A/N: Just another author's note, hopefully shorter than the last one. In the comic series Moira MacTaggert was a geneticist who owned a facility called Muir Island. In the movie she's a CIA survellaince agent who needs to call in a geneticist to make her case. Not exactly the same. That's why I'm adding an aunt with a similar name because I needed another geneticist for the story. Enjoy.
Also, you could go and google the two mutants mentioned in this chapter. I encourage you not to. Saves some surprises.
Dr. Moira Rose MacTaggert hated her name. She hated it with the kind of passion that started wars and blood feuds that would last for centuries. If her hate were some sort of cosmic being it could consume planets and empty them of all life forms, always hungry and always seeking new things to destroy.
Her closer friends and brother had asked her why exactly that was. For one thing, it alliterated. Yet, if that was all it was then she was sure that she wouldn't have minded. However, Moira had a soft sound while MacTaggert had a harsh, cutting noise in both the 'c' and the 't'. Every time someone said the name it grated on her ears.
It was also, quite simply, because everyone in her family had it. There was some kind of tradition going back generations where the oldest girl in the family was always named Moira. One of their ancestors, Moira MacTaggert of Scotland, had saved the life of several royal children. The act had been courageous and was even in several history books. So now everyone had to be named after her.
She had had the misfortune to be the only daughter born to their family, hence the eldest one, so the name had passed on to her. As her parents weren't oracles to see that it wouldn't suit her she didn't blame them. It was just rotten luck. To her Moira implied a mysterious, tall, suave, pretty girl. She on the other hand, was short and dumpy. On good days she thought of herself as handsome but on most days she acknowledged that she was plain. The addition of coke-bottle glasses when she was ten hadn't helped either.
This was why, ever since she was a little girl, she had always gone by her middle name. Rose MacTaggert was a little easier to bear; anyone could be a Rose even if the other name showed up on official documents. The best thing that had come out of her marriage to a politician some years ago was that she got a new last name. That went away when she found out he was cheating on her and got a divorce, but still.
That was also why, when her older brother had a daughter, that poor girl had been named Moira MacTaggert as well. Holding the small baby in her arms Rose had tried to convey all her sympathy to her. While her niece had grown into the expectations that Rose thought the name implied it was still a lot to live up to. Things weren't so bad for her niece now though. She had gotten married to one Charles Xavier. That made it Moira Xavier, a much better name in her opinion.
She had felt some pride in that. More or less Rose had been the matchmaker. As a geneticist she had been the first one Moira called when trying to find one. At the time Rose had been working on a thesis paper, but she had decided to pick up the phone anyway. Normally she just let it ring until it stopped.
Moira had always been sensible so when she told tales of women with diamond skin and demonic teleporters Rose certainly believed that she'd seen something. However, that was not her area of expertise at the time. So she'd directed her to Charles Xavier. While he wasn't even a professor yet she'd read some of his papers. His theories were interesting, something she'd kept on file in her mind.
"I know he seems an unorthodox pick," Moira had said, "But I think he's just the man you're looking for."
Apparently he was judging by their marriage over a year later. Her shock that he had somehow become dependent on a wheelchair had been great, but it had been squashed when she saw them together. She had been very smug when at their wedding. Rose might not be able to handle her own love life but by God she could help other people's.
Rose was fond of saying that she was married to her work and, unlike some people, she believed it. After all, her work would never ignore her, cheat on her, or call her names. Her work was her second and rather better husband. At the age of fifty-seven she had no real desire to take a third either.
Her work had even given her a home. With a rather nice settlement from her divorce and the money from a few patents she had bought a small island off the coast of Scotland. The locals called it Muir Island and she saw no reason to rename it. The existing castle had been remodeled for her and she'd happily tinkered away on idea after idea in privacy. It was a comfortable existence and one that made her infinitely happy.
So why was she in Boston Massachusetts when all she wanted to do was stay on her cozy island? Why had she not visited her beloved niece, who was only a few states over and would have been happy to see her? To put it quite simply her husband was calling. And right now she had to do some smooth talking for him.
"I understand your concerns Ms. Dane," Rose said, her voice congenial, "Which is why I'm here to personally reassure you that this will be conducted under the strictest rules of patient confidentiality."
Across from her Susanna Dane hesitated. She looked almost like a teenager in that moment, although Rose knew that the woman was in her thirties. Susanna simply looked young when she was worried, and she was very worried at the moment. She stared down at the form but made no move for the pen. Inwardly Rose felt her stomach contract in frustration.
"Is there anything about the wording of this that you want me to change?" she asked, trying not to sound pressuring or desperate, "Because I can change it. It's there to provide both of you with protection so I want it to be exactly to your liking. I can come back for it later and we can talk again then."
Susanna bit her lip.
"Dr. MacTaggert," she said, "First I want to know what would happen if I sign. Please."
This was encouraging.
"To start with I'd like to meet your daughter," said Rose, "I would like to draw her blood and ask her some questions. I would also like to see how fast her metabolism runs and possibly take an MRI and monitor brain functions while she uses her power. I would also ask her to demonstrate her abilities. This last task will be recorded, although only for research purposes. You'll be there for this whole process of course."
She paused, going over her mental checklist. Yes, that seemed to be everything.
"This may last a few months, but I'm flexible," she said, "I've rented a facility here in Boston. Your daughter wouldn't be the only subject in this after all. And, like I said before, you'd be there for the whole thing."
"Thank you, but I'd prefer not to have the recording," Susanna said.
She swallowed. Susanna must have seen her inward frustration because she said;
"I'm not trying to be difficult. But I know what can happen to people like my daughter if things aren't handled correctly."
"My intentions-" started Rose.
"-sound perfectly noble," said Susanna, "You want to help mutants, let the world see them as something other than a dangerous presence. You want to show that it's completely normal and that it's not threatening; it's natural. I believe that that's your true purpose, but there are many people out there who wouldn't use this like that."
Susanna's expression was defiant. She was obviously going to fight tooth and nail for her daughter at even the faintest hint of a threat.
"And you want to help your daughter," Rose said, trying to strike at the root but still be honest, "But I'm not going to pretend to be a miracle worker. I may not even be able to show her how to control her abilities. That might not come until much later."
"I know that," said Susanna, "I read the fine print and I did some asking around. I know about your own daughter. Is she a mutant as well?"
Rose squirmed.
"She's my adopted daughter," she said, "And yes, she is."
Yes, her husband work had given her a child in the form of Rahne Sinclair. Like Lorna she'd heard about her through the friend of a friend and had wanted to use her as a subject. When she'd seen the girl bruises had riddled her face and arms. Reverend Craig, the owner of the orphanage, had told her that her mutation caused her skin to split and that she sometimes had fits. Rose saw how her mutation could cause stress on the skin so she'd accepted it at the time. Her ignorance made her feel stupid when she found out the truth.
Rahne had warmed up to Rose slowly but surely. Unlike most people Rose had started off by trying to make friends with the girl instead of the Reverend, whom she found disagreeable even at the start. It was probably her strange personality that had allowed her to do so. It made her happy that she could get along with children.
And, with a little kindness, Rahne had told her everything. She'd told her about the beatings and how she had been called a demon ever since she could remember. Above all she was kept away from the other children at the orphanage. That meant that she had very little human contact.
Rose was tempted to commit murder. The hell kind of a man could call himself a Christian doing that? However, she'd thought about the situation. She couldn't believe that Rahne had managed to tell her about it, she looked like she expected to be punished at any second. Her words were a cry for help, one that Rose would answer. She'd gone home and had worked tirelessly to make sure that Rahne wouldn't have to stay with that monster for another hour.
The decision to adopt Rahne was not one that was taken lightly. She was nearly sixty. There would be no father for the girl; just her crotchety self. At the same time she didn't see any other solution. If she was put into another orphanage then she would most likely find others unsympathetic to her condition. Rose was going to make sure that that didn't happen.
When Rahne had heard the eleven year old girl had all but run into Rose's arms. In the four months since then she'd been petitioning to change her name to MacTaggert. It felt strange to her.
"So now I have even more assurances you wouldn't do anything to hurt my daughter," said Susanna, "I just don't want this information misused."
"I agree with you," Rose said, choosing her words carefully, "That's the last thing that I want to happen. And if you insist I won't record any of this. I also said to you over the phone you r daughter would only be referred to as Subject Number One in the report. My daughter would be Subject Number two. There would be no way for her to be traced back from it."
"I don't think too many people would credit your research if you weren't going to record names," said Susanna, "They would probably accuse you of making it up, faking your data and creating subjects."
Rose smiled. Susanna was clever, but Rose had already thought of this one.
"They might do, they might do," she said, "But I have a spotless record in the field of science. All of my theories have been proven; all of my inventions have worked. That should be enough to convince at least some people that I'm deadly serious when I talk about people who can fly or make plants grow or something. It will be a grain of doubt in their minds."
Her smile became a little more satisfied.
"I know that my theories may never be fully accepted in my lifetime," she continued, "I am, after all, nearly sixty. If it takes twenty years for these to be common place then I might already be gone. But I want my work to be a building block, a stepping stone. People may need it as reference material someday."
She leaned back. Susanna was looking at her with respect and consideration. That was definitely a good start.
"And I'm not the first one to pose these theories," she said, "There was a geneticist named Charles Xavier who first brought these up in England."
"Then why isn't he doing this experiment?" asked Susanna.
The question wasn't hostile, only curious.
"He started up a school in New York, got married," she said, not bothering to mention that he was now her nephew-in-law, "That can take a lot of time. I'm simply seeing if I can confirm or deny his theories. Then again, from what I've seen, I don't think that his theories can bedenied."
Again Susanna looked down at the piece of paper. Her face was worried but she swallowed. With a determined motion she reached for the pen. Rose's heart soared even as she had to fight to keep her face calm and collected. With a few strokes of a pen Susanna had signed. Rose wanted to snatch the precious contract to her and instead moved it over so that she too could sign.
"Thank you Ms. Dane," she said, collecting the paper and getting up, "I look forward to meeting Lorna in three weeks' time."