The next two days saw the rest of the defense witnesses in quick succession. The logic, Beast gathered, was that because the prosecution had given such a speedy presentation - whether they wanted to or not - the defense had better do the same, or risk the appearance of stalling.

Of all the witnesses who rushed through the stand, Dr. Patronete proved to be the best, remaining calm and collected even in the face of a zealous cross-examination. Evidently being a Bigfoot researcher had given him an immunity to people accusing him of lying, and he kept to his story without varying overmuch. That was a stroke of good fortune for the defense, because Patronete's testimony was crucial; he was the only one who had seen Beast's unambigously good deeds firsthand, and if the prosecution had gotten him to crack, it would have been difficult to undo the damage. All this was explained to him a relieved aside from Commander Rabb that night, right before his lawyer imparted some more advice.

"When Mac puts you up on the stand tomorrow, remember that you're not there to blind everyone with your intelligence - you're there to awe them with your humility and honesty. And the courtroom is not a classroom, so don't slip back into any bad teacher habits. Juries do not like being lectured to."

Beast accepted all of that with a nod and a grateful thanks. His testimony was inevitable, it was vital, it was the only thing that could really guarantee a win, and he was extremely nervous about it. To be perfectly honest, he was scared out of his wits. To carry his own fate was not something he liked to do; it was one of the reasons he'd quit football. The only time he'd tried to change things for the better, it had backfired and left him with years of sporadic, agonizing pain and eventually, a lot of blue fur.

So he told himself that the only thing he could do was try his best, and if he fell flat on his face, then his lawyers would just have to come up with another approach.

It was a lie, but he was fairly good at lying to himself, and he entered the courtroom on the fateful day with a cautious sense of confidence amid all the nervousness.

The first thing MacKenzie did was to stand up and hand a sheet of paper to Judge Green, saying, "Your Honor, before Dr. McCoy testifies, we would like to enter into evidence a contract he signed earlier this year."

The judge took the paper, slipping on a pair of glasses to read it. As she did, her eyebrows hiked up.

"As you can see, this contract has a strict confidentiality clause that expressly forbids him to discuss the activities, faculty, and students of the private academy where he now works. Because of this, we are requesting that no attempts be made on the prosecution's part to question Dr. McCoy about his workplace."

The prosecutor, with an audible note of disgust, flung his copy of the contract down and said, "Your Honor, that is the most ridiculous-"

"Dr. McCoy," MacKenzie said, loud enough to drown out the prosecutor but not quite loud enough to be rude, "has stated to myself and Commander Rabb that he would rather stand contempt charges than be forced into breaking an oath to his students."

They weren't just lawyers, Beast decided; they were spin doctors par excellance. How else could she turn a suspicious refusal to talk into a noble endeavour? He straightened in the chair and tried to look noble in order to move the game along.

"You're not going to talk about any of this?" Judge Green ask him point-blank, waving the contract like a flag.

Beast shook his head. "Respectfully, no, Your Honor."

"Even though I could slap another charge onto your list."

"It would be a violation of the students' rights to privacy. I could not do it in good conscience without their permission."

"And your dream team has already fixed that good and well," Judge Green said, narrowing her eyes. "Fine. No one's going to ask Dr. McCoy about the school. Got it?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the prosecutor replied, looking more than a little miffed.

MacKenzie started it off with a life-in-summary questions, asking him to tell them about his childhood, his adolescence, college years, the job at the Brand Corporation, and everything in between. She had him explain his mutation, and the steps he'd taken to prevent his ultimate transformation, right down to the chemicals he'd used in his serum and how it had tasted. That part wasn't fun - it made him more than a little ashamed to admit to denying his mutation - but he did it, and he thought he did it well.

He kept his answers clear and succinct, trying to not talk down to the jury while at the same time trying to be as accurate as possible. Rabb had warned against treating the courtroom like a classroom, but he found that his teaching experience came in handy. Answering out-of-the-blue questions from students had given him a solid ability to think on his feet.

The only bad spot during her questioning was the persistant itching of his suit collar - a small but continous annoyance that made him even more on edge than he was already. When the prosecutor got up to do the cross-examination, Beast had to forcibly calm himself. This was it. Time to be a hero and save himself.

He wished again, fleetingly, for Trask to send in a Sentinel. That kind of saving was so much easier.

The prosecutor asked a few typically inane questions, then launched into his real offense. "Are you a genius, Dr. McCoy?"

"According to standardized intelligence tests, I am."

"What's your IQ?"

"It's something around 150, I think."

"157. You skipped several grades of school, didn't you?"

He shifted, a little uncomfortable now that he could see where this was going. "Just three."

"Did the other kids pick on you? Call you names?"

"Yes. I believe the most common was 'hey, you big ugly brain, why'd you ruin the grading curve'."

At least four people in the jury chuckled at that.

"That make you mad?"

Beast reflected on it for a moment. "At the time -? It made me sad. I wanted to fit in - I just couldn't figure out how to do it."

"Kids who were dumber than you picked on you, called you names, made your life miserable, and you only felt sad? There was no anger there at all, no resentment?"

"No," he said, quite firmly. "If anything, I felt sorry for them."

The moment the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. The jury did not look impressed, and MacKenzie winced slightly.

The prosecutor jumped on it. " 'Sorry'? Because they weren't smart enough? Because they were poor stupid Homo sapiens?"

"Because they were intolerant," Beast shot back. "The same reason I feel sorry for Dr. Trask and for you, although I realize you're just trying to do your job."

MacKenzie's eyebrows rose into a hastily smothered expression of amused surprise.

Closer at hand, the prosecutor was flustered. He paused in his questions and blinked a few times before retrieving a stapled bunch of papers from his table.

"I have here a sworn affadavit from Edward Kelly regarding your last day at the school." The prosecutor handed Beast the paper. "Have you seen this document before?"

"Yes, I have," Beast said, handing it back and folding his hands in his lap once again. Kelly had been unable to leave Bayville High School for as long as the trial would require, the story went, so they'd gotten a statment from him instead. As good as testimony, apparently.

"Is it an accurate statement?"

"As far as I know. I wasn't seeing events from Mr. Kelly's perspective."

"That's right, you were too busy pulling a Jekyll-and-Hyde act and rampaging through the school."

"Objection," MacKenzie cut in. "Is counsel going to ask a question?"

Judge Green said, "Sustained."

"Sorry, Judge." The prosecutor smoothed his tie. "Did you drink a chemical mixture that caused you to turn into a furry blue monster?"

"Objection!" MacKenzie said again, this time more forcefully.

"Sustained." The judge gave the prosecutor a warning look. "Watch your tongue."

"I'll rephrase, Your Honor. Did you drink a chemical mixture that caused you to mutate further?"

He was no longer sure if it had been the botched serum; a conversation with Xavier some time ago had made him wonder if perhaps the mutation would have surfaced that night anyway. Some forces of nature could only be held in check for so long. Nevertheless, he answered, "Yes."

"Was that intentional?"

"No, not hardly."

"You have a doctorate in chemistry. How did you unintentionally do something like this?"

Beast sighed. "I... was in a hurry. I miscalculated."

"But you did pursue Kelly, didn't you?"

"That night," Beast said precisely, wanting everyone to understand, "is a blur. I remember very little. If Kelly says that I pursued him, I'm not going to doubt his word. It is a duly sworn affadavit."

"You pursued him in a blind rage because for the first time in your life, you had a chance to take out all that anger and aggression and fury that had been building ever since those kids back in grade school bullied you. Isn't that right?"

Beast had to laugh, although he swallowed it and managed to only grin. "Oh, please. What is this, a leftover from the Hulk psychoanalysis? No, it's not right. I got out any pent-up anger years ago, on the football field."

A quick expression of startlement passed over the prosecutor's face, followed by an ever briefer expression of "oh" as he put the pieces together. Evidently he'd forgotten about the football.

The question had been asked and answered, but Beast decided to continue. "I was quarterback some nights, and a lineman the others - I played all over the field, and I got to smash into more people than I ever might as a raging supervillain. I was also part of a team, which was the most valuable part of the experience."

One of the jurors - a middle-aged man wearing a t-shirt with an SEC team's logo on it - nodded thoughtfully and with a visible gleam of respect in his eyes.

The prosecutor had returned to his table yet again, this time to flip through his notes and hastily confer with the other attorneys. After a bit of whispered talk, he straightened and said, most unhappy, "No further questions at this time, Your Honor."

MacKenzie stood and strode back out to the witness stand. "Dr. McCoy, one quick question. Have you spoken to any of the people who used to tease you as a child?"

"Yes, I have," he said. "Several of them, all of whom laughed and apologized for their actions. In fact, one of them testified here on my behalf."

MacKenzie nodded briskly, the picture of military precision. "Thank you. The defense rests, Your Honor."

Judge Green looked at the clock, and at the setting sun outside, and adjourned the court for the day.

MacKenzie assured him that he wouldn't have to take the stand again, but if he did to look out for the prosecutor, who would almost certainly have a nasty trick ready next time.

The day was rounded off by yet another call from Commander Rabb, this one coming at close to midnight.

"We've, uh... we've had some more trouble."

Beast was suitably alarmed by the man's tone. "Trouble?"

"Someone tried to break into the apartment and take the kids."

"Did they?"

"No." Rabb chuckled, a bit of amazement creeping in. "The kids cleaned the floor with them. But they've been moved to a safehouse."

"A safehouse?" He was, Beast reflected absently, a little tired of asking questions. Just once he wanted to be on the side in the know.

"Provided by Webb," Rabb said. "But he's the kind of friend that brings more trouble than he's worth, so Mac and Sergei are there now, keeping an eye on things. I'm patching holes in the plaster - Evan caused more damage than anyone."

"Any indication of who the attackers were?"

"Yeah. They belong to Bolivar Trask. One of 'em is the man who tried to kill Trish Tilby."

Beast sat back, not at all shocked. Hadn't he suspected as much for days now? Trask was a fanatic; he'd go after three dangerous mutants in a heartbeat, whether they were kids or not, and especially if he thought they'd slighted him in some way. The only part that surprised Beast was how long it had taken Trask to find them. Rabb and MacKenzie had covered their tracks well.

"...cops have turned them over to the FBI," Rabb was saying. "Who in God's name would send professional assassins after three kids?"

"Bolivar Trask," Beast answered, grim. "Are you sure they're safe?"

"As safe as we can make them." Rabb shifted gears. "I'll see you in court tomorrow for closing arguments. Goodnight, Doc."

The flat hum of the dial tone made poor company for his thoughts.

Note: The warning against treating the courtroom like a classroom was inspired by a comment made by Dr. William Maples in his excellent book, 'Dead Men Do Tell Tales,' a model of lucid and gripping writing if ever there was one. My fave chapter was the one on Pizarro's skeleton.