Work Text:
06/04/2018
By the time Hank finally made it to his newest case after some once-again spectacularly useless stop in the Principal's office and unplanned interruptions the low electric hum of a treadmill motor and comparatively leisurely walking on it could be heard from the general examination hall already. So it was that kind of patient to whom Hank had hectically administered the most important ones of the necessary treatments right after their arrival ... And the next steps towards recovery had now apparently been initiated without him.
“Hello, you two.” He greeted the young man, who to his relief was finally no longer unconscious, on what was fortunately the only occupied med stretcher right now, with an implied bow because the young man made no move to take his hand, and grabbed a data pad and pen from his belt.
“I'm sorry I didn’t come back earlier. One of the active warriors was scheduled for pain therapy this morning, and one of the younger students needed stitches. Brief check-up and then we'll cross off the basic data real quick so that there are no unpleasant surprises in terms of supplies and treatment in the first few days, alright? It won't take long.”
Hank followed the teenager's alienated gaze to the other side of the room, where another sick bay visitor was absorbed in their running training, giving neither of them as much as a glance. He waved the young man off. “Ignore her. Monthly stress ECG. It's part of the mandatory fitness check for all team members.”
He ignored the boy's snide snort at the mention of the not-so-harmless side job that some of the teachers and staff members of this mansion occasionally pursued, and opened the hastily created database entry in the Mutant High network for his current problem child with practiced clicks. “Little Pit Bull isn't even listening. Unfortunately, we had painters over in the other rooms this morning, so the air in there is hardly tolerable right now. Thanks, Andréo, I'll be fine now.”
Hank got a new pair of giant gloves from the largest storage cabinet on the wall, containing the most important utensils for his daily duties, and gave a nod of appreciation to the teenager who had taken care of the new arrival, reliable as always when Hank occasionally prepared him for his dream job as a doctor during his last year of high school. But the following conversation, Hank needed to have in private, or rather, in semi-privacy. “Please leave us alone.”
“If you insist.” Visibly reluctantly, Andréo rose from the stool that had been made especially for him, a somewhat arduous movement accompanied by a flinch and the corners of his mouth pulled downwards. The heat of the beginning of some summer of the century was an additional burden for already chronically overstrained muscles.
“Let them fix you real quick, alright? Can't fight the mother hens in this room anyway. The less you argue, the faster you'll be out of here.” He winked at the newcomer amicably, gallantly ignoring the boy's tight lips, and closed the door behind him.
“You know, you could have just knocked. The body scanner would probably still have let you through without an issue.” Hank tried casualty too, without much success. It wasn't often that children or teenagers came to Mutant High who were not only familiar from certain sad files already, but also from a first spectacularly failed attempt years ago to give the person in question a new start in this mansion.
In this case, the file was called Bastian Murray, and its contents had appeared at dawn at the X-Men's garden gate out of nowhere with his horse, completely exhausted. Bastian had collapsed before a group of teenagers just busy with their running lap could have reached him.
Andréo had barely been able to save the boy from a crucial fall on the asphalt with the help of a breakneck dive.
Often enough, Hank had nothing to do down here for days at a stretch, but today, the fleas had apparently scored a group discount from the school's accident insurance. One of the external first-graders had run face-first into the vaulting horse upon their landing before Hank had even had made it to Scott's office, and a twelve-year-old had accidentally cut her arm deep on the chitin skin of one of her classmates, romping around.
Hank hadn't even had a chance yet to change his red-stained lab coat. Upon taking another closer look at Bastian, immediately discovering even more damage than with a provisory scan by hand and Shi'ar tech earlier, he decided not to waste time on that now either. The boy had apparently refused to let Andréo help, and the removal of a forcibly implanted inhibitor device from between his guts earlier had obviously not had any effect yet. Restlessly rubbing one of his fangs with the tip of his tongue, Hank repeatedly held his mobile scanner over the boy's chest, relieved to see that the radiation level in his cells had at least dropped significantly.
“Give it a moment. After so many months with artificial suppressants in your blood, the body needs a moment to flush out this filth. But I think your healing factor will be fully restored by tonight. Until then, I'll have to handle those scratches in the paintwork conservatively, I'm afraid.”
“No need. I'm alive. I'll wait for this crap to vanish by itself.” The boy's posture noticeably tensed when Hank leaned in; his dark eyes closed for a moment too long. He tried to hide it, but Hank immediately felt the teenager startle when he took him by the upper arm to talk some sense into him. “Cheekbone's just sprained anyway, I think.”
“No, that's a fracture, definitely,” Hank objected after cautiously tracing the deeply blue discolored spot with a fingertip. ”But fractures heal. Nothing a cooling mask won't take care of within a few days, even if your mutation powers will take some time more to recover. Anything else that hurts?”
“Nothing that can't wait.” Bastian let out a sigh of relief when Hank let go of him, instinctively pulling a light sheet over his body as if he'd noticed Hank's shocked staring from the corner of his eye. ”Just dizzy, that's why I couldn't stay on Samba's back earlier. Never happened before.”
“At least you parked more elegantly than I did when I came here,” their listener over on the treadmill suddenly piped up. ”Three and a half parking spaces and almost two torn-off side mirrors. Our vehicle freak here has been holding that against me for 20 years now.”
“I wasn't planning on staying here that long.” Bastian barely looked at the woman; it was obvious that, just like during his first extremely brief stay here a few years ago, he was trying not to get any closer to any Mutant High resident than necessary.
“But right now, I need some time off, whether I like it or not. I'm afraid I threw up on your assistant's shirt earlier, Doctor McCoy. Maybe a ...”
“... concussion,” Hank added. ”Probably. For someone with a healing factor, your self-diagnosis is at least not entirely off.”
He held the mobile scanning pen over Bastian's cheek again, this time without touching him, so as not to cause him any more pain. “This, in any case, isn't anything complicated indeed. I'll give you something to make you feel better in a moment. Any allergies or intolerances of yours that the inhibitor revealed?”
“Except against X-Men?” Bastian grinned wryly. “None that I know of.”
“Good.” Provoking Hank took more than tired sarcasm.
Being able to slip a line into Bastian's elbow at the first attempt already was a relief after the verbal wrestling match in Scott's office. “At least as a patient, you are always welcome here. Your veins make a great example for some in this house.” The dig was not least directed at a certain third party in the room.
The woman didn't even bat a lid, hardened when it came to certain attacks after all this time as well. “If we have to postpone our vacation in the Maldives for another few more years because you guys can't handle things here alone for two weeks, I'm sure I'll earn that Snow White complexion in no time.”
“What's in that?” Continuing to ignore the banter demonstratively, Bastian narrowed his eyes at the infusion bag in Hank's hand.
“Light painkillers, dimenhydrinate to counter the reverse eating, and saline for the system. Twice a day for five days, then you'll be back on your feet even without your healing factor if necessary. I hope. As a rule, I don't make promises before the first general examination is complete.” Hank grabbed his datapad again.
“So I can stay until I can see straight again?” Bastian asked, suddenly with his heart beating so hard and fast that Hank's enhanced senses could catch the sound like drumbeats. ”Actually, I've been meaning to get off my ass and finally take care of myself alone for months, but the world's spinning around me a little too fast right now for that.”
“Take all the time you need.” Hank sat down on the edge of the boy's bed, still keeping a discreet distance, to tend to minor abrasions on his face. "In this house, we offer mutants all the help we're able to give, whether they're looking for a home or just support.”
“Well, until I find my own spot ..." Bastian murmured, still a little hesitant. His tense posture finally relaxed a little when the drugs began to take effect. “But really only until then, just so we're clear. This mansion doesn't exactly vibe with me, as you probably remember. There are a few people here whose faces I can't deal with. And I've heard that once you've become part of this whole X-Men madness, it's hard to get away again from Westchester. Brainwashing and all that.”
Hank decided to focus on data acquisition rather than commenting on this nonsense, which was not only spread by enemies of his team but also by the odd former resident. Mostly out of wounded pride, because most of the students in this house simply didn't have the necessary gifts or hadn’t been disciplined enough to make up for this physical deficit, so it had been out of the question to offer them a place on the X-Men's team with a clear conscience. As far as such rumors were concerned, it was usually better for Hank's nerves to let someone else do the talking.
“I wish that were the case,” the woman across the bed, who was now trotting at a much faster pace and with more incline, raised her voice again. ”Sure, then it would be really cramped here in the house by now, but I wouldn't have had to say goodbye to hundreds of children, crying my eyes out. You got any idea how much you have to drink to compensate for that much dehydration? And alcohol is off the list for that, sadly.”
“I wasn’t talking about the students ...” For the first time, Bastian sounded thrown off his grumpy game plan.
“Well, where do you think we get our employees, and where we do the recruitment for our special unit? Mutants don't grow on trees.” The woman threw her head back and laughed softly, not even the slightest hint of sweat glistening on her skin. It looked like in the case of this particular team member, Hank could spare himself the actual fitness check this month.
“But here's an insider tip if you don't like the brand name: Form X-41 in the guest network. Our IT whiz should have programmed access for you already. The list isn't particularly long, but we've compiled all the mutant aid organizations among normal people known to us, in case someone would rather try to find work and housing this way. Unfortunately, almost all of them are minimum-wage jobs, but they're enough to afford a shared flat in some outskirts. Maybe. In form X-42, you'll find the mutant safety net; the prospects there are more lucrative. Since you like freezing your butt off, Siberia might be just right for you. Colossus and Shadowcat would be thrilled. It's been long since we last sent them any fresh meat. As a mutant, you should keep as far away from the Kremlin as possible for the sake of your freedom and health though. It's warmer in Vancouver, but Jubilee suffers from 24/7 sugar shock courtesy of her mutation. Personally, I can only stand that for a week's vacation at a time. Especially since I've never heard her husband shut up for more than five minutes either. Hammy the Squirrel in a double edition is too much for my taste."
“Look who's talking.” Of which, for Bastian's slightly dazed mind, there was indeed far too much of, though he did seem impressed that the stranger was able to cross her marathon off the list during her little lecture without getting out of breath even once.
“Comes with the job.” The woman was entirely unfazed, only her cheeks had flushed a little, which was probably also not exactly due to the physical exertion either.
“Our reputation is bad enough, as you have just proven so impressively. If we send someone away alone, I rather make sure they at least don't get themselves into trouble right again on our doorstep. Things were generally more peaceful with Banshee in Central Europe than here or at Piotr and Kade's or Jubilation's. But that option sadly no longer exists as you know.” The woman's features promptly darkened with anger at an as-of-yet unexplained tragedy not even processed yet in the slightest. “Anyone thinking this school's headmaster is torture to work with as a field leader has not met Sean's daughter after he's been murdered. That whole thing went down the drain faster than we could help. Theresa is a former riding pupil of mine, by the way. That was one of those goodbyes after which our furball here threatened me with drips because I couldn't find the off switch for those damn tears for a week.”
For a moment, the well-fitting mask of hyperactivity in the shape of a lecture that was not being held in this room for the first time by this person, slipped, always interrupted at this same point by a too-fast blinking, by her voice breaking.
“So why didn't you go with her if things with your partnering teams are so much better than here?” Bastian started to sound interested against his will.
And now he was so distracted at last that Hank could turn his attention to the somewhat more unpleasant examinations under the shield of the blanket, where, since Andréo had freed Bastian from his torn and bloody clothes before already, more and more bruises and untreated wounds came to light, adding to his growing aggression. Bastian accepted it reluctantly but at least without a protest that Hank cleaned the damages and covered them with sterile bandages before adding a higher dose of ibuprofen to the boy's IV. Pouting, he even parted with a tiny strand of brunette hair, with the necessary superficial skin samples for DNA acquirement, looking and turning in Hank's direction when Hank maneuvered him under the body and retina scanner, and only occasionally rolling his eyes, muttering something about “over-motivated idealists” that was easy to ignore.
The woman also did, raising her left hand to show a simple gold ring with a small diamond in it, the only piece of jewelry she was wearing even for her training. “Me, I can't get away from here that easily indeed. Long-distance relationships aren't really our thing. And Sean only accepted high-level mutants for his team back then. I never made it that far. Somehow there was never enough time to develop my powers.”
This time it was his teammate who ignored an unwilling growl from Hank's direction, as she had perfected it in the course of the years. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the right setting for that kind of discussion, and Hank was simply no longer interested in that for a second time today either. “Guess that's just how it is when you don’t mutate before turning twenty.”
“Twenty …?” Bastian no longer even seemed to notice how far he had turned to his conversation partner, that he barely looked up when another band-aid covered a particularly badly infected wound. When the woman confronted him with a gap in his education – which was an actually surprising one, given Bastian's experiences in another mutant refuges –, he even blushed a little.
“Late mutant. It's rare.” The woman briefly wiped her face with a towel, not so much to cool down, as Hank knew, but rather to hide a bitter expression on her full lips. ”Unfortunately. Otherwise, I might not have been terrorized by Magneto nonstop during my first year here. Without the X-Men, I would be spending my life in a constant coma in the Brotherhood's basement, connected to catheters, IVs, and probes, while they use my blood to forcibly mutate the entire world population against their will. That does leave a certain sense of obligation, sure. And you need it when you have to let go of almost everyone in your life whom you teach to protect themselves from such crap.”
Bastian was visibly at a loss for words. “Frankly, I would have expected better marketing from you guys.”
“Do I look like someone trying to sell people glorified heroic tales?” Hank's teammate pointed down at her small, well-trained body in simple, short leggings and a spaghetti strap top, revealing very old but still clearly visible scars. “For that, you'd have to make a trip to Frost Ltd. A membership there comes with a whole lot of mental manipulation thrown in for free though. I try to avoid sending people there. Not worth half a star on Yelp. Hank, this thing needs more juice.”
Impatiently, the woman tapped the controls of the treadmill, but couldn't get it to pick up speed or incline any further. “Do you at least finally have some weights in here?”
“Out of the question. You're welcome to set up a gym in your office.”
“When was the last time you saw me there?”
“Your problem, not mine.” Hank pointed a warning claw at the treadmill. ”You dopamine junkies will not start stealing my patients right from under my nose to train them before I've even finished patching them up.”
“Nobody needs to patch me up, and I don't need no training either.” Bastian had apparently remembered his endeavor to be as unbearable as possible in order to be left alone and reluctantly pulled his left leg away before Hank had decided whether he actually needed a needle and thread for this particularly disgusting cut on the inside, which he very much doubted came from a razor, or whether Shi'ar glue would do the trick.
“Debatable. Both,” Hank replied ironically, but held up a butterfly as a compromise until Bastian reluctantly turned his leg outwards again so that Hank could reach the highly sensitive spot. ”So whose wrong side did you get on, anyway? Mutant haters? Inhibitors, you don't get at the mall. It wasn't these people from that lab back then who got their hands on you again, was it?”
“Not half as dramatic as that, don't worry. Just my ex. Ex-Marine. He's probably still had that damn thing from back then. Jealous type, that one. With the damper, he tried to make sure I would never leave again after I'd moved in with him.” Bastian lowered his eyes again remarkably quickly for his previous unruliness. “Today, he got into trouble with the cops. I don’t care for that shit. He didn't like that I finally wanted to get the hell out of there. But I made it out of the house when he left to go drink with his buddies. Suddenly, it all happened so fast … That's why I'm really glad you have a free spot here. I'm sorry if it doesn’t sound like it.”
“After what has happened in Alaska, your mistrust is understandable, don't worry.” Hank reached for another bandaid for the tear at the corner of Basti's mouth, which had burst open again during the boy's first few longer sentences in a row. That tantrum of said partner couldn't have been that harmless.
Not for the first time that day, Hank thanked fate that the regular supply of Shi'ar technology to this house hadn't stopped when the former head of the school had decided to move in with the leader of that alien species almost two decades ago. This multipurpose salve, the recipe for which Hank had brought back from his only trip into space back then, would take care of all wounds within a few hours without leaving any scars.
“We'll talk about this later. Right now, I'm just glad you found your way here after all this time. Do you want to report your ex-boyfriend? It's what he deserves.”
“He wasn't my boyfriend. I slept with him because I had nowhere else to go. With him and whoever else he brought home when he needed buck to pay his gambling debts,” Bastian replied flatly. ”The answer is no. Bastard's in enough trouble for pimping other people out without me having to deal with the police. I've had a few not-so-nice run-ins with the vice squad in the past. If I reported anyone, they'd die laughing.”
A grin, far too bitter for a boy his age, curled on his pale lips, which only had the lump in Hank's throat grow thicker. “Look, I'm trying hard to ignore all these rumors right now that there's only naive snobs living here, but not all of us end up in a golden cage when we fall on our faces because of our genes. If you've never had to survive alone out there, if you're trained to become a fighting machine between swanky statues and in high-tech classrooms, you probably can't understand why people rather sort out some shit themselves.”
Goddamn ... So this teenager had had an even harder time than the X-Men had known so far – unfortunately not an isolated case among mutant children. Bastian feeling like rebelling against everyone and everything for the moment was understandable – and ironic enough considering another of his former professions and the stage name that had gone with it back then. And right now, said hostility was clearly aimed toward the fitness corner again, where the fast hammering of strong runner legs had now stopped, probably causing Bastian to fear that he would soon be pushed from two sides at close range.
But Hank's teammate rather preferred stretching exercises after the endurance effort. With one leg held high above her head, supported by a wall, she slowly pulled herself towards the dark blue metal paneling inch by inch, in a perfect split, and then braced herself there with crossed arms, as if she were lounging on a sofa.
“Oh, you know, Doctor McCoy and I are just trying to hide our disappointment right now.” Although Hanks' enhanced senses didn't miss the woman's body's radiating a hint of shock at certain revelations too, she managed to maintain her aura of composure. Only that she remained in said exercise a little longer than necessary, trying to numb the dark feelings in her own soul Bastian's story had caused with painful physical efforts, betrayed the truth.
“Loser perverts abusing people who are not even legal in all states yet? Those, we're actually happy to help get a grip on their oh-so uncontrollable urges if their victims don't want to go to court. The support group for trauma caused by illegal mutant prostitution meets on Tuesdays at four, by the way. Right now, we got seven active members. They tend to get candid when it comes to experiences with customers, just as a warning. But you don't have to say anything if you don't want to.”
“I'm not interested in listening to anything either,” Bastian replied, a lot less brusque than he'd surely meant to thanks to his growing surprise. "I'm not ...”
“Not traumatized?" The woman only threw him an inquiring glance before she changed sides, trying to achieve vertical records with a marginally weaker leg as well.
“In that case, I can recommend a former prostitute working for us. It's been two decades, but he was pretty good at it back then. Got paid nicely in both money and information. Trading red light stories sometimes helps when your thoughts start going in the wrong direction, he says. If you want to stay in business, we'll have to think of a solution for your living space. As I said, this topic has no place in the lives of minors. But I can get you in touch with an active mutant colleague of yours. You'll just have to go there alone. We're not exactly besties. And if you please, if you go back on the streets, stay away from the sewers. It's hard enough to keep the Morlocks from selling their bodies to get by, and almost none of them are even 18 yet. Contrary to what you've been told about us, we're really into consent here.”
“But I'm not a ... I didn't want to ... I don't plan to ...” It had taken a little longer than usual, but now Bastian had been torn from the arrogance of his self-pity at last.
The woman seemed to feel a little sorry for him and came to stand straight again, wiping her face once more and throwing her towel in the vague direction of the laundry hatch. “As I said: No matter what your decision in that regard is, it's entirely up to you. The most important function of this mansion is to provide help, no matter in which way.”
Almost seeking help in the face of such rhetorical superiority, Bastian turned back to Hank. “Who is this, Doctor McCoy? What's going on here?”
Hank pulled Katja close for a brief hug and a loving pat on the back of the head for her somewhat too enthusiastic efforts, pulling up a chair up to the bed in a well-practiced, elegant movement with a foot claw.
“As the teenagers here would say, you've been visited by the Mutant High's in-house predator department. She's our Kitten.“ He nodded briefly at his workmate.
“But he's the one with the claws,” Katja added just as briefly, but with an unmistakable smirk.
“Seriously? That's your pitch?” Bastian was at least able to grin weakly again, even though he was visibly irritated at being dragged into a first therapy session without asking. ”With that Boomer humor, you guys must be married.”
“My husband would object to that, too.” Katja crossed her legs on the stool in a small balancing act, as always driven by far too much restlessness to sit still for even five minutes.
“Who would be …?”
A mischievous chuckle, which even after almost two decades had lost none of the infatuation from the early days. “Principal Summers?”
Bastian gasping now at last, eyes wide open, that was a much-needed and relieving change after the stressful topics that had just been discussed. ”Welcome to Mutant High.”
“So this is how you truly catch new students in your web.” That did no longer sound half as aggressive. The information that had been literally dropped in passing had noticeably left an impression. The most important thing Katja had learned in her psychology studies at the time was how to relax the mind of a patient before filling it with any well-intentioned advice.
“No, this is how we say hello.” Katja held out her hand to the young man so shy could finally introduce herself by name. Bastian was still shell-shocked enough to take it immediately.
“You and I didn't meet back then when the others got you out of that laboratory because I was in Germany with my daughter and her best friend at the time. My husband, you've already met but he doesn't like this job interview flair in his office that Professor Xavier used to prefer either. And I only have mine so that my files don't pile up to the ceiling in our bedroom.”
“So you don't teach?” Bastian sounded almost a little … disappointed. Yes, someone had definitely just left a good first impression.
“Riding and gymnastics only, and only when our actual teachers are absent, but the counseling center rarely leaves me time for that. If there's one thing the mutant world always needs, it's people with a sympathetic ear, broad shoulders to lean on, and an incurable helper syndrome.”
Sometimes Hank wondered if Katja, in all that deeply rooted self-deprecation, even noticed the way people like this so distraught young man looked at her after spending less than thirty minutes in the same room with her, comforted in their pain by something you couldn't learn from a textbook. Something that twenty years ago, had already not least made Charles and Ororo involve a complete stranger in their childcare in this house. But to have a positive influence on her in this regard, that was Scott's job, and as long as whatever Katja was doing helped, Hank would be damned if he tried to slow her down.
“Right now, what I need is a good night's sleep. But I'll probably come back to that. That's already cleared my synapses once in a while back when I was with Jericho. And you don't give people a chance to get used to the idea of such counseling first anyway,” Bastian said after a few seconds of silence. It didn't have nearly as much bite as earlier.
“You develop some tricks over time,“ Katja shrugged, not at all guiltily.
“So you guys do this often, huh?” Bastian raised an eyebrow pointedly in Hank's direction.
“Usually, we give people 24 hours to settle in, but Cat really wanted an autograph from your second mutant personality.”
“Fuck you, McCoy,” Katja replied just as charmingly, which promptly caused Bastian to gasp again.
Well, if adapting to the slang of the street of your conversation partner helped to prevent them from jumping off the medical stretcher out of shyness ...
“No thanks. Especially not as long as you're obviously spending way too much time with Logan.”
Too late, it occurred to Hank that this wasn't exactly the most empathetic topic of the day, and Bastian's expression promptly darkened again.
“This guy really still hangs around here?”
“The man lives here,” Hank reminded the boy with a sigh. “So maybe it's rather Siberia for you after all, if you can't handle that. But the mansion is actually big enough to avoid each other.”
“Do I at least get time to decide that, or will you guys rush me through that, too?” Bastian still sounded a little annoyed about being deceived, but anything else would have been surprising from a nineteen-year-old with a definitely very healthy ego.
“Everyone does. I personally make sure of that. Because I didn't have a chance to think things over when I was in your situation.” Katja's fingertips unconsciously grazed one of the few scars on her side not left by that psycho Anderson back then, but in fact by Hank himself with one of his medical scalpels. ”I arrived at this house a week before Liberty Island.”
Bastian whistled through his teeth, strong and melodic enough to remind Hank once again that there had been a time when this young guy had had something completely different planned for his life but selling himself to the next best bastard for a living. “Hell of an introduction.”
“And for me, triggered by my ex-boyfriend, too, yes,” Katja replied with a wry grin.
“Other than your guy though, he didn't do anything to deserve me frying him with lightning. You sure you don't want to tell me where your ex lives? And do think about that report, okay? Even if it's just so the guy doesn't move on to the next victim. Our social and political position is nowhere near as bad as it was twenty years ago. There are way too many of us now. Since people in Washington started making sure themselves that the right people sit in the mutant department, we can usually defend ourselves successfully when we are discriminated. Let's be grateful for that and work to make things even better instead of constantly complaining about grievances. This house stands for that too.”
“I'll think about it.” It was clear that despite all the feigned toughness, Bastian didn't like the idea of having to see this guy again, even if it was in a courtroom.
“Maybe I'll stop by the asshole myself when I'm fit again and can morph. I'm usually not that easily pushed around. I wasn't paying attention for a moment when I arrived there, and then it was already too late to react because of the damn damper. Fortunately, Samba got between us today, otherwise, things would have been even worse.”
“How long have you been with this man?“ Hank asked thoughtfully.
“Half a year.” Bastian suppressed a yawn. Thanks to the drugs, his tiredness was finally making itself felt. After the first necessary emotional support, the boy now needed rest above all. “Well, ever since New York II is no more. He owns a ranch on the outskirts of New York, and I was able to leave Samba there. That's mostly why I stayed. She has been my everything since Jericho gave her to me in Alaska. I secretly put aside quite a bit of money. I'd planned to leave soon anyway.”
“Did you go to school?” Hank tried in vain to put as much calmness into his voice as Katja. Even though this wasn't the first time he had had to deal with something like this, of course ... You just never got used to it.
Bastian had to physically recover first, lose his suspicion of everything and everyone. Before that, it didn't make any sense to try and process this terrible past, which he was now talking about with such masterful distance again.
“No, don't need that. I'm good enough to work as a riding instructor and trainer. Jumping, dressage, cross-country ... I'll even do the jockeying for you if you need it.”
“Careful what you wish for, or we'll come back to that sooner than you'd like,” Katja remarked, immediately with a much more honest sparkling in her eyes at the mention of one of her favorite topics.
“Our breeding stable, Pride Of X, is always looking for good athletes, and, as I said, we can always use riding instructors here. These are the best conditions for you to build a future in this house. That way, you can continue to earn your own money, if that's what matters to you. I know that made me feel a lot better back then. But for the papers, you should still graduate. You can do that even if you prefer to move into your own apartment. We've been accepting external students for a few years now. I'm sure there can't be missing a lot, is it?”
“A year and a few months. I used to be a singer as you know by now from what Jericho told you. I lost time because of my tours and all the promotion,” Bastian explained, slightly embarrassed. ”Whatever. Better than the street.”
“I'll say.” The treatment of the wounds was finally completed, and Hank hadn't found any other serious injuries. So he could withdraw with a clear conscience. ”What do you say, Bastian, try to get some sleep? I'll keep the Pit Bull away from you for the next few hours, I promise.”
“Oh, that's okay.” Bastian snorted at Katja. ”You won't fool me that easily anymore. After all, I do know all your files from the New York II database, just not all the faces yet. Otherwise, you'd have been busted immediately. We'll get even as soon as I can morph again. And just for the record: Then I'm 'Shade' for you guys, please. With the code name quirk, I guess I fit in quite well here, don't I?“
“One of the more charming quirks of this school.” Hank quickly became serious again, though.
Said code name had reminded him of what he knew about Bastian's powers in this other body. It was probably more thanks to Bastian's stay in the once-protected seclusion of New York II than to luck that the boy had ended up here, and not with another mutant organization that would have welcomed him with open arms as a potentially very powerful fighter.
“By the way, I'm happy you didn't decide to join the Brotherhood.”
“The Brotherhood?” Bastian frowned thoughtfully, without pain, it seemed, which probably meant that this conversation would be over in five minutes either way. ”Jericho didn't have a lot of love for them, but I've read up about them in online media a few times. They don't sound particularly dangerous.”
“Believe me: Jericho usually knew what he was talking about.” The mention of this particular mutant left a deep sense of depression not only on Bastian's face; Hank was not surprised to see Katja playing with her wedding ring absentmindedly from the corner of his eyes.
“The Brotherhood is changing its face faster than its leader can thanks to her mutation. They used to be one of the most feared mutant terrorist groups on the planet, but under Magneto's leadership, they fortunately never succeeded with their deadly plans. After the Great Inferno, they were considered all but defeated. After Magneto's death, they suddenly resurfaced, pretending to look for non-violent solutions.” Hank snorted disparagingly, the memory of that tearful live appearance at the Congress still very much present in his mind years later. The X-Men had hardly been able to believe their eyes ... and even less what had happened at the end of that public conference.
“Their leaders were then immunized by the President. Ever since then, they have been involved in politics, supposedly working for a tolerant coexistence between humans and mutants, but they keep on riling people up with unrealistic demands. They claim to not want to harm anyone, but they are hiding in an unknown place and training every mutant they can find for war.”
“Pretty creepy.” Bastian wrinkled his nose. “Don't worry, doc. I've never cared a lot for people trying to pull me into anything. I prefer the stables over the battlefield. Unless someone's pissing me off,” he added harshly, but not elaborating any further. It was no secret that Jericho, too, had trained his charges extensively in fighting and defense techniques, regardless of their age.
At the next restless wandering of his gaze across the room, Bastian's eyebrow suddenly went up when he noticed a holo-image on the partition wall to the laboratory that showed two repeated seconds of a red-haired young woman in black leather clothing. “Image or video?” He sat up a little to be able to see better. Now he was really curious, and Hank couldn't blame him. There were few mutants who didn't know this face.
It wasn't something the X-Men discussed with every new arrival, and this image was actually sacred, but Katja and Hank both sensed that Bastian was beginning to trust them, and that had seemed completely utopian at the beginning of this conversation. It wasn’t just that the boy deserved to finally find a permanent home ... There was always the worry about any reasonably talented mutant about where he or she would turn to if they didn't feel comfortable here. The X-Men had to be happy about anyone who didn't go to Watergate.
So, at Hank's reluctant nod, Katja took the square data carrier from the wall, touching it only by the frame, and held it out to Bastian. “Just press here.”
“Thank you.” Very carefully, with just a fingertip, Bastian touched the button that deactivated the holo-video mode. The curious glistening in his eyes turned into an excited sparkle when his suspicion was confirmed as to who was on this recording.
'Scott, can you stop filming for a second?' The woman in the video projected into the air turned to the camera with an exaggeratedly annoyed expression, but she couldn't quite hide the proud smile on her lips as she strode through the very room that Hank, Katja, and Bastian were in.
'Out of the question. This is your first job as a doctor after a mission. That needs to go down in the archives.' The picture blurred a little when the cameraman laughed softly.
'If you guys are always going to be this clumsy in the field, I can soon never leave this place again,' the doctor grumbled.
'At least sit down. Your knee has taken quite a hit. You stay, Ororo! Don't even think about trying to get out of this.'
A third, also very young voice joined, from a person who couldn't be seen, but the mere mention of that name made Bastian inevitably tighten his lips again. 'Tone it down, doctor. I just ...'
'You almost got shot and fell off a balcony, so sit down and shut up!' The doctor put her hands on her waist and turned to the camera again.
'Scott, if you don't put that stupid thing away, I'll hide the Vicodin from you in the next few days.'
'Sadist.' Again that amused laugh ... Then the colors over the image blurred as the flap over the projection lens closed.
“Is that Phoenix?” Bastian asked quietly, an obligatory question.
Hank felt his expression harden involuntarily, and this time he couldn't do anything about it. It still hurt, after all this time. Especially because there would probably never be anyone who could see Jean the way she was in this film. No one except the people in this house, for whom she had died three times.
“For the world out there. Not for us. Her name was Jean Grey, and she used to treat some mutants right here in these rooms.” He reactivated the photo setting before hanging the frame back in its place, after a brief squeeze of Katja's now also very low-hanging shoulder.
“I like having her around. The picture makes me feel like she's still here somehow, watching over me.”
“And then people say I'm a freak.”
“Excuse me?” It was Hank's turn to raise an eyebrow disapprovingly. Sometimes he wished he could just have turned off certain enhanced senses.
“Nothing. I mean: Thank you for letting me watch this before you guys tuck me in.” Bastian tried to sit up again a little. It was clear, the idea of sleeping in the middle of the day didn’t appeal to him, despite his exhaustion. But the headache, which continued to plague him despite the anesthetic, made him groan softly and sink back.
“Don't.” Hank fleetingly put his paw on his arm again. "You need to rest. If there's too much on your mind right now, do you want a sleeping pill? In a few hours, everything will look different.”
“That sounds like a really good idea," Bastian agreed.
“Uh ... Mrs. Summers?”
While Hank was already busy with the infusion again, Katja had silently made her way to the door. Her job here was finished for the moment, and this very vivid memory of someone she was still missing terribly had visibly affected her.
Nevertheless, she managed to put on another friendly expression in Bastian's direction. “I'll see you later. And ‘Cat’ is just fine. Like I said, I rarely teach here. Hey, Hank ...”
The smile turned into a familiar harsh line of depression and unease around Katja's mouth, as something seemed to come to her mind regarding Bastian's story, which she could understand all too well, given her own lousy experiences with certain psychopaths in this world, no matter hard she stubbornly she refused confiding about that in anyone but her husband. “Leave the lights on when you go, okay?”
With a surprised frown, Bastian seemed to notice from Katja's clenched shoulders and her fleeing gaze that he could not have wished for a better advisor at his side in this new home, and he gave the woman a grateful nod, visibly dazed after Hank had reduced the intensity of the neon lights on the ceiling by a few levels, but not completely. “Thank you, Cat.”