Pieces of Your Soul: Part Two

by Kerri

"I'll be returning late this evening or possibly in the morning," Hank informed Jean. He patted his pockets for his car keys, feeling rushed and excited.

"Got a hot date?" Bobby teased from his spot in the doorway. "Need a few pointers? I know it's been awhile for you, buddy."

"If I were looking for advice on dating, I believe I would seek out someone who has had a date within the last year," Hank retorted.

Professor Xavier frowned at Bobby, who mimed a fatal blow, hand to his heart.

"A friend of mine, Thomas Ashcroft, is flying in today with his mother to spend some time in the city. She and I have been e-mailing each other now for several years. He's finally persuaded her to take a break from her work and I don't want to miss the opportunity to make her acquaintance." He looked around irritably. "If I could locate my car keys...."

Jean spotted them on the side table in the hall and floated them over to him. He smiled gratefully at her. "We'll be having dinner tonight and taking in some sights. I believe a concert or opera was on her list of things to do, and Thomas assures me he won't go." He flicked the switch on his image inducer and picked up a garment bag with his evening clothes packed inside.

Jean waved him off. Hank had been working too hard lately, it would do him good to get out and socialize. Even if it was with his friend and his friend's elderly mother.

Thomas was easy to spot in the crowded terminal. At 6'4", 275 lbs of solid muscle, his dark head was conspicuous. Hank waved at him from the behind the barricade while the Indian was entering the terminal. An older woman followed behind him, and Hank smiled and waved at her, thinking this would be Thomas' mother. He knew Charlotte herself was British by birth, she'd told him so during their many on-line conversations.

The woman looked at Hank in a fearful manner, then scurried to her own family waiting for her patiently, no doubt to tell them about the 'masher'.

Thomas shook Hank's hand. He was alone.

"But where's Lady Charlotte?" Hank asked.

"She had to catch a different flight," Thomas looked at his watch. "It should be landing in about a half hour. Time for some coffee." He took a firm grip on his shoulder bag. "One word of caution, Hank. Call her Lady Charlotte and you're likely to get toasted."

"She doesn't care to use her title?"

"No, not in the least." He smiled. "A friend of mine at the Luna Foundation insists on doing that, and he never knows what he'll find booby trapped after she visits."

They caught up over lattes from the cappuccino concession. "Has your friend remembered anything else about his medallion?"

Hank shook his head. "Logan was the subject of several government experiments years ago and it left him pretty much a man without a background, with pieces of a past that may not have existed. He was disturbed by the information you gave him, yet I understand he appears to be coping, even recovering some of his lost history. The question is whether or not what he's recalling is actually history or memory implants."

"I didn't realize his problem," Thomas frowned. "I shouldn't have told him so much."

"You didn't know."

Charlotte's flight was called. They finished up their coffee and made their way to the gate to wait.

The plane landed and the passengers disembarked. "Don't tell me, let me guess which one is your mother," Hank told him. He began scrutinizing every woman over the age of 60 years.

Thomas shrugged. He'd spotted Charlotte first thing. She'd waved to him, then continued through the throng. He stood by Hank, answering his running monologue with a 'no', 'oh, please!', 'are you kidding?', 'be serious' and 'if we're picking, can you choose a young one? I like 'em young.'

Charlotte approached them from the side. She slipped an arm around Thomas' waist, getting a one-arm hug from her son, and looked at Hank curiously. He was still staring at every elderly lady coming through the door. There seemed to be quite a few.

"What's he doing?" she asked.

"Trying to see if he can guess which one is my mother."

"Oh." She watched him for a moment. "May I offer a suggestion, Dr. McCoy?"

Hank heard his name and turned towards them. "Pardon me?" he said to the young woman standing with Thomas. She smiled brightly at him.

"You'll never spot his mother that way. From what I understand, she's so much older than those women, she probably looks like a raisin by now. Perhaps if you narrowed your search perimeters to women who look just like they've dried up, you may have more success."

Hank looked from the pretty young thing to Thomas trying to hold in a chuckle. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Would you be Charlotte Ashcroft?"

"I don't know that I'd want to be her. As far as I can tell, being Charlotte Ashcroft is no fun. Recluse, workaholic, long suffering keeper of the Thomas baby pictures," She released a long suffering breath. "But no one else will claim the boy, so I get stuck with the chore."

Hank stood, stunned, staring at her. "But you're....your appearance....I...." She looked about 22 years old, dressed in tight faded blue jeans and a white tank top, scuffed leather boots and a leather jacket slung over her shoulders. Her cinnamon brown hair hung over her shoulder in a long, thick braid. Now he could see where Thomas got his unusual eyes. Hers were the same golden amber, and they were twinkling at him.

"Not bad for a dried up old woman, wouldn't you say?" She handed Thomas her bag and laptop and took Hank's arm. "Did I hear Thomas right? You're willing to go with me to the opera?"

Later, ensconced in the kitchen of her Park Avenue penthouse apartment, Hank was still in shock. She was making sandwiches, keeping up a nonstop chatter about everything and nothing. Thomas was sitting back, pleased with himself for the joke he'd played on his friend.

She waved a hand in front of Hank. "Dr. McCoy?"

He was startled out of his trance. "Forgive me, dear lady, I was not expecting... That is to say, Thomas did not warn me..."

She patted his hand, then slid a plate in front of him. "Yeah, he's like that. I'd ground him, but then I'd have to stay home and play jailer." She offered him a beer, which he took absentmindedly. "Switch off your image inducer, Doctor. You don't need it here."

He'd forgotten he was wearing it. His normal visage appeared. It was her turn to stare.

"May I touch you?" she asked.

He nodded. She reached out a gentle hand and stroked over the soft fur of his cheek. He reciprocated, running a nail-tipped finger over hers. They both grinned at each other and Hank relaxed.

"Call me Hank, or Henry if you prefer."

"I'll stick with Hank, it's friendlier and has worked so well up to now."

"I have been warned not to address you by your title."

She laughed, setting a plate in front of her son. "Well, he saved you from that one, at least."

"You are a mutant."

"Yes. Not my appearance, though, that is a legacy from my mother."

"How old are you?"

She set a beer in front of Thomas. "Didn't you tell the poor man anything?"

Thomas eyed the medallion she was wearing. "I may have told too much." Hank hadn't yet got over her youthful appearance to notice she wore the companion piece to Logan's. "So, I enjoy the reaction from my friends, almost as much as you enjoy calling me grandpa and asking for money in front of strangers."

"Hank and I are old friends by now," she smiled at him again. "I am 305 years old next Christmas."

"But if your age isn't a mutant factor, how do you explain it?"

"It *is* genetic; however, it's alien in origin. My mother was Torelan. They have extremely long lifespans with slowed aging. Thomas is 200 years old himself."

"I see," Hank responded with a look at the other man. "And the mutantcy?"

She smiled again. <Telepath, some telekinetics, energy absorbtion and manipulation.>

Hank blinked. Her 'voice' rang loudly through his head.

"I'm sorry," she winced and patted his hand, "I'm afraid age makes me stronger. Helpful if I want to communicate from the middle of nowhere, painful up close and personal if I'm not careful." She looked at his plate. "Now eat before it dries out."

He obediently picked up his sandwich and took a bite. He let his eyes roam from her face down and saw the pendant she wore. Almost identical to Logan's, it was smaller, more delicately made. He looked at Thomas with consternation.

Charlotte missed the by-play. "I'm going to unpack and check the computers. I made an appointment to see William in the morning, Thomas. Are you coming with me?" She didn't wait for an answer, but made her way up the stairs in the kitchen to the second floor.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Hank said.

"No, not the whole time. Not until I met your friend." Thomas finished his lunch. "You better eat, or she's going to raise the roof. She's always trying to feed everyone in sight." He sat back with his beer. "As for the talisman, she wore the raven piece in WWII, during a wartime assignment, but she didn't come back with it and she wouldn't tell me where it was."

"So you didn't trace it to Logan?" He finished his sandwich.

"No. That was a surprise." She'd come back from London a badly wounded emotional wreck, but she came back alive. He hadn't been inclined to push his luck. "I tried to ask her about it after I saw you last month, but she won't talk. Got downright nasty with me."

<So, I've got four tickets for tonight. Do you know anyone who'd like to go?> This time she exercised some control and it didn't hurt. The door opened a few seconds before she breezed through.

"You really do not desire to attend?" Hank asked Thomas.

"No war drums." He grinned, very white teeth against his copper skin.

"Barbarian," his mother chided him fondly. She leaned against the counter. "I've got a box at the hall, could seat two more. Any of your friends appreciate the finer things in life? I'll treat for dinner."

Hank couldn't resist her smile. "I may know of one or two that might be interested."

"Well, call 'em." She handed him the cordless phone. "Got a landing pad on the roof." She gestured to Thomas. "Let's give the man some privacy."

Hank waited until they were out of the room before dialing the mansion. He closed his eyes. This promised to be an exciting evening, one way or the other.

Scott answered. "I thought Jean said you were out for the day with friends."

"I am. Is the professor around?"

"Yes, hold on a few moments."

"Beast? Is there a problem?" Xavier's well modulated voice indicated his concern.

"No, all is well. My friend's mother has two extra tickets for tonight and asked if I knew anyone who might be interested in attending with us. I thought of you and your appreciation of opera."

"That's very kind of her, but I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You've been invited, and I do believe you'll want to meet her."

"Why is that?"

"She's a mutant, 300 years old and looks about 22. There are some other twists to the story, but I think it will be worth your time."

He managed to catch Xavier's interest. "In that case, I will accept the invitation."

"Bring a date, there's room for a fourth." He rattled off the address. "She says there is a landing pad on the roof. She has the penthouse apartment."

Charlotte stuck her head back in the door. "Dinner reservations are at 6:00 to give us enough time."

He motioned her over. "Did you catch that, Professor?"

"Yes. I'll be there at 5:00. See you then, Henry."

[next part]

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