CHAPTER 19: Just A Matter of Opinion
Things had been calm around the mansion with no supervillians to trounce. Consequently, the group spent more and more time relaxing in the eye of the storm. But everyone knew things would not stay that way since despite all that President Kelly had tried to do, the antimutant activists were once again daring to voice their opinions publicly. But they couldn't let public opinion of that nature bother them as they could not in any way affect it. They watched the protestors' propoganda and Kelly's counter-propoganda and mused to themselves about how a war of words could be even more vicious than a war involving nuclear weapons.
Hank at this time was calmly sitting in a lounge chair in a corner of the rec room, leafing through a rather thick folder and making copious notes. He occassionally shook his head and muttered various things about Scott being an idiot. Nobody present thought that this was strange, but the fact that Hank was not voicing his opinions loudly made him the focus of everyone's attention. So when he set the folder down on the coffee table and picked up a stack of Popular Science magazines, everyone's eyes strayed to the folder, wondering what was in it. As time passed and various members wandered in and out, there was not a one who didn't notice that folder sitting on the table alone...unattended. So when Hank left, coincidently forgetting about the folder, it wasn't quite pounced upon - quite - but close enough.
Hank of course, was in the hallway with his eye to the keyhole waiting to see who got to it first. It was Rogue, predictably, as no one dared get in her way.
"Outta my way, swamprat!"
"Oooofff!"
Well, almost no one. Remy had always been a glutton for punishment. Chuckling evilly, Hank went to get himself a cappuccinno, making sure to give them plenty of time to peruse the writings.
"This," he said, "will be good."
* * *
When he returned to the rec room, the folder was just where he had left it, apparently untouched. And when he made a big but subtle scene of fairly disguised relief at finding it nice and safe, everyone noted it.
Hank, the trap now baited, simply sat down and waited. It wasn't long before Scott stormed into the room, clutching a computer printout in his hand. Seeing Hank, he stormed over to him and beligerantly shook the paper beneath Hank's nose, stating quite loudly that he was out of his blue-furred mind if he thought he would permit this.
Hank just looked up at him thoughtfully as he removed the offending paper from Scott's hand, tearing it in the process. He scanned it, looked back, and replied softly, "I had presumed that my memo explained my request quite thoroughly."
Scott began to snarl something, thought better of it as they were in mixed company, then said, "Just because you've gone soft on her Hank, it does not mean that you can extend her the privelege of using the Danger Room. It is not a romping room! It's dangerous and not for amateurs!" he paused for a moment, and when Hank remained silent, added, "I wonder if you're not too personally involved in this to think clearly."
Hank looked at him with an almost shocked expression, then said calmly and with exaggerated care, "Scott, what makes you think that she is not qualified to fight by our side? She dealt with those FOH people quite handily."
"Yes, but look at the consequence! Look at the mess that had to be cleaned!"
"Be that as it may, her subsequent behavior has shown that she does indeed possess the ability to handle herself adequately."
"What behavior?" Scott asked, sounding incredulous. "Your cat's proven that she can't swim, panicks when exposed to water and has proven to be a disruption the entire time she's been here!"
"I wouldn't say she is a disruptive influence," Hank interjected calmly. "She is simply new, and requires some time to come to grips with the way we are and, despite your comments, I believe that she handled herself quite well in her first big confrontation, everything considered."
"Thankfully Hank, your opinion in this situation is not one that matters because until you can prove inconclusively that she can handle herself without endangering herself or others, there is no way I will let her fight with us," Scott said firmly.
"But without allowing her Danger Room experience, how will you judge her ability to fight? AND is that, Scott, the only measure you have of someone's worth? How well they can fight?"
"Unfortunately, she shows a remarkable lack of useful abilities for her mutation. So fighting is the only ruler we have to measure her with, don't we?"
"So you are saying that if she could prove herself capable of fighting effectively, then her qualifications, her eligibilty as a probationary X-person would not be challenged?"
"I hardly think this discussion is in any way relevent since she hasn't proven herself capable."
Hank smiled to himself quietly, amost gloating, then pulled out a sheaf of paper and tossed it on the table between them.
"I take it then, Scott, that you never actually read the post-evaluation of Tyger's Danger Room session which you interrupted."
"Why should I have? Her panicking told me everything I needed to know."
"Dear, before you go on," Jean interrupted.
Scott simply shook his head. "Not now, dear."
*Scott* she repeated, which he chose to ignore.
"Scott," Hank offered, his cheek muscle now twitching. "Perhaps you should actually read her post-evaluation before you go any further."
Scott picked it up, glanced at it, and threw it back down. "I don't have to read any reports to know what I know."
"Then perhaps some of what you know is wrong. After all, she scored 612 on her DR rating."
Scott laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Actually Scott, I don't really give a damn what you think. The object that smashed the DR window was a sentinal's head. The sentinal, according to the DR computers, was a class three, which you are well aware the qualities of and I need not elaborate."
"Class three? Bull. You actually expect us to believe this story?"
"Scott, if you are too thick headed to believe what I say, read the report yourself and check with the computer." He picked up the report, almost rammed it into Scott's chest, and left the room.
Scott looked at the report and was almost ready to throw it into the waste basket when Jean stopped him.
"Scott, perhaps you SHOULD read it."
"I don't have to read it to realize how foolish it all sounds. She's no more qualified to be an X-Man than the cashier at the 7-11!"
Jean simply shook her head. "Read the paper. And until you're thinking clearly," she said as she grabbed a cushion off the sofa and threw it at him, "you're sleeping on the couch."
He just stood there, holding the cushion. #Whatever I did, it's Hank's fault!# he thought angrily.
* * *
Scott was curiously absent for the next couple of days as Hank puttered around the mansion. Personally, he was certain that Scott was suffering from acute verbal indigestion, and it was about time, too. #After all,# he thought to himself, grinning, #he's had a lot of time on the couch to think about it.# In stark contrast, Hank was warm, comfy and quite cuddly with his own partner. #Oh, yes, life is finally getting its act together.# To say he was gloating would be going a bit far. To say he was glorying in the proper serving of desserts might be more accurate. But after all, he'd been the brunt of fate's bad jokes too often, and he felt it was about time that someone else suffered.
Hank was still quietly delighting in the situation when he stumbled across Scott sitting alone, on one of the back patios. The man was quietly sipping tea and looking thoughtful. Hank watched him sitting there for a few moments before deciding to leave him in peace. Scott spoke up, not having looked at him, and asked him to sit. Not knowing what to expect, and with much trepidation, Hank did so.
"You know of course," Scott began calmly, almost as if he were talking to himself, "that normally that type of thing would be grounds for open war. After all, a commander is supposed to lead his troops, as in lead by example. A good commander doesn't instigate his troops to the point where they allow him to blow his foot off to the hip just to teach him a lesson. I'm assuming that was your intention. I'm assuming that was the reason. After all, it would be too much to assume you had gone to all the effort and preparation to stage that little escapade out of pure vindictiveness."
Hank, not saying a word, watched quietly as Scott sipped his tea.
"Hank, do you know what it's like to try to be the leader of this group? This merry band of hyper, individualistic misfits? Have you ever once considered how hard it must be?"
"Er, not really, Scott," Hank replied uncertainly.
"People rarely do. They expect us, leaders I mean, to have all the answers all the time, to be ready to jump at a crisis, to know what to do and what to say. But they don't consider what we go through. It's the fear of failure that drives us, Hank. The knowledge that if we fail, fail in even what might seem the most inconsequential thing, people can die..."
Scott sipped his tea again, then almost whispered, "...like Morph."
Hank said nothing.
"It's failure," Scott continued as he turned and looked at him. Hank assumed he was looking directly in his eyes - it was hard to tell with the visor in the way - but he was feeling very uneasy nonetheless. "Only Jean and Ororo have ever understood the pressures leadership brings."
Scott then stood, sat the now empty cup on the table and leaned over, placing his forearms on the balcony railing and stared out at the forest. "Hank," he said, "I don't hate your kitten. I can't. Primarily because I can't allow myself the luxury of caring about somebody enough to truly hate them."
"But you love Jean, do you not?" Hank asked, his voice very soft.
"Of course I do, Hank! I've lost her as well, over and over again. And every time I lost her, the fear is there that she won't come back the next time. But yes, I love her. Do you know what I'm saying, Hank?"
"Er...it is rather unfortunate but I do not."
Scott continued to stare out at the horizon. "Hank, Tyger is untrained and her power is too tenous to be truly trainable. Yes, she's agile and fast. Yes, she has sharp teeth and sharp claws. But consider the people we go up against."
Scott straightened, glanced once at Hank, and began to pace. "Across the world, mutants and extroardinarily physically gifted individuals have bonded together, grouped themselves like swarms of bees for mutual protection as well as emotional and physical support. It doesn't matter whether we're talking about us, or the Avengers, or any other of the super groups. What matters is that we work together and support each other. Every group that gets together attracts forces that oppose it. There seems to be some cosmic balancing act that keeps these groups fighting. Rarely does a group encounter a menace they can't handle. There's a reason for this. This cosmic balancing act seems to attract opponents of approximately equal power to these groups."
Hank interrupted him. "Scott, what does this have to do with anything?"
Scott paused in his pacing. "Hank, you were an Avenger for some time before rejoining us. How would you compare the two groups?"
"I do not think that we can properly compare them..."
"No, you can't. And that's exactly what I'm trying to say." He resumed his pacing. "In the Avengers, most of the members are not mutants. They gained their powers or tricks from technology. Wonderwoman was an experiment. Vision is an android. The Scarlet Witch has spent years just learning the rudiments of her magic. The Wasp and Giant Man use technology for theirs. Trying to compare the Avengers and the X-men is futile because we do our work on two very different levels of existence. That's the problem with your Tyger. I know you hate to hear it as much as I dislike saying it, but she cannot cope with the level of threat that we are forced to deal with. As an Avenger, she could manage just as easily as Tigra would..." He paused. "By the way," he said, turning back to Hank, "I've been meaning to ask you...there isn't any relationship between those two is there? I mean, those two look enough alike to be sisters."
Hank sighed. "Scott, Tyger was born as she is. She did not gain her appearance from some voodoo potion given to her by cat people in the bowels of some jungle like Tigra was. Tyger really is a mutant."
"It doesn't matter anyway," Scott replied. "Hank, it's not that I don't like the girl. I do, I really do. But throwing her up against someone like Juggernaut, or Magneto, or Dr. Sinister, or any of our other major headaches would be tantamount to murder. I simply refuse to do that."
"Scott, aren't you being just a tad drastic?"
"Am I? We've know each other for a lot of years, Hank, ever since Xavier first brought us together. We've fought everything from human madment to alien armadas. We've saved lives and seen planets die. After a while, the burden of it all takes its tole. Inside, if you truly care and truly hold everything you've done as important, you end up just feeling old. It's the constant battle, Hank. The constant effort and not being certain you'll actually accomplish anything. That's what hurt from your little report, and I've already assumed that from the way the others reacted, they had seen it before you brought it to my attention. I'm also certain that wasn't an accident. I read it, compared it, and I accept the fact that in a simulation, she can fight. But you missed a very criticle fact, one that undermines your entire premise. In the simulation, she was fighting alone. There was no living mind against her. There were no living minds fighting beside her, so she couldn't let her instincts loose. She could fight without fear of consequences."
He stopped, leaned on the railing and stared at the forest again. "Logan said it best: X-Men don't kill if it can possibly be avoided. We may do gratuitious physical damage, but we don't kill. Your little Tyger doesn't have any problem with killing. Her empathy WILL slip during the heat of battle. It's a powerful defense and her body knows that. Her mind will try to use it to protect her no matter what she may want to do otherwise. And when the feedback loop happens, she WILL kill, and I won't be able to stop it, which will make me an accessory to every murder she commits."
Hank was about to say something, but Scott cut him off. "Kindly don't bring Logan's past indescretions into this argument. Yes, he's killed, but never while he's worn the X-Men uniform." He turned again and sat back in his chair. Staring at the empty cup, he said, "Xavier would tell you the same thing were he here. To be an X-man is a tremendous responsibility. To be a leader of the X-Men is an almost crushing one. I can't allow Tyger to fight by our side. The risks are too great. I have no objection to her staying here, nor would I voice one if I did. But she must understand that when we must fight, we fight without her. Now do you understand, Hank?" he asked. Then, still talking to his teacup, he added quietly, "Why don't you go on and think about what I've said."
Hank mumbled a reply and dutifully left. He did indeed have much thinking to do.
* * *
Things had been calm around the mansion with no supervillians to trounce. Consequently, the group spent more and more time relaxing in the eye of the storm. But everyone knew things would not stay that way since despite all that President Kelly had tried to do, the antimutant activists were once again daring to voice their opinions publicly. But they couldn't let public opinion of that nature bother them as they could not in any way affect it. They watched the protestors' propoganda and Kelly's counter-propoganda and mused to themselves about how a war of words could be even more vicious than a war involving nuclear weapons.
Hank at this time was calmly sitting in a lounge chair in a corner of the rec room, leafing through a rather thick folder and making copious notes. He occassionally shook his head and muttered various things about Scott being an idiot. Nobody present thought that this was strange, but the fact that Hank was not voicing his opinions loudly made him the focus of everyone's attention. So when he set the folder down on the coffee table and picked up a stack of Popular Science magazines, everyone's eyes strayed to the folder, wondering what was in it. As time passed and various members wandered in and out, there was not a one who didn't notice that folder sitting on the table alone...unattended. So when Hank left, coincidently forgetting about the folder, it wasn't quite pounced upon - quite - but close enough.
Hank of course, was in the hallway with his eye to the keyhole waiting to see who got to it first. It was Rogue, predictably, as no one dared get in her way.
"Outta my way, swamprat!"
"Oooofff!"
Well, almost no one. Remy had always been a glutton for punishment. Chuckling evilly, Hank went to get himself a cappuccinno, making sure to give them plenty of time to peruse the writings.
"This," he said, "will be good."
* * *
When he returned to the rec room, the folder was just where he had left it, apparently untouched. And when he made a big but subtle scene of fairly disguised relief at finding it nice and safe, everyone noted it.
Hank, the trap now baited, simply sat down and waited. It wasn't long before Scott stormed into the room, clutching a computer printout in his hand. Seeing Hank, he stormed over to him and beligerantly shook the paper beneath Hank's nose, stating quite loudly that he was out of his blue-furred mind if he thought he would permit this.
Hank just looked up at him thoughtfully as he removed the offending paper from Scott's hand, tearing it in the process. He scanned it, looked back, and replied softly, "I had presumed that my memo explained my request quite thoroughly."
Scott began to snarl something, thought better of it as they were in mixed company, then said, "Just because you've gone soft on her Hank, it does not mean that you can extend her the privelege of using the Danger Room. It is not a romping room! It's dangerous and not for amateurs!" he paused for a moment, and when Hank remained silent, added, "I wonder if you're not too personally involved in this to think clearly."
Hank looked at him with an almost shocked expression, then said calmly and with exaggerated care, "Scott, what makes you think that she is not qualified to fight by our side? She dealt with those FOH people quite handily."
"Yes, but look at the consequence! Look at the mess that had to be cleaned!"
"Be that as it may, her subsequent behavior has shown that she does indeed possess the ability to handle herself adequately."
"What behavior?" Scott asked, sounding incredulous. "Your cat's proven that she can't swim, panicks when exposed to water and has proven to be a disruption the entire time she's been here!"
"I wouldn't say she is a disruptive influence," Hank interjected calmly. "She is simply new, and requires some time to come to grips with the way we are and, despite your comments, I believe that she handled herself quite well in her first big confrontation, everything considered."
"Thankfully Hank, your opinion in this situation is not one that matters because until you can prove inconclusively that she can handle herself without endangering herself or others, there is no way I will let her fight with us," Scott said firmly.
"But without allowing her Danger Room experience, how will you judge her ability to fight? AND is that, Scott, the only measure you have of someone's worth? How well they can fight?"
"Unfortunately, she shows a remarkable lack of useful abilities for her mutation. So fighting is the only ruler we have to measure her with, don't we?"
"So you are saying that if she could prove herself capable of fighting effectively, then her qualifications, her eligibilty as a probationary X-person would not be challenged?"
"I hardly think this discussion is in any way relevent since she hasn't proven herself capable."
Hank smiled to himself quietly, amost gloating, then pulled out a sheaf of paper and tossed it on the table between them.
"I take it then, Scott, that you never actually read the post-evaluation of Tyger's Danger Room session which you interrupted."
"Why should I have? Her panicking told me everything I needed to know."
"Dear, before you go on," Jean interrupted.
Scott simply shook his head. "Not now, dear."
*Scott* she repeated, which he chose to ignore.
"Scott," Hank offered, his cheek muscle now twitching. "Perhaps you should actually read her post-evaluation before you go any further."
Scott picked it up, glanced at it, and threw it back down. "I don't have to read any reports to know what I know."
"Then perhaps some of what you know is wrong. After all, she scored 612 on her DR rating."
Scott laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Actually Scott, I don't really give a damn what you think. The object that smashed the DR window was a sentinal's head. The sentinal, according to the DR computers, was a class three, which you are well aware the qualities of and I need not elaborate."
"Class three? Bull. You actually expect us to believe this story?"
"Scott, if you are too thick headed to believe what I say, read the report yourself and check with the computer." He picked up the report, almost rammed it into Scott's chest, and left the room.
Scott looked at the report and was almost ready to throw it into the waste basket when Jean stopped him.
"Scott, perhaps you SHOULD read it."
"I don't have to read it to realize how foolish it all sounds. She's no more qualified to be an X-Man than the cashier at the 7-11!"
Jean simply shook her head. "Read the paper. And until you're thinking clearly," she said as she grabbed a cushion off the sofa and threw it at him, "you're sleeping on the couch."
He just stood there, holding the cushion. #Whatever I did, it's Hank's fault!# he thought angrily.
* * *
Scott was curiously absent for the next couple of days as Hank puttered around the mansion. Personally, he was certain that Scott was suffering from acute verbal indigestion, and it was about time, too. #After all,# he thought to himself, grinning, #he's had a lot of time on the couch to think about it.# In stark contrast, Hank was warm, comfy and quite cuddly with his own partner. #Oh, yes, life is finally getting its act together.# To say he was gloating would be going a bit far. To say he was glorying in the proper serving of desserts might be more accurate. But after all, he'd been the brunt of fate's bad jokes too often, and he felt it was about time that someone else suffered.
Hank was still quietly delighting in the situation when he stumbled across Scott sitting alone, on one of the back patios. The man was quietly sipping tea and looking thoughtful. Hank watched him sitting there for a few moments before deciding to leave him in peace. Scott spoke up, not having looked at him, and asked him to sit. Not knowing what to expect, and with much trepidation, Hank did so.
"You know of course," Scott began calmly, almost as if he were talking to himself, "that normally that type of thing would be grounds for open war. After all, a commander is supposed to lead his troops, as in lead by example. A good commander doesn't instigate his troops to the point where they allow him to blow his foot off to the hip just to teach him a lesson. I'm assuming that was your intention. I'm assuming that was the reason. After all, it would be too much to assume you had gone to all the effort and preparation to stage that little escapade out of pure vindictiveness."
Hank, not saying a word, watched quietly as Scott sipped his tea.
"Hank, do you know what it's like to try to be the leader of this group? This merry band of hyper, individualistic misfits? Have you ever once considered how hard it must be?"
"Er, not really, Scott," Hank replied uncertainly.
"People rarely do. They expect us, leaders I mean, to have all the answers all the time, to be ready to jump at a crisis, to know what to do and what to say. But they don't consider what we go through. It's the fear of failure that drives us, Hank. The knowledge that if we fail, fail in even what might seem the most inconsequential thing, people can die..."
Scott sipped his tea again, then almost whispered, "...like Morph."
Hank said nothing.
"It's failure," Scott continued as he turned and looked at him. Hank assumed he was looking directly in his eyes - it was hard to tell with the visor in the way - but he was feeling very uneasy nonetheless. "Only Jean and Ororo have ever understood the pressures leadership brings."
Scott then stood, sat the now empty cup on the table and leaned over, placing his forearms on the balcony railing and stared out at the forest. "Hank," he said, "I don't hate your kitten. I can't. Primarily because I can't allow myself the luxury of caring about somebody enough to truly hate them."
"But you love Jean, do you not?" Hank asked, his voice very soft.
"Of course I do, Hank! I've lost her as well, over and over again. And every time I lost her, the fear is there that she won't come back the next time. But yes, I love her. Do you know what I'm saying, Hank?"
"Er...it is rather unfortunate but I do not."
Scott continued to stare out at the horizon. "Hank, Tyger is untrained and her power is too tenous to be truly trainable. Yes, she's agile and fast. Yes, she has sharp teeth and sharp claws. But consider the people we go up against."
Scott straightened, glanced once at Hank, and began to pace. "Across the world, mutants and extroardinarily physically gifted individuals have bonded together, grouped themselves like swarms of bees for mutual protection as well as emotional and physical support. It doesn't matter whether we're talking about us, or the Avengers, or any other of the super groups. What matters is that we work together and support each other. Every group that gets together attracts forces that oppose it. There seems to be some cosmic balancing act that keeps these groups fighting. Rarely does a group encounter a menace they can't handle. There's a reason for this. This cosmic balancing act seems to attract opponents of approximately equal power to these groups."
Hank interrupted him. "Scott, what does this have to do with anything?"
Scott paused in his pacing. "Hank, you were an Avenger for some time before rejoining us. How would you compare the two groups?"
"I do not think that we can properly compare them..."
"No, you can't. And that's exactly what I'm trying to say." He resumed his pacing. "In the Avengers, most of the members are not mutants. They gained their powers or tricks from technology. Wonderwoman was an experiment. Vision is an android. The Scarlet Witch has spent years just learning the rudiments of her magic. The Wasp and Giant Man use technology for theirs. Trying to compare the Avengers and the X-men is futile because we do our work on two very different levels of existence. That's the problem with your Tyger. I know you hate to hear it as much as I dislike saying it, but she cannot cope with the level of threat that we are forced to deal with. As an Avenger, she could manage just as easily as Tigra would..." He paused. "By the way," he said, turning back to Hank, "I've been meaning to ask you...there isn't any relationship between those two is there? I mean, those two look enough alike to be sisters."
Hank sighed. "Scott, Tyger was born as she is. She did not gain her appearance from some voodoo potion given to her by cat people in the bowels of some jungle like Tigra was. Tyger really is a mutant."
"It doesn't matter anyway," Scott replied. "Hank, it's not that I don't like the girl. I do, I really do. But throwing her up against someone like Juggernaut, or Magneto, or Dr. Sinister, or any of our other major headaches would be tantamount to murder. I simply refuse to do that."
"Scott, aren't you being just a tad drastic?"
"Am I? We've know each other for a lot of years, Hank, ever since Xavier first brought us together. We've fought everything from human madment to alien armadas. We've saved lives and seen planets die. After a while, the burden of it all takes its tole. Inside, if you truly care and truly hold everything you've done as important, you end up just feeling old. It's the constant battle, Hank. The constant effort and not being certain you'll actually accomplish anything. That's what hurt from your little report, and I've already assumed that from the way the others reacted, they had seen it before you brought it to my attention. I'm also certain that wasn't an accident. I read it, compared it, and I accept the fact that in a simulation, she can fight. But you missed a very criticle fact, one that undermines your entire premise. In the simulation, she was fighting alone. There was no living mind against her. There were no living minds fighting beside her, so she couldn't let her instincts loose. She could fight without fear of consequences."
He stopped, leaned on the railing and stared at the forest again. "Logan said it best: X-Men don't kill if it can possibly be avoided. We may do gratuitious physical damage, but we don't kill. Your little Tyger doesn't have any problem with killing. Her empathy WILL slip during the heat of battle. It's a powerful defense and her body knows that. Her mind will try to use it to protect her no matter what she may want to do otherwise. And when the feedback loop happens, she WILL kill, and I won't be able to stop it, which will make me an accessory to every murder she commits."
Hank was about to say something, but Scott cut him off. "Kindly don't bring Logan's past indescretions into this argument. Yes, he's killed, but never while he's worn the X-Men uniform." He turned again and sat back in his chair. Staring at the empty cup, he said, "Xavier would tell you the same thing were he here. To be an X-man is a tremendous responsibility. To be a leader of the X-Men is an almost crushing one. I can't allow Tyger to fight by our side. The risks are too great. I have no objection to her staying here, nor would I voice one if I did. But she must understand that when we must fight, we fight without her. Now do you understand, Hank?" he asked. Then, still talking to his teacup, he added quietly, "Why don't you go on and think about what I've said."
Hank mumbled a reply and dutifully left. He did indeed have much thinking to do.
* * *