Clark couldn't stop fidgeting with the medical equipment scattered across Dr. MacTaggert's lab. The place looked like a cross between a hospital room and a Stark Industries garage sale. His fingers brushed against something that looked like a cross between a microscope and a coffeemaker.
"Touch that again—" Dr. Moira MacTaggert didn't even look up from her microscope. "—and I'll have ye cleaning test tubes for a month."
Her Scottish accent made the threat somehow more amusing than intimidating. Clark pulled his hand back anyway, trying not to smile. "Sorry, it's just... all this stuff. It's like—"
"—Like ye've never seen advanced genetic analysis equipment before?" Now she looked up, one eyebrow raised in that uniquely teacherly way that was both questioning and knowing simultaneously.
"I was going to say 'like sci-fi props,' but yeah, that too." Clark settled onto the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath him. "So what's the verdict, doc? Am I going to live? Turn into a blob? Start glowing in the dark?"
"Ye already glow, lad." Moira swiveled in her chair, bringing up something on her holographic display that made absolutely zero sense to Clark but seemed to fascinate her. "Though that's not even the most interesting part." Her fingers danced across the keyboard, bringing up more incomprehensible charts and graphs. "How long did ye say it's been since your mutation manifested?"
"You mean since I started doing the whole—" Clark wiggled his fingers, small arcs of blue energy dancing between them. "—light show thing? About thirty-six hours? Give or take running for my life and that whole road trip montage."
"Thirty-six—" Moira stopped typing, turning to face him fully. "That can't be right. These readings... your cellular structure..." she trailed off, muttering something that sounded scientific and vaguely concerned.
"Um." Clark felt his stomach drop. "That sounds... not great?"
"No, no, it's not—" Moira waved off his concern, already back to her screens. "It's fascinating, actually. Your cells... they're not... well, they're not exactly cells anymore. At least, not in any way I've seen before."
"That's... that's not making me feel better about this."
"Look." She gestured him over, pointing at something on the screen that looked like abstract art to Clark but meant something to her. "Normal human cells—or even typical mutant cells—have distinct components. Red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets... But yours? They've been completely replaced by this... this fluid-like substance."
Clark stared at the screen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "So what you're saying is..."
"What I'm saying is that your entire cellular structure has been transformed into something entirely new. Something I've never seen before." Her eyes lit up with scientific curiosity. "It's like... imagine if someone took normal human biology and decided to rewrite it from scratch, but with energy instead of organic tissue."
"That's..." Clark swallowed hard. "That should probably be impossible, right?"
"Probably." Moira's grin was infectious. "But then again, so should shooting energy from your hands or teleporting, or reading minds.."
She turned back to her equipment, muttering to herself about energy conversion rates and cellular stability. Clark caught phrases like "unprecedented transformation" and "complete physiological restructuring" that probably should have terrified him, but somehow just made him feel... curious.
"So..." He ventured after a moment. "Good impossible or bad impossible?"
"Hmm?" Moira looked up from where she'd been scribbling notes. "Oh! No, no, nothing bad. Just... different. Very different. Your body seems to be handling the transformation remarkably well. Almost like..."
"Like what?"
"Like it was designed for it." She tapped her pen against her lips thoughtfully. "Which, given your memory situation, raises some very interesting questions."
Clark felt something cold settle in his stomach. "You think... you think someone might have done this to me? Before? When I was..."
"I think—" Moira's voice gentled. "—that we've got a lot more tests to run before we start jumping to conclusions. But whatever happened, whatever's happening now? We'll figure it out. That's what we do here."
She started gathering supplies for what looked like more tests. "Now, how do ye feel about needles? Because I'm going to need more samples, and—" She paused, looking at him critically. "Why are ye smiling like that?"
Clark hadn't even realized he was. "Just... you said we."
"Aye, well." Moira's smile returned, softer this time. "Welcome to the family, lad. Even if ye keep trying to touch my equipment."
His hand, which had been creeping toward what looked like a very interesting scanner, dropped quickly to his side. "No idea what you're talking about."
"Uh-huh." Moira's eye roll could have won awards. "Now hold still. This might pinch a bit..."
****
The afternoon sun painted long shadows across Xavier's office, catching the edges of playing cards as they danced between Remy's fingers. The repetitive motion seemed almost hypnotic—a nervous habit masquerading as showmanship. Charles Xavier watched the display with quiet interest, steam rising from the fine china teacups between them.
"So." Xavier's voice carried warmth as he poured a fresh cup. "I must say, I'm quite pleased you accompanied Logan on this venture."
Remy caught one of his cards—the King of Hearts—and let it charge just enough to give off a faint magenta glow. "Ain't like I had much choice in de matter, non? New Orleans made it pretty clear dey don't want Remy LeBeau darkening their doorstep no more."
His accent seemed thicker somehow, like he was using it as armor. Xavier merely smiled, taking a measured sip of his tea.
"Interesting choice of words." His eyes missed nothing. "You were exiled from New Orleans specifically, as I recall. Not the state of Louisiana as a whole. There were... other options available to you."
The card stopped moving. Remy's red-on-black eyes narrowed slightly. "You know about dat?"
"I know many things, Mr. LeBeau." Xavier's tone remained gentle, but there was steel beneath it. "About New Orleans. About the Thieves Guild. About Julian."
The name hung in the air like smoke. Remy's fingers tightened on his teacup, the fine china creaking.
"Den you know why I can't—" He cut himself off, switching tactics. "Place like dis? All fancy and proper? Ain't exactly de right fit for someone like me. Just need somewhere to lay low for a bit, figure out my next move."
"We could be that," Xavier agreed easily. Too easily. "A temporary sanctuary while you... sort things out. Or—" He paused, letting the word breathe. "—We could be something more. A home, perhaps. A purpose."
Remy's laugh was sharp enough to cut. "A home? For someone like me? You'd make a bed for a murderer, Professor?"
"Is that what you think you are?" Xavier's question was quiet but direct. "A murderer?"
"What else you call someone who—" Remy's voice caught. The playing card in his hand glowed brighter, that dangerous magenta light reflecting in his eyes. "What happened to Julian... dat was my fault. My powers. My lack of control."
"It was an accident." Xavier's response was immediate and firm. "A tragic one, certainly. But an accident."
"Accident." Remy spat the word like it tasted bitter. "Dead is dead, non? Don't matter what you call it."
"Perhaps." Xavier wheeled his chair closer, closing the physical distance between them. "But intent matters, Remy. As does what we choose to do afterward." He gestured at the mansion around them. "This school... it exists precisely because of moments like that. Because having power means learning to live with both its potential and its consequences."
Silence stretched between them. Outside, students passed by the window, their laughter carrying faintly through the glass. Normal kids living normal lives, despite their extraordinary gifts.
"So tell me, Remy." Xavier's voice had softened again. "What is it you truly want? Not what you think you deserve, or what others expect of you. What do you want? Is it redemption you're seeking? Punishment? Or perhaps something else entirely?"
Remy stared at the card in his hand, watching the energy dance across its surface. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost some of its practiced swagger.
"I want..." He paused, searching for words. "I want to sleep through de night without seeing his face. Want to use these powers without feeling like they gonna betray me again. Want to..." Another pause, longer this time. "Want to stop running. But I don't know how."
"Then perhaps—" Xavier smiled, warm and knowing. "—You're exactly where you need to be."
The card in Remy's hand stopped glowing. For a moment, he looked younger, more vulnerable. Then his usual smirk slid back into place, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You always this good at getting inside people's heads, Professor?"
Xavier's laugh was genuine. "My dear boy, you have no idea."
Xavier finished his tea, the delicate cup making a soft clink against its saucer. The sound seemed to punctuate the moment, like the period at the end of a particularly important sentence.
"Well?" Xavier's eyes held that particular mix of hope and patience that had probably changed more than a few lives in this office. "What do you say, Remy?"
Remy ran his thumb along the edge of his card—the King of Hearts again, his lucky charm and his curse all wrapped up in one piece of painted cardboard. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, more genuine than his usual practiced smirk.
"I suppose—" He drawled the words out, like maybe if he said them slowly enough, they wouldn't mean quite so much. "—Might as well stick around for a bit. See what all de fuss is about, non?"
Xavier smiled. "Welcome aboard, then. And Remy?" He gestured at the still-glowing card. "Here, you don't need to fear your abilities. This is a place for learning control, for understanding the true potential of what you can do."
"Control?" Remy's laugh carried an edge. "Mon ami, my power ain't exactly built for... finesse. Have to break things to charge 'em. Destroy to create, you might say." He stood, stretching like a cat. "Not exactly de most useful trick in de world."
"Interesting perspective." Xavier's tone suggested he saw something Remy didn't. "You see it as destruction, but what I see is transformation. Taking something ordinary and turning it into something extraordinary through sacrifice." His eyes sparked with a gleam. "In cards, they call that a gambit—sacrificing something of lesser value to gain a greater advantage."
"Gambit..." Remy rolled the word around in his mouth like he was tasting it. His fingers moved automatically, shuffling cards with practiced ease. "Dat's... dat's not bad."
"And like any good gambit," Xavier continued, "it's all about how you play it. Perhaps instead of focusing on what you have to sacrifice, consider what you might gain. After all—" His smile turned knowing. "—The most interesting applications aren't always the most obvious ones."