"You don't want me to walk through that." Logan gestured at the metal detector at the Pentagon.

"Why not?" the MP on duty demanded. In his blazer and slacks, Logan knew he looked just like any of the other civilians stationed at the Pentagon. Appearances were deceiving.

"He'll set it off," Scott explained. "Just like my glasses did."

"Empty your pockets and remove your belt, sir," the sergeant said.

"Did that," Logan replied. "That's not the issue. The issue is these." He held out one hand and extended his claws. "Got matching sets," he added casually as one of the other MPs reached for his gun.

"Easy," Scott said in a tone he might use to soothe a spooked animal. "You got used to my glasses, you'll get used to his claws."

The MPs huddled together, talking, and Logan retracted his claws. "They always like that?" he asked Scott.

"It's their job," Scott replied.

Logan grimaced and shoved his hands in his pockets. His first visit to the Pentagon wasn't starting off well. And it was just the first of many, given his new position as Scott's second in command of the X-Men.

"We'll have to do a pat-down search," the sergeant in charge of the MPs told him.

He held his arms out to his sides. "Just don't get fresh."

From the corner of his eye, he watched Scott struggle not to laugh while the sergeant frisked him thoroughly. Despite the term, the sergeant didn't pat so much as slide his hands down Logan's sides, arms, and legs.

Eventually, they decided to let him through. Scott had simply shown his badge, the one with a picture of him wearing the ruby quartz glasses he no longer needed to contain his power.

"Is it gonna be like this every time?" Logan asked Scott as they turned down one of the wide corridors in the Pentagon.

"We'll request a badge for you," Scott replied. "Or you'll get used to being frisked."

"Not my idea of fun." He adjusted his step to slip behind Scott as a one-star general and several colonels approached, taking up most of the corridor. The four men had so much fruit salad on their chests that Logan half expected to see them listing left.

The general glanced at them, and his glance became a gape. Logan scowled back -- hadn't he seen mutants before? Then the general paused, and Logan sensed the unease trickling through his entourage.

"Sir?" Scott asked, ever polite. "Is there a problem?"

The general -- Heath, according to his nametag -- frowned at Logan. Even at somewhere close to sixty, Heath was military straight and nearly of a height with Logan. "Have we met?"

"Not that I remember," Logan answered. It was the literal truth. He'd recovered fragments of memories, sensations and feelings more than anything else, since he'd joined the X-Men, but he had no sense of having seen or scented General Heath before.

"It was a long time ago," Heath said. "You can't be --"

"Can't be what?" Logan asked.

Heath smiled, just a little. "You remind me of someone I served with in 'Nam. Striking resemblance, in fact, I thought you were him for a moment."

"Sorry to disappoint," Logan said.

"He'd be pushing seventy by now, if he's still alive," Heath said. "Helluva soldier, though, saved our entire unit almost single-handedly." Then he frowned. "You do look like him. Your name wouldn't be Logan, would it?"

Logan felt his mouth go dry. "Yeah."

"Son or nephew, maybe," Heath mused. "James Logan. Know him?"

"Can't say that I do." But his pulse was racing. Was this a clue to his identity? James Logan. He rolled the name over in his mind. Could be worse.

"Huh." Heath appeared nonplussed. "Look just like him."

"They say everybody's got a double," Logan managed.

Heath nodded. "I suppose so." Then he looked around, realized that Scott waited nearby. "Carry on, gentlemen."

"Logan?" Scott asked quietly once the general's party had gone on its way.

He shoved the encounter to the back of his mind through force of will. "Yeah. Let's go. Can't keep the brass waiting."

- X -

"Jean!"

Jean Grey smiled and turned into a bear hug from William Grandey, feeling the surprise and amusement from other nearby attendees at the International Conference on Genetics and Evolutionary Methods. Open affection was rare among them, but she'd known William for almost ten years and frequently his presence was the only thing that made these conferences bearable.

"Tell me you're presenting," William said. "Please. I might die of boredom if you're not."

"Not this year, William." She stepped back from his hug, startled as always by the flash of white teeth in his black face. She'd thought they were veneers until someone else had asked for the name of his cosmetic dentist, and he'd said, "God."

"Too bad." William led her toward the back of the conference lounge, where coffee and pastry service had been set up. "Anything you said would be far more entertaining than listening to Katz and Horowitz go on and on and on about swarm intelligence."

"But even that's more interesting than artificial life forms," Jean countered. She was one of the few people who could tolerate William, she knew. His gregariousness and brilliance that bordered on arrogance made for a grating combination. But she'd scanned him when she first met him, and found simple lack of social grace, nothing mean. She'd found in him a good friend, and was thankful that her power enabled her to look past the surface.

William grunted and examined the pastries with a practiced eye while Jean poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Here." He handed her a small paper plate covered by an over-sized cherry Danish. "That's fruit, right? Healthy."

"It might have pretended to be fruit in a past life." She'd have to find a place to put the pastry down and "forget" it.

"Grandey, there you are." The new speaker had British tones as cultured as Charles's own. "I should've known to look at the pastry table first."

"Better the pastry table in the morning than the bar at night," Grandey retorted, and shook the hand of the newcomer, a tall lean man with dark hair and a mustache. "Jean, I have the dubious honor of introducing you to Trevor Fitzroy, who's been working out of MIT on an exchange from Cambridge and is one of the program directors for the conference this year. Trevor, Jean Grey. Gave up a good position at Columbia to do research for a private institution. Our loss."

"Pleased to meet you." Jean balanced the pastry on top of her cup of coffee and extended her hand. She could easily tip the pastry onto the floor with her telekinesis, but then William would just get her another one.

Fitzroy regarded her with shrewd eyes. "Grey -- you testified before the Senate a few months ago, yes?"

"I did. Not my best day, I'm afraid."

"Nonsense," Fitzroy said. "You presented your case well, but Senator Kelly had a knack for grandstanding. In fact, I wonder if you might do us a favor?"

Jean blinked, unable to conceal her surprise. "Favor? I'm sure I don't know what I can help with."

"I realize this is an imposition, and quite sudden," Fitzroy said, "but our keynote speaker has withdrawn from the conference rather unexpectedly, and we've been scrambling to find someone who might replace her. I understand you and she were pursuing similar research not long ago."

"I'm embarrassed to say I haven't even looked at the program," Jean said. She hadn't had time, not between suppression and control serums, Alcatraz, and Los Angeles. "Who was your speaker?"

"Kavita Rao, of Worthington Laboratories. She was going to speak on the cure they developed." Fitzroy poured hot water over an English Breakfast teabag. "How disappointing that she allowed recent events to dissuade her from attending."

"Understandable," Grandey countered. "And maybe we should thank her for not turning this conference into a media circus."

Jean took a bite of the Danish, more to buy time to collect her thoughts than because she actually wanted the too-sweet treat. She'd touched Kavita Rao's mind briefly on her visit to the Worthington Laboratories facility on Alcatraz Island, and she had no doubt that Rao had backed out of the conference more out of fear for her own safety than fear of turning the event into a media circus. She couldn't tell the others that without explaining how she knew, which would lead to a string of questions she didn't particularly want to answer.

"Will you, Dr. Grey?" Fitzroy asked.

"Unless you have a draft of her speech, I can't speak about her research," Jean said once she'd swallowed.

"Unfortunately, no, we don't," Fitzroy said. His expression showed real regret, but he wasn't broadcasting much. "Perhaps it was too much to ask --"

"I could do something a little different," Jean offered. "I could explore the ethics of that serum."

"Hm… that might be interesting, indeed, Dr. Grey," Fitzroy looked thoughtful. "Certainly it would be a change of pace from most of the panels."

"I'd love to lead a round table discussion, but I think we have too many people for that," Jean said. "So instead I'll just raise a few issues, toss some questions around. It's not my job to tell people what to think, but perhaps I can invite them to think."

"I can raise counterpoints, if you want to really challenge them," William offered. "I was captain of the debating team as an undergrad."

"Only if you can keep it civil," Fitzroy said. "And if Dr. Grey agrees."

"It's up to you, Jean," William said.

"Why don't we have dinner and discuss it?" Jean suggested, and turned back to Fitzroy. "Does that suit?"

Fitzroy gave a small nod. "It will certainly be interesting. Thank you for agreeing on such short notice."

"You're very welcome, Dr. Fitzroy. I'm looking forward to it."

"As am I, Dr. Grey. As am I." With a nod to each of them, he was gone.

"Your young man didn't happen to come with you this time, did he?" William asked once Fitzroy was safely out of earshot.

"No, not this time. He's busy with his own job. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," William answered. "Just a gut reaction that doesn't like Fitzroy and never has."

- X -

Logan tugged off his tie as he and Scott left the Pentagon. Scott had insisted he wear a tie, but Logan drew the line at a three-piece suit like Scott wore. "Still hate working with the military."

"We couldn't have overthrown Magneto without their help."

"That kind of help never comes without a price, Cyke. You ready to pay it?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"No." He hated to admit it, but it was simply true. It had taken X-Men and human special forces working together to defeat Magneto after he'd ripped a good chunk of California away from the mainland and tried to set it up as a mutant haven.

"I'm not totally thrilled, either," Scott said as they climbed into the car that would take them to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling-Naval Research Laboratory where they'd left the Blackbird. He lowered his voice so the driver would have no chance of hearing him. "So we're going to set up some other training scenarios. Including special forces with cure weapons."

Logan nodded. "Mix it up, don't get lazy or routine."

"And remember they can turn against us at any time."

"Puts the kids at risk." Logan cocked an eyebrow at him. "That's why you're moving the team away from the mansion. Spread out the target area."

Scott nodded. "And a better chance at a pincer move for counterattack. You're better at sneaky than Jean and I are, so the cottage made sense for you."

Logan considered that. "The cottage -- northeast of the mansion half a mile or so?"

"That's the one." The car rolled to a stop and Scott and Logan climbed out and started toward the Blackbird waiting on the tarmac. "It also means you could have your own fridge and stock it with beer." Sometimes Scott wasn't a dick.

He secured the hatch while Scott powered up the engines. He'd been grateful for the shelter when he and Marie had first arrived at the school, but sleeping in a mansion full of mutants, most of whom were adolescents full of spirit and just learning to control their powers meant the mansion was never entirely quiet.

"How much work will it take to make either place livable?" Logan settled into the co-pilot's seat and secured his seat belt.

"It depends on your definition of livable." Scott eased the Blackbird straight up, thanks to its VTOL engines. "The cottage is in a bit worse shape than the boathouse -- less use the last dozen years or so -- but the walls are structurally sound. Not sure about the roof, though."

Logan shrugged. "However bad it is, I've slept in worse. I'll move into it in the next day or so, soon as we clear the debris."

"And sometime in all of that, we need to get you started on those flying lessons," Scott banked the Blackbird northwest. "Peter, Bobby, and Kitty, too, but they're coming up on end of term and finals, and they've already missed a lot of school thanks to Alcatraz and Los Angeles."

"I thought they were already accepted to college."

"They are. Kitty and Bobby are off to MIT, and Peter's going to CUNY College of Staten Island."

"So what if they blow their finals? They already got what they need."

"In Kitty's case, she needs to keep her grades up for her scholarship," Scott told him. "Bobby -- needs the practice in studying, honestly."

"Think it'll be a problem, the kids so far away? We might need 'em."

"Not that far," Scott said. "Only about two hours by car to Staten Island, four to Cambridge. No time at all for the Blackbird."

"I can just see it now," Logan muttered. "Please excuse Kitty from her physics exam. She had to go fight a mutant trying to take over the country."

"I hope not," Scott said fervently. "I hope they can get through school with no troubles, other than Marie being jealous because Bobby and Kitty are at the same school."

"What about Marie?" Logan asked. "She graduating, too?"

Scott shook his head. "Those nine months she spent hitchhiking across Canada cost her. I'd let her graduate, myself, and spend the summer in an intense remedial session, but Ororo and Charles outvoted me."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Team leader got outvoted?"

"School issue, not a team issue."

Logan shook his head. "Separating them won't be easy."

"No, it won't. But as Dad always says, nothing worth doing is ever easy."

"Can't decide whether he's smart or just a smartass."

Scott gave him a good-natured scowl. "Just for that, you lead the workout tomorrow."

"Not one of those kill-house exercises like we did when the SEALs came up to train?"

"I'll be nice and let you pick the workout."

Logan grinned. "This should be fun. I won't hurt you. Much."