Once again, many thanks to Diena for the great job she did with my mess, and to everyone who reviewed chapter two. Like any author, I live for reviews, and particularly appreciate the well thought out, detailed ones I've been receiving here. Future chapters might not be quite as fast in coming as this one, but I promise that they will come!

Okay, my crossover is finally addressed in this chapter... No one guessed it, but I have to be impressed with sara for remembering that movie, which is where I got the idea of Lucas thinking that he was a ghost.

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Sunday, April 27, 10:00 A.M.

San Francisco

Testing his new theory out, Lucas very quickly determined that it was correct. He was breathing, and he very much needed to do so. He tried to stop, or even just slow his breathing, but the only thing he accomplished was making himself dizzy.

Did that mean he was still alive?

He tried not to think too hard about that possibility, even though his discovery seemed to make it probable. He had learned very early on in life to expect the worst; that way, he was occasionally pleasantly surprised.

His unexpected flight from the library had also reminded him that he'd been in an accident only two days before. Every part of his body suddenly seemed to hurt, and he realized that was another piece of the puzzle. The problem was that each piece he found seemed to belong to a different puzzle.

Leaning against the building behind him, he ran the facts through his head over and over again, but nothing seemed to connect. If he were a ghost he shouldn't have had a body at all, in which case he wouldn't have needed to breathe or sleep. But what, other than a ghost, was intangible? Perhaps he was just looking at it from the wrong angle, or he was just missing something simple, but he couldn't figure it out.

It was a frustrating feeling, ignorance, and one that was quite unfamiliar to him. Lucas wasn't one to give up on an unsolved riddle, but he had no ideas, and he didn't see a lot of other options. He was sitting alone in an alley, with no way to do anything. No way to research anything, no way to contact anyone, and no way to get on with any semblance of a real life.

Before he even realized that he was still tired, he had started to doze off again. Mentally shrugging, he figured that if he couldn't do anything useful he might as well get the rest that he obviously needed. In a matter of moments, he was fast asleep again. In his exhaustion, he didn't even awaken when he fell backward.

A few hours later, when he began to awaken, the first thought that managed to make itself apparent in his mind was that he was officially a vagrant. He had slept in an alley. He had also been wearing the same clothes for three days, and sleeping in them as well. His father would be so proud…

Shaking his head as if it would rid him of the pessimistic thought, he opened his eyes, only to find himself in complete darkness. Not the darkness of night, but an absolute blackness unlike anything he had previously experienced.

'Well, that's what you get for thinking that things couldn't get worse.' He thought to himself cynically.

The way things were going; he probably would get mugged next. Of course, the money in his wallet wasn't helping him any, so a mugger might as well have it. At least it would actually go to some use, even if it was probably going to be drugs or something equally stupid.

Fortunately, when he pulled himself off the ground, the nature of the problem became apparent. He had been lying half inside a building, and couldn't see anything through it. Breathing a sigh of relief, it took him a few seconds to wonder how that had happened. He had been a restless sleeper before arriving on the seaQuest, but the size of his bunk on the ship had taught him not to move around so much in his sleep. Had he simply reverted to type when he had the space to do so? No, that didn't seem right. It hadn't happened at the library. He had woken up in the exact same position there that he had fallen asleep in. He knew that for a fact, as it had been a rather uncomfortable position to sleep in, and his back still hurt from it.

He heard a loud growl then, from the general direction of his stomach. It had been rather quiet up to that point, and what with his many other problems, food had been the last thing on his mind. From the feeling in his stomach, the sudden hunger was not just instinct kicking in. It was an actual need for food. If he hadn't been sure before, that certainly clinched his suspicions. There was no way he could be a ghost; ghosts did not eat.

So that left him with yet more pieces to the frustrating puzzle that still made absolutely no sense. He was sure that his sleeping position was an important clue, but he had no idea why or how. The fact that he was hungry was another sign that he was still very much alive, but it didn't make sense. At least it seemed unquestionable that he was still alive, though. It was a nice thought, the first one he'd had in quite a while, that he hadn't died a seventeen-year-old virgin.

As the relief of not being dead began to subside, the random thoughts running through his subconscious finally began to react with each other, to converge as one. Being incorporeal wasn't the problem in and of itself, it was just a sign of the underlying issue. The fact that he was intangible wasn't the fact that could connect him to the truth; it was the fact that he was perfectly healthy that was important. That was what told him that…

It hit him then, with the full force of an actual blow. He wasn't a ghost. He was a mutant.

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Monday, April 28, 7:40 A.M.

SeaQuest DSV, Bridge

He had arrived for his shift twenty minutes early, not that anyone had really noticed. He just quietly walked over to his station and relieved the officer from the night shift. No one said anything to him, not even 'good morning', but he didn't really expect them to. People didn't really seem to notice most things that Tim O'Neill did.

Just before eight, his colleagues began to filter onto the bridge. Commander Ford had given Miguel the day off, a fact that both pleased and depressed Tim. Miguel definitely needed the time off, he was looking about as haggard as humanly possible, and Tim had an idea what he was going through. On the other hand, it meant that no one would probably talk to him all day, other than to give or receive orders.

It wasn't that Tim didn't like or get along with the crew, that couldn't have been further from the truth. He was just too shy to make friends that easily, and Miguel was his only close friend on the ship. And he needed that more than anything else in the world at that moment.

He hadn't been particularly close to Lucas, though they had been friendly enough. People seemed to think that they had far more in common than they did, just because they were both intelligent. The truth was that Lucas had still been a teenage boy, and as such, far more suited to the company of someone like Ben Krieg than that of a quiet communications officer. The entire bridge crew had been rather attached to the boy, though, and Tim was no exception.

Even if he hadn't thought of Lucas as the crew's official little brother, Tim would have been at a loss over Lucas' death. His religion told him that everything happened for a reason, but as hard as he had looked, he could find no reason for this. The boy had been a genius, and probably would have been one of the world's greatest scientists as an adult. He could have quite literally made the world a better place, and now that possibility was gone. Suddenly and violently, in an attack that couldn't have had anything to do with the boy at all. Who would have wanted Lucas Wolenczak dead? What reason could there have been for such a thing?

He knew that he would find no answers, though. Briefly glancing heavenward, Tim knew that some small part of him held out hope for Lucas being alive because of that. If there were no reason that the boy should be dead, then he must be alive, right? He wouldn't tell the crew that of course, they would just think him stranger than before. But until he had hard proof otherwise, at least part of him would believe Lucas to be alive.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a flashing light and a sound in his ear. A transmission, on a priority channel. Turning toward Captain Bridger, Tim spoke for the first time that morning. "Sir? There's an incoming transmission."

Nodding, the captain told him to put it on the main screen. Tim nodded in return, and transferred the call to the screen. It wasn't until he heard the collective –if quiet- gasp from the rest of the bridge crew that he realized anything was out of the ordinary.

Turning to have a look at what had shocked everyone, a large part of him hoped that it was Lucas, even though he knew how unlikely that was. The truth was even more depressing than the fact that it wasn't Lucas. He may not have known the man personally, but anyone that had ever read a newspaper would know the face of Dr. Lawrence Wolenczak.

Tim was a bit surprised at the venom that he had for the man, but decided that he was justified in it. This was the man who had completely missed Lucas' birthday a few months before, who had never in eight months even bothered to contact his son. Tim may have been one of the only people on the ship who knew that, but he knew the parties involved in nearly every incoming and outgoing call on the ship, and Lawrence Wolenczak's name had never been on any of his lists. Really, just the fact that the man had sent his sixteen-year-old son to a submarine was enough to irritate Tim. Sending one's own son into a potentially dangerous situation didn't seem very paternal to him.

"Dr. Wolenczak. What a surprise."

What didn't surprise Tim at all was the unconcealed hostility in the captain's voice. Everyone knew that the man had thought of Lucas as a son, and Wolenczak had always acted as though he didn't. The captain was not in a state of mind to deal well with that fact, and everyone on the bridge knew it. Tim could tell by looking at him that Commander Ford was considering stepping in, and everyone else on the bridge looked worried as well. He considered cutting the call and pleading ignorance as to what had happened, but decided to give the doctor a chance. Maybe the man was calling for a good reason. His son was dead, after all. He was probably in as much pain as anyone else who had known Lucas.

"Captain Bridger." Disdain was apparent in the man's voice, and the grating of teeth could be distinctly heard throughout the bridge. Was that coming from Commander Ford?

"Is there something that you needed, Doctor? I'm sure you know that we're quite busy here." The captain had tried to control the overt anger in his tone, and it came out a completely flat monotone instead. It wasn't hard to see that the call was going to take a heavy toll on the captain, he already looked exhausted.

"Yes, there is something. I suggest that we speak in private, Captain." If anything, the man's voice had just become even more disdainful. The entire bridge crew was bristling at the disrespect aimed at their captain.

"Quite frankly, Doctor, I don't have the time for that. Unless it involves classified information, you can say it now, in front of my people." Bridger's tone had gone steely, and he had drawn himself up to his full height. It didn't have quite the same effect as it would have in person, but Wolenczak seemed to get the idea.

"Very well, Captain. I want my son's things sent to me as soon as possible." The man emphasized the word 'my', as if reminding the captain that Lucas had not been his own.

For a second, everyone just stared at the screen in shock. Was the man truly so mercenary that all he cared about was Lucas' belongings? Tim's hand hovered over the disconnect switch.

When the captain responded, his voice was filled with a tightly controlled anger. "Excuse me?" Tim could only think that the doctor was lucky that he wasn't actually on the ship, or someone would almost certainly have hit him by that point.

"My son's belongings, Captain Bridger. I want them sent to me, immediately." Though the man's tone of voice offered no room for questions, there was no possibility of him getting away with his demand. At least, Tim hoped that there wasn't. It just seemed somehow wrong, the idea of sending Lucas' things off the ship.

Looking back over at the captain, Tim decided that Dr. Wolenczak had about as much chance of getting Lucas' things delivered as he personally had of being offered the captaincy of the seaQuest. The captain had turned a little red, and appeared to be struggling to keep from yelling. Or maybe he was just struggling to keep breathing. He did that for nearly a minute, as everyone on the bridge watched him nervously, the only sound was the captain's carefully measured breathing.

When Captain Bridger did speak, it was painfully obvious that he was trying very hard not to lose his temper. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Dr. Wolenczak."

It was the doctor's turn to be annoyed. "Excuse me?"

"It is not common practice on this ship to send the belongings of our crewmembers to just anyone who requests them." The captain sounded very strained and overly formal. He was rather clearly on the losing side of the battle with his temper.

"Just anyone who requests them!?" came the disbelieving response of Lucas' father. "What do you mean 'just anyone'? My son is dead, and I damned well want his things sent to me, Bridger!" The doctor was yelling at that point, and as red in the face as the captain. That was when Tim figured it out. Wolenczak may not have been a decent father, or any sort of father at all, but he was hurting as much as the crew of the seaQuest. Lucas had been his son, and because of the horrific circumstances he was finally realizing the dreadful mistakes he had made. Despite himself, Tim pitied the man.

The captain had no such complicated notions. He plainly thought that the doctor's motives were questionable at best, and made no attempt to hide that. The fact that Wolenczak had lost his temper seemed to be the last straw for Captain Bridger, because he ceased to make any attempt to hide his feelings on the matter. "Look, you vulture, I'm not giving you Lucas' things. I don't know what you want them for, but it's not going to happen, Wolenczak."

The doctor was stunned by the response, but reacted quickly. "How dare you, Bridger? He was my son! I have a right to his belongings, and unless you see to it I'll contact your superior officer about this."

"You do that, Doctor, and I'll tell him the same thing I'm telling you. You can have Lucas' things when you produce his body." Everyone present gasped at the statement. It was a cruel and ghastly thing to say to anyone, let alone to pass from one grieving father to another. Even Wolenczak looked ill at the harsh words. The blow was softened a bit by Bridger's next words, though, which left everyone speechless. "Because until you produce a body, Doctor Wolenczak, I will consider Lucas alive, and no one will be looting his personal effects while he is still alive."

That said, the captain cut the communication and marched off the bridge. The whole conversation left Tim wondering even more. Had the captain said those things just to put the man off, or had he meant them? The possibility that he had meant them somehow made Tim feel a little bit less crazy. If Captain Bridger believed that Lucas was alive, then maybe it wasn't such a crazy notion at all.

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Yep, that's it... It's the X-Men. I don't own them, nor do I make a dime writing about them. Heck, I'm probably losing money writing fanfiction instead of doing something more productive, like oh... getting a job.... So please, Marvel, don't sue me!