Ode to Joy
Posted on Mon Jun 23rd, 2025 @ 5:27pm by Charles Xavier & Scott Summers & Connor Bruin & Moira MacTaggert & Bobby Drake & Hank McCoy & Meilin Jiang & Kurt Wagner & Hayden Davis & Jean Grey-Summers & Kennedy Kelly & Maeve MacKenna & Jennifer Bryant & Drew Williams & Desmond Greene & Sarah Mitchell & Alaric Thane & Pietro Maximoff & Warren Worthington III & Rahne Sinclair & Angela Williams & Cecilia Reyes M.D. & Sean Cassidy
Edited on on Mon Jun 23rd, 2025 @ 5:33pm
0 words; about a 1 minute read
Mission:
Episode 6: X-Fernus Agenda
Location: X-Mansion
Timeline: January 27, 1991 - Evening
With the bride and groom’s exit from the tent for the wedding ceremony, the guests were directed back inside to the space most of them knew to be the cafeteria and dining room. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters had once been known as Graymalkin Manor. A summer home on Breakstone Lake, the prestigious family would host grand balls and dinner parties in the large entertainment space. For tonight’s wedding reception, the dining room had been returned to its former glory and intended purpose.
The room was decorated in the same white flowers and greenery as the ceremony location, giving the room an enchanting and elegant splash of color that stood out nicely against its dark wood walls.
Gone were the family style tables and warming trays used to feed the students, replaced by round tables covered in linen tablecloths and a buffet style dinner with a carving station and all the fixing.
To get the reception started, hors d’oeuvres were passed around by servers on polished silver trays along with an open bar for the adults and mocktails for the students. It was an open invitation to mix and mingle, to snack and socialize while they waited for Scott and Jean to arrive.
Jennifer entered arm in arm with Drew. Her sleeveless red dress came down to just below her knees. There was a broad, warm smile on her face. She looked around for the bride and groom, taking in the redecorated cafeteria She was so used to seeing this place as a school that she sometimes forgot it really was an elegant, palatial mansion.
Drew was clad in a well tailored suit. The outfit he often wore to Sunday services at church. He kept smiling and thinking about the wedding. Deep down he was wishing that it was Jennifer and he who had gotten married. It was a thought he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried. Jennifer was his first true love and the only woman who had ever really tried to understand him without judgment. He looked at the one thing that could distract him. The food. "Shall we grab some food and something to drink?"
"We should," Jennifer agreed, "and mingle some." She looked around. It seemed like there were a few clusters of people they might join.
Drew looked around the room for a moment. He wasn't the most social person, even at the best of times. "How about you find us drinks and people to hang out with and I'll grab the food?"
"What do you want to drink?" Jennifer asked him.
Drew smiled at Jennifer. "Surprise me." He set off to find food for them both.
Hayden stepped hesitantly into the transformed dining hall, pausing just a moment at the threshold as her eyes adjusted to the warm golden lighting. She wore a modest, soft navy wrap dress that tied at the waist and hit just below the knee. The sleeves were three-quarter length, pushing the look into something timeless and comfortable. She had paired it with skin-colored flats and a pale beige cardigan draped over her shoulders, the kind of outfit that let her blend in rather than stand out.
Her blonde hair was pinned back in a loose twist at the nape of her neck, just tidy enough to feel intentional, a few strands escaping around her face. There was no shimmer in her makeup, just a natural flush on her cheeks and a bit of lip balm for color. On her wrist was a thin, well-kept silver bracelet that had belonged to her grandmother. She slipped quietly toward one of the smaller tables near the edge of the room, where a few others were gathering around a plate of hors d’oeuvres and mocktails.
"Who would've guessed that the dining room could be so lavish," she said. "It's almost like stepping back in time."
"TIME TRAVEL IS IMPOSSIBLE," Connor signed with one hand while shoving hors d'oeuvres into his mouth with the other. "EVERY SHIFT THROUGH TIME WOULD CREATE A BRANCH. THE PAST YOU ARRIVE IN MIGHT LOOK AND FEEL LIKE YOURS BUT IT WOULD NOT BE."
He looked at Hayden, eyes intense. "BECAUSE THE MOMENT YOU LEAVE YOUR NATIVE TIMELINE, IT CEASES TO BE YOURS. EVEN IF YOU RETURN TO A POINT THAT MATCHES WHERE YOU STARTED, IT WOULD BE ONLY A NEAR DUPLICATE." With both hands free, he started signing faster. "FOR THE PEOPLE YOU LEFT BEHIND, YOU DISAPPEARED. AND FOR THE ONES YOU COME BACK TO, YOU NEVER REALLY EXISTED, NOT THE YOU THAT ARRIVED. THEREFORE, THAT IS NOT TRAVEL. THAT IS ANNIHILATION."
"Dayum, Connor," Darian quipped with a chuckle, "gimme summa whatever you're smokin', man. You be blazin' fo' sho'!"
Both of them were dressed in borrowed suits, Connor's from Hank's old wardrobe and Darian in something from Warren's abundance of lost clothes. Connor narrowed his eyes at Darian, wondering what to make of him.
Hayden put a hand on Connor's shoulder, "Maybe you can explain it again some other time. Like, in the Danger Room with all of the holographic stuff for the visual learners."
She removed her hand and looked at Darian. "You're such a dork," she said, smiling. "Connor's just enjoying the reception...without smoking anything. Let him shine."
Actually Connor, I don’t agree with your assessment. You’re forgetting about multiverse theory” Sarah said, as she joined the group, having overheard Connor’s statement about time travel. She’d tied her ginger hair back into a simple ponytail and was wearing a green sleeveless dress with matching shoes. Although she hadn’t been here long, she was starting to feel like she could fit in here, and seeing Jean and Scott, the two people who had picked her up and brought her to this school, tie the knot just added to that feeling.
“Once you leave your timeline, you’re entering a parallel reality, in theory," Sarah continued, pausing to give Connor a chance to respond.
"THAT IS WHAT I SAID," Connor signed, wondering where Sarah had mistaken his meaning.
"Then I must had misheard you. Didn't you say when you leave your original timeline, that timeline is no longer the one you left?" Sarah asked, starting to confuse herself. The few books she'd skimmed in the library didn't go that deep into it.
"I CAN TUTOR YOU IN THEORETICAL PHYSICS IF YOU WISH," Connor offered as politely as he knew how. "I DO NOT KNOW IF THAT IS WITHIN ANGELA'S AREA OF STUDY, BUT SHE MAY BE ANOTHER OPTION."
"You guys need some real alcohol... or maybe I do if we are going to talk about time travel and parallel dimensions." Maeve shook her head at the conversation. She had entered the room not far behind the others. She wore a lilac dress, her hair loose but wavy, and light make-up. Nothing too daring.
Connor grinned at Maeve. The Gaelic lilt to her voice and waves of red to her hair were always a touch of home to him from his upbringing on Muir Island. Her simple but graceful lilac gown made for a supple contrast with such delicate features.
"HOUSE RULES SAY STUDENTS CANNOT CONSUME ALCOHOL ON CAMPUS." Connor's eyes took on a mischievous glint. "BUT I DO NOT SEE STUDENTS. I SEE WEDDING GUESTS." There were other reasons for Connor's foolhardy suggestion, such as the last time he had consumed alcohol, he turned verbal temporarily.
"Aww hell yeah!" Darian exclaimed.
"BE QUIET," Connor signed before placing a shushing finger to his lips.
"No shit, dawg," Darian said, rubbing his hands together while his eyes scanned the dry bar. "I got this.
Big men can be quiet if they want to be. Desmond tried his best to shuffle in ever-so-quietly. His mother had heard that there was to be a wedding Desmond was expected to attend. She had prepared some funds for him, and sent him to the local big-n-tall again to get something appropriately. So now Desmond shuffled in quietly, feeling like a penguin in his suit.
Alaric walked in wearing what he'd termed his 'Limbo clothes' and others called old world Eastern European. Whatever the title, he was comfortable and that's all that mattered to him. The golden glow spilling from chandeliers and sconces caught faintly on the edges of his attire. He was dressed in a long, black leather coat with a high collar and intricate details, accompanied by a red, detailed vest, a white shirt with a wide collar, and dark pants. A black scarf was tied around his neck. His attire was completed with high leather boots.
Alaric didn’t look uncomfortable in the way someone might when they were fidgeting or hesitating. It was more the way he observed everything; every movement in the room, every laugh or clink of glass. His gaze swept the reception like he was reading the room for danger rather than it's charms. He shook his head...only two weeks since his arrival. Some habits would be hard to break. While doing that, he noticed someone that he hadn't had a chance to meet yet, Rahne Sinclair. Yes, he'd spent time getting to know many of the others, but not the school's wild child. And now seemed just as good a time as any to fix that.
Alaric walked slowly up to her and smiled. "I've seen you around and heard of you, but hadn't had the chance to introduce myself. Alaric Thane," he said looking at the auburn-haired girl.
“Och, "Ye heard aboot me?” Rahne said in disbelief as she paused in her two fisted eating of any and all hors d’oeuvres that passed by her. Despite stuffing her face, the wolf girl was actually rather clean and presentable. She had been dressed in a rose pink dress with her wild hair braided and adorned with ribbons and baby’s breath throughout it. “Ah heard aboot you. Whit’s it like livin’ wi’ horrible beasts that want tae eat yer banes?”
Alaric took a couple of pieces of food from a tray. "It was scary at first. But I learned it isn't about being the strongest. It’s about knowing when to fight, when to run...and when to remind the beasts that you’re worse than they are." He grinned and continued, "I was meaner, smarter, and willing to fight dirtier than the thing trying to eat me." He popped one of the bite-sized bits into his mouth.
"What was it like for you coming from your home to this one?" he asked.
“Ah dinnae huv tae worry aboot gettin’ hit fur bein’ wicked, an’ they fed me,” Rahne said with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders before shoving even more food into her mouth. "Is it weird watchin’ yer da get married?"
"It is a little weird, yes. Even moreso that we aren't that far apart in age." Getting hit for being wicked and not getting fed slammed his protective part hard. As well as the fact that she said it so casually. He remembered some of the stories that Lorna had told him over the years about how the X-Men had saved the world and protected others. Xavier's school was similar to the Askani temple in his mind. And the rest of this realm not much different than Limbo. Or so he was beginning to think.
"Other than being fed and cared for, what else have you gotten to do here?" Alaric asked. "I have heard how there are ample opportunities for training and education, but I'm sure there are some restrictions as well."
"Roolz are whit they want ye tae dae, no whit ye actually dae," Rahne said with another casual shrug, maybe there was a reason why she wasn’t an actual X-Men.
With two glasses of champagne in hand, Dr. Reyes made her way over to Professor Xavier. The doctor had been rather quiet since her arrival at the school but she was adjusting and slowly coming out of her shell. “Your babies are all grown up,” she said with a smile as she handed him a glass.
Charles Xavier accepted the glass with a quiet smile, his fingers brushing the stem with the practiced grace of a man who had toasted to both triumph and loss too many times to count.
"Yes," he said, the word carrying a thousand unspoken memories. His thoughts followed Jean and Scott as they still made their way to the reception hall—her mind's laughter like sunlight, his mental posture finally relaxed for once. "I taught them how to dream beyond their line of sight. But they taught me something greater."
He turned his gaze to Cecilia, a flicker of warmth behind the gravity in his tone. "That hope isn’t something we merely dream. It's something we attain through the bonds forged with those we love." Lifting his glass in a private toast just between the two of them, he said, "To the future. And to the ones who will shape it."
“To a future filled with hope and peace.” Cecilia clinked her glass with Xavier’s before taking a sip.
As the evening progressed the bridal party was released from their role in picture taking, allowing them to enter the ballroom with their plus ones or to find them.
First to enter was Bobby, sliding in his wingtip shoes like they were greased. It didn't take him long to spot Hayden in her gown. She was playing peacemaker between Connor and a couple other students he didn't know.
"Hey, Frosty," he said, sidling up next to her. While they were official as a couple, he still wasn't sure how to act in public where actual people could see. Thinking wasn't his strong suit at the moment, either, bamboozled as he was by Hayden's understated elegance. "You, uh, look incredible."
Hayden had been more than happy to turn the role of peacemaker and subject-changer over to Maeve earlier. Her comment about them needing real alcohol had made Hayden laugh. There was probably more truth to that than anyone was willing to admit.
But now the wedding party had arrived and so had Bobby. "Dang, Slippy, look at you all decked out in a tux like you just walked out of a GQ magazine." Her eyes shimmered for a moment as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What a sharp dressed man. Anyway, nice ceremony with everything all decorated. And the fresh snow, nice touch. You should do that for all the ceremonies around here."
Bobby scratched the back of his neck, trying to downplay the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it was no use—he was absolutely glowing under Hayden's praise.
"Well, I mean... making snow in January's not exactly pulling a rabbit out of a hat," he said with a shrug, his breath puffing faintly with leftover cold. "Now if I'd pulled that off in July? Hell yeah." He gave her a playful once-over and leaned a bit closer, eyes dancing. "But hey, I won't say no to a compliment. Especially not from someone who looks like you do."
His tone shifted, just slightly, to something more teasing. He gestured around at the decorations, the mingling guests, the mood lighting. "So," he said at regular volume, "you come to this wedding with anybody special?" He arched a brow above a crooked smile, even though they both knew the answer. It was just Bobby being Bobby—charming, goofy, and completely smitten.
Hayden didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head, her blonde hair catching the ambient light. She looked around the room as if seriously considering his question. Then she looked back at him with a slow, amused smile.
"Hmm…" she hummed, as if thinking. "I was going to say I came alone, but then this ridiculously cute guy in a tux came up to me and got all flirty. Totally threw off my game." She leaned in slightly, teasing right back. "You wouldn't happen to know who that was, would you?"
She gave him a half-sweet, half-mischievous look and then picked up her drink and took a sip. Her eyes never left Bobby's. "Because if you see him again, you can let him know I'm available for a slow dance...if he asks nicely."
Bobby's grin cracked wide open, uncontainable now. Whatever chill he usually wore as armor had officially melted under Hayden's winsome grin.
"Oh, I'm askin'," he said, already offering his hand without even pretending to play it cool. "I am absolutely asking. Nicely, charmingly, and with just enough awkward enthusiasm to sell my sincerity."
In a moment, Warren stepped up and gathered everyone's attention.
“I think you can break down love and the characteristics of the emotion into an equation to determine its presence. We do it with altruism in animals,” Reed said to Hank while he attempted to formulate the equation in his head.
“Reed,” Sue said with a smile and a playful rolling of her eyes. “Give it a rest for one night, just enjoy the wedding.”
"Your lovely wife has a point," Hank agreed, sharing a champagne flute with the Fantastic couple. "While everything may indeed be distilled down into an equation, some things are simply too full of variables for us to quantify in any meaningful way." He gave Reed a playfully chiding stare over the rim of his glasses. "Love is such a mystery, a gift of nature that we are forced to enjoy because its nature is so elusive as to require personal experience in order to understand it. To quote Oscar Wilde: 'The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of the world'."
Huddled into the far corner as close to the bar as possible, a very uncomfortable Ben and Johnny stood together with drinks in hand. Obviously invites thanks to their connections to Reed and Sue the two bachelors seemed rather lost at the wedding.
"This seems to be a quiet corner," Meilin said as she approached. "May I join? Festivities make me... uncomfortable."
"It's a free country," Ben grumbled, but a quick dart of his eyes in Sue's direction set him straight. "Sorry. I promised Susie I'd be on my best behavior."
"I see," Meilin said flatly, eying him with a measuring stare.
"This is good behavior for Ben," Johnny offered with a sly grin. "Tuxedos make him grouchy."
"You don't say," Meilin said, turning her skeptical look onto Johnny with a sidelong glance. "Some people would say clothes make the man." A hint of teasing laid behind her taciturn expression.
"An' I say t'at man is full of shit!" Ben retorted in his gravelly tone.
"You look about as comfortable in these clothes as I do," Desmond the tree-man said to the walking Rock.
Ben perked up at Desmond's comment, his rocky jaw cracking into a grin. "Finally! Somebody around here gets it. If I wanted ta be trussed up like a Christmas ham, I'da climbed in da oven." He tugged uncomfortably at his collar. "T'is monkey suit's chokin' me wit' a vengeance."
"C'mon, Ben," Johnny said with a sip of champagne and a wicked smirk. "Don't be salty just 'cause the tailor charged you by the square foot."
“That's it, matchstick! One more crack and I'ma send you right up ta chimney!"
"Promises, promises," Johnny quipped, lifting his glass in mock toast. "But if you want to rumble, at least wait 'til the cake's served. I'm not gettin' clobbered on an empty stomach."
Before Ben could retort, Meilin interjected coolly, arching a brow. "Please, gentlemen. If I wanted to watch two hot-headed animals bark at each other, I'd have gone to the zoo."
Ben blinked, and then let out a rumbling chuckle. "Heh. Lady's got a bite. I like that."
Johnny raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll behave." His head slowly pivoted on his neck as his gaze followed Kennedy's entrance. A low wolf whistle escaped his nearly salivating lips. "Well, would you look at..." But he trailed off as a well-dressed Japanese man cut Kennedy off at the pass and respectfully clutched her hand in greeting. "Damn. Lost another one."
Desmond observed the well-practiced bantering between Johnny and Ben with open amusement. He had friends that bickered with their siblings like this. Desmond himself was a bit too old to go back-and-forth with his sisters, but he had seen it between the girls. To him it was a sign of familial affection.
Meilin turned toward Desmond, her tone shifting just enough to show genuine curiosity. "Though I must say, it's refreshing to meet someone else who wears their discomfort honestly. You wear formality like silk on a stormy night, but you make it work." A faint smile curved her lips. "Tell me, do you always make such strong first impressions, Mister...?"
A slight flush came to Desmond's cheeks at the compliment, though due to his mutation it turned a soft green under brown instead of red. "I'm De..." Desmond's voice broke, his normally deep gravel pitching up as if pebbles bouncing off crystal. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I'm Desmond Greene." He gave her his best effort in friendly smiles. "I do try my best to be memorable. Who might I have the pleasure with?" Internally the young man cringed at the line. He was certain he had stolen it from some movie or another, but his face hadn't yet betrayed the internal awkwardness.
"Grimm," rumbled the Thing. "Ben Grimm." He pointed a pebbled finger at the charming blonde guy. "T'at is Johnny Storm. He's on ta prowl on account he didn't have a date for ta weddin'."
"Neither do you, Ben," Johnny retorted with a quick but annoyed side-eye. "We went stag!"
Ben just let out a baritone laugh. "Heh, heh, heh..."
Desmond gave each of them a nod. He wanted to talk to them some more, later. Especially Ben Grimm. If only to find out who his taylor was.
Meilin rolled her eyes. "I guess the wallflower can introduce herself." She extended her hand toward Desmond as if he weren't an arboreal giant. "My name is Meilin Jiang," she said with a cool expression. "Pleasure to meet you, Desmond Greene. Gentlemen appear to be in short supply at the moment."
Desmond's smile turned a little wider at being offered her hand. Quite a few people had avoided physical touch with him since his transformation. It hadn't been an issue with his fellow Mansion Residents. With care and attention, Desmond enclosed her hand with his. He gave it a gentle shake. "Likewise, Meilin," His eyes darted down to meet hers, "Please forgive Mister Grimm and Mister Storm. I think they forgot their gentlemanness in their other pants."
"Oh, I am rather well acquainted already, I'm afraid." Meilin scrunched her face and rolled her eyes again as Johnny became lost in his ogling and Ben his grumbling. "I'm a corporate attorney for Hodge & Associates, although most recently I argued before the Supreme Court. The Baxter Building is unfortunately at the epicenter of my biggest cases of late." Feeling a spark in her hand, Meilin did her best not to inadvertently draw any life energy from Desmond. "And how do you know the bride and groom?"
"You argued before the Supreme Court?" Desmond said with a stutter of awe. His big amber eyes had almost rolled out of their sockets, his eyes were that wide open in surprise. "That's really impressive!" Desmond knew that the people the Professor surrounded himself with couldn't just be a pretty face, but someone around his own age having that kind of resume still shocked him. "I know them through work too, I suppose." His self-confidence grew a little as he remembered what he was himself, "I'm one of the X-Men." He still smiled a goofy smile when he said that.
"Of course you are," Meilin mused, lowering her chin in a demure expression. "As one of Charles Xavier's corporate attorneys, I have to pretend not to see the direct connection between his X-Corporation and the X-Men, but the signs are there..." Her almond eyes fluttered in brief contact with his before scanning the crowd again as was her way. "... for those who bother to look." She sipped from her flute. "I was given the Mutant Registration Act litigation because Mr. Hodge didn't think it would go anywhere, but our petition was accepted by the Supreme Court and as senior chair it was incumbent on me to deliver it." While she wasn't exactly bragging, there was an implicit smugness to her tone that hadn't been there before. "It will be some time before I can top that, but I'm determined not to let my career peak in my second year." She gave Desmond a playful smirk. "I'm sure you X-Men will be in need of my services before long."
"I'm sure we will." Desmond agreed readily enough. "With how visible we tend to be. Most of the team could blend in, but I... Well, I'm definitely a visible X-Man." He followed her gaze across the room, hearing the music playing, and more importantly, some people dancing. He took a deep breath, gathering his sizable reserve of courage. "Could I ask you for a dance, maybe?"
As a dedicated observer, Meilin always declined such active participation in public events. But even though these were technically clients, it was a celebration for a rather romantic wedding. A wedding where she had been a bridesmaid. The line of no return was well behind her. Her demure glance turned more confident in the face of Desmond's invitation. "When the music starts up, I'll save one for you."
At the dry bar that had been set up near the food tables stood Sean and Moira, each bedazzling in their formal attire. Sean was wasting no time in sampling the spirits. For Moira's part, she was having none of it.
"Slow doown, Sean," Moira said with a pinch behind his elbow. "Ye have ull evenin' to sip yer fancy."
"If I wanted yer opinion, woman, I'd 'ave asked ye for it." Sean took another gulp and nearly choked on it. The pinch Moira has given him before upgraded to a smack.
"Mind yer manners," Moira said sternly, "and donnae be makin' a spectacle of yerself at Scott and Jean's weddin'."
"Aye, Moira, love," Sean muttered with a devil-may-care smirk as he emptied another shot glass. She wasn't much better off than he was and that tickled Sean something fierce.
“Guys, please, eat something,” Warren said with an exhausted sigh as he steered the two already hammered Moira and Sean towards the servers carrying food and away from the bar. “Look, they have salmon puffs.”
With a pleading glance around the room, Warren looked for someone to help him encourage the two to eat.
Feeling Warren's wandering eyes search the room for assistance Maeve moved towards him. She picked up a tray of food and brought it up to the group. As she walked she almost went over on her ankle, walking in heels were not her strong suit. "Now, I've heard older people say eatins' cheatin' but I think maybe one of these wouldn't hurt you?" she tried to add to Warren's attempt at encouragement. "Those poor wee salmons died so you could have a couple more shots." she teased the other man.
Darian and Connor walked up from different angles despite having approached from the same direction. At the mention of salmon, Connor's eyes shot open wide. "WHAT KIND OF SALMON?" he signed in a blur of finger flicks and hand turns. "ATLANTIC, I PRESUME, YET THERE ARE ANY NUMBER OF WAYS TO PREPARE IT. SMOKED IS MY FAVORITE BECAUSE I ENJOY SAVORY, BUT I ENJOY A GOOD BROIL OR SEARING AS WELL."
Sean doubled over in a sharp wheeze of a laugh at Connor's fish-fueled fervor, barely keeping upright as he leaned one hand on the dry bar for support.
"Saints preserve us, lad,' he said between hiccupping chuckles. "Didn't peg ye for a pescatarian, but I suppose that means ye like yer fish any which she co—"
SMACK!
Moira's hand landed hard on his upper arm before he could finish the punchline, her perfectly shaped brow arched high in warning. "Don't ye dare finish that sentence in public, Sean Cassidy."
"Whaddya do that fer?" Sean sputtered with faux innocence, rubbing his arm. "I was just sayin' t' lad's got fine taste in protein!"
"Ye were sayin' filth an' ye know it."
Connor, now blinking between the two of them, looked to Maeve, then to Warren, confused by the sudden tension and Moira's slap. His fingers started flying again.
"WHAT DID HE MEAN? I AM UNFAMILIAR WITH THE CONTEXT. IS THERE A CULTURAL NUANCE I MISSED REGARDING PESCATARIANS?"
"Don't look at me." Maeve shrugged. "I kinda wanna know how he was going to finish that..." she looked between the two older adults. "Telling dirty jokes to teenagers is almost a given at a wedding, isn't it? Especially when you are from where we are." she smirked.
Sean smirked, "Let's just say it was headed somewhere between clever an' scandalous."
Moira gave him a sharp look. "An' lucky for all of oos, it died in transit."
"A shame, really,” Sean added with a wink to Connor.
Seeing Darian making his getaway, Connor shrugged and dismissed himself. "I WILL ASK PROFESSOR X LATER."
Meanwhile, Darian made off with a couple of liquor bottles stuffed up his shirt, snickering all the while.
Warren Worthington III stepped forward onto the slightly elevated platform near the edge of the dance floor, champagne flute in hand. The chatter of guests began to quiet as he raised his glass and flashed that charming, effortless grin.
“Good evening, everyone,” he said, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. “First off, thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate two of my most favorite people on the biggest day of their lives. I hope you’ve enjoyed the food—if not, take it up with the caterer, I’m just the second most important guy here.”
A few polite laughs rippled through the guests.
“But now,” Warren continued, his tone shifting with practiced warmth, “I’d ask that everyone find their seats and clear the floor. We’ve got something more important than dessert coming up. Our newlyweds are about to take their first dance.”
A soft wave of movement rolled through the reception as guests shifted chairs and clinked glasses, murmurs of anticipation buzzing through the air.
Then the moment arrived. The double doors at the back opened wide, and there they stood: Jean was ethereal and radiant, her beaming smile like warm sunlight. Her scarlet hair cascading over her shoulders made her both a striking and vivacious bride who lit up the whole room as she entered. Scott was at her side, unmistakably himself, all clean lines, sharp suit, and a slick stride that split the difference between military discipline and rockstar confidence. One brow arched just slightly above his ruby lenses, cocky but composed.
They stepped together into the center of the room, taking each other’s hand with an unspoken rhythm that needed no rehearsal. The crowd faded into the periphery. Lights dimmed except for the one that shone on them.
Warren gave a small nod to cue the music. The opening chords to “The Flame” by Cheap Trick began to play. And with that, Scott and Jean Summers took their first steps into the next chapter, swaying together beneath a canopy of light, love, and the unmistakable feeling of forever pulled into the present moment.
~* ‘My face hurts from smiling but I can’t stop.’ *~ Jean draped her left arm across Scott’s shoulders and neck and they took a more intimate dancing position. As he took her right hand in his, Jean molded her form to Scott’s for that perfect fit their bodies created together. ~* ‘Today has been magical.’ *~
Scott shifted his posture to mirror hers, his hand settling warmly at the small of Jean’s back, his other hand clasping hers gently. They moved in slow, instinctive rhythm to the music, their steps small, close, and perfectly in sync. The way Jean fit against him felt timeless, as if some cosmic force had snapped them into place.
Scott leaned in, forehead brushing gently against hers. His voice was low, meant for her ears alone.
“This is a literal dream come true,” he murmured. “Only… better. I used to imagine what this would be like.” He paused, his expression softening, as the words almost caught in his throat. “But nothing I dreamed ever came close to this. To you, now, in your dress, and...” He drew back just enough to meet her eyes through the shimmer of his lenses. “Thank you,” he said, with a faint smile that held no trace of his usual melancholy, only awe. “For loving me. For choosing me. For making me the happiest man on Earth.”
“You are a part of me, our connection goes so much deeper than our minds or our hearts.” Jean rested her head on his shoulder as she too spoke in a whisper that only he could hear. “We are one soul in two bodies. I am incomplete without you. I will love you until the last star in the sky dies and even then, I will know you in that darkness.”
A pang of love tugged at her heart that was so powerful that it almost hurt. Jean was unable to resist the swell of emotion that pulled at her, lifting her head up she found his lips and kissed him in a way that made everyone else in the room disappear until only the lyrics of the song remained outside of their kiss.
I'm going crazy, I'm losing sleep
I'm in too far, I'm in way too deep over you
You'll always be the one
You were the first, you'll be the last
The timing of their kiss coinciding with those lyrics broke open the cistern of Scott’s repressed butterflies and sent them soaring. Those snuffed jitters metamorphosed into a feeling of celebration and triumph. This was it. This was the culmination of everything they had yearned for ever since they were teenagers playing grabass when they weren’t playing hero. Pledged together forever and whatever more there was beside. He leaned into Jean’s kiss, then dragged it out longer with a tug at her bottom lip as he pulled he pivoted backward and guided her into a dip.
A few cheers and hoots came up from the crowd. The energy between Scott and Jean soaked to a saturation point. More than a few were swaying to the song and even shuffling their own feet. Just as Scott pulled Jean up from her diagonal position, the chorus played.
Wherever you go, I'll be with you
Whatever you want, I'll give it to you
Whenever you need someone
To lay your heart and head upon
Remember after the fire, after all the rain
I will be the flame
I will be the flame
“I love you, Scott Summers, and I am so happy to be your wife,” Jean murmured against his lips as the song ended. A moment to be cherished and remembered, they held on to one another despite the change in music and the dance floor opening up around them.
Tonight was about Scott and Jean’s union but it was also a reminder to all that life still continued outside of their work as X-Men. Even though they experienced unspeakable hardship and adversity there was still hope for more in their lives. Love had the ability to endure and to save them and as long as they remembered that, they too could find their own path to happiness.
Guns N’ Roses began to play and the lights on the dance floor began to flash and thump to the rock beat.
“Now let’s get this party started!” Jean shouted to the crowd as the reverence of the moment turned into a celebration.
The vibrations in the floor, Maeve felt like she could levitate. Guns N' Roses had been a favourite of her fathers and as it played she felt a pang in her heart for home. A connection she'd forgotten. Remembering earlier that she'd seen Darian sneak some bottles from the bar earlier she went to find him and see if he'd opened one.
Bobby barely gave Hayden time to react before he gently tugged her toward the dance floor, weaving them through the crowd with all the finesse of a guy who'd won the lottery. Once there, he took her in his arms, not too formally, not too loose, just that sweet spot where he found Hayden to be most comfortable.
The chords of "Sweet Child o' Mine" blared out over the sound system, and Bobby didn't even pretend to be smooth. He swayed a little off-rhythm, mouthed the lyrics with a sheepish laugh, and spun her around like a goofball. But his hand never left hers. And when she laughed, when her head tilted back and her smile lit up brighter than any chandelier in the mansion, whatever mystery had been between them was gone.
Angela drifted over to where Alaric stood and gave him a smile. She glanced at the dance floor as others began joining the happy newlyweds there. She turned back to Alaric. "So, is there dancing in Limbo?"
He pulled over a nearby chair and sat down to be a little more eye level with her. "There, that's better." He paused for a second while he looked at her. "You're going to need to remind me of your name. I've met so many people over the last two weeks that it's hard to keep them straight. I have many to recall, you all only have one. But to answer your question, no, there isn't dancing in Limbo. Lord Belasco has shaped Limbo into a nightmarish hellscape filled with torment, blood rituals, and slavery. There's no room for celebration or culture, only suffering and servitude. Any 'dancing' that happens in Limbo is more likely to be for rituals, arcane ceremonies, or twisted mockeries of joy. All of which could be used in summoning spells, magical duels, or power plays."
Angela took Alaric by the hand and nodded her head in the direction of the dance floor as she maintained eye contact with him. "Come on handsome. I'll show you how to get your groove on." She gave Alaric an inviting smile.
Alaric’s gaze flicked down to her hand clasping his, and a shadow passed behind his eyes. It was like the sudden stillness of someone who’d heard a sound in the dark they didn’t like. He was still not comfortable with physical contact, despite the two weeks since his arrival. So he calmly, deliberately, lifted her hand from his and set it gently but firmly back toward her side.
His voice was calm, but carried that edge of seriousness. "Young one," he said quietly, as she hadn't reminded him of her name. "I’m not the dancing type. You should probably save your charm for someone who isn't nearly twice your age." To Alaric, Angela appeared to be much younger than she actually was. He gave a small, almost apologetic half-smile to soften the blow, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Alaric leaned back slightly and glanced toward the dance floor. "But you go ahead. Enjoy the peace while it lasts. That’s what it’s for." It was a truth with which he was all too familiar. For in Limbo, peace was fleeting.
“Didn’t you know that Summers men are notoriously known for being absolutely no fun?” Pietro said with a smirk as he stepped up beside Angela. “I think it’s part of their DNA, they can’t help but act like sticks in the mud.”
Pietro offered Angela his hand as he slowly bowed like a proper gentleman. It was a funny gesture while the rock music blared in the background. “Would you care to dance?"
Angela excepted Pietro's hand. "I would love to." She gave Pietro a smile as they headed to the dance floor.
Drew glanced at Jennifer when the dance floor opened up for the guests after the bride and groom dance. He remembered the fun night dancing on New Year's Eve. "You up for a dance?"
Angela enjoyed her dance with Pietro, but declined further dances. She was not exactly feeling all that sociable after Alaric’s rebuff at her attempts to flirt with him. She wandered about aimlessly through the reception until she spied her old roommate. She walked up to Kennedy and sat down next to the new Resident Assistant for the Girls Dormitory Wing. "Hey there, Kennedy. Been a while. How are things with you?"
Kennedy’s attention had been taken soon after the ceremony but Shiro Yoshida. A fox-faced Japanese man who’s sharkskin suit looked like it cost more than this wedding did. Sitting together at one of the dining tables, they spoke in French while heavily leaning into one another.
“Oh hi, Angela,” Kennedy said while looking up at her and simultaneously sitting up straight. “I’m good.” She looked over at the man who she was speaking with “This is Shiro, codename Sunfire. He was an X-Men for a short period of time with the First Class.”
“It’s true,” Shiro replied with an air of aloof confidence. “When Jean went missing, Scott reached out to me and I helped him find her.” He picked off an invisible piece of lint from his jacket before he continued, “This wedding would not have happened had it not been for me.”
Kennedy forced a polite smile despite Shiro’s rather bold statement. “Shiro and I were discussing the Musée Jacquemart-André. He briefly went to school in Paris. Would you care to join us?”
Angela could put one and one together and gave her friend a soft smile. "I haven't talked to you in a while is all. Just felt like catching up. You're busy though." She wondered for a moment if Kennedy was going to be even more busy later on. "I'll catch up with you tomorrow perhaps." She rose to her feet and continued to wander.
As Angela passed by, she could not help but overhear deliberative erudition from a small cluster of individuals who were given a wide berth from everyone else.
Reed's eyes flicked toward the dessert table with a quizzical tilt of his head. "I find it curious," he mused aloud, gesturing to the multi-tiered confections, "as to why the wedding cake remains a universal symbol of matrimonial ritual. From a sociological standpoint, one would think a more protein-centric tradition would have prevailed, particularly in colder climates."
"Ah," Hank replied with exaggerated decorum, "but the cake's symbolic prominence predates nutritional logic. The ancient Romans broke wheat cakes over the bride's head, a crude gesture of fertility and dominance. The modern tiered aesthetic arose from Victorian aspirations to emulate St. Bride's Church in London."
"I suppose..." Reed allowed, folding his arms into a pretzel knot, "but even accounting for tradition, why the persistent resistance to variation? The data shows that alternative desserts, say, artisanal tartlets or molecular gastronomy-inspired constructs, are almost uniformly received as pretentious."
Sue cut in. "Or worse—unromantic."
"You're both thinking too small," Hank said, turning to the young woman at the edge of their conversational orbit. "Angela, dear, please help us out, as I believe this is precisely the sort of multivariate cultural inertia you’re well suited to deconstruct. Would you weigh in? Reed and I are currently deadlocked in a battle between socioaesthetic tradition and gustatory evolution."
Particularly vivacious dancing from the dance floor made such conversation rather unappealing.
Out in the hallway, Darian and Connor ducked into a small reading nook off the main hall behind the grand staircase. Maeve could see them just as the door closed behind. Darian pulled out his haul: three bottles consisting of wine, a blended scotch, and sparkling champagne.
"YOU WENT FOR THE EXPENSIVE ONES," Connor signed, giggling mischievously.
"Hell yeah, man," Darian said. "Shit, I shoulda' grabbed me one of those cork popper things."
Maeve heard the clink of bottles as she pushed the door open and smiled as Darian swore. "You mean you didn't bring one of these with you?" she twirled the bottle opened around one of her fingers. "I feel like you boys have never stolen yer da's beers before," she giggled.
"WE DO NOT HAVE FATHERS," Connor signed, his brow furrowed at her logic as the two teen boys were both orphans.
"Well, sheee-it, girl, I'd forgive you just for twirlin' that bottle like that. Kinda hypnotic, not gon' lie.” He shot her a lopsided grin while clearly ogling.
Connor rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "MAEVE IS NOT A HYPNOTHERAPIST," he signed, smirking, then pointed to the bottle opener still spinning in Maeve's hand. "I WANT TO TRY THAT."
With his enhanced strength and quick study of the motion, Connor snagged one of the bottles and popped it open with satisfying finesse. His grin widened as he passed the opener back. In scandalous camaraderie, he raised his bottle in a silent toast. The three bottles clinked and they all went for a full chug.
"Pfft! Blegh!" Darian gagged mid-swallow, eyes bulging as he turned to the side and spit the scotch straight back out, coughing and sputtering as amber liquid dribbled down his tux shirt.
"Damn, that burns!" he rasped before bolting out of the room, red-faced and clutching his mouth. "I need water! Or gum! Or... death!"
Connor watched him run away, then promptly lost it. His laughter came in soundless bursts, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling as he slapped his knee with one hand and signed with the other. "I BET HE HAS NEVER DRANK ANYTHING STRONGER THAN ORANGE JUICE."
Maeve giggled at Darian's reaction, "Why is it boys show all the confidence in the world then when it comes to following up they can't follow through." she shook her head as she now held the bottle of wine. "At least you're not a let down too team leader." she grinned as she shook her bottle lightly. "More for us?" her eyes sparkling with devilish intent. "Unless he comes back with his water..."
Connor raised an eyebrow at Maeve’s question, his grin widening. He didn’t even need to look toward the hallway Darian had vanished down—just signed with a fluid flick of his wrist: "ABSOLUTELY. I’VE SEEN HIM RUN AWAY BEFORE. NEVER SEEN HIM COME BACK."
Then, with a flourish that would have impressed any frat house or Viking warband, he brought the bottle to his lips and chugged a generous pull. The burn clearly hit, but Connor only flinched slightly, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and set the bottle down with absolutely no warning for what came next.
"Ach, I can hold m'liquor," he declared proudly, his voice loose and sloshed somewhere between Dublin and Rotterdam. "Like mijn ancestors before me who built kingdoms an' burned 'em down just to get up t' next mornin' an' do it all over ag'in."
Watching Connor sign was always fascinating, compounded by the fact his tech translated it for him. She took a large swig of the bottle she had, using two hands as it was quite heavy for her to lift with just one and began to shiver as the liquid hit her stomach. Going back for a second she almost spat it back out to hear Connor actually talk.
Her mouth hung open as if he'd performed some magical feat in front of her very eyes. This was the first time she'd truly heard his voice. It was a unique mix but she could place the Irish in him straight away. Ears are always attuned to the sounds of ones own people. "I..." there was a pause... "ehm..." she shook her head. "For once I have no words..." she gestured to him talking normally.
Connor chuckled at Maeve's stunned expression. It was a rich, layered sound that made the small room feel warmer. His lopsided smile returned as he watched her stammer.
"Speechless. Tha's my win." He chuckled again. "Looks like our roles 'ave been reversed!"
Still grinning, he took another sip. "I didn't sneak the booze just for the party, y’know," he said, his muddled accent weaving like a drunken sailor through half a dozen coastlines. "Figured it out over summer... bit o' drink and the wires in m'head start untanglin'."
He wiggled his fingers in the air, mimicking tangled cords. "Temporary fix, a' course. The more I drink..." he made a slow, spiraling gesture downward with his hand, "... the worse it gets once the trick wears off."
Then he hiccupped loudly and blinked, looking down at his stomach like it had betrayed him.
"You knew this would do this?" Maeve eventually found her voice. "Why aren't you drunk more often?" She asked without thinking. It soon dawned on her a drunken team leader may not be the best idea out in the field, or at home. "How does this even work? I have so many questions," she continued to ramble.
She wanted to run out and bring the others in but making this a sideshow wasn't cool or fair on Connor. Wanting to suggest that he talk to Dr McCoy about this flew through her mind but she assumed that someone as smart as Connor would already have thought of that and she didn't want to ruin the moment. "This is not the accent I thought you'd speak with..." she let slip.
"Admittedly I feel like me accent donna match the voice in my head," Connor said as his speech developed the slightest bit of a slur. "The world accelerates and decelerates at the same time, likely as a byproduct of intoxication. Acute alcohol poisoning must shock my system into a temporary state change more favorable to expressive language but at the expense of brain cells. Fortunately I have a big brain!" Connor's face split into a laugh that was far too loud for the comment he'd made. "I would rather be mute and clever than verbal and... normal. But the trade off can be fun for a time. So..." His voice fell to a drawl. "We must enjoy it while we can."
Murmurs swept through the crowd as the catering staff rolled out the wedding cake—a three-tiered marvel of buttercream and strawberries crowned with delicate sugared lilies. Guests gathered close, a quiet energy rising as Scott and Jean stepped up together, hands intertwined around the silver cake knife.
Jean arched a brow at Scott which made him smirk in reply. Were they going to keep it clean or make it messy?
"Moment of truth," he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I know what you're thinking."
"I know," she teased, slicing the first piece cleanly and sliding it onto a plate. "Because you're thinking it too."
He accepted the second slice from her and turned to face her with mock seriousness. The entire room leaned in, breaths held. Bets were being silently exchanged with raised eyebrows and side-eyes. Sean squinted from the back like he was daring Scott to try something stupid. Moira's mouth was already half-covered, prepared for frosting collateral damage.
Jean held her slice mid-air.
Scott raised his.
A single, breathless second.
And then—
Both broke into grins, leaned in, and kissed, gently at first, then with a chuckle that spilled into each other's lips. The crowd burst into cheers, groans, claps, and mock cries of "Boo!" from disappointed losers who had to settle their bets.
As Jean finally took a clean bite of her cake and Scott turned to hand off a plate to the nearest waiting guest, the line for cake began forming fast. Scott looked down at her and yet again lost himself in her eyes. The sweet, tender kiss that followed put the cake to shame and made for a swift moving queue with everyone else eager to be somewhere else.
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