「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(343) I am Yours

Xavier Mansion, 24th July 2007

Lynn's POV

Fortunately, the bid to accept Erik back into the family had not, yet, backfired upon me.

Although Charles was adamant to impose a probationary period before granting him any enjoyment of the verified antidote, Erik seemed genuinely contented with the essentially degrading proposition.

While purely sluggish effects were observed initially, the fortuitously-discovered proficiency of the serum was progressively demonstrated as an exponential sequence that duly restored us to completion.

As the scent of budding blossoms flowered into the warming atmosphere, ornamenting the lacklustre landscapes of winter with a bountiful splash of zesty colours, the last of the undesirable antigens lurking in our blood were finally expelled from our systems.

Hank and Raven followed to depart for the capital where the Secretary returned to his ministerial post, graciously reserved for him despite that regrettable leave of absence, and was even offered a generous promotion.

The reasonable and, in every aspect, well-deserved career recognition certainly warranted some sort of commemoration—and it appeared an excellent choice to host the joyous event together with, none other than, the school's most glorified occasion.

With much luck, and artificially-created grace, my severely fractured bones healed in sufficiency to welcome the grand festival.

Even after fully reclaiming my mutant X genes, several agonizing months were the least my inherently weak and thoroughly battered body required to naturally mend itself but with the aid of booster medications—by the tonnes—that time was favorably shortened to three.

That cumbersome, albeit fruitful, brace of plaster was promptly removed just as we ushered in the whimsical likes of summer. The repulsive sight of shriveled muscles and wrinkled skin copiously disfigured by inevitable scarring unveiled as the thick cast was sawed off starkly disheartened my spirit but Charles' tempting invitation was most invigorating.

It was a rushed, and possibly impossible, task to reestablish satisfactory, not to mention total, function but Jean designed me a rigorous, yet not damaging, physiotherapy regimen that worked befittingly with our tight schedule.

Foam-padded orthopaedic boots, caster-mounted walking frames and a harness-equipped treadmill accompanied me, without fail, on a daily basis as I strived to redevelop durability in my legs. While my right behaved fairly cooperatively, my left contrastingly—though expectedly and in comparison—performed poorly.

Only a week before the decorated affair was my body properly shaped to be privileged with the luxury of training without voluminous external gear.

Bare from supportive girdles and protective brackets, I managed, strenuously, to crutch around the room but while the simple act of independent standing was hereafter achieved, my steps were still toddling—and not without a limp, moreover the art of dancing.

Utterly depressed to prevail a disappointment, I was not exactly in the most aligned of moods as everyone else bustled to fix themselves up for the extravagant gala. Nevertheless, I picked out an evening dress and it proved to match my disinclined sentiments to an impeccable extent.

Dyed entirely in dark slate, the lengthy gown was muted, yet stylish in its own presence. Flanked by translucent sleeves and topped by a meshed boat neckline, the hugging bodice, elegantly interlaced by intricate embroidery and classy crystal-like beads, was banded around the high waist to a flared maxi skirt that served perfectly to shroud my grotesque blemishes.