I'm a Dreamer. I'm an X-Man

“I don’t know about that,” M’gann answered, turning about as red as her hair. “It’s a skill. An aspect of a power, just like any other.” She paused, knowing that such a response actually got it backwards. “Martian families share group dreams at night. They usually share one dream and build it over and over, night after night on top of the ruins of the night before. I liken it to sea otters holding hands while they sleep so that they don’t float away from each other. Mine is admittedly a more refined technique. I’ve been dreaming alone for such a long time that…” She sighed softly. “I guess that it has given me a gift in its own way.” 

Scott was deep in thought, quite obviously mulling over some possibilities or other. She watched him in quiet amusement, the corner of her mouth quirking up. His brow furrowed, then, and there was a protectiveness that she couldn’t make heads or tails of. M’gann tilted her head to the side. “Everything alright, Scott?” 

Those eyes. Goodness, those eyes. Thankfully, M’gann caught herself before he could catch her watching him so closely. “I’m a duplicitous double agent for Big Yeast and I’ll do anything to catch a secret baker off guard,” she laughed, practically launching herself into a spy pose with finger guns included. “Oh, I adore Hank! He used to liaison with the League and we really got on. We used to bake, too.” M’gann shook her head solemnly. “I knew he was two-timing me with another baker.” She stuck her tongue out at Scott. 

“I guess that it’s a good thing my uncle and I don’t have to worry about ranking systems. Neither of us has ever been particularly keen on sharing the extent of our abilities with the world.” She looked down. “The world didn’t particularly like what we did show it, already. 

“I like that analogy. It’s one I’ve used to describe myself. I’m not just a Martian. I’m the fine-tuned, over-trained Olympic athlete of Martians.” M’gann shot him a wry smile. 

“Well, I won’t take a person’s life and I’ll do everything in my power not to cause grievous bodily harm. Plenty of heroes are willing to do those things, but I just…” She shook her head. “I just can’t.” Her hands pressed at the fabric of her pant leg. “I won’t have telepathy, my native language and the lifeblood of my people, sullied by using it for evil. I won’t cause damage by tearing information from someone’s unwilling mind, though occasionally I may agree to finessing it out of them or putting an idea into them.” M’gann had heard other Leaguers joke that it was inception. She had to agree. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate and it left the person’s mind unharmed. “I won’t mind-control or brainwash anyone, or erase the memories of anyone who isn’t of sound mind begging me to help them forget. And I don’t read minds without verbal consent. This is Earth,” she reminded herself for the ten-thousandth time. “Not Mars. We speak here.” M’gann paused for just a moment before asking, “I’m sorry, Scott. What exactly is your power? I know it involves lasers, but, uh… That isn’t very much to go on.” 

She nodded quietly. Hopefully, she would never come to any grief with Wanda. Even if she did, her intent was to have enough information to know how best to handle the situation. She would not let the world down. 

For the briefest of moments, M’gann feared that Scott was angry with her. But only for that briefest of moments. “I’ve never been great at ignoring the emotions of others,” she joked, but there was a sadness in her eyes that could not meet her soft laughter. She swallowed. “I have been working on growing thicker skin. Coming up with better answers for those people who would like nothing more than to see me disappear into thin air. Finding ways to breathe instead of letting them see me cry.” M’gann watched Scott in silence for a long while. “Does it really get any easier?”

“I was just thinking about how most of our telepaths manifest differently,” he explained. “I was thinking about what it would be like for you to meet the others in my life. Charles would listen to you and want to know more. And Jean. Emma would be difficult to talk to without her being suspicious and defensive. The way she grew and adapted from the trauma of her life isn’t like Charles and Jean. She’s more polarizing.” He put it as delicately as he could manage.

He held up a hand to wag a finger playfully. “Ah, but was he two-timing you with me, or me with you? Either way, I say you blow flour into his hair next time you see him. He has that beard now. It will be even more difficult for him to tidy up.” It seemed like worthy revenge in his book. “That will show him the error of his ways.” He’d laugh at poor Hank’s expense in that case, but Hank would laugh too, and that deep, easy sound was a comfort to all who heard it. He’d been deprived of Hank’s warmth for long enough to have come to miss it.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of Olympic royalty.” The lightness of the conversation drew Scott further from the memory of his pain, settled him more deeply in the here and now of their moment where he sat with a woman painted bright by the colors of her mind. It afforded him the privilege of admiring her and all the tones and shades which comprised her. His gaze contained an adulation of her bright eyes and brighter hair, taking in the tonal complexity of her flush. In the outside world, she would be pink, just as everyone was. Pink and red, with very little variation. Scott’s gratitude to Hank for the glasses he wore remained unwavering, but he could lament the loss of some of the world’s visual beauty without risk to his appreciation for his ability to see at all. In the grand scheme of mutations, Scott’s own remained decently manageable. He shouldn’t find fault in any of his precautions, and his selfishness drew about a mantle of guilt for him to wear. 

He listened to her self-imposed limitations and the guilt faded back into that sense of awe. Her control and emotional restraint must be uncompromising. For the telepaths he knew, those actions were as instinctive as the body’s urge to draw breath. He understood, however, her reticence. The way she described the intimacy of telepathy among her people spoke more in the words she kept back than those she spoke. To treat her abilities as weapons confirmed what others believed about her. Using her powers as she described was like an insult to her culture and where she came from. He didn’t need her to explicitly tell him of her pride in what she was. The way she spoke of their shared dreamscapes and the sweetness of their language confirmed it for her. “Is your uncle similarly reserved? I don’t know many people brave enough to draw those lines in the sand and stick to them.”

Lasers. He smiled and dropped his eyes. His preference for prolonged eye contact or none at all danced him between both options. “It’s a little more complicated. My body can metabolize ambient energies I absorb from the environment. Those energies are converted into concussive optic blasts. My mind is protected by a Psionic shield which protects me from the ill effects of the energies and from extra-dimensional particles they bring with them. I’m sure you can feel that in my signature. Jean always said I feel a little bit radioactive or like an electronic gone warm from being on for too long. The longer I go without training and releasing the concussive blasts, the more the pressure builds up. My migraines are debilitating then. Not even the freezer helps. I don’t typically allow that happen.” He sat back in the chair, continuing as if pulling the information from a shelf. “I can sustain continuous beams for about fifteen minutes. I haven’t ever tried to push beyond that, but it takes a lot out of me. Typically, there’s so much force behind it that I don’t require that much anyway. The visor I wear in combat interacts with the aperture which replaced my pupils when I mutated and allows me to regulate the size and intensity of my concussive blasts depending on the configuration. In addition to all that... you could say I have an uncanny mathematical ability. When I look at anything, my trigonometric understanding of the angles I could use to direct my blasts is innate and inherent. It gives me control of where I’m sending things and allows me to calculate trajectory of other projectiles. I can tell where a fired bullet will go as soon as the gun is aimed, I can indicate how to use ricocheting actions and reflective properties to hit people behind me or beside me. It’s a little complicated. Like you said, the basics of it is eye lasers... with a side of being a big nerd.”

Scott shrugged. “As far as mutants go, I’m not really all that special. I’m only an Alpha level mutant given the known upper limits of my abilities, but that classification could change should I ever display a capacity higher than what’s recorded. If that makes any sense.”

Easier was relative. Should he wish to offer her an answer made of the optimism a much younger Scott Summers had carried with him, he would need to make the effort to reach for that answer. He didn’t have the cruelty within him to detail the ever-evolving and perpetual struggle against the prosecution in his life. He refused to take on the responsibility of dashing her hopes. He elected for as positive a truth as he could offer. “When you surround yourself with people who know your value and who understand you beyond the measure of what you can do, it does. When you find your place, it’s like you belong there.”

.

“I hunt with archers sometimes, got curious about their range and what I can do with the same weapon,” Laura explained, glancing at the bow in her hand. Not that she needed it to be deadly, but she was bound to perfect every skill that could be useful in performing her functions. She’d come a long way to be more than an assassin, focused on offering her abilities for the welfare of the team.

She managed not to roll her eyes at Scott’s commentary about Emma – he didn’t deserve Laura’s rudeness, after everything he’d done for her, treating her with nothing but care. “At least she seems to only weigh her hand down with those who can take it.” For all that brutality, Laura hadn’t been an innocent child when she’d arrived at the Institute, Emma surely knew that much. It was all in the past, either way. “It’s very good to have you here. If you need anything, I’m not often busy.”

x

Scott winced, attempting to keep down the defensive flare he felt for Emma. For so long, she’d required someone to advocate for her even if she would prefer death to admitting it. Emma was not good at connecting with others, and what Scott saw in her was often hidden. She was the source of so much shame in his life given what he had done to be with her, but his determination to make their relationship worth his mistakes carried him forward in defending her even while she insisted she didn’t need defending. With Laura, however, Scott could not bring himself to raise his beliefs in Emma’s inherent goodness. It was difficult beyond measure to assert such things to a girl who’d faced Emma’s wrath at length for nothing more than the crime of her stolen autonomy. Laura Kinney had endured abuse, a truth for which he might have expected Emma to have some empathy given her own history. She hadn’t. Laura suffered the indignity of being controlled and forced into actions which made her a monster against her will. Yet Emma had not seen in her a worthiness for protection, but rather a threat to be neutralized. Scott had vehemently disagreed.

“I know it changes nothing,” Scott said as he drew deeper into the room. “But I’m sorry I didn’t shield you from her better. I let you be put in that position. I should have protected you.” Laura was right in that she exuded competency, just like her father. Her stoic ability to survive directed Scott’s efforts to other places which seemed more urgent. She was someone who could endure, but it didn’t mean she should have been forced to in a place which was supposed to provide her safety and comfort as she learned what she could be.

“I actually did come here to talk to you.” Seating himself in her direct vicinity, he wasted no time in great preamble. “I’m putting together a small group within the Nomads using those who are better suited toward necessary and less... restrictive forms of operation. Do you know about the original iteration of X-Force?” If she did, it would require far less explanation as to why she was perfect candidate.

…

“Or I just learned how to listen,” she snarled back. She wasn’t sure that plants weren’t always speaking to them. They were all too stupid and selfish to listen. Grandmother tried to teach her about land and understanding it, but being a human being had so many distractions from that kind of call. After Pamela died there was none of that left. 

She was suspicious while she watched him talk to the citizens. The Mycelium told her that they were negotiating and she shouldn’t leave yet so she stayed and waited. She didn’t expect the people to be willing to compromise and she showed her surprise on her face. “Really?” she asked. She was surprised. Usually when she took stands like this it was a fight and a battle to prevent the murder of innocent beings. She wasn’t used to people being so understanding.

Ivy squinted and studied the person in front of her. She was wondering if he was bluffing. “If this is a trick you’ll be sorry.”

x

Scott didn’t break eye contact with the woman, whose eyes looked dangerous as she levied her threat against him. “It’s not a trick. I wouldn’t waste your time with that.” The woman apparently had been conditioned to distrust people, and Scott could work with that. He’d dealt with more difficult negotiations in his tenure with the X-Men than this. From the looks of the townspeople, it would be far easier to come to a point of agreement than those other more strenuous battles. She only had to agree to show them. Given her abilities, it likely wouldn’t even be difficult for her to direct them.

“If it’s more reassuring, I can stay here with the tree. You have my word that nothing will happen to it while you’re gone.”

M’gann tilted her head to the side in surprise. “Too many to count.” It was the truth. Most Martian families shared one, maybe two or three. She didn’t have the luxury of another Martian, even another telepath, to share and change and grow just those precious few with her. “There are dreamscapes I revisit night after night and in my meditations, but often I’ll simply have an idea and enter my mind to build it.” M’gann glanced at the stairs before smiling back at Scott. “It’s like crafting a ship in a bottle. Once I’m done, I cast it out upon the ink-black ocean and let it sail freely until I need it again. No trouble at all.” She clarified, “Though this is the one most non-telepaths enter through. A waiting room, of sorts. Sometimes I’ll let them right through to another, especially if I’m already inside.” 

“Helena?” M’gann laughed. “I don’t think I need an assistant. The company is appreciated.” She toyed with the fabric of her striped shirt. “I make myself busy to avoid people too often, I think.” There was a pause. “Oh, as soon as we get out of here everyone on your team will receive an odd pulsing sensation in their heads. A gentle beat, beat, beat of ‘Scott bakes the cakes.’ You’d be welcome to come bake with me. I bake the bread before sunrise and the desserts around four. When did you pick it up?”

Omega level telepaths. “I’ve never heard of such a ranking system,” M’gann answered honestly. “I wonder what level I would be. I can do far more than this, but does your system allow for ethics? There are things I am capable of doing,” things she had heard Jean and Emma both did not seem to mind, “things that the ISA would like me to do if they ever caught up with me, but that I won’t do. Ever.” She swallowed. The very thought of being taken by the ISA left her a little bristled, as it always did. 

“I should clarify. I am not afraid of Wanda.” M’gann was afraid of very few people individually. “I’ve liked Wanda on the brief occasions we’ve met. I’m afraid of asking too many questions about what happened to cause her to be enclosed in our basement.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I was gone for three months… I feel that I’ve missed so much. I didn’t know if I belonged with the Nomads before I left. Now I’m back, and I still don’t know if I belong.”

She mimicked his movement, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her pretzeled legs and pressing her fingers together under her chin. “That’s…” Unusual? Refreshing? “That’s nice to know, Scott.” M’gann stared into the fizzing pink lemonade in her cup. “Never easy to be the Other. Makes us vulnerable. Makes us lonely. Even before my uncle left for his retirement in the Watchtower, we both always felt… I always felt…” She sighed. “Alone. It isn’t even telepathy alone. People are afraid of aliens.”

x

“That’s... incredible.” Mindscapes of this detail level were difficult to maintain. Having multiple with the capability of supporting a number of connected consciousnesses invited awe to the surface of his thoughts despite himself. “I haven’t asked Jean if she’s capable of it, but the one in which I spent the most time was always mostly the same. Perhaps subtle differences here and there.” He couldn’t contain the depth of his curiosity. Sorely, he wished for the opportunity to run mind experiments with other telepaths, but he knew Wanda was in no position for experimentation at the moment. Jean would be willing, were she here. Scott experienced a distinct hint of discomfort when he considered what Emma would be like. He could imagine her domineering M’Gann. From the sounds of it, M’Gann’s abilities wouldn’t be so quickly overtaken. However, Emma’s general demeanor seemed to attack anything sweet and kind, as if approaching the world with warmth and light as he detected off of M’Gann was a form of weakness. More than once, Scott had watched Emma ridicule others for such things. The love between them was complicated and difficult to explain to the outside world. There were things about Emma she concealed from everyone, hidden softness she’d allowed him to access when she trusted him. He’d made allowances for her, despite pointed unkindnesses to people about whom he cared a great deal, in light of what he knew. In her absence, his unease over it was more difficult to overcome. He wouldn’t want her anywhere near M’Gann, particularly in a situation wherein Emma might feel threatened by a telepath who could match or even surpass her.

Scott laughed more genuinely, his eyes lighting up in a manner she would never be able to see in the waking world. “That’s devious, M’Gann. I bear my baker’s soul to you and you expose me.” He considered her question. “I can’t remember exactly. I was young. It was in the Institute, so I couldn’t have been older than sixteen or younger than fourteen. Somewhere in there. Others on our team spent time in the kitchen. Do you know Hank? He and I are similar in that we like taking things apart and reassembling them. Deconstructing cakes and brownies seemed a normal progression in the kitchen. I usually credited our successes to him. I didn’t want anyone expecting me to make it a habit, should I fail to execute.” Scott wistfully recalled being covered in flour alongside Hank, frustrated until the younger boy soothed him with his even and grounded demeanor. He was always respectful of Scott’s need to withdraw when the textures and the frustration led to overwhelming him, which cast the memories in gold. 

“The leveling system as I acknowledge it relates only to the quantifiable upper limits of a mutant’s power. Whether they elect to reach those limits isn’t part of the consideration. When in the wrong hands, the leveling system can be used as an excuse for persecution. Often, our internal classifications differ from those of external organizations. SHIELD would call Magneto an Omega level threat. Being an Omega level mutant doesn’t inherently make you a threat, nor should the classification be twisted away from the honor it implies. An Olympic athlete isn’t feared for their ability to be the best at what they do. Olympically trained martial artists can inflict massive damage on the average person, but they do not, and others do not fear those who walk among them. To me, there is no difference.” He watched her curiously. “Which things won’t you do?” Mutants were not the best with self-regulation. There were those who did elect to take on the responsibility of tempering themselves, like Charles, but the necessity of a situation was ever-fluctuating.

He grimaced. “I don’t know everything, but what Wanda is experiencing seems similar to what Jean had to endure when she became the Phoenix’s host. No one has ever been more suited to holding it than she has, but her journey to reach stability was a rocky one paved with fear and isolation. Wanda appears to be at that stage. I trust minds like Steve Rogers’ regarding what does and doesn’t belong here. Captain America advocates for those who cannot advocate for themselves. If he believes her capable of the right growth, I’ll leave them to it until she is ready.” M’Gann could apparently understand fear and how isolating it could be. What she said about aliens made his eyes flash in anger which was in no way directed at her. He contained it, refusing to potentially harm or upset her. His voice did bely his tension, however, as he spoke. “People are often misinformed or willfully ignorant. What they are afraid of is no reflection on who you are. Only you get the right to determine that.” He felt strongly about this. It was a sentiment passed down from Charles. There would always be people who attempted to cast them aside or destroy them. It fell upon them to change their minds or defend their peace. Nothing more. “If they would harm you, they are the monsters they create in their heads. Not you.”

The change that came over Scott was astounding. His whole body relaxed the very instant he stepped into the sitting room and he blinked for a moment, as though he were clearing dust from his eyes. M’gann most noticed his mind, however. The psychic pain which she’d found him in had lifted. She smiled wordlessly.

So often, leaders and teammates would ask her to use her telepathy to harm someone. They rarely understood why she declined. Martian telepathy was a language and a way of life. It was more than a weapon. That it could serve as a tool to heal the hurting? A blessing. 

“Ah, there’s nothing in here that you could snoop on that I wouldn’t have placed intentionally,” she explained. “These things are here for my guests to enjoy. This whole sitting room is.” M’gann pulled her legs onto the couch to sit pretzel-style. “I tend to spend time in my other mindscapes when I’m by myself. When I’m not decorating in here, of course.” She chuckled at that. 

“Thank you for the compliment.” She looked around fondly. “It really is meant for company. You’re welcome here whenever you like.” The ceramic pitcher rose into the air and poured into the two cups, which each floated over to the couch. M’gann’s drink was a frozen strawberry lemonade, a spring of mint and a few blueberries mixed in as though she’d prepared the drink herself. Scott’s would be whatever his own mind’s eye came up with. “Just give me a mental call and I’ll let you in as long as you’re in my resting range, even when I can’t be here. More of a mental shout if you’re out of my range.”

“You did not,” M’gann gaped, stifling a laugh. “Why not just stick your head in a freezer? I find that sitting in a freezer can be—well, look who I’m talking to.” She let herself have that laugh. “Well, you’re welcome in my freezer anytime.” She paused, thinking that statement over, then coughed and continued. “Well, technically it’s not even my freezer, I’m just the only person who seems willing to prepare a deer for the starving masses.” 

“I thought you were unusually familiar with telepathy.” She sighed. “Most people shrink back in fear when they find out what I can do. I guess they think that I’ll actually do it.” Even people she knew well, people she’d known for years, had on occasion shrunk back from her telepathy. As if she would merely mention it and then unceremoniously yank their deepest secrets right out of them. “Do they both… Have this? To be honest, I’ve never spoken to Jean and I’ll admit that I don’t really know what is happening with Wanda and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.”

x

“You have more than one?” That surprised him, if only because Emma, Maddy, and Jean had only one. He wondered if Wanda had multiple. He supposed M’Gann was different from the prior three. They were all definitively mutants or mutant derivatives. M’Gann was something else. “Is it difficult to maintain that?” He’d rather speak to her than spend his time observed while he paged through the books the mindscape supplied. Scott wasn’t very good with small talk, but he understood the importance of her offered intimacy. He wouldn’t disrespect her by ignoring her in her own space, even if she graciously offered to allow it.

“I’ve seen that Italian girl in the smaller kitchen. Maybe she could help you. Or you could get an assistant to order around. I’d offer, but trust me when I say you profoundly do not want it to be me.” Scott didn’t have a head for cooking. He could find fascination in the recipes, but he lacked the creativity for cooking. “I won’t brag, but I’m a pretty decent baker. Baking is more like science. I never got the cook with love thing down, though. I don’t get the concept.” He wasn’t without emotion, he simply lacked the understanding of how to infuse it into food. “But I like taking things apart and putting them together. Baking is good for that. Don’t tell my team. I’ll never live it down.” He could hear Logan heckling him in the back of his mind already.

“Emma and Jean are omega level telepaths. It means they are all but unsurpassable in their upper limits of telepathy. As far as I know, this is only a classification for mutantkind. If I’m missing that you’re one, too, please let me know. Typically, it’s for single power mastery. For example, Jean is a rare telepath/telekinetic combination, but she is only an omega level telepath while her telekinetic limits aren’t. If that makes sense. It’s all a bunch of crap for the most part, but it does help determine the best person for a job when there are people contesting it.” He shrugged. “As far as Wanda... I wouldn’t guess she’s an omega level telepath, as she has far more abilities than just telepathy. I haven’t worked closely with her, but I have read her file. As for being afraid...” Scott shrugged his shoulders. “My tolerance for fear is incredibly well-developed at this point. From what I’ve heard, they want to test her for an X- or Meta- Gene. If she’s a mutant, I’ll be even less afraid. They blow up what happens to us and use fearmongering to Other us.” He shrugged. “Not that you asked, but if you want my opinion, I’d encourage you to make your own connection to her and see what you think. A telepath would be one of the best people suited for determining another telepath’s nature. Jean trusts her.” That was all Scott needed as far as his own untested opinion. “And I trust Jean.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Truth be told, I have never had what people call the healthy fear of telepathy. I grew up with Charles and Jean. I’ve been around them for a long time, and it’s a lot more convenient for me. You see... I’m not the best at talking. Especially when I’m overstimulated.”

Scott. She’d been taught that name, too. Her claws had clicked to the concrete as she unwound her way down the Blackbird, slinking closer, closer, as they spoke. Near enough to meet Scotty. She craned her neck, sniffing. Watching, the light, especially - the way the light moved, across his glasses. How it hummed, at the very edge of her hearing. There was a comfort to the tone. Ama tapped at his hand, then, more confidently, grabbed at his thumb, her opposable paw-pads gripping at him. Only for a moment, before she swirled back to press against Hank’s shins.

He met her with a behind-the-ear scratch. Strangers were getting easier. Not that Scott entirely counted. Hank straightened up, rolling his shoulders with a scoff of a laugh. Fun. For a given definition, yes. “Sentinel-adjacent technology,” he corrected, prepared to be particular. “I’ll show you what we brought back. But only after.” Did the Blackbird demand Scott’s attention more urgently, at this point? Not really. Did Scott deserve the familiar comfort of purposeful work, on their jet? Before taking in those troubling signs? Absolutely. They both did. Nothing like a little tinkering to cleanse the palate, he’d always found. A job for between jobs. 

“Well.” Hank turned with his captain to where he’d set the uninstalled turbofans, their blades gleaming, darkly iridescent. “About Nevada. Let’s - let’s start with the where. The site certainly did host some of Sinister’s work. For -” he bent to take the ball Ama had brought back, ready to play again, and winged it down the hangar for her to scamper after. “Three to four years, by my estimate. However: the bunker wasn’t his.” Nathaniel Essex liked his lairs bespoke, and had the means. His undertakings did demand certain unique considerations, too - they’d refit, in that underground lab. To Sinister’s specifications, based on comparisons he’d made to the Institute’s files. “His allies were bureaucratic, in their management. Not the… inspired individuals or contained thinktanks he tends to prefer.” Essex wasn’t fond of collaboration, historically; never like this. Only made the evidence all the more unsettling. “Quicker to abandon and adjust development. Ruthlessly organized, and expendable. Less interested, it seems, in the fruits of his work - as projects, in and of themselves - than in observing those results. As live, in-house demonstrations, I imagine, of metahuman abilities they hoped to find some means of mimicking. Without biochemical intervention. Or fielding any cloned operatives.” Smacked of anti-mutant bigotry, extreme enough to resist the hypocritical temptation to fight with fire, to become, or put to use, that which they despised. 

And no, he wouldn’t call that device locked down in his lab any more than mere mimicry. A facsimile, incomparable to the original. Even if it were, of course, still horrendously dangerous. “They didn’t succeed especially well, for all that,” Hank continued, leaning around the back of the fan with a hammer and an aluminum drift, “but less for any glaring flaw in their efforts, or materials, than the frailty of the human element. Which,” he paused, after a - well, the only tap he needed, it seemed. He hadn’t meant to strike the blade quite so hard, but. There. The first of the pieces they had to replace was thoroughly loosened, slid half-way out of the fir-tree serration holding it in place. He’d winced; that ping had sounded an awful lot like the lock pin shearing right in two. Ladilla. On to the rest, with a lighter touch. “Which, combined with their apparently exceptional resources, lends sense to the otherwise unlikely step of attempting to, yes - make the Sentinel Program a reality.” 

Ping. Another blade. Another pin, snapped. Hank huffed, sharply, through his nose, and glanced aside - to those sunglasses he’d ground himself, out of their stockpile of ruby quartz. And that brow and jaw-set he knew so well. “I suspect whoever Sinister was working alongside began to do precisely that, in earnest, two to three years ago.” When the X-Men had been so preoccupied with the fallout from the Accords, the state of the Institute, and the underpinnings of Genosha. “It was always a when, really. More than an if.” He half-mumbled that, carrying on to the next blade, the gentler-still ding of steel on aluminum on steel the only sound while Scott absorbed the story so far. That, and the near-distant chirp-cough of Ama tearing back, her prey no doubt caught, tightly, in those sharp teeth. Another story. For another time, yes. They had more than enough to talk about, already…

He held up his hands and smirked. “Blackbird first,” he agreed. He could defer for that noble cause. Besides, Hank’s willingness to fill him in on some other matter of business meant there was something on which Scott could focus his mind as his hands fell into the familiar movements within the mechanics of their beloved jet. He listened, jaw set. His own work yielded fewer broken pins, his strength less difficult to check than Hank’s own. Scott didn’t ridicule him or comment, though Hank doubtlessly felt him noticing. The Blackbird never begrudged them their rough hands and calloused fingers. She allowed their conspiratorial murmuring beneath her while they worked and permitted their endless tinkering. 

“Logan mentioned a clone of Sunspot. And others. I don’t like what I hear.” He contemplated keeping back information about X-Force from Hank, but his perspective was invaluable. “When I arrived, it was one of the reports I bookmarked as justification for forming a new integrated X-Force. We need to have dedicated pursuants for that kind of inhumane work which requires a more inhuman response. Captain Rogers has already given me his blessing to recruit from his team. Wonder Woman will agree when I show her the pragmatism, I’m sure of it. What you’re talking about is the exact kind of thing I would want X-Force to deal with. We can’t take chances.”

..

“Not many, they want the guy to talk, not scream the place down, Slim.” Logan shook his head. “Just have to make sure he can’t do anything to himself while we hold him.” At the mention of Jean he shook his head. “No, not yet. I think we’re saving that till we’ve exhausted everything else. You know how much of a toil that telepathy can have on someone.” 

At the mention of him wanting Laura on this team, he couldn’t help but bristle ever so slightly but he had to remember that Laura had to make her own decisions now that she was an adult. Logan had done the best he could while she was a teen but he had never controlled the decisions she needed to make for herself. “Hm, I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of putting her directly in danger but I have always said that two Wolverines are better than one on a team.” Twice as deadly. 

“Call me when the team building exercises are over.”

x

“I’m not suggesting torture, Logan. Christ.” They’d utilized such methods in the past, though not typically as the initial one. Scott understood the necessity of less savory practices in pursuit of the greater good, but it brought him no great joy. “He’s at the Mousehole?”

He nodded, acknowledging Logan’s concern. Logan was more pragmatic than he was credited to be, as Scott expected. He didn’t refuse. “She’s more qualified than some of the heroes older than she is on the Nomads,” he said. “And I worked with her extensively when she was a New Mutant. Dani trained her well for teamwork, you know that.”

Rolling his eyes, Scott laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder to keep him there. Should he truly wish to depart, he could easily do so, but Scott didn’t shy away from touch with Logan. He was a more visceral teammate. It was a more effective means of connecting. “You know I won’t do that,” he said. “But I know you’ll fight me every step. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

..

Bobby couldn’t help, nor did he hide the giant smirk that spread across his lips when Scot responded with that tune. He let Scott take his hand and look over it. “This is why I’ve come back from my assignment. I’m supposed to still be in Serbia because there’s an ISA presence slowly gathering there.” 

“A.. mixture of both perhaps?” Bobby didn’t really know what to feel just that it was weird. “I need some blood tests to find out before I can say for sure if something big is about to happen to me.” 

x

He held tightly to Bobby’s hand to keep himself upright. He had no desire to fall flat on his face. “How did it go? Is there anything we need to look into?” Serbia was not far from here. It could easily circulate into Sokovia. Scott was certain there would be a number of agents already within the country, but thus far they remained less conspicuous. Were they to openly invade, he was certain the Nomads would be forced to retaliate. If the state of their current operations was any indication, they weren’t yet prepared for that. 

“Hank can help you,” Scott determined. “It’s possible you’re on the cusp of another mutation. We should prepare for that. It happens to some of the kids at the Institute. Usually, it’s manageable.” 

“Oh,” she exclaimed, a little startled. She had forgotten the need for his glasses. The two of them had met only a handful of times, all in passing. M’gann knew the significance of his shades by reputation alone. If he’d told her, or if anyone had really sat her down about it, she liked to think that she’d have remembered on her own. 

Without moving an inch, M’gann allowed her telekinesis to lightly take hold of his glasses where they rested on the crate. They rose and drifted close enough for her to hold them out for him, but she opted to let them simply breeze over his ears and onto the bridge of his nose. Hopefully that would make him more comfortable… She didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn’t wearing them, but she knew he spoke the truth. It was dangerous. He was dangerous. Just like her. 

“Very well,” M’gann said simply. She touched both hands to his temples and breathed deeply, closing her eyes. All part of acting natural and allowing her subjects to feel comfortable with her ability. Scott Summers seemed unusually at ease with telepathy. He allowed her to draw him into the safety of her own mind so simply. She opened the door for him and he waltzed right in. 

M’gann’s psychic sitting room was neat and tidy. Elements of it often changed, but for now there was a cozy, overstuffed leather couch on a traditional area rug, in turn on dark, hardwood floors. A coffee table with magazines sat before it. Bookshelves lined the wall beside the couch. The visible walls were a teal blue which matched nicely with the wainscotting and the ceiling beams. 

A little table with a tiered display of petit fours and a painted ceramic pitcher with matching cups rested near the stairs across from an alcove with an upright piano. In addition to the rounded door M’gann had brought Scott in through, there was an open door with a screen that let out onto a patio with a large lawn and a door that appeared to be a closet. The upstairs, of course, remained unseen. 

She shut the door gently, so that it remained open just a crack. People tended to want to believe they could leave of their own accord. “Is this any better?” M’gann asked tentatively. It might take a full dusting in his mind to do any good, but she usually found that her sanctuary was enough to put minds at ease. “I’m going to sit down on the couch. Feel free to look around before you join me.” M’gann picked up a magazine full of images of clothing that inspired her or that she had worn before or was thinking of wearing and put it back down. “Please, make yourself at home.”

x

The familiarity of M’Gann’s actions were a comfort in and of themselves. She was so much like Jean. Her telepathy and telekinesis provided respite for Scott the likes of which only Jean Grey could offer otherwise and the invitation into her mindscape sagged his shoulders, the relief from his physical pain instantaneous as she so thoroughly enveloped his mind in what she wanted him to see. Apart from the wall color, the room was reminiscent of one of the well-known rooms within Xavier’s mansion. The comfort of even that small resemblance settled Scott even further into the ease of the location she provided. In her mindscape, he could see her as she truly was, no longer cast in the rosy red of his perpetually concealed gaze. The vibrancy of her hair and the bright, inviting blue of her eyes was unexpected. Her similarity to Jean did not end with her abilities, it seemed. The fire of her hair drew a smile to his lips. She was lovely here in the full honesty of true color. Red hair was always Scott’s favorite shade, though he’d traded it for white blonde after the failures of his first two marriages. 

Her demeanor conveyed the same warmth and welcome as the room which had formed around him. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of snooping." In the absence of another chair, he joined her on the couch. Maintaining a respectful distance from her, he cast his eyes around in some curiosity before returning them to her face. “Your mindscape is different from the others I know. It’s nice. Thank you for inviting me into it.” 

He knew well the solace a mindscape could provide to a telepath, and the intimacy of allowing others access. M’Gann did not need to do that for him. They were not close. To allow him the sanctity of painless moments here in this room she constructed belied a selfless kindness he would not soon forget. “I’m sorry I invaded your freezer,” he offered. “The cold helps with the migraines. In the absence of something better, I’ve been known to dance around hypothermia by standing in the shower under an icy stream for too long. Behind the Institute, there’s a lake. Most avoid it in winter unless it’s frozen enough for skating. Charles used to find me there often with my hand half frozen so I could wrap it around the back of my neck.” He sighed. “Nothing works better than telepathic relief, though. Jean is busy so often now. I didn’t want to bother her. Or you. Wanda’s inaccessible, and I don’t think we have any others on the team after you three.” Everyone had their own difficulties or duty with which they must contend, and Scott despised inconveniencing others for such a selfish reason.

…

“The trees beg for mercy and I’m supposed to feel bad for humanity when they destroy them?” She asked with a tight voice. “This tree is older than every person in this clearing and they see fit to tear it down for…” She looked at the phone, scrolling down a little bit to see what the holiday was about. “Fertility?” She’d never heard of anything more selfish. The people she was descended from took from the land but it was with great reverence. She wasn’t sure if they would try to justify tearing down a birch tree of this age and strength but she was sure she would try to stop them too.

“If you expect me to move for this, I won’t.” The roots of the tree under her feet called out to through the mycelium network to the others around it and she could feel the vibrations of fear. “Its life is just as important as yours.”

x

“The trees beg...” It sounded insane for the span of a moment when she said it, but Scott was well aware of the abilities possessed by certain individuals which allowed them to view the world around them with different perspectives. “Do you mean that literally? You can speak to plants?” He couldn’t produce a mutant with the capability off the top of his head, but the notion was not so outlandish to him. He believed her, therefore understanding where she was coming from. If she could speak to them in the same manner through which she was speaking to him, this situation was comparable to allowing someone to slaughter an elder for the sake of tradition. He couldn’t ask her to stand aside for such a thing in good conscious.

The situation remained tense and difficult to navigate, Scott recognized. In respecting this woman’s wishes, he would need to disrespect the Sokovian people’s traditions unless a medium could be reached. His attention returned to the crowd behind him. Some of them appeared to understand the exchange between Scott and the woman, but others lacked comprehension and their anger and irritation was clearly displayed on their face.

Scott was careful with his words while he described what was going on, asking the Sokovians to reconsider. He suggested a maypole or a tree already fallen through natural means. Some argued that foreigners had no place telling them through what means they were permitted to carry out their traditions, leading Scott to wince. He apologized for his disrespect, attempting compromise once more. 

He returned to the woman who now leaned with her back up against the thick trunk of the tree. “Can you tell them where they can find a felled tree? They are willing to use that and protect this one.”

Hand to hand combat was her expertise, but with hunting on her job description Laura wanted to make sure that her aim continued to hit the spot. The Mousehole had professional archers and she’d be damned if she couldn’t keep up with them. She borrowed a bow and a set of arrows, testing her limits with the targets – multiple arrows at once, eyes closed to rely on her other senses – until a voice caught her attention. Her eyes snapped open and she looked over her shoulder, smiling before she turned to greet him.

“Cyclops,” she called, not knowing how else to address him aside from the codename that she had come to relate to devoted leadership and steady guidance. “He didn’t tell me you were joining us, will you be here for long?” The thought was both welcome and a little nerve-wracking. She stiffened as she realized what it meant for the kids back home. “Is Emma Frost directing the Institute by herself?”

The bow and arrow surprised him and he inclined his head to one side. “Are you working on mastering a new weapon set?” She was typically martial in the same way her father was. Surely her claws were more efficient than such a medieval form of fighting. Expanding one’s skillset had merit, but Scott wondered after her choice. There were two archers in the Mousehole. It could stand to reason she’d become close to them. Perhaps she sought to emulate their skills. Scott would prefer to cultivate her own.

“Indefinitely,” he said. Her trepidation over Emma was understandable. Scott cared for Emma, but her treatment of Laura was unforgivable. There was none more suited to question Emma’s capability with the minds and emotions of the students in her care, though Scott was confidence in her abilities and in her compassion for her charges. “She is. There were no other options. I trust her to keep them safe, even if her methods are  at times heavy-handed.”

@summersofx​

Already, only a few days back on Earth, M’gann was beginning to ease into her old routine. She’d dusted the library, this time granting herself the use of telekinesis to sweep it all up and turn it into an actual dust bunny to play with like a puppet before it was time to move on to a more favored task. Well, the lead-up to a more favored task. M’gann was perfectly proficient at preparing the deer Clint brought back for the Mousehole, but she far preferred the actual cooking process. 

There was always pain in the minds of certain Nomads. Always pain. So many people hurting in one castle. And so little M’gann could do without overstepping. That was partly why she was taken by surprise to find none other than Scott Summers in her cold storage room, clearly nursing a sharp, severe throbbing in his head as he sat in the corner. 

M’gann knelt down and looked him over. It was unsettling enough for most humans to have their surface minds scanned. She’d long ago taken to adding the accompanying movements, even though her own telepathy was doing far more than her eyes. It was meant to be comforting. Saying nothing, M’gann hastened back into the kitchen for a cup of cold water. When she returned, she took his hand and placed the cup into it. Making absolutely certain his fingers grasped it. 

Then, so slowly, she put her palm to his right temple. Again, unnecessary, but most humans found it comforting to believe she needed physical contact to enter their psyches. “Scott, I can help you.” she breathed. M’gann gave a gentle telepathic nudge, akin to beginning to unwrap the foil around a Hershey kiss. She chose her words carefully. Short, and asking permission. “May I?”

The rose quartz glasses which were a staple of his appearance had been set aside when Scott found the cooler off the large kitchen. His lack of anticipation of this very outcome after electing to push the limits of his reading in an ill-advised Herculean attempt to bring himself to the present with the Mousehole reports grated on his nerves. Scott’s reliance on his own ability to self-regulate typically resulted in situations like this, as his dedication to his service tended to supersede his sense of self-preservation. Often, it was Jean, Emma, or Charles who reminded him of his limitations in effort to preserve his comfort. Without the latter two present and with the former preoccupied elsewhere, Scott’s self-regulation was still recovering. It was perhaps for the best. It was inevitable for him to one day be without the convenience of telepathy to remind him of his mounting mental pressure. He suffered his consequences tucked into the darkest corner of the freezer in hopes of avoiding making himself a nuisance to anyone who might stumble inside for any reason. 

His thumb and forefinger were pressed against each eye and the pain tightened his body to shaking. Typical medications for this kind of issue failed to assuage his pain, leaving Scott with no choice but to endure. Fortunately after so many years persevering through both this and the countless tribulations of being an X-Men, his tolerance was substantial. It would be quite a while before he hit the wall of his pain sensitivity, though he would suffer with each advancing wave of his throbbing head. 

Scott was not well acquainted with the Martian on the Justice League. He’d know her uncle only fractionally better. However, she had given him no cause for alarm or distrust. Scott’s faith in others was hard won, but he did tend to elect for neutrality with strangers rather than suspicion. M’Gann M’Orzz proved herself deserving as she delivered the water to him. He held the glass, making no move to drink the contents. If he adjusted his posture and somehow glimpsed her, he could do considerable damage. He gestured toward the crate on which he’d deposited his lenses. “My glasses,” he told her. “You shouldn’t talk to me without them. Dangerous.” He had no desire to harm the woman, and groped for the spectacles dutifully despite his self-imposed blindness.

…

Ivy didn’t know what was going on, but the trees told her that every year the villagers came to hurt them. They came to cut them down or rip pieces of their branches away so their sap leaked like thick blood all over the grass and down their trunks. The rumblings of human feet in the woods were enough to make them scared and they begged the women they were sheltering to protect them. One of their dearest and oldest sisters was in danger they said. The people were coming to cut her down and wrap her in their trash, parading her corpse for them all to see like some sick game. 

Protect us they begged Ivy. 

Ivy would try. That was how she found herself with her back pressed against the trunk of the birch tree that pulsed in fear at the approaching swarm. The man who stepped out of the crowd didn’t sound like he was from Sokovia and Ivy didn’t know his face. She still half-growled when he got to close. “They are going to kill this tree,” she told him. “I won’t let them.” She’d kill everyone in this clearing if it meant the gentle giant behind her got to live.

x

This woman’s face was unfamiliar to him, though the blaze in her eyes informed him of her intensity. She wasn’t from Sokovia. If she were, she would likely recognize the tradition being honored here. She stood like a sentinel between the birch and the crowd with violence coiled in her limbs not unlike an angry serpent prepared to sink her teeth into waiting skin. “They are celebrating a holiday from their pagan roots.” 

Producing his phone, Scott presented it for the woman’s perusal. “They do this every year. I don’t believe they will tear out the roots.” Without the context of this woman’s identity, Scott couldn’t be sure the declaration would appease her. The stirrings of the crowd behind him prompted him to speak further before someone at his back found an opportunity to retaliate. There was no need for any further altercation. His focus remained on the woman in front of him, his voice even. “More than ever, the people of Sokovia need connection to their traditions. So much has been taken from them.” Attempting to appeal to this woman’s humanity might work. Emotion was a powerful motivator.

“Definitely true,” Bucky agreed with a bit of a smile, shaking his head. “Food’s great, but overpriced, like everything else. Can’t believe how much a house costs now, Jesus. More’n more people not able to afford the basics, and the way I can’t look god damn anywhere without an ad popping up every two seconds.” He shook his head as the elevator made cheerful little ding!s between floors. “Oh, and fashion’s worse.” 

“Yeah,” he answered as the doors opened to the ground floor, stepping out and heading towards the laundry room. “It’s mostly sitting in the security room and patrolling around the castle’s perimeter. Not that much really comes our way.” He shrugged. “But I suppose you never know. Steve said you’re going to be picking up some of the slack with leadership? Lots of your people here, bet they’re glad.”

x

“Fashion, really?” He’d seen some of the clothes of the 1940s. Men wore boxy suits and suspenders, pleated pants. Scott preferred his jeans and flannel shirts over being so formal. “I know some of it’s pretty out there, but some of it’s not bad.” He swept his eyes over the other male. “You seem to have adapted to that offense well enough. As for the rest of it, I don’t believe there’s much hope for slowing the effects of capitalism. Companies get greedier and more ambitious, content to pad the pockets of their executives while their employees are starving.” Scott’s soft spot for the exploited came well before the X-Men, but his team only exacerbated that inclination.

“Would you like to change that?” The transition into asking him about leadership provided an ideal segue. “I have an initiative I’ve proposed to Diana and Steve. They’ve approved my selections. It’s a happy accident that you’re the one I stumbled on, I guess.” The Winter Soldier occupied a top spot on his list for X-Force.

…

“We continue to press him for answers and information, but he’s being a stubborn sonofabitch.” Logan grumbled. “We can’t just let him go now, he’ll go straight to his boss and lead them here which isn’t what we need right now.”

 At the mention of the X-Force, his eyebrows raised. “Finally, something worth my time. If it does come into fruition, count me in.” It meant that Logan could actually use his violent tenancies. 

“From what we found, which wasn’t much, they are trying to clone us. We found a body, a clone of Sunspot.” Logan sighed at the memory. “Somehow, they must have been at a party or some type of event the kid was at too and took a sample of his DNA. All you need is a hair or some saliva anyway. Even then, they’re only partial clones because you need blood for success. Look at Laura, look at Gabby. The kid never would’ve lasted long anyway and have been in agony from the moment of his birth.” 

x

“We have him in custody?” Scott asked. He wasn’t informed of that. “At the Mousehole? What strategies are being used to question him?” The X-Men usually attempted to remain humane, but some people didn’t respond well to kindness. There were other methods with which some of the team was equipped. “Have you asked Jean?” It was inordinately difficult to hide from a telepath, especially they knew what they sought and how to seek it.

“It will come to fruition. I’ve spoken to Captain Rogers about his teammates. The two Black Widows, Winter Soldier, Hawkeye. They’re well-suited. I want to ask Robin, as well. Per my understanding of his files, he has the training required. For us, I want Rahne, you, Jean, myself...” He paused to look directly at Logan. “And Laura.” Logan was not typically a loving man, but his clone had quickly became his daughter. He was protective. Scott felt the same about the younger Wolverine, but he wouldn’t attempt to supersede Logan’s authority. She was an adult, but he would prefer to do this with Logan’s blessing before picking a war with one of his dearest friends.

.

“Excuse me, possibly your people,” Angelo corrected with a puckish grin, unbothered. “I’ve only met a handful thus far. Donna, Scarlet Witch, Wonder Girl, Superman. But I figure that means there are more than these few around. Worry not, I’ve gotten the impression that discretion is appreciated, and discretion happens to be my specialty.” And how. 

“Indeed. But I really would advise on finding a way to talk these children into ceasing their artistic endeavors. Lovely as the murals are, they do draw attention. You seem friendly with the little ones, Mr. Summers—any chance they’d listen to you?”

x

Discretion was not a useless specialty to have, particularly regarding the current topic of discussion. Scott’s scrutiny of Angelo had increased with the revelation of how privy he was to the secrets of Sokovia’s fugitive hero population. He would not allow this man to create a threat for them. He resolved to speak with Donna Troi, though they were not close. The Justice League’s collaborations with the Avengers and the X-Men in New York made him familiar with her. Their acquaintance ended there, but perhaps she could be forthcoming about the kind of man Angelo was. Scott did often rely on his instincts regarding new faces, but without any context he couldn’t pass judgement on Angelo. He had to accept his word. Donna could confirm if his word was worth anything at all, or if this was a security risk which should be addressed with leadership. “We would appreciate discretion,” he said.

“I like kids, but I don’t have much ground in Sokovia. I only just got here. I don’t know if my scolding could get them to change. Has Donna addressed it at all? As the subject, she must have earned some of their respect.”

To some, that might make her a threat or liability. Others would look at Laura and see incredible potential and power. Scott was here at her side because of that potential. 

“Your father told me I could find you here.”