One Step Beyond

X-gene…stomp, stomp…Mendel…stomp, stomp, "Dammit!" stomp…

Don't you dare. Not one more step, not one more…

Jean Grey clamped her teeth over her highlighter and hunched into to her desk lamp, squeezing the thick book a little tighter in her fingers. She had been mulling Dr. Henry McCoy's theories on mutant genetics for the better part of two months, and almost grasped his first chapter. She could feel the truth of it teasing and testing the back of her subconscious, and sometimes part of the book haunted her dreams – only to be lost when the concept startled her to full consciousness. She had the odd habit of sinking her teeth into impossible doctoral theses and textbooks when frustrated, and the latest developments had her returning to McCoy's studies with a vengeance – but this time, it felt like McCoy suddenly made sense. Jean was almost there, she could feel it. She only needed few more seconds. If this is correct, she thought, rubbing her forehead and D734's can break from their natural mutancy, then—

"What's taking him so long?" stomp, stomp…

Come on Jean, think. Ignore it. It's…it's…Damn. Lost it--!

"Enough, Scott!"

Stomp, st-- Scott's leg hung in mid-step. "Wha--?" 

"I almost had it!"

Scott glared at her as his legs were unnaturally immobile. "You have no right to freeze--"

"Scott," she growled. Her teeth were clenched as she waved two shaking, pinched fingers in his face.  "I was this close to understanding. I only needed --"

"We made a pact, Jean. We promised never to use our powers against each other, even when furious. The 'count to ten' rule, remember? What the hell's wrong with you?"

She pursed her lips at the cold fury on his face and shook her head, exasperated. Scott's body stumbled forward as his legs suddenly obeyed their last mental command. "Never mind." She shoved her glasses over her eyebrows and rubbed her forehead. "Do whatever the hell you want."

"If you wanted me to stop pacing, all you had to do was ask. You don't have to control me like your own personal Pinocchio."

Jean slammed her pen on her desk. "What do you think I was doing for the past hour? This is my lab, my time. You invaded my sanctum and you didn't seem to care that I was in the middle of something before barging in here and marching the merenge like a bull in a china shop.  I said no fewer than ten times, 'Scott, it'll be all right. Scott, he'll find her…Scott, please stop pacing, you're giving me a headache. Scott, please go upstairs…' But you wouldn't listen."

"Yeah? Well…" All the steam went out of him at once as he realized how pointless arguing about it was. They were both tired and cranky, and he knew better. Jean needed her own 'power down' time and he wasn't giving it to her. A wry grin played at the corners of his mouth. "Sorry. I got lost in the moment."

"You think?" She slammed the thick book shut and a plume of dust floated around her head. "Trust me. I'm just as frustrated as you are. You pace. I think."

Scott sighed and came behind her, massaging her taut shoulders as a peace offering. "I should've paced in our room. Guess I wanted to vent."

"Well, go vent to Logan in the Danger Room. I don't think he'd care what you'd say or do, as long as he got to destroy something."

Scott chuckled. "He probably has destroyed it by now. Kitty helped me replace two motherboards last month because he got a little 'ticked' with one of the Magneto programs."

"What else is new?"

"Yeah," he repeated sadly. "What else."

"I'm sorry."

"Makes two of us."

 Jean's anger evaporated with a long, lingering exhale and the tips of her fingers danced across the fine downy hairs of Scott's arm, putting him in a light hypnotic state. For a few minutes neither spoke, enjoying the  comfortable, reflective silence.

"So?"

"Hm…?" He yawned. He couldn't sleep when things were off-balance -  hadn't been sleeping well in nearly two months.

"How'd the server adjustments go?"

He glanced up sharply, fully awake. "How'd you know about that?"

"I couldn't understand why Doug was so distracted during chemistry class," Jean said. A small smile hugged the corners of her lips.  "It's usually one of his favorite subjects.  I didn't pry, but he hasn't been with us very long and his shields are noticeably weaker than some of the other children's - he had computers on the brain."

"How much did he broadcast?"

"I don't know what it's about, other than a computer breach."

"Mm," Scott said, casually shifting his feet. She didn't need to worry as much as he did – it wasn't her job – but he knew she wouldn't drop it until she had something concrete to sink her teeth into.

"Magneto screwed us over. Again. He had a private backdoor into our servers to access all of our information, our secrets, our battle plans – even our practice battle scenarios. He could download when we'd succeed at something, and when we failed. Probably kept pretty good records on our failures."

"God," Jean breathed. She sat back in her chair and looked at him with frightened eyes. "Is it fixed? Tell me it's fixed."

Scott shrugged. "According to Doug  we won't have any more problems. I trust him. He's quantum leaps ahead of Kitty in the programming department. Glad he's on our side."

"Thank God for that," Jean sighed. "I don't care about us, per se. We can handle ourselves pretty well. But no one should have any access to the children's records."

"I agree," Scott said, yawning. "They don't need any sleepless nights worrying about the next big ugly bad guy."

"Uh, huh. And when was the last time you had more than five hours' sleep?"

"Last decade," he joked, but she wasn't laughing. "Honest, Jean, don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

She didn't buy it. "When you start hiding things from me and retreating from me, you're spreading yourself  too thin."

"I'm fine, Jean." 

"Charles will find Ororo," she said softly, soothing his doubts in their mindlink. She squeezed his hand, feeling nothing but cold frustration and exhaustion. "You know more about all of this than I do, and I won't pry. But promise me that you won't go too deep, all right? Promise me…" she looked at him beyond his glasses. Stared directly into his eyes, where only she could see. "Promise me that you'll let her go once you've run out of options. Trust yourself to end it."

"Jean…"

"Sometimes you just have to let it go," she pressed. "As much as you'd like to believe the contrary, you can't save everyone."

He searched his mind for a retort, but found he was too tired to think of anything. Probably was a good idea, though, considering the fear mixed with hot anger in her eyes. "You're right, I can't deny that," he said diplomatically.  "But you'll have to trust me. I'll do what needs to be done, when the time comes."

"You'd better," she whispered. Her eyes searched his sadly, then angrily. "I mean it, Scott. I worry about you when you get like this."

"Yes, Mom."

She smacked him on the arm. "Jerk. Go on, get out of my lab and bug Logan a few hours."

"All right, all right." Scott's grin sobered. "But I'll take a quick peek down the hall to see how the Professor's doing first."

"It could be hours yet. He'll let you know when he's ready."

"Yeah, I know. But it can't hurt to check."

Jean smiled a little. "Glutton for punishment."

"Of course," he said. He kissed her softly. "I'm with you, aren't I?"

"Little shit."

He left the lab with her lingering laughter piercing the troubled parts of his mind.  She was right, and he should rest. The Professor would tell him what he needed to know. If he didn't find anything out, then he'd take Jean's suggestion and join Logan in a good old-fashioned brawl – which would keep his skills sharp for the inevitable confrontation.

But one thing nagged at his conscience.  He had subtly lied to Jean, and they both knew it. He could no more abandon Ororo than he could abandon Jean.

*     *     *

Despite being as large as her room at Xavier's, the bedroom felt uncomfortably cramped and carried an aura of chilly darkness. The austere metal walls and utilitarian bed, bookshelf, night table, and desk set sunk into her bones like a heavy depression. This would be her room, her residence. Possibly for the rest of her life.

"Not much, but we like to call it hell," Betsy said over Ororo's shoulder.

"Who lived here before?" Ororo placed her satchel on the edge of the bed and waited for Betsy to follow her, but Betsy paused in the doorframe, fidgeting uneasily.

"A girl who called herself Vertigo," Betsy said quickly. Too quickly. "She left. Wasn't much of a team player."

Ororo let the strange comment slide and began unpacking her things. She hadn't realized how many things, how many special things, she'd grabbed in her haste. She cradled a beige sweater close to her chest – the sweater Scott had given her, last Christmas. "Tell me what you're doing here, Betsy. I'd like to know."

"D'you want the short version or the long version?"

"Whichever you're comfortable with."

Betsy smirked and finally entered the room, flouncing on the other edge of Ororo's bed. "It's a long story either way. I visited Dr. Essex's clinic in Southampton after a few problems developed due to my mutations. He found a way for me to cope by altering my powers."

Ororo's hands paused on a picture frame depicting the entire faculty laughing and covered in dirt clumps and mud. They had just lost the, now infamous, "faculty versus students" tug-of-war. Rogue was quite the talented photographer and had snapped the photo right after Mr. Rasputin had given the rope one final, incredible yank.  The summer event had been doubly enjoyable with Logan's unexpected appearance.

"You miss your friends," Betsy said, watching Ororo's fingers caress the frame.

"They will always be a part of my heart," she said without embarrassment. "I spent my teen years and all of my adult life with them."

"Must be nice to have family."

Ororo faced her now. "You have none?"

"In a way," Betsy said. An ugly smirk spread across her lips. "I have an alcoholic twin brother I haven't seen in years. Last I heard he was married, but still stumbling around in the gutter. Heaven help his other half."

"I see. Is that why you've stayed here, because you have no one close?"

Her smile disappeared. "No. Not really. But that's another long story."

"Never mind, then. I won't pry – we all have our long stories."

The woman nodded and helped Ororo place her small collection of priceless items about the room. She put the picture in a prominent place, a place Ororo would have chosen herself. "But that's the problem with long stories, you see. No real ending to 'em. Like Remy and me, for example."

"Indeed," Ororo said. She hadn't expected Betsy to respond to that rift so quickly. "You two seem at odds with one another."

"That's putting it mildly." Betsy laughed and returned to Ororo's bed, nosily poking through her duffel bag. "We hate each other."

"But why?"

Betsy pulled out a long nightgown and wrinkled her nose. "We must go shopping tomorrow. Honestly, Ororo, a nun would have a more revealing nightie."

Ororo raised her eyebrow and yanked the nightgown from Betsy's fingers. "I was in a hurry and I chose the first thing in my closet. And you won't dodge my question that easily."

"Hm. I used to be better at avoiding bad questions. I'll have to work on that, I 'spose. "

"Seriously, Betsy," Ororo said quietly. "You don't have to tell me. I understand if it's a private argument between you."

"No, s'all right." Betsy stretched out across the bed and rested her chin on her hands. "You would've put two and two together eventually. We used to be lovers."

Ororo felt Betsy's eyes bore through her back, but the news wasn't shocking to her. She and Remy hadn't spoken in ten years, and he'd hardly been a monk then. In fact, sometimes the only way they survived was by his sexual encounters with lonely 40-year-old women reclaiming their lost youth. And sometimes he enjoyed himself as much as his customers did.

"I'm sorry it ended badly between you," she replied honestly.

"Don't be. We literally screwed ourselves when we tried to make it more than sex. We should've remained fuck buddies."

Ororo hid her smile while smoothing a pair of wrinkled linen pants across the bed. "It's been a long time since I had one of those."

"Wot?" Betsy scrambled to her side as Ororo sighed mournfully and sat on the bed. "Do tell, Miss Munroe. It's been ages since I've had any sex talk with a female friend. I'm starved for it. Tell me what the Xavier men're really like. Like that scrummy bearded fellow in your picture. Tell me all about him."

"You're awful. There's nothing to tell, really. I'm single. Most of the good bachelors are taken. And besides, we're all too close for anything to happen. It would be like having sex with my brothers."

"Cop out and a crock. Next reason."

Ororo giggled shyly. "All right, all right, no, I'm not a nun. But I've spend so much time grading papers and helping the children that it's been a long time since I've found much time for myself."

"Now that's a shame," Betsy said, grinning devilishly. "We'll have to change that. There's a club down the street – "

"Betsy…!"

"No, this is a really good one. And the boys are simply wonderful there. If nothing else, they're fantastic eye candy." She rose from the bed and crossed to the door.  "Anyway, pencil it in on your schedule. Go on, settle in – just remember, dinner's promptly at six. Don't be late. Essex despises tardiness."

"Betsy," Ororo started, and Betsy paused at the doorway, sensing the seriousness in her voice. "I'd like to talk to you about Doctor Essex. Among other things."

"Later, Ororo," Betsy said. Her face hardened. "You can ask me later, and I promise to tell you what I can. My guess is, you'll have other questions for me after dinner. I'm sure of it, in fact."

She left before Ororo could question her further, but Ororo didn't dwell on Betsy's words. True, she hated not knowing the full story, but Betsy didn't seem the type to lie outright – avoid the truth, definitely, but not lie. Despite her better judgment, Ororo found herself trusting her.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Miss Munroe." She sighed softly and put her few clothes in the closet and her personal effects about her room, deciding to take a small nap before dinner since. According to Betsy, a few surprises were in store, and she wanted to rest to be ready for them.

*      *      *

I killed that one slow, the mindvoice taunted. It trickled down his spine like nails scraping a chalkboard. Can ya feel the rush? Gave me a warm feelin' inside. I got off on it, Chuck. Pulled out 'er entrails with my pinky an' ate 'em on a Ritz cracker. Feel what I did, Chuck. It feels like good sex. Wanna see more? You telepaths love ta watch, dontcha? Maybe you wanna see what I'll do to yer 'child', once I get the chance.

<Where is she.>

He should have screamed. He wanted to tear his eyes away, to shout bloody murder, but he couldn't. He was mired in this pit of darkness, and the gory images nipped at his sanity with dark, cold pincers.
 
Wouldn't ya like ta know. C'mon, look closer. Maybe you'll learn ta like somethin'.

Charles Xavier thickened his mental shields and refused to wander in the murderous caverns of Sabretooth's mindscape. What frightened him, really, was not the monster's taunts, or even his flaunted acts of violence. No. The change scared him. The creature was no longer a flunky, no longer stupid. Someone physically – not mentally, since he would have detected it – had altered the mutant's mind so much, that he was no longer the same individual.

I can make her howl – make 'er feel pleasure an' pain an' she'll beg me to stop at the same time she's beggin' for more. Wanna see?

<That won't be necessary.>

Charles Xavier pulled out of Sabretooth's thoughts quickly and fiercely. His speed would give the monster a splitting headache, although at this point Xavier wished he could do more than just a headache. He felt as if he should take a long shower. Rarely had he felt a mind so tainted with violence…one that glorified in it so much.

Jean had offered to track Sabretooth at first. She had been practicing with Cerebro in smaller ways and they had both felt his mind would be easier to find, due to his animalistic nature. Xavier was glad he hadn't let her, now. The grotesqueness of Sabretooth's mind could have either killed Jean or driven her mad.

Xavier carefully put the helmet back in its housing and rolled down the metal gangplank, giving thought to a long discarded theory. He had little doubt that Sabretooth's change would've been extremely painful. Usually the mind could not possibly endure such a radical physical change in such a short period of time without several ill effects, and with Sabretooth the truth was doubly so.  Someone would've had to circumvent his considerable healing factor. Perhaps this was the reason for the mutant's recent psychopathic outbursts. Why would someone subject themselves to such horror? Stranger yet, how could someone do it?

He frowned as Cerebro's metal doors hissed shut behind him. He had very few conclusions, but one kept scaring him – and the more he thought of it, the more the horror of it dawned on him. His heart dropped in his chest as he seriously considered it.

"No, he's dead! He has to be…"

"Professor?"

Xavier looked up sharply, surprised to see Scott's sudden presence. He quickly covered his emotions without commenting on the outburst. "I've found pieces of the puzzle, Scott, but not nearly enough to find Ororo. And yet…Sabretooth is most definitely a key to this. Of that I'm certain."

Scott caught the hitch in his mentor's voice and fell into step with his wheelchair as they made the slow trek to the elevators. "But?"

Xavier sighed deeply. "It's hard to describe, especially to a non-telepath."

Scott halted at some gleaming doors and slapped the elevator call button with frustration. "Can you at least try?"

"I apologize, Scott," the Professor said, smirking. He steepled his fingers to his lips and remained silent until the elevator doors parted and allowed them access. When they were inside and comfortably within its soundproof walls, Xavier caught and held Scott's gaze.

"It's regarding Sabretooth's mental signature. Something…something about him has been adapted, and I don't understand how the change occurred. He seems mentally stronger now.  If I'm right… " Xavier's frown deepened. "It will sound rather conspiratorial."

"No, go on. If it can help us find Ororo, we'll need all the leads we can get."

Xavier surprised Scott by unexpectedly hitting the emergency stop. The elevator shuddered briefly, pausing between two floors. "I have a theory. But I'd prefer not to share it with everyone. Not yet."

"But if it's that important—"

Xavier waved Scott to silence. "It is important. But I'd rather not scare the others unnecessarily."

"Great," Scott muttered. "Too late for me."

"And you haven't even heard the best part," Xavier said. Scott felt his limbs grow numb. 

The Professor carefully weighed an idea in his mind. "Yes, I think it's time to share what I know. For all our sakes."

*     *     *

The laughter had started getting on his nerves.

"Please, Victor. You can stop hiding in the shadows like a common criminal."

A short grunt echoed throughout the basement "I ain't hidin'. If I were hidin', you wouldn't know it until your body felt it."

The voice chuckled in the dark, grating on his taut nerves. "That's why I chose you, you know. You're the only one who will follow unconditionally. Because you like the violence."

"Yeah, whatever. The money ain't half-bad, either."

"Money, violence. It's all the same to you."

Victor shuffled uncomfortably. "Didn't come here to argue politics with ya. One-a yer pretty boys're on the take. I'm gonna gut 'im, unless you come up with a better reason."

The chuckle suddenly turned bitter and a small fireball exploded in the center of the room. Victor shielded his eyes from the bright glare and blinked back dark spots in his vision.

"I'm no mindless beast with an altered cerebellum. I've had Gambit in my sites for some time now…Quite some time."

"That nancy-boy's got some pretty tough shit planned," Victor growled. He didn't like anyone assuming he didn't know something, not even his so-called employer. "It's up to you, but I'd take him out before he got me first."

"Sabretooth. Do not reason beyond your new brain's abilities. Leave Gambit alone and leave him to me."

"Suit yerself, " Sabretooth grumbled, lumbering back up the steps. "But I ain't goin' down, once he turns. You can clean that shit up yerself."

"You assume too much," the voice said quietly. Victor's advanced hearing still heard it. "You assume he's a turncoat. You assume he'll run off with the new woman. Well. Let me put a suggestion in your animalistic brain: What if he transcends such a notion? Suppose he's a decoy instead?"

"Whatever floats yer boat."

 Victor snorted and slammed the door behind him. As long as he got paid and as long as nobody tried taking him down, Essex could play whatever the hell game he wanted. He really didn't care.

*     *     *

They all had their "coping mechanisms" to reassure themselves that they weren't alone with their mutations. The Professor's had been clipping articles on mutantkind  and potential mutantkind over several decades. Sometimes the stories dug deeper than the television crews or radio stations dared try. Articles certainly allowed for more of the story - although, Scott thought with a small frown, they were often filled with more bias, too. He just hadn't realized that the Professor kept so many articles. Sure, some were reputable, but most were pure crap.

"Hm," Scott said, smirking. "'Dog-Boy Ate my Parakeet.'  'Our Haunted Toolbox'…Oh, yeah, true pillars of journalistic integrity, there."

Xavier chuckled. "I'll agree, most of those are little more than speculative fantasies. Although, occasionally, one or two reports hold true."

Scott rolled his eyes, but it actually made sense. The oddest mutants ended up in the less reputable rag-mags. The general public wasn't ready to hear about their talents or see their "strange" bodies.

"I suppose." He flipped the book shut and peered over Xavier's desk. "So level with me. What does all of this have to do with our missing X-man?"

Xavier nodded to the book. "Do you see a number on the spine?"

Scott glanced at it. "Twelve."

"About right. Volume Twelve…Go, oh, nearly to the end." Xavier watched as Scott sighed and flipped a bored finger through the strange, misinformed pages.

"I don't see what this has to do with—"

"Wait," Xavier interrupted, peering over the desk. "Go back. One more page."

Scott obeyed, but raised his eyebrow. He went back one page to a smattering of JAMA and Popular Science magazine articles. "Well, at least they're better than 'Dog-Boy.' "

"Much better," Xavier whispered. He grabbed the book from Scott and spun it around, scanning the page. "There," he said, stabbing a small blurb with his finger. "That's the beginning."

Scott read the date on the top of the article and pursed his lips. "This was written before I was born."

"I wasn't much older than you are now, but someone else was thinking far into the future. Someone a vision that would horrify even Magneto."

The darker tone in his mentor's voice caused Scott to examine the article very carefully:

Double Helix Strand: The End or the Beginning?

Dr. Nathaniel Essex, esteemed scientist at London's prestigious Westbridge Research Facility, believes many scientists have misguided perceptions about the recent deoxyribonucleic acid discovery. "We have the arrogant idea that DNA is the last word in human evolution," he said at last week's Oxford New Science Symposium. "In reality, we're thinking too small and ignoring its potential for exponential growth.  We should be rushing to accelerate its potential, not trying to deconstruct its facets."

Essex's controversial words inflamed much of the scientific community.

"Obliterate, more than likely," says Dr. John Corrigan, author of Understanding the Double Helix. "What Essex proposes, according to his own research, is nothing less than playing God.  His methods, taken to the extreme, will eradicate mankind."

What exactly are these so-called "controversial" ideas of Nathaniel Essex?  Few can grasp his vision - or madness, to some.  Essex believes a gene exists to facilitating human potential. He dubs this gene the 'X' gene and sees it as the key catalyst to human evolution. In his opinion, the entire DNA strand is immaterial. Only the X-gene should be taken seriously.

"Taken to its fullest potential, [the X-gene] will eliminate humankind as much as the first tool-making human eliminated our brutish ancestors. If humankind is to survive, we will need to study this gene. Learn how it functions. Alter it, if need be, so both evolved humanoid and free human can survive in the same environment.

 "I believe that even now there are conscious carriers of the X-gene—perhaps even constant flaunters of it—but our laboratory has been ahead of the game. We've done quite a few tests with this hidden gene.  Some results have been nothing short of miraculous, others…dismal failures.  Suffice it to say that the ultimate understanding will come once the X-gene becomes something beyond its pre-programmed design…a place where both 'mutated' humanoid and free human can co-exist. We have the technology to circumvent the design and to play with it – to make it so every species benefits, before the inevitable extinction of the other."

***

Scott collapsed back in his chair, somewhat taken aback. "Pleasant customer. I can't tell if he's on our side, or not."

"Not," Xavier said curtly.  He plucked the tome from his desk and filed it on a lower shelf in his bookcase. His voice took on a slower, more reflective tenor. "I went to Oxford for a semester. He was one of the visiting professors, and I was able to hear him speak. Of course he intrigued me--he activated something deep within me that I barely understood myself. And I was his willing disciple, for a time."

"Until you found out the truth."

Xavier sighed heavily. "Yes. Until I found the truth. Subsequent reports on Nathaniel Essex's work border on genocide.  He knows mutants exist, but he prefers to experiment on us much like Mengele once experimented on the Jews."

"Now I understand why you wanted to keep this between us," Scott whispered. He unconsciously chewed his bottom lip. "And Sabretooth…are you saying that this Essex experimented on him?"

"Essex is presumed dead," Xavier said.  A quiet hardness seeped into his voice. "From an explosion in his lab, thirty-five years ago. But there are others who want to use us for their own mindless ends." He paused and absently rubbed the spine of a thick book with his thumb. 

"But not someone of his caliber. You wouldn't have brought Essex up if there was someone else."

"True, and therein lies the contradiction. No one else had the background, the resources, or the pure ruthlessness of Essex. I've watched the papers carefully, and I'm constantly in contact with various government groups across the country. There hasn't been anyone who's come close to his kind of research…and duplicating his work is impossible. His papers are missing, and there are too many gaps in his journals to follow him properly."

"And you said Essex was dead." Scott crossed his arms, suddenly frustrated and angry. "So tell me. How does someone go about duplicating this dead man's work without having his skills and resources?"

Xavier's eyes snapped up, chilling Scott to the core. "No one had enough evidence to identify Essex's remains. It's all an assumption. I wish I'd made sure."

"So…if Essex is still alive, then—"

"Then he alone would have the ability to cause the change I saw in Sabretooth's mind.  Sabretooth was little more than an animalistic construct when you fought him last. Since then his mind – his mental capacity and his core intelligence – have gone beyond natural means. He's still a killer, but no longer mindless.  I can think of only one man who would've had the time and resources to do such a thorough job experimenting with Sabretooth's mindscape."

"Doctor Essex."

"Yes. Doctor Essex."

Scott steepled his fingers, unconsciously mimicking his mentor's pose. He didn't want to bring it up, but he had to. The truth affected too many people.

"You know who else needs to know about this, don't you. You should have told him."

Xavier wheeled from Scott and slowly put his fingers on one of the books.  "I wasn't sure if Essex was responsible, Scott. In my mind he was dead. An impossibility.  I had to believe it was another agency. I didn't want to believe that it could've been Essex. I hoped it wasn't."

"But you were wrong."

"Only if it's true. We've yet to determine if he is alive."

"Well, what else do we have? You didn't double check, and it's a pretty safe bet that Essex is the only one, according to what you've told me. If Essex is alive… he could be one of the scientists responsible for Logan's condition."

"Not could, Scott. He would have been the lead scientist." Xavier grabbed a new book and tossed it over to Scott. A small orange tab stuck out from the spine. "Open it. Read where I've marked."

Scott slowly opened the book, swallowing. "'Scientist dies in Explosion. Nathaniel Essex, senior genetic researcher, died Monday following an unexpected gas main rupture at the Alkali Lake Research

Facility'--" He shut the book angrily. "You knew all along."

"About Alkali Lake, yes."

"You knew more than that. You had this article. But you didn't you tell him everything."

"I gave him everything I could. But a few people who would have mercilessly come down on the school had I done the legwork myself—had they discovered an additional pair of curious eyes. I couldn't risk anything but the name, for our sakes. Especially after Erik's display. "

Scott shifted in his chair. "So why now," he asked coldly. "Why give us all this information now, after the fact? Is the situation different simply because of Ororo?"

"Only in part, Scott," Xavier said quietly. He plucked the book from Scott's lap and carefully replaced it on the shelf. "If Essex is still alive, we must make sure that he doesn't repeat his experiments. His augmentations come at an extremely high price, and part of the price often includes slavery, torture, and murder—not just on mutants, but humans as well. Ororo is only a small facet of it. Essex must be stopped, regardless."

Scott sighed and rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a huge headache. "I don't think he'll take this too well from you. I'll tell him."

"He'll want to go with you."

Scott laughed sharply. "Of course he will! Hell, I'd want to, if  the positions were reversed. But Charles…I doubt I could stop him from killing Essex.  I'm not sure I'd want to."

Xavier mulled this for a moment before responding. "That's why I'm not a field commander. I expect you'll do whatever's necessary, Scott. I trust your judgment."

"Second time tonight," he muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," he said, sighing heavily. "I'm just wary of all this misplaced trust in my abilities."

Xavier's lip quirked sadly. "You'll do fine."

"Right now, I'm not that worried about me." Scott rose from the chair and headed towards the door.  "I'm more worried about Wolverine. And God help Doctor Essex when Logan finds out."

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