Title: Revolution
By: Emily Brunson
Pairing: gen
Rating: Pg-13
Note: Crossover with X-Men movieverse.
Summary: Las Vegas just passed a law saying every city employee has to be tested for mutation -- and someone's about to get outed.

“It is entirely in line with the accidental nature of mutations that extensive tests have agreed in showing the vast majority of them detrimental to the organism in its job of surviving and reproducing, just as changes [accidentally] introduced into any artificial mechanism are predominantly harmful to its useful operation…. Good ones are so rare that we can consider them all bad.” (H.J. Muller, "How Radiation Changes the Genetic Constitution")


Prologue



He was hiding out in the garden when Bobby came to find him.

Well, hiding out was such a lame way of putting it. Someone else with more education and a far gentler way of expressing himself might have said he was seeking a quiet place so that he could think. Someone like Xavier. Or Jean.

But he wasn’t thinking about much. In fact he was doing his damndest not to think at all. Thinking only made things tougher. Not better. Thinking was highly overrated.

Nope. He was hiding out.

“Logan?”

He fought down the urge to snarl and just nodded. Bobby looked tired, and it had been a while since Logan had seen the kid smile. His smiles stopped about the same time everyone else’s did. “Yeah, kid. What?”

“Sorry.” Bobby stuck his hands in his pockets and didn’t quite meet Logan’s eyes. “The professor wants to see you.”

Logan snorted. “And he sent you? Why didn’t he just press the damn call button?”

Bobby looked confused, and Logan tapped his own temple. “You know. ‘Come to me,’” he intoned, and Bobby snorted, too.

“He didn’t say.” Still didn’t smile.

“You could always say you couldn’t find me.”

“No,” Bobby said seriously. “I couldn’t.”

Logan shrugged. “Okay, fine. He says jump, and all we ask is how high. That the way we still play it?”

Bobby didn’t answer that. Just turned and went back the way he’d come.

Halfway to the house he was already regretting being an asshole. Bobby was still shell-shocked, and he wasn’t the only one. A lot of the other kids were home for the summer, but a few were still around. Kids like Bobby, whose families weren’t exactly rolling out the red carpet in anticipation of their return. So it wasn’t crowded, but not deserted around here, either.

Walking into the house, he had a flash of that night. Kids screaming, glass breaking, ghostly men with weapons and himself with pretty much no way to fight them off, either. Didn’t even LIKE kids, and there he was, Mother fucking Goose.

The house was repaired now, of course. Xavier had seen to that right away. Well, after he’d repaired himself. Face it, they were all fixer-uppers by the end of it. The easy part was physical. The rest -- Call them all works in progress.

He found Xavier in his study. Natty suit in place, calm expression. Calm expectant expression. No surprises today for the head honcho. Tomorrow? Who knew?

“Hey,” Logan said gruffly, lifting his chin. “What’s up?”

“Ah, Bobby found you. Good.” Xavier closed the book he’d been looking at. Logan didn’t bother to see what it was. “How do you feel?”

Logan slumped down into a chair. “Good. I guess. Where’s Cyclops?”

Xavier’s calm expression didn’t waver. “Scott’s still away. Precisely where, I’m not certain.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t give me that. You know exactly where he is. Where all of us are.”

“I can find you, yes. But I don’t, necessarily. If you prefer not to be found.”

Should have left me in the garden, then, Logan thought, and shrugged. “Okey-doke.”

“Interesting you should bring up finding people, however.” Xavier’s right eyebrow lifted. “I have a job for you, if you’re up to it.”

“Course I’m up to it. Guess it’s not Cyclops, then.”

“No. This will involve some travel. Ever been to Las Vegas?”

Logan stared at him, and then snorted, fighting down a grin. “You gotta be kidding me. You’re sending me to VEGAS?”

“Would you prefer I send someone else?”

“Hell no!” He finally did grin, shaking his head. “Running low on cash, feel like having me place a few bets? I can do that, you know. Won a little here and there.”

“Any gambling you do will be with your own funds,” Xavier said dryly. “And preferably after you find the man I’m sending you to locate.”

Logan’s smile faded. “Guess that’s fair. So who’s the guy?”

“A mutant, a very gifted one. I’ve known of his existence for some time, years in fact. Now, I believe….” He paused consideringly. “It might be a good time to cultivate his acquaintance.”

“So what is this? A recruitment trip?”

Xavier’s expression didn’t waver. “Perhaps.”

“And you’re sending ME?” Logan stared at him. “Look, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one with no people skills, remember? Slice first, ask questions never?”

The ghost of a smile came and went on Xavier’s features. “I haven’t forgotten. But you have other skills, Logan. Important ones.” He nodded. “There’s a catch, of course.”

“Right. Of course there is.”

“He won’t use his power. He hasn’t, in at least a decade.”

“What, kind of a vow of mutant chastity or something? What’s his ability?”

“I have no idea.”

“Oh, great.” Logan flopped back in his chair. “So you want me to recruit someone who won’t use his power anyway, on the off chance that he’ll change his mind? When we don’t even know what he can DO? Christ, Xavier, for all we know his mutation allows him to fart the Star Spangled Banner. How do you know he’s a guy we even want?”

“Some mutants glow.”

“Glow?”

“I don’t mean it literally, I should say. Although in a few cases…. No, what I mean is – more figurative. The more powerful a mutant, the brighter he or she shines in my mind.” His brow furrowed. “There are many mutants I cannot see without the help of Cerebro. Most, perhaps. But some, Logan -- Some seemingly demand to be noted. Perhaps it’s the nature of their gifts, or the scope of their power – perhaps it’s something even less tangible. But those mutants, I see every time I close my eyes.”

He hated the way those words made him feel. Interested in spite of himself. He shifted a little in his seat. “And this one’s in Vegas.”

Xavier nodded. “There is some element of danger,” he added slowly. “Of what kind, I’m not sure, but whatever it is, you must be on your guard. In the past six months there has been a gathering of mutants to Las Vegas. The western United States has typically had less of a mutant presence than the east, but a great many seem to be popping up in Nevada.”

“Someone’s doing? Or maybe they’re all just interested in the craps tables.”

“It isn’t necessarily nefarious.” Xavier stirred. “In any case, while you’re there, if you should happen to find out anything….”

“Yeah. Okay. Speaking of finding, who’s the guy I’m looking for?”

“He works in law enforcement.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Great. You know, the last time I faced the cops, one shot me in the head. And you want me to – what? Just have a chat with him? Say, by the way, if you feel like it, we’re recruiting?”

“I’m curious about him. Bring him here, if he’ll come. Don’t force him. I’m not even sure you could.”

“And if he won’t?”

Xavier’s blue eyes had taken on a familiarly distant cast. Staring out the window, he replied, “The time is coming when neutrality will be a questionable option at best. Until I find a mutant with true, accurate precognitive ability, I can’t see the future.”

“So you think a war really is coming.”

“Oh, it’s already here, Logan. What we’re doing now is simply – mustering the troops.”

Unsettled by Xavier’s wintry tone, Logan shifted in his chair. “So you really want this guy. Even though you have no idea what it is he can do.”

Xavier looked steadily at him. “One reason I chose you to make the trip,” he said slowly, “is your own gift. I can’t be certain. But your healing ability gives you advantages. If he should harm you –“

“I’m the one with the best shot of getting up and walking away.” Logan nodded. Hearing it stated so bluntly didn’t sting nearly as much as it maybe should have. Kinda logical. “You think this guy’ll get violent?”

“I think that in spite of your gift, you must be very, very careful. He’s not a telepath; I’d know if he was. But injuries can be more than physical. Be on your guard.”

“Night and day. When do you want me to leave?”

Xavier produced a grim smile. “As soon as possible.”

“Okay. You got a name for this mystery guy?”

“Stokes. Nicholas Stokes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One



“He’s a mutant.”

Nick frowned at Robbins. “Well, I admit it’s a weird case, Doc, but you don’t –“

“Literally.”

That got Grissom’s wandering attention, too. “Physiological mutation?” he asked, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Another one?”

Robbins used the dull edge of his scalpel to point to the dead man’s throat. “Well camouflaged, but there if you know what to look for. See? Functional gills.”

“Is that what those are?” Nick bent, narrowing his eyes. “Wow.”

“Lung tissue is similarly odd. And the eyes feature nictitating membranes.” Robbins shrugged. “The rest of him looks human, but.”

“So he’s – what?”

“It appears he could breathe underwater.” Robbins glanced at the gaping wound in the man’s – mutant’s – chest. “It’s possible I’ll find other differences during the post-mortem, but there’s no question.”

Nick darted a look from Robbins to Grissom. “You said, ‘another one?’”

“About a month ago.” Grissom gazed at the body, lips tight. “Remember our jumper?”

“Heard about it, yeah. I was off that week. He was a mutant?”

“She. And yes. She fell fifteen stories, but there were no broken bones. The skeletal system was more – cartilaginous. She actually died of a massive subdural hematoma.”

“So she had soft bones. That doesn’t make her a mutant.”

“They weren’t bones, Nick. Not human bones, at any rate.”

Robbins was nodding. “So this is two in the past month. It appears we’re being ushered into the same ranks as the northeastern USA.”

“Homo superior. There are mutants in Las Vegas. We already knew that.” Grissom lifted his chin. “Although it’s beginning to appear that they’re meeting violent ends.”

“Because they’re mutants?” Nick wrinkled his nose. “I mean, I’m not even sure I really believe all that crap we’re getting from Washington. Even if they are mutants, I’ve never seen any of ‘em – do anything. Not dangerous, at least.”

Grissom didn’t appear to be listening very closely. His eyes still on the man’s blown-open chest, he said, “Al, let me know when you’ve finished your work?”

“As always.”

“Thank you.”

Nick stepped in behind him, still frowning as they left the chilly morgue room behind. “So somebody’s killing mutants? Is that your theory?”

“You have a better one?” Grissom jabbed the elevator button and glanced at Nick. “Not everyone feels as I do about mutations.”

“Which is?”

“A kind of pity, really. A mutation isn’t a choice. These people didn’t ask to be different. They simply are.”

Nick nodded slowly. “So you don’t agree with that senator’s thing last year? The registration act?”

“Do you?”

The elevator arrived, and he let Grissom get on first before following. “It just sounds lame,” Nick said, punching the button for their floor. “Paranoid. Whatever happened to live and let live?”

“There are mutants who’ve done extremely violent, dangerous acts. The incident in New York last year, for example.”

“Right, the thing with the thing. Heard about that.” The elevator dinged, and Nick held the door for Grissom to exit first. “But it all turned out okay, you know? Nobody got killed. Holding everyone responsible for one freaky guy’s acts, it’d be like putting all the people in Las Vegas in a holding cell because one person committed a crime.”

When he looked, Grissom’s expression was quizzical. “Registration isn’t prison, Nick,” he said gently. “But as it happens, I tend to agree with you. Registration isn’t the answer.”

“So what is?”

“If I had one, believe me I’d broach it. But anything that contributes to an ‘us-vs-them’ feeling, advocating a form of segregation – that’s not a workable alternative.”

“Yeah,” Nick said slowly. “Guess you’re right.”

~~~~~~~~

At home, hours later, he shut the front door and leaned against it, sighing heavily. His eyes burned, damn contacts, and he threw his keys in the dish by the phone.

Changed into sweats and a stained, ancient Oilers tee shirt, a cold beer in his hand, he felt better. He wandered into the bathroom to take a leak, and when he was done he washed his hands and took out his contacts, and regarded himself in the mirror.

The contacts had been his own idea. If anyone had ever tried them on, they’d have known right away they didn’t do jack for his vision. Just plastic, but heavily tinted, mostly red with a little yellow mixed in. It had taken the guy in Waco several tries to get the right color, and it took a lot longer to get used to wearing them. They were thick, hard, and by the end of the day his eyes felt as if he’d been using hydrochloric acid for eyedrops.

But they did the trick. Mix red and yellow with blue and green, and you got a dark, average brown. His license said his eyes were brown. Everything said his eyes were brown.

And right now, he ought to put the damn things back in, because if someone stopped by, well, it wouldn’t do to have them see his eyes were in fact anything BUT brown, would it?

So he wouldn’t answer the door. It was worth it, just to blink freely for a while and not see everything through a slightly reddish haze.

An hour later, checking his email, he saw a familiar address and clicked it open.

“Hey Nick,

“You remember what we were talking about a couple weeks ago, that night over at Barbara’s? A friend of a friend told me it’s legit. City Council’s going to vote, maybe as early as next session. They’re sneaking this in under the radar.

“Look, I know you’re not into this kind of thing, but Shane’s already putting together a rally to protest. It would mean a lot if you’d be there. Strength in numbers, you know?

“If you’re interested, we’re meeting at Barbara’s tomorrow night. This affects you, too, Nick. I told you I’d never say a word, and I mean that, but one of these days soon you’re going to wake up in a fascist state and wonder what the hell happened.”

Terry hadn’t closed it with good wishes. Nick wasn’t surprised.

Behind him in the kitchen, the pipes gave off a sullen gurgle, and he reached up to rub his eyes. Great. Just fucking great.

Hypocrite. Liar. Coward.

Had that been the last time he’d seen Shane? That hadn’t been the worst Shane had called him. And all of it true, really, right? He was afraid. Terrified. Lying was a way of life for him.

He thought about the body in the morgue, and his attempts to sound blasé, and this time the answering clank in the plumbing scared him.

No. Stay where you are. Leave me alone. I’m calm. I’m okay.

By the time he’d deleted Terry’s email and drunk another beer, the pipes were quiet again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Staring down at the body, Gil felt a tired frisson creep up his spine.

“Mother called it in.” Jim Brass had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his lined face utterly expressionless. “Dad was still freaking out.”

Gil glanced over at the couple, sitting motionless and shell-shocked on the porch. Mr. Bradley’s clothes were stiff with dried blood. He was still crying, but his wife sat with pale face and lips pressed tightly together, watching the police do their thing.

“Wanna know what makes this really bad?”

The rasp in Brass’s voice caught Gil’s attention, and he looked at him. “This kid,” Brass continued heavily, “I mean, look at him. Okay, he looks funny. But whatever made him look this way, that wasn’t enough. They had to give his brains a slap while they were at it.”

“So you’re saying –“

“I’m saying the kid was mildly retarded.”

“The politically correct term is ‘developmentally challenged,’” Gil said softly, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Whatever. What was he gonna to do anyone? Peck ‘em to death? Kid couldn’t even make it through the fourth grade, for God’s sake.”

The boy, if that was the right term – he looked about twenty-one, if it was possible to be sure – was so badly beaten it was hard to see the beak Brass had mentioned. But the rest of him was obvious. The stick-thin arms, heavily coated with metallic-bright feathers, with curved, fragile-looking claws. And the oddly shaped feet, clad in slippers: what would this boy’s feet look like? As avian as the rest of him?

Michael Bradley’s blue eyes gazed up at nothing, wide with surprise. Gil thought about the old idea that a killer’s face could be made out on his victim’s retinas, and wished fervently that it were true.

He hunkered down, staring at the ground around the thin body. “This didn’t happen here. How did he get home?”

“Guess he walked. Or crawled. Don’t think he could fly.”

A harsh spasm of pity tightened Gil’s throat. He covered by standing and brushing off his hands. “Mind if I talk to the parents?”

Brass regarded him, and shrugged. “They don’t know anything. But be my guest.”

Bradley pere was weeping again, silently and motionlessly, so it was to the mother Gil turned. “I know you’ve already been over this with the detective,” he said.

She gave a jerky nod, one hand rubbing an aimless circle on her husband’s shaking back. Her eyes – blue, like her son’s – were dry, and shattered. “Everyone always liked Mike,” she said without inflection. “He was such a sweet boy, and he made friends so easily, even with – all that.” Her mouth hung open, but she said nothing else.

“Was there anyone you noticed lately? Any kind of threatening behavior, anything that might suggest –“

“About a year ago,” she added, as if he hadn’t spoken at all, “we stopped letting him go out without one of us with him. Me or Jonah. My husband. It was after the confrontation in New York.”

Gil gave a cautious nod.

“It changed everything. People started – looking at him. Really looking. Oh, they’d always stared.” She lifted her chin, looking directly into his eyes for the first time. “But there was never hate in their eyes. Curiosity, pity. But never – hatred. Until a year ago. We’d always let him do things, run to the convenience store on the corner, that sort of thing. Go to the arcade. Kids looked out for him there. Made sure he was okay.

“But I was afraid, I was afraid of what I started seeing in their eyes. Mike, he was -- Well, I suppose they told you. Slow, we used to call it.”

“Yes,” Gil said softly.

“He would trust anyone. And I couldn’t. I didn’t trust a soul. And I was right,” she said bitterly. “Wasn’t I? Whoever did this, hated Mike. Hated what he was. And they hurt him.” Her voice broke, and her husband glanced at her, startled. “They hurt him so much,” she whispered. “Why did they have to hurt him? He crawled home, did you know that? He came home to die. He couldn’t remember how to write a complete sentence if you didn’t help him, but he remembered the way home.” Her voice had risen, until it was a raw cry, so thick with belated tears that Gil could hardly stand the sound of it.

“Melanie,” Jonah Bradley said miserably.

“When you catch who did this,” Melanie Bradley said fiercely, reaching out and grabbing the hem of Gil’s jacket. “When you catch them – you make them hurt, too. Promise me that.”

Oh, I want to, Gil thought, swallowing. I’d like to roll my truck over them, back and forth, until they’re as broken and bloody as your son. “I’ll do my best,” he said hoarsely. He thought that he had never seen anything, in too many years, anything as terrible as Melanie Bradley’s fingers going limp, hands lying in her lap like dead birds while she finally let herself begin to weep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour or so later, in the car, Brass said, “That makes three, doesn’t it?”

Staring at the passing buildings, Gil nodded. “Three mutants.”

“You know what I’m thinking.”

“It’s not a serial killer, if that’s what it is.”

“Then I wanna hear what you think.”

Gil shifted and crossed his legs. The memory of Michael Bradley’s birdlike thin arms and legs wouldn’t leave him. “Serial killers,” he said distantly, “typically are more organized than this. All three of our deaths have been opportunistic crimes, not premeditated. The girl, pushed off a hotel-room balcony. A gunshot wound. Now a lethal beating. Those aren’t the work of a serial killer. They’re symptoms.”

Brass sighed. “Of?”

“A far wider problem. Prejudice.”

Brass said nothing, but after a moment he gave a short, grim nod.

Staring at his hands, Gil said, “The city council is voting this week on a new city ordinance. Have you heard about it?”

“Yep.”

“Washington can’t decide whether or not to enforce the Mutant Registration Act, so the good townspeople are taking matters into their own hands. The ordinance will pass, Jim. All mutants, residents or visitors, will be required to register with the police.”

“Yeah,” Brass said tiredly. “I heard.”

“Not only that. But every city employee will be required to take a blood test. In case someone decides to lie about their status. There’s –“

“I read the papers, too, Gil,” Brass interrupted, braking for a red light. He glanced over at Grissom. “I think it’s overreacting. But if somebody hadn’t stopped them, those freaks in the city would have killed a hundred or more people.”

“But –“

“And you know about that mutant trying to assassinate the Prez not so long ago.”

“But the President himself seems less gung-ho about the Registration Act. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Maybe he’s out of touch. I don’t know.”

Gil stared at him. “So you support this city ordinance?” he said disbelievingly.

“I didn’t say that. But you talk as if mutants are just regular folks, like you and me. They’re not.”

“In the ways that count –“

“You know what I’m talking about. Come on. If they just looked different, maybe, yeah. But it’s not just looks. What about mutants that look like regular folks?”

“Well, what about them? Assuming they’re all out for destructive ends is as racist as it gets,” Gil fired back.

Brass sighed. “That isn’t what I mean. But assuming they’re just like me or you is just as short-sighted. All right?”

He thought about taking his pulse. It was far too fast. “I think,” Gil said carefully, after a couple of deep breaths, “that the percentage of mutants who intend humans harm is probably no higher than the percentage of regular criminals in our society. Perhaps lower. If you tar all of them with the same brush, what reason do you have not to do the same with humans?”

Brass snorted. “Who says I don’t?”

~~~~~~~~~

It took a couple of hours to shake off the anger he felt following his dialogue with Brass. Seeing a small but vocal crowd around the courthouse during his brief trip downtown helped minimally, but reading the signs about discrimination and mutant freedom made him feel more tired than anything else. They were far outnumbered by those demonstrating in favor of the ordinance, in favor of registration and segregation. He wished he felt surprise.

And as the date for the vote drew nearer, there were other signs. Two more attacks on mutants, neither lethal, fortunately, but vicious and pointed. And working with Catherine one night two days before the polls opened, he stood thunderstruck while she told him about a mutant girl in her daughter’s school.

“She’s really a sweet girl. Jocelyn. I met her last year at the science fair. Smart kid.”

Gil nodded, eyes narrowed. “Did her parents take any legal action?”

“The principal at Lindsay’s school said it was an accident.” Catherine shrugged. “But Jocelyn’s parents were so afraid there’d be more ‘accidents,’ they yanked her out. I think they’ll homeschool her.”

“Catherine, you’re saying someone set the girl’s HAIR on fire and nothing was done?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and then met his eyes. “They’re afraid of her. Of what she can do.”

“And what is that?”

“She can read their minds.”

Gil swallowed. “A telepath.”

“Evidently. And she told some kid what he was thinking. Maybe more than one, I don’t know. So there were complaints, other parents saying Jocelyn was cheating, that she could just read the teacher’s mind for answers on a test, that sort of thing.”

“Could she?”

“I have no idea. I suppose she could.”

“So to stop her, they lit her on fire.”

“If it had been Lindsay, I’d have sued so fast it might have set my own damn hair on fire.”

“Jesus,” Gil muttered.

“Funny you should say that. You know what I’ve heard? Mutant children are a punishment from God. Sins of the fathers, that sort of thing.”

At this rate he’d need blood-pressure medication before this shift was done. “I see,” Gil replied thinly.

“You know something? If I were a mutant?” Catherine shook her head. “I’d do my damndest not to show it. I’d never tell a soul.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he settled for nodding.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t you get it? We need you.”

Nick gazed at her. “Barb, I believe you,” he said slowly. “I know you’re right. But we’re not gonna stop this. Not by demonstrating, not by anything. It’ll go through.”

She snorted and flipped her cherry-red hair over her shoulder. It was warm in the room, uncomfortably warm, and he wondered if the place would still be standing long if Barbara really got pissed off at him. Wondered if he could defend himself if she did. “With attitudes like that?” she snapped. “It’s no wonder.”

“I’m not saying I’m happy about it,” Nick said. “But I can see the writing on the wall. We all can. There’s more support for this than dissent. The vote’s three days away. So to me, the question isn’t whether or not we can keep the ordinance from passing. Question is, what are we gonna do when it does pass?”

Terry had been glancing anxiously back and forth, his live-and-let-live peaceable personality alarmed at the palpable tension in the room. Now he gave a nervous nod. “Nick’s right,” he said. “We gotta talk about worst-case scenarios.”

A guy Nick didn’t know, dark-skinned and pale-eyed, cleared his throat. “My family’s scared,” he said in a rumbling voice. “My kids want to know if they’ll have to leave school. What am I supposed to tell them?”

Watching his helpless shrug, Nick felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. The truth, he wanted to snap. Tell them that we’re about to become as marginalized as black people in the fifties. Maybe more. Tell them it’s a short step from here to relocation camps. Reservations. Tell them we’re fucking screwed, and all because of something we have absolutely no control over. We’re freaks, and our city is about to make sure everyone knows it.

No one answered the man’s question. The hot, stuffy little room was pushing at Nick, making him feel strangled, and he sat up. “I gotta get,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair. “I gotta go work.”

“They’ll test your blood,” Barbara told him coolly. He saw with a little relief that her crimson hair looked smoother now. “In a week your colleagues will know you’re one, too. How do you feel about that?”

Nick sighed. “How do you think I feel?”

“You won’t be able to pass anymore. You like passing, don’t you? Pretending you’re just like them? This is what it’s gotten you, Nick.” Her tiny smiled thinned, became vengeful. “Are you proud?”

“Shut up, Barbara,” Terry said. There was an unusual venom to his tone. “Damn it, we all do the best we can. Nick’s no different from any of the rest of us.”

“Nick is a symptom,” she said. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe if we didn’t hide – if people like Nick didn’t pretend to be what they’re not – that we might not even be facing this vote?”

Nick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “And this helps a lot, doesn’t it?” he asked tiredly. “Okay, I’m outta here.”

Terry caught up with him outside. “Nick, listen. You know how she is.” He was practically wringing his hands. “But we need solidarity right now. Now more than ever. We need you at the courthouse on Friday. Can I count on you?”

Nick gazed at him, and sighed. “I’ll – think about it,” he said. “I’m sorry, best I can do.”

“You can’t hide forever.” Terry shook his head. “Barbara’s right about that, at least. What are you gonna do when everybody knows the truth, Nick?”

Rustily, Nick said, “Best I can, I guess. I gotta go.”

He drove a few blocks, and then pulled over by the park. And there he sat, watching the moms with strollers, the little kids playing. Old men conversing, a couple playing chess.

What WAS he going to do? Pretend like it hadn’t happened? But a few days from now they’d be drawing his blood, testing for mutant DNA. What, was he gonna try sabotage? Go to that length to keep from letting his colleagues know he was just as much a freak as the rest?

Fear sat heavy as ice-cold lead in his belly. People like Barbara didn’t get it. Barbara was a shit-stirrer by nature; she couldn’t imagine not being out and proud. No matter who gave you shit for it. And Terry, well, he was the can’t-we-just-all-get-along pacifist, the dreamer, the one who thought everything really would work out in the end. Neither approach worked for Nick. And it wasn’t their place to tell him what he should do instead. They hadn’t been there. They hadn’t seen it. If they had, he wondered bitterly if they’d be singing a different tune now.

He felt it now, bubbling inside him. That tickle, that urge like a bizarre eliminatory function, the desire to let it go. To trot it out and exercise it, a half-tame pet that needed fresh air and sunlight. It was worse now. Worse because he thought about it all the time, thanks to the legislation, thanks to these meetings that went nowhere, that brought up all the issues he’d spent so many years burying. He’d made his peace with things a long time ago. Now if people would just leave him ALONE.

He swallowed, and closed his eyes until the clamor quieted a little. Not gone, these days it never entirely went away, but this much he could handle. Lots of practice, doncha know.

He looked at his mud-brown eyes in the rearview mirror, and the lump in his stomach got heavier.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He was due at work at noon on Friday. Driving past the courthouse, he saw the demonstrators. Couldn’t make out Barbara’s flame-colored hair, but she’d be there. And Terry, and Joseph, and all the rest.

With a flicker of dark shame mixed with terror, he kept on driving.

The news spoke of nothing else that afternoon. He ignored it, to the best of his ability. Hampered by the fact that everyone was talking about it, of course.

When he went outside to his car, on his way to a B&E, rain was falling. No lightning, but a steady eager downpour. Swallowing, he climbed inside his truck and turned on the windshield wipers.

By six, there was no escaping the news. The ordinance had passed by a sizeable margin, and although not all the returns were in yet, it was clear that mutant registration was about to become a fact of life.

Nick stared out at the rain, and didn’t sense Catherine behind him until she spoke.

“We’ll get some flash floods tonight.”

He glanced at her, startled, and nodded. “Surprised we haven’t already.”

Her eyes were curious. “You weren’t kidding that time you told me Texans like to watch it rain. Were you?”

“Not really.” He smiled, went back to watching. “Maybe exaggerating, but not by much.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “What do you think about this stuff?”

He didn’t bother asking her what she was talking about; it was all anyone was talking about today. “I think,” he said slowly, “that people should be allowed to tell if they want to. Not be forced to.”

“You don’t think they’re dangerous? Mutants?”

“Anybody can be dangerous. Including you or me.” He shrugged and turned away from the window. “Anybody. Listen, I better get back to work. Think Mia’s probably done with my stuff by now.”

Catherine nodded. “See you later.”

For once he saw Grissom that evening. Didn’t see nearly as much of the guy these days, but tonight he was still plugging away at his trace analysis when the man showed up. Looking preoccupied, vaguely unhappy. When Nick stopped by half an hour later, the odd expression hadn’t gone away.

“Hey, Griss,” Nick said softly. “What’s up?”

Grissom glanced at him, then back down at his messages. “Not a lot yet. How are you, Nick?”

“All right. Still raining?”

“Very much so.”

Looking at him, that familiar, calm face, blue eyes partly obscured by his reading glasses, Nick thought, Why haven’t I ever told him? Of all people, he’d deal with it the best. You know he would.

Could tell him now. But if our positions were reversed, I’d want to know why he’d never told me before. Now that everyone’s gonna know soon enough, what difference does it make? Lame, Stokes. Really lame.

“Nick?”

He blinked at Grissom. “Yeah?”

Grissom reached up to take off the glasses. “You all right? Did you have something you wanted to discuss with me?”

Nick forced a smile. “Nah,” he said. “Just saying howdy. Listen, have a good night, all right?”

Grissom nodded. “You, too, Nicky,” he said softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~

On Monday morning it all hit the fan. The weekend had been quiet, surprisingly so, but the moment he walked into the lab on Monday evening Gil felt the tension in the air. His inbox was mostly empty, for once, but the blue-edged memo on top sent a superstitious prickle down his spine.

Signed by the sheriff and the mayor, both. It only got better.

The memo held no surprises. A reminder of what ordinance 3693 mandated, a deadline for all city/county employees to report for blood testing. The tests themselves were outsourced; the lab here could easily do it, but evidently someone had warned about the possibility of shady doings, so the lab at the hospital was handling the job.

No wonder the air in the lab felt oppressive. If indeed there were any mutated humans in their midst – a fact Gil didn’t doubt, although he privately thought the odds were against there being more than a handful – they would all soon know about it.

He looked up when Warrick appeared in his doorway, hands stuck deep in his jeans pockets. “See you got your memo, too,” Warrick said.

Gil nodded. “They’re really going through with it.”

“So.” Warrick lifted a chin. “You a mutant, Grissom?”

Startled, Gil gave a laugh. “No,” he said. “Not that I’m aware of. You?”

“Nope.” Warrick lowered himself into a chair and sighed. “Nobody I know of, either. This is bullshit. You know?”

“I agree. But it’s policy now. Have you been tested?”

“This afternoon. Me and Cath went over.”

“And?”

Warrick shrugged. “And nothing, man. Guess we’ll find out when everybody else does.”

“What about Nick?”

“Called in today.”

Gil nodded. “How’s it been?”

“Tense,” Catherine said from the doorway. Her blonde hair was disheveled; she looked tired. “To say the least.”

“Anything related to the ordinance?”

“Nothing obvious.”

“So lemme get this straight,” Warrick said. “If you’re a citizen, you got the option of registering. If you work for the city, you got no choice. That about sum it up?”

“Citizens and visitors are required to register, too. But the blood test isn’t mandatory, no.”

“Not yet,” Catherine added dryly.

“So you can just say nothing, and get away with it?” Warrick asked.

Gil shrugged. “You can try. But if you’re caught, it’s a felony. Mandatory jail time.” He looked at Catherine. “I’m not sure what I would do if it were me,” he admitted. “Stay quiet and risk exposure, arrest. Or do what the law says and face the reactions of the people I’d never told.”

“It’s like everyone having to state their sexual orientation in public,” Catherine said, crossing her arms. “No secrets. This is like, forcing people to come out. You know?”

Warrick snorted. “Hey, ask me which way I swing any day of the week, I’m glad to tell you. This? Is worse.”

“Not everyone would agree with you,” Gil said gently. “But I agree with the analogy. It’s state-mandated outing, and it’s a violation of privacy.”

No one said anything to that. After a moment Warrick sighed and stood up. “Think I’m gonna head out,” he said. “Been a long-ass day.”

“See you later.”

Sara and Greg went with him to the hospital lab. After all, Greg had said, looking discomfited, no points for waiting when they’d have to get it done no matter what.

Gil had agreed, and so they went.

The lab wasn’t busy. Two uniformed police officers waiting as they were, looking no happier about it than Gil felt. A cluster of people in office clothing, whispering amongst themselves. Gil put his team's names on the list, and went to sit and wait.

An hour later they were done. Sara rubbed the bandage over the draw site and sighed. “You’d think it would be enough if we just TOLD them we weren’t mutants. I mean, aren’t we all on the same team here? Good, not evil? It’s like the mayor thinks we’re all going to lie about it.”

“What if you were a mutant?” Greg challenged. “Would you have told us already?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not, so what difference does it make?”

“A lot, if you were.”

“Well, are you?”

“That’s not my point,” he said testily. “A point which you’re evading, I might add.”

“Just answer the question. Are you a mutant, Greg?”

He looked away. “No.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“I disagree,” Greg said. “I think we all have shit to worry about.”

“But what –“

“Let’s save the ethical discussions for another time, shall we?” Gil interrupted, making his way to the truck. “I think it’s safe to say none of us is happy with current events. But we do have work to do, remember? Let’s focus on that.”

It quelled the argument, but he noted that Greg and Sara didn’t seem to have very friendly things to say to each other that night. And truth be told, he wasn’t in the best of moods himself. It was one thing to know that you, yourself, were unmutated. It was another, quite another, to consider that your business was no longer your own. What would happen when it became clear who was and was not a mutant? Would there be even more prejudice? Outright persecution? He wanted to say no, but recent events did not bear him out. People were afraid, and fearful people very often did things that would seem untenable otherwise.

Now there would be no question of who was a mutant. Now the law stated all mutants had to step forward, declare themselves. It might not be tattooed on their forearms – yet – but it would be public knowledge, accessible to anyone with anything from simple curiosity to a long-standing grudge. Laminated cards that must be carried at all times. Hell, by next year all new drivers’ licenses would state whether or not a person was a mutant. How long until it took a blood test to get a license at all? A year? Less?

He eyed the stack of new cases in his inbox. Nothing mutant-related, tonight.

He wondered how long that would be the case, and closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no way around it. Either he’d have a blood test, or he’d quit his job, and then what would he do? Quit, and everyone would know the reason for it. Even if he never registered, even if he left the state and went someplace where bigotry and knee-jerk fear hadn’t taken the reins of government yet, it would be with the stigma of what he’d narrowly avoided hanging over his head like the clouds this weekend. “He’s the guy who quit rather than get tested, and you know what THAT means.”

Nick hit the off button on his alarm clock, and lay staring at the ceiling. Monday morning. He was due at work in a few hours. Work, where everyone would be doing their civic duty.

His phone had rung off the hook over the weekend. He hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID, much less listened to the messages. Nine would get you ten, he could call it without any help. Terry, Barbara. Maybe Jamie; his parents wouldn’t call, never had been comfortable talking about Nicky’s little difference, but his sister was a take-the-bull-by-the-horns kind of person, and she’d have heard about the legislation. She’d know what it meant.

He didn’t want to talk to any of them. It wouldn’t make any difference anyway. Thinking it, his stomach lurched, heart thumping with pure panic. God, after all these YEARS, all that work and what was it for?

He sat up sharply, flinging back the covers and fumbling for his jeans. No. No, it would be better to split. Better than facing it, better than dealing with it. So what if people figured this was the reason he split. Hadn’t he seen the alternative already? Lived it?

A quick call to Catherine, who thankfully didn’t pick up, and he left a voice mail: sorry for the short notice, something came up, be back tomorrow. He wasn’t sure about that last, and if he did go back it was going to be patently clear that his reasons for calling in today were very personal indeed. But fuck it. If sick at heart didn’t count for a good reason to take a damn sick day, so be it. He just needed some time to think, to decide. Wasn’t too much to ask.

Dressed, with a Thermos of coffee and a breakfast bar in his hand, he escaped to his truck. No idea where he was going, but out of town sounded great. Maybe Tahoe, although he was drawn to the lake for all the wrong reasons.

Out of morbid curiosity he drove by the courthouse on his way out of town. Seeing the crowd, he hesitated, and then pulled over when he saw a vacant space. And there he sat for a moment, staring.

At least a good portion of these people had to be mutants, but he was too closeted to recognize anyone. He could see some overtly weird-looking ones, figured those realized they hadn’t had any choice in the matter and so they came to register, obediently, rather than get their asses arrested. But there were many others, folks who didn’t look any less normal than he did.

A few toted signs. More than a few. Then the gang was here after all. Too late, after the fact, but a tiny part of him felt like cheering. Maybe he’d join them. Not that it mattered.

And tv crews, cameras everywhere, and even worse, the lookie-loos. People who didn’t have any good goddamn reason to be here, but came out anyway to see the freakshow.

His chest ached when he got out of the truck. Beautiful morning, sun shining birds singing no more rain thank God, but that would change. Because the rain loved him, the rain wanted to come to him, and it would, oh it definitely would when he felt like this.

A flash of vivid scarlet hair caught his eye. Maybe Barbara. Probably Barbara; there was a sign nearby. We Shall Overcome. Hah. We shall not overcome anytime soon, honey. Not while the zealots are in charge. Overcome my ass.

He wondered what the reporters would do if they knew Barbara really shouldn’t get pissed off. She had a tendency to let loose, and you didn’t want to be anywhere near her when she did. Not without lead shielding.

“Regular clusterfuck this morning, ain’t it?” someone said.

Nick glanced over his shoulder. A man stood by a sleek gunmetal-gray car, chewing on an unlit cigar. Mutant, Nick decided, staring without apology. With that hair – those sideburns, good Christ, what a freak – he had to be.

The guy shrugged when Nick didn’t say anything. “Gonna sign up? I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“How do you know I need to?” Nick said thinly.

“No camera. No microphone. No binoculars. You’re not here for the story, and you’re not here for the thrill. Process of elimination.”

Nick pushed down a flare of irritation. “Well, tell you what, I’ll get in line right after you, buddy. How’s that?”

The man grinned, showing white teeth. “That’s the spirit.” He clamped down on the cigar again and ambled over, hand extended. “Name’s Logan.”

After a moment Nick took the hand, shook as briefly as he could. Logan’s grip was very firm. “Just Logan?”

“Just Logan. And you’re Nick.”

Nick yanked his hand back. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Come on, relax. I’ve been looking for you, that’s all.”

“Me?”

“Came a long way.”

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Nick drew back a couple of steps, fighting down the urge to bolt.

Logan’s roughly handsome features twisted in a scowl. “Didn’t,” he said shortly. “I was just watching the circus. Figured I’d track you down later, but here you are.”

“How -- What –“

“Look, it’s gonna take some time to explain.” Logan glanced at the crowds, his scowl still firmly in place. “And if it’s all the same to you, this shit’s making me feel like I’m at the zoo. Lemme buy you a cup of coffee or something.”

“I don’t even know you,” Nick managed.

“Likewise, but what do you gotta know? I’m a mutant, you’re a mutant. We’re at ground zero in what’s likely to become the future nationwide.” Logan’s gaze had turned flinty. “If you’d like to change that, maybe make a difference -- I’m here to tell you how that might happen. Tell you one thing, it ain’t gonna be marching around carrying a bunch of stupid signs.”

“How do you know?” Nick whispered. “How did you know about me?”

Logan gave an impatient sigh. “I can explain it all. But not here. Place gives me the willies. Unless you really are here to sign your life away, in which case – knock yourself out.”

Nick shook his head slowly. “No. I was –“ He paused, frowning. “I’m not sure what I was gonna do.”

“Then let’s talk, and maybe some of what I got to say will help you decide.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You care?” Logan asked, holding up his cigar.

Stokes shook his head, and Logan lit the stogie, let out smoke with a pleased sigh.

He’d figured he’d have to talk a good game to get Stokes to listen, but it appeared he’d caught him at a vulnerable moment; the guy was scared, that much was obvious, and after a little thinking he’d come right along.

He wasn’t what Logan had expected. Xavier made it sound like he was some kind of militant, but the man Logan saw was just a pretty ordinary joe. Not a cop; did something with forensics. He was older than he looked, and Logan thought older than he seemed, too, although that was something he’d keep to himself for the moment.

“How’d you find me?” Stokes asked. He hadn’t drunk any of his coffee yet, although his hand stayed curled around the mug.

“Guy I work for gave me a tip.”

Stokes gave him a look. “What guy?”

“Name’s Charles Xavier. Runs a school up in New York State.”

“School?”

Logan lifted his chin. “For kids. Mutant kids.”

Stokes smiled a little. “What, y’all recruiting me to be a teacher or something?”

“No,” Logan said evenly. “We’re recruiting you to be a fighter.”

That got Stokes to stop smiling. “Fighter? You gotta be kidding me.”

Logan drew on his cigar and shook his head. “You heard about that crap in New York City, right? Couple years ago?”

“Of course.”

“Who do you think stopped that guy? Santa Claus?”

“That was you?” Stokes blurted.

“Aw, me and some others,” Logan said modestly. “Thing is, we don’t like what we’re seeing these days. Not back east, not here either. Xavier, he’s a smart guy, you know? Mutants like you catch his eye.” He set his cigar in the ashtray and gazed flatly at Stokes. “He says you’re powerful,” he continued. “What can you do?”

A dubious look crossed Stokes’s features. “I haven’t – done anything,” he said awkwardly, “in a long time. I can’t.”

Logan frowned. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Pretty big, from where I sit.”

“You don’t understand.” Stokes flushed and looked down. “Bad things happen when I do,” he added quietly.

“What kind of bad things?”

“A long time ago -- People died.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Want to tell me how?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Okay, so lemme get this straight.” Logan leaned forward. “You’d rather sit on your ass and let bullshit like this legislation happen, than take a chance and try to do something about it. That about sum it up?”

“Fuck you,” Stokes said harshly. “You don’t know.”

“I don’t? I bet I know a lot more than you think I do, kid.”

“Okay, maybe you do. But you’re not me. I’m not a – coward,” he said in a low voice. “I know my limits, that’s all. It’s not – safe.”

“Screw safe. From what I hear, it isn’t like you’re gonna have a choice. Either you register with the city, or you get that blood test; either way people are gonna find out what you are. And you think it’s gonna stop there? Think again, buddy. Next they’ll be saying mutants have unfair advantages, and they’ll stop letting you do your job. And then people will get scared of what you can do, and before you know it you’ll be in a camp someplace out past God’s butt crack, with guards and guns and no freedom. Is that what you want?”

Stokes had gone very pale. His knuckles were white around the cup of coffee. “Of course not,” he spat, at the same time the little vase of flowers on the table shivered, then toppled over.

Using a napkin to wipe up the water, Logan raised his eyebrows. “You do that?”

“Stop – pushing me,” Stokes said, shaking his head. “Don’t – PUSH me.” The coffee in his cup slopped over the rim, puddling in the saucer.

“I got a newsflash for you. It ain’t me doing the pushing, okay? Whether you wanna be or not, you’re right in the middle of it. You gotta make a decision, kid, you can’t sit on the fence forever.”

“I’m not a KID.”

Logan nodded. “Then stop acting like one. Stop sticking your head in the sand. Look, you don’t have to tell me it sucks. I know it does. But you’re so scared of what you ARE, you can’t see past it to what it all means. Look around you. You LIKE the way things are going? You think if you just pretend hard enough, it’ll all go away?” He gestured at the coffee. “Doesn’t look like you’re doing all that great a job of hiding it, anyway, from where I sit.”

“I was.” Stokes leaned back, drawing a deep breath. “I was, until – all this.”

“All the more reason to DO something with it, instead of acting like it’s not there.”

“You know, if you’re who got sent to do the recruiting, I’d hate to see the rest of you guys.”

Logan grinned. “Sounds kinda like what I said, when I was offered the job.”

“What -- What do you do?”

“Me? I heal fast.”

Stokes’s look narrowed. “How fast?”

“Pretty damn fast.”

“So just in case.”

Logan sat back, tapped his half-vanished cigar. “Xavier doesn’t know what you can do. I have an idea. And if you, I dunno, got pissed off enough, yeah. I could probably survive whatever you throw at me.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Stokes whispered. If his face had been pale before, it was absolutely colorless now.

Logan nodded slowly. “So here’s the deal. Stand up and be counted, or hide. As much as the world’s gonna let you hide, now.”

“And do what? Fight? Fight what, Logan?”

“It isn’t all fighting, kid. A hell of a lot of it’s all about being who – and what – you are.”

“So be a freak, that what you’re saying?”

Logan winced, then shrugged. “There are a hell of a lot of us freaks out there, Stokes. More every day. You think this shit is going away? It’s not.” Unlike me, he thought sourly, and drained his cold cup of coffee. “Okay. You think on that. All right? I’m gonna stick around a few days, check out what’s going on.” He took a pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled his number on a napkin. “Call me if you change your mind.”

Stokes blinked. “That’s it? Not much of a sales pitch you got there, man.”

“Work’s hard, pay’s lousy, and somebody always fucks up your vacations.”

“Truth in advertising?”

Sticking his cigar between his teeth, Logan grinned. “Call ‘em like I see ‘em. See you around.”

Inside his – well, Cyclops’ – car, he took out his phone and dialed. When Xavier picked up, Logan said, “Found him.”

“And?”

“Want the truth? Lost cause.”

“I see.” Even over the phone, Xavier’s disappointment was easy to hear. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Logan said gruffly. “Whatever shit went down in the past, this guy’s scared stiff. Maybe he’s powerful, maybe he isn’t, but I don’t think he’s who we’re looking for.”

“Give it a little time, Logan. He may come around.”

“Don’t bet the farm on it.” Logan turned the key in the ignition.

“I heard about the city ordinance. Storm is considering a trip to join you. There will be trouble.”

“Thought you said you didn’t have precognition.”

“This I can see clearly without any clairvoyance whatsoever.”

“I’ll stay on my toes. And speaking of betting.”

“Shall I issue you the same warning you gave me?”

Logan grinned, glancing at traffic. “Nah. Just as long as you know whatever I win, I keep.”

“Very well, then. Call me if there are any changes.”

“Got it.”

He hung up and rolled down the window, wincing at the blast of hot desert air. Time to find an air-conditioned casino. Definitely.

~~~~~~~~

Turned out to be a good thing he called in for the day. By Monday night Nick’s nerves were worn paper-thin, thanks to free-floating anxiety, the relentless media coverage of the ongoing courthouse spectacle, and – oh yeah, Mutant-Logan’s bizarre job offer.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about Logan’s spiel. Granted, it sounded like Logan and Xavier and whoever else were the good guys, sure. Well, at least ostensibly. But the offer assumed Nick’s power was something he could even control – and that assumption had cost him before. Cost him a lot.

He wandered around his condo, made a few half-ass attempts at cleaning, and wound up drinking a beer, staring out at the twilight gloom. The early sunshine had given way to rain in the late afternoon, and gazing at the heavy dark gray clouds, he gave himself reluctant permission, for once, to enjoy that. Safe, it made him feel safe, or at least safer, what was the point in denying? Especially now?

Sleep was a long time coming, and even when it did it was light and not restful. He awoke late the next morning, scrambling to get showered and out the door on time, and it wasn’t until he was in the truck on his way to work that he thought about the ordinance, and what he would do.

Well. Fuck it. There wasn’t much choice, now, and putting it off wasn’t helping.

As luck would have it – on his side, for once – the lab was way too busy to have to worry about it, anyway. Catherine was already at a scene, some kind of multi-car pileup on an interstate off-ramp, and Warrick passed him in the hallway, muttering about a missing person before charging out the door. Gave Nick time to catch up on things he hadn’t finished yet, and then a call from Cath placed him on alert, waiting to see if she’d need him at the MVA.

By eight, he’d packed in all his outstanding analyses, gotten a good start on Catherine’s tractor-trailer evidence, and he was starving. But a glimpse of Grissom ambling down the hallway, and it all came home again. Nick sat up, swallowing dryly. No time like the present, right?

No time to think about why he was going to talk to Grissom, who was no longer his direct supervisor, and not Catherine, who was. No time to second-guess. Just do. Try it on for size. Hey, Grissom, guess what? This is gonna knock your socks off, man. Maybe you better sit down.

He heard himself giggle, a helium-high squeak, and bit down hard on his lower lip.

Grissom was alone, fortunately. One hurdle passed. Nick peeked inside. “Hey, Griss. Got a minute?”

Grissom’s glasses slid down his nose when he looked up. “Sure, Nick. Have a seat.”

Nick sat awkwardly. “I – need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. Talk.” The glasses came off, and Grissom regarded him steadily. “Is this a complaint?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you look nervous. Generally I find when people have something they don’t particularly want to say, they look just like you do, right now.”

“It’s – kinda work and not-work.”

“Go on.”

Swallowing, Nick glanced over his shoulder, and back. “This blood test,” he said in a low voice. “The one they’re making us all take.”

“Ah.” Grissom gave a slow nod. “Yeah. You have a problem with that?”

“It’s not that, exactly. Not really. I’m –“ He drew a deep breath. “I’m not gonna have it.”

Some of the easy look faded from Grissom’s features; he frowned, blinking a couple of times. “Why on earth not?”

“See, that’s – what I needed to talk to you about.” Nick plucked at his trouser leg with his fingers, and let out another high-pitched laugh. “God, I have no idea how to say this.”

Grissom wasn’t smiling. “Just say it, Nick.”

“I don’t need it. The blood test. I already know.”

And man, he’d been working sans Grissom for too long; he’d forgotten how deep that stare went. “Know what?” Grissom asked slowly.

“I’m one of them,” Nick whispered. “A – mutant.”

Grissom’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. Still staring, eyes gone a little wider. Blue eyes, Nick thought wildly. Almost as blue as mine. Not that he knows that. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, shaking his head. “I never -- I never thought I’d have to tell anybody. It’s just this thing, you know? Except this ordinance, never thought it would really happen, but it did, and now.” He sagged a little. “So I thought I’d talk to you first,” he added after a long moment.

Grissom licked his lips slowly, drew an audible breath and let it out in a deep sigh. “Well, Nick,” he said. “I’ll say this for you. You definitely know how to spring a surprise.”

Smiling tremulously, Nick shrugged. “What can I say.”

“How –“ Grissom sat up straight, hands flat on his desk. “You’ve worked here five years, and you’ve never told anyone?”

“No. It’s – private, man, it’s not the kind of thing I want to tell people.”

Now the look in Grissom’s eyes was perfectly familiar. Fascination, plain and simple. Any other time, it might have felt pretty good. Tonight, well, it felt – awkward. Incredibly awkward. “My God,” Grissom whispered. Then he added, “I’m not even sure what to say, Nick. You could have told us. All this time –“

“That’s just it,” Nick said harshly. “You’d have treated me different. I’ve seen it before. This way -- Nothing had to change, you know? I was just Nick, not Nick-the-mutant.”

Grissom nodded. “And now?” he asked.

Nick looked down. “I dunno,” he said. “I thought about leaving. Then I thought, But this is my LIFE, and I’m not leaving until they make me.” He glanced up again. “So I guess I gotta register.”

“Does Catherine know?”

“No. You’re the first person I told.”

“You realize this will be common knowledge in short order?”

Nick snorted. “Yeah.”

Grissom sighed and leaned back again, eyes still trained on Nick’s face. “As far as I’m concerned, this changes nothing. I don’t care if you’re a mutant, Nick. There will be others not quite as – open-minded as I am.”

“I know. Believe me.” He tried to smile, felt it fail. “Met a few of ‘em here and there.”

“Would you have told me if you hadn’t been forced to?”

He met Grissom’s level gaze, and couldn’t think what to say. Finally he settled for a shrug. “Probably not. That piss you off?”

“No. But I am sorry for how it’s playing out.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Grissom studied him a moment longer, and then lifted his chin. “Is Catherine still here? I’d prefer it if she weren’t kept in the dark any longer than has to be.”

“Think she’s still around.” He looked down again, gazing at his knees.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Grissom said abruptly. “I trust you know that.”

Nick nodded slowly. “Maybe not.”

“Would you prefer to talk to Catherine on your own time? I don’t mean to –“

“Nah. Get it over with.”

“Why don’t you stay here? I’ll go get her.”

“Kay.”

He felt Grissom pause next to him, thought he might say something else. Instead Grissom touched his shoulder, just a fast squeeze of strong fingers before he was moving away. Huddling lower in the chair, Nick fought down a surge of bleak dread.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Good, you’re still here.”

Catherine glanced at him, looking a little annoyed. “Where else would I be? Don’t I live here now?”

Gil smiled briefly. “Come to my office, if you have a moment?”

“Is this bad news or good news?”

He considered. “A little of both, maybe. Depending on your viewpoint.”

“Cryptic.”

He waited for her to close out her work files, and allowed himself the luxury of a little thought, as well. Good? Maybe in the sense that Nick was being honest with them. Bad, as much as he hated to admit it, because of the repercussions that were likely to erupt in the wake of Nick’s confession.

And that brought him spang up against the facts once more: Nick was a mutant. Nick Stokes, the least likely of any of their oddball crew to seem at all out of the ordinary, was in fact quite extraordinary. No idea how, yet, that remained to be seen, but Gil knew that much.

“Okay,” Catherine said with a narrow look. “So what’s this mystery meeting?”

“Just a chat.”

“Right.”

It was a short walk, so she didn’t have the chance to dig any deeper. But her expression was predictably surprised when she saw Nick already there.

“Nick? What’s going on?”

Nick, Gil saw, appeared to have regained a little of his equanimity in Gil’s absence. Now he looked merely unhappy, instead of so tense his entire body quivered with nerves. “Just some stuff,” he murmured.

Tactfully Gil closed his office door behind them, and went over to his desk. “Nick?”

Nick stared at him. “You just want me to say it?”

Catherine eased herself into the other chair. “Well, somebody say SOMETHING, because I’m about to –“

“Cath, I’m a mutant, too.”

His tone was harsh, far and away different from the hesitantly gentle way he’d told Gil. Catherine’s response was pretty much the same, though: open-mouthed silent astonishment.

“I figured I better just say it now,” Nick continued, avoiding looking directly at either of them. “Get it over with, you know?”

“But -- I -- What –“

It wasn’t often he heard Catherine stutter like this, a sign of her outright shock. Gil shook his head. “Sorry, Nick, I think Catherine and I are both working on getting on the same page as you.”

“S’okay.”

Some of the anxiety was back in Nick’s voice. Gil cleared his throat, glancing at Catherine, who was still staring at Nick. “It might help,” he said slowly, “if you tell us more.”

“More?” Nick sighed. “You mean that isn’t enough?”

“Nick, I’ve been around you for YEARS,” Catherine said in that same strangled voice. “And I’ve never – NEVER – seen any evidence that you’re – you’re –“

“What, a freak?” Nick uttered a hollow, unfamiliar laugh.

“Not a term I’d personally choose,” Gil said sharply.

Ignoring him, Nick looked at Catherine. “What, you don’t BELIEVE me?”

“It’s – a lot to swallow. Yeah.”

“Okay, well.” Nick sat up. “Lemme help you out.”

The only thing Gil could remember thinking, in retrospect, was an aggrieved: But Nick doesn’t wear contacts. Except Nick was taking something out of his eyes and blinking fast, and then looking at them in turn, and Gil started gaping all over again, because Nick’s eyes were no longer that dark, sometimes unfathomably bottomless brown he’d grown familiar with over their years of working together. Nick’s eyes were blue.

No, he thought a second later. Scratch that. Gil’s own eyes were blue. This – was some other color, a mix of the most brilliant aqua he’d ever seen, ever imagined, blue and green and underneath that a faint shimmer of silver. A color he couldn’t even begin to define, an impossible color.

Impossible for humans, that was.

He didn’t bother looking at Catherine. He already knew her expression would be the mirror image of his own.

“Hate these damn contacts,” Nick said shakily. He didn’t smile. “Always have.”

“Your…eyes,” Catherine breathed.

He gave a grim nod. “So you believe me now? Is that enough?”

“I believe you,” she whispered.

“Good.” He glanced at Gil, who could only nod. “Then we on the same page now?”

“Nick,” Catherine said hoarsely. “Can I ask -- what can you do?”

“You know,” he said with another tiny, bitter laugh. “That’s always the first thing people ask. Not what are you, but what can you do? Like it’s a parlor trick.” He sagged back in his chair. He looked defeated. “It isn’t. Okay?”

“Nick, we’re trying to understand.” Gil drew a careful breath. “You’re a mutant, and mutants have extraordinary abilities. We’d like to know what your abilities are, so that we can better understand you.”

“You think that will make you understand?” Nick replied softly. “Believe me, it won’t.”

“Maybe not,” Gil conceded after a moment. “You’re right.”

“I do water.” It was flat, inflectionless. “Water’s my thing.”

Gil saw Catherine blink. “Water?”

Nick made an aimless gesture. “Yeah. Water.”

“As in – what?”

“I don’t know. Some people do fire, or metal, or telepathy or whatever. I do water.”

Gil shifted uneasily. “What exactly do you mean by ‘do?’”

Nick gave a short nod. “When I was a kid – teenager – I used to find water. Like a dowser, you know? Only I didn’t have a dowsing rod. I just knew.”

“So you can – detect it?”

“Call it.” He glanced at each of them and shook his head. “It’s – murder to explain. Like, it wants to be with me. You understand? Water loves me. So it wants to be near me. I just – invite it. That’s all.”

“You…invite it.” Catherine’s voice was dubious.

“Yes. And then manipulate it.”

“Nick, we’re doing our best –“ Gil began.

“You have a bottle in your briefcase. Lemme show you.”

Startled, Gil hesitated, then reached down to draw the plastic bottle out of his case. About half-full still. He unscrewed the cap and set the bottle on his desk.

“You see.” Nick’s voice softened, became thoughtful. “It wants to be with me. I can – feel it. Not just see it.”

Fighting down a spasm of anxiety, Gil nodded. “And when you – invite it?”

A reflective smile appeared on Nick’s lips. He cupped his palm slightly, and Gil drew back when the water in the bottle arced out, seemingly of its own volition, arching in a long clean line into Nick’s hand. A rounded mass, clear, glinting in the light. “It comes,” Nick murmured.

“It’s not –“ Catherine stuttered. “You aren’t wet. It should trickle through your –“

“I’m not letting it. It does what I want it to do. It wants to do what I want.” Nick’s distant smile didn’t flicker as he curved his hand, rolled the blob of water over his knuckles. As Gil watched, fascinated, the blob elongated, became a slim, undulating snake, curling around Nick’s wrist and forearm. “Like that.”

“You solidify it,” Gil whispered. “Plasticize it, something.”

“I tell it what to do. That’s all.” Nick extended his fingers again, and the rope of water traveled up his fingertips, arcing down to refill the bottle with a distinctly normal pouring sound. His hand, Gil noted, was perfectly dry. “That’s it,” he said dully. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Catherine shook her head. “Nick, that’s – incredible.”

“Don’t you mean freakish?” His remarkable eyes narrowed. “Sort of … mutated?”

“You don’t have to snipe at us,” Gil said sharply. “We’re not the enemy here.”

The icy gaze turned his direction. “Well, you’re not exactly advocates, either, are you?” came the soft reply. “I didn’t see anyone here protesting this ordinance.” A pause, and the tension seemed to leave him; he slumped a little, waving his hand. “Whatever. Just don’t call me some bullshit like Hydro-Boy, or I’ll have to drown you.”

Gil and Catherine stared at him.

“It was a joke,” Nick added thinly.

Gil cleared his throat. “The contacts – You’re aware you won’t be allowed to wear them on the job any longer?”

“Huh?”

“It was in the memo. No camouflaging of any kind will be allowed.”

Obviously Nick had either forgotten it, or hadn’t even read it yet; he sagged visibly, brushed a hand over his face. “Wow. That – blows.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not my choice. You know that.”

“Sure,” said Nick. “Yeah.”

The silence lengthened, terribly awkward moments, until Nick climbed to his feet. “Okay, I’m gonna go home now. It’s been a long freaking day.”

Gil nodded. “Of course.”

Nick had reached the door before Catherine said, “Nick?”

Without turning, Nick said, “Yeah?”

“I apologize if I was – offensive. I mean that.”

“Okay.” Nick still didn’t look around. “I’m sure you do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly nine, and he was still in his office. Fifteen hours, but he was nowhere near through the phone calls to be returned, papers to sign. Spending so much time at work, his kids were going to forget he lived with them.

Someone tapped at his door, and Brody peeked in. “Were you expecting somebody named Casey? Brad Casey?”

Luria nodded tiredly. “Send him in, would you?”

Brody gave him an uncertain look. “Sir, you want something to eat? Looks like another long night. I can go grab you something.”

“That would be terrific, thank you, Mike. And listen, thanks for your help this week.” Luria gave a weak smile. “Been a bitch, I know, and I really appreciate all you’ve done.”

“No problem, sir,” Brody said, although his smile looked pleased.

A moment later a tall, rangy man walked into the office, face set in grimly professional lines. Luria forced what he thought of as Company Smile #4, the one that said, Yeah, I’m a nice guy normally, but watch your step if you think I’m a pushover, and held out a hand. “Mr. Casey? Good to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Mayor.” Casey had a too-firm grip, and cold fingers. “Thanks for seeing me so late.”

Luria gestured at a chair. “Hell, what’s late? Think I live in this office at the moment. Besides, I was expecting a visit from you guys.”

Casey sat down, looking uncomfortable. He held his briefcase stiffly in his lap. “Well, the ACLU has some pretty strong misgivings about Ordinance 3693, I admit.”

Luria felt smile #4 wavering and going away. Good Christ, just what he needed. “Is this official notice?” he asked thinly.

“Not yet, sir. But as you know, the ACLU believes in equal protection under the law, whether that’s for mutants or anyone else.” Casey’s chilly blue eyes went even cooler. “Mutants have the right to fair treatment. Now, does this ordinance really seem fair to you?”

“Doesn’t seem fair that some folks can read my mind, either,” Luria retorted. “Is the ACLU protecting us humans from them, too?”

“Mutants are humans, Mr. Mayor.”

“I’ve found a number of people who disagree with you on that.”

“Let’s say the jury’s still out. Until we know for certain, isn’t it more a matter of innocent until proven guilty?”

“Look, Mr. Casey.” Luria placed his hands flat on his desk. “Las Vegas makes almost all its revenue thanks to the hospitality industry, as I’m sure you’re aware. Now folks from Boise and Dallas and Seattle come here because it’s fun. It’s fun to take a spin at the craps table, take in a show. All that good crap.” His smile was irretrievably gone now. “Everybody knows the house is gonna win most of the time. But what’s not fun at all is wondering just who – and what – your neighbor can do that you can’t. Maybe he’s normal, maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s just another joe from Smalltown, USA, and maybe he’s something else entirely.

“People don’t like that, sir, people don’t like that at all. And I can’t say as I blame ‘em.”

Casey opened his mouth, and Luria shook his head curtly. “Now it’s one thing to think Mr. A down the row from you’s got some kind of advantage you don’t. It’s another, to think that maybe if he gets pissed off he can burn down the casino, or give you a little push with his mind. Push you to do something you don’t want to do, wouldn’t normally do. If a mutant can get close enough to nearly kill the President, you think your average tourist wants to bunk next door to one, and not know about it?”

Casey sighed. “At the same time, sir, what’s to protect your average tourist from purely human threats? There’s been no sign that mutants commit crimes, on average, any more often than normal humans. Perhaps less so.”

“Yeah, but your average family from Dubuque may not know that. And that average family and a hell of a lot of other ones just like it are the ones keeping the lights on over at the Strip.”

“Well,” Casey said after a long silent pause. “I can see this is going to be an ongoing dialogue, Mr. Mayor.”

Luria grinned. Smile #2, I got your number and we both know it. “Maybe so,” he said softly.

Outside the office, Michael Brody listened intently, fingers silently tapping the heavy wood. No chance of someone seeing him. The staff was long gone for the night, and the cleaning folks were still working downstairs.

Smiling a little to himself, he walked over to his desk and picked up the phone, dialing Vecchio’s from memory. Couple of meatball sandwiches; the mayor had a big appetite.

Food ordered, he walked over to the adjoining bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. From his pocket he took out a small cell phone, hitting the speed dial. He stood staring at his reflection in the slightly warped mirror, until the other end picked up.

“Everything’s going well,” he said quietly. “No problems.”

“You sound tired, my dear. Very tired.”

“It’s been a long week.” Brody felt it in his belly, a sympathetic surge of exhaustion. God, it was too much work. He couldn’t keep it going forever; there were limits. Finite ones. He relaxed, let it slide a little, watching as his face blurred in the mirror.

“But a very successful one. Any surprises I should know about?”

Brody watched his reflection shiver. “The ACLU is here right now. But Luria’s not bending. Told you he wouldn’t. Not now.”

“Due no doubt to your phenomenal powers of persuasion.”

“Exactly,” Brody said without modesty.

“Will we see you for dinner later?”

“If I can. Looks like another long night.”

“Rest, my dear. We must have you bright and cheery this week, of all weeks.”

His nose ran like hot paint. “Of course,” he agreed softly.

“Very good work, Mystique,” the voice told him. “As always.”

She hung up the phone, and felt a wave of relief when her real face stared back at her out of the mirror.

~~~~~~~~~

By Friday Logan was comfortably in the black. No jackpots, nothing like that, but poker had always been a favorite of his, when he could find a decent game, and he’d won steadily this week.

Now, seated in his hotel room with a lit cigar between his fingers, he felt the winning mood fading.

“You weren’t sent here to GAMBLE,” Storm said, twitching aside the drapes to scan the view outside. “The professor sent you to find this Stokes guy.”

“Which I did,” Logan told her.

“So why aren’t you – out there talking to him?” She gave him a look that said he could expect rain – and possibly lots worse – in the forecast, if he didn’t say what she wanted to hear. “And following up on this city ordinance?”

He set the cigar in an ashtray and sighed. “First off, he basically told me to get lost. If he changes his mind, he’s got my number. Second, what do you expect me to do about one city’s new law? Tell ‘em it’s a bad idea? Plenty of people already doing that, it ain’t like anyone’s listening.”

“You could still –“

“Third,” he interrupted heavily. “You haven’t told me why you’re here. Now maybe it’s just to check up on me, but I don’t think that’s it. Hmmm? See, I can ask questions, too.”

Storm perched on a chair, her aggrieved expression easing a little. “How could I not be here?” she asked in a low voice. “Logan, look around you. It’s all people are talking about. Mutants this, registration that. It’s a glimpse of a future I thought we stopped. But we didn’t. We didn’t do anything.”

“We did a lot. We’re doing a lot. Listen, want to place a bet? Since this is Vegas, after all. I’ll bet you this ordinance doesn’t last. Have you registered? I know you haven’t, neither have I. They can’t MAKE us do it, Storm. No one can.” He retrieved his cigar and frowned when he saw it had gone out. “Nothing’s gonna change that much.”

She stared at him. “How can you be so – deluded? Not everyone can pass for human, Logan. What about them? Do we just say, Oops, well, sorry about that?”

Uncomfortably, he said, “That’s not –“

“That IS the point. What about once those lists are posted? The people who DO register, their names will be public information. If they’re lucky, they’ll just run into a little harassment. If they’re not, there will be people losing their jobs, forced out of their homes -- And where will they go? What will they do, when everyone around them treats them like pariahs?”

“Go someplace else.”

“Right.” She nodded, but her lip had curled. “Until the next place does the same thing, and they have to leave again. Logan, look at the school! We’re already in hiding. If this ordinance is allowed to stand, this is just the beginning. Las Vegas has set a precedent that says it’s okay to discriminate. It’s LEGAL. Do you like that? Is that the kind of world you want to live in?”

He stared at her, cold cigar dangling forgotten in his fingers. Shades of his conversation with Stokes a few days ago, and he didn’t like it, at the same time he saw, reluctantly, that she was right. He’d sat around for days, barely peeked outside the casino long enough to see if the sun was shining, and ignored whatever else was going on. Maybe he felt as if he really DID need a vacation, something he did just because he wanted to do it, not because someone told him it needed doing, someone needed rescuing, or fighting.

He’d been sitting on his ass, and things were shaping up. And now, listening to her rant, he felt a funny ripple in his gut. No, he didn’t like it. Not the ordinance, not the press coverage he’d done his damndest to avoid all week. The truth of Nick Stokes’s dilemma, a microcosm of the crisis that faced every mutant in this brightly lit city in the middle of the desert. Sure, Logan could walk away. But not everyone could, and how far would people need to go, soon, to get away from this? How long before it spread to other cities, other countries? The whole damn planet?

He was not unfamiliar with the feeling that crept deep into his bones right now, and he liked that least of all. Shame, cold and stubborn. It was his job to give a shit. Not sit around letting the cards fall as they might. He was one of the good guys, right? If he wasn’t going to stand up and be counted, what was the use? Might as well have given it up in that cold fortress under the snow.

Thunder rattled the windows, and he sighed. “Don’t punish everyone else for what I did, okay?” he said tiredly. “It’s already rained all week.”

A flicker of humor touched her features. “Sorry, that slipped out.”

“So besides being the voice of my conscience, what else are you doing here?”

She crossed her legs, shaking her head a little. “Monitoring, I suppose,” she said slowly. “The professor thinks there will be trouble. Soon.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Mutant trouble.”

He gave a short nod. “So you think there’ll be backlash? Think people will refuse to cooperate?”

“We haven’t.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” She rose and returned to the window. “Logan,” she asked abruptly. “What’s Stokes’s talent?”

He shrugged. “He never said. But I think it’s water, something to do with water.”

“Even before I got here,” she continued softly, “I felt something. At first I thought it was another weather-shaper, someone like me. But all I feel is water. And it’s the middle of the desert. I feel water everywhere. And I’m not bringing it.”

“He said – Stokes – said he didn’t have as much control over it right now. Maybe that’s it.”

She turned to glance at him. “He’s an elemental, Logan,” she said. “Do you know what that means?”

“Pretty damn powerful. No more so than you.”

“Lots more than me. Do you realize what it means, to control an entire element? I can make it rain, but I can’t walk on water. It goes much further than you think.”

“Okay, so, elemental. But –“

“If he can call this much water in such a dry place, can you imagine what he’d do if he were near a lake? Or the ocean?” She nodded. “We need him. The professor’s right; you have to persuade him. John already turned on us. Stokes would be an incredible asset.”

Logan lifted his hands defensively. “You made your point, all right? I’ll talk to him.”

“Soon, Logan. As soon as possible.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Registering was the easy part. Partly because it was just paperwork, and there were other people around him, mutant people, just as nervous as he was, just as reluctant to sign on the dotted line.

And partly because one of those people was not a mutant, but had come along with him anyway. Unexpected, surprising, and utterly welcome.

“No, I’m not a mutant,” Grissom had told the clerk calmly when they arrived. “My blood test is on file with the criminalistics branch of the police department. Feel free to check.”

The clerk, who’d been cutting fast looks at Nick and his remarkable eyes during Grissom’s little speech, gave a distracted nod, handed Nick a daunting pile of paper, and gestured them away.

“You don’t have to be here,” Nick said for the twelfth time, sitting on a hard wooden chair and balancing a clipboard on his knee. “Why put yourself through it?”

Grissom just shrugged and crossed his legs.

Once the paper was done, there was an interminable wait for an interview. When his name was finally called, Grissom was still there, ambling a step behind him, eyes bright with curiosity and a touch of worry. The worry, it turned out, was not far off the mark.

“Because you’ve come forward and done your civic duty, we’ll waive the blood-test requirement,” the man told him briskly. He glanced at the four-page detailed questionnaire, and raised his eyebrows. “How often do you use your – abilities?”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t. Haven’t, in a long time.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I prefer not to,” Nick said stiffly.

“I see. Well, that’s probably fortunate. Civil employees are prohibited from using their mutant capabilities during the course of duty.”

Beside Nick, Grissom stirred. “That wasn’t in any of the memos we received.”

“An oversight.”

Outside the building, Nick grimaced. “So lemme get this straight. No mutant shit at work. No camouflage, carry this goddamn card around all the time.” He brandished said card. “So everybody’s gotta know exactly what I am, but I can’t actually do anything with it. What’s the point?”

Grissom glanced at him. “Control,” he said simply. “What else?”

“So if you’re dying of thirst out there someplace, and I’m around, I can’t find you some water?”

“Not legally.”

Nick snorted. “Fuck that.”

With a tiny smile Grissom nodded. “Were we to find ourselves in that situation,” he said, “I’d certainly hope that would be your response.”

But once they were back at work, Nick endured the stares and the muted whispers, and finally shut himself up in the fibers lab. Christ, he knew his eyes were weird. Enough people had told him so over the years, starting practically before he could walk and talk. But aside from that, was it all so freakish? He was pretty normal-looking otherwise, right? So what was with all the hairy looks?

His subsequent encounter with Warrick was educational in that regard.

After driving in ten minutes of silence, punctuated by Warrick’s occasional theatrical-sounding sighs, Nick gave a sigh of his own and said, “So, you mad at me or what?”

“Nope.”

Nick looked at Warrick’s clenched jaw, the muscle ticking like a trapped animal. “You’re doing a damn good impression of –“

“You lied.”

Oh.

“You BEEN lying, all this time.” Warrick still didn’t look at him, but his hands had the steering wheel in a death grip. He shook his head. “What, you think I couldn’t handle it? Too human?” He bit off the last word.

“Aw, man. Come on.”

“No, I really wanna know.” Now he did get a glance: frosty, furious. Kinda liked it better when Warrick was glaring at the road instead of him. “Man, I thought I KNEW you.”

“You did. You do.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“What do you want me to say, Rick?” Nick gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry I didn’t pull you aside back in the day and tell you I was a goddamn freak? I’m not apologizing for that, not to you, not to anyone. That decision didn’t have anything to DO with you. All right?”

Warrick drove in stony silence for another five minutes, then mumbled, “Ain’t like it would have mattered.”

“Maybe not to you. Maybe you’re right. But it mattered to me.”

“Now listen –“

“So now you know. Now we’re all on the same freaky page. Can we just get on with it?”

Warrick cast him a startled look, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “All right. Look, I’m sorry if –“

“Don’t worry about it.”

But he felt Warrick worrying, fretting, and truth be told Nick didn’t feel any too easy about it himself. Hell, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t ever wanted to tell anyone. Sometimes, when the pretending got too tiresome. But he had other muties to talk to, the couple of rare times when he’d actually felt like talking. And the rest of the time, well, lying got to be a habit. Maybe not a good one, but a solid one.

The scene was a wake-up call, too. Two cops he’d known for years, friends he’d gone out with more than once for beers and crappy food and a few laughs, only now they were both looking at him with funny expressions, no cracking jokes, no nothing but narrow watchfulness.

“Take a picture, man, it’ll last longer,” Nick snapped as he walked past them.

No one replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of his shift he was worn to the bone, and not because of the cases. His temper had frayed to the snapping point, and he said nothing to anyone, slammed his locker door, stalked out of the lab without waving goodbye to anybody. Christ, he needed a drink. It was small consolation that for once his eyes felt just fine. No contacts to take out, no soothing eyedrops to look forward to.

Rain smacked him in the face the moment he hit the parking lot. He swallowed, let it come. Pelting down in the few feet to his vehicle, lashing the windows. Flash-flood time, out in the desert. He thought about coursing water, that eager cold energy, and then clamped down on the urge to explore it, encourage it.

The rain followed him home, strengthened around him while he sat in his truck looking at the man standing in front of his condo. Nick gritted his teeth and turned off the engine.

Logan grimaced as Nick approached, and shook his head like a dog, sending drops of water flying. “I got a friend,” he said calmly, “works with weather. She says this ain’t hers. Yours?”

“Mother Nature’s. Don’t tell me you’re recruiting again.” Nick walked past him, selecting his door key.

“It doesn’t even touch you. I’ve heard about walking between the raindrops, but this –“

Nick unlocked his door and looked over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

Logan regarded him without any expression at all. “Beer would be nice.”

Inside the condo, he got out two bottles of beer and handed one to Logan, who stood shivering and dripping on the carpet. Unspeaking, Nick called the water, sent it to the sink, and Logan blinked, reaching up to touch his now-dry hair.

“Storm says you’re an elemental,” he said.

Nick popped the cap on his beer. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Impressed her.”

“Good. Now she can go away happy.” Nick slumped on the couch, taking a sip of his beer. “What do you want, Logan?”

“Same thing I did before. Join us.”

Nick wearily watched him sit in the chair across from him, and shook his head. “I just spent twelve hours being a mutant,” he said, spitting the last word with venom. “And you know what it got me? A laugh a minute, I tell you. Now you want me to, what? Embrace my inner freak? Embody the dream? It’s not that simple.”

Logan’s mouth quirked in a lopsided grin. “Sure it is. What’s the alternative? More living in the zoo? There’s places where you could do some good, Stokes. Real good. It’s not a curse; it’s an advantage. Why won’t you use it?”

“Because I did that,” Nick said softly, “and people died.”

Logan gazed at him. “How? You drown ‘em?”

“No. No, that – I could have fixed.”

“Then what?”

Rain pelted sharply against the living-room windows, and Logan glanced at them. “Okay, so you don’t want to discuss it,” he said uneasily, looking back. “I get that.”

Nick drank more beer.

“That’s why you live here, isn’t it? Smack-dab in the middle of the desert. What, you think if you put yourself in the driest place you could find, you’d avoid temptation, something like that?”

“Something like that,” Nick agreed.

“Didn’t work, did it?”

“Look, you son of a –“

“Wanna know why it didn’t work?” Logan leaned forward. “Because it ain’t something you can just ditch when you don’t want it anymore. It’s YOU. Make your peace with it, and move on.”

“Where?” Nick spat. “To your side? Work with this Xavier guy, fight the good fight?”

“Good place to start, yeah.”

“You don’t want me. Believe me.”

“Did you mean to kill those people?”

Nick drew back, rigid with shock. “Fuck you,” he spat weakly. “That’s –“

“So it was an accident.” Logan nodded, and then shrugged. “I know a girl, nearly killed her first boyfriend just by kissing him. Ain’t like she wanted to. Doesn’t that count?”

“Doesn’t change things,” Nick whispered.

“Nope. But she doesn’t kill people now. And she doesn’t avoid it by running from what she is, either.”

“Well, good for her,” Nick said jeeringly. “Bring her on. At least I’d get a kiss to go with the –“

“Aw, cut the shit, Stokes,” Logan interrupted, the last of his good humor leaving his eyes. “And stop fucking feeling sorry for yourself, all right? So you got a raw deal. All of us did. Don’t see us crying, do you?”

Anger made his face feel hot, and distantly he heard pipes clanking, the sharp shudder of something below the floor. “Don’t push me,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t.”

“Bring it on,” Logan murmured. “Show me what you’ve got.”

And then his face changed, slackening, and Nick swallowed that triumphant smile that wanted so much to come out, felt the water, felt –

Heard a little meaty snick, and never saw Logan move. There was only a blur, and then the pain as the point of a sharp blade pressed against his throat. Logan’s face, drawn already, skin dry as paper, snarling, “Cut it out, Stokes. I go, you go. Got it?”

Nick gazed up at him, and swallowed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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• Nick/Bobby stories
• Jim Brass stories
• David Hodges stories
• CSI: New York stories
• CSI: Miami stories
• All f/f stories
• Other pairings & threesomes
• Gen CSI stories
• C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation: The Complete Ninth Season