Uncanny X-Men #7: "From the Ashes" (Part One of the Doom Arc)
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke
DISCLAIMER: The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place after "Uncanny X-Men 1-6: The Slayer" and X-Men Eternity: The Crossroads. It is encouraged-- though not mandatory-- to read those stories first.

--

PREVIOUSLY IN "UNCANNY X-MEN: ETERNITY"

An alternate ending to the House of M scattered the X-Men across five timelines and resulted in the creation of the reality-hopping villain Slayer. After a number of adventures through time, the X-Men defeated the Slayer at the cost of the life of founding team member Warren Worthington III, the Angel.

Instrumental in the final battle was Bobby Drake, the Iceman, who enhanced and refined his abilities significantly with much of the team absent. Now, as the X-Men prepare to return to their separate time periods on new missions, Bobby has been named leader of a new Gold Team, dedicated to the protection of the world from renegade mutants... and the protection of mutants from the world!

--

Doomstadt, Latveria
Five Years Ago

"This time, Laszlo, you have proved to me that you are truly insane..." (- translated from Hungarian)

Laszlo Vadász looked around at the gray countryside just outside the city limits, at the people approaching his hastily erected platform with small, timid steps, each of them looking around nervously, as though they expected at any moment for something to sweep down upon them and drag them, kicking and screaming, to a fate worse than death.

Well... maybe not -worse- than death...

"Relax, Peter!" Laszlo thumped his old friend on the back. "We should have as many as seven minutes before the robots come for us. Where is Marika?"

Peter Szabo was a small, round man with a thick, ruddy face and a tendency to sweat heavily, as he was doing now. He mopped his brow with a cloth, but the sweat reappeared almost instantly. "I sent her away. She should have no part of this."

"Come, Peter... I love your sister. You know I would not endanger--"

"You endanger her every day, Laszlo! All of us..." Peter looked around at the gathering crowd and shuddered. "We had a dream. Today it will end. So be it. But Marika will not die with us."

Laszlo frowned at him. "If you are so certain, why do you stay?"

"We began this together." Peter fidgeted, studied the ground. When he looked up again, his deep-set hazel eyes were steady. "Let them come."

Laszlo laughed and clasped his friend's shoulder. Then he ascended the podium. His eyes swept across the field. Not so many as he'd hoped to draw; not so many as last time. There would be enough in the end, he prayed. Once people saw the value in what they were doing.

He spread his arms. "My fellow Latverians... countrymen... friends! Thank you for coming today."

"We came to see a show!" someone at the back of the crowd yelled. "You're not very bright, Vadász, but you are entertaining. You never learn."

"What must I learn?" Laszlo asked. "To be a proper servant? To cower before the Master? Does no one remember when Latveria was free?"

"I do," said an old man. "Things were not half this good. Lord Doom gives us everything... demands nothing..."

"But that our eyes be always lower than his."

The oldster shrugged. "Is it so much to ask? He is one of the greatest men in the world. I follow him gladly."

"I do not," Laszlo said. "My parents did not. Doom had them burned alive, right -here- on this spot, in full view of their followers... and of each other. And of their son." He felt Peter's hand on his shoulder and shook it off. "At that moment, I swore one day I would lift my eyes toward the sky--" he pointed to the west, toward the foreboding shape of Castle Doom, "--and not see that monstrosity. I swore the sun would shine on a free Latveria-- where we need not seek the Master's permission to live our lives. Where we could live, love, teach our children without the fear of Victor von Doom."

"A sad story, boy," said the old man. "You should tell it to the Americans. Perhaps they'll send in the Fantastic Four."

"-Then- we'll see a show!" said the man who'd spoken first. The crowd laughed.

Laszlo's hands squeezed into fists. They were all laughing at him. He -knew- Doom was a monster. -Anyone- ought to have known. But how did one foment a revolution in a country where the majority of people were happy and the remainder, terrified beyond the will to resist?

The short answer: You didn't. You got scorned and ridiculed. Then the robots came and you died.

"How can you not care?" he whispered, too low for the people to hear him. In lieu of an answer, he felt Peter at his side again. His friend pointed off toward the east-- the opposite direction from what they'd expected. That changed the whole equation.

"They're early..." Laszlo said.

"Everyone run!" Peter shouted, jumping off the platform. "Return to your homes! If you're lucky, they won't find you! Hurry!"

The crowd dispersed. That was the polite term. In more precise language, they ran like hell-- except for the old man, who remained in place, laughing. Laszlo and he locked eyes; he knew the old man had called them. Perhaps he was even a Doombot himself. Laszlo took a step forward--

"Run," Peter's voice said in his ear. "We'll win no victories today..."

Peter tried to take his own advice; he tried to run. He didn't get far. A whole cloud of Swarmbot-class drones descended, incredibly fast, and cut him to pieces with their lasers..

Laszlo barely heard him fall, didn't even move himself. He stared them down as they approached, their weapons gleaming in the last sunlight, their terrible mechanical eyes seeking him. They surrounded him like a filthy swarm of locusts. One of their number circled around to look him straight in the eye. Laszlo stood there, muscles so tightly coiled they trembling, tears of rage rolling down his face.

"Laszlo Vadász , you are summoned to an audience with the Master. You may not decline."

"Then I will not," he said. "I am eager to meet von Doom. I have awaited this for a long time."

He let the robots guide him away. Neither he nor the Doombots was present three minutes later, when Peter Szabo's eyes snapped open and he sat up with a gasp. He was alone in an empty field, beside the remains of a wrecked podium, in a puddle of his own blood.

His clothing had been reduced to tatters by the robots' weapons. The flesh beneath them was completely healed.

--

Westchester, New York
Xavier Institute for Higher Learning
Present Day

"No-- no, I simply won't hear it!" Emma Frost said to the X-Men assembled around the table. "They are -my- girls, I want them at -my- school! None of you have the right to--"

"Aw, talk sense, Emma," said Rogue, the leader of what they were calling Green Team-- the group of X-Men who would shortly be returning to the Civil War era of Reality 915 to undo the historical damage they had accidentally caused. "Without the group mind, we're blind an' dumb! The setup we had -worked-- a Cuckoo for every timeline. Now, that's what we agreed!"

"We did -not- agree to put a entrust a pack of teenagers to your tender mercies, Rogue. We're to have a proper school again; they ought to be honing their abilities there."

The short man at the far end of the table, who'd seen this ground covered more than once, put his boots up on the table. "Wake me when the catfight's over, huh?"

Lucas Bishop, whose broad-shouldered form dominated the middle of the table, frowned down at the Wolverine. "It's Rogue and Emma, my friend. If you're willing to sleep through -that-, you really must be getting old..."

"There is no 'catfight,' Lucas," Emma said, "because there's nothing to discuss."

Scott Summers-- Cyclops-- cleared his throat from the head of the table. "Emma, you're right in theory. I don't like endangering the Cuckoos any more than you do. But we -did- agree to tend to our business in the other timelines, and I don't see how it's feasible without the Group Mind to keep us in contact."

"We have a portal now, Scott! We can cross between the timelines as we choose!"

"And how long will that last?" Scott asked. "Even if it does, we can't spare a telepath to watch over it 24/7. -With- the Four-in-One, we're teams of X-Men on a rescue mission. Without them, we're a rabble hopping from world to world at random. I'm sorry, Emma. We need them with us."

"What're y'all so worried about, anyway?" Rogue asked. "Appears to me those girls can take care of themselves."

Emma glared at her. "Esme's dead... twice now. I know the lot of you will say good riddance, but I loved that girl. If another of them suffers because we need them to form some kind of sodding cosmic radio, who'd like to be responsible for that? Anyone?"

"It's X-23 I'm wonderin' about," Logan interrupted, his eyes still half-closed. "'Least if things get tight for one o' the Cuckoos, they can summon the portal an' zap back here. I'd love to hear why you're so hot to take my teenage clone with ya into the future hell, Slim."

"That was my idea," Bishop said. "X and I have business back there. Anyway, you all have damn near disassembled the team from Reality 502. -Somebody's- got to go who knows the lay of the land."

"Fair enough." Logan said. "Kid gets hurt, though, I'll know who to see about a--"

SNIKT! He trailed off, letting the fistful of claws he'd raised do the talking. Bishop glared at him, but at least the two men understood each other.

Scott stood. "Believe me, I know none of this is ideal. But the teams are what they are, and I don't see this working any other way. So if there are no other -material- objections--"

"What's Bobby think about all this?" Rogue asked. "If we're divvyin' up the pie again, shouldn't our fancy new Field Leader get his slice?"

"Bobby and I have already discussed this," Scott said. "And... he's not answering his comm..."

"Great," said Logan. "I feel better 'bout leavin' the world in his hands already..."

--

The enemy was close. -Very- close. James Proudstar pressed himself to the ground, advancing by degrees, his heart pounding like it wanted to escape his chest. Around him, the grounds of the Xavier Institute were very still.

Be calm. Be ready. Be part of the landscape. He moved forward on hands and knees--

And suddenly the landscape came alive to kick his butt. The very dew on the grass pulled him down, banging his chin against the ground. Proudstar rolled, pulled his knife, and came up ready to fight--

But a miniature ice storm behind him was already turning into a man, who stretched out an arm and hit him with a cold blast that flung him up against a nearby tree. Proudstar swore...

"Don't worry, James, I've got him!"

Unseen until the last moment, Talia Josephine Wagner-- Nocturne-- dropped out of the trees, aiming for the reformed Iceman. With her mutant power, she could possess him and take all that yummy Omega-class power for herself. Bobby didn't even move as she fell on him--

--and then laughed when she bounced off. "Nice try, TJ, but you need a consciousness -to- possess, and mine's spread throughout my body. In this new ice form, I don't have a brain per se..."

"I've been saying that for years!" said Alex Summers, Havok, who appeared from the other direction and let loose a blast of energy.

Bobby barely ducked it, turned, and flowed at his longtime rival, evaporating as he went so that Havok couldn't get a clear shot. He blew past Alex as nothing more than a cloud of condensation, reformed behind him, and floored the junior Summers brother with a clout to the jaw.

"Okay, I walked into that one," Bobby said. "Fair enough. I'd be -so- embarrassed right now if I wasn't kicking your-- ARGH!"

Rachel Grey, Marvel Girl, stepped out of the trees next, the Phoenix emblem over her eye and fire skirting across her lithe body in waves. Ray had only touched the Phoenix Force briefly a few days before (- in New X-Men #6 & The Crossroads), but already her power seemed to have advanced considerably. She didn't -have- to tap Bobby's mind directly-- she could hit him on the astral plane and cut his consciousness off at the pass. He fell on his knees.

"You know what your problem is, Frosty? You talk a lot. I mean, a -lot-."

"Aw. Your -mom- used to think I was funny. Even your dad laughed sometimes, before Emma drained his sense of humor."

Rachel's control -twitched-- just a millisecond of annoyance at the reminder of her family situation. Unintentional. Quickly suppressed. And in that millisecond, Bobby was gone. He melted right into the ground and out of her awareness. Rachel's expression darkened as she searched harder, but the more he diluted himself, the harder he was to pick up...

"Everybody stay sharp," Proudstar said. "Bet you this is gonna -hurt-..."

He was right-- and took the brunt of it himself. An icy hand reached out of the ground, yanking the Apache down in mid-step. Proudstar felt something give way in his ankle...

Bobby Drake reformed in the middle of his team, looking around with a pensive expression. "...three, four, five. Kurt's still hurting, so... that leaves..."

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The attack came from above, as Theresa Rourke Cassidy-- Siryn-- swooped through an opening in the canopy of trees and -shattered- the Iceman with her sonic scream. For a moment, those on the ground cheered; then the air around Theresa turned ice-cold and clammy, frost appearing on her cape like ice on the wings of a plane...

"Whoa! Wha' th'... ah, bollocks!"

When she stopped screaming, of course, Theresa fell. Nocturne leaped and caught her... but then landed on a patch of ice and fell on her rear, the two women tangling in a heap.

An icy wind blew past the group, and suddenly Bobby was there, laughing. "You people need a lot of work."

Proudstar massaged his ankle. "You couldn't have made the point with, say, a lecture?"

"Cyke lectures. I demonstrate."

"It's our first time working as a team," Rachel said. "We'll get better."

"Not if you keep letting your emotions override your power. You -had- me, Ray-- there was no way I could get out of that until you -made- a way for me. A telepath's got to keep herself doubly under control. And you--"

He made the rounds among team, helping Theresa and Proudstar to their feet. To the Apache, he said, "Put some ice on that ankle."

"Had some, thanks. More than enough."

Bobby laughed. "Think more, react less. You're in tune with your surroundings and that's great, but you had absolutely no idea what to do about an attack you couldn't sense coming. Terry-- opposite advice. Your scream was playing hell with my concentration-- if you'd adjusted and kept at it, I'd have had to re-form. But your 'A' plan got scrapped and you didn't react fact enough."

"Ah, away with yeh," Terry grumbled. "This isn't our first time at th' dance, yeh know."

"You're in the big leagues now," Bobby said. "I don't know what was good enough for Cable in X-Force, but..."

"Nothing was good enough for Cable," Proudstar said.

"Then I suggest you do a damn sight better than nothing." The Iceman turned to Nocturne: "TJ, stop relying on the possession. It's a one-time trick, and as you just saw, it's not always going to work the way you think."

"What about a hex-bolt? Would that have worked?"

He frowned. "Hell if I know. Haven't been hexed since the good old days. Would've been worth a shot. And Alex--"

"Oh, this should be good. What sage advice have you got for me, Imperious Leader?"

Bobby stood over his old rival, who was still rubbing his chin on the ground. He held out a hand. "Just work on the glass jaw."

Alex made a point of rising without Bobby's help. "I do -not- have a glass jaw. That iced-up fist of yours is like a set of brass knuckles."

"Is it?" Bobby looked innocent.

"Yeah, you can laugh. You don't have to try to get your front teeth replaced before a meeting."

"Meeting?" Rachel frowned. "Isn't that kind of thing Bobby's turf now?"

"No, his only job is to manhandle us in the field. Scott and Emma left the administrative details to me as of this morning-- apparently on the theory that all Summerses have an innate talent for boring stuff."

"No wonder I like crossword puzzles," the girl said.

"You want to come with, I'll treat my favorite niece to lunch afterward." Alex frowned. "Actually, a telepath wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Who are you meeting?" Nocturne asked.

Alex hesitated a beat too long before admitting, "Tony Stark."

Rachel winced. "You're not gonna get anything off Stark that he doesn't want to give out. The man carries six different kinds of telepathic inhibitors; I'll have a headache all day."

"Hence my offer to bribe you with pizza. What d'you say?"

"Well... okay." She reluctantly joined him.

Before they could walk away, Nocturne was in their path. She glared with particularly shrewd yellow eyes. "What's the meeting about?"

"It's really nothing, TJ."

"Uh-huh. So what's nothing about?"

Alex sighed. "He wants to talk about Wanda."

"I knew it! I KNEW it! The Avengers want her, don't they? They want to punish her for something that wasn't even her fault!"

Bobby said, "Well, TJ, she did remake the world..."

"But not for any -bad- reason! The Slayer tricked her! In fact, from a certain point of view, he was -destined- to trick her, because if he hadn't succeeded, he wouldn't have existed to... trick her in the first place..." TJ trailed off, working out the temporal mechanics.

Terry frowned. "D'yeh have any idea what yeh just said?"

"Well... no, but I'm sure it means Mom wasn't at fault!"

"And I will explain that to Mr. Stark," Alex said. "possibly in terms that are less... weird."

Rachel said, "The Avengers might be the best place for her. They've been her family. They have all kinds of resources we don't have..."

"Yes, and I'm positive that's all Tony freaking sellout Stark wants to talk about: her well-being. D'you have any idea how many worlds I've seen where he's evil? I mean, he's cute in most of 'em, but he's still evil." Nocturne glared at the others. "If they take her, I walk. I'll bet you Dad goes with me."

"Why would he?" Rachel asked. "Kurt hardly -knows- her..."

Alex held up a hand. "Look. I'll do my best to see it doesn't come to that, all right? Nobody panic until there's something to panic about."

"Alex is right," Bobby said, though it appeared to pain him. "We should get back to--" He stopped strapping his comm back on and groaned. "Holy crap, Scott! 14 messages! Your family is anal..."

"That's us," said Alex brightly, offering Rachel his arm. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

"He solved it!" she announced as they walked away. "Fourteen-down, four-letter word for 'meticulous bad humor'. I've been working on that for two days..."

Bobby Drake tossed his arms in the air. "I guess we're taking a break. Hour for lunch, gang, that's -all-."

--

Further back in the trees, a newcomer watched the X-Men's training session. Except for Drake's kicking-and-screaming descent into adulthood, there wasn't much of interest there; she'd fought most of them before. What came after was possessed of a certain banal drama, however:

James Proudstar approached a sulking Nocturne and touched her shoulder. "Hey. We're not going to let 'em take one of us, okay?"

Siryn said, "Jimmy, don't yeh think--"

"You have my word."

Nocturne turned to him; her mood changed almost instantly. She couldn't hide her grin. Mercurial, this one, and not very subtle. Information to file away.

"Thanks, James. That means a lot. Hey, I've got something for you." She reached into her belt and produced a long, serrated hunter's knife. Vibranium alloy, perfectly balanced. The watcher approved.

"My knife!" Proudstar held it aloft, then slid it into the empty sheath next to its twin. "I thought I'd have to go all the way to Wakanda for another one of these, after your friend blinked it away during the battle. (- The Crossroads) How did you...?"

"Well," Nocturne looked sly, "the elf giveth and the elf taketh away. And since I'm very nice to Blink... if you're very nice to me... sometimes good things happen."

"I'll keep that in mind," Proudstar said; he tested his wounded ankle, grimacing slightly. "That icicle's gonna be the death of me. Hour for lunch, hell. Time to hit the showers."

Nocturne watched him go with an expression that all but said: -Separately, or...?- She kept looking until Theresa cleared her throat.

"See anything interesting, dearie?"

"Well, you've gotta admit that's interesting," Nocturne said, referencing seven feet of rock-solid Apache warrior. Abruptly, she seemed to remember some shame. "Oh, hey-- I'm probably not serious or-- I mean, I already had a thing with a Proudstar-- or two-- that kinda didn't-- well. I didn't mean to step on anybody's toes. Even those of you with ten of them."

Theresa only frowned harder. "Meaning what?"

"Well... I mean, rumor says... at least, -Blink- says... well... is he, like, available?"

"Completely," said the Siryn, and she walked into the woods.

Once she was out of Nocturne's earshot, the watcher intercepted her. "That's not what you said when I had his face."

Theresa whirled and opened her mouth for a scream. The watcher, Mystique, pressed a pistol to her gut to warn her not to try it. But she did so in a -friendly- way.

"Yeh took advantage of me," Terry said. (- Mystique & Siryn met off-panel in Uncanny #1)

"Yes, I do that sometimes."

"Then yeh tried to kill me."

"I do that, too. But in your case, I didn't. You're still breathing. That should be proof of my noble intentions."

"Pogue Mahone," Terry said, Irish vernacular which translated to: 'Kiss my...'

"Maybe next time," Mystique said. "For now, I came to apologize."

"Oh, no doubt. No doubt yeh were very convincin' with Scott, as yeh were with me. I'm certain he thinks it's all grand between us former foes." Terry, a master of sonics, lowered her voice to the exact softest level Mystique could perceive. "Yeh cut me da's throat. Then yeh cut me. Next time yeh step out o' line, darlin' it'll be you who gets th' knife. Understood?"

"Perfectly," Mystique said, smiling sweetly.

Terry glared again and swept away in a whirl of cape. The shape-shifter leaned against a tree and laughed.

"Personally, I agree with her," said a new voice, with a Mississippi twang in it.

Mystique tensed; she'd been waiting-- hoping?-- for this moment. Now she realized she wasn't sure what to say. Mystique preferred to instill uncertainty in others; it didn't sit well with her personally. She tried to keep her tone light:

"I expected as much. My extracurricular activities upset you so."

Rogue stood a little distance away, hands on her hips, annoyance fighting confusion on her face: "Never expected you to show up like you did. To go that far, fightin' the Slayer. You did the right thing."

Mystique shrugged. "You're my daughter, Rogue. Whatever's come between us, I'll always be there when you need me."

"I know. Sometimes I wish you weren't."

The two women looked at each other, but only for a moment. Mystique cleared her throat. "Tell Drake he's riding them too hard. It's a natural impulse for a first command, but it will come back to bite him."

"You could tell him yourself," Rogue said. "Your experience would be a help to them."

Mystique laughed. "I don't think they'd approve much of my... experience."

"You -could- stay."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Yes."

Mystique shook her head. "We made a deal, Scott and I, a provisional cessation of hostilities. I'm to make myself available for certain... special occasions. In return, I get what I want."

Rogue took a step forward, brows knitted together. "What d'you want?"

"Certainly not to be an X-Man yet. I still have some wild oats to sow." The shapeshifter sighed. "You know me, Rogue. You know I'm not a hero.

"But I'm glad you are."

She hoped her foster daughter might reach out to her. She didn't, so Mystique faded into the woods. She only looked back when she was certain Rogue wouldn't see.

--

Five Years Ago
Beneath Castle Doom

The machines had done all they could to Lazslo Vadász; they had spilled his blood, nearly broken his body, but they could not make him bow. Chained to the wall in the dark, damp space beneath Latveria's administrative seat, Laszlo knew a fierce pride at that. He had not shed a tear. He had not begged them to stop. He had screamed, but only defiance. Now they would kill him, and that... was not such a bad thing, either. He could be with his parents. He could be at peace.

-Marika-, he thought, naming his only regret. -I am so very sorry, my love. I had thought to leave a better nation for you... and for our children. I would have liked to see our children...-

A heavy footstep fell outside the interrogation room. The robots stopped their buzzing. Laszlo strained at his bonds...

A caped figure stepped into the room, broad-shouldered and powerful. Laszlo struggled to clear his bleary vision. He could just make out the irresistible eyes in the center of the iron mask-- the visage known to all the world as the face of fear, every child's nightmare of the monster under the bed wrapped up in a surprisingly eloquent package. This was the man who'd haunted Laszlo's thoughts since he was a boy, the man who had taken his world and squeezed it between his fingers and crushed it to dust.

This was power. This was intimidation. This was Doom.

"You are a strong man, Laszlo Vadász," said the deep voice, reverberating slightly behind the mask. A familiar voice, heard a thousand times in speeches, somehow not so impressive with all those grand words as now, close at hand, almost whispering: "But you are not a wise man."

"If my parents had wisdom, they would be alive. Is that all there is to life-- wisdom, and safety?"

The eyes shifted in the mask. "Your parents fought with Zorba. He was no fit adversary for Doom."

"I apologize if we have failed to impress you, my lord. Believe me-- in time, we will."

Doom tilted Laszlo's chin up to look at him; they stared into each other's eyes. It seemed like forever, a lifetime spent in the terrible darkness of that mask. Laszlo blinked.

"Few can long withstand Doom's will," said the monarch in a pensive tone. "He grows... -slightly- more impressed."

"Then release me. It is said von Doom enjoys a challenge. Perhaps you'd like to kill me personally? As an amusement for your people? Surely that would be..."

"Hardly any challenge at all," Doom said, dismissing him with a wave. He called to one of the robots. "Initiate program 197."

"Yes, my lord."

The robot flitted off. Doom's eyes shifted again to take in Laszlo.

"Not a wise man... but that can change. In time you will understand that nothing is impossible for Doom."

He turned on his heel and strode from the chamber. Laszlo called after, ranting and swearing, but the tyrant did not return. Instead, his robot re-entered, bearing with him a basin of molten metal. It approached ever closer, heat broiling off it that it could nearly take a man's skin off from a meter away. Laszlo strained and struggled.

Another robot deactivated his restraints. He collapsed and tried to run; a man-sized robot caught him in an iron grip and pushed him closer to the thick, bubbling liquid. Closer... he could feel his hair, his skin, his eyebrows singed by the terrible heat. Half an inch away from the white-hot basin...

Laszlo Vadász screamed.

--

NOW

The creator of the second-most famous iron mask in the world favored Alex Summers with his most roguish smile. "So... let's make a deal."

Alex met the smile as best he could, although Tony Stark's impeccably tailored suit and Rhett Butler looks had his tousled blond hair and sweaty superhero outfit outclassed. He stepped slowly around Scott's desk.

"This isn't a yard sale, Mister Stark."

"Of course not. It's not a business transaction; it's a family matter." Stark tried the grin again, less brilliant this time. "I like to think of you X-Men as... well, distant cousins. You did a good turn for Wanda, and we appreciate it. But she's still just your cousin; she's our sister."

"Whom you looked in a dungeon on Genosha and allowed to go slowly insane."

Tony's eyes flashed. "With Professor Xavier's approval and willing help."

"Well, Professor Xavier no longer runs this institute."

"That's still his name on the door, isn't it?"

Alex sat on the edge of the desk and folded his hands. He stole a glance at Rachel out of the corner of his eye; she shrugged. As predicted, Stark wasn't broadcasting.

"What exactly are you going to do? Change Wanda with unconscious destruction of reality as we know it? Good luck convincing a jury of her peers that's possible. You can't claim to know how to handle what she's done, because there's no precedent for what she's done."

Stark spread his hands. "What makes you think I want to arrest her? Wanda's been a dear friend of mine since--"

"Then you won't mind if she stays where she's comfortable," Rachel broke in. "With us."

"It's not that simple."

"No, it's not," Alex agreed, "and I'll tell you why I have just the slightest problem believing we're all on the same team, Mister Stark: Because sooner or later, somebody's going to suffer for the House of M, and it's not going to be you. It never is."

Stark's eyes flashed. "I clean up my own messes, Havok. What happened to the Avengers-- all of it-- was my responsibility. That includes Wanda. I'd like to speak to her."

"Bang up job you did the last time," Alex said.

"She doesn't want to talk to you," Rachel added. "She's not ready yet, Mister Stark. If you're really her friend, you'll respect that."

The industrialist backed off. For a moment, he looked pensive. Then: "I understand you're converting this place from a school."

"That's right," Alex said. "The mansion is going to be purely a training and command facility for our field teams. Our students are moving up to Snow Valley, Massachusetts, under the supervision of Emma Frost and Sean Cassidy."

"The man behind the X-Corps debacle and the White Queen of the Hellfire Club. Yes, clearly they're to be trusted above the Avengers. We'll let that pass." Stark made a show of looking around. "I've footed the bill for projects like this. I imagine you're finding yourselves a little strapped."

"We'll get by," Alex said, stone-faced.

"Are you sure? What with all the rebuilding you've had to do, Emma Frost's shifting fortunes over the last several years, and now the rumors about Warren Worthington--"

Both X-Men froze. "What about him?"

"Well," Stark smiled. "The way I hear it, he's... not himself lately?"

-Dammit!- It was all Alex could do not to wince. Stark was right-- the man currently residing in Warren's body was, for all intents and purposes, Jonothon Starsmore. The two had accidentally been 'melded,' and Warren effectively killed, fighting the Slayer. (- The Crossroads.) But how had anyone learned of that already?

"Warren's fine," he said. "He's right outside."

"May I speak to -him?-"

"I can't imagine why you would."

An expression crossed Tony Stark's face that was very similar to the look Emma got when she was petulant-- neither of them was used to being denied anything.

"I was only thinking that if the funds from Worthington's corporation should suddenly dry up, you might be at a loss."

"I thought you'd seen your share of losses, too, lately," Rachel said.

"Never underestimate my resources."

Alex charged toward him: "You keep trying to put this on a money basis. I don't buy and sell human beings."

"Neither do I. I deal mostly in ideas-- right now, what I'm selling is the very reasonable idea that we have the means to care for Wanda, and you don't."

"Where were those means when you could have helped her before?"

Stark took a step forward, his muscles tensed. Alex had to resist the impulse to charge up for a warning shot or two. The two men glowered at each other.

"We all failed Wanda," Tony Stark said through gritted teeth. "I will regret that forever... but it's no reason to compound the error now."

"She's not an error," Rachel said, "she's a woman."

"She's a mutant," Alex added. "We're a little touchy about letting people lock our kind away 'for their own good.' As far as we're concerned, she's an X-Man now, and she is welcome with us until she wants to leave. If you -really- want to make a fight out of this, advertise the House of M to a half-suspecting world... that's your call, Mister Stark. Just understand that if you start a fight with the X-Men... you will -get- a fight from the X-Men."

Standoff. Stark raised his hands and backed away. "I didn't come here for that."

"Then maybe you should leave," Rachel suggested. Her power flared-- the Phoenix insignia in silhouette-- and Stark winced a bit.

-Six inhibitors-- took her hardly any time at all to burn through them all,- Alex thought, shifting concern from Wanda to his niece for a moment.

Stark shook it off and glared at her. "I strongly suggest you stay out of my mind."

"I thought we were all friends."

"I -strongly- suggest." He turned, but stopped at the door. "What about Pietro Maximoff? Where's my friend Quicksilver?"

"Out of town," Alex deadpanned.

"I thought as much. Tell Logan we're saving a spot for him when he returns. I imagine -one- team must be very boring for a man of his talents."

He closed the door behind him-- but in a way that politely suggested that he'd like to slam it. Alex leaned against the wall and sighed.

"I thought that went well."

"I got a snippet of his mind at the end. He's running through contingency plans. One of them involves leaking Wanda's abilities to the press. Do you have any idea how far that would set back the mutant-rights movement?"

Alex shrugged. "I don't think Stark will go there. You're talking about some kind of catastrophic civil war among heroes. Nobody wants that."

"If we had to fight them, could we win?"

He gave his niece a tight smile. "As long as they don't resurrect Thor, we'll kick their butts. Now c'mon, I'm buying the pizza, remember?"

Rachel joined him at the door, but stopped. "Alex... I was with you for the sake of solidarity... and because I've been patronized enough by flatscans in my life--"

"Don't use that word, Ray. It's as bad as them calling us muties."

Rachel frowned. "Fundamentally, he's right. Wanda's a big problem for somebody. I don't like having her here."

"C'mon, Ray..." He ruffled his niece's hair. "She's recovering. How much trouble could she be...?"

--

WHAM! Annie Ghazikanian flew across the Infirmary and hit the wall, dumping the tray of food she'd been bringing one of her patients all over the floor.

The Scarlet Witch was having one of her -bad- days, so that meant everyone else's day was even worse.

Wanda Maximoff sat in the corner hugging her knees and weeping, her hair unruly about her shoulders. The room spun around her-- not to say that her perception was skewed, for it was fine. Her power simply made the -room- spin and distort, fading from one reality to the next, nothing quite the same from moment to moment. She would have gouged out her own eyes, if only she'd been able to keep a consistent number of hands from moment to moment.

"WANDA!" cried a voice that seemed to be very far away, speaking a hundred different languages. "You must stop this at once!"

"HELP ME!" Annie cried. She seemed to be melting, her molecules fusing with those of the wall.

"Annie! Ach, I cannot see-- my eyes--"

"I've got 'er, Kurt!" called Kitty Pryde-- Shadowcat, who leaped through a rainbow spectrum of potential realities and landed beside Annie.

"Katzchen, phase her out of here! Get as far away as you can!"

"I'm trying!" Kitty said. "My molecules weren't working right -before- the laws of physics went wonky!"

That much was true: Kitty had been ambushed and stunned by a version of Nathan Summers (- in the Crossroads). His futuristic technology had somehow thrown her phasing out of whack, and Hank was still trying to stabilize it. She grabbed Annie by the arms-- or tried to. Her hand phased right through the nurse, while the rest of her still wouldn't phase at all.

"Gah... c'mon!... crummy rotten pseudo-Cable SONOFA--"

She was still in mid-rant when she and Annie dropped through the floor. Kurt Wagner breathed a sigh of relief; he only prayed they would not rematerialize in a wall somewhere. But Kurt had his own problems. He struggled toward Wanda as best he could, while reality kept shifting in mid-stride. He had the oddest feeling he was female for a moment, and then the even odder feeling that he was a vegetable of some sort. He cupped his hands-- he hoped they were hands-- around his mouth and cried:

"Focus, leibling! Remember what Jean showed you! Come back to us-- you -must-, we cannot--"

"ArrrrAAAAAAGGGGHHH!" Wanda cried, and abruptly the room was stationary again. "GET AWAY FROM ME, all of you! I am not safe! I will never be safe again! Can't anyone please just MAKE IT STOP?"

BAMF! He appeared beside her-- a fuzzy blue elf called Nightcrawler who wore a hospital gown like hers. He muttered soothing sounds and wrapped his arms around her while she wept into his shoulder, shaking like a leaf.

"It -is- over, leibling," Kurt murmured. "The Slayer is gone. The House of M is past. There is nothing to fear-- not even yourself."

Wanda looked up at him, tears still streaming down her cheeks. He was surprised how lovely her blue eyes were; he warned himself not to think that way, but... the thought -had- been there.

"You don't know what it was like, Kurt. I saw -everything-- everything that was and could be. I only had to -think- and it was so. It was... it was very much like having the power of God."

"No," said Kurt. "God's greatest power is not working miracles, but knowing how and when to work them. No human can have that knowledge, and no one should have these kinds of abilities thrust upon them without it. You are doing the best you can, under the circumstances.."

"Best! I've become a monster-- a murderer!" She buried her head in his chest again. "In the Crossroads, I saw so many worlds where I did not stumble like this... why must I be stuck -here-?"

"It is forever the way with us... we Roma have always found ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time." Kurt smiled. "But if we never stumbled, we would never learn to walk."

"Yes." Wanda pulled away a little. "Thank you, Kurt. I'm-- I think I'm all right now."

"You see? These spells are getting shorter."

"Spells. Ironic turn of phrase." The Scarlet Witch shuddered. "It feels like an eternity, every time."

"I know." Kurt stirred. "I should make sure Kitty and Annie are alright. If you will excuse--"

She reached out to seize his arm, her eyes suddenly wide. "Kurt-- oh, no-- I saw--"

"Is it starting again? Are they injured? What is the--"

Wanda shook her head. "I saw the world and everyone in it. I-- I think I saw Doom."

He laughed. "Truthfully, leibling, the X-Men have been doomed so many times, the word has lost all meaning. What will come will come."

"Not -our- doom." Her breath came quicker, almost in gasps. "I saw -him-."

For a moment, Kurt did not understand. The knowledge came with a vile obscenity attached that Kurt's religious training would not allow to pass his lips. "He's in hell, isn't he? An excellent place for him."

"I've been to hell," Wanda said absently. "They get more repeat business than you'd expect."

"It will be all right," Kurt said, and put an arm around her--

--at the exact moment a slender redhead appeared in the doorway and cleared her throat. Rachel Grey held a plate in one hand, but the other was clenched into a fist with trickles of telekinetic flame sparking off it. She smiled, but with ice-cold eyes, and said:

"Anyone want to tell me why I was a marsupial for a second there?"

"Ach, we had a small... setback." Kurt struggled to his feet and helped Wanda to stand. He tried his most dashing smile. "I believe everything's all right now. It's good to see you, Ray. I was hoping we would have a chance to--"

"Thought you'd want some pizza," Rachel said, her tone suggesting this was anything but the time for a heartfelt exchange.

"Ah... thank you, that was very..."

"UNGH!" Kitty Pryde said, climbing back up through the floor as though it were made of quicksand. "Annie's okay, just a little freaked. She's threatening to take Carter and move to Bolivia or someplace, but she'll get over it. Don't anybody... thank me or... oh, we have pizza? Cool."

She relieved Rachel of the plate, and the redhead walked out. Kurt hadn't felt very hungry, anyway.

--

Rachel didn't allow herself to think a coherent thought until she was out of the mansion and tromping around the grounds; partly because she didn't know whether Wanda's souped-up mojo extended to reading her mind. Mostly because she didn't know what to think.

Kurt didn't owe her anything. Just because she'd thought about -him- almost the entire time she was in the future-- when she wasn't thinking about Nathan, another disappointment-- well, that didn't mean he'd thought anything about her. They'd kissed -once-. Period. Almost by accident, even. If she thought she could come back here -months- later and assume sparks were going to fly, well...

She sighed. "Get over yourself, girl. She's not the enemy. She's -not-."

"Are we talking about Emma?"

Rachel half-turned; the woman approaching resembled her more than a little. Rachel's few friends used to say she was the spitting image of her mother, and this reality's Jean Grey was the closest thing to a mother she had left. The older Grey wore traveling clothes and a this-is-goodbye expression, and for her sake, Rachel put on a smile.

"Good guess. I was actually thinking about... something else."

"Okay," Jean said, accepting that. She sat down on a felled log and gestured for Rachel to join her. "I couldn't leave without seeing you. I haven't forgotten I promised to be there for you (- in the Crossroads)... if you don't want me to go..."

Rachel laughed as she sat beside her mother. "Go on. Seriously. I'd rather see you and Scott--"

Jean frowned. "I'm not going with Scott's team so we can go back together. You know that, right?"

"Well, no. Not really. But I'll pretend I know, if you like, and you can pretend to believe me."

"Fair enough." Jean laughed; then her eyes narrowed. "Rachel... about the Phoenix..."

"I've got it under control, Mo... Jean. I don't even hear it anymore. I'm just... a little stronger than I used to be. That's not bad, right?"

Jean shrugged. "Depends on how you use it. Look, Ray... I took some of the power from you, to help you cope. But you chose to give yourself to the personification of cosmic annihilation and rebirth..."

"Okay, it's depressing when you put it like that," Rachel said.

"... believe me, it will not let you go that easily. In some ways... it will never give you up."

Rachel swallowed hard. "I'm prepared, Jean, really. I promise not to lose control."

"I trust you." Jean held out her arms. "I really want things to be different, Ray. I think they will be. You know where I'll be if you need help."

"Just bring him back," Rachel said, ostensibly about the professor, but she sort of meant Scott. They hugged.

Jean pulled away at length. "When I get back... shopping trip. You and me."

Rachel laughed, the business with Kurt and Wanda forgotten. The promise of an actual, -normal- mother-daughter outing with Jean was the most wonderful thought in her world, and for about half a second, she climbed up from "Angsty, but Content" and hovered dangerously close to "Happy."

This was the part of the dream where the world generally exploded. To Rachel's surprise, that didn't happen.

There was only a -small- explosion, so she must have been awake.

--

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

James Proudstar favored Nocturne with an expression somewhere between battle-hardened warrior and insufferably pleased little boy. "This is a -wonderful- idea. I am sick of losing to Jack Frost. He told us to plan, so fine. This is the plan."

TJ Wagner sighed. Intellectually, she knew the whole thing was dangerous and stupid. Emotionally, though, she agreed with Warpath. And it sounded like fun.

"You know it's gonna kayo you for a day?"

"It'll be worth it."

"Okaaaay..." TJ sighed. "Just don't think I -always- jump into a guy on the first date..."

She took two steps forward and possessed him, his eyes briefly glowing yellow as TJ's mutant power took hold. She crept through the woods, not as stealthy as Proudstar might have been, but not bad. Uncle Logan had personally taught her this part...

Proudstar/Nocturne stepped out into a clearing, scanning for the Iceman. His enhanced senses were remarkable; TJ felt as though she'd spent her whole life blind and deaf. She spied Bobby at the far end of the clearing--

"Hey, Drake! Ready for Round Two?"

The plan was simple. Get him thinking he was fighting Warpath, let him get nice and close, and then-- ZAP!-- TJ would jump out and hit him point-blank with a few hex bolts. With luck, they could at least get in a good shot or two before frostbite set in.

But as Bobby turned to her, TJ realized something was wrong. His body was too streamlined, and didn't sparkle in the sunshine like ice. Rather, it glowed from within. It raised its hands toward her...

She wasn't sure it if was her instincts or James Proudstar's that made her stop, droll, and roll. Whichever, it saved her life, as a burst of energy flew out from the newcomer's hands and incinerated the tree behind her.

The shockwave jarred Nocturne, and she lost control of Warpath's body. When her eyes blinked open, who knew how much later, she was lying beside him with the sound of burning timber in her ears.

"James?" She sat up and shook him. "James... aw, hell. I don't see her... where'd she..."

TJ felt a knife against her throat. A harshly-accented voice said, "My name is Peter Szabo. You just met my sister, Marika. We are mutants, looking for the X-Men."

"You found 'em," TJ said. "-Not- the way to make a good impression."

"I apologize, but we are desperate. We are Latverian nationals seeking asylum."

"We're not a nation, dude."

Szabo growled softly. "Sanctuary, then."

"Sanctuary? From?"

He laughed. "What else? From the return of Victor von Doom."

Whatever her philosophical differences with Peter Szabo, TJ had to admit that was damn good thing to fear.

END

In Issue #2: "Masks"
See the other Eternity series: New X-Men, X-Force, X-Factor, & GenE, coming soon!
Up Next: Generation: Eternity #1: "Jubilation Day"