Moira is alone in the med school's east parking garage, until very suddenly she is not; she catches the motion out of the corner of her eye, something lurking back in the corner of the garage, indistinct, mingling with the shadows Moira's hand begins to move for the gun in its concealed holster.
And then it stops, frozen, and the woman emerges from the blackness. It is hard to believe that the darkness had hidden her, that it could have been in any way her ally; white furs and a dazzling white smile with all the sincerity of cubic zirconia and a name that flirted maddeningly - like so much else over the course of the last few years - just outside the reach of Moira's consciousness.
"You'll have it in a moment," the woman promises, and there is a strangely gentle detachment to her voice. An instant later, she proves to be correct. A lesser person might have collapsed under the flood of memories; Moira might have regardless, if Emma Frost hadn't still been holding her rigid.
"Well?" Frost asks her.
Moira's hands want to go to her head, which feels like a tornado has been wreaking havoc inside her skull, but that would be a weakness.
She wants to reach for the gun, too, but that's just stupidity.
None of her thoughts are lining up exactly right. Havok, she thinks. Then: The tornados. All those broken bodies. Men she had known. How had she possibly forgotten the names of her comrades?
Then she remembers that part too, and things start to click into focus.
"Charles," she says. There is more mystification in her voice than rage; the latter will come later.
"He thinks he's terribly clever," Frost agrees, and the sympathy in her voice is completely inscrutable; Moira can't decide if Frost is sincere or if she is simply mocking her.
She goes on airily, "A condition that's entirely too common among men, to be completely frank. They love to keep their secrets. It makes them feel so very noble to know that they're shouldering such heavy burdens all alone."
Moira watches her with suspicion; the memories are still coming back, and several of them are specific to Frost. She supposes that she will feel fear, later, when she has the time to waste with being afraid. If later is something that happens.
"I don't know what you want," Moira says, "but you aren't getting it from me."
Frost laughs at that, and it strikes Moira that this is the first undoubtedly authentic gesture the other woman has made since she'd appeared. "What could I possibly want from you?
"No, my dear, I don't want anything - it seemly seemed a shame to leave you so in the dark about just who screwed you over so very badly." She tilts her head. "At least you've landed on your feet," she allows. "New career goal, I see - quite a switch from the CIA. Do you really think you're cut out to be a doctor? I'm not sure you have the right temperament, to be honest."
Moira almost rises to the bait. But she pauses, thinking it through analytically.
She wants me to undermine the opposition, Moira realizes. She is hoping that I will use this information in some way that will distract or hurt Charles... Which means (the frustration is outrageous) that she will have to avoid doing any such thing, or else risk playing into Frost's hands.
Frost frowns, obviously annoyed, then shrugs with indifference that seems only slightly feigned. "Believe whatever you prefer," she says, and turns away, and before very long is gone.
Moira considers following - to what end, she isn't sure - but after a long moment she shoulders her bag, heavy with biology texts, and continues on to her car.
There are new thoughts in her head now, crowding in with all the newly uncovered memories. Possible lines of research, thesis topics. She could pioneer an entirely new field, her only competition would be Charles Xavier himself, and she has an idea that he hasn't been contributing much to academia over the last few years -
No, she corrects herself. Nothing for publication, would need to keep it all very quiet, don't want the government catching on. The thought is ironic enough to make her snort ruefully, shaking her head.
Obviously, more Mutants were being born every day - Moira is sure that Charles had been right when he told her that. He and Lehnsherr wouldn't be able to help them all, and in any case, neither of them are trained physicians.
"I need to get into a really good pediatric program," she says out loud, feeling at once weary and exalted, a renewed sense of purpose buttressing the determination that had gotten her this far, after her old career at the CIA had ground to a sudden and baffling halt.
And nearly two decades from now, Moira would pause in the threshold of the newly opened hospital and research center on Muir Island, the first and only medical facility on the planet geared specifically toward the needs of Mutants, the culmination of years of hard work and dedication on her own part.
And she would shake her head, as she had in the parking garage, and wonder bemusedly if she hadn't given Emma Frost exactly what she'd been after.