Chapter 65: Fourth Times the Charm (Maybe?)

The Quinjet's landing gear kissed the manicured lawn of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with barely a whisper. Through the cockpit window, Jay could see the mansion's imposing silhouette against the evening sky.

"Welcome to Westchester County," Jay muttered as the engines spun down. "Where the property taxes alone could fund a small army."

The mansion's front doors opened before they'd even finished disembarking. One by one, figures emerged into the fading daylight—the X-Men, suited up and meaning business.

Cyclops stepped out first, ruby visor gleaming against the twilight. Behind him, Jean Grey moved like fire given form, auburn hair stirring in an unfelt wind.

Wolverine prowled from the shadows, dog tags catching the light. His stance promised violence barely leashed. Storm descended the steps with regal grace, white hair flowing despite the still air—lightning dancing in her pale eyes.

Nightcrawler materialized in sulfurous smoke, indigo skin melding with dusk. Iceman emerged with frost crystallizing around him. Shadowcat phased through the door itself, rippling as she solidified.

Rogue stepped forward, her brown and auburn hair streaked with white, gloves pulled tight—a barrier between her deadly touch and the world. Colossus's massive frame filled the doorway last, his organic steel skin gleaming like polished chrome.

The X-Men stood ready.

Out of the Quinn jet, first came Agent Coulson, ever the professional, straightening his tie as his shoes hit grass. His easy smile was in place, but Jay caught the tension in his shoulders. Old habits scanning exits, noting cover positions, cataloging potential threats even in a friendly environment.

Director Fury followed, his long coat billowing dramatically in the rotor wash. His single eye swept across the mansion's facade like a predator sizing up unfamiliar territory. Jay's revelations about Hydra had put the spymaster on edge, and it showed in every calculated step.

Then came Steve Rogers. Several of the X-Men shifted, studying the legend with curious eyes. Here was Captain America himself, walking their grounds—not quite what any of them had expected.

Kurt Wagner's tail twitched as he took a step forward. "Mon dieu. Ze Captain America, he is real."

Rogue's expression shifted from curiosity to something harder. Recognition dawned, followed by anger that made her hands curl into fists. She'd been about to call out a greeting—they'd fought side by side during the Doom incident, after all, and Steve had proved himself a decent man under fire. But something made her pause.

Jay emerged from the Quinjet.

He looked older than she remembered. More tired. The easy confidence was still there, but underneath it was something sharper.

Her green eyes flashed with the kind of anger that came from feeling betrayed by someone you'd trusted. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." Her Mississippi drawl carried the weight of broken promises and shattered illusions.

Scott Summers stepped protectively in front of Jean Grey, his hand moving instinctively toward his visor. The other X-Men shifted into defensive positions—subtle but unmistakable. Warren's wings spread slightly. Ororo's eyes flickered white for just a moment before returning to normal.

"Stand down," Professor Xavier's mental voice touched each of their minds simultaneously. His wheelchair glided forward, serene as always. "They come in peace."

Scott's voice was tight with barely controlled frustration. "Professor, the last time he was here—"

"I remember perfectly well, Scott." Xavier's physical voice was calm but carried an edge. "As I'm sure our guest does."

Steve looked around the assembled group, reading the tension like a soldier who'd walked into a potential ambush. These weren't the simple heroics he was used to—there was history here, complicated and painful.

Then his eyes landed on a stocky, wild-haired man leaning against the mansion's pillars. Something about the stance, the build, the way he held himself...

Steve's breath caught in his throat. The features were older, scarred, but underneath all that damage was a face he'd seen laughing around a campfire in Belgium. A face he'd watched charge German machine gun nests with nothing but claws and rage.

His voice cracked with desperate hope. "James? James, is that you?"

Steve took a step forward, and for a moment the weight of decades fell away. He was twenty-five again, surrounded by his unit, believing that good men could change the world. "James Howlett! You magnificent son of a—" Steve started forward, arms spreading for an embrace that carried seventy years of grief and loneliness.

Logan looked up from cleaning his nails with one extended claw, his expression flat. "Bub, do I know ya?"

Steve stopped cold, the joy on his face crumbling like paper in rain. "What? James, come on, stop joking around. You don't know how relieved I am to see someone else from the Howling Commandos still—"

Logan straightened, and Steve could see genuine confusion in his eyes—not recognition playing hide and seek, but complete blankness. "Look here, bub. I don't know any James you're talkin' about. Name's Logan, and I ain't never seen you before in my life."

The joy drained from Steve's face like water from a broken dam. He stood there, arms still half-raised for an embrace that would never come, staring at a man who used to call him 'Stevie' when they were drunk on captured German beer.

Jay stepped between them, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "Wolverine's memories are compromised. Everything from the late '90s back is gone, thanks to an adamantium bullet lodged in his skull."

The words hit Steve like a physical blow. His shoulders sagged as the last connection to his old life dissolved before his eyes. Several X-Men shifted uncomfortably—Jay's habit of knowing their deepest secrets and darkest moments never sat well. Rogue had seen enough pain for one evening. She turned and walked back toward the mansion, her shoulders rigid. Kitty Pryde glanced between the adults and followed her.

"Always with the dramatic revelations," Scott muttered.

"It would be best," Fury interjected, his voice cutting through the tension, "if we had this meeting somewhere secure. Somewhere with no electronic devices."

Xavier studied Fury for a long moment, telepathic senses no doubt probing at the edges of the Director's thoughts. Whatever he found there made him nod slowly.

"Of course. Follow me." The Professor's wheelchair began moving toward the mansion. "There's a meeting room in the basement level that should suffice."

"Actually," Jay's voice stopped the procession cold. "Where's Emma Frost?"

Scott's jaw tightened, and when he spoke, each word was carved from ice. "Why? So you can deform her again?"

Jay didn't even acknowledge Scott's existence, keeping his gaze locked on Xavier. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Xavier sighed, the sound carrying decades of complicated decisions and moral compromises. "Ms. Frost is under my protection here. I won't allow any harm to come to her while she's a refugee under this roof."

"Good." Jay's smile was sharp. "Then it's about time we complete the promise Emma made in the Morlock tunnels. After all, you and Fury were witnesses to it."

Xavier's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded. "Piotr, would you escort our guest to Ms. Frost's quarters? Agent Coulson, you should accompany them—I believe there will be legal and economic matters to verify."

Fury's nod was terse. "Go. Handle your business." He turned toward Xavier, his single eye calculating. "As he moved to lay the groundwork for the cooperation that SHIELD's future depends on."

The hallways of Xavier's mansion were a goddamn maze.

Colossus walked ahead, his heavy footsteps echoing off the polished floors. Even in a place built for people like him, he moved carefully, like he was afraid of breaking something just by existing.

Coulson couldn't handle the silence. "So, Piotr, right? Phil Coulson, SHIELD." He stuck out his hand. "Hell of a place you've got here."

Colossus accepted the handshake with the careful control of someone who'd learned the hard way what happened when he forgot his strength. "Is home. Professor gives us what world will not."

"Family's everything," Coulson agreed, then glanced around the mansion's ornate walls. "Must be nice having everyone together under one roof."

Colossus's expression darkened slightly. "Not everyone."

Jay picked up on it. "You got family back home?"

"Little sister. Illyana. Thirteen years old, lives safe on farm with parents."

"That's good. Keeping her away from all this."

"How's your little sister doing?" Jay asked, and something in his tone made Colossus stop walking.

The big man turned around slowly, steel skin gleaming as muscles tensed. "What you want with Illyana?"

The hallway went dead quiet. Coulson felt the tension spike and stepped forward, one hand moving instinctively toward his sidearm. "Easy there, big guy. Kid's just making conversation."

Jay raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Rogue mentioned her once. Didn't mean anything by it."

Colossus studied Jay for a long moment, then nodded once. "She is safe. I keep it that way."

"What about other family?" Coulson asked, trying to steer things back to safer ground.

Colossus's voice went flat, carrying years of unanswered questions. "Older brother Mikhail. Disappeared three years ago. Is like he vanished."

Jay pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote something down. "177A Bleecker Street. Greenwich Village. Guy there finds things that don't want to be found."

Colossus took the paper, frowning. "What kind of guy?"

"The kind who asks the right questions."

They walked in silence until they reached a door with a brass nameplate: E. FROST.

Colossus knocked gently, his massive knuckles barely whispering against the wood. "Emma? You have visitors."

A sultry voice drifted through the door. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Emma Frost in her diamond form, lounging in a white silk bathrobe that left very little to the imagination. She was positioned on her bed like a Renaissance statue carved from crystal, every angle calculated for maximum effect.

Both Colossus and Coulson immediately found the ceiling very interesting.

Emma purred, her diamond features catching the light like a prism. "Well, well. What brings such distinguished guests to my humble—"

Jay's voice cut through her performance like a blade. "Close the show, old hag. No one's interested in your saggy and shiny assets."

The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees.

Emma's diamond form flickered as rage flashed across her features. She lunged forward, with her diamond fist aimed at Jay's jaw with enough force to shatter concrete.

Jay caught her punch casually; his hand began to shift and gleam.

The change hit him like ice water shooting up his arm. His skin hardened, crystallizing from his fingertips inward. It didn't hurt—just felt wrong, like his bones were turning to glass.

Cold. Jesus, it was cold. Dead cold. His muscles locked up, but he could still move, which made no sense. His arm felt heavy and weightless at the same time.

Within seconds, his entire arm had transformed into the same perfect diamond as hers. He could feel his heartbeat through the crystal, a weird vibration that made his teeth ache.

Courtesy of Creel's powers.

He flexed his diamond fingers and wondered if this was what it felt like to stop being human.

Emma stared at her now caught hand, then at Jay's crystalline form. Her voice carried grudging respect. "You found a way to copy powers without stealing them permanently."

"Keep guessing." Jay's diamond features twisted into an amused smile. "I'm here about the money you owe me, Emma."

She studied him for another moment, then curiosity was pushed aside by business sense. Emma moved to a small desk, punched a code into a tablet, and tossed it to Jay.

He caught it smoothly and handed it to Coulson. "Phil? Mind running the numbers?"

Coulson spent the next half hour buried in paperwork, making notes and humming under his breath like he was enjoying himself. Jay sat there in diamond form, patient as a statue. Emma kept filing her nails, pretending she didn't give a damn about any of it.

But as the minutes dragged on, her mask started slipping.

Emma's voice carried a tremor she couldn't quite hide. "Are you almost done? I'd like to be myself again sometime today."

Coulson looked up from his tablet. "Just a few more—"

Emma cut him off, and the word came out sharper than she intended, carrying three weeks of trapped desperation. "Please." Three weeks stuck in diamond form, cut off from her telepathy, was three weeks too long. She needed her mind back. Needed to feel human again.

Coulson closed the last folder with a satisfied snap. "We're good. SHIELD will handle the money transfer."

That's when Jay stood up and put his hand on Emma's shoulder.

She felt something click inside her head. Like a switch being flipped. The diamond form that had been locked on for weeks just... stopped. Her skin warmed, softened back to flesh.

And then the voices came flooding back.

Her telepathy hit her like a freight train after weeks of silence. Every mind in the mansion, every stray thought and buried secret, all of it rushing into her consciousness at once. It was overwhelming and perfect, and she'd forgotten how much she'd missed it.

Her first instinct was revenge. Slip into Jay's mind, make him scream for what he'd done to her in those tunnels. Make him pay for every humiliation, every moment of helplessness.

But Jay was still smiling that diamond smile, and something in his expression made her pause.

He could take her powers away again. Permanently, maybe. Just by touching her.

Emma Frost didn't get where she was by picking fights she couldn't win.

She leaned back in her chair and smiled right back at him, the expression calculated and cold as winter. "Thank you."

The words tasted like poison, but they were the smart play.