Sins of the Father

Sins of the Father Chapter Fifty Six (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta... *whew * Over ficced, lol. InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are marshmallowy goodness for archiving/hosting! ProPhile: *sly gloke * Morgan: ...hello? Proforce: GLOMP *ahem * Readers/Reviewers: And we're winding down... *shifty eyes * The next fic is going to be lighter, less twisty and a bit smuttier... *g * But in the meantime... *adoring worshipful eyes * Thank you soooooooooooooo much!

Storm paused in the doorway to the rustic cabin and frowned. The Morlocks were silent in the dark, all but the few who had been assigned to watch her. She knew, despite Caliban's murmured assurances that they were not her guards or his spies, the handful of mutants lingering near the cold hearth were not merely wakeful and seeking her companionship. She stared out into the darkness of the forested night and smirked. A few pale forms moved beneath the trees; the sentry, she supposed. The night was quiet, something she knew was not quite normal. No crickets, no night birds, no sound at all save for the ever-so-faint rustling of grass as a soft breeze played between the blades and the hiss of pine needles as the stirring air sent some of the winter's last dried leaves filtering to the ground. She let the breeze fade and inhaled slowly, tasting the air as it rolled over her senses. It was a spring night, warm but not hot, the last tinge of winter's chill barely tangible. The burgeoning blossoms on the wildflowers lent a sweet-spicy tang to the air as Storm stepped onto the swept dirt space in front of the door. The Professor's cabin was by no means as large or well appointed as the Institute, but it was a damned sight better than most public campgrounds, Storm thought as she moved a few feet further into the darkness. She had not gone more than six feet from the door before a small woman appeared silently in front of her. No matter how many times she had seen Morlocks, Storm could not suppress the small shudder of revolted fascination that swept through her as she regarded this woman: she was small, no more than four foot even, and had striking green eyes and lush, thick blonde hair, but she lacked the most basic part of the human face. She had no mouth. "Um...hello..." Storm tried not to stare but wondered just how this woman intended on communicating.
A series of rapid fire images seemed to hang in the air between them as the Morlock stared up at Storm, her eyes placid yet alert. It was as if the images were being projected from some invisible source, showing Storm talking with Caliban, stroking Evan's cheek as he slept just a few hours ago... scenes from the moment she had arrived amongst them until the moment that the small woman appeared in front of her played before Storm. The woman stepped back and cocked her head to one side, clearly inquiring if she understood that so far.
Storm nodded. "Okay. You show me what you mean then." She smiled encouragingly, noticing that the other Morlocks that had been in the woods were now coming into the clearing, edging slowly closer as if they were anticipating some outburst or show. Storm thought the small woman might have sighed in relief but she could not truly tell. Instead of worrying about it, she focused her attention on the images she was being shown. Caliban and several of the other Morlocks, including Evan whom she could never label as anything other than her family, her surrogate son, were walking in the woods, nearing a road that she could glimpse through trees. She could not hear anything as Caliban stepped out onto the asphalt. "Pietro," she hissed. "Magneto is about..." Something near the blond caught her eye. An indistinct shape, a shimmer more than a truly opaque entity, seemed to move in lazy waves around him, avoiding Caliban entirely. Even as the scene played out, it was obvious that this shape wanted something to do with Pietro, and failing that, one of the Morlocks she knew were standing just out of sight. It took her a moment to realize that the scene had ended, her mind whirling to catch up with what she had just seen. "They're bringing them back here?" she asked flatly. "Why?"
The woman shrugged and looked over her shoulder at one of the other Morlocks. A man with green skin, the same shade as grass in high summer, stepped forward. He had gills, Storm noticed, which fluttered pinkly in the moonlight. At his hip hung two spray bottles of water, their use evidenced by the sheen of sparkling droplets on his neck around the gills. "The time has come for allegiances to be tested," he rasped, his voice thick and ill used, she thought. "The youths from the other old man are undecided, deep in their hearts. Now is the time. We are neutral, we are not going to join you or them. They need to choose, though. They need to know the entire truth before they do."
"What entire truth?" Storm asked sharply, regretting her tone as the man raised one scaled brow. "What truth do they get to be told when I have not even been given the courtesy of a straight answer?"
"Mercutio," the green man sighed. "If you are going to call me names in your head, I am Mercutio. And you know the truth, you just choose not to acknowledge it."
Storm opened her hand in a gesture bespeaking acceptance or dismissal. "Again, the run around. If I knew what truth you meant, I would not be so annoyed at being evaded." To punctuate her words, a stiff breeze blew across the group, sweeping their shoulders and nipping bare ankles with speckles of ice too small for the eye to see.
Mercutio shrugged. "All things in time, Ororo Munro. But at the end of all things, you will remember that you chose a side, you were spared. You are absolved of the sins of the father."