Still don't own them, etc.
X X X X X
Scott stood inside the boathouse, staring at the beams overhead. The architect had called to tell him the boathouse was sound enough to support the second story he'd decided was a better idea than trying to lay a water- and critter-proof floor directly over the lake. Besides, adding a second story meant they could still use the boathouse for its intended purpose -- though he'd blast anyone who thought taking a motorboat out of the boathouse after midnight was a good idea.
He paced out room dimensions along the walkway that circled three sides of the boathouse. Master bedroom here, shared bathroom there, and the baby's room would fit in that corner.
Baby's room? He stopped mid-stride. That baby was, presumably, currently growing inside Jean -- but what about their other child? What about sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old Rachel? She needed a room, too.
The rational part of his mind argued that she was almost seventeen, and would probably be going off to college soon. And besides, being around kids her own age wasn't a bad idea.
He stopped that thought before it went any further. Whether she went away to college or not, whatever her new life brought her, she needed to know that she had a place with her parents. A home, which he was pretty sure she'd never had before. And he would provide that if he could.
The boathouse that was large enough for two bedrooms and a living space looked cramped when he visualized three bedrooms in it.
"So what'd it do?"
He turned to see Keith leaning in the doorway. The reporter didn't have a notebook and pen out, at least. "What did what do?"
"The boathouse. The way you're scowling at it, it must've done something bad."
"I just realized we need one more room than I'd thought." Scott leaned against one of the mooring pylons. "But that's what the architect is for."
"Isn't it risky, keeping the X-Men at the school?"
"Life is a risk." But that called for more explanation, so he continued, "I'm not being flippant, but every day since their abilities manifest, a mutant is at risk of something. Whether that risk is their parents throwing them out of the house, or being lynched by a mob, or ending up in a mental hospital, we live it every day. The school is a refuge for those kids, but in being a refuge, it also becomes a target. The X-Men being here make it a hard target instead of a soft one."
"What happened to 'mutants just want to live normal lives'?"
"We're not the ones lynching non-mutants just because of what they are."
"Magneto?"
"We stopped him." Permanently. Scott wasn't proud that they'd killed a man who had been their teacher, their friend. But it had been necessary. It wasn't a line of questioning he wanted to pursue, so he asked, "Have you figured it out yet?"
The sudden question caught the other man off guard. "What?"
"That Rachel thinks of you as her father."
Keith blinked at him. "I don't even know her."
"She knows you. She said you were an ally, that we could trust you. It's the only reason you were in our briefing."
"Big step from you can trust me to I'm her father."
"I didn't say you are her father. Just that she thinks of you that way, so you had an important role in her life."
"Huh." Keith pursed his lips, apparently deep in thought.
"And she's going to relate to you from that mindset." He stood and crossed to Keith, not quite close enough to intimidate. "She's been through a lot, and she needs things -- people -- that are familiar. Don't hurt her by backing away if she needs you."
"You seem to be taking this remarkably well," Keith said. "It doesn't bother you, how she thinks of me?"
"Why should it? I'm glad Jean found someone, since I wasn't around." He didn't need to emphasize that he was still around, this time.
"I don't even know her," Keith muttered. "And she thinks of me as Dad." Scott raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Keith smiled, a quirk of his lips. "I won't back away. I will probably swallow my foot."
"We all do," Scott said, remembering a few of the times he'd done exactly that. "The trick is not to let your knee follow it."
"I haven't mastered that yet. Any tips?"
"If I figure it out, I'll let you know. Don't hold your breath," he added, amused. Then he frowned. "You didn't come out here to talk about Rachel."
"I wanted to talk to you about writing profiles of the X-Men -- the adult ones," Keith corrected himself. "I couldn't help overhearing the argument Iceman had with his parents. My room's right above where they were."
"I don't have any objections," Scott said. "So long as you respect each one's privacy requests."
Keith looked at him dubiously. "You want to be heroes, but you're concerned about privacy. Contradiction?"
"Maybe." Scott leaned back on one of the pylons. "But while I might be willing to go completely public, Jean might not. We're new to this business."
"Only to the publicity." Both men turned at the sound of Rachel's voice. "The X-Men are good at being heroes."
"Spoken like a true X-Man," Scott smiled at her where she stood in the doorway.
"Am I one?" She looked surprised.
"Why wouldn't you be?" Scott asked, equally surprised.
"Just -- you don't know me." Rachel let hesitation color her tone for just a moment, then continued with more confidence. "Would you let just anyone who showed up on the doorstep be an X-Man?"
"Talk to Logan and Marie." Scott couldn't help the dry tone.
"You mean -- it's not because I'm your daughter?"
Scott gave Keith credit for slipping out the door Rachel had vacated when she came further toward him. Now he crossed over to his daughter and put his hands on her shoulders. "That you're my daughter has nothing to do with it."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing." Scott put conviction in his tone. "You were an X-Man in your time. You handled yourself well in the fight at the studio. You helped Logan keep the others from getting nervous with anticipation. That's more experience than most of us had when we started."
He didn't need to be a telepath to sense the relief that swept through her. The look in her eyes, the easing of tension in muscles, told him everything. Instinctively, he stepped in to take her in his arms and hold her.
"Dumb, huh?" she murmured, her voice muffled and hoarse. "I do the job without flinching, but you say I'm an X-Man and I lose it."
"If you lost it in the fight, you wouldn't be an X-Man." He kept his tone light, and she chuckled a little. Then he turned serious. "I have no idea what you're going through, what it must be like to lose everyone you knew and loved. But I'll do whatever I can to help you, starting with making sure you know you have a place here, with your family."
"You don't even know me."
"You don't know me, either, but that didn't stop you from hugging me the moment we met."
"It meant I'd got here in time, before you died."
Scott smiled, glad she couldn't see it. "I was starting to wonder if you got anything from me besides your eyes."
"Huh?" She looked up at him, puzzled, and frowned when she saw his smile.
"Your mom --" and that sounded good, he realized, and felt better to say -- "likes to tell me I keep how I feel hidden, and I mask it with duty or humor. Like father, like daughter. I don't expect you to stay forever," he added. "Children leave the nest and make their own way in the world. But you have a place, as an X-Man, or as Rachel Summers, with us."
Rachel stepped out of the embrace, and he let her go, respecting the emotional distance she needed. "So what're you doing out here?"
"Planning where partition walls will go. I was doing fine until I got to your room."
"My room?" She shrugged. "Nurseries don't take up much room. A corner for a crib and a changing table."
"That was going right there." He pointed to the far right corner. "Your room. You, Rachel, not the baby Jean's pregnant with right now. I said you have a place with your family, and I meant it." She looked surprised, and then happy, but he wasn't going to press her for words she wasn't used to saying. "When I got to a third bedroom, I realized we need more space. I'm thinking cantilevering."
"Why not build an addition? Not all of it is over water, after all."
"We'll talk to the architect," Scott said. "Between the three of us and her, we should get something workable."
"I suppose so."
He didn't know her very well yet, but her tone reminded him so much of Jean that he had to ask, "Is something wrong?"
She looked up at him, guilt flashing in her eyes for the briefest of moments, and then her expression settled into determination. "If I'm an X-Man, then I should tell you something I did earlier."
He matched her tone and stance, became Cyclops instead of Dad. "Tell me what?"
"When the Drakes were here -- Bobby's parents?" At his nod, she continued, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but they weren't exactly quiet. And they were going on about things that didn't matter, and totally ignoring the big issues about mutants, and Bobby, and --"
She paused to take a breath, and Scott just waited. He'd dealt with enough students over the years to sense when they needed encouragement and when they just needed to know he was listening. Now was the latter.
"And, well, they're the kind of people who let my past happen," she said. "I couldn't just let them do it again."
"What did you do?" He kept his tone mild, made sure his shields were in place so he wasn't broadcasting the momentary abject panic that filled him.
"Nothing too bad, honest," she said. "And maybe good. I just showed them the Bobby Drake I knew, the one who saved hundreds of lives before giving his own. And I let them know exactly why he'd had to do it. That's all."
It was a lot less than it could have been, Scott knew, and he relaxed somewhat. "Why did you tell me?"
The question surprised her. "Because it's wrong. Mom taught me from the beginning not to go messing with people's minds unless I had to."
"Is it? I know it's wrong to alter memories, or change an opinion. But if all you did was show them your perception of their son, is it wrong?" He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and nodded for her to walk with him. "I've always been glad I'm not a telepath. The subtleties of it are not fun."
"Wait -- a man who by all accounts can see every layer of a battle immediately doesn't like subtle?"
"At its heart, no matter how many players there are, a battle is simple. The objective for either side is to win, and it's my job to tell my team how to win. Telepathy is complex -- what's right, what's wrong? When is it right, when is it wrong? I can't answer those questions."
"So no lecture?" Rachel sounded hopeful, and Scott had to laugh.
"Not from me, I'm not qualified to lecture you on it. Your mom, though --"
"Is in DC with Logan."
"They'll be back tonight. So you should talk to her about it -- by tomorrow evening?" His tone made it a question, but they both knew it was an order.
"Tomorrow evening," she agreed.
- X -
It was a relief, Scott thought, to discover there was at least one member of his family he had a good relationship with. He tried not to think too hard about that one member being the daughter he'd had no hand in raising.
He'd spent an hour walking the grounds and talking with Rachel, getting to know her. She'd become a mature young woman, and if she sometimes seemed older than her years, Scott suspected it was because of the world she'd grown up in. But they shared the same sense of humor and the same love of an adrenaline rush, which he confirmed by taking her out for a hundred and fifty mile per hour ride on the Harley. And then he'd confirmed his love of adrenaline by letting her drive home.
They'd barely parked the Harley in its assigned space when Scott's cell phone vibrated at his hip. He grimaced as he reached for it.
"It's okay, Dad -- I'll see you later." And with a wave she disappeared into the mansion proper.
"Summers," he said into the phone.
"There's someone here to see you," Carolyn, the school's receptionist, said. "He says his name is Alex and he has some test results you've been waiting for."
"I'll be right there." His brother had come here? Instinct screamed that Alex had discovered something disastrous about the powers that had shifted after he'd taken the control serum Jean had synthesized, but reason reminded him that he didn't know Alex well at all anymore, and so he should wait until he heard what Alex had to say. Instinct subsided with a muttered promise to beat reason senseless if it turned out there was a problem.
Quickly, he stowed his and Rachel's helmets and went into the mansion proper.
He found Alex studying one of the glass display cases lining the main hallway. "The sculptures on the top shelves of each case were made by a friend," he said.
Alex turned and offered his hand. "They're exquisite, the way they catch the light. They look almost intangible."
"That's because they are." Scott recognized the dubious look Alex gave him as they shook hands, and chuckled. "Seriously. They're made of light. Larry's power is to mold photons into whatever forms or shapes he chooses. But if you touch them, they shatter into stardust."
"Why isn't he showing them at galleries and making a fortune? I'd buy one, if I could afford it."
"Logistical issue, mostly. How do you transport something you can't touch? He formed those inside the cases last time he was here."
"Isn't your girlfriend telekinetic? Can't she move them?"
"Fiancée," Scott corrected. "And we don't know if she can or not. She's never tried."
"Do I get to meet her?"
The question surprised him, but he tried not to let it show. "She won't be back until later this evening, but sure. Meantime, Carolyn said you had some test results?"
Alex made a slight gesture with the briefcase held in his left hand. "You might want privacy for this."
Instinct chortled, I told you so, as Scott led Alex to his office and closed the door behind them. "This is as private as it gets here." Then he had to grin. "Other than my and Jean's bedroom."
"I'll skip that, thanks." He took a seat across the desk from Scott and pulled a half-inch thick stack of paper from his briefcase. It was comb-bound along one side and no text graced its cover.
"Dissertation draft already? Impressive."
"No dissertation," Alex said. "It's too dangerous."
"My power?" Scott asked, momentarily confused.
"In the wrong hands, yes." Alex sat back in his chair, apparently relaxed, but Scott could see the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. "When you asked me to test your new powers, you told me you were worried that somebody might take control of you again like that colonel had."
"We think all of his serum and notes were buried under Alkali Lake, but we can't be certain. And even if it were, if he figured it out, it's just a matter of time before someone else does."
"I think you should be grateful you didn't have full control then."
Alex's quiet declaration caught Scott's attention. "Why?"
"All the details are in there," Alex nodded at the report on Scott's desk. "But in general terms, you've got most of the life cycle of a star at your command."
"I'm an engineer, not a physicist," Scott said finally. "But -- what kind of star? Some go supernova, and some collapse, right?"
"I'm a geophysicist, not an astrophysicist. But all stars explode and then collapse. Stars like our sun become red giants and then nebulae, and then collapse into white dwarves and, theoretically, black dwarves. Larger stars become red super-giants then supernovae, and then collapse into either neutron stars or black holes."
"And my power resembles which of those?"
"Either. Both."
"You're saying I can -- what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that, theoretically, you could cause a star quake like neutron stars have, or you could create an event horizon like a black hole. Not sure I'd try that, if I were you. You might take half the planet with you."
Memory came back to Scott. "What else can we do against mutants that powerful?" The president had said not long before Alcatraz. "We're only human, after all."
The president had said that about Magneto. Scott couldn't help wondering what the president would say about his new powers. And then he felt a dread certainty that someone would convince the president, and the public, that some mutants were too powerful to live.
Alex looked as serious as he felt. "That's the only copy. I deleted everything from the hard drive and then destroyed it."
Scott blinked. "Why?"
"Enlightened self-interest."
Scott raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.
"Are you really attached to that stapler?"
"I'm not that kinky."
"That was an over-share." Alex tossed the stapler into the air. Scott winced at the thought of the gouge it would make in the hardwood floor when it landed, but at the top of its parabolic arc, the stapler disintegrated.
Scott stared at Alex, who still sat calmly, one hand outstretched. Scott could see the air rippling around his brother's hand for a moment, then it stilled.
"If they decide you're too dangerous to live," Alex said quietly, "it's inevitable that they'll look at the rest of your family, too."