A Means To An End

by MidLifeCrisis

The time has come for Logan to terminate what remains of Weapon Plus Program or die trying. Sequel to MORE THAN YESTERDAY LESS THAN TOMORROW. Rated M for Language and adult sexuality. SUSPENDED.

9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Ring. Ring.

Oh, go away I complain to no one but the bedside telephone.

Ring. Ring. It's the school's internal phone. I'm not on call and not in the mood to talk to anybody right now.

"Logan!" I holler. "Get that."

Ring. Ring.

Moron, I mutter, still peeved at his dictatorial attitude earlier this evening. "GET THE STUPID PHONE!"

Ring. Ring. What the heck is this? Caller ID indicates the call's coming from my office downstairs.

"Hello!"

Susie, I need ya right now.

A chill zips up my backbone hearing the panic in his voice. Immediately, I'm in motion grabbing for clothes while imagining a thousand possible disasters. "What's wrong?" I ask cradling the handset between my neck and shoulder.

It's Wendy. She's hurt herself.

Oh, crap! "Ok. Talk to me."

The phone system is set up so I can move anywhere inside the mansion and continue talking; in this case triaging on the move. Since he tells me there is no arterial bleeding and the child is conscious, I tell him to put me on hold, call Marla and have her meet us.

She's wearing a bathrobe as we arrive simultaneously at the entrance to my office. The first words out of her mouth are, "What has that bastard done to my baby?"

It's a struggle not to smack her in the mouth. "Why don't we assess the situation before coming to conclusions, eh doctor?"

We find my husband cradling Wendy on the formerly cream-colored couch. Oh, special; blood red polka dots!

Wendy takes one look at her panic-stricken mother and immediately bursts into tears, "Mommy. I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry."

Rocking her back and forth in his arms, Logan soothes, "Sshh! Told ya angel, nothin' to be sorry for."

Apprehension drains from his face as his eyes bore into Marla, "What the hell did you tell her?" His voice makes icicles

This is so not the time for the two of them to get into it and I cut it off, "Logan, bring her into two."

"Are you insinuating this is my fault?" Marla bites.

He replies, "Nope. Statin' it as fact."

Crap sakes! I do not believe this; especially Logan. "If either of you wishes to remain in this room while I treat this young lady you will cease the conversation right now."

"Absolutely," Marla agrees pushing herself between Logan and Wendy. "I don't want you to speak to my daughter or be anywhere near her."

Logan shakes his head as Wendy tightens her grip on him, "No mom. Please. I want him here. He understands. He helps me."

Boy, oh boy! That takes the wind out of her sails and thankfully my husband keeps his expression neutral and his mouth shut.

"Wendy, would you like privacy?"

Both parents project scalding expressions in my direction. Tough toe nails! Marla should understand and Logan, since he seems to have suddenly lost his ambivalence, better get on a fast learning curve actually parenting a troubled teenager.

"Umm, dunno," Wendy ponders. "Guess so. Mom won't be far, right?"

"Just outside the door."

"Then…. okay."

Gently, I shoo Logan and Marla to the waiting area. No surprise, they take positions on opposite ends of the space. Supplied sandbags, I wouldn't be surprised to see them fortify their spaces. I hope they can refrain from lobbing nukes at each other.

"This is going to sting," I tell Wendy before applying disinfectant. "I'm sorry."

She sucks in her breath as the sopping gauze sponge touches the gouges rendered into her slender forearms

Trying my best not to sound accusatory or confrontational, I ask, "Have you done this before?"

Eyes downcast, she replies, "No," then nods slowly murmuring, "Yes. But only one time."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"Nothing much to tell." Her cheeks flush, "It was kinda stupid really."

"It's never stupid."

She becomes silent and distant eyed, deliberating, I suppose. "Well, it was stupid why I did it."

She pauses, her eyes dart and she picks at her t-shirt. It's obvious she's uneasy. "I tried out for an appointment at the school for performing arts. I didn't make it."

"Really bummed you out, huh?"

Wendy scrunches up her face, "Totally!"

Gestures fiercely, she bombards me with, "It was like I worked like crazy. Practiced, watched my weight. You know the salad and water routine for weeks before the audition. I had awesome grades, everything perfect and they still took this other girl. I mean, she wasn't anywhere near as good as me and her grades were only high 'cuz she didn't take AP courses."

Tidy explanation… but I'll bet there's more to it. "How did your mom react?"

"She never knew."

"How did you hide it? She never noticed any scars?" Is Marla Jennings completely clueless?

"She was away on business and by the time she came home I was ok." Proudly, she adds, "I don't get scars anymore. Even the ones I got when I was a little kid are gone."

Oh ho! Healing factor going on? Well, why not? Replications probably engineered it into her.

She looks confused and asks, "Is that why?"

"What are you asking?"

"I have a healing factor like him?"

I feel my cheeks color in shame suddenly aware she's heard my unspoken opinions, "You're reading my thoughts, aren't you?"

"A little. I can't help it when someone is this close. Sorry."

I'm the one that's sorry. "It's possible you are like your dad, sweetheart."

I'm curious what else she's extracted from others minds and what she's been told by her mother but this isn't the time and it's probably not my place. "Wendy, what made you cut yourself tonight?"

A veil descends and she stares past me, "I don't know."

Damn. Pushed too fast, "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

"He—my dad said he did it to himself."

"Really?"

"Uh huh. When he was my age and he got his healing thingy. Said he did a lot more than just cut himself just to see what would happen."

"Is that what you were doing?"

"A little."

"But there's more to it?"

Tears well up in her eyes, "I can't deal with all this junk. Do you know how creepy it is knowing peoples thoughts and feelings? And then everybody tries to cover it all up and treat me like a stupid baby. It's not like I didn't figure it out about Logan. But nobody tells me a thing…. and my stupid mom thinking she's blocking me out."

"This makes you feel angry, doesn't it?"

She nods, "And then they wanna have the professor fix me up. Like he really can."

"Professor Xavier is pretty top notch when it comes to t.p.'s just like you."

"I know but…"

"But what?"

She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, "I always wondered what it would be like to have a dad….."

Whoops! How'd we go from there to here? I just nod, anything to keep the dialog flowing.

"…I used to wish that mom would find somebody and get married. Then adopted or not, we'd be a real family."

"Just the two of you don't make you any less a family."

"Yeah, that's what mom always says."

Her voice becomes agitated and she yanks on a tangled lock of hair, "But now I find out my mom's not really my mom—oh wait. This is so confusing. I've got two moms but they aren't really moms and I've got this guy who is my biological dad, whatever the heck that really means." Ripping strands of hair from her scalp, she cries, "I don't have a freaking clue what I am!"

With so much going on inside it's no wonder her emotions are running amok. It hurts my heart to hear anger and frustration in her voice and see haunting despair in her face.

Maternal and professional instincts duke it out and I want to wrap my arms around her to make everything ok. If it were only that simple. Instead, I take hold of her hands and look directly into bewildered, morose brown eyes, "You are a beautiful, sensitive and smart young lady."

"And a mutant," she declares her face screwing up into a frown.

I wince at her inflection of the word mutant; as if it were a curse. Unfortunately, to an ignorant but powerful minority, it is.

"I don't….." Her lips freeze in the shape of a puckered O and she closes her eyes. After a moment she mutters, "They are so freakin' ignorant."

"Huh?" I don't hide the fact I've lost track.

"Stand by the door and just listen," she whispers.

Logan's voice is low and determined, "You're free to come and go but you ain't taking the kid anywhere."

"She's my daughter and as I've told you before you have no say," is Marla's quietly spoken rebuke.

"Hell I don't. She's more my daughter than yours…"

"Don't go there. Who raised her for these fifteen years?"

"Don't you go there."

"The law is on my side. If you even try to…."

Logan ups the volume, "Don't gimme that bullshit. Restraining order? I'm shakin' in my boots. Arrest me? Good luck to the dumb fuck who tries. Push my button some more, Marla. Maybe I'll slap a custody suit against you."

There's a long pause before Marla challenges with equal amplification, "You can't stop us from walking out of here?"

"You sure about that?"

"So you're effectively holding us prisoner?"

"Like I said you can come and go as you please but 'til the threat to Wendy's safety is neutralized she's staying right here."

"We'll see about that."

His voice drops again, "Marla, before you do something stupid, think about this. How far down the road do you think you'll get before Ruchinsky'll have her?"

There's another pause before Logan adds, "And if ya think they'll keep you around to play nursemaid, think again." He chuckles darkly, "What size cement boots do ya wear, darlin'?"

Before I can react, Wendy hops down from the table and flings open the door, "What part of me being a telepath haven't you guys figured out yet?"

If the situation were not so serious, I'd laugh at the stupefied expression on Logan's and Marla's face.

Gesturing fiercely Wendy blasts, "I'm not stupid and I'm not a baby and I'm sick of trying to piece it all together so will somebody please actually tell me who Mister Ruchinsky really is and what's really going on?"

"Wendy…," Marla begins.

Wendy tosses her head, "Gah! Don't give me, we'll discuss it later."

To her father she beams one of the best stink eyes I've ever witnessed, "And don't even think, ask your mom."

Watch out papa bear, your cub's got your number.

I've got to bite my tongue stifling a snicker. This kid has issues but she's got chutzpah.

xxx

Her muted voice filters though the haze of slumber, "Wendy said you did the same thing when you were her age."

"Hmmm," I mumble, what she says drifting in the same direction my senses; unconscious.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Cut yourself."

I groan and roll over, presenting my back hoping she'll get a clue and drop it.

"You know," she says after a few minutes. "This kind of thing doesn't just go away on its own."

"What are you talking about," I growl into the late night gloom of our bedroom.

"I mean, how long 'til you grew out of it?"

Rolling over and propping up on an elbow, my best STUFU expression is lost in the gloom, "Can we just sleep?"

"I'm sorry. My brain just won't shut off and neither will the twins."

Placing my hand on her belly; oh yeah the home team is kicking up like the World Cup match. I think it's true; if continuation of the human race depended on men it would have died out back in the Stone Age. No fuckin' way I could deal with what she's going through. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Only when they bounce off my bladder or poke my diaphragm or other vital structure."

"That all?" I kiss her belly and settle back letting my sense tune into the faint patter of their heartbeats. "Yeah, I did cut on myself…well not so much that but pop my claws just watch it heal."

"Mmm. Guess that makes sense. Didn't you try to kill yourself?"

"Yeah, but….Susie, I really don't wanna go there?"

"I'm just worried," She plumps the pillows and sits up. "You say Wendy surfed your mind so there's no telling what she uncovered. What if she's influenced by it?"

Resting an arm over my eyes, "What's done is done and we'll hafta cope as things happen."

"How can you be so laid back?"

"I'm not." She's won't let this go so I prop my back against the wall, "And I'm gonna do every thing in my power to get her through."

"Like what?"

I snort, "For one, knock some sense into her mother."

"Get in line," she snickers. "Really though, do you have a plan?"

"Don't I always?"

"That's not an answer."

"It's not the answer you're looking for."

"Logan!"

"Susan!" I mimic.

"You don't, do you?"

"Don't what?'

"Have a plan."

"My plan is to eliminate the threat."

"What's his name…Ruchinsky?"

"Replications."

"How?'

"Anyway I hafta."

She goes silent and I sense strong fear. I pull her close wishing I could say or do something to ease her feelings.

She sighs and kisses my stubbly chin, "Whatever happens, I love you."

My lips seek hers, intent on demonstrating what I lack in words to express what her unconditional love means to me.

xxx

This is NPR's Morning Edition blaring from the clock radio slaps me awake like a cold glass of water in the face. After last night's emotional double whammy showdown, I'm inclined to sleep clear into next year. Groaning, I ask Susie, "Hell's the alarm set for?"

Sitting up and stretching, "Breakfast meeting…," she claps her hand over her lips and yawns, "…with Sandra."

"Right," I mumble and burrow my head deeper into the pillows.

"Then, it's over to the hospital…"

"What for?"

"I'm giving Leslie VanKessel a reverse rectocele."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. There's a MRA policy meeting."

"Kick ass time, eh?"

"Hope not."

I grunt and roll over, intent on a few more minutes of shuteye. Instead, my brain goes into high gear. "Darlin'," I holler over the shower she's turned on. "You talkin' to Sandra about Matt?"

"What?"

"I said…." Got an urgent need to piss so I trudge into the bathroom, repeating the question.

She replies, "Uh huh. I asked her to draw up a petition giving me primary custody."

"'Kay. What about Travis?"

"He's over…."

Suddenly she yelps, "Dammit!"

Oh, shit!

My bad.

I flushed.

Peering repentantly around the doorjamb, I offer, "Sorry."

She flashes me a curdling look, "I'll get you for that."

The water regulates and she steps back under the spray explaining her agenda with Sandra but I'm not hearing a word. There's something about a beautiful woman standing in the shower soaping her voluptuous body that makes the blood pound in my ears.

She faces my direction letting the water rinse down her back. A naughty grin dances on her lips. Little minx knows she's got me at attention.

"Lookin' mighty fine, stud but the shower hasn't gained any more square footage since the day before yesterday."

"We'll figure something out," I tell her and step into the glassed enclosure.

"Didn't get enough last night?" she giggles.

"Never."

She feigns shock, "Horny dog!"

I touch her intimately, "Got a problem with that?"

"Hand me the soap and that sponge." She squeezes a liberal amount onto the sponge and kneads it into a lather. Starting at the nape of my neck she massages in firm, leisurely spirals. Her pregnant belly feels smooth and tight pressing against my buttocks.

My voice breaks husky, "Feels good."

She works her way down, pressing into the small of my back, "How 'bout this?"

"Mmm-hmm. . . Nice."

She snakes her soapy arms around my waist gently massaging my abs. Some where along the path south, the sponge is jettisoned. "Turn around, I want to see you."

Her caress is intimate, intense and she's got me right where I wanna be. Settling herself on the tiled shower bench she coo's "You like?" stroking with just the right moves.

Like? Oh yeah, darlin'. Growling by bliss, I close my eyes and lean back against the wall.

She's so fuckin' good at this my head swims. Shiver run up my spine while by groin burns for release. I can't help surrendering myself, moving to the rhythm of her touch.

Reading the signs, she quickens the pace and presses firmly on the one spot guaranteed to finish me off.

Arching my spine, I growl and release my passion like an eon-capped volcano.

My heart slows down to merely double time and I steal a look at my woman.

"She gazes back with an impish grim and asks, "Did good?"

I pull her toward me. Wrapping my arms around her, I let my kiss do the talking. My hands can't help exploring the soft curves of her back and hips while my mouth savors the sweetness in the hollow of her neck. "How 'bout return favors?"

She sighs, "Tonight Bright Eyes," and reluctantly breaks contact to abandon me to an empty stall. "Can't be late for this meeting."

Wrapping herself in a towel she scold, "Don't gimme that shrug! Time's money meeting with an attorney, ya know?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know." I crank up the hot water and let it pound against my scalp. "Do me a favor. Ask her what's the latest on Lippincott."

"Why? It's been dismissed."

"Huh? Oww!" A glob of shampoo slides into my good eye.

"Don't you remember?"

Not to save my ass. The bomb scramble my brains that much? "Where'd ya hear that?"

"Logan, how long since you checked your e-mail."

"Hell if I know. Couple days. Before New Years…maybe."

The expression on her face screams I'm a dork. "Put check e-mail on your to do list."

"It is babe but lemme ask ya this. In the last week when have had time?"

"Oh. Good point. Sandra copied me the message she sent December….oh heck, while we all were in Canada. But don't feel bad. I didn't see it 'til I got back home on the thirty first."

"Just tell me what it said."

"Hang on, I can't hear," she shouts over the blow dryer she conveniently switches on.

Dousing myself under the hot spray I'm thinking eh, forget it. She said dismissed. Don't give a flyin' fuck how.

On her way out she calls, "I hate that yucky residue so make sure you rinse down the shower."

What the hell's she talking about? Just as she flips a glance over her shoulder and adds, "Please," I get it.

Shouting back, "Trying to say I make a mess?"

She replies, "You're perceptive."

"Hey, ain't my fault."

She doesn't hear or pretends not to as the door shuts with a chunk.

xxx

Susie's sipping a cup of tea chatting with Charles and Scott when I make it down to the staff dining room. I grunt a reply to Charles cordial, "Good morning" and needle Susie, "What's with the big rush to your meeting?" Turn down scrumpin' for a cup o' tea?

"I've got a few minutes. You know I can't go anywhere without my morning tea."

Part of me want to take issue but I know what happens if her morning routine gets too far off the mark. Don't want the blame.

I cut Scott a surprised glance, "Thought you were due back tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Well, plans change."

Ain't he just mister sunshine this mornin'! "How's the shoulder?"

He tugs on the sling grousing, "Still attached."

Unshaven and rumpled, this ain't the usual Summers. Not surprising, there's a whole lotta negative emotions flying off him.

Grabbing coffee, I plunk down next to Susie and ask him, "How'd the funeral go?"

His voice is flat," It was a funeral."

"Yep, I'm still numero uno on his shit list. With no advantage engaging the sour puss, my focus goes to Charles, "All quiet on the fourth floor apartment?"

"Yes," He shifts uncomfortably but locks his intense gaze on me. "I want to apologize again to you and Susan for my imprudent oversight."

Thinking damn straight you're sorry bub, I shrug and reply, "Far as you know everything was copasetic. Nobody knew she was gonna melt down." This ain't exactly how I expressed it last night when he arrived after Sue's frantic page. But he's chewing himself up over it and I had my say. No point beating a dead horse.

"Despite her burgeoning abilities I should have anticipated it."

We all should've. "She's good ain't she?"

"Her potential is astounding and with suitable guidance she will be a marvel."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Logan, it's vitally important you understand how much guidance a young woman with her gifts requires to mature into her benevolent potential."

I think he's trying to tell me if we fuck it up she might fuck us over. "Yeah, I get that." Time to change the subject 'cuz I don't need a lecture. "What's the status of the boathouse?"

"As we speak a cleaning crew is at work. The variable at this moment is the heating system."

"Problems?"

"Yes. It's rather antiquated."

"You mean it doesn't work," Susie guesses.

"Correct."

She cuts me a scathing glare and mutters, "Joy!"

I've got an overwhelming urge to smash my head into a brick wall. Can't one fuckin' thing go right for a change?

Charles continues, "Vic is going to take a look at it."

"Ok. I'll get with him and see what we can do."

"I've gotta go," Susie declares. There's that sour stink of frustration.

"Babe, don't worry. I got it covered." And I better if I don't want really end up sleeping in the doghouse.

She shakes her head and walks out.

Shit! I can defeat a megalomaniac but with simplest gesture or word, my wife has the power to…eh, forget it. Ain't goin' there. Bolting from my seat, I go after her. "Hey, thought we got this straight last night."

"Yeah, we did but you'll hafta forgive me if I just don't jump for joy over the whole deal. And now factoring in a problem with the heat and god knows what else might crop up."

"I know darlin' but it's the best I can do right now."

"I suppose. Doesn't mean I like it."

"Promised I'd make it short."

I'm holding you to it, too. Gotta run now."

Helping her with her coat, I say, "I'll walk with ya."

The only sound is our shoes crunching on the snow packed walkway between the mansion and the garage. Our breath steams but her's ain't just from the cold air. She's still in a snit over staying here. To break the spell, I ask, "What's Matt up to today?"

"Hanging out mostly."

"He gonna be ok?"

"I think so but I plan on checking on him periodically."

"Right. Want me to keep him busy?"

"Thinking of having him help you and Vic?"

"If he wants and give him a chance to ask me stuff about Wendy."

"Good idea. He might like that. You're a sweetheart sometimes:"

"Sshh! Don't say that so loud."

She claps a hand over her mouth, "Wouldn't dare. Hey, speaking of your gentle streak…"

"Never been accused of that before."

"Go easy on Scott."

"Huh?"

"Did you not notice he's in a rather foul mood?"

"No shit."

"Aren't you curious as to why?"

"He's probably still worked up over this Wendy thing."

"You could say that. He broke it off with your sister."

"Whoa!"

"Yeah. We'll talk this evening." She pecks me on the lips, "Love ya."

xxx

I find Matt in the game room surrounded by a small harem, which is the usual routine whenever he's around. Scuttlebutt is he's sooo cute; least that's what I've overheard boy crazy Jubilation Lee gush. 'Course she says that 'bout me too which makes me wonder about the kid sometimes.

I hold back just outside the door and it's tough not crackin' up laughing watching him showing off his best rock star impersonation playing some kind of interactive video game. What the hell happened to plain ol' air guitar?

New to his fan club is Wendy though she seems to be lurking around the fringes. I'm kinda surprised she hasn't picked up I'm nearby. Immature handle on her skills? Gonna hafta train her…..Nope. Quit it, bub. Soon as the danger's eliminated, I know Marla'll have her gone faster'n I can blink.

Absent from her arms are the bandages from last night. From where I'm standing, I can't see any sign of the cuts she inflicted on herself. I don't know whether to be happy for her or not 'specially if it means she might manifest feral or worse she's got a set of claws inside those scrawny arms of hers. Hope to hell she don't.

He finishes the set with an exaggerated bow and gets a round of hoots and applause from his groupies after which I make my presence known, "Hey Matt."

Poor kid turns bright red and most of the girls giggle like idiots.

Without so much as a peep, Wendy drifts away from the pack and I sense she's uneasy. She's gonna hafta cope 'cuz today's Matt's turn.

"Need your help with something today. You cool with that?"

Before he gets a chance to answer Jubes cuts in, "Better run while ya can, dude. Any time Coach says I need help it means a ton of work."

"Lee, don't you have studying to do or something?"

"Classes go back next week," she answers in a haughty tone.

Matt's reply, "Yes sir," is formal but there's no tension behind it. Recovered from terminal embarrassment he bids, "Adieu, ladies," and shoulders up with me heading for the boathouse.

Adieu ladies? The kids too charming for his own good.

"Mom said you might ask me. Whadda we doing?" he asks shrugging on his jacket.

"Eulogizing a heating system," I joke and he looks confused. "Fixing the heat at the boat house," I explain.

More like installing a new one if I had to bet. The boathouse, as it's called, pre-dates the mansion. According to Charles, his ancestors built it as a summer vacation home then as city living became unfashionable, his grandfather built the mansion and settled onto this country estate.

The Xavier's, on par with Rockefellers or Vanderbilts, didn't spare any expense or luxury at the time they built it. Despite good maintenance and updating it's over a hundred years old it's got its share of quirks.

I even got Susie to admit the place has charm and discovered her prime objection to moving in is that it's too close to our jobs. That—and it ain't home. For me, home could be a tent; as long as she's there, I'm good.

Wendy intercepts us just outside the garage, "Um-- Logan?"

"'S'up angel?"

"Can I go with you?"

I'm floored...and pleased but I can't, won't mix it up with her and Matt yet. Plus, there's a huge obstacle, "Your mom say it's ok?"

"Uh huh." She's lying. I can smell it and see it in her posture. Inroads made last night or not, I know Marla don't want us getting cozy.

"Matt, go on to the truck. I'll be right there."

Once I'm sure he's out of range I level Wendy with a critical squint, "You didn't even ask your mom, did you?"

She goes skittish then screws up her courage. "I'm almost sixteen. I'm not asking permission for every little thing."

And I ain't lettin' her suck me into the middle of this any more than I already am. "Here's the deal. Your mom says ok then I'm ok. You got five minutes to convince her."

She marches off in a huff. I give her almost ten minutes and like I expect, she doesn't show.

xxx

Seated around the highly polished rectangular conference table are over twenty-three of my colleagues representing each department of North Salem Community Care Hospital. Each takes a turn voicing concerns over implementing the hospitals policies concerning the care of HSX1 positive patients sometimes referred to as h. Superior or Mutants.

"Ok folks, I'm going to be blunt." It's my turn and my emotions are running amok. Given complete license to express myself, my preference is to slap every one of you into next year. I pause for effect and control, "This policy violates everything we as professionals of the art of medicine are duty bound to uphold. As a person of conscience, I will not support it in any manner. I also vigorously protest the unethical and unprofessional manner in which this policy is being implemented."

I scan the room taking note of numerous affirming head bobs but almost as many blank stares and averted eyes. I take particular note of one boastful sneer aimed directly at me from Doctor Leslie VanKessel.

I will rip her hair out and shove it down her throat.

Contrasting my formal approach, Chief of Staff, Jack Burleson rebuts plainly, "Sue, I completely understand your sentiments but this came down from the board of directors. They yanked the carpet right out from under the committee."

"You didn't see it coming?" Keeping the disdain and disgust from my body language and tone is almost impossible.

Jack scolds, "We all knew there was a possibility the board would go hard line."

Another committee member picks up with my defense, "But to mandate it like this when we're privately funded?"

"All of you have seen the spread sheets. You know we get enough government funding to make a painful dent if it's pulled." Recalcitrance plays across his face, "And it's pretty damn obvious which way the private funders lean."

Voice around the table create a buzz, the gist of the majority seems to be cynical: The almighty dollar wins again.

So true; can't win with bean counters, so I try another path, "Where are we supposed to send these patients?"

"That's yet to be determined."

Yes, because there is no place and even if there was insurance companies are denying coverage to any one testing positive.

"I don't know about you all but I can't—won't practice medicine this way. I don't care who it is; someone comes in needing care on my shift I will treat them."

Several committee members applause.

"You're not the only one who's expressed that sentiment but you do so at your own risk." Jack's words are threatening but the tone doesn't support the verbiage. Neither does the look on his face.

"And I assure you," VanKessell, brays like the ass she is. "My department will be thoroughly compliant."

I just bet it will, you heartless bitch. Makes me glad I'm not doing ER rotation for now and pretty much seals my decision not to return after the twins are born. Private practice looks more appealing every day.

"Jack, you sound like you're in synch with the board?" My question is fueled with accusatory fire.

His shoulders sag ever so slightly, "It's been a helluva couple days and there are no avenues open in pursuit of moderation."

"For us all." I haven't updated him about my stimulating holiday break. "Straight answer Jack; compliance with the mandates or hasta la vista?"

VanKessel aims another sneer at me, her comportment trumpeting her rigid interpretation.

Jack's offers his interpretation, "That's the way the board see's it but I'm only one man and can only police things so much. You're all seasoned professionals and have worked within the system for many years. I have no doubt the majority will continue to do so."

Publicly, that's as close as our esteemed Chief of Staff will go in expressing his opinion and how he plans to enforce this draconian policy. What he's really saying is if a violation isn't shoved in his face, we're all free to do what our conscience dictates.

I wonder how long before there's a mass exodus of ER personnel from VanKessel's tyranny?

Walt Emerson, from Urology, quips in a low voice, "What's next? Firing anybody that's positive for the mutant gene?"

"That was in the first draft," Jack replies. "It's one of the small concessions I wrestled out of them."

His admission causes another vocal eruption, "Mighty generous of them," and, "Afraid they'd end up with massive staff shortages, no doubt," rises out of the furor.

Jack plays it politically expedient declaring, "All right ladies and gentlemen, I'm available if any one has any things they want to discuss privately. Send Patti a message and I'll get with you ay-sap."

Jack departs quickly followed by supporters of this insanity. Not surprising, VanKessel carries the banner, hell bent, no doubt, to follow the letter of the law.

Half a dozen of us remain glued to our seats struck mute in utter dismay. After a few minutes several more quietly exit, expressions of turmoil and dysphoria etched on their faces.

"Been thinking about retirement," Walt says while tapping his pen on the tabletop He punches hard, denting the gleaming finish, "Time's come."

Obstetrics', Doctor Sharon Brodsky sighs, "I still owe a gazillion in student loans from medical school so I'm stuck in the grind for a few more years."

I purse my lips in sympathy remembering those trying years. Daddy with deep pockets or not, it's a lean time.

Walt queries, "What about you, Sue? Permanent maternity leave?"

How appealing that sounds! But I doubt I could really do it. I'd go stir crazy after a few months. "No, I'll keep plugging at it though I think the best thing is to keep our heads down and take it day by day."

"Are you delivering here?" Sharon asks.

"Yes."

"Can I ask…a personal question?"

"You can ask I don't guarantee I'll answer."

"You know how Howard was and Leslie is a big mouth?"

Oh, fudge. I know what's coming. "Yes, my husband is X positive." We won't talk about manifest. "But you know what Shar, in the nineteen sixties if he'd been black it's be the same kind of thing. How about if my partner was female?"

"Hold on Sue! I wasn't trying to offend. What I'm getting at is the OB department won't be able deliver babies testing positive. Have you considered that?"

Oh god! No, but I sure should even though I asked Lance not to run any prenatal genetic screens. I wouldn't mind know the twins status and I bet they are positive. What I didn't want to know, with the risk factors in a woman my age, was if there were any genetic abnormalities like Downs. What would I do knowing? Abort. Absolutely not and if the unthinkable becomes reality I wouldn't want to spend my entire pregnancy freaking out over it.

"No offense taken," but I don't answer her second question. Pushing back from the table and standing I rationalize, "I've got a weeks worth of catching up over at the office so I'll see y'all later." That and exploring my options, as I'm sure several of us will be over the weeks and months to come.

xxx

"Mi dios, she's a heavy mother," Vic complains as we maneuver the new heating unit into place.

We're rigging the new system by completely bypassing the old radiant heat pipes and tapping into existing AC vents. "No shit!" I grunt feeling the strain in my not quite healed body. Might look back to normal but I ain't. To make things worse, the cellar's is just a crawl space and we're cramped and crouched. Definitely looking forward to a date with the hot tub tonight.

"Ok. This is good as she gets," Vic says setting his side of the monster down.

"Yeah," I groan releasing my share of the load. "Damn thing better work 'cuz it's ain't coming outta here easy."

Cracking my joints, I challenge, "Matt, think ya can squeeze in there and hook up the gas pipe?"

The kid sizes up the narrow slot between cement wall and heater. "Maybe if I get naked."

"And greased," I tease.

"Not," he laughs and wedges his way into the space.

"Ya ain't claustrophobic, are ya kid?"

"Will be after this," he grunts. "Which way do I turn the sleeve?"

"Right tight, left loose. Didn't forget the anchor tape, did ya?"

"No sir," I hear grunting and metal scraping metal. "Got it."

"'Kay. I need ya to sponge soapy water on it while Vic turns the gas on."

"What for?"

"Test for leaks."

"Can't ya smell it?"

"Yeah but that don't pinpoint the spot."

"What if it leaks?"

"I take ya out and beat ya."

He laughs, "That's child abuse."

"Forget it. It won't leak." Better not 'cuz there's no way in hell I wanna move this damn thing outta the way and trouble shoot.

Vic feeds the gas and…..oh yeah. Perfecto!

"Ok kid, shimmy on outta there."

The back of his green jacket is gray from cement dust and it puffs into the air when I slap him between the shoulders, "Good job."

"Thanks. Think I understand why mom and dad bug me to study hard. Definitely don't wanna do stuff like this for a job."

"Don't knock manual labor. Kept me from starving."

"I'd rather be the boss."

I laugh out loud. The kid knows what's good. "I'm gonna light the pilot. Why don't ya head upstairs in case this thing flares or something."

"Ok."

When I'm sure he's clear I flick my lighter. A bright jet briefly flares then settles into a steady blue flame. "Hey," I holler. "Somebody flip the thermostat up there." It whines, the fan starts up and in seconds the furnace roars to life pumping heat through the vents.

"Yee ha!" I shout. Took all friggin' day but now Susie can't bitch me out about lack of heat. Never mind that there'll prob'ly be more to come. Ah well, life's a bitch.

Joining Vic and Matt on the main level, I declare we are officially done for the day. It's getting dark and damn weather's closing in again with more snow. Tomorrow's another day to move furniture in. And there's the added bonus of the place being warmed up.

I whistle for Bear who seems to have made himself scarce most of the afternoon then suggest to Vic, "Grab the wife and I'll treat ya's to dinner."

"Oh man! Don't know about that. She's been feeling sick lately."

'S'up with that? Hadn't sensed anything goin' on with Electra. Oh wait; haven't exactly been in close proximity to her in a couple days. "What's her problem?"

"She's pregnant."

"You're shitting me!"

The broad grin plastered across his mug says he ain't. He flips open his cell phone and rattles off in Spanish. Then, I hear Electra's reply and it sounds like supper with the Marquez's is a no-go.

"She says thanks but another time," Vic confirms.

"Wanna stop off for a brew before we go back?"

"No. I better get back in case she needs me."

Part of me wants to abuse him saying he's a pussy whipped dog but that'd be so damn hypocritical sinceI'm still paying dues with Susie some mornings.

"Hey Logan," Matt butts in. "Mom'll kill us if you take me to a bar."

"Nah. She's cool with Pastorelli's, ain't she?" It's the best pizza joint for miles and they stock a respectable selection of potent specialty beers—on tap. "'Sides Matt, it's the first place you're mom and me went out together. No way she'd object."

Vic snickers no doubt remembering how I made a major league ass of myself that evening.

"Long, cold hike back to the mansion," I remind him.

Best pal that he is, Vic turns his back on me vigorously massaging the back of his neck and flashes the single digit salute.

Bear doesn't show by the time we've loaded up our tools but I figure he's wandered back to the mansion on a mooch mission.

"So when's it due?" I ask on the drive back to the mansion.

"Dunno yet. She just found out New Year's."

"Right. Ya got a way's to go then."

He nods then stares into the distance and I'm sensing powerful anxiety. Somethin's up but it ain't my business.

As soon as I park my truck beside Susie's mommy mobile, Matt beelines it for his pals. Taking the back way I slip into Susie's office. She's there along with a waiting room full of sick kids.

I catch her eye going between examining rooms, "How long?"

"About an hour. I'll buzz ya when I'm done."

I nod doing my best not to inhale the stench of sick kids. Can't catch anything but it rips my senses and make me anxious to put distance between her office and me when it's like this.

Hungry and with time to waste I wander in the direction of the kitchen aiming to mooch whatever Mrs. Burn's has handy.

"Logan." Scott's voice filters from his office, just down the adjacent corridor from the kitchen. His voice and scent, stronger than kitchen aromas, tells me he's not a happy man.

I lean against the doorframe, "Yeah." About to ask how's it going I stop myself. Under the circumstance that's low; even for me.

"Do we have a plan?"

I shrug. We do not have a plan. I do but it won't make it past the first briefing.

The cold frown on his face says he's in fearless leader mode and my evasive reply doesn't set well if the grinding of his jaw is any clue. "Careful Cyke, you'll crack a filling."

He doesn't engage, "Sit down. You need to see this."

That smacks too much of an order so I prop on the edge of his desk, cross my arms and blast him my best fuck off and die expression.

He sneers and rotates his computer screen. It's lit up with non-descript, utilitarian list of names. Reading it, three names hit me like a hollow point bullet between the eyes. Malcolm Colcord, L.P. Diebel, N. Harlan Peabody.

"What the hell's this?" I'm blown away.

"The real controlling entities behind Genesys."

Takes me a second to link Genesys. Shit! Marla's V P of something with these bozo's. I slam my fist against the desk, "Fuckin' ay!" That bitch has to know this. "How'd ya dig this up?"

"By sitting down and doing actual research; one of the many skills you consistently seem to lack."

Whatcha gonna do; stick me in a corner and chuck a dunce cap on my noggin? I'm tempted to tell him where to stuff it but my brain's revving through its gears as the raceway throws another curve my way.

I didn't buy into how Marla separated from Reps like she said she had. On the slim chance she's stupid enough not to know who pays her salary it's obvious she's been set up in a cushy job so they could keep tabs on her and the kid all these years. But why? Ain't Reps usual M.O.

And why the hell did Ruchinsky approach her like he did instead of snatching the kid outright and wasting Marla? "Ah, Jesus Christ!" I mutter. My gut kept tellin' me; this is a fuckin' trap.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Cyke?"

"Lock down?" He rakes a hand through his hair and stares at the floor. Don't take any skill at all to know this is a decision neither of us makes easily.

Yeah," he exhales. The odor of his frustration is pungent as Listerine." Let's alert the professor."

XXX

A/N: Thanks to my best beta, Rhiannon UK. Thanks for the reviews of Chapter 8.

Disclaimer: The usual.