterly magnificent, multi-million dollar lab for him to pla- work in, he would have to conform to the new form of employment that the professor had chosen for them all. And he was in no way, shape or form willing to give up his precious machines with their stimulating beeping and dripping noises that were his constant companions, always willing to divulge so many secrets of the world. Besides, he thought, pulling on rubber gloves before reaching for the bottle of acetone, chances were, no one would want to hire him unless it was for his extensive knowledge. His mutation would not be one that the average human would find helpful in everyday life.
Setting down the acetone, he positioned his free standing magnifying tool and grabbed a scalpel, intending to separate a sample into neat squares, when the professor politely knocked on his mental doorway. He sat up straight and answered, projecting his thoughts as if he were speaking out loud.
Yes?
Can you collect Bobby please and come to my office. I have your first assignment in response to the commercial being aired today.
He sat there in shocked silence until Xavier snapped him out of it.
You to hurry my friend. You and Bobby only have five minutes before you need to leave in order to arrive on time. I will give you the event information sheet that was sent to me because it will be faster than me explaining. This woman is paying us 1000 dollars over the usual asking price because it is so last minute. Chop chop. Like a light bulb, his presence winked out, so quickly that one might not have known it was ever there except for the image that burned into the retinas or, in this case, the brain.
Still dazed and confused, Hank got to his feet, turned off the lights and left in pursuit of Bobby. At least he had someone to go with him. And really, how bad could this thing be? Especially if it was so last minute.
"Is this Hell? Did someone finally snap and kill me so now I have to pay my penance on order to rest peacefully?" Bobby asked as the two of them climbed out of the car. Hank had read him the report on the way over and it seemed like they were going to be the entertainment at this party. Not that the paper had said anything about what kind of party it was but he was starting to get a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling that normally only came about when someone said the words 'Jubilee' and 'sugar overload' in the same sentence. Or 'Logan' and 'dangerroom programmer'. The origin of these feelings? Lots of balloons of all different eye smarting neon colors lining the driveway. And the big sign over the garage in bright pink reading "Happy 4th Birthday Ashlee!" wasn't helping either. He looked at Hank, who was smoothing his fur down, clearly still uncomfortable being out in the daylight like this, and tried to flash a reassuring smile.
"Let's just get this over with," he mumbled, walking to the door and ringing the bell. A flustered looking woman answered. She smiled tightly and pushed her sweaty hair off her forehead before swinging the door open to them.
"Thank God you are here. And you'll be just perfect! I knew you would be!" Jeeze, this woman could give Jubes a run for her money if it came to a fastest talker contest. She barely paused to breath. "Everyone should start arriving, including the birthday girl, in about twenty minutes. Here, let me get your costume... Bobby was it?" she was talking while digging through the hall closet.
He nodded, very concerned that the word costume had just come out of her mouth. Thankfully, Hank came to his rescue.
"Yes, miss. This is Bobby Drake and I'm Henry McCoy. I must confess, we have almost no idea what we are going to be doing for you today. We just knew we were to be the entertainment at a party. And, I also must admit, we are both new to this line of work."
She turned to look at them and waved a hand, obviously not as concerned as Hank was about them failing. "No worries. I know you both with be great. You have to be great. Now, let's go to the back yard and I can show you what you have to work with."
They walked through the house, past the kitchen, the state of which neither of them chose to comment on. Bobby was mostly zoned out, not hearing the small talk going on between his partner and the woman leading them, because his focus was on the costume in the woman's hand. It was bright yellow and orange. And feathery. Really, really feathery. Thankfully, his whimper was covered up by the screech of the sliding glass door as they stepped into the back yard.
"We spoil her too much, I know, but I just want everything to be great for my little Ashlee. She's so darling and sweet and she deserves everything we can give her and more." Bobby, looking around the yard at all the crazy decorations, the huge bouncy ball pit, trampoline and everything else a child could want, thought that spoiled was the perfect word.
"What do you want us to do as entertainment?" he asked, ignoring the slight pleading note in his voice. If he refused to hear it, it wasn't really there.
"Well, the petting zoo that I had lined up called and canceled yesterday and I was running around frantically, trying to find anyone that could be brought in this last minute when I saw your commercial air this morning. It was like you were sent from God to help me. It was divine intervention I tell you! You were meant to be here."
"What, exactly, do you want us to do as entertainment?" he repeated his question, more forceful this time.
"We took Ashlee to see Sesame Street on Ice about a month ago and that's all she's been talking about since then. Now, she gets to meet them in person and go skating with them and everything! I need you to freeze the pool," she indicated the Olympic sized, in-ground monstrosity by the back fence, "and put on this Big Bird costume. Henry, of course, will be Cookie Monster. You do know the song right?" she asked, not even waiting for a response. "I'll go find you some shorts Henry so you will look more the part. Cookie Monster can't be wearing slacks and a white button down. It wouldn't look right at all. Get started doing your thing! I'll be right back." And the she-devil was gone. He looked at Hank, read the shock on his face and felt better instantly. No way were they doing this.
He started walking towards the side gate, stopping when Hank's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?" Man, the guy sounded as freaked out as he felt.
"We're leaving. Come on." He tried to tug his arm back to his side and got nowhere.
"We simply cannot leave. The mansion is my home, as it is yours. If we refuse to do this, how long do you think it was remain as such? We must stay."
"But-"
"No. No buts. Freeze the pool. I must Google this Cookie Monster and memorize his song in the next ten minutes before the kids arrive." He grabbed his phone and Bobby was positive he heard "you can do this" being repeated like a mantra as the bigger man typed. He shook his head and took off for the pool, knowing that it would take a bit of time to freeze enough of the top layer of water to make it skateable. He looked up at the sun, beating down merrily and keeping the temperature at a comfortable, for fall anyway, 63 degrees Fahrenheit. He would have his work cut out for him today.
Ten minutes later found Hank and Bobby, both in ice skates, standing in the middle of the ice. Hank heard a van door slide shut followed by the slamming of a few car doors and high-pitched shrieking. He turned to Bobby, mouthed "good luck" at him, hoping he could see through the eyeholes in the Big Bird costume he was currently stuck in, and adjusted the slightly too tight black swim trunks that made up his 'costume'. This is for my lab, he remembered as about twenty 4-year-olds came tearing through the back door. Several gasps were heard and they all started racing headlong for the pool. Hank braced himself for impact and was sure it was only seconds away when he heard a child's voice, whiney and demanding as only a child could be, halt the other kids in their tracks.
"NNNNNOOOOOO. Mine. They are mine. It's my birthday. That means I get to skate with them by myself. Alone." And little Ashlee made herself known. Brown pigtails swinging and face pinched, she rounded on her mother, who had rushed over when she heard the first word. "Right?!"
"Right," her mother agreed, pleasantly. "Anything for my sweet birthday girl."
"Put my skates on me. Now." Ashlee plopped down in the dirt and raised her foot in the air, crossing her arms over her little chest. Her mother struggled to get one skate on and was lacing it up when Ashlee started kicking out with her other foot.
"What's taking so long? I want to skate!" she yelled, making her mother speed up her actions.
"I know, angel. It will be time in just a minute. There. All set." The mother stood and picked up Ashlee, setting the girl on the ice. Hank looked down at her and tried to smile, though he figured gritted teeth would have to do. He did not want to skate with this little brat. He glanced at the other children and saw looks of awe and delight on their little faces, making his smile real. This would be okay. The other kids would appreciate it.
"Do you want to skate with me Ashlee?" he asked her, leaning down so she could see his face.
"Sing," she demanded. Looking over her shoulder she yelled "Mom. Cookie." And turned back to him. "SING!" she shouted now, in his face, grabbing a huge cookie from her mother and handing it to him. He opened his mouth, took a small bite and started.
"C is for cookie. That's good enough for me. C is for cookie. That's good enough for me. C is for cookie. That's good enough for me. Cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C." He grinned at her and she raised her arms, scowling as he picked her up.
"Again. And let's skate." He kept singing the song, over and over again, skating around the pool and watching the other kids as he went by. Eventually, Ashlee was magnanimous enough to allow the other children onto the ice and they all started skating with Big Bird. But no one else was allowed to skate with or even talk to Cookie Monster.
She fed him cookie after cookie, until he thought he would explode with another one, and her little voice would constantly demand over and over that he sing to her. He started envisioning grabbing her by her pigtails and hammer throwing her over the back fence, the images playing through his brain the only thing keeping him from actually doing it. He allowed himself that respite for a few minutes before he started feeling bad for mentally threatening a 4-year-old. He searched for, and finally found, his light at the end of the tunnel. Through the rest of the party, all the temper tantrums, tears, shrieks, fur pulling ear yanking and puking he just kept the idea of solitude, of his beautiful lab, in the front of his mind. He didn't know how Bobby was coping and, frankly, he could not bring himself to care. This was a case of only the strongest survive, a perfect model for the ideas of Darwinism. You could not help those that were weaker than you unless you were first positive you were going to survive. And this was one case where survival was not a guarantee.
"Professor, I think we have a problem. Hank's holed up in his lab."
"I fail to see how that is a problem, Rogue. He spends many nights there working on delicate experiments that take extensive monitoring. He was most eager to return to the lab after he got back from the outing today. As a matter of fact, he dropped the check on my desk and was gone before I could even ask how it went."
"Yeah, but this time, he's doing some not so scientific experiments. And I could distinctly smell hair dye when I walked past the room, so I poked my head in just to see what was going on." She trailed off.
"And?" Xavier prompted.
"He was sitting in the back corner, covered in black hair dye. I mean, his whole body professor! He looked like a shadow with eyes and fangs. And he was watching this beaker boil while rocking back and forth slightly. Evidently, he was trying to further distil a bottle of 190 proof Everclear. I didn't even know you could get that in the US! And he was mumbling. When I got closer, I could see his eyes darting around frantically, obviously looking for something though I have no idea what. And he kept singing, over and over in a broken voice 'C is for Cookie. That's good enough for me'. You need to do something professor. What the hell kind of job did you send him on today anyway?"
"Oh dear," Xavier sighed, flopping back into his chair. "I will see if I can help him somehow."
"You better," Rogue growled, channeling Logan in this time of need. She started walking from the room and threw over her shoulder. "Oh yeah. While you're at it, you might want to go get Bobby off the roof. He was threatening to jump, I guess for some reason he thinks he can fly now, until I saw him and tied him to the chimney. For his own protection you understand." And she was gone.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here we go again. Thanks for reading!
Chapter End Notes:
I feel so mean right now... Let me know what you think!
Wanna see something hysterical? This had me laughing the entire time I was writing this chapter.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BovQyphS8kA
Picture poor poor hank here.
A shout out to someone, I can't remember who it was or what fic it was in, for saying that Hank looked like Cookie Monster. That started this ball rolling and it kind of wrote itself. Also, a slight nod to the movie Matilda for the hammer throwing of a child idea.
Wanna see something hysterical? This had me laughing the entire time I was writing this chapter.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BovQyphS8kA
Picture poor poor hank here.
A shout out to someone, I can't remember who it was or what fic it was in, for saying that Hank looked like Cookie Monster. That started this ball rolling and it kind of wrote itself. Also, a slight nod to the movie Matilda for the hammer throwing of a child idea.