I still don't own them. I'm just having a little fun with them, that's all.

Jean had expected the swarm of questions and comments after her demonstration and hadn't been too surprised when about half of the assembled scientists had risen to their feet, applauding.

But when the room had mostly emptied, and Jean was gathering her notes, a middle aged man in a dark suit approached. His nametag said that he was Ronald Matthews, an assistant manager of the hotel, and his disapproval and disgust radiated from him like heat from Scott's body. "Dr. Grey?"

"Yes, Mr. Matthews?" She finished tucking her notes into her portfolio and gave him a courteous smile.

The smile seemed to disconcert him, but determination spurred him on. "I am sorry to inconvenience you, but the hotel is asking you to leave."

"Leave?" It was the last thing she'd expected him to say. "What have I done?"

"Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone," Matthews countered. "And we're refusing service to you."

"Oh." Jean dropped a hip onto the table. "You saw my demonstration, didn't you?"

"We can refuse service for any reason," Matthews said, his discomfort obviously growing.

"Other than to groups protected under the Civil Rights Act," Jean pointed out. "Which mutants aren't. Yet."

"We won't charge you for tonight's stay, even though it's after check-out time," Matthews said, stiff. "But if you haven't collected your things and departed within the hour, we will trespass you from the property."

"Ballsy," a new voice observed. Startled, Jean turned to the newcomer, had an impression of a man about her own age, plain features and intelligent eyes. "She just levitated a glass, God only knows what else she can levitate, and you're throwing her out. Glad I got a front row seat for that."

"Who are you?" Matthews demanded.

"Keith Stephens," the man replied. "I'm with the San Francisco Chronicle."

"Management reserves the right to refuse -- "

"Service to anyone," Keith echoed him. "I never said you didn't. I just said throwing out someone who could bounce you around like a basketball should be fun to watch."

"I wouldn't bounce him around like a basketball," Jean objected, although the thought of doing so would amuse her for a while. "I am, after all, a law-abiding citizen, and that would be assault and battery."

"True," Keith agreed. "But not all mutants are, are they? Law-abiding, I mean. How many mutants are there in the world, Dr. Grey?"

"Somewhere between fifteen and thirty million, or so we estimate. Not all of them have abilities that manifest as grossly as mine, though."

"Gross or not, that's a lot of people to throw out of a hotel," Keith said. "Might make an interesting story, too. Maybe even front page. Especially since Dr. Grey was one of those who defended Alcatraz and stopped Magneto from creating his own mutant-run dictatorship right here on American soil."

Matthews' eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm just doing my job," Keith answered with a shrug. "Which was originally to ask Dr. Grey for an interview, but I'm not dumb enough to let a front page story slip away."

Jean watched a muscle in Matthews' jaw twitch. Then he said, stiffly polite, "Forgive the misunderstanding, Dr. Grey. I'm sure the overly boisterous crowd this afternoon was simply an aberration, and won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't," Jean answered. Matthews nodded and walked haughtily away. Jean turned her attention to Keith Stephens.

"I know," he said. "You could've handled it on your own, even without bouncing him around."

Jean had to chuckle. "I was just going to say thanks, that's all. Knights in shining armor are all too rare these days."

"There are those who would say you and the X-Men are just such knights," Keith observed.

Jean shrugged that off. "You wanted an interview?"

"I actually came up to say thanks. I'm from San Francisco. We know what you and the X-Men did at Alcatraz and then at Los Angeles. Most of us are smart enough to appreciate it."

"But -- you're a reporter?" Jean prompted.

"I'm a science reporter for the Chronicle," he said, "not features. I came to talk to Dr. Rao, but she's not here. If you're offering an interview, though, I wouldn't turn it down."

Her gut screamed, "No, no interview!" But Scott had said he intended to take the X-Men public, and it would happen sooner or later. Better to talk to a reporter who was at least somewhat sympathetic, she thought, remembering his earlier advice.

"I wasn't, really, but that doesn't mean I won't agree to one. The last session ends at five-thirty. We could meet in the lobby bar right after?"

"You mean you're staying here, after he tried to kick you out?"

"Of course," Jean said, surprised by the question. "Leaving now would give him the victory, wouldn't it?"

"He was rude."

Jean shrugged. "That was nothing compared to some of the things I've seen done to mutants."

Keith gave her a considering look. "I'll be interested in that, as well."

"Then I'll see you tonight, Mr. Stephens."

"Looking forward to it, Dr. Grey."

- X -

Scott squatted in the circle of students at one side of the basketball court. Across from him, Logan stood with another group. "Okay. We all know the rules of basketball, right?"

"Yeah. Try to throw the ball in that basket." Ten-year-old Taylor pointed at the basket to Scott's left. "And keep them from throwing it in the other."

Scott chuckled. "That's the basic idea. We'll work on the details."

"But Mr. Summers, it's not fair," nine-year-old Zachary said. "They've got Cody, and he runs really fast."

"And next time maybe he'll be on your team, Zach," Scott said. "That he isn't now just means we need to out-think them, and try to keep him from getting the ball, right?"

"I guess."

"Okay, let's get started." Scott straightened and clapped Zach on the shoulder. "At the break, tell me how you think we can handle Cody, okay?"

"We're gonna kick your ass." The shouted chorus from across the court made Scott frown. Logan stood there, grinning, as his team moved onto the court. He'd have to remind Logan that they were coaching sportsmanship, as well as sports.

Ten minutes later, after Cody had scored ten baskets, Scott called a time out and knelt in the huddle of kids. "Okay, Cody's being a real challenge. What can we do to counter that?"

"We could have Ms. Munroe call up a really high wind that just blows on him," Taylor suggested.

"Or Bobby can chill the air around him, make him slower," Zachary added.

"Both are good ideas," Scott said. "Except neither of them are on our team. What can we do with the powers we have?"

Five young foreheads crinkled in thought. Scott would let them think about it for a little bit before he made his own suggestion.

Gentlemen, please come downstairs. There was a sense of urgency in the professor's mental summons.

"The professor's calling," Scott told his team.

"Guess that means we have to stop," Taylor said, a bit of hope in her voice. "If you're taking the jet and all."

"We don't know that we are," Scott said as Logan came up. "But we'll let you know if we do."

Moments later, he and Logan stepped off the elevator into the lower level. Charles met them as he rolled out of Cerebro.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked.

"A high-level mutant suddenly appeared while I was scanning," Charles said. "Almost omega-level."

"That's a lot?" Logan asked.

Scott nodded, but he was focused on Charles. "Where?"

"In the city, just south of Central Park. But she's moving. I'll guide you as you get closer."

"That's not all," Logan said. "Is it?"

"Her power level alone is enough to warrant investigation," Charles said, "but the way she just appeared has me concerned. And --"

"And what?" Scott prompted.

"She seems to be looking for something. Or someone."

Scott nodded. "We'll get going. Keep us informed of her location."

- X -

"Can I get yesterday's newspaper, please?" Rachel asked. She'd taken a few minutes to savor the victory of arriving safely, then walked up Fifth Avenue to the mid-Manhattan branch of the New York Public Library, taking care that she wasn't followed, even going so far as to double back her route a couple of times. Finally, she'd made her way into the building and up to the newspaper index on the second floor.

"I can show you how to access the archives online," the woman behind the information desk said. "If you need to search a particular subject for your school work, that's easier."

"It's not for school," Rachel said, though of course the librarian would make that assumption. Most sixteen-year-olds who came in probably needed exactly that kind of help. "I just need the paper itself. And the day before, too."

It was the fastest way to get the knowledge she needed -- and she knew herself well. If she were to go online, she'd find herself distracted by all the interesting stories out there, not just the one she needed.

Stay on point, she told herself. You have a job to do, and you can't afford to be distracted. They're counting on you.

The librarian returned with a pair of newspapers, held them out to her. Rachel moved to take them, but the other woman's frown stopped her. "You okay, honey? You look --"

Tired? Hungry? Hurt? All of that. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Okay," the woman said in that tone Rachel knew meant she didn't really believe it. But she let go of the newspapers. "If you need anything, you tell me, okay?"

"I will." Rachel had to smile at the woman's concern -- genuine, not faked. What she needed was beyond anyone else's capacity to give.

Rachel found a table where she could open the newspapers out flat and sat down. She had a lot of information to gather, and a glance at the date on the upper corner of the page told her she needed to be quick in the doing.

But 'quick' didn't mean sloppy, so she read each article that caught her eye with care, engrossing herself in the details of her mission.

Some time later, a tickle of awareness told her she'd gotten too engrossed in her reading. Someone -- or a couple of someones, she corrected herself -- had come up behind her.

If it were only two, she'd be okay, even if she did blow her cover and make a mess of things. Discretion was secondary to survival and success.

But no reason for them to have all of the advantage. She turned in her chair, saw two men facing her, then gave a strangled cry when she recognized them.

"Dad!" She flung herself at her father.