The Blessings of Liberty, Part 5
by heyjupiter/Renata of Doom (renatafrowl.org) 6/12/04
Summary: The fifth part of a West Wing/X-Men movieverse crossover. Senior staff talks strategy following a mutant attack on the President. CJ POV.
PG
TWW Season 3 & X2 spoilers
The events of the last few weeks were entirely a blur to you. It had started with the MS disclosure, but then the re-election announcement, RU-486, Haiti, the mutant attack... and now this. Just when you thought you were able to get back to the everyday insanity of the press room, Texas had happened.
Well, Texas itself had actually occurred many years ago, and on the whole you had acclimated yourself to its existence. Recently, however, Texas had given itself another reason for notoriety. A mutant who had been fired from her job after ten years, with no reason officially given, had sued her former employer. She stated that her boss had seen her using her powers, presumably for the first time, and she had gotten the proverbial pink slip the next day. This, she felt, violated her company's anti-discrimination policy. Her employer, as well as his attorney, felt that the (rather verbose) policy in question, which covered "race, color, national origin, gender, religion, disability, age, veteran status and political belief," made no mention of one's genetic capabilities. In effect, their argument was that mutants were an entirely different species. The mutant and her attorney, on the other hand, believed that mutants were considered a race, and as such, were covered under the company's policy (as well as the Constitution.)
After a lengthy process of appeals, the case had gotten as far as the Texas State Supreme Court, which had closely found in favor of the defendant yesterday. In effect, in the state of Texas, mutants were no longer considered human.
This, rather obviously, has sent shockwaves throughout America, and not least of all through the White House. The mood in the West Wing ran the gamut from angry (Leo) to pissed off (Toby) to outraged (the President). Then, for variety, there was the depressed frustration that Sam and Josh shared, as well as your own sad indignation. The overwhelming tone, however, was helplessness. This was out of your jurisdiction, all of yours. President Bartlet could make a statement in support of mutant rights, which he obviously was planning to do. It was just the timing here that was killing you guys-- mutant rights was not a popular topic, and neither was another Bartlet term, at the moment.
Absently, you looked at your watch just as Carol walked in to remind you-- "Yes, I know I have a meeting right now," you said, offering her a half-smile. It had, you knew, been a busy week-- month-- for her, too.
And so you walked down the hall, and Mrs. Landingham nodded at you, and it occurred to you that you would never get jaded, that walking into the Oval Office would always hit you like a glass of water to the face. Not that you'd ever admit it, of course. You were surprised to see, aside from President Bartlet, a red-headed woman seated in the room. It was, you thought, the first time you had been a member of the majority gender in the Oval Office. (It was never easy for you to forget that you were a woman in a man's world.)
The woman, hearing your approach, stood up and smiled. "Hello, Claudia Jean!", the President greeted you. "CJ, this is Dr. Jean Grey. Dr. Grey, this is CJ Cregg." You shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and you were secretly delighted to discover that she was as tall as you.
"You probably remember Dr. Grey's role in the Senate hearings," President Bartlet said, and you nodded. That whole hearing had been interesting, to say the least. Especially of late, in the light of Senator Kelly's change of heart... you had watched the hearing, you had seen the hatred in that man's eyes. Convictions are not so easy to change, and none of you really trusted the man. But that was really neither here nor there, and you forced yourself to focus on Dr. Grey's words.
"... is flawed," she was saying. "The mark of a different species is an inability to crossbreed, and there is no evidence to suggest that humans and mutants cannot crossbreed. Therefore, mutants are just another race, if that. My research suggests that the mutant gene-- the X-factor, we've been calling it-- is just that, another gene, another trait. Blue eyes or brown eyes, mutant or not mutant--"
"MS or no MS?", the President interrupted.
"Well, yes, one's genetic heritage is one factor of MS." she replied. "And, in fact, research is also showing that heterosexuality or homosexuality may be genetically determined. But," she continued, pushing her glasses up, "regardless of that particular kettle of fish, all the research I've seen suggests that mutants are Homo sapiens, just the same as you or I."
"So why didn't anyone tell that to Texas?" The President's tone sounded more curious than accusatory.
Dr. Grey shrugged. "Well, I don't think the case was handled very well, for one, but even if they did think to call a geneticist to testify, this is a very new field, and there are definitely a variety of opinions on the subject."
"So how do you know yours is the right one?"
She bristled, barely noticeable, but regained composure. "Well, I don't know," she said calmly, "but I certainly have more research on the topic than anyone else in the field, and several of my colleagues agree with my analysis."
He nodded. "What about mutants who claim to be a separate species? I seem to recall Magneto proclaiming mutants 'Homo superior.'"
Again, almost imperceptibly, she had flinched at the mention of Magneto. "Magneto is a terrorist. His words on the subject have about as much validity as a KKK Grand Dragon's opinion on the Constitutionality of Brown v. Board of Education."
Meanwhile, something was wiggling at the very back of your consciousness. Something about Dr. Grey... something... you could feel it at the tip of your proverbial tongue, infuriatingly beyond reach, like a failed sneeze. You tried to focus once more on what she was saying.
"... Thanks so much, Dr. Grey."
"You're welcome, Mr. President. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do to help."
"Oh, I will, I assure you," he said with his folksy grin.
"Anything else, Mr. President?" you asked.
He sighed. He looked older then than he usually did. And why shouldn't he, you chided yourself. If it had been a rough month for you, you couldn't imagine what it had been like for him.
"Just the usual, world peace with a side order of universal health care."
"I'll see what I can do," you said with a smile, and left. You were still thinking, however, about Dr. Grey. "Carol? Hey, do you think you could get me video footage of the attack on the Statue of Liberty? And the Senate hearing about the Mutant Registration Act?" Carol raised an eyebrow.
"Sure, I'll see what I can do."
"Great. Thanks." (You resisted the urge to comment on your deja-vu, and instead flopped down in your chair and shook some food into Gail's bowl. It seemed more productive.)
You looked over your notes, tried to prepare yourself for the next briefing. You watched Gail. You felt restless, as if you'd like to be doing twenty things at the moment but did not have the initiative to start any of them.
Finally, Carol brought you back to reality (or something close) with a light knock at the door. "Here's the footage you asked for. Anything up?" she asked, handing you the tapes.
"Nope. Not yet, anyway, just... preparing," you said vaguely.
You stuck the tapes in the VCR and watched the beginnings of Dr. Grey's speech. She would, you thought, fare well in politics if she ever gave up on genetics. You fast-forwarded through the next few minutes, not really sure what you were looking for. It was the second tape you were really interested in, and you watched the medley of news clips, as well as the footage from the Statue's security cameras, with an interested eye. The security footage was better, but a few minutes into it the footage from all the cameras went dead. It looked as if someone had taken a sharp blade to the lens, but still... it sparked something. You twisted your lip in thought, and called out your door, "Carol! Can you get me whatever information we have about the Xavier School for Gifted Youth? Especially anything about the school's staff?"
"Sure, CJ."
"Thanks."
The coffee on your desk was long cold, and you continued to pore over the folder Carol had handed you. Desperately, you watched the footage one last time, hoping to see something different.
But there was no mistaking it, the mutants attacking the Statue fit exactly the profiles of the staff of Xavier's school. If word got out... you cannot even imagine the panic if word got out that these terrorists had a school, were training the next generation of mutants to fight against humanity. That the White House had welcomed one of their teachers. If you could figure it out, what was to stop Danny from making the connection? Or worse, another reporter? From the sounds of the meetings the President had been having, it sounded as if the military had already figured it out, or at least begun to.
And yet... something still didn't add up. There was still the matter of Magneto, and a few others, who did not seem to be affiliated with the school. They were the ones who had been arrested in connection with the attacks, the ones who had been unrepentant. The eloquent words of Dr. Grey's Senate address did not seem to fit with this profile. Was it just an act? Or what if, what if... if she and the others from Xavier's school weren't the terrorists after all? What if they had gone to stop the terrorists?
Fight fire with fire. What if that was what they were doing?
No one ever told you that this would be part of your job description: CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary/Girl Detective. But you needed to find the stories before they were stories. And you needed to be sure.
"Carol? Is Dr. Grey still in town?"
"I think so, why?"
"Do you think you could get her down here? Tell her it's important. Very important."
"Sure," she said, and bustled off.
And now you were back to waiting. You resisted the urge to feed Gail again-- you were terrified of overfeeding her. You knew you'd never live it down if you killed your goldfish. So instead you watched her swim, then checked your email again. Only one new message in the last few minutes, and as intriguing as "Wild Barnyard S3x" was, you deleted it unread.
Idly, you sorted through the Xavier dossiers. An interesting collection of people, to say the least.
And finally there was another knock at your door, and Carol led Dr. Grey into your office.
You stood up. "So nice to see you again, Dr. Grey," you said and meant it. Terrorist or no (and after all, one man's terrorist is another's freedom fighter-- oh God, you must have been more exhausted than you had thought, you were thinking in cliches), you liked the woman.
She nodded. "I'm glad to be of help, of course, Ms. Cregg."
"CJ's fine. Please, have a seat. I have... I don't know how to say this. Dr. Grey, I need to know what happened on Liberty Island that night. What really happened."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. If you didn't know better, you'd have believed her. As it was, however, you tossed her a glare.
"Dr. Grey, I don't know who you think you're dealing with, but I've been watching footage of the attack all day, and in case you've forgotten, I'm the White House Press Secretary. Everything the FBI and the CIA and the military know, I know." This was, to say the least, stretching it. Still though, how would she know? It's not like Jean was a mind-reader.
"And they do know quite a lot about Xavier's school. So I'll ask you again to tell me what really happened on Liberty Island, or else I really don't think either of us is going to like what comes next very much."
You met her gaze. "Well," she said, after an eternity, "I suppose the first thing I should tell you is that I'm a mutant myself. But," she added hastily, "I'm also a doctor, a geneticist, and a teacher. All of these things are true. And, much like myself, Xavier's school is more than meets the eye. It is a school for gifted youth. But our students are, well, genetically gifted."
"A school for mutants?"
"Yes. In addition to preparing them for college, we teach them how to use their mutant abilities. Beyond that..." Jean paused and sighed. "Beyond that, the teachers at the school... we've taken it upon ourselves to use our powers to help people, when necessary. There are some threats that we are better prepared to deal with than are human police officers. And besides our basic desire to do good, it does benefit us, as well. The fewer high-visibility crimes committed by mutants there are, the sooner so-called normal humans can begin to accept mutants."
"Fighting fire with fire?"
"So to speak. So: to answer your question, on Liberty Island, Magneto, along with his compatriots, planned his attack on the UN summit. His plan included a machine that would be powered by a young girl's mutant abilities, quite against her will. This girl was a student of ours, and we went to get her back. As well, of course, to stop Magneto-- we had learned that his machine did not work as intended. It was meant to mutate everyone within range, but it would instead kill them. The forced mutation was unstable, and simply broke down the afflicted person's entire genetic structure. The one subject we observed broke down so completely that his entire body simply turned to water."
"Oh," was all you could think to say. If the plan had succeeded...! The President would have been a puddle on the floor, along with who knows how many other world leaders. It would have been chaos. And yet...
"Why did you act yourselves? Why didn't you call the police or FBI?"
"A few reasons, I suppose. First, we worried for the safety of Rogue, the girl whom Magneto kidnapped. Police sometimes seem to have... trouble... distinguishing between 'good' and 'bad' mutants. Second, we felt the situation was within our capabilities. And third, well, we were hoping that if we could take care of this, we could avoid more bad publicity for mutants." She laughed, half-amused, half-bitter. "Obviously that one didn't work out too well."
You blinked. "Well! I can't say that this is what I was expecting. It's nice to know that I can still be surprised, after all these years."
"So... what happens now?" Jean asked, a combination of defiant and uncertain.
"I'm not sure. Mutant crime-fighting teams aren't exactly my field of expertise. Maybe... hmm."
"Would we be willing to work with the FBI? Is that what you want to know?"
"How did you guess that?"
Jean looked genuinely embarrassed. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you didn't say that out loud... I... sorry. I forgot to mention, that's my mutant power-- telepathy. Usually I only read thoughts when I try to-- and I wouldn't, I wouldn't unless I had permission or it was an emergency. But lately my power's been different."
"You read my mind?"
She nodded, wincing.
"How far away can you do it from," you asked, curiosity temporarily winning over your fears of a security breach.
"Usually I need physical contact with someone for it to work. Lately, though, like I said, it's been different. I'm not sure how far away I could be now," she said with a shrug.
"So you couldn't read, for example, the President's mind?"
She looked offended, and you felt ashamed. You had no reason to distrust Jean, and you felt certain that this was the sort of reaction she was used to receiving.
"Not from here, I don't think," she answered quietly. "But I haven't tried."
"I'm sorry," you said. "You probably get that sort of thing pretty often. It's just, well, I'm curious I suppose, but it could also be a definite threat to security..."
She sighed. "A crazy intern with a letter opener could also be a threat to security."
"Yes," you agreed. "But last I checked, past the metal detectors we didn't have any telepathy detectors at the door."
"Thank God for that."
"Yes. Well. As I was saying-- or rather thinking-- would your group be willing to work with the FBI? I'm not even certain that this would be a possibility, but I think it would be worth looking into, at least. You'd get federal sanction for your activities, and the American people would get valuable assistance."
"I can't speak for all of us," she said. "But it would certainly be worth looking into, as you say. But-- we don't want to have to answer to anyone. We're self-sufficient."
"We'll see what's possible." You looked at your watch. "Well! It's getting late. Thank you for your time. Can I contact you about setting up a meeting with the... proper authorities?"
Jean looked hesitant, and you gave her a tired smile. "You can trust me. Trust us. I promise."
"Yes," she replied. "I think I can trust you. And yes. We will meet with you. It's the least we can do."
"Excellent. Thanks again. Have a good night, Jean."
You too, you heard in your mind, and she turned to smile at you as she walked out the door.
You watched Gail for awhile longer before deciding to go home. Tomorrow was another day, and tomorrow you could talk to the proper authorities.
Tomorrow you could save the world.
(Or at least, help the people who could save the world.)
Tomorrow.
by heyjupiter/Renata of Doom (renatafrowl.org) 6/12/04
Summary: The fifth part of a West Wing/X-Men movieverse crossover. Senior staff talks strategy following a mutant attack on the President. CJ POV.
PG
TWW Season 3 & X2 spoilers
The events of the last few weeks were entirely a blur to you. It had started with the MS disclosure, but then the re-election announcement, RU-486, Haiti, the mutant attack... and now this. Just when you thought you were able to get back to the everyday insanity of the press room, Texas had happened.
Well, Texas itself had actually occurred many years ago, and on the whole you had acclimated yourself to its existence. Recently, however, Texas had given itself another reason for notoriety. A mutant who had been fired from her job after ten years, with no reason officially given, had sued her former employer. She stated that her boss had seen her using her powers, presumably for the first time, and she had gotten the proverbial pink slip the next day. This, she felt, violated her company's anti-discrimination policy. Her employer, as well as his attorney, felt that the (rather verbose) policy in question, which covered "race, color, national origin, gender, religion, disability, age, veteran status and political belief," made no mention of one's genetic capabilities. In effect, their argument was that mutants were an entirely different species. The mutant and her attorney, on the other hand, believed that mutants were considered a race, and as such, were covered under the company's policy (as well as the Constitution.)
After a lengthy process of appeals, the case had gotten as far as the Texas State Supreme Court, which had closely found in favor of the defendant yesterday. In effect, in the state of Texas, mutants were no longer considered human.
This, rather obviously, has sent shockwaves throughout America, and not least of all through the White House. The mood in the West Wing ran the gamut from angry (Leo) to pissed off (Toby) to outraged (the President). Then, for variety, there was the depressed frustration that Sam and Josh shared, as well as your own sad indignation. The overwhelming tone, however, was helplessness. This was out of your jurisdiction, all of yours. President Bartlet could make a statement in support of mutant rights, which he obviously was planning to do. It was just the timing here that was killing you guys-- mutant rights was not a popular topic, and neither was another Bartlet term, at the moment.
Absently, you looked at your watch just as Carol walked in to remind you-- "Yes, I know I have a meeting right now," you said, offering her a half-smile. It had, you knew, been a busy week-- month-- for her, too.
And so you walked down the hall, and Mrs. Landingham nodded at you, and it occurred to you that you would never get jaded, that walking into the Oval Office would always hit you like a glass of water to the face. Not that you'd ever admit it, of course. You were surprised to see, aside from President Bartlet, a red-headed woman seated in the room. It was, you thought, the first time you had been a member of the majority gender in the Oval Office. (It was never easy for you to forget that you were a woman in a man's world.)
The woman, hearing your approach, stood up and smiled. "Hello, Claudia Jean!", the President greeted you. "CJ, this is Dr. Jean Grey. Dr. Grey, this is CJ Cregg." You shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and you were secretly delighted to discover that she was as tall as you.
"You probably remember Dr. Grey's role in the Senate hearings," President Bartlet said, and you nodded. That whole hearing had been interesting, to say the least. Especially of late, in the light of Senator Kelly's change of heart... you had watched the hearing, you had seen the hatred in that man's eyes. Convictions are not so easy to change, and none of you really trusted the man. But that was really neither here nor there, and you forced yourself to focus on Dr. Grey's words.
"... is flawed," she was saying. "The mark of a different species is an inability to crossbreed, and there is no evidence to suggest that humans and mutants cannot crossbreed. Therefore, mutants are just another race, if that. My research suggests that the mutant gene-- the X-factor, we've been calling it-- is just that, another gene, another trait. Blue eyes or brown eyes, mutant or not mutant--"
"MS or no MS?", the President interrupted.
"Well, yes, one's genetic heritage is one factor of MS." she replied. "And, in fact, research is also showing that heterosexuality or homosexuality may be genetically determined. But," she continued, pushing her glasses up, "regardless of that particular kettle of fish, all the research I've seen suggests that mutants are Homo sapiens, just the same as you or I."
"So why didn't anyone tell that to Texas?" The President's tone sounded more curious than accusatory.
Dr. Grey shrugged. "Well, I don't think the case was handled very well, for one, but even if they did think to call a geneticist to testify, this is a very new field, and there are definitely a variety of opinions on the subject."
"So how do you know yours is the right one?"
She bristled, barely noticeable, but regained composure. "Well, I don't know," she said calmly, "but I certainly have more research on the topic than anyone else in the field, and several of my colleagues agree with my analysis."
He nodded. "What about mutants who claim to be a separate species? I seem to recall Magneto proclaiming mutants 'Homo superior.'"
Again, almost imperceptibly, she had flinched at the mention of Magneto. "Magneto is a terrorist. His words on the subject have about as much validity as a KKK Grand Dragon's opinion on the Constitutionality of Brown v. Board of Education."
Meanwhile, something was wiggling at the very back of your consciousness. Something about Dr. Grey... something... you could feel it at the tip of your proverbial tongue, infuriatingly beyond reach, like a failed sneeze. You tried to focus once more on what she was saying.
"... Thanks so much, Dr. Grey."
"You're welcome, Mr. President. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do to help."
"Oh, I will, I assure you," he said with his folksy grin.
"Anything else, Mr. President?" you asked.
He sighed. He looked older then than he usually did. And why shouldn't he, you chided yourself. If it had been a rough month for you, you couldn't imagine what it had been like for him.
"Just the usual, world peace with a side order of universal health care."
"I'll see what I can do," you said with a smile, and left. You were still thinking, however, about Dr. Grey. "Carol? Hey, do you think you could get me video footage of the attack on the Statue of Liberty? And the Senate hearing about the Mutant Registration Act?" Carol raised an eyebrow.
"Sure, I'll see what I can do."
"Great. Thanks." (You resisted the urge to comment on your deja-vu, and instead flopped down in your chair and shook some food into Gail's bowl. It seemed more productive.)
You looked over your notes, tried to prepare yourself for the next briefing. You watched Gail. You felt restless, as if you'd like to be doing twenty things at the moment but did not have the initiative to start any of them.
Finally, Carol brought you back to reality (or something close) with a light knock at the door. "Here's the footage you asked for. Anything up?" she asked, handing you the tapes.
"Nope. Not yet, anyway, just... preparing," you said vaguely.
You stuck the tapes in the VCR and watched the beginnings of Dr. Grey's speech. She would, you thought, fare well in politics if she ever gave up on genetics. You fast-forwarded through the next few minutes, not really sure what you were looking for. It was the second tape you were really interested in, and you watched the medley of news clips, as well as the footage from the Statue's security cameras, with an interested eye. The security footage was better, but a few minutes into it the footage from all the cameras went dead. It looked as if someone had taken a sharp blade to the lens, but still... it sparked something. You twisted your lip in thought, and called out your door, "Carol! Can you get me whatever information we have about the Xavier School for Gifted Youth? Especially anything about the school's staff?"
"Sure, CJ."
"Thanks."
The coffee on your desk was long cold, and you continued to pore over the folder Carol had handed you. Desperately, you watched the footage one last time, hoping to see something different.
But there was no mistaking it, the mutants attacking the Statue fit exactly the profiles of the staff of Xavier's school. If word got out... you cannot even imagine the panic if word got out that these terrorists had a school, were training the next generation of mutants to fight against humanity. That the White House had welcomed one of their teachers. If you could figure it out, what was to stop Danny from making the connection? Or worse, another reporter? From the sounds of the meetings the President had been having, it sounded as if the military had already figured it out, or at least begun to.
And yet... something still didn't add up. There was still the matter of Magneto, and a few others, who did not seem to be affiliated with the school. They were the ones who had been arrested in connection with the attacks, the ones who had been unrepentant. The eloquent words of Dr. Grey's Senate address did not seem to fit with this profile. Was it just an act? Or what if, what if... if she and the others from Xavier's school weren't the terrorists after all? What if they had gone to stop the terrorists?
Fight fire with fire. What if that was what they were doing?
No one ever told you that this would be part of your job description: CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary/Girl Detective. But you needed to find the stories before they were stories. And you needed to be sure.
"Carol? Is Dr. Grey still in town?"
"I think so, why?"
"Do you think you could get her down here? Tell her it's important. Very important."
"Sure," she said, and bustled off.
And now you were back to waiting. You resisted the urge to feed Gail again-- you were terrified of overfeeding her. You knew you'd never live it down if you killed your goldfish. So instead you watched her swim, then checked your email again. Only one new message in the last few minutes, and as intriguing as "Wild Barnyard S3x" was, you deleted it unread.
Idly, you sorted through the Xavier dossiers. An interesting collection of people, to say the least.
And finally there was another knock at your door, and Carol led Dr. Grey into your office.
You stood up. "So nice to see you again, Dr. Grey," you said and meant it. Terrorist or no (and after all, one man's terrorist is another's freedom fighter-- oh God, you must have been more exhausted than you had thought, you were thinking in cliches), you liked the woman.
She nodded. "I'm glad to be of help, of course, Ms. Cregg."
"CJ's fine. Please, have a seat. I have... I don't know how to say this. Dr. Grey, I need to know what happened on Liberty Island that night. What really happened."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. If you didn't know better, you'd have believed her. As it was, however, you tossed her a glare.
"Dr. Grey, I don't know who you think you're dealing with, but I've been watching footage of the attack all day, and in case you've forgotten, I'm the White House Press Secretary. Everything the FBI and the CIA and the military know, I know." This was, to say the least, stretching it. Still though, how would she know? It's not like Jean was a mind-reader.
"And they do know quite a lot about Xavier's school. So I'll ask you again to tell me what really happened on Liberty Island, or else I really don't think either of us is going to like what comes next very much."
You met her gaze. "Well," she said, after an eternity, "I suppose the first thing I should tell you is that I'm a mutant myself. But," she added hastily, "I'm also a doctor, a geneticist, and a teacher. All of these things are true. And, much like myself, Xavier's school is more than meets the eye. It is a school for gifted youth. But our students are, well, genetically gifted."
"A school for mutants?"
"Yes. In addition to preparing them for college, we teach them how to use their mutant abilities. Beyond that..." Jean paused and sighed. "Beyond that, the teachers at the school... we've taken it upon ourselves to use our powers to help people, when necessary. There are some threats that we are better prepared to deal with than are human police officers. And besides our basic desire to do good, it does benefit us, as well. The fewer high-visibility crimes committed by mutants there are, the sooner so-called normal humans can begin to accept mutants."
"Fighting fire with fire?"
"So to speak. So: to answer your question, on Liberty Island, Magneto, along with his compatriots, planned his attack on the UN summit. His plan included a machine that would be powered by a young girl's mutant abilities, quite against her will. This girl was a student of ours, and we went to get her back. As well, of course, to stop Magneto-- we had learned that his machine did not work as intended. It was meant to mutate everyone within range, but it would instead kill them. The forced mutation was unstable, and simply broke down the afflicted person's entire genetic structure. The one subject we observed broke down so completely that his entire body simply turned to water."
"Oh," was all you could think to say. If the plan had succeeded...! The President would have been a puddle on the floor, along with who knows how many other world leaders. It would have been chaos. And yet...
"Why did you act yourselves? Why didn't you call the police or FBI?"
"A few reasons, I suppose. First, we worried for the safety of Rogue, the girl whom Magneto kidnapped. Police sometimes seem to have... trouble... distinguishing between 'good' and 'bad' mutants. Second, we felt the situation was within our capabilities. And third, well, we were hoping that if we could take care of this, we could avoid more bad publicity for mutants." She laughed, half-amused, half-bitter. "Obviously that one didn't work out too well."
You blinked. "Well! I can't say that this is what I was expecting. It's nice to know that I can still be surprised, after all these years."
"So... what happens now?" Jean asked, a combination of defiant and uncertain.
"I'm not sure. Mutant crime-fighting teams aren't exactly my field of expertise. Maybe... hmm."
"Would we be willing to work with the FBI? Is that what you want to know?"
"How did you guess that?"
Jean looked genuinely embarrassed. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you didn't say that out loud... I... sorry. I forgot to mention, that's my mutant power-- telepathy. Usually I only read thoughts when I try to-- and I wouldn't, I wouldn't unless I had permission or it was an emergency. But lately my power's been different."
"You read my mind?"
She nodded, wincing.
"How far away can you do it from," you asked, curiosity temporarily winning over your fears of a security breach.
"Usually I need physical contact with someone for it to work. Lately, though, like I said, it's been different. I'm not sure how far away I could be now," she said with a shrug.
"So you couldn't read, for example, the President's mind?"
She looked offended, and you felt ashamed. You had no reason to distrust Jean, and you felt certain that this was the sort of reaction she was used to receiving.
"Not from here, I don't think," she answered quietly. "But I haven't tried."
"I'm sorry," you said. "You probably get that sort of thing pretty often. It's just, well, I'm curious I suppose, but it could also be a definite threat to security..."
She sighed. "A crazy intern with a letter opener could also be a threat to security."
"Yes," you agreed. "But last I checked, past the metal detectors we didn't have any telepathy detectors at the door."
"Thank God for that."
"Yes. Well. As I was saying-- or rather thinking-- would your group be willing to work with the FBI? I'm not even certain that this would be a possibility, but I think it would be worth looking into, at least. You'd get federal sanction for your activities, and the American people would get valuable assistance."
"I can't speak for all of us," she said. "But it would certainly be worth looking into, as you say. But-- we don't want to have to answer to anyone. We're self-sufficient."
"We'll see what's possible." You looked at your watch. "Well! It's getting late. Thank you for your time. Can I contact you about setting up a meeting with the... proper authorities?"
Jean looked hesitant, and you gave her a tired smile. "You can trust me. Trust us. I promise."
"Yes," she replied. "I think I can trust you. And yes. We will meet with you. It's the least we can do."
"Excellent. Thanks again. Have a good night, Jean."
You too, you heard in your mind, and she turned to smile at you as she walked out the door.
You watched Gail for awhile longer before deciding to go home. Tomorrow was another day, and tomorrow you could talk to the proper authorities.
Tomorrow you could save the world.
(Or at least, help the people who could save the world.)
Tomorrow.