Still don't own them, and clearly so, because if I did, the "Wolverine" movie would've fit my origin, not theirs. GRIN

X X X X X

Rachel gave thanks for finals week -- though she wasn't a student, she was helping her dad and Ororo with their exams, grading multiple choice and short answer questions so they had more time for the essay questions. The work kept her busy enough that she didn't have time to dwell on what had happened between her and Logan at the cottage.

She was glad to have the distraction, but when finals week ended, she had to find some other distraction. She'd finally cast her thoughts across the school, looking for some task, any task, she could help with, and found her mother in the hangar inventorying the medical kit in the Blackbird. Menial, but necessary. So she made her way down to the hangar.

"Want some help?" she asked.

"Love some." Her mother held out a clipboard and pen.

"Thanks. I'm feeling kind of ... lost. At loose ends." Rachel took the clipboard and pen, then sat on the air next to her mother. "No school, and no real X-Men duties yet."

"Scott will probably have us practicing together in the Danger Room before long. Coordinating telekinetic attacks, maintaining combat mindlinks, and only he knows what else he's thought of. We need to replace the tape I used on Hank's ribs."

"That sounds like Dad. Or how you always talked about him." She noted the tape on the list.

Her mother worked quietly for a few minutes, and Rachel realized that this wasn't going to be as distracting as she'd hoped. Her mind kept returning to the night in the cottage. She'd never regret helping Logan regain some of his lost memories, but she had hoped for much more. She'd even worked her courage up enough to kiss him -- and that kiss had been better than her fantasies had been. Maybe the rest would be, too.

Assuming they ever got to the rest.

"Feels like you're thinking heavy thoughts." Her mother's quiet observation broke into her musing. "Want to talk about it?"

"Talk, okay. Not mindlink."

"Talking sometimes helps more than linking."

Rachel blinked at her mother's statement -- but then again, who'd know better the limits of mindlinking than Jean Grey? She took a breath. "There's a guy -- bet you guessed that, didn't you?"

"It would've been one of the first guesses, yes." Then she looked at Rachel, considering. "You know everyone here -- well, everyone who survived -- only as older versions. So is it a guy, or the guy you think he becomes?"

"You were always too damn perceptive for my comfort."

"Mother's intuition, not telepathy. Your grandma has it in spades. You won't be able to avoid the question forever. The antiseptic ointment is outdated."

"I'm not, honest." Rachel noted antiseptic ointment on the pad. "And -- well, I think it's both. I see everything in him now that I saw then."

"Fair enough. And?"

"And -- I talked to him about it. Or tried to. It -- didn't go like I hoped."

"These things rarely do. Flat out rejection?"

"At the least a 'not now' and maybe a flat refusal."

"You have the advantage of knowing him lots better than he knows you. You haven't even been here two weeks yet."

Rachel sighed. "Maybe I just moved too fast. But he's always seemed like the decisive sort to me."

"Most men can be decisive when it comes to sex. Emotional relationships, not so much. Biologically, it makes perfect sense. But we're more than biology."

"All I offered was sex." And that may not have been the best thing to admit to your mother, Rachel realized after she said it.

Her mother seemed to take it in stride, though. "As long as you've got birth control."

"Yeah." Rachel looked at her, curious. "You're not... I don't know, upset that I'm having sex?"

"Upset?" Her mother considered that. "Maybe a little, but I've seen glimpses of your life. I have the impression that you learned to grab happiness where and when you could."

"You taught me that."

"Did I? I suppose Scott's death changed things for me."

"It's good to see you happy. I mean, really happy. You and Keith were ... well, it's different, you and Dad."

Her mother smiled an acknowledgement, then said, "But he -- whoever he is -- hasn't had the same experiences yet. He may be looking for an emotional relationship."

"Maybe."

"Make a note that I should talk to the special forces teams we worked with. Getting one of their crash kits makes sense for the future. No pun intended."

"No pun taken." Rachel made the note.

"I think I know who you're talking about," her mother said. "No, you didn't leak, I'm just going through process of elimination."

Rachel sighed. "I should've known you'd figure it out."

"Before I say what I'm thinking -- I need to confirm. Logan?"

"Logan." No use denying it.

Her mother turned to face her. "That probably explains why he's reluctant -- at least partly."

"What do you mean?"

"When he first got here, he was very attracted to me." Her mother's voice was calm, almost clinical. "I was with Scott, but that didn't seem to matter."

"What happened?"

"He got over it, after a while. But you're my daughter, and you look a lot like me. Can you see where he might be reluctant?" And then her mother gave her a wicked grin. "Not to mention, I can just imagine him telling Scott about it..."

She didn't project, but she did push that image forward, and Rachel had to laugh at the image her mother presented. "Yeah. Yeah, I can see how that might not be the most appealing thing in the world."

"What's not?" Keith's voice echoed in the hangar.

"Girl talk," her mother said smoothly. "It would probably gross you out."

"I have four sisters, so I'm used to it. But I'll still pass, thanks. I just wanted to say goodbye before I head to the airport."

"You're leaving?" Rachel couldn't help blurting.

"The boss thinks I've been slacking off." Keith grinned. "And even telling him I've spent several days with the X-Men, observing their training and getting interviews, hasn't quieted him down the last day or so. I suppose I should go back and actually write the articles."

"Probably so," her mother said.

"Can you come back?" Rachel asked.

"I'll try," Keith said. "But it depends on my vacation and whether you guys are off saving the world or not."

"Your vacation's probably more dependable," her mother said. "But call anytime."

"Can I use you as a resource for mutant genetics articles?"

Her mother laughed. "Sure."

Keith grinned at her, then turned his smile on Rachel. "Looking forward to seeing two redhead telekinetics in the X-Men."

Rachel couldn't help throwing her arms around Keith. "You take care of yourself, you hear me?"

"You too, kiddo," Keith said, returning the hug. "And if you need a normal adult to talk to, you call me."

"We're perfectly normal here," her mother began, then broke off, frowning in concentration.

"Of course. I meant non-X-Men perspective. That's got to be useful, sometimes." Then he lowered his voice. "And sometimes, you just need to talk to a non-parent."

Rachel laughed and forced herself to stand back. He was her father emotionally if not biologically. She knew that he didn't realize that, and knew that she had to start thinking of Cyclops -- Scott -- as Dad. But it wouldn't be easy to change sixteen years of thinking.

With a wave, Keith turned to leave.

"Mom?" Rachel asked when her mother was still quiet. "What's wrong?"

"Not wrong, not yet," her mother answered. "But Scott's got to go to Washington. Hank called."

"So? That's part of his job, isn't it?"

"Did Fitzroy tell you that the incident at the debate was the only thing that needed to change?"

Rachel frowned. "I don't know. Why?"

"Hank wants to discuss some new technologies with Scott -- technologies that could be used against mutants just like Trask's Sentinels could be." Her mother sounded grim. "It may not be over yet."

- X -

If this kept up, Scott thought, he'd soon know Washington as well as he knew Westchester.

Because this was an overnight trip, he'd chosen his motorcycle over a Blackbird, despite the insanely high parking rates in Washington. He'd left it in hotel parking when he arrived, rather than deal with DC traffic, but that was, to his mind, a better choice than leaving a specially modified Blackbird where possibly unscrupulous technical types had free access to it longer than a couple of hours.

He'd spent the night in his hotel room and after an early morning run during which, thankfully, he'd not encountered the president out for his own morning jog, he'd had an overpriced room service breakfast and headed for the Metro.

Jean had understood his concern that the new programs Hank wanted to discuss might be simply Project Wideawake under a different name. It could simply be coincidence, or it might be that their actions at the studio hadn't been enough to completely change Rachel's timeline. Scott wasn't willing to bet on coincidence.

He climbed the stairs out of the Maryland Avenue Metro station, ignoring the escalators, and walked the half block to the Mutant Affairs building. It had once housed the Department of Education, but that department had moved to larger quarters a couple of years back, and now it was fast becoming Hank McCoy's second home. And perhaps his own, too.

Assuming, of course, he could get past the receptionist.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Summers, but Secretary McCoy will be in meetings all day." Like all good receptionists, she managed to imbue a polite lie with a steel that challenged him to call her on it.

"I know," he said. "Meetings with me."

"Your name's not on my list." She'd at least had the courtesy to glance at her computer monitor before saying it.

"It will be." This steel wall didn't need to be punched through, he decided, not when it could be gotten around. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed Hank's number from memory. When Hank answered, he said, "The Pentagon's already gotten me a badge with my picture on it. You haven't even put my name on the list."

He chuckled at Hank's very undiplomatic reply and disconnected the call. The receptionist's expression shifted from polite wall to interested curiosity. That he hadn't bothered to identify himself told her more than any words he spoke could've.

Her phone rang and he gave thanks that he wouldn't have to make small talk until Hank arrived. He could do it, he just didn't enjoy it.

A door to the left rear of the receptionist opened and Hank stepped through it into the lobby. "It was first on my to-do list this morning, but when I got here at seven, there was -- better if I show you."

Scott had crossed to the door as Hank spoke. "That doesn't sound good, Hank."

"No, it doesn't. Esther, this is Scott Summers," Hank added to the woman at the desk, who'd finished her call. "Also called Cyclops, commander of the X-Men and a good friend. You can let him in whenever he shows up."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary." Esther's voice held the confidence of someone who knew she'd acted correctly in the circumstances.

"Nice to meet you, Esther," Scott called over his shoulder as Hank shoved the door to the inner offices open and led him through it and then a maze of cubicles to his own office at the rear of the building. Scott saw a hodgepodge of humans -- or human-appearing mutants, he amended -- and obvious mutants working in the various cubicles. Seeing a living example of what he and Charles sought to create made him smile.

"It's a start," Hank said, noting his expression.

"Every little bit helps," Scott agreed. "So what disturbed you at seven a.m.?"

"This." Hank slid a bound document across the desk to him. "From Shaw Industries."

Scott felt his jaw tightening at the title of the report, "Enforcing House Arrest and Parole in the Mutant Population."

"The substance of their proposal," Hank said, "is to utilize an automated surveillance system comprised of flying cameras encased in adamantium. Unbreakable."

"Use it for what?"

"Surveillance whenever the criminal leaves his home. A complement to the GPS systems already in use for similar monitoring."

"Why does Shaw Industries think mutants need their privacy invaded more than non-mutants?" Scott tried to keep his question civil, but he had no doubt Hank heard the barely-restrained anger in his voice. They were working for equality, dammit -- why did everyone have to try to shove discriminatory legislation and technology down their throats?

Hank swung onto a bar suspended from the ceiling, looked down at Scott. Scott leaned back in his chair to meet his old friend's gaze. "The powers are a factor that other criminals don't have. And I don't believe the use of this Sentinel program will be universal. It would be limited only to those with gross mutations."

"Like you? Me?" Scott shook his head. "I'll agree that some mutants may be more dangerous than others, and that some mutants may need tighter security because of that, but criminals put on house arrest or even paroled are usually not violent felons, so I'm reluctant to support this."

"I'm meeting with Sebastian Shaw tomorrow afternoon to discuss the proposal. Will you join us?"

"Only if that," he nodded at the proposal, "isn't classified so I can take it and read it in my room tonight."

"It's only a proposal. The technology is trade secret and some of the details will be classified, but that isn't."

"Good enough," Scott said, and tucked the report aside. "What else are we dealing with now?"

"Jury trials for mutant criminals," Hank said. "Until that landed on my desk, I would've said the jury issue is the biggest hurdle we have to jump."

"Why do you say that?"

"We've been lobbying for equal rights," Hank said. "How is discriminating on jury

membership equal rights?"

"I told the president that we handed over Mystique because she's a criminal -- with all the rights that all criminals have. Due process, trial by a jury of her peers. What's the issue?"

"Exactly that," Hank responded. "A jury of her peers. Who are her peers? More precisely, can non-mutants be considered her peers?"

"That's what we're working for, Hank," Scott reminded him. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, right?"

"What happens when a non-mutant jury sentences a mutant to the cure -- and they will?" Hank asked. "All the Magnetos in the country will be out for blood."

Scott stared at him. "Say again?"

"What?" Hank frowned at the question.

"Say that again -- what happens when a non-mutant jury --?"

"What happens when a non-mutant jury sentences a mutant to the cure?"

It took Scott a few seconds to find the words. "Why is that even an option?"

Hank blinked at him like a demented owl. "What do you mean?"

"No words over two syllables, shouldn't be that hard to understand. Why is it even an option?"

"It's a humane punishment that --"

Scott cut him off. "Humane? How can you look me in the eye and say that's humane?"

"Technically, I'm not looking you in the eye," Hank began, and Scott ripped his glasses off. Hank grimaced. "How is it not humane? It's not the death penalty --"

"It's worse, Hank. Using the suppression serum as barbaric as chopping off a thief's hand," Scott said, surprised by his passion. Was this how Jean felt when she testified before the Senate, full of fire and channeling it to some purpose?

"Not everyone will see it that way."

"Then we have to make them see it that way." What had happened to his old friend? Scott felt a pang of regret that he'd saved Hank in Baja, then guilt rushed after that feeling. "Some punishments are barbaric on their face. We don't cut off thieves' hands or stick hot pokers in people's eyes. We're better than that."

"It won't be used indiscriminately," Hank said, his tone pitched to be soothing. "Only for felons, and I'll be pressing to make it part of sentencing only, and that any jury sentencing a mutant must include mutants. Guilt or innocence crosses all lines -- racial and genetic -- but sentencing, especially for this, must include other mutants."

Scott shook his head, the soothing pitch somehow irritating him more. "No. It's not an option. It can't be an option. Period."

"Alcatraz --"

"I hated the use of the suppression serum then, too. And L.A. It wasn't the time to argue the issue. The greater good and pragmatism won out." Scott rose, paced the room. "But we can't always allow pragmatism to win. We have to start as we want to finish."

"Be reasonable --"

"No. Not on this. There can be no compromise on this, Hank. At all."

"Scott --"

"I told the president not to make us regret fighting his war for him. Don't make me regret saving you in Baja."

Any other time, the hurt betrayal in Hank's eyes would've broken him. But not now. Now he had to stand firm on behalf not only of the X-Men, but of mutants around the country -- no, the world -- who deserved to sleep in peace at night the same as anyone else.

"I'll see you in the morning." He grabbed the Shaw Industries proposal from Hank's desk and left before he said anything more.