Ottawa, Canada

Later that week.

Events moved extremely swiftly. The recall order was issued to the Ambassador through the appropriate diplomatic channels, arriving at the substitute Embassy three days after the discussion between the Secretary and his deputy. Jacques Duchaine made his way back to Ottawa by a special diplomatic flight from Andrews Air Force Base, Washington. Marie was flown home on a specially chartered plane that was designed to accommodate a hospital bed and associate nursing staff. She was transferred to the Ottawa General Hospital, where she was placed under armed and mutant guard. Of Marc, there was no official word.

Xavier was as close to furious as he'd ever gotten. Marc was placed under sanctions in the Mansion, and was banned from public excursions for a month. As an additional punishment, he was taking extra Ethics lessons. The point was not lost on him. He knew, in the perfect vision of hindsight, that what he'd done was close to unforgivable.

"If this incident got out, it could seriously damage mutant and human relations for which people like myself and Dr. McCoy have struggled for decades. We, especially I, will not have this work jeopardized by the thoughtless actions of a teenager."

The matter had not been mentioned again, but the decree that Marc be confined to the grounds for the rest of the moth seriously tried his patience. Intellectually, he knew he had been in the wrong, but the walls soon became oppressive. Especially seeing as he couldn't walk into any room without both Bobby and Rogue trying not to make out, or a Canadian wildman by the name of Logan shooting him strange glances. Marc had briefly touched his mind when he had first met the man, but it had been like running into a wall. The man had so many psychic defenses in place that not even his extensive training from both Martha McGuiness and Charles Xavier were able to penetrate them. After a display in the Danger Room of what Wolverine was capable of, Marc finally figured out why the man was such an enigma. Experimentation on mutants was not common, but not a figment of the imagination. With the healing factor that Rogue had absorbed, Marc put the pieces together with the sometimes help of John. What with Bobby spending more and more time with Rogue, John and Marc had reverted to their previous friendship status.

"I mean, why else would they put those blades in him anyway? What other reason? He's got to be some kind of assassin."

"You're talking crap, Marc."

"No, listen. One. He has absolutely no memory up until fifteen years ago. That's gotta be some pretty heavy trauma for the mind to shut down and erase stuff like that. Two. He has a healing factor that makes it damned near impossible to kill him. I mean, he fought Sabertooth and bounced back after a day. For most guys, that'd take about two weeks. Three. The Adamantium claws and skeleton. Again, with his healing factor, it makes it doubly difficult, because he can't break bones. Any pain he feels will end with the regeneration of the nerve cells in his body. No, he was created to be a killer, and the best at that. Four. His heightened senses of taste, smell, hearing."

"Five," came a rumbling voice behind him, oozing menace. "The ability to be undetected by psychics."

Marc and John both froze.

"Six. The ability to smell fear from two loudmouth yapping teenaged boys."

Nobody moved. There was a sound of blades being unsheathed, a perfectly synchronized SNIKT of metal on flesh.

"Seven. The ability to scare said boys juiceless, making sure they never repeat any of this again, within the Wolverine's aforementioned sense of hearing."

There was a slight rustle of shrubbery. Neither boy looked round for ten seconds or so. They finally managed to summon the courage to look round. The shrubbery moved idly in the very faint breeze. There was no sign of Wolverine.

"Note to self," muttered Marc. "Do not discuss said assassins ever again. And never get on that man's bad side. And God help the poor bastard that does."

---

Marc, could you come to my office, please?

Certainly, Professor.

Marc was being careful around the Professor now, hoping that good behavior would lead to the restoration of privileges that had been revoked. He was about to knock, when the urbane voice called, "Enter."

I've called you here as I've just had an extremely interesting conference call between myself, Jean, the State Department, and the Canadian Foreign Affairs Secretary. They plan to release a statement later today that says the attack on the American Embassy was motivated by the fact that you are a mutant. They are going to use this as an excuse to give the President a chance to veto the Mutant Registration Bill if it is voted into law. If he does not, or if it is returned to the House and passed, they will throw open the doors to American mutants in an act of political asylum. It's interesting because the Canadian Government is offering confirmed employment either in Alpha Flight or industry of choice, rather than registration and blacklisting, much like the McCarthy-era Communists. The Canadian Prime Minister is currently in New York for the UN World Summit. He will be making a televised appearance next to the President when the details are announced to put the case forward.

Isn't this one of the best things for mutants in decades?

I'm not sure. On the one hand, it will provide employment and stability for thousands of mutants, young and old, as well as letting the American people know that this is something that does affect them, when community members start running for the border. However, the Canadian public opinion on this is sharply divided. Most don't mind that this is happening, as it is providing a working solution to a problem in another country, and is scoring political points both at home and abroad. Canada is also able to take the moral high ground in this debate, something which will rankle with the American public.

"Yeah, I suppose."

"And I think that you have done admirably well in the extra Ethics classes I've assigned you, and that you may be excused from them. I'll also inform the other instructors that you're allowed past the gate now."

"Thank you, Professor," said Marc humbly. "I'll try not to disappoint you again."

"Good. I'll see you at dinner."

"Goodbye, Professor."

---

Bobby had spoken to Marc and John earlier in the day when he couldn't find Rogue. She'd disappeared, and couldn't be found anywhere.

"Hey, guys, have you seen Rogue?" he asked, finding them on the patio. He stood in the doorway of the French doors, nervously bouncing from foot to foot.

"No, not since she's been spending every waking moment with you, Icepop," said John lazily.

All three missed the flash of brown clothing that dissolved in the woods on the edge of the property.

"I can't find her. Kitty hasn't seen her since breakfast, and that's the last time anyone's seen her."

"Come on, Matchstick," said Marc. "Let's go find her so we don't have to put up with the puppy's whimpering."

My name," ground out John, "is Pyro."

"Oh, come on, you call Bobby Icepop, why can't I call you Matchstick?"

"Because Pyro sounds better."

They started walking through the mansion together, and Marc asked "So when were you going to meet her?"

"I was supposed to meet her for lunch," he replied, as they passed the main staircase. Marc's mental scanning caught a psychic echo, and he zeroed in on it. He slowed his pace. "The Professor…" Professor, can you confirm that Bobby's standing next to me?

He is, Marc. Why do you ask?

Because mentally, he's also just headed down to the lower levels.

There was a slight pause.

It's Mystique. Under no circumstances are you to approach her. She's extremely dangerous. At the moment, I'm not prepared to risk student lives trying to apprehend her, and the adults cannot get to her. Let her go about her business. I'll find out what she wanted here later.

But, Professor-!

This is non-negotiable, Marc. Nothing will happen. I can personally guarantee that nothing will happen because of Mystique.

"Says you," muttered Marc.