"You weren't kidding when you said you were a combat model," Beast said.

Quetzal was idly spinning herself round in circles in one of his lab chairs. "No, I wasn't."

"I was thinking though, you might want to tell the others. About being a construct."

"No I might not." She gave him a look as she spun around slowly.

"They're concerned Quetzal." He grabbed the back of her chair to stop the spinning. "And not without reason."

"Why?" Quetzal folded her legs under her. "That's what we train for. Hurting bad guys, protecting ourselves, defending atyp-kind. So I'm good at it."

"They're worried you're psychotic."

"They pal around with Wolverine. They can't get that wound up about psychotics. I know in this universe he didn't kill my family," she said quickly before Beast could bring that up again. "But he's not exactly running a home for orphaned kittens with rare diseases either." She giggled at the mental image. "And at least psychotics are human. Doc, I know what happens when people find out I'm a levite. They never look at me the same way." She set herself spinning again. "Like I'm some kinda bomb that's gonna kill 'em any minute. I don't like it." She stopped herself. "I'm not psychotic. The Creature might be, but I'm not."

"But if you can't control when you turn into that thing-"

"I can."

"Back at Genosha?"

"I let her out. I can't control her once she gets out, but I can keep her under wraps." Quetzal turned in the chair to lean over the back of it. "That's a very significant difference."

"What if we'd been in the hall Quetzal?"

"Wolverine and Storm were in the hall. They're fine. He got his arm torn up pretty bad, but that's nothing for him."

Beast sighed in frustration.

Quetzal stared at him. "Do you think I'm dangerous? To the people around me?"

". . . . I have concerns, yes. The Creature got out three times in the space of a week."

"Twice," Quetzal said, her eyes were narrowing in irritation. "Only twice. The night we were captured and the last night there."

"What about downtown."

"That was all me."

"I'm not sure that really makes it better."

"What could I have done differently? They were taking the kids."

"I'm not saying you should have done anything different," Beast ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to clearly articulate the problem to Quetzal. "You're not wrong Quetzal. You aren't. But you're still scaring the others. You're an eighteen year old farm girl who reacts like a veteran Navy Seal. They don't know why and that's what scares them. If you told them you were a construct –"

"I've given enough explanation. And I've told them all I'm gonna tell them."

"If you told them you were a construct," Beast continued. "That would clear it up. A combat model with operant conditioning would explain how you seem to know all of this by instinct – you really do know it by instinct."

"I'm not gonna tell them that. I know what happens. You tell them you're a thing that ain't exactly human and the next thing you know you're practically collared and leashed!"

"This isn't Asylum, Quetzal. This isn't some little town that will judge you like that. This is the X-men."

Quetzal stood and quickly stalked to the door. She stopped and turned. The impassive mask had cracked. Her cheeks were wet with tears. "You don't know a thing. Not a g-godamned thing." She stammered over the obscenity but her ears didn't turn red this time.

"If you don't tell them Quetzal, I will."

The mask fell back into place. "Then we'll know how much your word means. But in Asylum, people keep their promises." She didn't bother closing the door when she left.

**********

Iggy turned the bracelet over in her hands. "No. I will not wear it."

"It's for your own protection," Colonel Fury said. "And you will wear it."

The bracelet looked innocuous enough. A stainless steel cuff with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo done in bronze on the front. "I have never had a problem protecting myself." Her heat vision let her see the small circuits in the bracelet. "Why do you want me to wear that thing?"

"There are some concerns about your . . . . alter ego."

"Sozdanye. She is called Sozdanye." She still used the Russian word.

"Right, the Creature. In the event that she gets loose and out of control, we can use it to shut her down. The only place it can be activated from is here on the helicarrier."

Iggy dropped the bracelet as if it could bite her. "I already wear the earpiece and you have the post-hypnotic command to send me to sleep! Why do you want me to wear that too!"

"The bracelet locks on. In case of emergency we can trigger a small electric charge that will render you unconscious."

"I refuse!" Iggy kicked the bracelet away.

"It's not a choice Iggy." Fury picked up the bracelet. "It's an order."

"You do not ask Bruce to wear such a thing!"

"I'll be blunt. Banner isn't a Soviet bio-weapon. Who knows what the Reds programmed into you. This is a new policy for constructs like you. It won't apply to just you."

"I am the only construct here."

"But you probably won't be the last."

"It is simply not an option Nicholas."

"I'm not happy about this either Ig. But this directive comes down from on high. If you want asylum you're staying with S.H.I.E.L.D. and you're wearing that bracelet."

Iggy stood in thought for a moment. SHIELD had cleansed her criminal record, gotten her out of her involvement with the Russian mob, and shielded her from Soviet retribution. "You have been very good to me Nicholas. Thank you for your help. I owe you a great deal." She removed the earpiece and set it on his desk. "But I will not wear such a thing. Not even for you."

"We can't protect you if you leave Ig."

She set her sidearm and badge on the desk as well and shucked off her jacket. "I know."

"You're not going to last very long on your own. Not with Brighton Beach, the reds, and Frank Castle after you. Maybe even us."

"Then I will die as a human. Not as a poorly behaved pet."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I am not sure I should tell you if S.H.I.E.L.D. might come after me." She smiled for the first time that day. "I will find Asylum I'm sure."

". . . . Good luck Ig. Keep your nose clean."

"Good bye Nicholas."

************

Quetzal stopped in the kitchen. The dull anger was back. She didn't get angry very often anymore. She'd had a temper as a little kid, white hot and quick to trigger. Mme. Yelena, Sensei Mike, and her dad had all worked very hard to teach Quetzal enough discipline to quell that temper. The dull anger was new and seemed impervious to the calming techniques she'd learned.

Still, she took a few deep breaths, gathering the anger into a ball and releasing it on the exhales. But what she really wanted was someone to talk to. She'd been hoping Hank would be that person, because then she wouldn't have to avoid the construct issue. But after that last thing he said, she wasn't about to trust him with anything else.

Quetzal made herself a pair of sandwiches and sat down with them. She peeled off the first piece of bread.

It wasn't that she thought the others were necessarily wrong to be concerned. She was a little concerned herself. She was pretty sure she should be feeling . . . something. The Creature was back in the hind part of Quetzal's brain. It contributed its memories of the night slowly and mostly in a monochromatic red. Still Quetzal felt . . . . pretty fine.

Maria had left that morning. She had bid a touching goodbye to Quetzal. But Maria had no desire to stick around the mansion. She'd had enough of being used by people.

Quetzal never told her about Tia Maria. She didn't see a reason to. It was best for Maria if she could just strike out on her own, not feel obliged to anyone.

Quetzal peeled the lettuce off her sandwich and set it to the side. She was poking it when Scott came into the kitchen.

"Mr. Sommers!" She brightened up. "I was wondering if you could tell the kids that rehearsals are back on starting tonight? And I was thinking, maybe some of them would like to invite their parents. Could we make arrangements for that?"

"Ah," he cleared his throat. "I hadn't realized you wanted to continue with that."

"Well yeah. I made a commitment to the kids. You know what they say, the show must go on!"

"Are you sure that's the best idea Quetzal? You might need some time to recover from the past week."

"Oh just some bruises and a small tear in my left calf. But that's all patched up. I'm ready to start jumping around again."

"I wasn't talking about your leg."

"Ah," was all Quetzal could say. "Well, there's no reason I can't teach some choreography anyway."

". . . . I'll tell them rehearsal's back on."

"Thanks."

****************

Quetzal was making oatmeal for breakfast the next morning. Rehearsal had gone well. She was insisting that the kids actually build a set instead of just using the Danger Room to make one. It was good experience. They spent the whole of the rehearsal time building in the garage. She'd thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with them turning plywood and paint into a set. She felt very much a part of something

She'd quickly cleaned the mess up when she'd realized that she was due in the Danger Room for a drill. She bolted up to her room and quickly changed clothes and was pinning up what remained of her hair as she ran back down to the Danger Room.

Scott and Storm had started the drill without her.

"I didn't realize I was that late," Quetzal said from the observation room when there was a stop in the action. "I'll be right in."

"That's okay Quetzal. We thought you might like some time off," Scott said.

"I understand," Quetzal said softly. "I guess . . . I'll go see if there's anything good on TV then. . ."

And that lovely feeling of connectedness was gone. That's when Quetzal made herself an appointment to talk to a therapist in the city.

She was feeling rather sorry for herself and the dull anger was building when Jean came down for breakfast.

"Good morning Quetzal," Jean smiled. So far she was the only one who wasn't holding Quetzal at arm's distance.

"Morning ma'am," Quetzal smiled back as best she could. "You're up early."

"Hank told me there was something you wanted to tell me."

Quetzal poured her oatmeal into a bowl and added a handful of raisins. "I'm afraid he was mistaken."

"He didn't tell me anything Quetzal. I'm psychic. I'd have to be a deaf psychic to not pick up on what's been bothering him. I already know about you being a construct."

"Y'all don't go in for privacy much around her do ya?" Quetzal added milk. "So now what?"

"Look, it puts it in an entirely different light. You being a . . . . weapon. A combat model."

Quetzal stirred her breakfast.

"And I told Scott I thought it would be best if we kept you out of the combat rotation until we know what triggers you."

"You told him I was a construct?"

"No. I figured that's for you to tell. But I want to work with you to find the triggers."

"I don't have any triggers. I never got the somatic training." When Quetzal spoke her voice was soft. "I'm going to the city today. I'll have my phone if you need me."

"No more guns Quetzal."

Quetzal added some brown sugar to the dish. "Wasn't what I was going to the city for."

"I mean it Quetzal."

"Fine," she agreed.

"What are you doing in the city?"

Quetzal mashed the contents of her bowl, still not looking up. ". . .Therapy. I'm not . . . . the past week has really shook me up. Try to regain my equilibrium."

"Quetzal, we're here for you," Jean smiled kindly. "I am qualified to . . . . " Jean trailed off, Quetzal wasn't listening.

Quetzal continued to play with her food without much appetite. "Ma'am . . . y'all are part of the problem." She took a half-hearted bite. "I knew the X-men weren't all sweetness and light. But flipping heck, you know how many people I snuffed in the past week? Because I don't. I figure I've snuffed enough people that I'm either a mass murderer or a soldier." Quetzal took another bite.

"You're a hero. You helped all those people. And you're a construct. You can't help what you've ben programmed to respond to."

Quetzal looked up with flat golden eyes. "I ain't a hero," Quetzal in a soft, mild voice as she shook her head. As if she were in disbelief at Jean's lack of understanding. "I didn't do it for all those people." She looked back to her oatmeal as if she could find answers there. "Anyway. I gotta do something to get my head straight again. And being here isn't helping."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jean was sincere. "If there's anything we can do to help . . . ."

"I'll let you know."

"Can I at least give you a ride?"

"Don't put yourself out ma'am. It's a pretty quick flight and it's a nice day."

"Stop calling me 'ma'am,' it makes me feel old."

**********

Quetzal slammed the office door on the way out. Now the white-hot anger was burning through her. She'd thrown the money for the appointment on the desk on the way out. There were a few things that were guaranteed to trigger her temper. And the idiot psychiatrist had managed to hit on most of them.

"Why don't you describe this other half?" Dr. Simmons said. "The Creature."

"Well, she's always there in the back of my head. Usually she's pretty calm and quiet. But when I'm being threatened, she tries to take over."

"To protect you."

"No. It's just an instinct. Like any animal that's been threatened."

"What does she look like?"

"Oh she's so beautiful. Like a falcon or a stalking panther. I mean, you look at her and you know she's built for killing, but she's still beautiful. She's basically a dinosaur - a raptor, one of those proto-wing types y'know? Except instead of awkward little half-wings she's got these great big wings. All crimson and black feathers. Her neck is long and her head is like a cross between a viper and that dinosaur. Very streamlined. And this great big tail to balance everything out. It sounds disjointed describing her like that, but she fits together so well. Streamlined and elegant."

"You said she's made for killing."

"Venom. Curved, serrated fangs that can take off a arm with one twist of her head. Claws where the bones of her hand turn into proper wings. An eviscerating claw on each foot. And her tail can crack a six inch oak beam."

Dr. Simmons smiled and templed his fingers. "So would you say I wouldn't like you when you're angry?"

"Huh?" Quetzal frowned. "I guess so . . . . My dad always told me I was a real pill when I was in a mood."

"Can you show me the Creature?"

Quetzal shook her head. "No. It'd be dangerous. She doesn't recognize friends, just prey."

"This isn't an uncommon thing Miss LeSaint."

It took half a second for Quetzal to remember that was the alias she'd given. "It isn't? There's others like me?"

"It's a growing phenomenon."

"It is?"

"Informally we call it Hulk Syndrome. There's another thing inside you that gets out when you get angry. So nobody better make you angry. It's all in your head. It's not unusual in young people who feel powerless in their day to day life."

"The Creature is real." Quetzal tried to smile and failed.

"I'm sure she feels that way."

"Then how do you explain what happened on Genosha."

He smiled again. "Are you sure that's how it happened? That a young woman from a small farming community saved the X-men and all mutantkind?"

"You think I'm lying!" Quetzal jumped to her feet, white hot anger searing through her. "And it wasn't just a farm town."

"Yes, you told me. Ex-spies, retired villains, defunct secret agents and a few repented IRA. And all in another world with no way of checking on it. It's a very elaborate life you've built up."

"I don't lie. Everything I've told you was true."

"Miss LeSaint . . . " he sighed.

Okay that part wasn't exactly true. But it hadn't exactly been a lie when she'd told the receptionist, "just go ahead and write Hope LeSaint in that box."

Dr. Simmons continued. "If you can't be honest with me. If you don't want to change. Then I can't help you give up the Creature."

For a split second Quetzal was tempted to let the Creature out. Instead she stalked out of the office and back onto the street.

She wasn't ready to fly back to the mansion yet. She needed to cool down first or she might do something she really regretted the next time someone looked at her like she was some kind of poisonous snake.

This wasn't working. The only feelings she had regarding what she'd done were fear and concern that she essentially felt nothing and a disappointment that when it came down to it she had to let out the Creature to survive. The therapist sure as shit didn't help. And the X-men, helpful as they were trying to be just made her feel worse. God made lambs and God made wolves, but this was a sheep's world. And Wolverine was the only other wolf she knew. She sure wasn't going to go to him for advice and comfort.

Quetzal froze. There was, she supposed, one person she might be able to talk to. Someone else who might know what it was like to be a wolf among lambs and could maybe give her some advice. It was risky, it was unlikely to pay off, but it was worth a shot.

Her dad's advice had always been to run to the X-men if she got herself in a bad fix.

But her mom always ran to another source when she needed help.