Charles Xavier looked at the items on his desk, and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. What have I gotten us into?, he wondered.
Ms. Engstrom had left her animals behind, all three of them, saying she didn't like to take calls during lunch. Erik had accompanied her, leaving the professor in the privacy of his office.
Xavier wasn't hungry, but then he wasn't pregnant, nor did he have the same assurance Magneto had. We may be saved as a result of this, or we may be damned. He picked up the messages and read them once more: 'Trust Communication' and 'Make love, not war.' Then he sent a telepathic message to his senior staff.
Storm arrived first. "Professor, what's going on? Colossus just helped Jean put an unconscious Toad to bed as tenderly as if he were one of our own, Magneto and Ms. Engstrom are making themselves at home in our kitchen, and Logan just called from Detroit asking us to wire him money for a train ticket home. He was even more profane than usual, for he said Magneto threw him in a lake. I didn't know it, but apparently Logan is a very poor swimmer. He says the weight of his adamantium skeleton weighs him down."
"I wish I knew what was going on. Jean and Scott will be here in a moment. Please, take a seat."
Scott was the next to enter. "Professor, I just spoke to Rogue. She says Magneto and his…um, Ms. Engstrom are in the kitchen, and Ms. Engstrom was talking to the oven mitts."
"The ones shaped like fish?" asked the professor, anticipating the answer.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"If it's any consolation, I'm sure they spoke to her first. Ms. Engstrom's mental powers manifest themselves in an unusual way."
Scott muttered something under his breath that sounded like 'more like mental problems than powers.', but Xavier let it go for the moment.
Jean came in, and the Professor hailed her with relief. "Hello, Jean. Please, have a seat. I've called the three of you here to tell you about an extremely important development…" He explained at length.
"We're joining forces with Magneto?" That was Scott. "How can you even think about trusting him?"
"I don't believe it!" Ororo shook her head. "Do you think it really is his child?"
"Does he genuinely love her?" Jean asked.
"To answer your questions in turn, yes, we are joining forces with Magneto. Recall that I have known him a lot longer than you have, Scott, and I know when he is being sincere."
I must begin as I intend to continue. I was the one who insisted on a united front; I cannot say that to him and then openly display my misgivings to my X-men. "When he speaks of his desire to avoid a second Holocaust, no one could think otherwise."
"But can we trust Ms. Engstrom? What kind of person hears strange voices in their head—and not only believes in them, but feels compelled to do what they tell her?" Scott protested.
"A seer." Ororo answered him. "A prophet or a visionary. You forget how much of my life I lived in Africa, and I can tell you that in 'less advanced' societies," 'Less advanced' was spoken with an edge of sarcasm, "the people who speak to animal images and get answers back are highly revered."
"Yes, but who do they think they're talking to?" Scott asked.
"Gods. Not the Creator, but smaller gods. The Professor touched on Jung's collective unconscious. That includes religions and stories—which were among the first things humans invented. Just because we made them up doesn't mean that on some level, they aren't real." she replied.
"Storm, that is as valid a theory as Magneto's, and as likely to be the truth. As to the paternity of Ms. Engstrom's child—he would like to believe it is his, certainly, and I think the odds are greatly in his favor. Perhaps it would be better to think of it as her child, if it bothers you that he might be the father."
"All right." she said, slowly.
"Jean, to answer your question, I think he is half in love with her, which is rather more than I believed him capable of, as he has been of late. His interest in her is sincere, and his concern for her welfare, genuine. She is as unlike Mystique as a woman can be, and I would not be surprised if she were somewhat like his late wife in some respects—he may be trying to recreate or make up for that failed relationship."
"Doesn't she deserve better than that—better than him?"
"It's not a question of what she deserves, as her voices seem to be in favor of it. His personal interest in her means we shall have his assistance at a crucial time—and make no mistake, we will need it. That, however, is in the long term. In the short term, I need a favor from you."
The three looked at each other, "Just say it, sir." Scott spoke for them.
"I anticipate Henry's imminent arrival, and I would appreciate it if Ms. Engstrom were not in my office for our initial conference. If I am correct, there will be things said she should not have to hear. Take her on a guided tour of the house and grounds—you might also look for a suitable space for her to work and live, somewhere off the beaten path. It would not hurt if you were to look at several obviously unsuitable places first. If you can keep her occupied until—4:30, that would be a great help to me."
"Of course," Jean said, warmly.
"You can rely on us." Ororo stood.
Scott simply nodded.
As they were leaving, Xavier called to Scott. "Mr. Summers—if you would, please make an effort to conceal your misgivings and dislike. What Ms. Engstrom is proposing to do for mutantkind—to stand up and fight by raising her voice until the world hears it—takes, in its way, as much courage or more than facing a foe in physical combat."
The young man paused. "I understand you, sir."
"Thank you, Scott."
"Grace?" Jean stood in the kitchen doorway. "Professor Xavier said to tell you it'll be a little while before Hank gets here, so he suggested we should take you on a little tour of the school until then. You should keep your eyes open for a good workspace while we go, he also said."
Grace looked at Erik, who replied, "It's entirely up to you; I know the house of old. I shall probably go back to the office and engage Charles in chess."
The trout potholder advised her. "Go ahead. See the joint." So she put her plate and glass away in the dishwasher, and followed Jean.
"This is our dining hall, through here…"
Some time later, the four of them were in the rooms above the garage. "As you can see, there's plenty of space," Scott explained. "but you have to put up with the noise of the furnace in the winter, the air conditioner in the summer, and the generator all the time."
"If there are other possibilities, I'd like to see them before I make up my mind," Grace said. She wandered over to the bathroom sink, which had four dead flies and an enormous rust stain in the basin, and tried it. It started groaning horribly, and coughed out a small quantity of dirty water.
"Sure," Scott agreed, and tried to put a window frame back together.
In the meantime, Jean wandered over to Grace and said, her voice belying the words, "You keep that up, and you're going to make me jealous. I know for a fact Scott's susceptible to red-heads."
"Oh—I was looking at him, but it wasn't like that. I was trying to make him out, and when I do that, I play a little mental game with myself, sometimes. I imagine someone as a customer at my booth, and visualize what they would buy."
"So what would Scott buy?"
"A charcoal merino hat and muffler set—mostly plain, but with some texture knitted into the edges."
"Actually, that sounds a lot like the set he has now—only they're blue."
"What was that?" Scott called. Jean explained. "I'd wear them." he said. "What about Jean?"
"A V-necked top in burnt-orange mohair, with some spangles or metallic thread at the cuffs and waistline."
"All right. I have just got to see all your stuff. Ororo next." Jean challenged her.
"A crop-top with angel sleeves, in a wool-silk blend with a bit of shine. Creamy white, undyed, and a yarn with thick slubs at intervals."
"That sounds beautiful," Storm drew nearer. "What about the professor?"
"A navy-blue lamb's wool cardigan with a wide rolled collar, and intricate cabling, for the weekends."
"You're good." Jean smiled. "But how about the Toad?"
"Oversized pullover, self-striping yarn with purple and yellow."
"All right. How about Magneto?" Ororo raised her index finger.
"Cashmere socks, in a black-plum shade." Grace said. I don't even have to think about that one.
"I was sure you were going to say steel wool." The white-haired mutant woman winked at her.
"That's a great line—I wish I'd said that."
"I've just had an idea. I want you to come look at my attic." the weatherwitch suggested.
"All right…"
