When We Wake

by Dex

There was a light, just as they always said. A brilliant blinding strobe in front of him, that reached deep behind his eyes and pierced him to the very core. It was a hot glow on his face, like Icuras; flown too close to the sun. And voices coming from some where in that light; familiar and strange at the same time, using words without meaning to his ears.

"Reflex actions are strong. EKG readings are stable. For all intents and purposes, he's just asleep. In a medical sense, that would be."

"Has Emma scanned him? Tried one of her cortex probes?"

"Post-traumatic psi-shielding. It would be akin to attempting to penetrate into the depths of Apocalypse's mind."

Apocalypse. That name meant something dark to him. Visions of an ocean of sand, with pyramids not yet heavy with the weight of time spiking out of the ground, and ten thousand on ten thousand slaves bowing at his feet.

"So, now what?"

"We wait. Perhaps if we had Jean, we could have used her rapport to slip into his mind, but as is, we just have to wait and let Scott do it for himself. He could wake up tomorrow, or next year, or never again."

Jean.

An image of a redhead, swaddled in flames rising out of the water flashed in front of him, with a host of memories besides: warm breath on his ear at night as he slept, the silken feel of her hair in his fingers, and fathomless green eyes twinkling with mischief.

{{Baby, you're here.}}

{{Jean?}}

{{Scott, I'm here, but not for very long, so you have to listen to me very carefully.}} Scott reeled in confusion. {{You've been lost of a long time, darling. But you're free now. All you have to do to take your life back is to open your eyes and return.}}

{{But you-}}

{{I'm an echo, Scott. I'm gone, except for this last moment. Oh god, I love you so much! Please darling, open your eyes and live for me.}}

{{But you'll be gone.}}

{{I'm gone anyway. Please don't make it for no reason. I love you, Scott. Always.}} Her presence filled Scott for a moment, familiar and achingly sweet before it slipped away like water through his fingers.

{{JEAN!}} He cried out but the cry was swallowed by the darkness. A sob welled deep in his soul and he cast about blindly. There was nothing there, nothing he could do. There was nothing left.

Except...

Scott turned back towards the light, and opened his eyes.

***

"I still think that a deep psynapic shock would stimulate the neural activity and give him a boost towards awakening." Cecilia Reyes crossed her arms beneath her breasts and glared at Beast, who shook his head wearily.

"Dear deluded Doctor Reyes, one does not jumpstart the human brain like you boost a car. The intractability of his recovery not withstanding, we simply are forced to concur with Professor Frost's advice and let him come back at his own speed."

"It's been months."

"And it could be that again and considerably longer before he awakens. But Scott will have that time, Doctor!" Beast snapped, slamming a hand down on the console. He shook his head ruefully and sank back into his chair. "My humblest apologies, Cecilia. I'm tired and impatient. Having Scott back but not having him back has proved somewhat trying on me."

"It's alright, Hank." Reyes took a sip from her coffee and settled back.

"You should be in bed anyway. We still haven't got your body balanced from the treatments."

"Faugh. I've endured my bed for long enough, Cecilia."

"Doctors are the worst patients, Hank. Look, you need rest and then you need your physical therapy. You're not helping the process." Reyes scowled at Hank's grin.

"Of course, my most puissant physician. Would you-" Hank stopped mid-sentence at the dry rasping croak he heard from across the room. He spun and vaulted the console to rush to the side of the bed.

"~water~" Croaked Scott, and Hank met Cecilia's shocked stare. Reyes was first to break free of her stunned paralysis and poured a cup of water, bringing it to Scott's lips. Scott drank blindly, the cool water running down his throat as well as his cheeks. He gulped at the water and felt the fire in his throat begin to subside. His eyes slowly began to focus, images swimming and shifting but slowly sharpening. In moments, he realized he was staring at the faces of Doctor Cecilia Reyes and Doctor Hank McCoy.

"Scott? Scott, can you focus on us?" Hank said, his giant hands moving deftly over the medical bay controls.

"Yes." Scott squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. "Yes. It's a bit blurry."

"That's not surprising, Scott. Can you follow the pen?" Reyes said, slowly waving her silver pen from one side of his face to the other. "Tracking is fine, and I don't see any twitches or muscle damage."

"Good. All of his readings are stable. Scott tell me. What's the very last thing you remember?"

"Apocalypse. He was trying to absorb Nate Grey into himself." Scott blinked. "Nothing after that. Fragments, like bad dreams."

"It worked." Beast said softly.

"Hank, what's going on? What's happened?" Scott struggled up in the bed and finally got a good look at his friend. What had been a massive man covered in blue fur and layers of corded muscle was now a scarecrow thin figure, with skin hanging on him like an oversized suit of clothes. His glossy blue fur was shot through with grey, silvering him like an old bear. Beast smiled sadly at his friend's astonished reaction and put a huge hand on his shoulder.

"Scott, you were absorbed by Apocalypse, serving as a sort of host form. Jean freed you, separating you from Apocalypse and ending him." Beast sighed. "You've been in a coma for the three months since then. Before that, you were his host for fifteen years. Welcome to the future, Scott."

***

"Ah, but it's good to be on the sea again. Don't you think, Gregoriy Denysovich?" Valeri Ivan'ch Antoneshyn said, with considerable amusement.

His friend was standing at the side of the boat, a white knuckled grasp on the railing and a pasty cast to his face. Gregoriy Denysovich Bondasenko was a member of the Inner Circle, the highest power in the new face of Russia. He was a Minister without portfolio in President Volkov's cabinet; a virtual non-entity on the world stage. Which was exactly the point.

Bondasenko was also one of the most powerful men in Russia, stemming from his control of the Russian Superhuman program. The slim figure, currently fighting to control his urge to retch, had the power of an army at his personal command.

"I'm not overly amused, Valeri Ivan'ch. We all didn't grow up on the deck of a ship."

"A poor misfortune." Antoneshyn said. A casual observer, and no doubt the personal detail of Bondashenko's, would be horrified at the cavalier and mocking tones of Antoneshyn. Especially to a man like Bondashenko. But they had gone far back together. All the way back to Afghanistan; to a hell where Corporal Valeri Ivanovich Antoneshyn had landed with the rest of his Spetsnaz unit. Bondashenko had been an army Intel officer, essentially a spook, out in the field spotting American support delivery. He'd noticed Antoneshyn, both for his intelligence but also his ability in the field. Unknown, the officer moved into the KGB, and kept a quiet eye on him.

"Or great luck." Bondashenko said dryly, concealing his breath of relief as the ship docked and he was able to escape down the oil-slicked ramp. Antoneshyn followed immediately behind, his wide shouldered frame almost double the older man's. The detail ringed them as they approached their waiting car, and dispersed amoungst the lead and tail cars once their charge was safely inside.

Bondashenko sat back in the seat, feeling his stomach start to settle to the far superiour feeling of motion generated by the car. Antoneshyn smiled knowingly and reached for the bottle of vodka inside the side pouch of the vehicle. He poured a measure into one of the glasses and passed it over to his commander.

"Spasibo." He nodded and drained the glass in a single motion. Antoneshyn made a move for the bottle again, but Bondashenko forestalled him with a wave. One glass to settle his stomach was fine, but more wasn't justifiable. He'd need all his wits at their keenest in a moment. For all the power that he had, even he had a person to answer to. In this case, his own former boss and one of the most dreaded men in Russia: Alexei Mikhailovitch Vazhin. Bondashenko had inherited his current position from Vazhin, who had held it for almost thirty years. Every operation, overt or covert that included Russian superpowered assets had been managed by Vazhin, with a respectable success rate. He had been Bondashenko's tutor, and when he finally moved up to take the reins of power for the entire restructuring and control of all aspects of Russian intelligence, Bondashenko had stepped into his shoes.

Not surprisingly, the first thing Bondashenko did was move to cement his own power by rearranging the SPB assets to his own liking. And, with the blessing of President Volkov, to recreate the old Red Guard into a new type of force. Russia sent a handful of it's best to the GPA, to show its support. But, she had kept back the bulk for her own purposes, and Bondashenko was the man in charge of using them to the upmost. He had Antoneshyn, by then a Major, transferred to him, and used their carefully hoarded remains of the Super Soldier serum to transform the already physically superb soldier into something even more powerful. The SS serum, stolen from the Red Skull during the invasion of Germany in 1945. The Soviets, with uncharacteristic prudence, had carefully doled out the serum to only the single man chosen as the RED GUARDIAN of each generation.

Antoneshyn was the perfect choice, and had proven the wisdom of his appointment numerous times. He also took a droll view of the job, occasionally submitting a requisition for a bright red lycra costume just to throw the bureaucracy into confusion.

"So, Minister Bondashenko," Antoneshyn asked with rare formality. "What are we to discuss with Vazhin? More importantly, how is it going to effect us?"

"We are going to discuss madness, Valeri Ivan'ch." Bondashenko was grim, his hands slowly tapping the case of his valise and wishing for that second vodka. "And how to make that madness into a victory."

"You need a battle to have a victory."

"Unfortunately, I think a battle will be provided for us in the very near future." Bonasenko said, and returned to his brooding. Antoneshyn looked at his commander for a long moment, before reaching for a new vodka glass of his own.

***

There was frost on the tree outside his window. Scott watched the light spill over the ice idly, not wanting to face the books and computer files Hank had left for him. For the moment, he was on virtual house arrest in his room. McCoy had been firm on not letting Scott interact for at least a few days until he could begin to adjust.

"Get it clear in your head first, and then we'll get you caught up." Hank said when he visited last. The only information about the immediate X-Men he could get was about Jean's death. McCoy wouldn't dare try and keep that from him. Oddly, where there should of been the same agonizing pain of loss like before, only an emptiness existed. Hank refused to explain the details of her death yet, and Scott had bitten back a flash of anger. Hank was being careful, making sure that only Scott and none of Apocalypse had survived the transition. He noted that the X-Men's tendency for time travel had given him an excellent grounding to rebuild a basis of cultural association.

Still, while flipping through the history books and newspapers, it was hard not to feel lost. Senator Kelly had been killed while seeking presidential election, allowing a moderate to steamroll over the fractured anti-mutant platforms. President Rodham had an uninspired single term, but her greatest achievement was the appointment of Avery Shaw as the head of the Democratic Congress. It was his highly controversial bill which created a special set of guidelines under which mutants could be judged for power related crimes. The law equalized and defined mutant abilities as an inborn gift, but created an index under which mutants could be tried on the use of their powers. The ingenuity of the plan was amazing. On one hand, it guaranteed to those who feared mutants that the misuse of their powers would be punished far more heavily than the average defendant. On the other hand, it wiped out the ambiguities in the existing legal structures and gave mutants fair consideration by the legal courts. It also gave them protection in the cases of power emergence and self defense. Both the pro and anti-mutant factions claimed it as a great victory.

The door opened, and Beast walked in, carrying a tray. Scott was very hungry, but also slightly nauseous at the idea of food. After a liquid diet for three months, his body was taking some time to readjust to solid food.

"How are you feeling, Scott?" Beast said, setting the tray down on the bedside table and sinking into the chair beside it.

"Overwhelmed. And hungry." Scott smiled and dragged they tray on to his lap.

"Well, there's a lot of changes in fifteen years." Beast grinned. "Even in a world as complex and unpredictable as ours."

"And I'm about three years in." Scott held up the palm screen he was reviewing information on. "Kelly dead, people disappearing..."

"It gets darker." Beast looked somber. "Not long after where you are now, Apocalypse reappeared in Africa. He attacked a small military base outside of Nairobi and leveled it. None of us could figure out why until later. It was a biological weapons facility; very top secret Black Air shop job. Within forty-eight hours, Africa started dying."

"Dear god."

"The entire continent was quarantined. Those the diseases missed, the riots and breakdown in order got. Turned out to be just a feint."

"What?" Scott said, and Beast flipped through one of the books for a second and handed it back silently. A picture of the Fantastic Four filled the page, topped with the words 'In Memory'.

"When they joined the international relief effort, Apocalypse ambushed them with a small army of brainwashed fanatics. Killed them before anyone could respond. Then, Apocalypse disappeared. That was our first sign that he was fighting a new kind of war."

"Hank, I was the reason, wasn't I?"

"Yes." Beast nodded slowly. "Apocalypse had access to your memories, your knowledge... and most importantly, your tactical brilliance. His new war was the obvious sign."

Scott moaned softly, and slumped. The impact of the situation finally sank in, exploding in black lights behind his eyes. Beast grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, shaking him more vigorously then he intended.

"Scott, listen to me! This is not your fault! No one could have fought Apocalypse harder than you. And if it hadn't been for you, it wouldn't have been your tactical abilities but Nate Grey's power at his disposal." Beast stared intently at his friend. "Scott, you are not responsibly for any of this. If you don't believe that; if you can't step away from the guilt, it will destroy you!"

"Hank, I'm--"

"Innocent. You and I both know that."

"I- I need some time." Scott said weakly, unable to look his friend in the face. Beast relaxed his hold and nodded.

"Scott, I know it's a lot to deal with, but please, if you start blaming yourself, you'll never be able to get past this." Beast picked up the remains of the lunch tray and headed for door. "That's not what Jean saved you for."

Scott sat staring at the door long after Beast left. He turned the information over and over in his head. Hank was right. Apocalypse, for all his power, had still been a 'club to the head' style of brute strategist. He relied on his tremendous power and the fanaticism of his followers in combat. Africa had been a calculated attack, designed to wreck maximum damage with the minium of risk. While Africa heaved and died, causing vicious damage to the world's economy, the SPB community would spread itself paper thin trying to help. A perfect time to eliminate potential threats while isolated, like Reed Richards and his genius.

It was a Cyclops plan without his morals. Apocalypse had become his frightening id. Cyclops shivered at the thought. He was at fault, no matter how indirectly and it had nearly cost the world everything. Scott leaned back and closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly, and was chased by nightmarish dreams.

***

The phone shrilled from a thousand miles away. Really, it was about three feet from his hand, but at four in the morning, four feet was only a subjective reckoning. Henry's hand snaked out from under the covers and scrambled for it, upsetting the lamp and clock in the clumsy groping for the receiver. Considering he'd only been in bed a few hours made it worse. Unfortunately, global emergencies didn't wait until after breakfast, and Henry P. Gyrich was stuck with answering his secure line.

"Gyrich here." He said sleepily, again cursing himself for taking on his position. Still, as SecDef, he was far more able to control threats to the United States, even if it meant some staff puke ringing you at the dead of night. At least his staff was mostly military; the respect as much a part of them as their genetics.

"ZIP traffic inbound, sir. It's from the rec force in Alaska." The man said, and Gyrich winced. Fucking China, he thought for the thousandth time this week, and grunted over the line.

"Hot?"

"Bring oven mitts, sir."

"Got it. I'll be over in twenty minutes. Executive level?"

"Well, we're not going to be receiving Chinese incoming in the next hour, sir. It should be your call."

"Good." Gyrich grinned at the thick Georgian accent on the line end of the line, trying desperately to not to look as if he wanted to go over his boss' head to the President. "Very good. I'll see you in twenty." Gyrich padded to his bathroom and threw himself through a hot shower. At least China could wait for him to get cleaned up.

The last year had been very trying, between the CIA's analysis that China was using SPB's to suppress the more 'progressive' elements in the People's State and the double body blows done to Shaw's administration. First McCain's death, making the coalition of Republican supporters shaky at best, and then the loss of Alan Grower to a fucking heart attack. Alan was a fine Secretary of State, but had the eating habits of a cowboy out of the nineteenth century. His death had left not only a gaping hole in the government, but a vicious power scramble between the parties. No matter what, Shaw was going to piss someone off with his appointment to the post, and they would vote against him in the House.

"Fuck." He was SecDef, supposed to focus on threats to the nation from without, not within. Many a time, he'd wished that he could send an armed squad into the Capitol and make them act for once. But that wasn't his job, and he had little enough time for one hat as is. In less then twenty minutes, Gyrich was out his door and into his official car, speeding towards the Pentagon. It was time to go to work.

***

Scott came to slowly, groping tentatively into consciousness. He was immediately aware of another person in the room with him; soft rhythmic breathing assured him that his visitor was asleep. Scott cracked open one eye and first saw the boots crossed and propped up on the edge of his bed.

They were black leather, with a well polished gloss and topaz greaves buckled over the front for protection. Bulges in the leather and the heavy sole was sure indication that they'd been reinforced as well. They went almost up to the knees, which had reinforcements sown into the fabric. Kevlar, most likely. The legs were covered in the same tight fabric that the X-Men had been using for years. The legs were also devastatingly female, a fact not lost on him. The body suit was all black, slashed with yellow down the sides of the torso and the arms. Armlets in topaz covered the forearms, and ended with slim hands covered in fingerless gloves. The arms were crossed over her chest, and the position forced her battle harness to bunch and bulge. On her shoulder was an 'X' in black, set in a dark red field. At the edge of the bulky collar were a pair of silver buttons, with the same 'X's etched into them.

Scott's eyes widened as he took in the sleeping image of the woman in front of him. She was Asian; her delicately slanted eyes were closed as she slumbered. Her short ink black hair set off her golden skin, and framed her sharp features. A thick worm of scarred flesh twisted behind her left ear and disappeared into the hair at the back of her head. Scott's jaw dropped and he gasped aloud before he could stop himself.

"Jubilee?"

The woman's eyes snapped open, and her gaze settled on the stunned man in bed. She grinned widely, and Scott immediately saw the girl he had known in the woman in front of him.

"Cyke!" She pulled her legs from the bed and sat up. "Oh man, geez... I wasn't sure if- I mean, Beaster said but I- "

"Wait!" Scott held up a hand, laughing as he cut off her rapid-fire welcome. "Give me a chance to catch my breath."

"Sorry, sorry." Jubilee grinned. "It's just- you know, wow, bossman. It's so weird seeing you again."

"Weird for you? Hell, Jubilee, the last time I saw you, you were fifteen. What happened?"

"I grew up." Jubilee smiled mischievously. "It's a fairly common occurrence, I'm told."

"I know." Scott chuckled. "It's just going to take some time. The Jubilee I remember-"

"Is the commander of X-Men Gold." She said and had the supreme satisfaction of watching his stunned expression repeat itself. "Five years now, actually--"

"Commander?"

"Yup. However, we're on stand down right now, so it's my job to get you back on your feet. Beast thought I might be a good way to start adjusting to things."

"Why's that."

"Because of my winning personality and eye candy appeal."

"Wha-"

"It's a joke, Cyke. Come on. Let's get you down to the gym. Hankomatic's therapy machines are good at keeping muscle mass, but they haven't been worked in three months. Your coordination is going to be shot."

"I know that." Scott said, immediately aware of how peevish he sounded.

"Sorry, Jubilee. It's just that being overwhelmed every few minutes is starting to wear on me."

"I know, Scott." Jubilee said quietly. "I'm sorry about Jean."

"Yeah." Scott turned his face away. "I haven't even started o think about it. It's there, but if I start thinking about it- "

"Look, don't then. When the time comes, you'll handle it. Frosty wants to give you something from Jean when you're ready."

"Emma?"

"Un-huh." Jubilee tossed a pile of clothes at Scott and grinned. "However, right now, you're going to change and get to the gym, Summers, or there will be trouble."

"Team leader, huh?"

"Damn good at it, too." Jubilee smiled. "See you there chief." She left and Scott slowly climbed out of bed. He fingered the X on the front of the t-shirt for a long time before pulling the clothes on and leaving the room.

***

"Amro, be quick." The man hissed, snubbing out his cigarette angrily against the side of the car. His friend was working on the last of the three locks to the garage, and it opened with a satisfying click of stainless steel. Together, they backed the car into the supposedly abandoned garage and waited with the patience of teachers; or soldiers.

Both had spent their lives in support of the jyhid, and no one would call either a coward. However, tonight unnerved them both, and a pack of cigarettes went one after another as they sat in the cold automobile and waited.

Just before dawn, the cold concrete echoed with the click of heels, and both men piled out of the car to greet the woman walking towards them. Behind her was a guard detail worthy of the US President; their eyes quick and hungry in the confined space. The woman nodded, her expression as ice cold as her straight silver hair and her expressionless face.

"You have them, yes?"

"Yes. It was tricky. We lost two good men in their home. Your security assessment was inadequate."

"Obviously, we'll recompense you for the additional losses. You do have them both, alive?" She said, anxiousness and excitement in her voice. Both Egyptians nodded and Adryi opened the truck. Two figures lay curled up liked a monestrous ying-yang symbol within. The woman was still attractive despite her age, with the ageless German face and blonde hair that was famous in Hollywood. The man was not as well preserved, his belly swollen from a diet of beer and sausage; nose and cheeks red from harder alcohol. The family resemblance was striking.

"Both are breathing, yes. And fit for your purposes." Amro said.

"Good. No one saw you bring them here?"

"Only Adryi here. The rest of the operatives were paid in cash and dispersed as soon as possible. The operation is tight." Amro said with a satisfied smile, and it was mirrored by the woman.

"You and your men are as good as your reputation, Mister Ali. You would have been a valuable asset to us, a few years ago. Now, however..." She trailed off, and waved her hand. To Amro's credit, his gun was half clear of the holster before the first slug slammed into his clavicle and pulped his shoulder. Both men died quickly under the hail of 9mm rounds, and the sound echoed a few moments after the final casing had hit the floor. The woman stepped distastefully away from the blood and pointed to the sleeping pair in the truck.

"Unload them, quickly. I wait them hooked up and under sedation in 90 minutes." The faceless assassins nodded, and moved to finish the job. All mercs in the world were paid on contracts written in blood. The only concern was that it wasn't your blood being used to sign the form. Unburdened with conscience, the men loaded the gemini pair into a new truck, and dumped the two Arab men into the now empty truck. The slamming of the truck echoed just like a gunshot, one noted before they climbed into the truck and disappeared into the streets of Kubal.

***

"I think I'm going to die." Scott said from the bench. Every muscle was on fire from his workout. His body was as strong as ever, but unfamiliar, as if his mind was no longer in synch with it. He had suffered a tremendously humbling experiences on the sparring match against Jubilee. She'd beat him from one end of the mat to the other, never letting him inside her defense.

A spread of reddened skin over his ribs was already purpling into an impressive bruise; a souvenir from a surprise sledgehammer kick. Jubilee had used her speed to counteract Cyclops superior strength and reach, beating him easily. He had the sneaking suspicion that she'd been going easy on him.

"It's not so bad. Your body will, like, take a while to retrain your reflexes. It's like waking up all drowsy. Takes a while to wake up fully." Jubilee grinned.

"True. However, I'm going to hurt tomorrow." Scott winced.

"Come on. Up on the slab. We'll work some of the kinks out."

"Jubilee, it's really not necessary."

"I think it is. Up." Jubilee said, a hint of iron in her voice. Scott was taken back for a moment. The Jubilee he'd known had been carefree, undisciplined, and extremely insecure about herself. This woman still possessed that same zest for life as the teen did, but it was tempered by experience, and set against the steel in her. Jubilee reminded Scott of Storm in her hidden strength and he smiled. This was the woman he thought he'd glimpsed in her years ago.

"Alright, you win... bosslady." He quipped and was rewarded by a stunned look from her. It melted into amusement.

"Damn right." She grinned as Scott collapsed on the slab. Her fingers dug into his aching muscles and he gasped. Her thumbs drove deep into the agony of his body, and eased the fires. Scott found himself being lulled by the release of tension.

"Where did you learn this?"

"Here and there. A bit from Logan before he left. And when I was going through rehab myself, I had Tom show me the ropes. Gave me something to do." Jubilee said.

"Rehab?"

"Some other time, Scott." Her voice went distant, and Scott let the subject drop. "Besides, I figured if I ever left the X-Men, I'd have a career as a bath house girl waiting. Ichiban bath girl. Prease, you rike me wark arong spine?"

Scott chuckled. "Sounds like a winner for sure." Jubilee finished kneading and helped Cyclops up.

"Now, a shower and then a soak. Then back to bed."

"Do I get to find out everything people don't want to tell me then?" Scott said quietly, and Jubilee's fingers tightened on his bicep.

"Scott, you have to trust Hank on this. Temporal dislocation is serioues. One in three are able to adapt. The rest end up catatonics... or corpses."

"But- "

"Do you think you can handle the laundry list of friends who have died in the last fifteen years? It's a harsh process. Cecilia and Hank know how to guide you through it better then anyone. Just listen to them, alright?"

"I'll try." Scott took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Jubilee."

"Don't worry about it." She got him to his feet and they walked towards the showers.

"So when did you become a trainer?"

"Since Gold team is on stand down, I'm free. Besides, my recommendations will determine if you'll be field qualified."

"Your recommendations?" Scott choked.

"It's a whole new X-Men, Cyke." Jubilee grinned and pushed open the door marked 'Showers'. The entire training area had been remodeled, and it's layout was alien to Scott as he followed her.

A wave of steam caught him as he walked in to the open showers, most coming down from the sunken hot tub at the end of the room. Scott was looking for another door when he heard Jubilee snap the water on with a hiss and peel off her sports bra. He stood frozen, completely taken unawares. Her back was to him as she kicked out of her shorts and underwear, and stepped into the spray. Tearing his eyes off her, Scott looked around, realizing that this was a co-ed facility. Obviously, there had been a shift in mentality on the team. Jubilee was soaping herself down without the least hint of self-consciousness. Scott chided himself for being a fool. He removed his own sweat sodden clothes and turned on a shower at the opposite end of the room. He washed quickly, sluicing the sweat from his body and feeling his muscles unknot in the blistering spray.

He heard splashing behind him and realized that Jubilee had shunk into the large hottub. Self-consciously, he turned off the water and moved to find a towel.

"Cyke, soak for a while. Give your body a chance to recuperate." She said lazily, her eyes closed as she lolled in the heat. Scott balked for a moment before turning to the tub. He'd have to deal with it sooner or later, he thought. However, climbing into a hot tub with a girl he best remembered as fifteen was not exactly the situation he would have liked to ease into things on.

"Ouch! Hot." He hissed as he climbed in.

"Only way to have it, man." Jubilee drawled, riverlets of sweat running down her face. Scott sat back in the heat, stretching out his lanky frame and feeling the heat suffuse him. Across from him, Jubilee did the same, and Scott was suddenly aware of the length of her leg against his flank. Even against the heat of the water, her careless touch was scalding, and Scott felt himself stir. He opened his eyes to see that she was still lying against the side with her eyes closed, taking no notice. Scott was grateful, since the view he head of her nude form hit him like a load of bricks, and he shut his eyes tightly.

Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and ran in streams under the ruby-quartz goggles he wore for training. After a few minutes, Jubilee shifted again and Scott felt the hammering of his pulse begin to subside. They sat in silence for a long time, until Jubilee stood up with a splash.

"Right Cyke. Beaster will be all pissed if I let you cook in here." Scott turned to look at her, momentarily forgetting the situation and was given an eyeful more than expected. Jubilee's lean body was muscled and toned; the kind of hard frame found on a diver or dancer. There was nothing masculine in her long sleek lines, but there was nothing soft or weak in it as well. Another set of scars ran from underneath her left breast to follow her ribs back. Her small breasts were hard against the muscle, distinguished by the dark nipples that dominated them.

"Yeah, you definitely need to get out. You're as red as a lobster."

Jubilee said as she climbed out and wrapped a towel around her body. Scott waited until she'd turned to towel her short hair out before he jumped out, hurriedly wrapping the towel around his waist. Jubilee knocked on the door of a locker and motioned him to it.

"Shirts and shorts, Cyke. I'll meet you outside." She said, stuffing a sweatshirt over her head and disappearing out the door. Scott sank down on the bench, trying to clear his head. The shock of Jubilee's nudity had been minor compared to his sudden physical reaction to it. He had always been controlled enough to prevent that, even before his marriage to Jean. His grief for her seemed hollow; unreachable. It shamed him, to find himself unable to mourn for his wife while he apparently lusted after a person he best remembered as a child. The surprising thing is that he didn't even feel lust towards her, or at least only a shadow of it. The main feeling in the hottub had been deep discomfort, more than anything. But his body was reacting independently, it seemed.

Scott shrugged on the cotton t-shirt and shorts, leaving the shower room deeply uneasy and soul-sick. Had he become the emotional cripple he'd been accused of being for so long? Without answers, he trudged back to his room an store of outdated memories.

***

"SENTINEL is clear." The Secret Service man muttered into his mike as Gyrich stormed into the Pentagon briefing room. Gyrich ran a hand through his crewcut, still mostly red, despite a streak of grey here and there. He collected the cup of coffee offered by the steward, and sat down in the thick leather chair.

"Talk to me." He said in his no-nonsense voice, and the Chiefs of Staff turned to face him as one. The chair, a tired looking man with dark eyes and hair gone nicotine yellow opened a folder.

"Well, Mister Secretary, we have reason to believe that PEACEMAKER may have been compromised." He said, and Gyrich blanched. He covered with a sip of his coffee and looked back up.

"Gus, tell me what's happened?"

"Well, sir," General Gus Davidson was a hero a dozen times over. He'd been in the Gulf, Afghanistan, Thailand, and Africa, always at the front of his men. He'd been jumped to four stars before Genosha, and his skills had carried him to the Joint Chiefs without a word of protest. He was also a man bred to hate bullshit, and the hard ass red-headed sumbitch in the leather chair in front of him appreciated that. "Operational security went right down the toilet when we let the GDC in on this. One of the moles must have heard, and found a PSI to get inside. We've found the telltales on a couple of the minor techs. I think the project as a whole is still secure, but the first traces of blood are in the water."

"Damn." Gyrich said, like Davidson, covering a harsher expletive with it.

"Estimates?"

"Nine, maybe twelve months. Once the hints are there, the foreign agencies will put this together." Gus said.

"Fine. Gus, I want you to double up the security, especially on the command posts. I'm not too worried about the components themselves, but if they find where they link, we'll all be up the proverbial creek."

"I can do that."

"Good. I want an update in six hours. Plans, new procedures... whatever you need."

"I'll have the staff work on it."

"Good. Gentlemen, I hope STEELER is in a good mood today, or we'll all be applying at the local Wal-Mart by this afternoon."

***

"Doctor Reyes," Scott said, never looking up from his palm reader. "Where do you want to slice a sample from today?"

"Don't be such a baby. We both know it doesn't hurt." Cecilia Reyes said, opening up a package and shaking out a handful of pills. "Take these."

"Why?"

"Because your body is still adjusting to being active again. Which means your body chemistry is bouncing around like a junkie on Flash." Scott dry-swallowed the pills and leaned back. "I'm also here to answer a few questions for you, if you'd like."

"I'd prefer Hank."

"Exactly why you get me. You and I have little emotional attachment, Scott. In fact, almost our entire relationship has been that of a doctor/patient." Reyes tucked a greying braid behind her ear. "I dug a bomb out of your chest sixteen years ago. I'll be damned if I let you kill yourself now."

"And that makes you qualified for what, exactly."

"To answer the questions you need to ask. Between the books and Hank, you're as ready as you'll ever be to handle the truth." Reyes took a deep breath. "However, this is going to be very hard, Scott. If you don't feel up to it- "

"I'm ready." Scott quietly, but firmly. Reyes nodded. "First question. Why the isolation."

"We've had a number of temporal dislocates over the last few years. We found those who get pushed too fast into integration where unlikely to be able to adapt. They withdraw, or worse, they opt out."

"Opt out?"

"A girl calling herself Blink slit her own throat in the showers three weeks after we found her. Since then, we've learned to be cautious." Cecilia passed over a glass of light green liquid. "Drink this. The pills have a tendency to dehydrate people."

"Alright. Where's Charles?"

"Professor Xavier died over ten years ago. He suffered a major stroke and never came out of the coma." Scott sucked his breath in over his teeth, the grief knifing through him. He'd already come to the conclusion that Charles was dead, but the verification still cut him. "Look, we can- "

"No. I can handle this. Jean?"

"That, I cannot tell you. Professor Frost is to handle that personally. It was Jean's wish."

"Professor Frost?"

"Emma Frost took over the teams at Charles' death. She liquidated most of Frost Enterprises to do so."

"Why?"

"Who else was qualified? The X-Men have plenty of brilliant scientists, combat leaders and cross dimensional messiahs. However, you had been the only administrative leader."

"What about Sean Cassidy?"

"He was killed when the Struckers destroyed the Snow Valley school."

"The Snow Valley school is gone?"

"Yes. They used a pirated low yield nuke. The entire GenX2 class was killed." Reyes took a deep breath. "Professor Xavier never really recovered from that. We think that's what brought on the stroke."

"So many gone..." Scott muttered.

"I warned you, Scott. Fifteen years is a long time, especially in a world as dangerous as ours."

"So where does Apocalypse fit in?"

"The Acolytes had Magneto removed from office in Genosha and had him tried for crimes against mutantkind. He was executed and Genosha fell into civil war."

"Lorna?"

"Escaped before they could catch her. The upshot of the coup was that Apocalypse was able to just walk in and take charge."

"Jesus..."

"With the resources of that country behind him, he became almost unstoppable. We attacked the island and barely got out alive. Then the Avengers went in at the head of a US task force. They barely got out as well. And by then, we had Heir to worry about."

"What's Heir?"

"A mutation of the Legacy virus. It was a degenerative disease, as opposed to a fatal one. Struck at the bones, muscles and organs of mutants, especially those with modified physical bodies. I'm afraid Angel died of it last year. It almost killed Hank too. He still is recovering, and it's been months."

"Angel's dead as well... Warren." Scott said softly, and Reyes nodded.

"After Heir came ADF, and then Ebola-Neo. All mutant specific. We're playing catch-up all over the place, medically speaking." Reyes pulled out one of the packaged optical chips and dumped it on the bed beside Scott.

"That's the disease profiles. Mutant population levels have only risen two percent in ten years, despite the fact that the birth rate is up by a third. Because of the modifications the X-factor adds to our DNA, the viruses which attack us tend to prove to be as unique."

"I came back to a plague."

"Plague is too strong a word. However, between the different viruses and the combat attrition, it's been a pretty dangerous time." Reyes recrossed her legs as Scott toyed with his palm screen.

"So, where are we now?"

"Rebuilding. Despite everything, we've been able to get a hold on a good number of the mutated viruses. Oddly enough, some of those cures have come from Doctor Essex."

"Essex? Sinister!" Scott choked.

"Essex is what they want him called. The process that was used to augment him was reversed about six years ago. It was actually one of the early experiments in designing a way to get you back. Fairly intensive telepathic therapy did a lot to purge the overlay that made him Mister Sinister. He works as a doctor and researcher at the Vault; kind of a special prisoner status."

"Jesus..."

"I know, it's creepy. Where were we?"

"Genosha."

"Right. Genosha. Apocalypse used their Pipeline to get into a bunch of the old Sentinel storage bases. Some from the days of Bolivar Trask even. They were reprogrammed and launched on Europe. That was about the bleakest time, Scott. Tens of millions died as the Sentinels launched waves after wave of attacks through France, Spain, Germany, Italy..." Reyes took the reader from Scott's hand and keyed in a few buttons. A map of Europe blossomed on the screen, with red patches blinking on it. "Those were the areas worst hit."

"Latveria was untouched?" Scott pointed on the map.

"It was attacked... unsuccessfully. It was Doom's robots that ended up going toe to toe with the Sentinels. After it was over, the EEU basically handed him the reins. Ended up being the turning point in the war."

"Really?"

"Yes. With Doom in charge of Europe, it gave him the votes he needed to get the UN to approve the GPA project."

"I'm going to assume you don't mean grade point average."

"Hardly. It's the Global Police Authority. It started with the Avenger who proposed it, as a police body specifically designed to respond to extraordinary threats, like those posed by the SPB population. It's a little like Interpol as it doesn't answer to any one country. Technically, it reports to the UN Security Council."

"My god..." Scott said, his mind reeling. That had been his initial hopes for X-Factor, years ago. That they'd have the endorsement of a group like the Avengers. "Who set it up?"

"Captain America. He's the actual chair of the entire force, and sits on the Security Council. The American representative got a short, sharp surprise when he assumed that Cap would just tie his vote to him on every issue."

"So, the Avengers are deputized?"

"Sort of. I'm not sure on the actual structures. I'm not a field agent. However, I do know that the GPA has the right to operate in every country in the world in response to a threat. The board is run by Black Widow, Polaris, Captain Britain, Sunfire, and Sabra."

"And Doom voted for it?"

"According to Remy's analysis, Doom was worried that a group of self-righteous heroes might start looking at evening up old scores by going after him while the balance of power was still delicate. Like or hate Captain America, Doom at least knew that he'd adhere to global law."

"Amazing." The possibilities whirled in Scott's mind. "Just amazing. So what finally happened with Apocalypse?"

"Raid."

"You don't just raid Apocalypse in the middle of Genosha."

"Not unless you have the combined US and European Atlantic fleets pounding away at the island from the other side. In any case, we went in, along with the Avengers."

"The whole of the Avengers?"

"Most."

"And Genosha?"

"Doesn't really exist anymore. A patchwork of little bare rock islands. Mostly pounded to glass. He made sure that we had to hit everything to get to him." Cecilia said quietly, picking at the seam of her sleeve. "There were about five or six thousand Genoshian survivors. Most of them were out of the country when it was hit."

"What's going to happen to them?"

"Well, reparations are brought up at the UN every so often, but public opinion is dead against it. My guess is that they'll start converting to their original citizenship quietly and disappear." Scott nodded. Even native born Genoshians still had their parent's citizenship origins, due to the bizarre nature of it's which from colony to country.

"I managed to kill a whole nation."

"Apocalypse killed a nation, Scott. Not you."

"Same difference."

"Is it? If a telepath uses her power to make you shoot someone, does that make you the murderer?" Cecilia shot back.

"It's not the same thing!"

"Really?"

"It's not..." Scott trailed off miserably.

"No, it is. I'm amazed, Cyclops. All the stories that I've heard about you, and none ever mentioned that you were such a coward."

"You think you can judge me, you bitch! You don't understand the slightest thing- " Scott's voice choked off, tight with rage.

"Understand what? Loss? Betrayal? Helplessness? You think that I don't feel guilty for every patient that I wasn't good enough or fast enough to save? The ones who just didn't make it?" Cecilia said venomously. "I'll tell you what, Scott. I'll have a nice big cross made for you, so you can climb up on it and martyr yourself to the X-Men. Then maybe when everyone sees you up there, they'll feel sorry enough for you that they won't blame you for throwing away the second chance that Jean died to give you."

"Shut up!" Scott launched out of the bed, catching Reyes full in the chest and driving her to the floor. His hands scrambled on the ice-slick edge of her forcefield, but he was able to clamp on to the sides of her head. Furiously, he began to smash it against the carpet.

"How dare you! You fucking bitch!" Once. Twice. Three times he drove her head down, uncaring that her field protected her from harm. All that was in him was the need to hurt; to kill this creature and her venom.

"Scott- "

"Shut up! Shut up!" Scott screamed, lost in his fury. Pain exploded between his legs, and he lost his grip on her head. The heel of her hand crashed into his jaw, and black spots exploded between his eyes. Scott went reeling back; spinning across a void, blind and crippled by pain.

"That's enough." Reyes' voice came from above his huddled form. At first the sounds made no sense, just noise from a distant source. Slowly, his head cleared and the murderous rage abated.

"Wha- "

"You can let the guilt swallow you whole, or you can try being worth the sacrifice that was made for you." Cecilia opened the door and slammed it behind her, leaving Scott lying dazed in a corner of the room. The sound of the doorlock turning jerked him up like a shock.

What was happening to him? He'd lost it; snapped and lost control worse than Wolverine had ever done. If it hadn't of been for her powers, Reyes could have been badly hurt. The woman was in her forties, and Scott's strength was still at its peak. Something in him crumbled; shattered in a thousand pieces. The thin wall he'd built up gave way and the grief swelled in him. So many friends, so many years. The loss swept through him, and great wracking sobs tore from his throat. Scott huddled in the space between the wall and his bed, wrapped in on himself and shaking. The cascade of deaths reeled through his mind, each on growing and impacting until it was forced through his block and his grief vented out in the empty room.

***

"Let's review this very slowly, shall we Doctor? You did exactly what to Scott?" Beast said carefully, his huge hands gripping the edges of his chair tightly. He had returned to the medical bay to a monitor full of Scott in the midst of what appeared to be a complete breakdown. Reyes had prevented him from rushing to his friend's side, and Hank's temper was fraying rapidly.

"I didn't do anything to Scott. I gave him the push he needed to get past his guilt."

"Indeed. And I was under the understanding that we were going to wait until Professor Frost returned from Washington before working on his mental stability." Hank said tightly.

"Hank, in this case, I know what I'm doing. You've never worked an ER after a crash or accident. The ones you worry most about are those who blame themselves for surviving. After losing a wife, or a child. There are two ways to handle them. You either try and gentle them through, or you hit the wall they've built hard and fast and trust in them having to strength to survive it." Cecilia sat down across from Hank and patted his arm.

"Scott is strong enough to survive this, as long as he can get past his block. If not, nothing Emma or you did would have mattered."

"You raise several valid points, Doctor Reyes. However, I would ask you consult with me the next occasion you take it upon yourself to muck about with my friend's head. You may know trauma victims, but I know Scott." McCoy said and stood up. "I think I'll ask our esteemed Gold commander to look in on him."

"Why Jubilee?"

"Well, not only has Scott interacted with her already, but she'd be a relatively nonthreatening presence to him right now."

"True."

"Now Doctor Reyes, we'll find out if your instincts were correct. Because if they were not, the response you'll receive will not be pleasant."

***

It was raining outside; a cold biting rain which was the last gasp of autumn against the coming winter. No doubt the states to the north were already choked with ice and soft falling snow. The cloak of cold seeped into the earth, and everything on top of it, reaching down from the slate grey skies and thin straggled clouds. Winter was a time when things sleep. And die.

Scott sat on the chair by the window, staring out at the same tree, now lashed with the rain and wind. The palm reader lay unpowered and discarded by the bed. He considered how many people had been through this room, the traditional recovery room of the X-Men: Rogue, Polaris, Longshot. Now, it was his turn. He sipped the cup of coffee in front of him and closed his book finally. The butter soft leather binding was old; worn smooth by the hands of a thousand readings. He traced the almost completely lost gilt title on the spine, feeling the warmth of memories that came with it.

Xavier's grandfather had bought the book for his library, more than a hundred years ago. At the time, it had been an old printing. Charles had spent a fair amount of money having it reinforced and cleaned with the rest of the library, when Scott had begun his lessons there. Orphanages are not known for their libraries, and Scott had grown up on a mostly steady diet of pulp paperbacks like 'Bud Keeler: Ace of the Air' and such. His desultory high school credits had given him a lackluster background in nothing. Xavier already knew his potential, and had put one of his own favourite works into his young hands. It took him three months to finish 'Don Quixote', with a great deal of help from a dictionary and Charles.

After that, he attacked the library with a ferocious appetite. However, Cerventes' classic still was his most cherished possession, in the excellent Tobias Smollett translation and a forward by Dumas himself. He sighed and set the book down on the desk, returning to his window watching.

"Scott?" Jubilee entered, water still sliding down her face and leather jacket. Scott took another sip of coffee and smiled wanly at her.

"Hey Jubilee. Is it visiting time already?"

"Not really. I just got in from town. Thought I'd see how you were, like, holding up?"

"Not bad." Scott took a deep breath and let it out. "Not bad at all. You?"

"Hey, it's vacation time for me." Jubilee flashed one of those kilowatt grins and him and sat down across from him. "Why, you up for another round on the mat?"

"Maybe later." Scott said. "Actually, I was thinking of getting out of here for a while."

"What, the mansion?"

"No, the room." Jubilee laughed at Scott's annoyed jibe. "I never liked this room anyway. Plus, watching Hank wedge himself in this chair is painful enough to watch."

"I guess we could move you."

"Or I could move myself. Besides, I've been in bed long enough."

"Yeah?"

"I should apologize to Doctor Reyes too."

"Actually Scott, it's Reyes-Drake."

"Really? Poor Bobby."

"Dude, be nice." Jubilee jabbed him in the shoulder and Scott laughed.

"I'll try. Now, tell me Harry's hasn't been hit by a meteor or something?"

"Nope, it's still going."

"Good. Because I need a drink, and I think I owe you, Hank and Cecilia one as well." Scott got up and shrugged into his borrowed coat. Jubilee rolled her eyes and nodded.

"I'll call them. Right now?"

"Right now." Scott smiled and Jubilee threw an arm around his neck, hugging him briefly. "Jubilee, one thing?"

"Yah?"

"Um, do I have any money? I think my Visa expired about fourteen years ago." Scott grinned sheepishly, and Jubilee laughed.

"We'll figure it out, Cyke."

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