When Xavier arrived at the front door, he was unsurprised to observe that Logan was holding Mystique in position with his lethal adamantium-coated claws. "I got the bitch for now, Charles," he snarled. "I'll kill her on your say-so."
Xavier could see that. He sent a brief mental probe to Mystique's mind, even knowing of her resistance as he did - and discovered to his surprise that it penetrated easily.
She was still human, after taking the 'cure' meant for Magneto. Still Raven Darkholme.
And she was not intent upon mayhem. Far from it. Her most dominant characteristic right now was...desperation.
Raven said the last words Wolverine had ever expected to hear from her:
"Help me, Charles. Please help."
Logan was so astonished his claws automatically retracted. He was stunned to see - no, surely not! - tears in her eyes.
Tears? From Mystique?! What the fuck?!
"Logan," Xavier said quietly, "I believe it would be prudent to hear her out first. Not to be too pragmatic, but you may always kill her later, should she prove to be a threat. But to be frank, it would appear she harbours no such intention."
Wolverine was too discombobulated to argue.
Xavier's Study
Shortly after
"Perhaps you would like some tea," Xavier suggested. He was surprised to see she was trembling as if from cold, though the mansion certainly was warm enough.
"Thank you, yes, please," Raven shakily agreed.
"Ororo?" Xavier inquired.
Wary, Storm protested in a low voice, "Charles, you of all people know we can't trust her! She is -"
"- only human at present," he interrupted mildly.
"She has no reason to trust you, either!"
That, Xavier knew with pain, was all too true. He remembered the first night they'd met, he a mere boy and she a desperate runaway fugitive. They'd studied together within the fabled dreaming spires of Oxford. Oh, such dreams he'd had, and the promises he'd made her...all of which, he remembered sadly, he had ultimately broken. He'd unintentionally driven her towards Erik, and his attitudes which, at the time, he hadn't realised were as racist as those of the Nazis he had so despised. What you despise, you become.
"True. But it is not a question of that. Ororo, I am well aware of your reasons, and I agree it is a risk. Yet I must help her."
Ororo asked, uncomprehending, "You must help her? Why?"
"Because she trusted me once...and I let her down badly. I will not do so again. Her powers were formidable, I agree, but they are gone - and she lacks the willpower to restore them as Erik did. She is vulnerable right now - and we as an institute are obliged to respect that vulnerability by our own policies. To do otherwise, to turn her away now owing to past negative experiences, is to prove ourselves hypocrites. I refuse to answer to that charge. Therefore, please serve us some tea and toast, if you would."
She frowned, disapproving, but moved to comply. Logan had his claws sheathed, but held his hands at the ready in case they were needed.
But Raven showed no signs of hostility. Instead she appeared near tears. She thanked Xavier and Ororo for the tea and toast Ororo cautiously served up.
"Now," Xavier said pleasantly, "we must deal with our situation. But precisely what is that situation, might I ask?"
Raven sipped her tea and inquired, "You're a telepath, Charles. Don't you already know?"
"You should remember that I choose to employ my ability only when necessary," he pointed out. "It is far more polite and civilised merely to ask. Unless you tell me, I cannot help you - which, you may recall, is what you asked me to do."
"An' it better be good," Logan warned.
"Still thinking with muscles instead of brains, Logan?" Raven tried to taunt him, but it fell flat. "I am no threat to you right now, or ever. I am asking you - asking - for your help. I am desperate. Please help me," she beseeched Xavier.
Logan sniffed carefully, testing her scent - but he could detect only Raven's own unique scent, nothing mutant whatsoever. "Be damned," he breathed, "she don't smell like a threat at all."
"Could that be perhaps because I'm not a threat?" she cried. "I'm only human now! I'm not even armed! And I'm nowhere near as athletic as I was in my mutant form! I'm no threat to you! That's not why I'm here!" She started crying. "I...I don't have anywhere else to go...I don't have anyone else to turn to...please, you have to - to help me..."
For the first time since the night they'd met, Xavier felt only sympathy for the crying, pleading figure before them. "Logan," he requested softly, "please stand down. Raven is indeed no threat to us. Even you should see that, even after your admittedly traumatic past with her. Allow her instead to explain why she is here, and give her the benefit of the doubt for once."
"Last time we trusted her," Logan felt constrained to point out, "she and Magneto tried to get you to destroy humanity."
"All too true," Xavier conceded, thinking ironically, Is every doubter going to bring that up? "But things have changed. We must respect that and allow for it."
Logan looked doubtful, but then he sighed and loosened up. "Okay. For now. But if she tries anything, I'll make a kebab outa her."
"That seems only fair," Xavier allowed.
He was about to offer Raven a tissue, but Alison took charge, giving the tall woman a gentle hug. She answered his look by saying, "I'm a counsellor, Charles. Consoling crying people is what I do, for a living and as an empath. C'mon, Raven, tell us," she gently coaxed. "Or me, at least. We never met before, so you know I'm not your enemy in any sense. I'm Alison McEwan, I'm new here. So. What brings you here? Why are you so upset?"
Raven sighed and dried her tears, thanking her for her help. "I used to be a mutant. I took a syringe dart meant for Erik - Magneto -"
"Yeah, I've heard of him," Alison nodded.
"- it was filled with this ‛mutant cure' the humans came up with. Now I'm human. I have to adjust to wearing these clothes," she spat the word as if it were a vile curse, "to being cold all the time, to being the same shape all the time...and I can't! How do you stand it?" she cried. "Once I could be anyone, anything, and now I'm only -" she abruptly stood and stripped, "- this!"
"Whoa," Logan said. Even he was unsettled. Xavier raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Alison looked at her lithe, lush figure and said gently, "Raven, without any bias at all I can honestly say that by human or mutant standards, you are physically beautiful. There are women who would kill to have your figure. I've met some. I have to say that a full bush like that," she indicated Raven's pubic area, "is rare, but a nice change from bald beaver. Myself, I go for a Brazilian look. But for the sake of the students, would you please get dressed, even just your underwear? I know you hate it, but they're just kids. Please?"
Raven briefly looked as if she would refuse, but relented as she recalled that several of the students were teens...and male. The thought of being taken advantage of...she shivered anew. "All right." Reluctantly, trying not to cringe as the fabric touched her skin, she put on the brief underwear and dressed again.
"That's good," Alison told her kindly. "Please drink your tea and tell us why you're here. Do you need something?"
Raven sighed. "I do, yes. I need to become a mutant again. I need you to get this shit out of me, or reverse its effects, or whatever. I...I can't live like this. I've tried so hard, for two years. But every morning...you've no idea. No idea how hard it is for me to...dress. I never wore clothes as a mutant, I never needed to - my body temperature was a bit higher than the human norm. I went naked partly as a statement, partly as rebellion, partly because I didn't give a damn, but mostly because it was more comfortable for me.
"But now...I have to wear clothes just to get warm enough, and even then I feel cold. I never know what to wear - there are too many choices. Even the feel of them...to me it's repulsive. But if I go naked I attract too much attention - especially male attention." She shuddered. "When I was first changed and I tried walking around as a naked human, I was nearly raped a couple of times. I dress in self-defence."
Alison quietly confided, "Raven...I've been raped."
Even in her misery Raven looked surprised. "Didn't you sense him coming? I feel that you're a telepath."
"A late developer," Alison admitted ruefully. Then again, she was very glad she'd never been able to sense his thoughts, crude, violent and lust-filled as they had doubtless been. Oh, she'd much rather not have been raped, but getting into Carlson's head...brr. Six of one, and all that.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Alison smiled. "I wasn't trying to provoke anyone any more than you do. I was seventeen, and although I'd made love a few times I really wasn't sure of what I was doing. The creep who used me just picked on someone who was young and couldn't defend herself - not then, anyway. It was horrible, and it hurt. But I got mad and fought back, and I damn near killed him - I would have, but two guys helped me out, as they saw it, and dragged him off me.
"So believe me, sweetheart, I do understand. I learned from a Guardian Angel - I was studying in my home state of California at the time - how to defend myself. Even by the Angels' standards he was unconventional...I learned some really dirty tricks from him. But I've never had to use them because I learned self-confidence at the same time. Plus I was lucky enough to start with a late growth spurt and I put on six inches in height. So any guy who tries to rape me, human or not, will be in so much trouble."
"Good for you," Raven murmured. "So...can you help me? Will you?"
Alison put her arm around Raven's shoulders and squeezed sympathetically. "I know Charles will try his best. But right now...I feel that you're very tired. So you get some sleep and we'll discuss it. In the morning we can start to pursue it. Okay?" She squeezed again. "Raven, I know you hate confessing to weakness. But right now you really are only human, and as a human you have limits. You need sleep. Believe me, as an empath I can feel how tired you are."
Raven sighed again. "Sadly, you're right. I've come a long way. Charles," she entreated, "for the sake of the friendship we had, I'm asking - I'm begging - for your help. It must be possible to reverse what was done to me - Erik did it." Again her eyes pleaded with him. "Please."
Diplomatically he said, "Well, it can wait until you are rested. I will discuss the matter with other members of my faculty. In the meantime -" Kitty, he mentally called, would you escort Raven to our guest quarters, please?
Kitty popped her head out of a wall and ventured uncertainly, "Um, isn't she a bad guy?"
"Not at the moment, Kitty. For now she is a dispossessed person who needs our help. Please help her settle into guest quarters and then return to your own affairs."
Kitty emerged from the wall and conceded, "Okay. Raven? This way."
"Thank you for at least not turning me away, Charles," Raven told Xavier. She followed Kitty out of the study.
They soon reached the guest quarters. Before opening the door Kitty warned, "Listen, you try anythin' and as small as I am I will mess you up, got it?"
Raven sighed a third time. "Kitty, even if I were in the mood to fight, which I'm not, right now I am so tired you could probably beat me even as a human. I just want to sleep. I swear I won't be any trouble."
"You'll forgive a kid like me for not trustin' your word," was Kitty's cynical rejoinder.
"Then attack me," Raven suggested dully, "see how well that goes down with the Professor."
"Ooh, you got a point there," Kitty wryly admitted. She paused. "Wait...you're really serious, aren't you? You really do need help."
"Desperately," Raven confirmed tiredly. "I've nowhere else to turn. I don't know who else to trust. But I do know I can trust Charles' word. I knew him before you were born. Believe it or not, we were the best of friends. It's a very long story."
"Wow," Kitty said, impressed. "I'd like to hear that some time."
Now Raven smiled. "I promise I'll tell you. But tomorrow, please. I..." she yawned, "...I really am tired."
"Okay," Kitty nodded. "G'night."
Raven opened the door. "Good night, Kitty, and thanks." She went in and closed the door. Stripping again, she debated having a shower...but she decided the bed looked far more inviting, flopped onto it and barely managed to cover herself with the thick, lovely duvet before sleep took her.
Xavier's Study
Whilst Raven is settling in
"Well. Opinions? Even without telepathy I already know yours, Logan," Xavier reproved.
"Then why ask?" Logan returned.
Xavier barely smiled. "I was asking everyone, not just you."
Logan shrugged. "Fair enough."
"We should not help her," Ororo opined sharply. "If we do and she regains her powers, she becomes as dangerous as before. We cannot know what her agenda will be then."
Alison disagreed. "Ororo, have you ever hated what you are? She does. To her, being human is tantamount to a death sentence. If we don't help her she will almost certainly kill herself -"
"Best all round," Logan grunted.
He wasn't prepared for Alison's angered slap. "Logan, in my career I have dealt with suicide cases! I have tried to talk people out of suicide - and once I failed! I didn't realise it at the time, but through my empathy I felt her die! I don't ever want to feel that again! I will do everything I can to save her, and I'm asking for your help - all of you! - to do that!"
"Hey -"
"She is in despair!" Alison appealed to them all. "She is perilously close to that dead-end state of mind in which suicide, the afflicted person believes, is necessary! Raven has been violated in a cruel and unusual way, and if we can help her, by the Hippocratic Oath I truly believe we should!"
"You don't know what she was like before!" Logan argued. "She was a killer!"
"And just how many wars have you fought in?" Alison demanded. "How many people have you killed?!"
"That was different -"
"Oh, just ‛following orders', yeah, that's original -!"
"ENOUGH!" Xavier actually shouted out loud. They were so startled at his raising his voice - his actual voice, not his telepathy - that they stopped arguing instantly. "I will concede that you all have a point. However, one thing you have not considered is the basic question: can we in fact help her? Is it in fact even possible to revert her to a mutant state? If it is not, then this entire discussion is moot!"
There was an embarrassed pause. Then Logan sheepishly admitted, "Hadn't thought o' that."
Somewhat shamefaced, Alison murmured apologetically to Logan, "I was out of line there. I've dealt with soldiers and PTSD before, too. A soldier kills, but he's usually not a killer. The ability and/or willingness to kill doesn't make you a killer, Logan. I'm truly sorry I said that."
"You didn't, not really," Logan returned, accepting her apology. His eyes said: Make it up to me in bed.
I will, her own eyes promised him.
"I too apologise, my friends," Ororo said. "I allowed my past experience of Mystique to colour my judgement. But this is Raven, not Mystique. Perhaps she has changed in terms of her personality, too. I forgot that that was possible." She turned to Xavier. "I also forgot the question of physical possibility. Can we, in fact, change her back, Charles?"
"I would suggest we consult an expert on the matter," Xavier answered. "Fortunately we have someone who is an expert on practically everything." He contacted a student, not Kitty this time, to ask Ian for his advice. Shortly Ian, eating one of his custom-made power bars (as deadly to others and as nutritious to him as his special drink - both actually bore the warning ‛Do NOT consume this unless you are Ian Holloway!'), arrived at the study, and Xavier posed the question.
"Mmm," Ian ruminated. "It depends on exactly how the treatment works. Please note that I avoid calling it a ‛cure' because the mutant strain is not a disease." He snorted. "Whatever Trask might think to the contrary. I'm looking forward to putting that little pipsqueak in his place, to be honest. How dare he think of us as an aberration just because we were born with capabilities different from the human norm? He's a dwarf, so he's different. Total hypocrite.
"Key question: does the treatment alter a mutant's DNA structure, or does it just switch a few genes on or off and/or suppress them? If the former, then I see little if any hope. If the latter - switching or suppression - is the case, then reversion is doable. I discount the fact that Erik did it - that might have been an exception that proves the rule. We can't know for sure unless and until we obtain statistics from everyone who's had it, voluntarily or not, plus a sample - it can't be obtained, deduced or derived from the blood, tissue or DNA of ex-mutants.
"For that matter, the very question of choice may be relevant. Some people want to be free of the mutant strain, like that poor Blue Ghost kid. She wanted to be human. Maybe her desire to be human facilitated the process. Here we have Raven, newly human, who is desperate to be a mutant again, i.e. going the other way. But is the desire enough? Our best bet is to ask Hank and Warren Worthington II - they probably know."
"Then we shall do so tomorrow," Xavier decided firmly. "For now, thank you for your input, my friends."
As they were leaving, Alison sent a private telepathic message to Logan: I feel like ravishing you, you hunk. Wanna fuck? You can be as rough as you like with me.
You got it, Logan thought back, growling deep in his throat.
Before long they were naked together in Alison's bedroom, with Logan throwing her around the bedroom and yanking her hair; for her part she was biting and scratching him with some degree of viciousness, while knowing perfectly well that the wounds would heal without trace.
"You're a closet sadist, ain't you?" Logan growled as he spread her legs wide and penetrated her hard.
She arched her back and dug her nails into his flesh as hard as she could, biting him. "I know I can hurt you and you can take it," she purred. "I'd never do this with anyone else."
"You ain't gonna admit you enjoy it, are you?" he teased.
She bit him again. "Pain features in a lot of relationships," she pointed out. "Usually it's the recipient who enjoys the pain. The donor just likes to give the recipient what s/he wants. You don't like it, I know."
"No, but you do," he kidded.
Alison bit him yet again, laughed and climaxed. So did he, triggered by her orgasm. God, I love feeling spunk shooting up into me, she sent to him. Luckily I have a contraceptive implant - I shudder to think what kind of dad you'd be.
I'd stick around for you an' the kid, he told her as they relaxed in post-coital bliss, each caressing the other. She liked the fact that unlike most men he had no trouble at all staying awake after sex.
I imagine you would, but would that be good or bad for the kid?
Wanna take out the implant an' find out?
No, she said seriously. A child's life is nothing to kid about or experiment with. If and when I have children I want to be in love with the man who puts them into me. I like you, I lust after you and I care about you, but we both know I don't love you and you don't love me. It wouldn't be fair to a kid not to love their father.
Good point. I wish more guys would think about that before they get a woman pregnant.
Maybe it's my empathy. I would feel what the kid felt. According to Heinlein - you ever read him?
I read Starship Troopers and Space Cadet,he replied.
Figures. One about war, the other about the Space Patrol, i.e. both military in nature. I was thinking more of I Will Fear No Evil, Time Enough For Love, ‛The Number Of The Beast', Friday and Stranger In A Strange Land. Anyway, according to Heinlein, ‛babies are made with love, with little moans of happiness between two people who know what they are doing and want to do it'. But I would argue that - sex and love are separate things in my experience. I don't have to be in love to fuck, or to get pregnant.
How would you know? Logan asked curiously.
Logan, I've been pregnant. When I was 20 or so I took up with a really sweet guy, and one night when we were a bit drunk I forgot my Pill - I didn't have an implant then, there was some question about their effectiveness. I got pregnant completely by accident - yeah, it can still happen even in this day and age. The number of pregnant girls I've had to counsel because they didn't want to be...I even had one once who'd gotten pregnant by her brother, the dirty bitch.
Wow. He chuckled. Seems a bit hypocritical, you calling another girl a dirty bitch when you're absolutely filthy an' proud of it.
She huffed indignantly and bit him again. There are limits, you know! Yes, I freely admit I'm a slut, but at least I would never dream of fucking my brother! Eew!
Fair enough, he smiled.
Yeah. She was knowingly and happily committing incest, and the only thing she was worried about was being pregnant. Talk about skewed priorities. Dirty bitch should've been worried about the baby maybe being deformed - inbreeding conserves favourable genes, but it conserves bad genes, too, which is why it's illegal and taboo - and why its being illegal is a damn good idea.
Maybe she didn't know, Logan suggested fairly.
Mmm, maybe. Anyway, I got pregnant and I kind of liked it, but about three months in I lost the baby. Never even knew if it was a girl or a boy.
He stroked her hair in sympathy. I'm sorry, Alison.
Thanks, Logan. I had counselling, but it was early enough in the pregnancy that it didn't hurt so much, physically or emotionally. Plus there's usually a good reason for a miscarriage. The mother's body conducts continuous checks on the foetus, and if it finds anything wrong, it'll abort to save the mother, so she can try again. There must've been something wrong, or I wouldn't have lost it - I honestly took precautions and did everything right, and nothing wrong. But it still died. Doubtless it would have died if carried to full term.
Gotcha.
Yeah. I was pretty much okay; these things happen. But it woke me up. It made me realise I didn't really love him. I define ‛love' as that state you're in when you really can't live without the person you're supposedly in love with. But I could easily live without Marty.
Could you live without me?
Honestly? Yes, she admitted candidly. You're fun, you're dependable and God knows you're great in a fight, but that doesn't add up to love, does it?
No, he conceded in turn. An' to me most people are temporary, so, yeah, I could live without you, too.
No offence meant.
An' none taken.
So we definitely do not love each other.
No.
She cuddled up to him. Doesn't mean we can't enjoy being together, though.
He kissed her and stroked her pussy. No, it doesn't.
Shortly after that they fell asleep in each other's arms.
They were more certain than ever that each liked, but did not love, the other. That, for now, suited them fine.
Advanced Computing Class
The next day
Kitty liked teaching; passing on knowledge to the - well, it wasn't appropriate to call them "kids", because a few were older than she was - the students was so satisfying.
Except for the Stepford Cuckoos. They scared her a little. For one thing they didn't need to be lectured; they could simply read her mind unstoppably, but chose not to because Emma Frost, technically their progenitor, required them not to. For another, it was scary how closely they resembled each other, and Frost. Were they clones? She wasn't sure. The idea of young replicas of Emma Frost, the White Queen, scared her, too.
Allegedly she'd changed, evolved, since Kitty had first come to the Institute. Back then she'd been untrammelled evil, but had since reformed.
But Kitty didn't quite believe it.
The worst of it was that Emma knew how she felt, at least partly through her own telepathy...and didn't much care.
The three weren't 100% identical; Irma had altered her hairstyle, to Celeste's horror. Phoebe had gotten a tattoo on her left breast. Emma encouraged this, as it differentiated the triplets from each other. As she sometimes said, "The idea of three telepaths with personality disorders caused by identical appearance is not one to reassure the rational mind." They were generally well-behaved, but had a habit of commenting inappropriately about the staff, sometimes out loud.
Like now.
Miss McEwan was thinking about Logan again, Irma disapproved.
Sweaty and inappropriate thoughts, Phoebe agreed.
God, she can be such a dirty bitch at times, Celeste concurred.
But unashamed. Her thoughts are basic, primal, Phoebe reconsidered. Honest, if nothing else. She's very honest, with herself and with others. I find that most admirable.
All too often he lives up to his name. He's a beast.
But he's honest, too, Phoebe pointed out.
You can trust him in a fight, Irma agreed.
She probably wouldn't approve of us talking about her, Celeste warned.
They were interrupted by a new thought, coming from Emma: No, she wouldn't, especially not in class. Nor would I. Nor do I. Miss Pryde is very kindly sharing her extensive knowledge of IT; do her the courtesy of listening. And mind your mental shields, she chided. I should not have been able to detect you.
We could just read her mind, Phoebe protested.
True. But she doesn't like it. I don't want her any more uncomfortable than she already is, given her understandable...aversion towards us. Miss McEwan wouldn't appreciate it, either.
I don't appreciate it, Alison interjected. Yeah, I admit I'm a dirty slut, and proud of it. But, girls, we are your teachers and you are our students, so it is not appropriate for you to think things like that - in the classroom or out. Any more of these thoughts and I will give all three of you a headache - and you know damn well that I can, as I learned from the Professor. Understood?
Yes, Miss McEwan, they conceded, and turned to Kitty again.
She noticed they had ceased their mental discussion, debated asking them what it was about, and decided against. "Okay," she told the class, "time to talk about constructors, a difficult notion in Object-oriented Programming."
Deep down, so deeply even her sisters weren't aware of it, Phoebe, rebellious, continued thinking about the last time Logan and Alison - oops, Miss McEwan - had gotten together. Ooh, he'd had her so hard, and she'd enjoyed it so much. She loves rough sex, even though she was raped. I wonder if she'd let me watch them fucking? Ooh, I'm getting wet. My nipples are hard. I need to masturbate.
Her hand strayed between her legs, and too late she noticed that Kitty had stopped speaking. "Celeste?" Kitty addressed her.
"Phoebe," the blonde girl corrected.
"Sorry, I get you three mixed up. God only knows what I'll be like when you grow up - with you and Emma, there'll be four or you looking alike. Anyway. Not to put too fine a point on it, but what exactly are you doin'?"
The Cuckoo blushed slightly. "Masturbating - well, I was about to."
"Also sweaty and inappropriate," Irma scowled.
"Hypocrite," Celeste opined.
"I can't help it," Phoebe protested. "Miss McEwan and Logan are a sexy couple. Their liaison excites me."
Taken aback, Kitty raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's...an honest answer, at least. But there's a time and a place, okay? This is not it."
"Sorry," Phobe apologised...though she continued to enjoy her sexy thoughts.
Irma sent to her privately: Phoebe, there are times when you are such a dirty bitch.
Like Alison - Miss McEwan, Celeste agreed.
True, Phobe admitted, and mentally leered. But she has fun if nothing else!
Her sisters giggled mentally. That's very true!
Later Kitty got herself a coffee. Ironically it came courtesy of Emma, but it was delicious.
"Peruvian blonde," Emma remarked over her shoulder, "first beans of the season. My supplier knows my tastes - glad to see someone shares them."
Kitty shivered. "I wish you wouldn't do that. Just like I wish the Cuckoos would behave like normal people. Bringing yourself off in class is not normal."
"It's perfectly normal to pleasure oneself," Emma observed, amused.
"Not in class! Ick!"
"Would you rather they lied? It goes against the grain for telepaths, but they will if I insist."
"No," Kitty admitted.
"You do it, too. So do I. It is nothing to be ashamed of."
"As I said to Phoebe, there is a time and a place!"
Emma regarded her coolly. "You still think I'll go off the rails, don't you?"
"Reading my mind again?" Kitty scowled.
Turning serious, Emma shook her head. "Katherine, I promised the Professor I would never do that unless there were a pressing reason. I have kept my word, and I will continue to keep it. No, I just know you. Given our...history, I can't say I blame you. But Charles trusts me. I believe that means you should, too."
It penetrated Kitty's mind that Emma was not so aloof as she claimed. She knew how Kitty felt, and it...hurt. "Okay, you're right. Even you can't lie to the Professor. I'll try. And don't quote Yoda at me, willya?"
"As if I would," Emma smiled. "The Star Wars saga isn't to my taste; it's pure escapism. Were I inclined to indulge in fiction, it would more likely be the original Alien. Right now, we have a concern which is anything but fictional."
"The Sentinels," Kitty agreed grimly. "I was studying their AI again. Scary stuff. I'm sure now that they'll go haywire." She sighed. "I wish to hell I knew what to do about it."
"Possibly Ellie Nesbit could help," Emma suggested, "if it doesn't breach her sense of ethics. Though exactly where ethics come into it when we're facing annihilation..."
"No, we have to be ethical," Kitty argued, "otherwise the humans will never trust us."
"Katherine -"
"I prefer ‛Kitty'," Kitty shot back.
"- Kitty," Emma allowed, "the entire crux of our argument is that we are human, too. As Logan puts it, accurately if inappropriately, we eat, drink, sleep, pee and have sex just as they do."
"You have a point," Kitty conceded, then frowned. "He's never said anything about sex. That's you."
Emma chuckled. "Perhaps I take after the Cuckoos, rather than the reverse."
"Well, they are your clones, or whatever," Kitty observed. "Why is everyone so obsessed with sex?"
"A survival urge," Emma answered, and teased, "Give it a year or three and you'll be the same. Trust me." She paused. "If you can." With that, she left.
Kitty just stood there, thinking. It was true, Emma had behaved herself, plus even she couldn't lie to the Professor. Which meant she could be trusted. Right now the mutants needed to trust each other more than ever.
But trust Emma Frost, the former White Queen? Tiny bit of an ask.
For the Professor, she resolved to try.
Inappropriately, Yoda's advice popped up in her mind: "Try not. Do...or do not. There is no try."
Emma Frost's room
Shortly after
Alone, Emma sighed. She truly hoped Kitty would change her mind about Emma's reformation. It had taken the destruction of Genosha, with the deaths of sixteen million mutants, along with the discovery of her secondary mutation, to open her eyes to the futility of the Hellfire Club and its objectives. The first generation of Sentinels, unleashed after years in storage from 1973, had been defeated at terrible cost.
The deaths of all those mutants and her inability to help them had grieved her, and it was in that state that Charles had found her. She had been relatively easy to convince. Being an X-Man didn't always sit well with her, but that status and Charles' trust were important to her. She trusted Kitty to watch her for any signs of slipping back to her old ways. With Trask's release, it was more important than ever.
Come to think of it, she mused, how was he released?
Emma talked to a number of subtle contacts in the U.S. Government, and she found that it was the outcome of years of political infighting. Mutants had always been a bone of contention with a succession of Presidents; the current one found himself appointing Henry McCoy as the UN Ambassador on the one hand, and preparing for another possible mutant attack on the other, following the Alcatraz affair. Trask's release had seemed to be the answer to the problem of limitation and control of the more extreme mutant faction.
It was clear, though, that the President didn't understand Trask's true agenda: not the control of mutants, but their extermination, as Erik had always feared. Trask was part of the problem, not part of the solution. He had once been determined to capture Mystique alive in order to weaponise her transformative capabilities, intending to incorporate them into the Sentinels. Ironically it was Erik of all people who had stopped him by secretly infusing the Sentinels with metal, placing them under magnetic control.
Emma had consulted with the Professor, and had learned of the alternate timeline which had ceased to exist when Mystique had decided not to shoot Trask, accepting that Charles had learned from his mistake of trying to control her and had instead trusted her to do the right thing. It had been an incredible risk to take, but it had paid off.
But now Trask was free, and he had not altered his position in the slightest. If anything, he was more determined than ever to wipe out mutants. However, killing him would only cement public opinion against mutants, just at the point when there was a reasonable chance that they would survive if they could only behave themselves and not provoke the ordinary humans.
That was where the X-Men came in. It was up to them to show that cooperation and peaceful coexistence was the answer. Being a realist, Emma wasn't as sanguine about the odds of that as Charles was, but she accepted the possibility. Charles' notion of appealing to the next generation seemed a reasonable plan. Hopefully the Cuckoos would see that and cooperate as Emma was doing.
Whether Kitty believed it or not, Emma genuinely did want to see both sides survive.
Xavier's study
That night
As Charles entered, he was surprised - for once - by a low, soft, feminine and very familiar voice: "Been a long time, hasn't it?"
Now he placed it. He turned in his place and smiled gently. "Too long. I missed you, Raven. I am truly sorry. For what happened between us, and especially what happened to you. I wish that helping you was as simple as a single treatment, but..."
"I hate that name now," she sighed as she sat next to him. "I know my mother gave it to me, but...I've been Mystique for so long, it's hard to let go. I hope I can be her again. With your help..."
"Even if we fail," Charles entreated, "there are many more paths than the bleak one you see. It seems too hard to adjust, I know, but you have never been anything but adaptable. In time, with help, I know you can adapt even to such a monumental change. You did before," he reminded her, "when you changed from being a desperate, lonely thief to a dear friend and companion. I have not forgotten," he finished softly, "even if you have."
Tears sparkled in her eyes, which in her human form were a shade of blue. "I had a chance to change things in 1973. I could've killed Trask then. I chose not to. Without him, and without Worthington, who built on his work, I wouldn't be here now. You said we could show them a better path. Well, I did...and look where that got me."
She was crying now, but he placed a comforting hand on her arm. "It was still the right choice, you know. A choice I trusted you to make."
"But...the Sentinels are still happening," she protested. "Doesn't that mean there'll still be a war?"
"It might," he confessed soberly. "But we have human allies, advocates, with us now. Plus we have resources - and an opportunity to head this off at the pass, as it were. May I suggest you speak to Dr. McEwan? She is, after all, a highly trained counsellor, reaching even those deemed beyond help. If anyone can help you, she can. Please try." He managed a smile. "As I recall, your breakfast of choice was blueberry pancakes."
Raven also managed a smile, remembering the first time she'd had them. "I still like them, Charles."
The Xavier Mansion, Westchester
Sunday April 9th, 1944
At first the concept of eating whatever she liked, as much as she liked, was foreign to Raven Darkholme; she was far too accustomed to living on scraps...or nothing at all. She regarded the tall stack of blueberry pancakes uncertainly.
"It's quite all right," Charles assured her. "Doubtless they're unfamiliar to you. They're blueberry pancakes. Admittedly they're something of an American origin, but don't let that put you off. The maid is an absolute whiz with them." He sighed, realising the problem. "Raven, honestly, you are here by my invitation, and you're a welcome guest. My adopted sister in time, I hope."
"But...you're not in charge," Raven said uneasily.
Charles frowned. "I most certainly am, you know. All this, the entire mansion, is being held in my name. As soon as I'm old enough, I'll inherit it. For the moment, however, even though we're in the States, British custom dictates that I am in charge to the extent that I can say who stays and who doesn't. Who can and who can't. You most definitely can."
"Really?"
He took her hand, delighting in the different, exotic feel of her blue skin. Daisy Braithwaite had held his hand once, and Raven's was definitely warmer. And nicer, he decided. "You can stay as long as you like. I know you can change your appearance to look ‛normal', whatever that might mean. We'll work on it, craft you a disguise. But first...breakfast," he finished firmly.
Finally convinced, Raven took a tentative bite. She smiled at the delicious taste.
Charles grinned and helped himself to another stack. "Go on, tuck in," he encouraged her.
She did.
Though she later went on to discover and like many other foods, that was the start of her love affair with blueberry pancakes.
"I remember, too, the very first time I saw you," Charles added softly, "so surprised, but pleased, that I didn't fear you. I was the very first person you ever met who saw you as you truly were and showed fascination rather than fear. The last thing you expected."
Raven sighed. "Whereas now no-one is afraid of me, because now I'm only human."
"There is nothing ‛only' about being human, Raven. We are human, after all. That is what this is all about - something Trask, given his subconscious fears, will never understand. But I have had an idea, one which might allay those fears."
Curious, she asked, "What?"
"I intend to invite him to the Institute, to observe how mutants and ordinary humans live, study and work together. Perhaps he, too, needs to see a better way. I can show him all we have achieved, and explain our hopes and plans for the future."
She shook her head. "I can't work out if you're the ultimate optimist...or just plain crazy."
Xavier actually grinned. "Perhaps there is no difference."
"You know what they say," another familiar voice growled off to one side, "walk softly...but carry a big stick."
"Actually, Logan, it was Theodore Roosevelt who first said that," Xavier noted.
The Wolverine shrugged. "I know, I'm pretty sure I was there when he said it. Think he had a point." He glanced at Raven. "She try anythin' yet?"
The ostensibly older man looked pained. "What can she possibly try that I won't know about the instant she thinks about it? Logan, I assure you once again: there is no need for apprehension."
But Logan looked unconvinced. "Y'know, Locutus said that." He stared at Raven. "You try anythin' an' I'll gut you like a fish." He stalked off.
Xavier sighed. "Even given his mutation, Logan has a long memory. He, more than most, finds it hard to let go of the past. Yet I feel sure he will come around." He smiled gently at Raven. "Just give him time."
"He means it," she answered quietly. "If I were so stupid as to try anything, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me." She sighed. "But...if you can help me, it won't work if I'm dead. So I give you my word, Charles, that I won't try to kill myself. At least...not until we're sure there's no hope. After that, all bets are off."
"Very well," he acknowledged, "but I reserve the right to talk you out of it if we cannot help you."
"Just talk me out of it?"
"I cannot maintain any protection if we are apart," he pointed out, "and even in your human form your mind is resistant to my telepathy." He looked rueful. "It would appear that I taught you too well."
That elicited a genuine laugh from her.
The Office of Mutant Affairs, Washington D.C.
The next day
As usual Henry McCoy was hanging from the ceiling, his leonine nose in a book, when the door opened to reveal the President. "Hank, is there ever a time when you're not working upside down?"
Henry chuckled and somersaulted to the floor to accommodate his distinguished visitor. "I never work upside down, Mr. President, though you'd be surprised at the different perspective it affords one. What can I do for you today?"
"You can talk to a visitor from the Xavier Institute, one Ian Holloway," the President answered. "Apparently he has a question about the mutant cure."
That sobered Henry. "Mmm, the name doesn't ring a bell. He must be a recent addition to the faculty. Is he a mutant?"
"He is," the President nodded. "According to my experts and a consultant from the NSA, he has an intellect that'd put the late Stephen Hawking to shame."
Henry brightened. "Really? I should very much appreciate talking to him, then. I haven't had an intellectual conversation since the last time I talked to Charles. Please show him in."
"Hank, about the cure...have you thought any more about it?"
"Mr. President," Henry answered soberly, "I have thought of little else since Warren created it. In many ways it would be an answer to many of my problems...such as shedding. I could fit in much more easily with the 'normal' run of humans. On the other hand, I would lose my enhanced speed, strength and agility. It's not as simple an answer as you, with all due respect, sir, seem to believe. But passing a law to make it optional was the wisest decision you've ever made."
"As was securing Worthington Labs," the President agreed wryly. He had been well aware of the cure's potential as a weapon to be used even against those mutants who didn't want it. Mutant or not, these people were U.S. citizens, and as such their freedom of choice was protected by the Declaration of Independence and its Amendments. The passing of that law had defused much of the tension between mutants and ordinary humans; a number of mutant protest groups had disbanded as a result, no longer needed.
In a routine report, Phyllis Spencer had noted that she'd received a visit from one Anna Marie D'Ancanto, a known mutant who'd been seeking the cure but had then changed her mind. The girl had an extraordinary and apparently unique ability to absorb other mutants' powers, and was unable to touch others without hurting or possibly even killing them. According to ex-President McKenna, she was an X-Man. Or perhaps an X-Woman, in these politically correct times.
It seemed strange that a teenage girl would reject something that could normalise her life, but, he reflected, that was her choice. She could always take the cure later if she wanted to. While it could serve as an answer to the mutant 'problem', he didn't like the idea of imposing it on anyone; the guards at Worthington Labs were now under the strictest Presidential orders to use it only if any attacker posed a threat to life and limb. They'd been equipped with both lethal and non-lethal weapons (nothing metal - although Magneto had been forcibly cured by Hank himself, there was no sense in taking chances, and Erik Lehnsherr wasn't the only mutant who could affect metal).
Despite his own issues with the cure, Hank, a fence-sitter if ever there was one, had approved the measures the President had taken, and that was proof enough for him that he'd made the right choice.
He had always regretted what had happened with Raven Darkholme, a.k.a. Mystique.
The door opened again, and this time an apparently middle-aged man entered ('apparently' because the President had learned to take nothing for granted when it came to mutants). "There's only one Beast in the U.S. Government, so by process of elimination you must be Henry McCoy."
"And by a similar process," Hank greeted him, "you must be Ian Holloway. A pleasure, sir." They shook hands - or hand and paw, anyway. "If I might ask, given that it's the province of intellectuals the world over, how is your Latin?"
"My Latin is praeclarus, tibi gratias ago," Ian replied, grinning. That was the start of a rapid exchange which shifted from Latin to Urdu, to Croatian, to Ancient Sumatran, to Basque and then to symbolic logic.
The President shook his head in amusement. "Clearly you two have a lot to talk about. I'll leave you to it, Hank." With that and a polite nod to Ian, he left.
The two took seats, chuckling. "The President told me you have a devastating intellect, and clearly he was right. But...something in your voice tells me, Ian, that you are considerably younger than you appear to be."
"Spot on, Henry," Ian nodded. "I'm 21. My intellect, enhanced by mutation, was killing me, until I found the answer: a series of treatments to slow my mental processes slightly, whilst speeding up my body's metabolism. It's having the effect that I now sleep a lot less while making more use of the time when I do sleep. Plus I tend to have the midnight munchies, with nary a joint in sight." He chuckled. "Not that it would have any effect on me now. Nor does any psychoactive drug. Alcohol, even fusel alcohols, I simply use as fuel."
"I see," Hank nodded, fascinated. "So you won't be taking the 'cure', I assume."
"Can't," Ian smiled, "not without solving the Riemann Hypothesis and P versus NP first. I keep getting offers from the NSA, but I get the impression they'd rather use me to suppress any such research. Bugger that. Besides, I like being a super-brain, shades of Daria."
"A masterful creation courtesy of MTV," Hank agreed, and frowned. "Which makes it all the more curious that they seem determined to deny the show's existence, despite its popularity. At times, humans can make very irrational decisions."
"Same with Firefly, or The Sarah Connor Chronicles, or Space: Above And Beyond," Ian concurred, "cut down in their prime just when they'd gotten interesting."
"Mmm. But you didn't come all the way from Westchester just to talk about defunct TV shows," Hank observed.
Ian sighed. "No, Henry, I didn't. My current concern is Raven Darkholme. Apparently she just can't get used to being 'only' human. She came to the Institute desperate for help. In fact the new counsellor tells me she's perilously close to suicide."
"Ah," Hank sighed, "the former Mystique. Such a tragedy, what happened to her. The guards at Worthington Labs do have similar weapons, but they also have Presidential orders to use them only as a last resort, in life-threatening scenarios. Their other, more conventional weapons, both lethal and non-lethal, must be deployed first."
"Makes sense," Ian nodded. "I assume, as the head of Mutant Affairs, you monitor them."
"I do indeed. It's one of a number of hats I wear these days. My life, in fact, is quite busy and fulfilling."
"Okay. The question: how exactly does the treatment work? Does it alter DNA, or just suppress certain genes? This is important to determine Raven's fate and whether or not we can help her regain her mutant status."
Hank's eyebrows rose. "Mmm. No-one's ever proposed reversing its effects before."
"We have to, Henry," Ian told him quietly. "Raven will kill herself if we can't. Charles is ready to talk her out of it, Alison - our counsellor - even more so, but I don't think even their persuasive talents will be enough."
"Alison? That wouldn't be Dr. Alison McEwan, perchance? She's done some sterling work in the field of counselling, even with people whom I couldn't reach. At least one was deemed incurable, even by myself, until Dr. McEwan counselled and helped him. She's an excellent counsellor."
Ian grinned. "Turns out she was unintentionally cheating - she's a powerful telepath."
"Ah, so that's it," Hank applauded. "Such a worthy profession for someone with telepathic skills." He sobered. "If she can't talk Raven out of suicide, no-one can. Mmm. Well, it's a complex question. The - treatment," he'd almost said 'cure', "was developed by studying the DNA of a young lad, Jimmy, a.k.a. Leech; he can suppress mutant powers merely by his proximity. An amazing talent," he reflected thoughtfully, gazing at his right hand/paw, which had turned human when he'd offered it to Jimmy.
"So it is a case of suppression?" Ian asked keenly.
"I believe so," Hank nodded, "via the pheromones he emits. Of course Warren Worthington II knows much more about it than I do; he developed it initially with his son in mind - Angel. But the lad refused it, as was and now is his choice. I believe I can set up a conference call with Warren." He moved to the terminal, brought it online and waited with restrained patience for it to boot up. "Is it me, or do newer versions of Windows take longer to boot up these days?"
"Agent Phil Coulson had a point," Ian smiled. At Hank's curious look, he elaborated, "In the very first episode of Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D., he said that people tend to confuse the words 'new' and 'improved'. Windows is a case in point." He grinned again. "Which is why Linux is my OS of choice."
"Mmm," Hank smiled in return. "Ah. It's behaving. One moment…" He typed, sending a call request. The response was gratifyingly quick; thanks to Presidential intervention, Worthington Labs now received government funding over and above what Warren was providing, and thus their equipment was state-of-the-art.
"Worthington Labs, Dr. Rajesh Singh speaking," the recipient said pleasantly on the video call. "Ah, Dr. McCoy. What can I do for you?"
"May I speak with Warren?" Hank inquired.
"Of course, Doctor. A moment while I put you through…"
"Thank you."
The screen showed Warren Worthington II. "Oh, hello, Henry. How are you?"
"Quite well, thank you. Warren, I have a specific question regarding the treatment: how exactly does it function?"
"Primarily through suppression, via the pheromones we isolated from Jimmy," Warren replied. "The treatment targets certain genes, particularly on Chromosome 21, and switches them off. We've determined that those specific genes are the key to mutation." He looked at Hank. "Does this mean you intend to reverse the treatment?"
"In one particular case, yes," Ian interjected. "Ian Holloway, intellectual advisor to the Xavier Institute, at your service, sir."
"Delighted, I'm sure. Professor Xavier's work played a part as well, but only in identifying the specific X-genes. He seemed to have an insider's knowledge...which with hindsight is hardly surprising, since he himself is a mutant - a telepath, I gather."
"There's one particular ex-mutant who was changed without her consent, and who is suicidally desperate to regain her powers," Ian told him quietly. "If we can't help her, she sees suicide as her only way out. For two years she has tried, and failed, to adjust; it is my considered opinion, Professor Xavier's optimism aside, that if she hasn't adjusted yet then she never will."
"You can only be talking about Raven Darkholme," Warren said soberly. "Her case more than any other brought it home to the President and to myself that the treatment must be voluntary. He's passed legislation to that effect, and quite right too. We certainly get far fewer protestors these days." He looked businesslike. "I can send you details, Henry."
"Please do," Hank nodded. In less than a minute his terminal chimed 'You've Got Mail'. "Thank you, Warren."
"She's not the only case, just the most prominent. I hope you can help her." He looked sombre. "Takes me back to trying to treat my son. I was selfish, and wrong, to try to impose it on him. But I only really understood that when he saved my life."
"I saw it," Hank nodded, "quite spectacular. I gather he's become quite a fixture at the Xavier Institute."
"He's taken me flying a couple of times. Amazing how being a thousand feet up in the air can change your perspective. Good luck, Ian."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Warren, but with my intellect it's more a matter of unknown variables than luck," Ian smiled. "It's been a pleasure."
"For me, too. A pleasure to speak to you as well, Henry," Warren replied, smiling. "Worthington Labs out." He signed off.
Ian looked at Hank. "'Henry'?"
Hank chuckled. "It's my given name. My friends call me 'Hank'." He smiled broadly. "It's my hope that you'll come to call me that, too."
"Hank it is," Ian nodded. "I can receive the email via Bluetooth on my tablet," he held it up.
"Android OS?"
"Yep. Fewer bugs IMO."
Hank sent the email, and Ian's tablet received it. "Thanks, Hank. That should make for some entertaining night reading." Again he sobered. "It might also help to defend the Institute when - not if, when - the Sentinels show up."
"Trask," Hank sighed. "In my considered opinion he should never have been released. If not for the political infighting, he wouldn't have been. So," he added, concerned, "he's still pressing ahead with his agenda of exterminating us? Supposedly the Sentinels are a precaution, nothing more."
"That's what he's told the President, yeah," Ian answered sourly. "But it doesn't look like it to me. We have the bare bones of the Sentinel AI -"
"They have AI now?" Hank interrupted, worried now. "Oh, my stars and garters."
"- and it looks geared to take us out. There's nothing in there about 'precautionary' matters, Hank."
"AI? Now that is a worrying development. He definitely doesn't have authorisation for that."
"Like that's gonna stop him," Ian growled. "We'll keep you posted."
"And I shall dig deeper into this Sentinel issue," Hank vowed. "If he isn't getting approval from the President, then where is he getting it from?"
They weren't to know it yet, but Trask was working on the principle of asking forgiveness rather than permission. He did not have Presidential approval...and all his funding was via private sources, not governmental.