Decisions.

[Ororo Munroe]

Ororo sits in the medbay, one leg crossed over the other. Her hands are in her lap, and she absentmindedly smoothes them over the long, flowing skirt she's currently wearing.

It's been two days since Alcatraz. Yesterday, herself, Hank, Warren, and Josh were in Washington, and officially revealed the existence of the X-Men. The media had been obsessively covering the press conference since then. To her amusement, the X-Men even had an unofficial fan website. As of this morning, there had been profiles for the three of them, along with speculative pictures and articles on some of the other members that had been caught on video in Congress, and at Alcatraz in the spring. For the sake of Hank's UN appointment, they'd decided to downplay his active involvement.

As soon as the rescue team had returned, Toni had sent Josh back to bed, with strict orders to get some rest. She supposed Warren was making sure he did so. Fortunately, aside from a neck ache, Toni herself was fine. Bobby and John, however, had needed medical attention as soon as they'd arrived. Neither of them had been awake for any substantial length of time since their return. The two of them were lying, side by side, on recovery beds along the wall.

"John... what on earth am I going to do with you?" Ororo says this aloud, to herself, showing a rare moment of indecision. John was one of her own, very much their own prodigal son. Despite this, his face had been slapped across newspapers in conjunction with the attack on Alcatraz in the spring. Charles... I wish you were here right now. When Professor Xavier had been with them, confusing problems had a way of seeming utterly straightfoward. She supposed it was just one of his strengths.

[nightcrawler]

The door to the med lab opened smoothly and almost quietly, allowing a small fuzzy blue figure admittance. Kurt was hunched over slightly as usual, his preferred posture and his tail was high, flipping about as if seeing things for itself. He wore a pair of multicolored wide bottomed pants, no shoes, and a tan sleeveless vest sans jacket. The silver cross he carried everywhere with him hung from the chain wrapped around his waist, like some obscure belt. His eyes darted toward the two young boys lying on the beds and then slowly to Ororo. He slowed and stopped just inside the door, unsure just how any of this was going to play out, after all, Ororo had so many things so untimely laid at her feet....but then again, maybe this was the best time for an old friend....even if he didn't seem to be as of late.

Kurt's actions back on that island, back on Alcatraz, had been confusing...for both sides, but he did what he did for a reason, one he hoped the others would understand. Everything was a blur of fire, metal, blood and pain....not to mention the chaos of having 'her' there.....the woman who shared so many physical traits as him, the mutant known as Mystique. Kurt had made a hasty decision to save her....how could he not? When he saw her cornered like that by the X-men and those soldiers.....he just acted, teleporting her away and to saftey........after all, mother is god in the eyes of a child, even if she threw him away.

With a deep breath and a one slow steady step after another, Kurt spoke, "How are they?," he asked, stopping beside John's bed, looking the boy's shoulder over, seeing if the bullet hole was healing properly. Kurt knew who John was and the things the boy had done, but that was none of his burden. Kurt looked after all who needed his help, regardless of which side they fought for, after all, none of them were perfect. His bright yellow eyes turned toward Ororo, searching her troubled face, letting out a slow worried breath, "You take too much upon yourself," he said as his eyes drifted back to John, pulling the covers back slightly, checking the bandages to see if they needed changing.

[Ororo Munroe]

Ororo is slightly surprised by Kurt's presence. Then again, perhaps it makes sense, given his unofficial role as school counselor.

> You take too much upon yourself

She gives a faint smile, the first since she's arrived in the medical lab. "Perhaps." Ororo looks down for a moment, but then connects her gaze with Kurt's again. "It's all too important for me not to." The school. The X-Men. The children. The dream. The Professor's dream. Take your pick, really.

"They'll be alright. Hank says they're both tough boys." She studies Kurt for a moment. "I'm relieved that everyone on both missions returned safely."

"I suppose I'm not sure where to go from here. John was an innocent boy when he left us... but he's certainly not, now. Yet what Josh, Toni, and Warren told me leads me to believe that he genuinely tried to rescue Bobby... despite the fact that it was he who originally delivered Bobby into Magneto's hands." She shakes her head at the seeming contradiction. "What do say, Kurt? I value your opinion, my friend."

[nightcrawler]

Kurt fidgeted with the gauze and bandages wrapped around John's shoulder...not really doing anything with them, other than buying his some thinking time. This whole situation was a bit....disturbing for him, considering the whole relationship thing between the two boys and the outlook Kurt had on such things, but he steeled his nerves and mentally reminded himself that he wasn't judge nor executioner. He would deal with this on his own and as best he could, choosing contact with the boys only when they needed him or sought him out for some reason.

With a heavy sigh, Kurt pulled the bed sheet back up over John's chest and stepped back, instinctively taking up the small cross which hung from the chain around his waist. He rubbed the cold smooth metal between his fingers and stared at the two boys for a moment, apparently going through some sort of private war inside his mind. "And who among us is innocent Ororo?," he asked her as he looked to her with a genuine questioning look, "You? Me? Perhaps Logan?," he posed, shrugging at the mention of Logan's name and turning from the sick beds, "Ve all have done things...," he began as he cast Ororo a glance from over his shoulder as he turned his body slightly in her direction, "but someone....," he said glancing to the picture of Charles Xavier and Jean hanging on the all over one of the desks, "gave us all a new start...didn't he?," he asked, letting Ororo mull that idea over.

The silence which followed was filled up as Kurt moved to a small glass medicine cabinet, staring at his own reflection, but more importantly watching Ororo's. She looked tired and worn, like she had been stretched and pulled too far. Too many things weighed her down and Kurt longed to help her, but he knew he could only offer her advice and point her in general directions, for the decisions that she made were just that....hers and hers alone to make.

[Ororo Munroe]

> You? Me? Perhaps Logan? ... Ve all have done things ... but someone ... gave us all a new start ... didn't he?

Ororo folds her arms across her chest. "I can't say I speak for Logan..." - a small smirk appears on her face while thinking of him as 'innocent' - "But you're quite right. I was hardly a beacon of virtue when the Professor rescued me from Farouk..." The smile slips from her face at the thought. "At the same time... It's not my judgment that I'm worried about. John will always be one of my children, as far as I'm concerned." Concern shows in her eyes. "I'm more worried about how much the government knows about his involvement with Magneto. It could be... problematic."

Her eyebrows bob up briefly as she shrugs. "Of course, I could be putting much more effort into this than's necessary. It's very possible John has no interest in staying with us, whether we want him to or not. Locks certainly have never stopped him in the past." And he's left us before... Ororo doesn't add the final comment, but it hangs in the air nonetheless.

After a moment, she looks back over to Kurt. "Thank you, friend. For reminding me that all of us make bad decisions from time to time. I only hope that I will make the right one, this time."

[Pyro]

”Fuck...”

If there was any doubt that what remained was indeed John then that dull croak – in a voice dried up from lack of use and still getting accustomed to working again - should have been proof enough, his signature refuge when things were beyond explanation... or just when, as now, the world was going to hell (though to be fair now was nearer hell, and he less aware of that fact, than usual). What else there was remained to be seen, for he was still working out the details of that himself. Sedatives did strange things to the mind, starting with making him forget exactly what had pulled him from the comfortable dark numbness (so any sharp spike of pain would be a wonderful surprise later… nice) and ending with rendering the last few days a mad blur he’d yet to make sense of, fragments divorced of time or space and just blending into one god awful mess. Something to do with Bobby…

… erk. Thinking was not good, made his head spin again. Questions for later. Right now only one stood out – ”What the hell was I drinking?” – half whined into the sheets as he tried to pull away from the light and the noise and all the other *delights* of the waking world. Because that was what this had to be, right? The mother of all hangovers. It would explain the drained heavy feeling, and the sensation that large parts of his brain had been carved out with some combination of sledgehammer and melon baller. Everything else had yet to localize beyond a general ache, but whatever that was could be ignored for now. Back to the dark and the semi-silence. That at least made sense... unlike this nonsense about needles and running and flames and... erk. Because that was what it had to be. Nonsense. A mix of drunken rantings and nightmares. No way it could be real.

[Ororo Munroe]

> What the hell was I drinking?

Oh, John. It's good to have you back with us. Even if you are as foul-mouthed as ever. Ororo smoothly gets out of her chair and steps across the room to John's bedside.

"As hard as this may be to believe, you're not hung over. You were shot. Things seem to be healing up well, though." She glances over the readouts on the monitor next to the wall. Everything looked good, though it was likely he was thirsty. "Would you like a glass of water?" Not waiting for a response, she heads over to the counter and draws a cupful. She returns to his bedside and stands over him.

"I'm afraid that you've returned to... what was it, again? The 'Leather Emporium'? I'm sorry we're not dressed properly." Amusement dances in her eyes. "Welcome home, John."

[Pyro]

”Shot?”

Okay, that would go some way to explaining a few things… though not why he’s here (wherever here was) talking to… no, couldn’t be her. That’s insane. And uncurling and glancing around would surely prove that, right?

… Or not. Because once he gets over the shiny white brightness of it all (which given the already scrambled state of his brain is like jamming a power drill in through the eyes) and the sharp stabbing in his right shoulder (… ah. That would be the ‘shot’ bit then) enough to take things in, casting shaky, wary side glances, features set somewhere between confusion and something more akin to panic… it still doesn’t make any sense. This isn’t Kansas any more, is it?

”Why am…” he starts, pulling himself with a slight – okay, more than slight – wince into something nearer a seated position, the change from semi-lying down making his head whirl in a million different directions all at once. The question rephrases itself into something far more fitting as he blinks that off. ”What the fu-hell?” John casts another disbelieving glance at the figure at his bedside (who he still can’t quite believe actually is who she appears to be, though even a hallucinatory Ororo is enough for him to check the instinct to throw further f-bombs into the mix), his next few words punctuated with the declarative gestures people make when they’re trying to force the world to obey the rules when it insists on being insane, somehow both unsure and weirdly insistent. ”I don’t… live… here. You’re the ene..”

No time to get used to it, though. They’ve accepted that I’m the enemy…

Okay… memory? Can’t be. Just… medication, or blood loss, or something. He reels again… no, none of this is making any sense. And thinking still hurts, and not knowing what’s going on is horrible.

John cocks an eyebrow at the offer of water. ”Got anything stronger? Because this really isn’t making any sense.”

[nightcrawler]

Kurt turned slightly as he heard the sound of John's voice, surprised to see the young boy awake and semi-aware. John's body hadn't suffered any sort of life threatening damage, although the loss of blood was always a worry, but he had bled no more than expected. John's ailments seemed to be mental and emotional than physical, thus putting more strain upon an already weakened and over used body. No one knew the extent of John Allerdyce's power but Kurt suspected he was no different than any other mutant, over use leading to fatigue and eventual collapse, which was also a likely contributor to his condition now as well.

Ororo was quickly to her feet and tended to John, ever the mother hen so to speak, and a smile spread across Kurt's face. Ororo was a good woman and the Professor had done right by her and had chosen a more than suitable successor, even if Ororo herself didn't think so. Sure, she lacked the experience that the Professor had, but that would come with time. The main focal point here was her ability to care....that desire to help any student who came here seeking it, just like the Professor had.

"I believe vater iz the strongest thing you need right now," Kurt said as he turned and slowly approached the boy and Ororo, letting his bright yellow eyes dart to the monitoring equipment as he did so. Kurt was no doctor, but he was more than medically aware enough, knowing which things to watch and capable of tending to minor wounds and such. "And ve are troubled to hear that even you can't make sense of all this, for ve vere hoping you could perhaps clear things up for us," he added, stealing a glance to the still unconscious Bobby Drake just beside John.

[Ororo Munroe]

> You’re the ene..

Ororo's smile slips from her face at this. She briefly considers beating him over the head with his IV drip, but realizes that Hank would probably walk in and she would be banned from the medical lab for eternity. What, does Magneto have you so indoctrinated that we're simply the 'enemy' now? Ororo bites back her next thought: Do you always seduce your enemies? She glances across the gurney at Bobby, though, which likely has the same effect.

> Got anything stronger? Because this really isn’t making any sense.

"I believe Kurt is right. While that has never stopped you in the past, I think alcohol would have a detrimental effect on your system right now." Ororo lets dry humor creep into her voice.

"I was hoping to hear your side of... all of this." She waves a hand in the air vaguely. "We heard a little from Josh and Warren, but they're sleeping off the mission. Toni's on an errand for me." Ororo fixes him with a stare.

"Which leaves you, as Bobby is currently unconscious."

[Pyro]

Clear up… side… all what now?

Okay, stop it. You know something happened… details’ll come later John forces himself to focus on what Ororo’s saying despite the muggy haziness creeping around the edges whenever he tries to focus on anything much, because what she’s saying probably relates to all of this, and… right. Something about a mission (Kaytraz? No… that’s stupid. He wasn’t going to that, was he?)… and…

Shit, Bobby. It’s like a knife to the gut just hearing his name, because no amount of sedation or concussion or anything can make the spike which accompanies it any less real… and while that stab might be a good thing in so far as pieces start falling into place around it, the vague blur re-arranging itself into a tentative attempt at chronology, it still fucking hurts…

… though not half as badly as it does when, shifting under Ororo’s penetrating gaze, he sneaks a glance sideways trying to find something to look at other than her, because seeing the gurney opposite simultaneously twists the blade home and sends a sharp, needling numbness through him, a biting paralysis like an icy electric shock. And nowhere near as badly as not being able to launch into any of the suitably melodramatic bedside behaviors he’d usually sneer at but right now understands completely (and yes, he’s pretending that’s down to Ororo and Kurt being there and possibly either not knowing or being weird about it all and not the completely justified fear that Bobby will wake up and punch him or bite his throat out or something). As it is, all John can do is turn his gaze back to Ororo, suddenly weirdly childishly vulnerable, questioning and sort-of-scared, totally ignoring her question for the moment because his own is obviously far more important and there’s no way he’s going to be anything like coherent until it’s answered. His tone at least strives for something nearer not-caring, but with the expression and circumstance he can’t quite pull it off. ”He’s going to be okay, though, right?”

[Ororo Munroe]

Ororo looks at John, wondering whether his memory problems are genuine or some sort of way of worming out of fault for his actions. As much as she loved him, he had a difficulty in accepting responsibility for his mistakes. Then again, by all accounts, Josh did throw him around some.

So she eyes him up, perhaps a little skeptically. You're not worming your way out of this one, John. Time to grow up.

> He’s going to be okay, though, right?

The look on his face wipes all of her impatience away. Even before John had left the Institute, she would have characterized him as inward-looking. He hadn't given a shit what others thought of him, save perhaps the other points of his complicated triangle. John wore a mask to conceal his true feelings, a mask usually consisting of a sour scowl. Ororo had assumed that Magneto would have tried to stomp any remaining vestiges of *John* away. Thinking minions are dangerous minions, after all. As she watches him, though, Ororo feels like she's seeing John for the first time in a long time.

After a moment she answers. "Bobby is going to be fine. He lost some blood, and his shoulder was in terrible shape, but he will heal. It appears that Magneto was going for the maximum amount of pain while still keeping him alive." He voice turns angry at this last. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was someone hurting her children.

[Pyro]

John’s response is a lot of things. It starts as a half-sigh of relief, turns first into a wince at the run down of Bobby’s injuries then something darker and more dangerous at the mention of Magneto – a stifled, cut-off laugh and almost growled, bitterly whimsical ”Sounds like his style.” - and finishes up at the same weird expression which preceded it. It’s not quite enough, despite its range, to either express or order everything going on in his head, and it’s definitely nothing like the explanation he’s guessing he should probably be trying to offer.

It’s another one of those things which drives home the difference between the Institute and The Brotherhood. There you’re trained not to ask ‘why’. There everything’s ‘why not?’ and ‘because I said so, that’s why’… but neither of those can justify this, even within in his particular twisted brand of logic… and in any case he’s starting to realise just how *twisted* that mindset is, and how badly it fails to properly rationalize anything…

”I didn’t know that was the plan.” he starts, his insistence coupling a juvenile determination with an adult’s understanding that said willpower might not be quite enough to make this work. ”This wasn’t how things were meant to play out. I thought…”

… and he stops dead, not so much questioning exactly what it was he did think as nauseated at what the answer to that question would be. Because if he really did believe that – and he has no doubt that the John, or rather Pyro, that he was back then, did so without second thought – then shit, how naïve and stupid was he? This was never running to any script other than Magneto’s, and it was beyond stupid to think that would play out any way other than this, or that he could hope to change things even a little…

No matter how much that makes him hate himself, he’s not going to break in front of Ororo. He’s not going to cry, because that would be weak and stupid and self-pitying and all sorts of pathetic… and to his credit he doesn’t, though the next few words are, despite the overwhelming bittersweet flavor, tinged with something nearer anger which could easily be blamed on biting back tears – if he were, which he’s obviously not. And there’s no point self-censoring because no other phrase can sum up exactly how much of a mistake he’s made anywhere near as well. ”Fucked it all up pretty well this time…”

[Ororo Munroe]

> This wasn’t how things were meant to play out. I thought…

That's the question, isn't it? How on earth could you think taking the love of your life to Magneto could ever be a good idea? Ororo refrains from stating things quite like that, instead opting for taking things a little more gently.

"I heard a little from Josh about your... encounter... at Baker, down the street. He mentioned you seemed to think that this was your only option." She hesitates for a moment. "John, how could you ever think for a moment that Magneto, of all people, was your only choice?"

A variety of emotions flicker behind his eyes, too quickly for Ororo to decipher. Well, apparently Magneto was unable to beat all of his feelings away. That's a start. It was obvious that John was realizing how much of a mistake he'd made. Fleetingly, Ororo thinks back to her earlier conversation with Kurt. He's right. Everyone makes mistakes.

> Fucked it all up pretty well this time…

"I can't say I disagree. However, I'm thankful that no permanent damage was done." Though what state your relationship with Bobby is in after this, is anyone's guess. "I suppose the question now is... what will you do now, John? Return to Magneto?" She tries to keep disappointment out of her voice at that.

[Pyro]

< John, how could you ever think for a moment that Magneto, of all people, was your only choice?
”I don’t know” he shoots back, perhaps a little too quickly and fierily and with all a child’s flailing desperation in the face of not understanding things. ”It’s… what he does. Makes you think there’s only the one way. Makes you eat, breathe, sleep the cult of Erik fucking Lensherr… and packages it up as *The Cause*, and you don’t ever question it.” It’s a pathetic non-excusing excuse, and he knows it, but it’s all there is. The great truth of the matter; he was a fool, and let himself be seduced by stupid speeches about superiority and Gods and freedom without noticing that it was at best a house of cards and at worst… okay, pointedly not thinking about that.

He can’t help the half-sneer which accompanies his next words any more than he could the venom in his last, as if the old defense mechanisms are straining to screech into life - ”What was I meant to do, run to you for help? Sure. That would have worked.” – though they give in almost entirely as he goes on, visibly deflating again as they’re stripped away, because the truth is far smaller and more wretched. ”He knew. He found out… some things… about us. This was never about Alcatraz, really. It was about keeping me in line. And if I hadn’t done exactly what he wanted he’d’ve sent Mystique, or someone. Someone who wouldn’t have given a damn about kill.. removing the problem straight out… I did what I had to.” – and no, not thinking about how uncomfortably close to I was just following orders that sounds either – ”And it was probably the wrong decision… but I can’t see what the right one would’ve been. Everything’s fucked to all hell.”

There’s a bigger question in Ororo’s words, of course, harking back to Alkali Lake, but he’s not up to facing that one yet. Even this relatively small one’s draining him far more than it should, and he’s fighting off a shiver (yep, just a shiver, not shaking… nope. Not) and scrubbing fiercely at his eyes with the back of a wrist (though definitely not to stop tears) as he hugs his knees up to his chest…

< What will you do now, John?[/color]
… Good question. Here he is acting like his life’s over… But that’s the point. It is, isn’t it?

< Return to Magneto?
”Can’t” John says, simply, looking back up to her. ”He’d kicked me out before I pulled this… I guess… If you don’t hand me over to the authorities and the gas chamber I go rogue for the day or so it takes him to track me down and…” Another shiver, another fierce attempt not to be swayed by it. Yep. Definitely over. Because all the ways this could branch off are pretty bleak…