A/N: Hello, hello! Ff seems to have stopped sending alerts and reviews for about a week, and so I shall thank you all for your reviews together, rather than individually. Thank you. I deeply appreciate every single review. Who can tell when ff will get its act together? Certainly not me…

Next chapter will be Grace and Erik, the chapter after will be the trip to the mall, and the chapter following that one should begin the legal proceedings, as Grace meets her lawyer, and they begin to put her case together.


Professor Xavier arrived a little too late for the dramatic events in the rec room. Seeing that his entrance would disrupt the fragile order Ororo and Colossus had restored, and since Jean sent him a telepathic message saying that the situation was under control—or at least no more out of control than usual, he chose to retreat to the kitchen, where he waited.

While he waited, he decided to fix himself a snack. Anyone at the school would gladly have fetched him any food or drink he wanted at any time, but he valued his independence and did things for himself whenever he could. Now he hunted down the manchego cheese in the fridge (a sheep's milk cheese, which no student and few adults would touch; any unfamiliar cheese was safe from hungry teens), sliced himself some crusty bread, chose a ripe pear from the basket on the table, and put the kettle on to boil.

Jean entered just as the kettle began to whistle. "Let me get that for you, Professor."

"That's quite all right, Jean—." But she had already used her telekinesis to pour the water into the pot. "Thank you. Now tell me, what happened? From what I gleaned, Ms. Engstrom entered the rec room and tried to commit suicide by touching Rogue."

"Nothing like that! No," Jean took a seat and explained up to the point at which Grace came back in to hug the young girl.

"Rogue warned her not to touch her skin, but Grace hugged her just like there was no danger in it at all. You know how some women hug—they go all out, they press their cheek against the other person's."

"Yes, I know." Xavier checked the tea—it was oolong, and very delicately flavored. He took the strainer of tea leaves out, and asked her, "Care for a cup?"

"No, thanks. Grace didn't freeze up the way I've seen others do when they touch Rogue—she just passed out cold and collapsed. Rogue caught her before she could hit the ground. You can imagine the reaction."

"I'm sure it was extreme—but it didn't erupt into violence."

"No. I thought for a moment Callisto was about to strike Rogue, but she didn't. As we were putting Grace on the sofa, Rogue said that the voices wanted Grace to hug her, because that was the only way the voices could talk to her directly—if Grace's powers transferred to Rogue."

"That once again raises the question of exactly what or who the voices are…" The Professor's brow furrowed in thought.

"You couldn't be more right. They offered her a deal—if she learned how to listen to them as Grace does, they'll give Rogue control over her other powers."

"Did she accept?"

"Yes—but apparently learning how to listen—whatever that might involve—isn't something that can happen instantaneously. At that point, we took Grace upstairs so that Magneto wouldn't barge into the rec room." Jean took a small bunch of grapes from the basket and started pulling them from their branch.

"That was wise of you. Has she come to yet?"

"Yes. She wasn't upset about passing out. In fact, she was a lot calmer about it than Magneto was. He blamed Rogue."

"Rogue's all right, I trust."

"Yes. And Grace herself is fine—completely unharmed. It seems that she had a deal with her voices—if she hugged Rogue, they would answer some of her questions. Of course I only heard her side of it, but the answers only upset her."

"What was she asking them?" Xavier poured himself a cup of tea, and inhaled the fragrant steam.

"Why they talked to her."

"Given that it seems that at least one other person has the capacity to listen to them—that is an excellent question. Why do they talk to her?"

"Because she listens. Now that's such a stupid and obvious answer that it almost has to be a very simple answer to a question that's more complicated than it seems. Like when a child asks why things fall when you drop them, and you reply 'Because of gravity'." Jean replied.

"I'm inclined to think you're right. Explaining physics, mass, matter, and Newton to a mind not quite ready to grasp the concepts takes quite a long time. I have always breathed a mental sigh of relief if the child is satisfied with a simple answer. I hardly think Ms. Engstrom could have been satisfied with her answer."

"Oh, she wasn't," Jean grimaced sympathetically. "Especially since they wouldn't explain it. In fact, they shut up on her. She might have pitched a fit if we weren't there, but she just said she wanted to be alone with her little friends for a while. I reminded her that getting upset wasn't good for the baby, and left."

"I wish I had asked you to reapply the sensor discs today. I would have liked to have a full day of her brain activity to review. Jean, does it not seem to you that everyone is getting along unnaturally well?"

"I hadn't thought about it. We so rarely get small miracles that I'm just thankful for them when they come. Do you think there's some connection?" Jean inquired.

"I don't know, but given the past history of our people, unifying so peacefully and so quickly seems unlikely—yet here we are. They are not only not at one another's throats, they are watching a movie together."

"Of course now will be the moment we hear a tremendous crash as they tear into one another…" They fell silent, waiting for a sound. There was nothing. Jean Grey and Professor Xavier caught each other's eye, and laughed.

"Seriously, though. Why do you think Grace might be the reason for this friendliness? And how would she be causing it?" Jean asked him.

"Pure speculation on my part. If, as I suspect, her powers emerged because the hormones of pregnancy were the trigger, why might her mutation not center on motherhood?

"Consider this, Jean. Several years ago, there was a great deal of publicity given to a cat who rescued all five of her kittens from a burning building, one at a time, despite the intense pain and terrible burns she suffered in the process. Her instinct to save her own life was overridden by her maternal instincts—her focus was not personal survival, but genetic survival. If her offspring survived, she would, too, in a sense. If a cat can experience so strong a feeling, what about humans? We all know stories of petite, slightly-built women who somehow can lift the front end of a heavy truck off their child trapped underneath, thanks to adrenaline."

Jean thought for a moment, eating her grapes. "There are also cats that eat their own kittens, and then there was that woman—Susan Smith?—who drowned her two sons because they stood in the way of a romantic relationship with a man who was not their father."

"I don't deny that some individuals seem better suited to motherhood than others—and evolution favors those who are better suited because those whose children die have no descendants. Now we have Grace Engstrom, a mutant—highly evolved, gifted with powers we do not yet fully understand. We know she has always wanted children—that argues for a strong maternal impulse. What period in a woman's adult life is more vulnerable than when she is pregnant and caring for an infant?

"It may be that on some subconscious level, she is suppressing the violent tendencies of those around her, or enhancing their rationality, because an environment where people are not getting along is dangerous to her and her unborn child." Xavier finished.

"You're certainly making me think." Jean said. "All sorts of things happen to an ordinary woman when she's pregnant, for reasons directly connected to the baby. Her sense of smell becomes unusually acute, so she can avoid spoiled food which could make her ill and cause her to lose the baby. Food cravings can indicate deficiencies in her diet. Then there's the nesting instinct, when preparing a clean, safe place for the baby becomes extremely important, sometimes to the point of obsession. And Grace is the first mutant I know who is going to have a baby. I have no idea what is going to happen to her as a result."

"Nothing bad, I fervently hope." Erik strolled into the kitchen. "I heard a certain amount of thumping and shouting coming from behind her closed door. If she destroys anything in her frustration, don't worry. I'll make good on it."

"Erik—very good. I was hoping you would join us. Please, sit down." Xavier invited him.

"Certainly, but first I want to fix myself a plate of something. As you'll recall, I never finished dinner. Can we talk as I go through the refrigerator, or is it too serious for that?"

"Go right ahead. Did you leave when Jean and the others did?"

"I can tell when someone needs privacy. Yes, I did." Erik found the rest of the manchego, and added smoked salmon to his plate.

"I wanted to discuss tomorrow. It's Sunday, of course. I don't know what you had in mind for the day—."

"My plan was to go in to New York to scout out a suitable building to become our headquarters there. Sunday is a good day to look at real estate. What are your plans?" Magneto took a seat and a fork, and began to eat his impromptu meal.

"I believe we need to work out how to guard Ms. Engstrom before it becomes absolutely vital. Salem Center is a long way from Ann Arbor, Michigan—there won't be any mobs of anti-mutant activists on the hunt for her here. It is now as safe as it will ever be, and practicing here on campus is no substitute for real world experience. The visit to the Registration offices on Monday will be too brief. I would prefer to test this over the space of several hours." Xavier stated.

"I have an idea." Jean volunteered. "She has only about three pairs of underwear, a single pair of shoes, and a growing need for maternity bras, to say nothing of everything else. I propose we take her to the mall."

"Jean—that is an excellent idea. Erik, have you any input?"

"I have no objection, provided her voices have none. I trust that there will be enough people willing to go, and that she will at no time be left alone."

"Willing to go? Try eager. We'll take anyone who wants to come along, and make sure they understand it's a training exercise as well as a shopping trip. The mall it is, then." Jean concluded. "In the morning we'll take her down into the furniture storage room, so she can pick out what she needs for the attic, and after lunch, we'll go shopping. Now I think I'll go join the others in the rec room—there must be at least an hour and a half of Pirates left, and I really do love that movie. Good night—and don't forget the crackers for her morning sickness."

"I won't," Erik promised. "For that matter, I don't know if she got anything else to eat, and in her condition she shouldn't skip meals. What do you recommend I take up to her?"

"A multigrain muffin and a glass of milk. The muffins are in the bread cupboard."

"Thank you, Jean."

"You're welcome."

Once the red-headed doctor had left, Erik picked up his fork and toyed with a piece of smoked salmon on his plate. "It's been quite a day, Charles."

"For you more so than me, I suspect. I did little more than read and talk to Hank. I—Was there something you wanted, Kurt?"

Erik turned to see Nightcrawler hanging around the doorway rather self-consciously. "Yes, Professor. I have heard that Ms. Engstrom has visions which tell her she must proceed with this lawsuit and fight to save all mutantkind—but no one has been able or willing to tell me who they are. I was wondering if you could tell me. I—have heard of a similar case, you see, and I wished to compare the two."

"Certainly, if you wish to know. Come in." Xavier waved the young man in. "I'm curious to learn about this similar case. Is it well documented?"

"Oh, yes." The blue-furred mutant had his prehensile tail wrapped around a book. He brought it forward, opened it, and read, "At the age of thirteen and a half Jeannie Dark first became conscious of that manifestation, whose supernatural character it would now be rash to question, which she afterwards came to call her "voices" or her "counsel."

Kurt licked his finger and turned the page. "It was at first simply a voice, as if someone had spoken quite close to her, but it seems also clear that a blaze of light accompanied it, and that later on she clearly discerned in some way the appearance of those who spoke to her, recognizing them individually as St. Michael (who was accompanied by other angels), St. Margaret, St. Catherine, and others. Jeanne was always reluctant to speak of her voices. She said nothing about them to her confessor, and constantly refused, at her trial, to be inveigled into descriptions of the appearance of the saints and to explain how she recognized them. None the less, she told her judges: 'I saw them with these very eyes, as well as I see you.'

"Although Jeanne never made any statement as to the date at which the voices revealed her mission, it seems certain that the call of God was only made known to her gradually. Jeanne's voices became urgent, and even threatening. It was in vain that she resisted, saying to them: 'I am a poor girl; I do not know how to ride or fight.' The voices only reiterated: 'It is God who commands it.'"

"Just a moment. You're speaking of Joan of Arc!" Xavier interrupted.

"Yes, I am." Kurt confirmed. "If God sent such aid to France in her hour of need, why might He not send aid through Ms. Engstrom to mutantkind? So I wish to know who it is that speaks to her."

"I can show you an example right now." Erik looked around, reached behind him, and picked the fish potholders off the counter. "I can tell you for a fact that they told her she ought to hug Rogue yesterday, with the results you have no doubt heard of."

"They spoke to her…?" Nightcrawler looked at the potholders without comprehension.

"I was here when they did. I can only report what she said, as I didn't share her vision." Erik was careful not to mock the young man, whose earnest sincerity was almost painful to witness. "Ms. Engstrom is not Catholic. She was raised Presbyterian, and is now agnostic. I think she would prefer to have dignified saints and angels delivering her messages, but she doesn't. Her visions have to have an animal face, from what we can tell, and they come through inanimate objects…rather as music comes through a radio. They seem to enjoy baffling and frustrating her as much as giving her directions and orders."

"Then she is not like Saint Joan." Kurt Wagner sounded sad about it. "She doesn't even believe in God."

"I'm afraid not," the Professor said.

"I had hoped—well, it does not matter. Gut nacht, mein Herren."

"Good night, Kurt." Nightcrawler teleported away.

"And good night to you, Charles." Erik put his plate in the sink, and got together a muffin, the glass of milk, and crackers.

It has been quite a day indeed, thought the Professor as he bid his friend and sometime adversary good night in return. And this is only the beginning…