August 16, 1992

Terry stared out the window. She was wearing the standard hospital issue pajamas. They were soft and thick. It was almost like they the hospital was wrapping her in bubble wrap, afraid that she'd hurt herself again somehow.

A few of her co-workers had been to see her. They had given her flowers and cards, even though they weren't the type to do that. The biggest bunch of flowers had arrived from Westchester. A few of her friends had worriedly asked about how she was doing. She had smiled and written them notes that she was going to learn sign language, pretending to be fine with her condition. They had nodded, pretending that her injury had only hampered her ability to communicate.

She touched her throat. She could feel the stiff stitches there in a criss-crossed pattern up her throat. Some of the SHIELD scientists were giving her an experimental drug to enhance her healing, but she didn't know how successful it would be.

Terry had put up a brave face for the doctors and the scientists. She'd smiled for Coulson and Fury, even managed to reassure Alex that she was fine. It was only when she was with her father that she allowed herself to break down and cry.

Her greatest weapon and asset had been ripped away from her. Her life was never going to be the same. The drug might heal the scars on her throat, but she didn't know if it would heal anything else. It was probable that her voice was gone forever.

Her father had comforted her, but there was someone else who should have been there. Terry had noticed that Wade was nowhere to be found almost immediately. She had asked after him, and seen the look that Sean had given Alex. She'd known then, and it had hurt like hell.

She closed her eyes against the tears. Terry had been warned, hadn't she? Everyone had told her that being with him was a terrible idea. She had gone and loved him anyways, because that wasn't something you could control. She had let him into her life and reassured him that she wasn't going to leave. It was ironic that after she'd told him he would never have to face the darkness alone he'd abandoned her to it.

Terry opened her eyes. She couldn't afford to think that way. She rolled her fingers over her throat for another minute, still staring out the window. Terry could feel the helplessness building up inside her, the feeling that the only option was to give up.

The last time she'd felt like this was when she'd been seven, watching Black Tom beat her father to death. She had screamed then, screamed to a world that had never listened. Then, somehow, it had heard her.

She took her hand off her throat. That option was no longer open to her. She could scream in her mind as loud as she wanted, but no one would ever hear.

"Terry?"

She looked over her shoulder. Her father had walked in, his expression surprised.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Terry turned fully and looked her father in the eye. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't. Her throat burned with words she couldn't say and she could feel her life slipping away. The man she loved had abandoned her the one time she had needed him, too afraid to face his own mistake. Everything hurt.

She was more than her voice though. With it gone, she would have to be. So despite the overwhelming feeling of being adrift, despite the pain in her heart, she smiled.


Max walked through the hall, his gloved hands in his pockets. It was night now, but the conversation he'd had with his mother a few hours ago was still fresh in his mind. The knife she'd given him was sheathed and tucked in an inside pocket.

It would have been easier to leave it in his room and ignore what his mother had told him. However, he hadn't been raised that way. His parents had never been too strict, but they still managed to run a fairly tight ship. If his mother told him to think about something then he did it. There was always a reason.

He felt stupid for not thinking that he would have to kill people. It was something that he should have considered. The X-men were, more or less, soldiers. Soldiers killed people. The cause might be just, and they might be able to avoid excessive violence, but the killing was part of life.

One of his hands left his pocket and touched his coat. The weight of the knife seemed to become greater with every step. He'd watched old videos of his parents fighting together as X-men even though he wasn't technically allowed into the Danger Room. Scott had always made an exception for him.

He had never seen his mother fighting as a member of the Brotherhood. He'd known for years that she had been raised by them and, later, run away and become an X-men. It had shocked him at first, but over time he'd been able to recognize the bravery in that decision. She had chosen the better way and left everything behind for it.

Max hadn't known that she had fought with knives though. It made sense: they were weapons made completely of metal. They were deadly in anyone's hands, but for someone who controlled metal they were dangerous on a whole new level.

Feeling disconnected he walked into the library. He was unsurprised to see Rogue there: she tended not to go to bed until later. He hadn't expected to see Remy there, even though he knew that he was tutoring her on French.

Max wasn't sure how he felt about Remy's association with Rogue. She felt like a cousin, and Remy had a reputation. He didn't want to end up seeing Rogue get hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was his place to say anything, or if his advice would be welcome.

He took a step backward, not knowing if he should contineu. Rogue looked around and her face lit up.

"Max," she said, "Whatcha doin up so late?"

"Just thinking," he said.

She motioned for him to come over.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" he asked.

"Not really," Remy shrugged.

Max took a seat. He felt the knife shift beneath his coat, and he had to stop himself from wincing.

"So, how did it go?" Rogue asked.

"How'd what go?" Remy asked.

Max gave a wry smile. It wasn't as though it was a secret.

"I asked my mom for her permission to join the X-men," he said.

Remy let out a low whistle.

"We gonna have another Summers on da team den?" Remy asked.

Max gave him a long look, wondering if he'd killed anyone. He knew that he'd been a thief before he became an X-man, part of some sort of gang. He must have. Did he not know what Max was feeling, the question that his mother had posed to him? Or did he just not want to acknowledge it until Max did?

"She wanted me to really think about it," Max said, "She said she didn't want to see me rush into anything."

Rogue frowned and Remy raised his eyebrows.

"Remy woulda thought she woulda been more excited," he said.

"She knows exactly what Max would be getting into though."

Max looked over his shoulder. David stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Max bristled slightly: he didn't like anyone listening in on his conversations. At the same time, he could feel the weight of the knife in his pocket. It was like David had somehow known that he had it.

"I was wondering if you'd seen Kurt Remy," David said, "I asked...I asked Sharon if she wanted to get out for a bit tomorrow and she said Rahne would want to go, so I wanted to know if he wanted to come."

Remy shook his head.

"Any of you want to go too?" he asked.

David sounded a little defeated. Rogue nodded and Max nodded too, feeling a little disconnected. Remy merely tipped his head. David heaved a heavy sigh and began to move away from the door.

"What do you mean?" Max asked.

David stopped.

"What you said," Max said.

David shrugged.

"She knows just how dangerous it is, and she knows all of the worst outcomes. She knows what it can do to a person," David said, "Your mother also happens to know many of the current heavy hitters of the Brotherhood rather intimately. She knows just what they're capable of, and it's likely she might not want to see her son mixed up in all of that."

Max felt himself tense up. He clenched his hands.

"There's no shame in not being an X-man you know," David said, his voice gentle, "It's not for everyone, and there are other ways to make a difference."

He stiffened at the implication. Both of his parents had been X-men. If they could do it, then surely he could do it too. He was strong enough: he knew he was.

"What would you know?" Max snapped, "You never wanted to be one."

David gave him a long look, something unnamable flickering behind his eyes. From behind him Max heard Remy cough.

"Max, it be gettin late," he said.

"No," David said.

He held up a hand.

"Max, you were five when you left the Institute, so I'm going to tell you something you probably didn't know," David said, "I wanted to be an X-man probably since the minute I was born."

Max didn't say anything. He could see that Remy was clearly uncomfortable, and Rogue's eyes darted around the room.

"I actually trained to become one for three years, from ages thirteen to sixteen," David said.

"Then...why didn't-?" Max said.

"Why didn't I become one?" David asked, "I was evaluated and, despite all of my hard work, it was decided that I wasn't suitable material."

Max's brow furrowed.

"Why-?" he asked.

"It's not that important," David said, "But it had nothing to do with the fact that I was 'Professor X's' son. I just wasn't right for it, and other people saw that before I did. I was ashamed for a long time, because I thought that I was being held back."

He put his hands back in his pockets.

"Then I grew up and I realized that being in the X-men...it's not the only option," David said, "But I think that your mother has done you a great service in making you think about what it is you want out of life. You need to appreciate the sacrifices that you would be making, and a lot of people don't appreciate that."

The knife in Max's pocket seemed heavier than ever now.

"If you think about things, and you still want to be an X-man, than that's great," David said, "But don't do it just because you think you have to since the rest of your family did."

David pushed away from the door and headed down the hall. There was a long silence in the room.

"I didn't know," Max said at last.

"Nah, ya didn't," Remy said.

He drummed his fingers against the armchair.

"Max, Remy thinks ya a good guy, but ya need more'n that to make it in the X-men," he said, "Remy was surprised when he heard about ya mama's opinion, but, well..."

He got up.

"It's not all fun an games ya know," he said, "We deal wit some pretty nasty people."

His face became brooding. Max suddenly realized that he didn't have to wonder if Remy had killed anyone anymore.

"So ya got a decision," Remy said, "Make a good one, kay?"

Max closed his eyes and nodded. Remy gave a half smile to Rogue before he left the room. Rogue reached over and touched Max's shoulder.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

Max squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"I don't have a damn clue," he said.