AN: Gah! Three days late! :S Had two midterms, a lengthy Shakespeare paper, and five computer application-builds due last week, but busted through. Here's the next chapter, with my apologies.

In these last few days, I've spent a fair bit of my rare free-time reading Virginia Woolf (instead of writing this; yeah, I know…), whom I've decided I officially love. I stumbled across her essay, "Modern Fiction." Really, she's brilliant, and I recommend her works to EVERYONE. Anyways, blame her beautiful mind, a mind I dearly wish had not cut short its own machinations, if my chapters take longer to come :P

"Mykes! Darn it, I was going to beat you here for once," Pete greeted as he strode into the Blackbird's nest a whole fifteen minutes early for their Friday noon briefing.

Myka stood leaning against the edge of the briefing table that rested in the corner of the lofty room. Pulling herself from whatever deep, smarty-pants thought she'd been lost in, she turned and eyed him suspiciously. "Really? You came early, for the first time in the five years we've been doing this, just to beat me?"

He threw up his hands. "Okay, you caught me."

She looked at him expectantly.

"There may have been an incident with some kids, and maybe a non-kid, with some ingredients in the chemistry lab, which might have resulted in a stink bomb of sorts and a very small fire, just a tiny one, and then Dr. Hernandez might have come running into the room to crash the party and yell at everyone, but the non-kid might have turned invisible and fled the premises, and he's probably hoping right now that his bestest friend in the whole world, this smart, beautiful gal with incredible brain-powers, will vouch his alibi if anyone comes looking for him…" he ended sheepishly. Myka regarded him wryly. "Did I mention his friend is really smart? And beautiful?" he added.

"Yes. Maybe if you keep it up, she'll consider helping him out," she teased.

"Smart and beautiful. She's smart and beautiful. Be-a-utiful and smart! What a clever- cookie."

She grinned. "So… How was diner last night?" The question came out a little awkwardly, but Pete went with it.

"Man, that HG is one serious babe." The words just poured out of his mouth. He glanced over at the brunette unabashedly. "But, it was a bit of a bummer after you left. We all just talked for a bit, told HG about what we do. She told us about her life. That sort of thing. Then it got late, and I walked her back to the guest house and wished her good night."

"Pete, are you trying to seduce HG Wells?"

"Maybe. Can you blame me? But are you feeling better today? And did you really have papers to grade?"

She blushed a little. "Yes, I 'really' had papers to grade."

"I can't believe you're that professor! The strict one who makes their students turn in homework on the first day of class. That's just cruel. I thought I'd taught you better," Pete scolded.

She just rolled her eyes. "It wasn't homework. It was an in-class warm-up exercise for my creative-writing course."

"So… is there supposed to be difference in there, and I'm just missing it?"

"It wasn't homework! There was no 'taking home' involved, and I -" She stopped short. "Claudia, what happened to you?" Pete followed her eyes to spy the youngest member of their team shuffling through the doorway.

"So this is what the over after the hanging feels like? God, just let me die," the youth mumbled as she stumbled into the room, angling towards them. Her punk-rocker style had been abandon in favor of a grey hoodie and maroon sweatpants. The hood was drawn down over her face, blocking out the light as best it could.

"Over after the… a hangover?!" Myka puzzled out.

Oh god, here it comes, Pete thought, cringing internally. He braced himself for Myka's "scary voice."

"Pete, I thought you said you all 'just talked for a bit?! How did she get drunk? How could you let her get that drunk?"

The X-man held up his hands in innocence. "Hey, she only had a glass of red… or five," slipped out quietly. My big fat mouth always has to stab me in the back… Is that even physically possible? The image of himself as a contortionist, dagger clenched between his teeth, stole his attention for a brief moment before Myka's nagging called him away from it.

"Pete, she's eighteen! A minor! She shouldn't have had any wine, let alone enough to wake up with a hangover."

"HG said it was okay, and I just thought that if she thought so-"

"Helena is practically a guest! She isn't going to say no," Myka cut in. She gestured at the redhead who now sat slumped at the briefing table, forehead pressed against its glass-and-oak surface. "Just look at her."

"Ha, yeah. I remember the good ol' days when I was just a wee teen testing my limits," he reminisced warmly. "Ah, the pain."

The woman sighed in exasperation. "No, no, no. That, as in that young girl right there who looks like she is about to throw up? That is not a good thing."

"Right here guys, so you can stop talking about me like I'm dead or a rock or something," Claudia groaned, raising a hand but not her head. "And please don't mention tossing the cookies, 'cause that makes me feel like I'm about to do it. Peer pressure from all the older kids... yeah, not finishing that thought 'cause I'm not sure it makes sense," she ended a bit disjointedly.

Pete had to grin. Sure, he held more than a niggling bit of sympathy for the teen, but just seeing her after that sort of experience was hilarious. "Oh c'mon, Mykes. Don't tell me you never got trashed before you hit the big two-oh-one."

"'Two-oh-one?' That's two-hundred-and… you know what, never mind. But you're wrong, because I didn't!"

Pete slapped his forehead. "Gah! No wonder you give homework on the first day of class when all the kids are getting over their celebratory back-to-school hangovers from the night before. Mykes," he shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry to say this, but, I think you're fun-drive is broken. We need to fix you."

Myka crossed her arms and leveled a look, dark enough to scare the buhjeezus out of just about anyone, straight at him. But, after the better part of 20 years of receiving it on an almost-daily basis, he'd gotten plenty used to ignoring it. He could never have gotten up to all his shenanigans and remained friends with her ever since they were just kids studying at Xavier's if he hadn't.

"My 'fun-drive' is perfectly fine. Just because I don't think ending up like Claudia is all amazing and wonderful doesn't mean it's broken. Oh no, there is no fixing required on this 'fun-drive.'"

"Oh yeah?" Pete tested, crossing his arms over his chest. "When was the last time you took the fun-drive for a test-drive, huh?"

"Hey, everyone?" Claudia interrupted weakly. "Can we stop referring to this 'fun-drive' thing? I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be thinking of it in terms of an SATA hard-drive, or an SSD, or Myka's s-e-x drive, and it's kinda creeping me out 'cause it's all blurring into one weird picture of wires and circuit boards and spinning metal arms with..."

The older woman blushed and rocked on her heels. "Okay. Discussion over. At least until Artie gets here."

Pete's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why? You'd be more comfortable discussing your sex life with him than with me and Claud?"

"No!" She punched him in the arm. "Because when Artie sees Claudia, the two of you are going to be in big trouble."

That was enough to get the teen to raise her head. Eyes peeking out, wide with fear beneath her disheveled hair, it was pretty clear she hadn't thought about that. And, now that Myka mentioned it, Pete was pretty sure he hadn't really thought about it either.

"Uh oh."

Pete met her gaze, his mind whirring over their options. He'd gotten himself into enough trouble to have learned to always have contingency plans. Or, just run away. Running away could be good. "So, how do you feel about playing hooky?"

Claudia hoisted herself to her feet the moment the words were out of his mouth. She began to nod but stopped immediately, her face paling from the motion. "Yeah," she croaked. "Do we have a cover story? And where should I go? Last time I didn't get the memo for a meeting, Mrs. Fredric popped into my room like a scary Genie with who knows everything, like your deepest wishes, but instead of granting them gives you extra paperwork."

"What's this about genies and…?"

Everyone turned to find Dr. Calder and Artie walking into the room.

Too late.

"Nothing," Claudia squeaked, sinking back down into her seat with a sickly smile.

"So, uh, what's up, doc?" Pete chimed in, trying to steal away their attention from the teen. "We heard you had to attend to some business yesterday."

"Hi, Pete," the older woman replied. "Actually, I that's why I'm here today. I'll be briefing you on it."

"Oh." Steve and Leena appeared a moment later, close on Mrs. Fredric's heels. "Well, I can't wait," he added with forced cheer as he took a seat next to Claudia.

Mrs. Fredric took to standing at the head of the table as everyone settled in. "Good afternoon, everyone. " The three words were the only prelude to business she gave. Not that Pete minded - more eyes on her meant fewer on Claud.

"Yesterday," she continued, "Cerebra picked up an erratic signature. Mutant, but unlike anything we've previously detected. It acted sporadically, jumping between power classifications. At first we thought it might be an adolescent coming into his or her powers. However, before I could use Cerebra to hone in on the signature, it faded away completely.

"We sent out a local team to investigate the location, and what they turned up was this."

A photograph a red flannel and a pair of jeans drowning in a puddle of greenish-brown mucus appeared on the screen. It looked to Pete like someone had eaten some clothes with their pea-soup, but hadn't been able to keep any of it down. He glanced over at the redhead. Face a drawn tight, she was looking anywhere but the screen.

"Dr. Calder, if you would."

"Of course." Vanessa quickly took to her feet, replacing Mrs. Fredric at the table's head. "I was sent to set up a quarantine around the material, as well as examine it. What my samples have found so far is nothing short of… well, incredible.

"What you're looking at is the remains of a mutant man."

Claudia blanched. "Buhjeezus, that is so gross."

All eyes seemed to fall to her. Pete cleared his throat, slapping a palm on the table to draw attention. "So, uh, wow. Yeah, please continue, Dr. Calder." He tried to ignore Artie's gaze which was still directed their way.

"I've been examining what's left of his physical matter, and the data I've found so far isn't particularly conclusive. However, I have been able to isolate a few intact cells. None of them contained active mutant flags in its genome."

"So, how do we know he was a mutant?" Steve asked.

Dr. Calder tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was able to isolate cell parts, including fragments of DNA, from the rest of the substance. Certain strands were mutated, but it was odd. The patterns weren't very consistent. It was as if the substance contained samples from millions of different mutant hosts, some hardly recognizable as human. But, I found so many shared markers that I think it's all genetic material from a single man."

"So, that… guy, he had the powers of a billion different mutants?" Pete questioned.

"No," the older woman shot down. "He had inconsistent cell growth that mirrored a billion types of mutants, but his cells weren't consistent enough. He wouldn't have been able to use them."

Myka shifted in her seat, staring hard at the screen. "Is it the result of something contagious?"

"I don't know what it is. I've been running tests all morning. What's left of him is stable, as far as I can tell. I haven't found any viral remains. It could be the first case of a disease, or it might just be a one-time freak of science."

"So, what are we going to do about it?"

"Thank you, Dr. Calder. You may take a seat," Mrs. Fredric interrupted, stepping back in. "As for your question, the team to be on high alert this weekend."

A small wave of groans flooded the table, stifled a half-second later by the intimidating woman's stare. "If another ping like this one occurs, we'll need to be on scene in minutes."

"Yes," Artie piped up. "That means no parties, no off-campus trips, and no getting inebriated."

It took Pete a second to realize everyone was looking at him.

"Does that include me, Mrs. Fredric?" Leena asked. It was a good question. The younger woman rarely tagged along on away missions; he was more of a back-up, watching over home base except on special occasions.

"No. I've asked you here for a different reason, which leads us to our discussion of another matter: Ms. Wells. As she will be staying here for the foreseeable future, I believe it best that-"

"Wait a second. Helena is staying?" Myka interrupted. Pete looked at her, wide-eyed. No one ever interrupted Mrs. Fredric. Maybe that was a little dramatic. Rarely did anyone interrupt her.

The headmistress turned to her with an arched eyebrow. "Yes, professor. Is there something wrong?"

"No! Yes. I-," Myka winced and started over. "I don't know. If she's the HG Wells, part of me is shouting 'let her stay.' A that same part tells me she needs a safe place to heal and adjust to society after over a century of time travel, and that here is the best. But it's just, what about the law and her persona as 'The Ghost'? Is it safe to let someone who did those things wander around campus? She had reasons to punish those people, but criminal vigilantism is still a criminal, so are all those crimes just 'forgiven?' But then again, anti-mutant sentiments in the legal system could destroy her."

Mrs. Fredric nodded. "I have addressed the Board of Regents about the issue, and it was decided that for the moment it is best to grant her sanctuary. She is a woman of extraordinary power and could prove a valuable asset if given a stable environment to integrate herself into.

"'The Ghost' will fade from the public view and memory. Unless she has a relapse, in which case we will reevaluate our stance on her treatment, her past actions will go unpunished in favor of careful rehab here on campus. Ms. Bering, do you think the present legal system would give her an unbiased, ruling?"

"No," Claudia interjected vehemently. "It wouldn't."

Pete looked at her, trying not to let his sympathy show. The red-head hated it when people pitied her for past experience with the anti-mutant sentiments in law, for the childhood years when she'd been stuck in a prison, treated as if she was mentally-ill and criminal.

Myka couldn't deny the answer either. She merely shook her head, agreeing with the teen.

"Very well," said the headmistress. "Now that we are in agreement, I wanted to address her place on campus. She will be moving in with the team as soon as another room is prepared."

"You mean in the B&B?" Pete verified. The building that housed the team members, a large white house offset from the student dormitories, had always been difficult to reference in speech. What should you call that thing? The X-men dormitories? Too clunky and not accurate. The X-Mansion? It wasn't really a mansion, and the old X-Mansion was the main hall on campus. The place simply hadn't had a half-decent name until Pete one day made the observation that living there was basically like living at a bed and breakfast. The idea had stuck and become the official nickname.

"Yes, at the B&B. We believe it safest if she builds bonds with stable people in a controlled environment where Leena can keep an eye on her. For the moment, she is not an official X-woman, but she will live with you as if she were one."

"Am I going to be making reports or anything?" Leena asked, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

Mrs. Fredric shook her head. "If something seems off, notify me. Otherwise, you will occasionally be called upon to discuss her progress. Are there any other questions?"

No one spoke.

"Then I believe that concludes our business. Enjoy your weekends."

And just like that it was over. Obviously wanting to bolt, Claudia staggered to her feet and Pete followed suit, reaching out to steady her.

"Claudia, are you okay?"

Uh oh.

Artie was looking at them, eyes narrowed. The teen was looking back, jaw working but no sound coming out.

"Oh, uh, she's just feeling a bit under the weather," Pete covered for her. "You know, with it being fall and with all these kids, colds go around."

Dr. Calder came to stand beside their grizzled field lead. "I would be more than happy to take a look at you," she offered kindly.

"I- no! No, no, no, that's alright. I think I just need some 'z's, and then everything will be rainbows again," the teen gushed.

Artie shook his head. "We need everyone ready in case there's a ping. You'd better get looked at."

There was no way the doctor wouldn't figure out the real issue. A bum with half a brain and a doctor's license from a cereal-box would be able to tell it wasn't a cold, and she wasn't just a doctor. She was a brilliant doctor, best of the best. Pete looked at Claudia, hoping the brilliant young woman would think of a way out of it, only to find that she was already giving him the same desperate gaze

"Professor Bering," Mrs. Fredric interrupted. "Why don't you have a look at Ms. Donovan. I'm certain Dr. Calder has tests waiting to be finished.

Pete nearly sighed with relief, catching himself at the last second.

"I don't know," Artie countered. "Vanessa could-"

"I'm sure she'll be more than sufficient, Arthur," Mrs. Fredric cut in.

Finally, Artie shrugged and let the matter drop, following the doctor as the room began to clear out, leaving Pete, Myka, Claudia, and Mrs. Fredric alone. The headmistress gave them a knowing look and finally followed suit.

Pete finally let the air rush from his lungs. "Whew. That was close."

"Close?" Myka asked. "Mrs. Fredric totally knew and just cut you two some slack."

"Yeah, but we got away with it, didn't we? I am the best!"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "C'mon. Let's get Claudia back to bed."

"Admit it."

"Pete…"

"Is the best! Just add on those three little words…"

The next morning-

The wild growth of the conservatory was a haven in sharp contrast to the outside world. There were vibrant plants, green with life and flourishing in warmth and wet, all heavy with shadows in the morning light. And then there were those plants withering under the early morning frosts, heralding winter's bitter chill with all but the trees too decrepit to cast darkness against the coming light. The border between the two was but a thin wall of glass, the ancient triangular panes fragile and drooping in their wooden framing.

Myka traced her fingers across the transparent surface of one, carelessly letting the cold sink in through her skin. She'd come to escape the decay, to bask in the lively warmth, yet here she was. The realization made her pull away.

The greenhouse, a project commissioned by James Howlett in the man's later years, was a construct nearly large enough to rival the Blackbird's nest. It's cylinder of glass walls stretched 12 feet high. They were topped by an arching dome which reached fifty feet of altitude at its central apex. Mulched pathways spread from the center of the room in concentric circles, a handful of go-betweens fragmenting and connecting the rings. Her feet shuffled along the trails as she wove through the flower beds and sculpted bushes, making her way to the center in a looping round-about fashion.

When at last the churning waters of the central fountain came into sight did her mind actually note of anything. Her eyes traced the marble statue of the Greek goddess Artemis which stood firmly at the center of the spraying jets. The figure, ten feet tall and raised even higher by the platform beneath her rocky feet seemed the epitome of collectedness and strength. Bow raised and empty hand arching back to grab an arrow from her quiver, the pale, chiseled stone and its veins of grey seemed capable of handling anything with a sort of wild grace. It was beautiful, built of calm and control.

Myka felt a twinge of envy.

Glancing away, she was startled as her eyes met those of another. Helena sat at one of the handful of round glass-topped tables that rested scattered about the clearing. The Victorian waved to her, and after a moment Myka realized it would be impolite to simply stand there and stare. Shaking herself to her senses, the brunette made her way over.

"Good morning, Helena. Not one for sleeping in?" Myka asked casually.

The Brit eyed the woman, her smile like a fox's. "And miss the sunrise? 'Morning brings back the heroic ages. There is something cosmological about it…'"

What's that supposed to mea – Thoreau? She's quoting Thoreau? The brunette narrowed her eyes and returned the smile as she recalled another of his lines. "Yes. It's like, 'for an hour, at least some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night.'" She paused for a beat before deciding to tack on a test of her own. "'The air becomes sharp and piercing in its first dull hue.'"

It didn't go unchecked, Helena's eyes bright as they bore into the brunette's. "It's rather like 'the death of night than the birth of day.' Though, I say 'good morning to the day: and next my gold.'"

"I understand. Some wait for daylight so they can 'open the shrine and see their saint.' But, I was just 'waiting for the common sense of the morning,'" Myka countered, not missing a beat.

Helena's delighted laughter blended with the quiet tinkle of the fountain, breaking the flow of their sparring. "Ah! Professor, it is considered conceited to quote one's self, and I almost certainly ought to maintain the pretext of being otherwise for as long as possible." She gestured at the seat across from herself. "On the night before last, after you retired from the table, I inquired as to the movement of literature in the past century. I was unanimously redirected to you with what I see now to be very good reason."

Myka smiled at the compliment as she settled into the slatted wooden chair. "You're not too shabby yourself," she replied. In all honesty, the brunette had been surprised at the Brit's game. Some small part of her still refused to accept that this slip woman whom she'd stumbled upon beating a man bloody was in fact her childhood hero. Myka should've been asking the billions of questions about Helena's texts that troubled her, but between not knowing where to start and not being able to truly believe, she struggled to find a place to start. "You almost caught me off guard. I didn't really take you for the Thoreau type."

"Yes well, while he was a bit Spartan in his philosophy, I've a soft spot for independence born of work ethic," Helena admitted. "Nature's not too terrible either, I suppose," she tacked on, gesturing loosely to their surroundings.

"Well, speaking of literature, I left before you ever got around to explaining yours," Myka hinted. "Was The Time Machine all imagination, or did you actually witness it?"

Helena smiled gently. "Imagination, thankfully. I'm afraid my own variety of time travel isn't quite so simple. Though, looking back to our first meeting, which proves you are indeed capable of the same manipulations, surely you don't require any such explanation?"

Myka held up a palm in denial. "Ha, capable? If I hadn't been mentally prepared, I would've never caught on to what you were doing. I still don't know exactly how it worked, or what that dark," she struggled to name it, "… tear in space that appeared beside you was."

"Well then," the Brit thought for a moment. "The rift you speak of is my method of traveling through spaces. I cannot say how it works scientifically, but I simply imagine a doorway to the place I desire to travel to and voila."

"Teleportation," Myka paraphrased with understanding. "There are a few other records of similarly gifted mutants."

"Truly?" Helena asked keenly interested. "Were any capable of time alteration as well?"

The brunette shook her head. "A few extremely powerful psychics could freeze it for a little while, but I've never heard of someone going forward, not to mention actually skipping through a century."

"Well, perhaps their century just isn't up yet and they are still busy 'skipping' away," Helena pondered slyly. "I suppose I could try to describe the process."

"Please," Myka prodded.

The Brit leaned forward in her seat and traced a straight, invisible line across the table between them. "The easiest way to explain it would be to imagine time in the form of a one-way street; I apologize for the terrible cliché. Distasteful metaphor aside, you are traveling at a steady rate along the street. This rate is constant, ever unchanging, ever unstopping. You cannot will yourself to move either faster or slower, or to change direction. Your velocity is unshakable.

"And you cannot simply pop from one place to another – physics does not permit you to simply 'stop existing' at some point in time. But, imagine that you are capable of reaching out with your thoughts to manipulate a narrow strip of concrete along the path, the strip beneath your feet which runs out ahead of you. It is an elastic sort of putty. You can stretch it or scrunch it together, elongate it or compact it. What was once fifty feet might become 100 miles or one inch, if you are strong enough.

"So, if one with such a power desires to not reach the next moment so quickly, he or she can do so by stretching the path. He or she would move at that ever constant rate, but would have to travel far farther to reach the same place."

Myka nodded, eyes narrowed in thought, grasping at the concept. "So, such a person would be stretching time, making it last longer. And if someone wanted to leap forward?"

Helena smiled at her understanding, basking in the intellectual trade they were entwined in. When she'd tried to explain the same idea to Peter prior to dinner, he'd given up at "velocity." "If you wanted to leap forward, you'd simply compact the path, let the rate of your travel carry you just a foot or two, and then release the tension. As the road springs back out, you'd be carried forward with it."

"That's… wow."

"Something like that," Helena agreed with a grin. "Well, perhaps you'd care to accompany me to breakfast so that we might continue this discussion? I'm not entirely sure where breakfast is, in all honesty."

Myka couldn't help but return the smile as she took to her feet. "C'mon. I'm sure the team won't mind having one more at the breakfast table. But, I have to warn you, Pete after sleeping eight hours without food is dangerous. And Artie can be pretty surly before his coff-"

Another strange mutant has been detected. Departure in three minutes. The words echoed through Myka's skull.

"Myka? Are you all right?"

The brunette realized she'd stopped midsentence and was staring blankly at the Brit. Her face began to heat. "I'm so sorry. Mrs. Fredric just called me."

Helena eyed her strangely.

"Telepathy," she replied awkwardly, realizing how much like a lame, formulaic excuse it must've sounded like. "I have to run."

"Of course. Well, perhaps another morning then," the Brit replied, understanding.

Myka instantly felt bad leaving the HG Wells out to dry in a foreign place. She froze.

"Professor. I understand. Go," Helena urged gently.

It was enough. Myka began back peddling along the path. "Another morning," she called out.

And so it was that as she turned and began to half-run, half-fly through the green, a slow grin spread across her face at the realization of what she'd just agreed to.

Breakfast with HG Wells. What a novelty.

AN 2(Because I love assaulting you all with italics and my random thoughts) : Many a study break went into this beast. Hope you enjoyed it. I didn't realize it was so long!

*The quotes traded between Myka and Helena hail from the muses of Henry Thoreau, Charles Dickens, Ben Jonson, and HG Wells, in case anyone particularly cares.

*James Howlett- a reference to Wolverine's true name. Comic wise, I'm pretty sure he reopened the school, and I could totally see Logan becoming a chill, wise old man who loves plants in his later years.