The Next Day

"...and you see, it's important to make contacts, you know? It's the only way to get any information in the entertainment business. But you'll be okay, I think. Is that your natural hair color? You know, some people don't really care for redheads but I've always found them perfectly adorable. But it makes some people feel uncomfortable. Have you considered going blonde? I mean, you have the complexion for it. I could see you with some golden tresses. You'd look divine."

"I don't care for blonde hair," Rachel managed to say.

She was seated next to Dabney, in the second biggest office on the floor. Dabney's office looked like something straight out of Elle Woods' playbook: everything was pink and fluffy and beautiful. And lining her walls were photos of her and the who's-who of the entertainment industry. Her office smelled like potpourri and she probably had a better view of the city than Carter.

Though she'd never admit it, Rachel had read Dabney's column a lot over the years. She was smart and it showed in her writing. Rachel knew that Dabney probably wouldn't follow Carter and report on hard news when that time came: she had achieved great success right there in the Lifestyle Department and beyond, especially since her column was now syndicated. There had been rumours that K.J. Clayton herself (Carter's mother) was about to give Dabney her own fashion and lifestyle magazine.

As instructed, Rachel was following orders by shadowing Dabney. Today she was learning all about how important it was to know people, with the occasional suggestion to spruce herself up a little.

Dabney now assessed Rachel's simple, blue, cotton number that she'd bought at H&M with her cool, green eyes. Rachel could feel the pity wafting off of her mentor. Dabney was dressed in a pink top with an illusion neckline (though her chest left nothing to the imagination); a tight, hound's-tooth skirt which cut just above the knees; some strappy, pink pumps; and a pink, fur coat casually slung over her slender shoulders. Her light-brown hair was pulled up into a neat chignon.

Dabney tucked some of her beautiful, silky hair behind a diamond-stud adorned ear before she said, "You know what's another perk of a job like this? Puff pieces! When I want to update my wardrobe, all I have to do is tell a couple designers that I'll write them up and they immediately send me their latest collection. That's a tip that I think you'd benefit from. Immensely. But till then, I'd try Neiman Marcus Last Call, Nordstrom Rack, Burlington has a lot of really good things and any sample sale along Fifth Avenue. They may not be this season's looks but they'll be good enough to get by till you make a name for yourself."

Rachel gave Dabney the once over and cleared her throat and immediately regretted it. She acted like every stereotypical millennial would in that situation.

Dabney smiled. "I guess you're wondering what I'd know about sample sales. Well, darling, we're not all born to wealth and privilege. Like many girls before me, I came to New York with nothing. It didn't happen overnight, but I think I've done pretty well for myself, don't you think?"

Rachel blushed.

Dabney's phone rang and she quickly picked it up. "Dabney Purcell...Who? Tell him I'll be right out!...Of course he's here for me! Who else could he be here for?...That's impossible...Hold on."

Dabney clicked a button on the phone and turned to Rachel. "Why in the world is Franklin Richards here to see you?"

Rachel felt her cheeks warm all the way up as she stood up. "I...I...I..."

She didn't know what to say.

Dabney pressed the button again. "We're both on our way out."

She got up, opened the door and sashayed through, Rachel slowly following behind her. The entire office was abuzz. Occasionally something like this would happen-a real celebrity popping over-but not that often. And definitely not someone like Franklin 'Avatar' Richards. He was often too busy at the Baxter Building doing scientific research.

They soon arrived at the lobby and there Franklin was in all his blonde glory, looking like he needed a cup of coffee ASAP.

Rachel had expected as much: after she had lead their little team to a hospital, the doctor had determined that Shannon was in a coma. Rory had teleported them back to New York to get a second opinion from a trusted doctor, in this case Dr. Danielle Cage, Franklin's friend and fellow member of the Fantastic Four.

Unfortunately, Danielle had confirmed the Brazilian doctor's initial diagnosis. And now they could only hope that Shannon's accelerated healing would fix things.

"Mr. Richards," purred Dabney, "what brings you here?"

"I...I don't know," he said, rubbing his head. "I...Rachel, I just needed to see you."

"Rachel, you never told us that you knew Mr. Richards," said Dabney. "How do you two know each other?"

"High school," said Rachel, still hiding behind Dabney.

"We dated," said Franklin, at the same time.

Dabney's eyes opened quite widely at that revelation. "Dated? Well, well, Rachel. I knew you'd do well in this business. But to have dated Franklin Richards? Well done!"

"Franklin, I'm at work," said Rachel, taking a step forward. "Now really isn't the time."

"Then when?" he asked, his eyes glistening. "When? I know it's inappropriate, Rachel. I do. You're my ex-girlfriend. But...Can we at least go to lunch together? Can we at least try to be friends? You're one of my oldest friends. My closest. I've missed you so much. I don't know how you just left us behind. But there's so much I need to talk to you about."

"Listen, if I've learnt anything from years of Nicholas Sparks' movies, it's this: there's zero reason to hang out with an ex. Have you tried talking to Rory?"

"She had to fly back to Latveria."

"Rory? As in, Princess Ororo of Wakanda? Rachel!" groaned Dabney. "Who don't you know? We're more alike than I thought!"

"Summers."

Rachel turned around and, standing in the doorway of his office, was Carter, his arms folded across his chest.

"Hi, Mr. Clayton," she murmured.

"Get in here," he said, before he turned around and went into his office.

She listened, all the while debating the ethics of mind-wiping everyone about the last ten minutes.

Carter was seated behind his desk and he told her to close the door, which she did. He asked her to have a seat but she was too nervous to comply.

"That's your choice," he said. "Okay, what the hell is going on in my lobby? Is this an episode of The Bold & the Beautiful?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she said.

"And why didn't you tell me you and Richards used to date?" he asked. "I wouldn't have sent you to the Baxter Building if I knew."

The door flew open and Dabney pranced in. "Carter, you wouldn't believe what Franklin just told me: Shannon Carter is in a coma! And he's giving us the exclusive. Well, he's giving her"-she pointed to Rachel-"the exclusive."

"Absolutely not," said Carter, with a shake of the head. "It's impossible. Look at her: she's a mess. She can't possibly-"

"Yes, I can," said Rachel. "It's okay. I'll do it. He's comfortable with me. I can get the truth from him."

"Perfect!" said Dabney, with a clap of her hands.

"I said no," said Carter.

"Stop being such a little fool," said Dabney, glaring at her boss. She turned to Rachel. "Now, we're going to need it by tonight so that it could be in the newspaper by the morning, okay? This is your first, big article. So don't screw it up. This could define your career! You'll definitely get the cover."

Rachel turned to Carter. "Please. Please let me do it."

She and Carter just stared at each other for a full minute. This could be her big break. The journalist in her just wanted to scoop everybody else. The person in her just wanted to be there for Frankie. At least there'd be a happy compromise.

"Fine," said Carter. "Have it done by seven so I can look it over, okay?"

"I'm sure it'll be perfect!" yelped Dabney.

Rachel walked out and ran to her cubicle to collect her handbag and then directly to Franklin, who was standing with his hands in his pockets while everybody just stared at him.

"Let's go," she commanded, grabbing him by the forearm and leading him to the elevator bank. As they waited, she said, "I can't believe you came here."

"Well, you closed our psychic link again," he said. "How was I to see you unless I showed up?"

The elevator sprang open and it was full of people who gaped at him again.

This was another part of the reason she couldn't be with him: he was just too famous. He wasn't like her. The X-Men had somehow managed to be rather covert, protecting their secret identities as much as they could. And they were based way out in Westchester too, protected by the facade of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. To anyone, the school catered to exceptionally intelligent students. But the faculty, staff and students knew that it was a boarding school for mutants. The X-Men base was in the sub-levels.

The Fantastic Four had always been a team of explorers. They were famous throughout the world and Franklin was the first-born child of Reed and Susan Richards. He was practically famous from birth! Sure, he'd been a bit obscure as an adolescent. But from the moment his family retired from adventuring, he took their place and had been in the public eye ever since: it was his birthright.

Rachel had never been able to tell anyone that her father was one of the leaders of the X-Men.

Rachel ushered Franklin out of the building and onto the busy streets of New York.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked him.

"Rachel Summers, you'd better not move a muscle! How dare you not RSVP to my birthday party?"

Rachel and Franklin both looked up: across the street was none other than Rachel's baby sister, Katherine 'Katie' Frost-Summers.