AN: ok, this one is pretty long. That's alright, right?

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Hank woke up under a pile of blankets. He pried his sore eyes open and glanced around. A thought tried to work itself into his fuzzy mind: here he was, in his own bed, but why on earth was it in the upper lab? He gazed around for a little while until his eyes lit on a quiet shape dozing in a corner. On the couch. That was also in the upper lab. It shouldn't be there, he thought hazily. The figure had a gaudy afghan draped over most of it, and what he could see was an auburn head, turned away from him and buried in the couch's cushions.

He coughed harshly, feeling his body react differently to something. When he raised his hand to his mouth again, he felt something bump against it. Exploring with his fingers, he found two razor-sharp teeth, like bottom fangs, extend from his jaw. His jutting lower jaw. He held out his hands in front of him. They were huge, the backs covered with a thick patch of blue fur, and the bottoms like the thick pads of a monkey or ape. Hank added up all the traits and came to one conclusion: drinking the virus had mutated him again, into something more animalistic. He wiggled his fingers. Well, it was probable that he would be able to retain his dexterity, and thus continue with his research---

A moan from the couch brought his attention back to the room again. The figure on the couch shifted uncomfortably. "No," she moaned, her voice and scent alerting to Hank that she was female and still asleep. "Noo….don't-don't do it to him. No….. Logan!" she screamed, sitting straight up on the couch. Her chest heaved as she wrapped her arms around herself, hunched over. Finally taking great gulps of air, she reached up and ran a hand shakily through her hair. She swung her legs over the edge of the couch and stood up, folding the afghan over the back of it. Hank was able to get a good glimpse of her now, and she sparked his memory.

"Didn't I send you into a wall?" he asked, puzzled. She jumped and spun around, actually letting out a small squeak before she stifled it. He peered at her face again. "Weren't you furry… like I am?" he added.

"Only momentarily," she said, in apologetic tones. "I'm sorry if I woke you. It-it was just a nightmare. How are you feeling?"

"A little sore and quite a bit confused. What happened? I remember pain, and then, then attacking someone…." He trailed off. The memory of the man's blood under his claws suddenly sprung up, vicious and red, in his mind. "Is he dead? I attacked you…"

"I have a bit of an advantage," she grinned. Then she sobered. "Yes. Jackson is dead, and I'm glad of it. Few people deserve death. He deserves to rot in hell."

"Then you knew him. Are you working with the people who did this?" he questioned, a sweep of his hand taking in all that had been done to him.

"Hardly. They wish." A short cynical laugh burst from her lips. "Tell me what happened, and I'll try to explain it as best as possible."

He related his tale, and then fell silent, watching her as she considered. She was really quite young, he noticed. Something about the way that she carried herself and spoke had given him the impression of someone much older. Her auburn hair, almost red, was sleep-mussed and tangled. Her clear blue eyes had slight shadows underneath them, making them seem particularly bright. She was dressed simply, in a tank top and a pair of cotton pajama pants. He watched as she weighed her options, deciding how much to tell him or not.

"The man who attacked you is known as General William Stryker. He did some original secret operative stuff about maybe twenty, twenty-five years ago, but the stuff he's doing right now should have gotten him thrown out of the army. He's got a secret mutant testing site up in Alkali Lake, in Canada. Ever since his son developed mutant powers, he's had a big thing against mutants. He's got some private funders who wanted him to create an 'ultimate mutant weapon'. Right about now he's trying to get something together that will further his agenda, but I don't know what it is!" She ran a hand through her hair in a frustrated manner.

"What does this have to do with me?"

"I think he's still looking for a 'cure' for mutants. I would guess that he's one of the higher ups that put the pressure on you to create a prototype of your virus."

"How did you know about that?" Hank asked, aghast.

"I make it my business to know." She turned around. "Do you want breakfast?" She checked her watch. "Or lunch, rather?"

"Not until you explain everything fully," Hank said, crossing his arms. He shifted almost immediately because of his sore shoulder.

She frowned. "That's going to take longer. We'll be eating tomorrow's lunch if you want the full deal."

"Give me what you can, now. Including your name."

"Alright." She sank down on the couch again and fixed his eyes with hers. "My name is Laurel DuCrais. I was in Stryker's testing facility about eighteen years ago." Her eyes went cold. "So ever since then I've made it my business to keep tabs on people like him. Washington's got a huge database with every person who's ever been considered a mutant or researched mutants. That Homeland Security stuff that they implemented sure came in handy now. I've got a friend who's good with computers."

"How good?"

"Inhumanly good," she said, flashing him a grin. "He managed to get me a tap into the base, and a record of anyone who accesses it. I've got a database of my own forming," she nodded at her laptop, on a desk across the room, "and it's a lot more complete than most countries' are. Mostly because I've met most of the mutants on it."

Hank raised an eyebrow.

"I've traveled some," was all she said with a shrug. "The last person that accessed the file on you in Washington was Stryker. And since his grasp of true biochemistry is weaker than his grasp of medieval dentistry, I knew he wasn't looking you up for a friendly chat. So since I was in the area, I tried to get out here as quick as I could to warn you. I wasn't quick enough, and I'm sorry" she said softly. There was a silence; Hank didn't know what to say to that. "So I got here in time to see Jackson come back to clean up Stryker's mess. That's one less flunky he won't see again," she said with some satisfaction.

"What?" Hank looked up at her. "What would have happened if I hadn't, ah?"

"Killed him?" she finished. "I'd have killed him. Maybe with a kitchen knife, after using all the bullets in my gun. He and I go back a long time," she said, her eyes becoming cool again. "Lunch?" she offered cheerfully, as if she hadn't said anything.

"Uh, sure."

"Don't worry, I promise I won't poison you or anything," she tossed over her shoulder. "My cooking isn't that bad."

Laurel returned soon with some macaroni and cheese, with a few rolls on the side. "I wasn't aware I had rolls," Hank said. "I haven't been home for weeks."

"I know," she said. "I found some bread mixin's in your cupboard."

They ate in silence for a while, and then Hank shifted restlessly. "What are your plans now?" he asked.

"I don't know, Dr. McCoy," she said, thinking. "If you're not going to need help around here cleaning up after Stryker's assholes, then I'll probably head back down to NY, see what's going on there."

"You say you've got a lot of contacts," Hank mused. "Call me Hank," he added.

"Ok. What about my contacts?"

"I'm going to need some help to renovate my place. If I'm going to get a proper lab going here, then I'll need some things that will be rather hard to get in my current condition."

"Why? You're not that hurt," she said. "What current condition?"

"Large, blue, and furry," he said ironically, glancing down at his hands. "I don't think my former employers would appreciate my current appearance."

Her eyes went soft with compassion. "There will always be people who don't mind, Hank. Try getting used to it for a while. And look at it this way---at least you don't have a tail: we'd have to cut holes in all your nice pants." She picked up the dishes. "Of course I'll help you."



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And that was the way it happened. Laurel stayed with Hank to help fix his house up and learn to fly the helicopter that Jackson had left. As it turned out, he had a larger, more advanced lab hidden under his house; that was where the other set of stairs led to. He didn't need as much supplies and things that she would have thought, because whenever he needed something that the main lab didn't have, he just went downstairs. She was shocked at the mass of it all, and when he mentioned something about getting cheaper discounts at lab equipment when he bought in bulk, she wondered if that was where some of his research funding went. He still spent most of his time in the upper lab, however, so that is where she found him when a few weeks later she came barging into the lab. "Hank, listen to this." She grabbed his arm and yanked him into the TV room, where there was a large newscast on the events in the White House.

"….and no details are out about the attacker itself, and the White House has refused to make a formal statement, but from some facts that have been released point to a mutant attacker. At this point in time we will stay here, at the White House, for---"

"It's part of Stryker's plan. God," Laurel said, grabbing a fistful of her hair. "Why didn't I see it coming? What can I do? No one's going to listen to me: I sound like some kind of conspiracy theorist."

"Laurel, calm down." She glanced at him: Hank had never seen her so agitated, and he looked pretty worried himself. "You said you knew plenty of mutants: surely you know some with influence. They can't all be circus performers and runaways."

She froze, and looked at him with wide eyes. "Hank, you're a genius. No, you're a god: Hank McCoy, God of Logic. That's exactly what I'll do; I'll call Charles."

"Charles?"

"Charles Xavier," she said, reaching for the phone. "He lives in Westchester, New York. He's got a school there for mutants. Not widely published, of course, but it's there all the same."

"How does he get the funding?" Hank asked, as he voiced most independent researcher's worries.

"His family was pretty rich, and he's got unlimited funds right about now, thanks to some sound investing. A lot of real estate, too, but the stuff that the school's built on used to belong in my family."

"Really?"

"Yeah. A cousin of my grandparents sold it to him a while back. I was there when he built the school, with Lensher and a few others. You know the saying you can't go home again?"

"Yes?"

"Well, it's true. I can't get within twenty feet of that school. He must have four hundred kids now or something."

"What's that got to do with---ah," said Hank, thinking. "You can't control more than about four mutants at a time, correct?"

"Yeah. If I try to layer the protections any heavier on the wardstones, they shatter. I tried to make one with my aunt's diamond earring, when she lost the other one, but then I couldn't get it to last past six mutants. I'd go crazy if I went there." Finally she got through the line. "Charles? Hey, it's Laurel. Yeah, I'm doing fine. Look, I just saw the news. Right. Yeah. Can you-oh? Really? What have you heard?" Her face went pale. "My God. That sounds like Kurt. Yeah, Kurt Wagner, I met him in Germany. I can't believe---what? Jean and Storm? Good. Jean'll be able to talk to him, and he'd get along pretty good with Storm. Be nice to him, alright? Ok. Careful, Charles. Someone's planning something. Ok. Bye."

"That was rather short," Hank said.

"When two telepathics talk more information is always exchanged than you think," Laurel quipped, feeling a little more relieved. "He's got two of his team to track down the mutant who did it. It might be Kurt. God, I hope not."

"From what you've told me about him, I'm sure he can handle himself," he replied. Laurel had used Kurt as an example for different looking mutants living among humans. She still shifted restlessly.

"Something's coming. I can taste it," she muttered, stalking through the house. "And it's not chicken."

"Well, at least you look human," Hank grumbled. He couldn't see why she was being so selfish. "You'll do just fine if the rest of the world is human. You're even a poster girl for getting rid of the mutants-it would certainly benefit you enough. Don't preach to me about being worried. A few weeks ago I was like everyone else; now I can't leave my house during hunting season. I've lost all contact that I had with my former life. People who didn't even suspect me before now won't have anything to do with me! I'll be lucky if I'm ever published again; I certainly won't be able to hold any press conferences," he finished bitterly.

Laurel spun around. She couldn't believe that she had been so blind to Hank's situation. "Oh…. God, Hank, I'm sorry. And I can't say that I understand, because really I don't. I've never been in that situation. The closest I can compare to what you're going through is when I found my own mutant powers. And even then, I could hide them. Except when I'm around other mutants. I suppose that does make it seem like I shouldn't want any more mutants around, but I've never allowed myself to think like that. My parents were mutants, and even though my grandparents raised me, I never had to worry about being shunned from my family. I've always had my mutation. I know my grandparents would have loved me even if I didn't have a part of my parents, mutation-wise, within me. I've never felt the way you do. I'm sorry. Sometimes I wish that I did have the experiences that most other mutants had: the sudden jolt from being 'normal' into being a mutant, the masses of people looking at you with censure. I've felt it, but I don't think it's as strong as some of the others have. I'm afraid I've always had it too easy. I never know what to say when people are feeling down like that. I don't have the experiences they did, and it separates me from the people I wish I could be closer to." She paused, and took a breath. "I have had some experiences that have made me deal with prejudice straight up, but I have always had something to fall back on. My family, my love," she said, closing her eyes, "my hope. I shouldn't be around other mutants, Hank. I don't feel that I…..deserve them."

She felt a large, hairy hand on her shoulder. "Is all this watching out for other mutants just that, then?" he asked softly. "Trying to make you more deserving of them? Trying to earn a spot amongst the mutants?" She glanced away, but he took her chin with a finger and turned her head back to him. "Laurel, stop trying to be a hero. Just be yourself. That's the most we can ask out of anyone, mutant or human." She sat down and leant against his large, soft frame on the couch.

Finally: "For your information, Dr. McCoy, in most mutant communities, the ones without mutations are known as 'normies'. Everyone is human."

"Most mutant communities, eh?" Hank asked, amused. "I wasn't aware there were some."

"Mostly in the more liberal parts of San Francisco," Laurel replied, and grinned up at him. Her eyes were still moist, but she was content to sit back and just relax for a while.

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