The Blind Eye: Part 4

by Kassia

 


Do I laugh now, or wait 'til it gets funny?
-Fred MacMurray, "Double Indemnity"

Part 4

It was a lovely night, if you had a fondness for complete darkness. Saturday night. I usually had better things to do on a Saturday night.

I've got no right to complain. It was my own fault that I had to do this.

I looked at the pile of clothing for a moment, and then added the trench coat to the top of the small pile. I stared at the heap for a moment, and then lit one of the cigarettes from the box I had just drawn from the trench coat pocket. I watched the flame of the match for a brief moment, to make sure it burned true, and then tossed it onto the pile of clothing.

* - * - *

The next day saw a suppressed whirlwind of activity within the mansion. It took Scott a moment to realize that the source of activity was Xavier's birthday party. His surprise birthday party. Could it be that the man didn't actually know what they were planning?

Scott lay low for the entire day, since his few attempts at helping the party effort were not received with much enthusiasm. Though he was inactive, his mind wasn't. The day brought a number of unwelcome revelations.

It was a very select guest list; it wasn't one of those occasions where they brought every one who was, is, or would be an X-Man. However, a few former X-Men were still coming, though Scott had been so oblivious to the plans for the party that he didn't realize they were coming until the day of the party. Jubilee would be arriving in the evening, and Kurt and Piotr and Kitty and Moira were expected some time in the afternoon, giving them some time to rest before the dinner started. Hank had, with permission from Jean, invited Joan Perske, thinking Charles would be pleased with her presence. Scott expected he would. Altogether that made - Scott pulled out his folded list of suspects, and mentally added four women (did Jubilee count as a woman?), two men, and himself to the guest list - eighteen people, excluding Xavier.

Jean spent the day playing interference to Xavier. The Excalibur members arrived without a hitch and were promptly hidden in rooms upstairs which also, incidentally, gave them a chance to rest after their trans-Atlantic flight. Jubilee and Miss Perske appeared in the evening, and the latter was quickly monopolized by interested X-Men. Scott would have liked to talk to Joan Perske a bit more, but he didn't particularly mind not being able to do so. He was keeping an eye on Gambit.

Gambit couldn't have done it. He didn't really *regret* that, but... things would have been so much simpler if Gambit had done it.

"You think it was Remy LeBeau," said a husky voice in his ear.

Scott looked up in surprise to see Joan Perske standing there. "What makes you say that?"

She sat down next to him, watching Gambit. "Would you believe, instinct?"

"Not in this case, no."

She sighed. "Well, I was talking to Hank about your investigation, and you were watching Mr. LeBeau just now. What's more, with his powers and skills he could easily have done the job." "There, you're wrong. Gatsburg's head was crushed, not exploded."

"Well, yes," she replied, raising her eyebrows.

They stared at each other blankly for a moment.

"Hank was telling me about everyone's powers. As I understood it, Gambit - that's his codename, right? - Gambit can charge objects but not necessarily explode them. It would give a blunt instrument enough force to deliver the blow that killed Gatsburg."

Scott gaped at her for a moment before collecting himself. "Yes, I suppose he could have. I didn't even think of that.

It would be so simple if Gambit could have done it himself.

He always overlooked the simplest explanation.

* * *

Scott would never know if Xavier was genuinely surprised, but he certainly put on a good show of being surprised if he wasn't. And there could be no doubt that the man was pleased.

He had good reason to be. Scott had seen more X-Men in the same place at the same time, but never with so little friction or chaos. All their energy seemed to go into smiling pleasantly and *not* messing things up, so they didn't have any left over to do something stupid.

Dinner was delicious. Or so Scott had thought at the time. Who was he to know that betrayal tasted like Caesar salad? It was rather funny that Bishop had thought Gambit was the X-Traitor, when all along it was Scott Summers. He would have to remember to laugh about that someday.

Scott scanned the faces, watching the others like a chaperone at a middle school dance. A laugh came from Kitty Pryde's direction, where she was seated next to Logan. It was a party for Charles Xavier, but so much of the Wolverine Fan Club had shown up that it was something of party for him, too. Scott didn't begrudge him his fans. It was a pleasure to watch how much they enjoyed his company, and he theirs. Anyway, who needed fans when you had followers?

"Isn't wonderful to see them all together?" Storm whispered from beside him.

Scott smiled, he was afraid not very convincingly, and nodded. It *was* wonderful, but he just couldn't summon the correct emotional reaction.

To his surprise, he felt Ororo's long, silky fingers creep into his. She tilted her head towards him and whispered, in a breathy voice that tickled his ear, "Just go along with it. You will feel better if you do."

Storm released his hand and turned away to resume her conversation with Piotr on her right hand side. Scott, looking around at all the smiling faces, thought that she maybe had a point. He could use this. Like a drug. What was the worst that could happen? He could relax for a few seconds?

"What are you doing about that murder in the FOH heirarchy recently?" Kurt called to Xavier from his seat a few seats down. Scott flinched and decided that, though Nightcrawler had a pleasant voice, good for preaching, it was a lousy one for asking questions.

Xavier didn't seem to mind at all, damn the man. Didn't he know how awkward it was? That it was taboo? "We're hoping the police will come up with something." And didn't he realize how stupid that sounded?

"Do you know why he was killed?" persisted Kurt.

"For murdering his son," said Scott. Beside him, Storm twitched like an animal hit by a car.

Kurt blinked, and asked more softly, "Why did he kill his own son?"

"What do ya think?" asked Rogue harshly. "For being a mutant."

After a beat where no one did so, Scott took it upon himself to correct her. "Well, in this case, for being friends with a mutant."

"Yeah," said Rogue. "That might even be worse in some ways."

He knew what she meant.

After dinner and dessert, there were presents, and Scott was pleased to see that he had gotten Charles a lovely antique chess set. No doubt it had cost him an arm and a leg, too. Toasts followed presents. Charles warmly and eloquently thanked everyone, and, for once, Scott was grateful for his glasses. No one could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Hank was next up to bat, beating Scott to the punch while Scott was busy wiping his eyes in as subtle a manner as possible. He began, in his unmistakable, resonant voice, "I won't launch into a monologue about the dream for which this school was created and this team assembled. That has been spoken of *ad infinitum*..."

"Hear, hear!" called Bobby, in his unmistakable, piercing voice.

Hank frowned at him and continued, "However, I will say that never before has any one cause boasted so many devoted and praiseworthy individuals amongst its followers. This isn't because it is a worthy cause - though it undoubtedly is. It isn't the free room and board, either. In fact, those of us who rally to this cause..."

"You won't launch into a monologue, huh, Hank?" murmured Warren.

Hank frowned at him, too, and went on, barely missing a beat, "... are actually rallying to a man. A man who embodies all the best qualities of this cause, any every worthy cause throughout history. You all know to whom I refer. And with that, let me propose a toast..."

"To Hank's shortest speech ever," interrupted Bobby. His efforts were rewarded by a slap from Jean, though Scott wasn't so sure he wouldn't have drunk to that.

"To Charles Xavier," finished Hank. Which was good, too. Watching his friend and teammates, some far off corner of Scott's mind wondered how he could ever have suspected any of them of murder or conspiracy or anything else. Now he knew where Jean's annoyance at him came from. He was annoyed at himself.

The toast was drunk, and Hank sat down. "Pearls before swine," he sniffed.

Warren reached around Joan Perske to bat Hank on the shoulder, and said solemnly, "This table is not deserving of your presence, Dr. McCoy."

"Yeah," grinned Bobby, "we haven't done anything *that* bad."

"Stop it, both of you," said Jean, wacking Bobby on the head for emphasis. "It was a lovely speech, Hank."

"Good wine, too," added Scott, gazing at his glass. "We seem to have brought out the best stuff for this occasion."

"Which probably means you should be savoring it," Xavier said with a meaningful glance at Bobby, who looked up guiltily from his now-empty glass.

"Anyway," Jean rose, glass in hand, "ladies, gentlemen, Bobby, I will now be saying a few words, if you don't mind. Charles, my first instinct is to reiterate what the others have said, because every word resonated with me. Excepting the interruptions, of course. But that wouldn't do justice to you, since there's so much more that could be said at this, your-" she smiled, "which number birthday, again?"

Xavier cleared his throat. "Never mind, that."

"All right. If you can't remember, either. Charles, I think I - I..." Her brow furrowed, and she glanced at Scott. He nodded encouragingly to her, but she only frowned and then, looking vaguely in Logan's direction, she fell to the ground, taking her chair with her on her way down.

Half the X-Men were on their feet in an instant. Scott was a second faster, but he took his time getting to her.

"Move," he instructed the many X-Men standing around her.

They did so, except for Hank, who was kneeling beside her. The doctor looked up at Scott and pronounced, "She's fainted."

Scott knelt beside her, too, and, satisfying himself that her breathing was regular, he righted her chair.

Jean's display was made slightly less impressive by the fact that she regained consciousness a few minutes later. At first she just lay on the ground, staring up at them, but after a moment she propped herself up on her elbows, with the help of Hank's hand, pressed between her shoulder blades for support.

"Oof. My head," she murmured inanely. Bobby iced up his hand and placed it gently on the back of her head. She smiled at him, and extending a hand to Scott, said, "Help me up?"

"Are you sure you should be getting up just yet?"

"I think I can manage. If I start to faint again, this time at least you'll catch me."

That was true.

Scott helped her to her feet and over to her chair. Xavier watched with concern. "Jean, are you sure you-"

"I'll be fine," she interrupted him. "Head rush, I think. That, and tiredness from all the planning for this party. I'll be fine. Just don't try to make me go away. I'd never forgive you." She spotted her half-empty glass on the table and said, "Oh, yes. My toast. I think I'll try sitting down for this one, if you all don't mind." She paused, and glanced back at Scott, who was still standing behind her chair, hands resting on its back. "You can sit down now."

Scott returned to his side of the table and Jean finished her toast. It ended up being a very nice speech.

* * *

When the dinner was over, along with the ensuing socializing, Jean went straight to their room without cleaning up and threw herself back on the bed.

Scott, following her in, demanded, "What happened in there?"

"Head rush," she said. "Oh, don't you love it when you first get in bed, and she sheets are *so* cool and straight?"

"Yes. Why did you faint?"

"I just told you. Honestly, it was all true. You're so suspicious lately. Stop it."

"There was more to it than that, Jean."

Seeing that he wasn't getting into the bed immediately, she stretched herself out, taking as much room as possible for a slight woman such as she. "It may have been all that, coupled with a shock on my psychic link with Ruby Stevens. I dimmed the link, now - though if anything really horrible happened I'd still know." Jean turned on her side, and burrowed into her pillow. "I wouldn't be surprised if we heard from her tomorrow, by the way."

* * *

As it happened, they did hear from her the following afternoon, and a rendezvous at the Salem Center Mall was arranged. Scott at last convinced Jean to stay home and rest while he went to meet the woman.

"She should be able to pick you out," said Jean, "but for your reference, she's a small blonde who smokes like a chimney."

"Right. Chimney. I should be able to spot her."

"Be careful handling her."

"Of course."

Scott didn't drive often. It was dangerous, because he couldn't make out the lights. At night it was easier as far as the lights were concerned - he could discern the red light by its brightness. During the day, it was nearly impossible to tell which light was lit. Luckily, there were not many stoplights on the way to the mall.

Nonetheless, he drove at a grandpa pace. The cars around him resented it, but he was sure an informed pedestrian would be the first to agree with his choice in speed.

It was a Thursday, so there weren't that many people at the mall when he arrived. He killed some time looking around before going to the foodcourt a little before the arranged time of four o'clock.

"Are you Scott Summers?"

Scott looked up from his cherry slushy, fortunately lidded so that it could be mistaken for a respectable drink. A small blonde stood beside him. She lacked cigarettes, but there didn't seem to be anyone else in line, so she'd have to do. "Mrs. Stevens?"

"Call me Ruby. You might as well, seeing as how you're going to be saving my life."

She sounded rather bitter about the whole thing. Scott hadn't realized he was in charge of saving her life, but he doubted a bewildered "I am?" would do much to inspire confidence. "Would you like something to drink? Eat?"

"No, I'd just like to get going, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. My car is out front."

"Mine is, too. I'll leave it here." She glanced around. The look was too confident too be called nervous, but she certainly wasn't at ease.

"Do you think someone is following you?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm just afraid so. Let's hurry, why don't we?"

They walked in silence until they reached the car. Scott opened the door for her.

"Thank you."

"That's a nice anklet you're wearing."

"Would you believe, I get told that all the time?"

Scott went around to his side and got in. "Why this sudden need for our help, Mrs. - Ruby? Seatbelt, please."

"Mrs. Ruby, that's a new one. I'd prefer to explain everything when we get where we're going, Mr. Scott."

The drive to the mansion passed in silence. Mrs. Stevens seemed to have no inclination for idle chatter, and Scott had no talent for it. When they arrived, Jean was outside, waiting for them. They took her to one of the seldom-used, but less dusty, parlors - the blue parlor, as it had been called when people still knew what parlors were.

The first thing the woman did was pull some cigarettes out of her purse.

"We don't seem to have an ash tray in here-" began Jean.

Mrs. Stevens shrugged. "I'll just tap the ashes into my purse. Oh, damn. I don't suppose either of you have a light?"

Scott headed off Jean's negative answer by pulling a lighter out of his pocket. He held it out to Mrs. Stevens, and she leaned forward and lit her cigarette, watching him as she did so. Jean caught her husband's eye with an utterly confused gaze. Scott ignored it.

"I'd better explain everything now," said Mrs. Stevens wearily. "Thanks for taking me in, by the way."

Scott waved her thanks aside. "That's what we do."

"That's what I figured." She took a drag on her cigarette. "You see, I've been driven to drastic measures by the police. They're keeping an eye on me. They say I might be in danger."

"So?" said Scott.

"What do you mean, so?" she spat. "So the police don't go out of there way to protect people when there's no solid evidence that they have any reason to do so. I could be getting death threats, and they wouldn't be following me, and watching me. I'm not that important. The FOH is behind this. They think I know too much, and if I let slip that I do, by accident or design-"

"Stop," commanded Scott.

Bewildered, she did.

"How do you know they didn't follow you here?" Scott asked frowningly.

Ruby Stevens reached into her purse and took out a powder compact. She snapped it open and tapped her cigarette ashes into it before answering, "I drove to a store, and then I went out the back and way and caught a cab. I'm not a professional at this, but it seemed the thing to do."

"Very clever, Mrs. Stevens," Scott assured her.

"I need to get out of here," said Mrs. Stevens. "You need to help me. You have connections, right? You can arrange a disappearance?"

"What about your husband?" Scott inquired politely.

The woman looked flustered. "He's in no danger."

"And your daughter?"

"Daughter?" repeated Jean.

"She's in no danger, either," said Mrs. Stevens sharply. "I am."

Scott sat back, putting his hands behind his head. "They'll continue to have a hold on you, if you leave them such handy hostages." He wished he had his hat.

"Hostages? Oh." She laughed shakily. "I don't think they'd go so far as that."

"I hope not, for your sake, and your family's sake, Mrs. Stevens."

Jean's tone was faintly accusing.

"Mrs. Stevens, I don't think you're in any danger."

"I told you to call me Ruby!" It was almost a growl.

"I'm sorry. Ruby, I don't think you're in danger. In fact, I think you'd better go home."

"Oh?" Her savage look vanished suddenly, to be replaced by a rueful smile. "Maybe I should. The jig is up?"

"Soaring."

She pulled a small device off the inside of her collar, and tossed it to the floor. She stood up to crush the bug deliberately under one black pump, and then walked towards the window.

"Why did they send you?" Jean asked softly.

Mrs. Stevens tossed her cigarette into a lovely ornamental Japanese bowl nearby. Then she rummaged through her purse, and pulled out another. "They needed mutants, to take the fall. They saw you visit that day, Mrs. Summers, and they knew who you were. They thought if I could get into a position where it appeared that you had kidnapped me, they'd be able to set this up to their advantage. Even if they never had any proof, it would be useful for influencing public opinion." She glanced around her. "I don't suppose-"

"Catch," said Scott, and tossed the lighter to her. She caught it, smiling slightly.

"And why did you agree?" Jean inquired.

"To prove my loyalty and," she smiled, "my uselessness. They should leave me alone after this." Adam Stevens's mother's smile grew bitter. "And also... Mr. and Mrs. Summers, do you have children?"

Jean and Scott exchanged glances.

"Sort of?" ventured Scott.

She wasn't paying attention. "Well, I had children. Now I have one child, and for all I know, she'll turn out to be a mutant, too. I want safety."

A gloomy silence descended over the blue parlor. It was broken by Scott.

"Did you say, 'A mutant, too'?"

"Yes."

"Adam was a mutant?"

"Well, *yes*. Why else did you think he was killed?"

Scott didn't answer, but glanced at his watch. "It's after five already. Care to stay for dinner? We're having it early tonight."

Both women gave him practically identical looks. Looks that said, "Are you crazy?"

"You might as well," shrugged Scott in response to their unspoken questions. "I doubt anything horrible will come of it, and if you leave now you'll be stuck in traffic. If you stay for dinner, we could even take you back. You came in a taxi anyway, right?"

Suddenly, Mrs. Stevens smiled. "You know, I believe I'll take you up on that, Mr. Summers."

They stepped out into the hallway and went towards the front stair case so Jean could show Mrs. Stevens where they could freshen up. As they passed the entrance to the living room, she stopped suddenly, and leaned her head inside.

"Why, hello, Sam." She sounded pleasantly surprised.

Sam, on the other hand, looked shocked. "Um, ma'am..." Recalling his manners, he scrambled to his feet, sparing nervous glances for Jean and Scott. "Hello, how d'ya do?"

"Very well, thank you. I didn't know you lived here. I'll be joining your for dinner, tonight, apparently."

"Oh?" Sam choked out. "Ah mean, that's great."

Jean reached out and grabbed Scott's hand, squeezing it hard. Scott had a feeling it wasn't meant as a gesture of affection, and his instinct was confirmed as his wife told him telepathically,

"Excuse me, Ah need to go do something. Ah look forward to seeing you at dinner, ma'am."

"Obviously," said Scott.

Sam didn't look at any of them. He just scampered off like a scared rabbit.

"Strange boy," said Mrs. Stevens.

"Come with me," said Jean, beckoning as she started towards the stairs.

Scott, finding himself at something of a loss, went to sit on the swing on the front porch.

About twenty minutes later, his attention was drawn from contemplation of his feet by the sudden arrival on the porch of Remy LeBeau and Ruby Stevens. Mrs. Stevens looked surprised at seeing Scott, but she said, with perfect composure, "I'd better get home instead. It might look odd if I stay here. Thank you for your kind invitation, though."

"You're welcome," said Scott, glancing covertly at Remy's face. There was nothing to be found there. "How will you be getting back?"

"I have a taxi, waiting for me at the front gate."

"Well, then, God speed Mrs. Stevens."

Remy nodded to Scott and offered Ruby his arm. They descended the porch steps, and walked towards the gate. Shortly after, Gambit returned alone. Scott was still there. He was waiting for him.

"You talked her out of staying," said Scott.

Remy shook his head. "No."

"If that's how you want to play it, Remy..."

"It is," said Gambit, and went inside.

* * *

Scott sat in the arm chair, staring at the bed.

The figure in it stirred slightly, and then stilled.

Scott didn't mind. He was good at waiting. Let the kid sleep a little longer.

The figure whimpered. Then, suddenly, he began to thrash around and sat up abruptly, the sheet falling to reveal a slight but well-toned torso. Sam glanced around bewilderedly, before his surroundings registered.

"Scott?" he said blearily. "What are ya doin' here? What time is it?"

"About," Scott glanced at his watch, "six. I just need to ask you a few questions, and then you can go back to sleep."

"Um, okay."

"How did you know Ruby Stevens?"

Sam closed his eyes. "Through her son. Ah only met her twice, actually."

"How did you know her son?"

"Though a mutual friend. A mutant. Ah really didn't know Adam that well, either."

And now, the important question. "Why didn't you mention the fact that you knew him?"

"Ah didn't know we were investigatin' the murder at first and then... well, it wasn't important. Ah was going to tell you if it became important, but, far as Ah knew, it didn't. Except to me, of course."

Scott frowned. That was the most spurious explanation he had ever heard - which was why it rang of truth.

"Hey, Ah got somethin' for you. Ah forgot to give it to you earlier. One sec." Sam slipped out of bed. He was wearing boxers. Her rummaged around in a drawer before pulling out a paper to hand to Scott. His eyes met Scott's, and they seemed fully awake, now.

"That's the list of people Ah was with on Saturday night," he whispered. "My alibi."

Scott nodded, tucked the paper in his pocket, and left so the poor kid could get some sleep.

* * *

Facts.

That had been his first mistake, to place any reliance on facts. This was a case based on his paranoia, on Scott's knowledge and ignorance of his fellow X-Men, on telepath's feelings infecting the thoughts of others. He wasn't going to figure it out based on *facts*. He didn't *have* the facts. All he had was suspicion. Suspicion and psychiatry.

Sam's alibi had panned out. That, at least, was a fact he had. It also meant he didn't have anyone with an ounce of motive, but Scott had decided to ignore motive. It helped maintain his sanity. Gambit had everything but motive and, of course, a way out of the building, but no doubt a thorough examination of the FOH headquarters could produce an unmonitored exit that the skilled thief could have used.

If Gambit had done it, though, that wouldn't explain the rest of the team's behavior. Rogue's, maybe, and it would also explain Storm's guardedness, though Scott doubted she would help conceal a murder. However, if she had nothing but vague suspicions, she might make a point of hiding them... Damn it all. He had known these people so long, all of them. Surely he could figure this out. Failure to do so wouldn't be mere failure at playing detective - it would be a failure at knowing his team, and that would mean his failure as a leader. Leader was all he was cut out for, really. What else could he do? Be a pilot? Everything would seem tame after the Blackbird. Being a chef would be kind of fun. Too bad he couldn't cook. He could be something dull, like a number processor, except his math skills were less than impressive. The only skills he had acquired during his adult life involved keeping a lot of energetic, rebellious, super-powered beings under control. High school principal, maybe?

"Hey, Scott?"

Scott pushed the brim of his hat up to get a better look at the person that had intruded on his solitude.

"Yes, Bobby?"

"For God's sake, take that hat off when you're talking to me. I can't take you seriously when you have that on."

"Sorry," said Scott humbly, removing his hat.

"'S'okay. I was just wondering if you'd care to join me 'n' Hank 'n' Warren for dinner. We've got pizza."

"No. But thank you."

"Storm says to tell you there's soup on the stove if you want it."

"Thank you. I'll bear that in mind."

Bobby nodded, smiled nervously, and disappeared.

And that was when it all clicked.

* * *

Warren took a bite of pepperoni pizza. "Ya know," he said in a distant tone, "I could be eating at a really expensive restaurant with my beautiful ninja girlfriend, but being stuck here, eating greasy pizza with you two, is probably better from a karmic perspective."

"Putting up with us won't be enough to save *you* from being a cockroach in your next life," said Bobby.

Hank nodded. "I'm afraid you'd have to save a few hundred puppies from burning buildings to have any hope of being resurrected as something decent, Warren."

"And you owe me for the pizza, by the way."

"What? I didn't want the pizza."

"But good thing I had it, seeing as how youˇ¦re not going to an expensive restaurant with your beautiful ninja girlfriend. Sam was going to split with me, but Rogue bore him off and he seems to have forgotten about it." Bobby finished off his fifth piece, and reached for his sixth. Hank was watching with covert approval - Bobby *had* been looking a little wan lately, reflected Warren. He seemed to be feeling much better now.

Gambit came in. He had been underfoot a lot lately. He eyed the boxes on the table. "Mind if I take a piece?"

Hank looked at the other two, saying it was up to them. Warren's brow furrowed. Bobby looked flustered, and hurried to swallow the bite in his mouth. All in all, it was more of a reaction than such a simple request merited.

Bobby at last succeeded in swallowing. "Go ahead, please. Take whatever you want."

"Thank you."

There was a brief silence but Bobby, who, like nature with vacuums, abhorred silences, started talking, loudly and quickly, with the occasional chuckle thrown in.

Gambit was on the way out with his pizza, but he paused in the doorway and glanced over at Bobby. "'Je me presse de rire de toute, de peur d'etre oblige d'en pleurer,'" he murmured.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Warren.

"Just a quote, Wort'ington, and not to your address."

"I don't see the point of quoting things if no one's going to understand them," Warren said angrily.

"I understood," said Hank, ignoring a glare from Warren. "But you are a show-off, Mr. LeBeau. A very astute show-off."

* * *

It was chicken noodle. Nothing exciting, but certainly reliable. Scott ladled some soup into a bowl, and sat down at the kitchen table.

Ororo entered the room. Scott looked up and complimented her on the soup.

"I did not make it, but I am glad you like it. How is Jean?"

"Reading."

"I mean, is she doing well?"

"Oh, yes. Just a bit tired."

"I expect so. Arranging that dinner was no small matter."

And Scott had barely realized she was doing so. Was there faintly accusatory note in Ororo's voice? No, probably not. She was not the judgmental type.

"You are looking much more relaxed today, Scott."

*I'm not relaxed, I'm resigned. They're very different things.*

But he just smiled and didn't say anything.