Three days later Quetzal was allowed to wander on her own. She made no more hostile moves, even if she did eat half the contents of the kitchen on a daily basis. She was very friendly and her Texan drawl made her gregariousness even more charming.

"I still don't like her," Logan said. The intensity of his dislike was without reason and unusual. Usually he ended up as some kind of mentor figure when it came to young women like that. Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty had all been about Quetzal's age when they arrived. And Quetzal was a hell of a lot more polite than any of them had been.

"Well that's not entirely surprising," Hank looked up from the computer. "Look here," he brought up a picture of Quetzal's DNA and pointed to a portion of it.

"What am I looking at?"

"This is reptilian DNA – komodo dragon, and this," he moved his finger. "Is avian DNA, some kind of raptor, linking it together here is saurian DNA – I'd guess some kind of oviraptor based on what the gen scan says."

"And how does that lead to me not liking her?"

"She's closer to a mutated dinosaur than a mutated human. Technically, I'm not sure if you could even classify her as a mammal. It's probably why Jean can't read her."

"You're still not getting to the point."

"Out of all of us you're the one closest to their instincts. Something in you is responding to the fact that she's basically higher on the food chain than a primate. We're all evolved primates here." Beast took a look at the picture of her genetics again. "To tell the truth, she gives me the heebie-jeebies too."

"She is not higher on the food chain than me. And she does not give me the 'heebie-jeebies."

Hank shrugged. "A comparison of your genetics would suggest otherwise." He looked at the screen thoughtfully. "I would not want to meet that genetic code in a dark alley."

There was a knock on the door. Quetzal poked her head in. "Is this a bad time Dr. McCoy? I can come back later."

"This is fine Quetzal. What can I do for you?"

"I need a batch of anti-venin. I usually keep several doses on me, in case of accidents." She smiled broadly. "Hello Mr. Logan, how are you today?"

"Fine. I gotta go."

Quetzal moved aside to let him through. She shut the door quietly and turned to Beast. "He doesn't like me, does he?"

"It takes him a while to warm up to people. What can I do for you?"

She stared at the screen, which still displayed a nicely labeled picture of her genome. "You gen-scanned me." Quetzal pointed at the computer. "I would appreciate it if you would delete my gen scan and any record of it." Her voice was abnormally stern.

"I prefer to keep them on file. It's the sort of thing that proves very useful down the road."

She sighed deeply and sat down in the chair Wolverine had vacated. "Look, keep this between your own ears okay, but I'm a levite."

". . . . . . A member of the jewish priest sect?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. Like 'Levis.' Y'know, designer genes."

He ignored the pun. "You're a Frankenstein?"

Her glare could have melted adamantium. "Don't ever call me that. But yes, I am a construct. Designed and built from gene one."

"For what purpose?"

The fire in her eyes dimmed to a flat predatory glaze and the pupils contracted into pin points. Her face was a calm mask, but she gripped the chair of her seat in a white-knuckled clench, claws shredding the fabric and gouging out bits of plastic. "That is an extremely offensive question Dr. McCoy." She unclenched her hands and closed her eyes, taking a deep cleansing breath.

He realized that she was on the verge of slapping him across the face. "I'm sorry Quetzal, I didn't know."

"I know," She said tersely and took another deep breath. His innocent ignorance was the only reason she hadn't struck him. When she opened her eyes she still looked angry, but human again. "Not that it's any of your business but, I'm a Pegasus Class Chimera. Built for flight and meant to work in small teams or on my own for the rapid reduction of hostile personnel." She walked over to look at the screen. "I'm a combat construct." Her arms crossed over her chest. "I am extremely uncomfortable with cavalier attitude you have regarding my genetic profile. I want it deleted. I didn't give you permission to do that."

"Your information is perfectly safe. I just compare it to the other samples in the database. The fact that you're a – uh – a construct is invaluable. It gives us a control to compare other mutants to."

She turned back towards him with the adamantium-melting glare in her eyes again. "Perfectly safe? You were showing it to Wolverine! Did I miss his PhD in meta-genetics? That is my DNA code. It's my copyright. It's not for you to decide what it gets used for."

"Because you're a construct?"

"Because I'm sentient creature. You don't have the right to pirate my code. Now please, delete that file."

"The data is invaluable."

"I don't think you understand how upsetting this is for a levite. We still don't have the same legal rights as naturally born atyps. And there's a lot of people who think we ain't much more than dogs and have no business calling for equal rights. Dad pirated me and did his damndest to make sure no one ever knew that I came from a lab."

"Quetzal-"

Quetzal rubbed the back of her neck and sat down again. "Look, I don't want it stored, shared, or examined. I don't want it teased apart and compared. I want it gone. The data isn't just invaluable to you. It's invaluable to anyone who wants their own little collection of atyp soldiers. And the real thing is even more invaluable. If a scent of my code makes it out on the ether then there are people who would want to catch me and do bad things to me. And they would do bad things to anyone trying to protect me too. If you don't delete that and all the records of it, then I'll be gone and in the wind before dinner, and you won't see a feather or scale of me ever again. I'll be gone before anyone can think to look for me here." Her anger had built until she was breathing hard and digging her claws into the bottom of the seat.

"There's no need for dramatics Quetzal."

"Look at my eyes doctor. Ain't dramatics; it's God's honest truth. I will leave. I walk out that door," she pointed to the lab door. "And then I'm gone for good. And I'd just as soon not do that. I do like it here. I like it here enough that I won't let anything stupid you do put y'all in danger."

"Is it really that dire?"

She frowned, her anger mostly spent. "Yeah it is. Doc, I know that you don't mean to do anything bad with it. But there are a lotta people who would. Dark Beast was one of them. He made no bones about wanting to pull me apart down to my amino acids. Not to mention the people that-" she looked away. "That legally I might maybe still belong to the Perseus Corporation. The people that designed me."

"Alright then." He turned to the computer and with a few keystrokes, deleted her file. "You can trust us Quetzal."

"It ain't a trust thing. I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me on purpose. It's a paranoia thing."

"That's no way to live, you need friends."

She smiled brilliantly. "I got friends, lots and lots of them. They've kept my family safe. They watch out for us, and we watch out for them. And now I've got you too." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "I know you wouldn't knowingly let anything bad happen to me. I just don't want y'all to get sucked into any trouble on account of me." Her smile dimmed only fractionally. "Anyway, I came down here for something completely unrelated to that. I need to have some antivenin made and I'm guessing you're the guy to talk to."

"Glad to help. Let me go get a beaker."

Hank raised the beaker to the light. There was a surprisingly large quantity of thin, slightly yellow-tinged liquid. "And how many people could this kill?"

Quetzal smacked her tongue to get the taste of the latex she'd bit out of her mouth. "That much?" she scratched her head as she calculated. "If you dosed it out there's probably enough there to snuff fifteen people. But I don't meter it all that accurately when I bite, so maybe . . . . . . maybe half a dozen."

"How long will it take for you to replenish the reserve?"

"It takes a long time. A snake will be back to full potency in a matter of days. It'll take me at least a week to get enough to snuff a man, maybe longer. To get the full amount back . . . . four to six months."

"Seems like a long time to be without your weapons."

"Pleeeeeeeze," Quetzal rolled her eyes and opened the fridge. She held up a clawed hand and clacked the claws together. "Most damage is done with these or plain old saliva. The venom is a last line of defense."

"We noticed that in your medalert, why is that?"

"You know how komodo dragons snuff their prey? One bite and the bacteria is their spit will drop a buffalo in 24 hours. I use Listerine and never eat meat rare and that helps, but still. . . . You don't want to be exposed to more of that stuff then necessary. It's a hemotoxin. It attacks the blood. It clots red blood cells together quickly, produces a spike in blood pressure. The heart shreds itself trying to pump the sludge. The hemoglobin can't move oxygen so the victim suffocates no matter how hard or fast they breathe. Nasty, nasty stuff." She dropped it into her other hand and stared at it. "Dad thinks that they built the rest of me around this stuff. So handle with care, alright?"

"Most definitely. Is there anything about you that isn't terrifying?"

"Awww, I'm a friendly little thing, doc. I just got assembled outta scary parts. Speaking of terrifying, I haven't eaten since breakfast and I could put a hurting on a sandwich. Join me for lunch?"

Quetzal had worked her way through two of her four sandwiches and just taken a large bite of her third when Colossus came into the kitchen. He'd been on a mission and she hadn't met him yet.

"You must be the new girl," he said. "I heard you kicked up quite a ruckus."

Her eyes were wide and she was frozen in mid-bite.

Peter got himself a piece of fruit and turned to Beast. "Quiet, isn't she?"

"Not really," Beast said.

"Well don't cause any more trouble." Peter said on his way out.

Quetzal clamped down on Beast's arm, choking down her mouthful of her food. "That was Peter Rasputin. Peter Rasputin just walked through the kitchen. Oh I get to tell my dad I met Peter Rasputin." She giggled to herself, with a weird hero worship in her eyes.

"You know him?"

"Of him," she shook her head. "He's an X-man. I can't believe he's an X-man. That is just . . . woah, beyond weird. I mean . . . . weird."

"How do you know of him?"

She sighed and leaned on her hand, smiling dreamily. "I always dreamed of dancing with him."

"Dancing with him."

"The Moscow Ballet was the only company to embrace atyps. And Rasputin . . . . he was the second coming of Nureyev."

"Peter Rasputin . . . . a ballerina."

"Danseur. The men are called 'danseurs," she corrected him half-heartedly. "When my X gene kicked in I had to leave ballet. I just got too big and too heavy to lift. It'd take someone like Rasputin."

"Danseur."

"Oh yes, I had a vid of him in Swan Lake." She shook her head. "I wanted so badly to be Odette and to float around the stage with him. One of his last performances before he and his sister defected. And that was the last of atyps in the corps du ballet."

For once she didn't seem that interested in her food, Beast noted. "I'd think that muta – atyps would be an asset."

"Not really, all the corps are supposed to look uniform. Probably atyps that look completely typical could make it, but – that's not most of us."

Quetzal peeled the top part of her sandwich off and picked the tomatoes off. She usually picked her meals apart when she was feeling morose and introspective. Her sisters teased her about it and her dad scolded her. It was a blindingly obvious tell.

Beast had no reason to ask though, and she wasn't going to tell him. Illyana Rasputin was one of the whos in Asylum that the half-truths were designed to protect. Iggy dos Santos was a Soviet "ex-pat" herself. After Iggy defected, she bummed around New York for a while. The ballet company the Rasputins started was one of her favorite past times.

Then there was the fire.

The ballet company was burnt to the ground. And Peter Rasputin died there. Illyana had to be restrained from going in after him. Iggy was the one doing the restraining. Even before the ashes were cold, Iggy was forcing Illyana away.

"Your brother is dead," Iggy hissed in Russian, struggling to maintain her hold. She'd never had much of an aptitude for comfort and wasn't about to start now. "He is dead and you can do nothing. If you go in there you'll be killed too."

Illyana wailed and tried to push away Iggy. "Why? Why did they kill him?"

Iggy continued to be of little comfort. "You knew this might happen when you left. They were not going to let you walk away. There was going to be a punishment for that. Now get up, you must disappear. I know where you can go."

"You are cruel. Do you not have a heart?"

The question puzzled Iggy. Of course she had a heart. A strong and healthy heart with a resting rate of 37 beats per minute. "Do you want to die?" she asked. "I will let you go and you can run into the fire if that is what you want. Or do you want to live? I will take you to a safe place I heard of." Iggy remembered something she saw on TV about a similar situation. It was worth a shot. "What would your brother want you to do?"

Illyana collapsed against Iggy. After a few moments she said "Let's go then."

Iggy took her to Asylum of course. Illyana Rasputin became Yelena Ivanov and eventually settled in to teach dance to the local children. Quetzal knew her as a fierce, thin woman who demanded perfection. The year before Quetzal hatched Mme. Yelena was key in ridding the town of a zombie annoyance before it became a full-scale invasion. She was apparently quite the swordswoman.

Flipping heck, Quetzal stopped in mid chew again. What must Mme. Yelena be like here in a world where her brother is a warrior? She turned to Beast. "He has a sister doesn't he?"

"Had a sister. She died quite a few years ago."

"Oh." So much for Mme. Yelena. Quetzal was surprised that she felt very sad about that. Mme. Yelena was still alive. And Quetzal didn't even know Illyana Rasputin. "This is a weird place, y'know."

"You making any headway with those history books?"

"No." Quetzal was down to the last piece of bread now. "It's boring. And how different can it be? This is just a variation on my home. It's got all the same places and people."

"My admittedly limited experience with dimensional travelers has shown that different places can be very different and still contain the same people."

"I'll get around to it." She bolted down the last of her food. "But Mr. Summers said he wanted to see me fly this afternoon."

Quetzal enjoyed the Danger Room. Rarely had she ever had such perfect conditions for flight. Warm simulated sunshine beat on her back, thermals rose underneath her wings, and a clear blue sky seemed to go on forever. She ignored Scott when he asked her to do a full transformation the first few times. Finally she snapped at him. "I told you, it changes my brain. I cannot control what I do. It's just instinct. The Creature – she's very dangerous, doesn't have a way from telling friends and enemies apart. Like a feral dog let off its chain. I don't do a full change ever."

In the Danger Room Quetzal stretched her arms out until they became broad wings. The feathers had a bold crimson and black pattern. A few powerful downstrokes got her airborne. She gained altitude rapidly. Glorying in the thrill of flight she performed wild aerobatics, banking hard, rolling, looping, stalling and diving.

The dives were incredible. At the nadir of the dive she reached a little over two hundred miles per hour. She would manipulate the size and shape of her wings for gliding, diving, or hovering. That wasn't the only part of her body that changed. Protective membranes covered her eyes during her dives, diaphragm muscles attached to her lungs would pull them sideways or back, letting her roll in the blink of an eye. To test her limits, Angel took after her in an aerial game of tag.

Quetzal dropped like a stone. As she fell, her body changed. A thick, long tail burst through the back of her pants. As the feathered tail grew, her wings did as well, compensating for the change to her center of gravity. She had been enjoying her flight before, but now she was ready to get serious about her skills.

She spread her wings and climbed into the sky. Warren reached for the tail hanging behind her. It was a tempting target. Quetzal whipped the tail forward, out of his reach, flaring the fan of feathers on the last quarter of it and throwing her wings wide and broad. Her momentum abruptly stopped and Warren shot ahead of her.

Quetzal was already gliding in the other direction, laughing raucously. She climbed hard into the simulated sun. "Come get me groundpounder."

In the observation room Wolverine was cringing inwardly at the sound of her laugh. It was like nails on a chalkboard. "How long do you think it'll be before Angel catches her?"

Beast shook his head. "He's a mutated human. His profile is essentially human, lots of drag. She was built for flight. I think she has an edge." An in depth discussion with Quetzal about her anatomical abnormalities, followed by a just as in-depth battery of medical scans, made it clear that her humanity was skin deep. She had been frank about her catalogue of features (as she called it). From venomous fangs to clawtip, she was a creature born for "rapid reduction of hostile personnel".

Quetzal was climbing hard and fast into the light. From Angel's vantage point, trying to track Quetzal in the bright light, he couldn't see her use her tail to make a fast flip. She was diving towards him. Feet stretched in front of her.

"I give her three minutes. Tops," Wolverine watched her drop towards her pursuer. "Angel has more experience than her."

Scott watched Warren make a last second dive to avoid impact. He looked ungainly in comparison as Quetzal zoomed by. "Five minutes."

"He has more combat experience. But I think she has him beat on blue-sky time. She said she's been flying since she was five." Beast watched as Warren dove after her. "I'll give her ten minutes."

Quetzal dropped straight to the ground, her wings lifted high on her back to achieve maximum velocity without compromising stability or control. Warren followed. As they rapidly approached the ground, prudence demanded that he taper and slow his dive. They were simply racing to the unforgiving ground too quickly for him to maneuver on his broad wings. He needed to slow down about thirty miles to regain control. He rose up and gained height to swoop down on her again. Quetzal did not slow. She threw her wings out and skimmed six feet from the ground. Warren dove after her and she dropped completely to the ground, rolling with the inertia, making him overshoot. She was off in the air again in the blink of an eye.

Watching the two of them tumble around the air was breathtaking. Flight was natural for both of them and their competition was coming down to the different architecture in their bodies. Quetzal had the advantage there. She could manipulate her center of gravity and change her the shape of her wings.

Quetzal managed to keep Warren from tagging her for nine minutes. When the tables turned she caught up with him in less than two. She had changed form a little more, stretching her legs and feet into grasping talons. She snagged a claw in his uniform and dragged him across the sky for a few meters before releasing him. While he flapped ungainly, looking like a sparrow in a hawk's talons, she laughed good naturedly.

And the whole time her laughter was setting Wolverine's teeth on edge. "Alright, the kid can fly. How is she on the ground?"

Wolverine tried his best to get over whatever it was about the new girl that was bothering him. He had been partnered with her for a training mission in the Danger Room. Quetzal wasn't any more thrilled than he was. Her smile was thin and didn't touch her eyes.

She was wearing a default uniform of flat black fatigues more suited to the simulated enemy than the X-men. Upon entering the simulation she took one look at Wolverine and collapsed with laughter. When it trailed off she sat up, wiping tears from her eyes on the back of her fingerless gloves. She looked up at him and started snickering.

"What's so funny?" he growled.

"I thought we were doing simulated combat, not joining the Masked Mexican Wrestling League." She giggled again and stood up, wiping simulated dirt off her backside.

Wolverine glared at her until the giggles dissolved into the occasional twitching at the corners of her mouth. "Are you done?"

"Probably." She gulped down the last of her mirth.

Wolverine took another look at her fatigues. They weren't standard issue as he'd first assumed. There were circled x's in charcoal shoulder patches, but that was the only decoration. Instead of the expected boots however she was wearing black canvas shoes. She noticed his gaze and picked up one of her feet. "Parkour shoes. Better for maneuvering and I can rip through them if I need toeclaws."

Cute. She thought the shoes were the problem. "Blue and gold are the uniform colors."

"Not very good for hiding though." She frowned slightly.

"Xmen don't hide."

". . . . I'll see to fixing it." She slipped the jacket off. Underneath it she wore a racerback sleeveless shirt.

At least she had planned for a full range of movement.

"You ever do anything like this before?"

She tied a black bandanna over the crimson braid pinned to her head. "I've had more than a decade of martial arts training." She bent to stretch, touching her nose to her knees and hugging her legs. "And my sisters and I used to play with paint guns in the woods." She straightened and lifted her leg behind her, pressing her foot against the back of her head. "Plus there was the heroing work I did with the Titans. It's not unfamiliar." Like a cat, she took her time stretching until he was about ready to snap.

"Alright kid, let's see what you can do."

"Try to keep up." She flexed her claws.

Wolverine ripped off his mask. "End simulation!" he ordered the program.

Quetzal looked moderately startled as the simulation collapsed around her, leaving a stark metal room. She flexed the fingers of her right hand, where she had been holding a handgun. The blood spatters that covered her face disappeared as well.

Wolverine rounded on her. "Tell me where a slip like you learns Special Forces moves like that," he snarled.

She blinked down at him with glittering eyes. "Beg pardon?"

The way she stared down at him and stood too close was making his hackles rise. "Playing with paint guns my ass. No girl of eighteen knows squad combat techniques and how to disarm six men at a go."

Her slow smile was more disturbing than the stare. "Maybe I've got a natural talent."

"Bull. Shit."

Quetzal rolled her eyes."I told y'all when I got here my dad was retired special forces. He wasn't exactly a My Petite Pony kind of guy. Much more comfortable taking us kids to the gun range. We would all go out in the woods after dark and play with paint guns. A few of his buddies moved to town when they retired too and opened up a martial arts school. I studied there for more than a decade." She puffed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I told y'all I wasn't a neophyte. Don't know why you're so surprised."

Her answer made a kind of sense, and she wasn't lying. But it was far too pat for Wolverine's liking. "A bunch of badasses like that end up in the same one horse town and just decide to open a martial arts school?"

"How should I know?" Quetzal shrugged. "Maybe they always dreamed about being cowboys when they were kids. And Asylum's a very nice one horse town. Are we going to continue the simulation or what?"

He didn't like her answer. "You're hiding something."

She scowled back. "Like what? I told you I've had training. I told you have super fast reflexes. I told you I'm stronger than I look. I told you I've worked with another heroing team. I told you I learn physical stuff real quick. I told you my dad was special forces and I grew up with him teachin' me survival stuff. What have I hidden?" She held up a hand. "Wait, I'm wearing my lucky underpants."

"Look kid-"

"I can pick my nose with my tongue."

"I-"

"I have Konichiwa Kitty tattooed on my butt."

He remained silent and glared.

"I get on well with dogs." She shut her mouth with a tooth-jarring 'click' when the full impact of his baleful look hit her.

"You're pushing your luck girl."

Beast interjected. "I'll finish the evaluation run with Quetzal."

"I want an answer from her first!" Wolverine said.

"I'd be happy to answer you." Quetzal's voice was irritatingly reasonable. "I'm just not really sure what answer you'd be satisfied with."

"I want the truth."

She took extreme offense. "I never lie!"

"Quetzal," Beast said, raising his eyebrows. Tell him, he tried to project.

She got his message. Her eyes went flat. "Hank." Ain't gonna happen, her narrow look said back.

"What?" Growled Wolverine, angry at being left out of the conversation taking place between their faces.

She turned on him. "I'm a predator okay? The Creature in my head thinks humans are food. Hunting is what she does! I meant it when I said I'm a natural. Killing is in my blood. Always has been. I've had the instinct for it since I could walk. I'm not a flat-toothed agrarian like you!" Her face was red with embarrassment.

"Agrarian?" Logan repeated.

"Means farmer," Hank supplied helpfully.

"I know what it means. I just don't know what she's talking about!"

The red was fading from her complexion and her eyes softened as she forced herself to calm down. Her long grey tongue snaked out of her mouth to wet her lips. "I think you do." She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "When you go back as far as you can remember – you always knew how to snuff people. Cut them here, stab them there, hit them there."

Wolverine nodded.

"The same with me. Except when I go back as far as I can remember, I'm not grown up like you. I'm three years old."

"Jesus," Hank muttered.

"Don't blaspheme," she said mildly.

Logan's hostility was almost immediately replaced with sympathy. "Kid, there are ways to deal with that."

She laughed. "I don't need help 'dealing with it.' I'm at peace with that aspect of myself. I just hate being forced to admit it. People get antsy around you when they know you're a born killer. My dad was very good about helping me channel that predatory instinct into more appropriate outlets." Her smile was toothy. "God made the lamb, but he made the wolf too. They both have a purpose."

The sympathy faded as she cheerfully admitted to liking her killer instinct and her smile brightened, revealing her fangs.

"Maybe I should finish this up with Dr. McCoy. You and I – we aren't comfortable around each other."

"Yeah, a combat simulation probably isn't the best place to bond. She's all yours Hank." Wolverine left the Danger Room, feeling a little uneasy about turning his back on her.

Beast looked at Quetzal. "I would have thought it would be less embarrassing to just tell him you're a construct."

She arched an eyebrow. "And who spent their entire lives as a construct, you or me?" She put her bandanna between her teeth while she re-pinned her braid. "The only reason I told you," she growled around it. "Is because I needed you to delete that genscan and I didn't think you would without a good reason. It's not something I want to get around. Frankly, if you do it again I'm gonna slap the taste right out of your mouth." She put the bandanna back on her head and tied it in place. "There's a lot of people, typs and atyps both, who don't like constructs. And I don't like to think of myself as being four steps in evolution away from a hacksaw. I don't like others thinking it either."

"Quetzal, nobody would –"

"Do not finish that thought. They would. They would and they do. And they never look at you the same afterwards."

"The X-Men wouldn't."

"Some of your best friends are constructs?" she snarked.

Beast reminded himself that she was a mouthy teenager and had no doubt faced a number of life experiences that led to her temper on the issue. He smiled. "Well, I know this one construct who's kind of growing on me."

The foul temper left her face and she laughed pleasantly. "Like a slime mold, huh?" She looked at the door Wolverine had left through and her smile dimmed. "Boy that guy doesn't like me. Last thing I want is to give him another reason to like me less"

"You don't seem to be too fond of him either."

"Yeah, well I got a reason. I haven't done anything to his family. He flipping near wiped mine out."

Beast stared at her until he had her complete attention. "He didn't do anything to your family Quetzal. This isn't your universe remember?"

His point struck home. She winced and looked away.

"And Xmen are family Quetzal. You did attack us." He relented a little. "You weren't completely unjustified, but you did attack his family."

Her ears were turning red again. "You're right Doc," she bit her lip. "I'll try harder to get along with him. I'll apologize to him when we get done here."

"Don't take it too hard," Hank sighed. "He ends up in a fight with one of us at least every other week anyway. I think I've pushed him through the bay window two or three times myself. I'll go get changed and we can finish the simulation."

"Thanks."

Something occurred to Hank and he turned back to her. "Quetzal, how come you don't have such antipathy towards me?" He met her eyes. "Dark Beast did a lot of harm to you and your family too."

Quetzal frowned and scratched the back of her head. "Well, you don't growl at me." She shrugged. "Besides. We never had any flares with Dark Beast until about three weeks ago. The guy was evil but – it wasn't personal."

"And with your version of Wolverine it was."

She nodded. "Oh yes. Indeedydoo it was most certainly personal. It was all settled down by the time I was born. But my sisters had nightmares. Hell, my dad had nightmares. The first time you find out your dad has a weakness – it makes a strong impact on a kid."

He frowned. "Makes sense. I didn't notice during that scuffle in the medlab, do you really have Konichiwa Kitty tattooed on your butt?"

She grinned enigmatically.

The grin left Quetzal's face as soon as Beast was gone to change. She remembered the night, shortly after Christmas, when she found her dad sitting in the kitchen, cleaning his collection of guns. That wasn't odd in itself, he did that every other week or so. But during the daylight, not in the middle of the night.

It wasn't normal. Even at six she had absorbed enough of her dad's life lessons to know that when things did not follow the usual pattern, it meant something was wrong. And he looked weird too.

She hugged Mr. Scales to her chest and walked up to the kitchen table. "Dad?"

He jumped and the trigger mechanism flew from his hands. He never did that. He wasn't clumsy. He especially wasn't clumsy with guns.

"Baby," he smiled at her as he picked the pieces off the floor. "You surprised me."

She set her stuffed raptor on the table and helped pick up the pieces. "Sorry. I was thirsty."

He got up from the table and poured her a glass of orange juice. He poured himself some more bourbon. He had been drinking from the bottle, but he wasn't going to do that in front of his kid.

"What's wrong dad?"

"I had a very bad dream." That was putting it mildly. As she grew up she would learn that this dream would wake him up in a cold sweat, occasionally sobbing or screaming into his pillow. It recurred a few times a year.

She nodded sympathetically. Sometimes she had bad dreams too. About people poking her and stealing her from her dad and sisters. Sometimes she'd go into his room and sleep next to him.

"Wait here for a second." He double checked to make sure everything was unloaded and went to his room. When he came out he had a piece of paper in his hands. She was old enough to know about this now. Not enough to scare her, but enough to make sure she could stay safe. He told her the very simple version of the story. He handed her the paper.

It was a picture of a man. He had three long metal things coming out of his hands. The picture showed his face clearly. Quetzal thought he looked mean.

"His name is Wolverine."

Quetzal knew the name. Her older sisters teased each other cruelly with it. When she got older she joined in too. When her father found out about it (Quetzal was in her early teens by then) he was horrified and furious. But it wasn't long before he joined in. They dispelled their demon by mocking it, regulating it to the same status as Bloody Mary or Candyman. (Say his name three times in the mirror, I dare you chicken! Better not break your promise of Wolverine will getcha. Better check under your bed for Wolverines. Gonna getcha gonna getcha.)

But that night in the kitchen, it was very serious. "If he ever finds us, he'll try to kill us."

She was quiet for a long time, studying the picture, committing it to memory. "Did he kill mom?"

"Yes." The whole story was so much more complicated. It involved shades of grey too sophisticated for a small kid and dark sides of human nature that he wanted her to be innocent about for as long as possible.

"Why?"

"Because he's a soldier. And your mom was on the other side."

"Like GI Joes and Cobras?"

"Yeah." He would later tell Quetzal about how her mom had been a Russian killer and about the friend that helped her across the Curtain. About unfinished business that took her mom out of Texas and sent her to find Victor Creed. And how maybe it was being with Sabretooth that got her killed. Victor dos Santos didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive that. Iggy had been a good person, and the two sociopaths had gotten her killed.

"Is that what your nightmare was about? That he was gonna kill you?"

He hugged her close. "No Baby. I dreamt he was gonna kill you."

Quetzal hugged her dad back. Her dad had a weakness, and that was more frightening than any boogeyman in a picture.