August 18, 1992

"They're not here," Max said.

His voice was blank. Erik looked at the boy, seeing the desolation written on his face. He hadn't been taught to hide his emotions. Then again, why would he? He'd been raised in safety, far, far away from the terrible war that was raging all around them.

Erik studied him, looking for some trace of Lorna. He needed to know that Max was his mother's son, not his fathers. It seemed strangely important that her genes be more prominent in his grandson, the genes of a misguided warrior, not a brash fool.

He didn't see much of Lorna in his features. Instead Erik saw some of himself. It wasn't anything too obvious, but the boy had his nose and jawline. His hair was overgrown, a dark brown, and it made his eyes look darker. They weren't green like Lorna and Susanna. They were his.

Logan's nostrils flared as he walked further into the clearing.

"They were an hour ago kid," he said.

He pointed into the woods.

"Went that way," he said.

"Why'd they leave?" Rogue said, "They didn't wait for anyone?"

"Chere, they did the right thing," Gambit said, "They had ta get da kids outta here. Somewhere a little safer."

"Best get moving," Logan said.

He began moving through some trees. Emma and Toad followed, with Toad looking behind his shoulder at Max. Erik wished that he would stop goggling at the boy. Toad had been Lorna's friend for a long time, and Erik suspected that her leaving had left him more sad than angry. Her son was quite the curiosity for him.

Nonetheless, it had quickly become obvious that the boy didn't know who he was. Max didn't know that Erik was his grandfather. It wasn't as though that was his fault. Erik thought of turning his back on Alex, walking away from the knowledge of his grandson's birth.

Max not knowing who he was, not even having Lorna tell him, felt strangely terrible. It shouldn't, but Erik knew that nothing was ever simple or happened the way it should when it concerned Lorna. He was forcing himself to show discretion, and he felt that Toad should do the same.

Rogue sighed and looked at Max.

"Ya okay?" she asked.

Max shook his head.

"Let's get moving," he said.

Erik moved on, pretending not to be interested in the conversation. Gambit stood behind the two of them, a sort of rear guard.

"Max, I know it's tough," Rogue said.

Max ran a hand through his hair.

"Rogue, please don't...please don't talk about it," he said.

Rogue appeared taken back. Gambit shifted his feet uncomfortably. It was cute. He was trying not to listen in.

"Max-" she said.

"Rogue," Max said, "Please. I wasn't...I'm not like you. I don't know..."

He ran his hand through his hair again. It was long, not the haircut of someone who had to fight. He'd wanted to tell Lorna to cut her own hair so often to avoid it getting pulled in battle. She had been so proud of it though, a feature which distinguished her as a member of the superior race. She had been given a gift that he hadn't: something that would identify her as the goddess among ants that she was. He hadn't the heart to tell her to cut it.

"Listen," Max said, "I was taught, when I was younger, that when things were going down, you didn't start whining about how your own problems. Not when there were bigger ones."

Erik blinked. His words were hauntingly familiar, coming from a different time.

"Max, dis ain't stubbin your thumb," Gambit said, "Dis is ya mama."

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me," Max snapped.

He looked down at his hands.

"But right now, I need to think about my aunt and my sister," he said, "And once we make sure they're safe, then we can work on saving my mother. But until then I can't really help her. So I need to focus on the task at hand."

Max directed his gaze to Rogue.

"Please stop distracting me," he said, "Please."

Rogue nodded, looking uncertain. Gambit nodded too, his eyebrows raised. Max shook his head.

"Never mind," he said, "I need to do something."

He separated from the two of them. Erik made sure to keep his eyes ahead. Was the boy coming to him? He couldn't believe that. He'd grown up with Alex as a father. No matter what his mother had tried to teach him, he was sure that the Brotherhood had become the boogeymen of Max's childhood. Erik thought of Luna, who would be ten. He didn't like to think about how she'd see him.

Max drew level with him. Erik could feel his heart beat faster, and he forced himself to only give a casual glance towards Max.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice cool.

Max smiled half-heartedly and put his hands in his pockets.

"Logan told me what happened in the Institute," he said.

Erik tilted his head up, curious. Max took a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said.

Erik almost dropped his jaw.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"I know there's probably a lot of...stuff between my mom and you," Max said.

He had no idea.

"But you went back to try to help her," Max said, "And it sounds like you tried a fair shot harder than Logan did. I never thought that I'd say this to you, but thank you."

Max looked down. Erik stared at him, wondering what to say. He finally shrugged one of his shoulders.

"Your gratitude is pointless," Erik said, "I wasn't able to save her."

Max laughed.

"Yeah, but you tried. Tried really hard," he said, "I know you're not into this sort of thing, but that counts for something where I come from. It means...you didn't have to, that's all I'm saying."

Erik wanted to tell him that he did have to. He remembered seeing Lorna, the way her eyes had widened when he had come closer. The way she'd said 'Father' was still echoing deep inside of his mind.

"You've had a very interesting upbringing," Erik said.

"Yeah," Max said.

He just smiled again.

"But, I really want you to remember what I said," Max said, "If I live forever I won't forget what you did tonight, even though I'm not sure why."

Words were forming on his tongue, rash, stupid words. He wanted to tell Max that he'd done it because Lorna was his daughter, that Max was his grandson. He wanted to ask why Lorna had never mentioned him. Had it been because she had wanted her children to grow up without his shadow hanging over them? Erik couldn't blame her, not when they would always be surrounded by X-men.

The boy next to him was an innocent though, guileless if his words were anything to go by. What could Erik say to him? Would he impose that nightmare on him? Yes, he was thanking him for trying to save his mother. He was even being civil. If he found out that he was his grandfather, then all of that would disappear.

"I just wanted to say that now, when there was an opportunity," Max said, "I don't think we're going to meet on good terms in the future."

"Perhaps," Erik said.

Max just laughed. He seemed amused, almost as though he'd been expecting for Erik to say that.

"Right," Max said.

He looked at the stars, his eyes distant. Erik knew what the boy was doing. For some reason or another Polaris was clearly visible that night, the new name that his daughter had taken on. She'd wanted to be remembered as a teacher, a guide. Not as Magnetrix.

Erik stared ahead. He didn't trust himself to look up.


"Da boy can be a damn fool sometimes," Remy said.

Rogue watched as Max walked up to Erik. She gripped Remy's coat tighter around her shoulders.

"He just wants ta say thank you," Rogue said, "That's all it is."

Remy watched him, a frown on his face. Rogue continued to watch Max as well. She didn't think that Magneto would hurt him, not with them so close by. She couldn't forget the night at Staten Island though, own cries and screams as she was led towards what she thought was her death.

Max knew this all, yet he'd gone up to Magneto as though there was nothing to be afraid of.

"Remy wishes he could be like dat."

The words were so abrupt that Rogue nearly jumped. Remy's expression had changed as he looked at Max.

"What do ya mean?" Rogue said.

"Fearless," Remy said, "Assured. Back at da Institute...he was right."

Remy shook his head.

"We shoulda gone back for Mrs. Summers," he said.

Rogue's eyes widened.

"Remy, ya did what ya thought ya had to do-" she said.

"Right, da smart thing," Remy said, "And it were still da smart thing. Not what we shoulda done though. Forgettin bout yourself, tryin ta do da right thing no matter what."

He looked gloomily at Max.

"After all dese years, I'm still not like dem," he said.

Rogue hesitated before putting her hand on Remy's arm. He wore long sleeves, so there was no chance of feeling his skin, but even the warmth through his shirt felt strange. He turned towards her in surprise.

"Ya don't hafta be like Kurt and David," she said, "Ya did da right thing back there. Ya were just tryin ta protect everyone."

Remy's red and black eyes bored into hers.

"Ya're pretty smart chere," he said, his voice quiet.

Up ahead of them Max separated from Magneto and began walking back towards them. Remy looked away and Rogue took her hand off his arm. She pulled herself deeper into her coat. Despite the August night she felt cold once she'd taken her hand away.


Sinister looked down at his set of chemicals. They were all lined up neatly, all of them in order. He smiled as he picked on up.

"You know, it was worth it," he said.

He picked up a syringe, his fingers turning it over as he inspected it.

"All of it," he said, "Those years. It was quiet. It gave me time to think, to plan. I think that I should do it more often. Maybe not for almost twenty years, and not in that SHIELD facility. Still, I should have some sort of think tank."

He filled the syringe with a green liquid. It felt a little like he was fighting a losing battle. It only worked for an hour or two at most.

"This is, of course, only temporary," he said, "I need a binding agent. Something that will coerce the neurons into weakness. This problem was foreseen. All of them are strong, and so are their minds. It will require some persuasion."

He turned the syringe over. The table jostled slightly, but Sinister ignored it. He'd tied the restraints properly. It wasn't as though he could be hurt. Not after all of the drugs he'd administered. He'd made sure of that.

"I have an idea of what I need," Sinister said, "I think that I'll have it soon. Then I can have my perfect creations."

Sinister tapped the syringe, looking at the liquid in the light. It fizzed slightly and he nodded to himself. He turned towards the table and looked down for a minute.

"It's not perfect," he said, "Not yet. I mean, of course it isn't. It's obvious. However, it's all so easy once you get past this one, single thing. I've had all the rare ingredients I could want. The cocktail I made out of young Summers's blood was, I believe, my best creation. Up until now of course."

His eyes softened as he turned the syringe over again.

"I just need this one thing," he said, "Just one more thing. And then...then my real work can begin. The world rebuilt in a perfect image."

He looked at the syringe again.

"I'll have it soon, won't I?" he said.

Sinister knew his voice was pleading. He laughed at it.

"Of course, my faith has always been rewarded in the past," he said.

He plunged the syringe into an arm, watching as the thrashing increased, only to drop off into the occasional twitch.

"Now then," Sinister said, "I think that it's time for a test run."