Morning always arrived with a peculiar kind of confidence, as if the day had decided in advance it was going to matter.
He found Rogue in the kitchen before anybody else had awoken, already dressed and at the counter, having coffee like she'd been up for hours and preoccupied with something. Always one to use physical motion to think, the fact that the dishes were all done and the kitchen perfectly organized suggested that she had already cleaned everything again before she even had a reason to.
He got his own coffee and joined her, standing close.
She looked at him.
"I know you're going to bring up the sun trip," she said.
"And I was," he responded.
She turned her gaze toward the window. "I've thought about it since last night," she said. "It was bound to come. You stayed here longer than either of us expected from the last trip, and I was glad about that. But I'm not going to lie about the fact that the next one has been building."
He waited.
"You can go," she said. "Not because I don't want you to go. Because I understand the significance of what it means for you, and that I'm not the type of person who gets in the way of the significant."
He looked at her.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"Not exactly thrilled, but that's not the same as not being sure," she responded. She set down her cup. "Seven days gone. Seven days minimum to recuperate after. That is my condition, and it cannot be negotiated."
"That seems pretty fair," he answered. "And actually, that's what I was planning anyway."
She looked at him with the expression she got when she had something pleased about and didn't feel like acting on it.
"A few days first, though," he added. "Time with you, with everybody before the trip." He made eye contact with her. "That's important to me."
His expression changed, relaxing in an honest way, showing the real release of the tension she had known about.
"Few days," she repeated. "And then you go."
"And then I go," he responded.
They stood in front of the counter and silently drank their coffee, in companionable silence after talking the necessary truth.
---
The morning followed its usual flow.
Raven was with Mira in the greenhouse wing. By now she had learned the particular response Mira gave when called by name – the creature's sensory input would turn in her direction with concentrated attention she didn't show in any other situation. She had noticed it since day two and addressed Mira by name when necessary: not to give commands but to communicate something else. Since then she would call Mira and get Mira's attention; would then communicate and then release Mira to take action. She could sense that her bond with Mira was developing through natural increments characteristic of the bond of any wild creatures she had known before.
Sable was outside for the first time that day – not wandering far into territory, not quite venturing out of it, but outside, feeling the real sun and real July sky.
Ethan had made her coffee himself before she needed to ask for it – he had known when and where she was reading and understood her reading states to know what type of coffee was necessary. In her present state she was in a reading one and required some amount of caffeine. She accepted the coffee without even looking at him.
"Thank you," she said, turning a page.
He sat down in the second reading chair as was proper for this particular morning – Jean was reading, and he was supposed to leave her to it. After a while she looked up.
"Ilyana is outside," she announced. "She's been outside since morning."
"She's doing good," he responded.
Jean gave him the empathic look, checking whether he was sure.
"She is," Jean said after a while. "Better than before – whatever happened in Limbo…" She stopped and chose her words carefully. "…ended some unfinished business. She's lighter."
"She says she doesn't regret coming here," he continued.
Jean considered it for a moment.
"She told you that," she replied.
"This morning."
Jean took a sip of tea and looked at the book and then back at him with genuine satisfaction and no attempt to hide it.
"That's good," she said. She meant it entirely.
He left her to read and went to find Ilyana outside.
She was by the treeline and practicing her step discs – not as a combat exercise, but as a training of precision skills. Opening step discs at particular points and walking through them to arrive at others. She had been working on them for months now, and her precision had been increasing until now it was practically perfect: reaching her target location with no more than few centimeters inaccuracy. This had been achieved by now – the technique was thoroughly ingrained in her and required concentration rather than effort.
She looked at him as he approached and kept walking.
"Morning," he greeted her.
"Morning," she replied, opening another disc and disappearing into it, reappearing two meters away to continue her exercises.
He watched her for a while – she didn't need his attention for anything but appreciated it anyway. After a while she closed the last disc and remained still.
"You're going to the sun again," she said.
"In a couple of days," he replied.
She looked towards the trees.
"Good," she said. "You should."
---
After lunch he found Amora in the east sitting room where he sometimes spent his afternoon if the household was busy and he wanted to be alone. He sat in one of his favorite chairs opposite her as she sat across from him with characteristic composed calm, not asking him a practical question or reporting about Raven's exercises.
She looked at him.
"Why do you trust me as much as you do?" she asked him.
She surprised him somewhat with such a question – her questions were strategic, each one serving a clear purpose he could name easily. This one was apparently real and sincere, asked as a question.
He took a little while to ponder it.
"I don't completely trust you," he said. "I trust you to the degree you deserve – to the degree I would trust somebody genuinely useful and non-hostile toward our household." He paused. "That is not the same as total trust."
She understood what he meant.
"Few people would say this much," she remarked.
"Few people try to establish an accurate bond," he retorted. "And they're trying to manage an inaccurate one."
Her expression relaxed somewhat, but not quite.
"I have stayed for two reasons," she said. "You know what they are."
"I know," he replied.
"The first one – with regards to the God of Thunder – is obvious, and I'll not pretend otherwise," she said. "The other one…" she trailed off in sincerity. "…is that I've studied power for centuries now, in various forms across Nine Worlds. I have never seen anything like you before." She paused again. "I stayed here for instrumental purposes and still stay here for the purpose, but I'm staying because of something else too. I didn't expect that and find it harder to deal with."
He didn't say anything.
"Not just the power level," she added. "While that is remarkable as well and I'll not pretend it's not. The combination. How you are. How your household is." She looked out the window. "I've stayed here for instrumental reasons and still do for the same reasons, but also because this place is one of the most remarkable places I have seen in years. I didn't expect that part of the deal, and find it difficult to manage."
He looked at her.
"I am aware of what you are and what you can do," he began. "I am not afraid of you being a threat to our household." He paused. "Not fully anyway. At this point, that is the level of trust I have toward you." He paused again. "It is not an ultimatum. It is just a statement."
She fell silent for a moment.
"That's the first truly honest thing anyone ever said to me in many years," she said.
It was a true statement – she did not thank him for anything, was simply pleased and valued the accuracy of her perception.
"If you prove yourself worthy of more trust," he said, "I will give you more trust."
"I understand that," she answered. "I will do my best to earn that trust."
She made the empathic expression she had when making decisions.
He nodded.
The talk was a change between the two of them, but not a defining one – nothing was declared, no formal changes were done. It was just a conversation as if between two people, not in roles, and both knew the difference.
---
The afternoon saw Rogue leaving the garage.
She had been inside for a while after the morning discussion – she had been working on the Harley for months and now the finishing line approached. The moment had come.
She completed her inspection as usual – methodical and with full attention, caring only about accuracy rather than speed. The carburetor was adjusted correctly. The exhaust was clean. The motorcycle had the right engine angle he had decided for months ago and didn't change her mind since then.
She got on the bike.
She started it up.
The motor fired.
The sound resonated through the garage with the unique resonance of a well-built motorcycle engine – not just any engine sound, but this one in particular – the engine that she had assembled and tuned through months of laborious work. She could feel that it was right. She could tell that it was right the same way you could tell when a machine was perfectly assembled – not through measurements, but by hearing and touching how well it operated.
Ethan stood by the entrance to the garage.
She had not invited him there. He had come because he was aware when it was time, just like that, without even being told, and that was a good trait of his.
She looked into his face over the handlebars.
He observed her face with the kind of focus that only the important things got from him – unhurried and complete in every second. He wouldn't say anything now. It wasn't necessary.
She turned her face back to the handlebars.
The engine fired up with the distinctive hum that she loved.
She left it run for a moment, just listening to the engine performing the task it was built for – and shifted her weight onto it, moving it out of the garage along the private driveway.
Not too far, not a real ride – she needed it to feel whether the thing that she had worked on for so long was the right motorcycle. There was plenty of time to do it on that route. And then she turned back to the garage.
She examined the engine sounds, receiving all the feedback from it – that unmistakable feeling that came from knowing how to ride something she had made.
Finally, she brought the bike back into the garage and switched it off.
She sat astride it for a brief moment, holding onto the handlebars.
Then she looked into Ethan's face.
"This is exactly what I wanted," she pronounced.
It wasn't an expression of bravado – it was a simple, clear pronouncement of satisfaction – the way you pronounce when you've done a job right and want to own it. The pride she showed now was genuine, not repressed or hidden anywhere – it could take all the room it needed.
Ethan looked back at her with his typical warmth and confidence in the fact that she had successfully brought something important to her life to completion.
"I know," he replied.
Then she stared at him for a little while more, and stepped off the bike, into the sunlight of the day. Ethan followed her, and the motorcycle remained exactly where it belonged.
---
Space, near a cosmic event
The measurements had gone off for the past six hours.
Reed monitored all the parameters at once – radiation strength, direction towards the center of the event, ship's reactions, as well as the seventeen different scenarios that might happen and which scenario was closer based on those measurements. He was not afraid – Reed never was. For him, fear was another form of lack of thoroughness.
Sue observed the viewport.
There were changes in space that defied any descriptions she was familiar with – the concentration of cosmic energies that Reed had been analyzing for the last several months was actually visible now, creating some strange changes in the space surrounding them that she couldn't explain using scientific terms. Sue didn't need them for this anyway.
Ben was silent for forty minutes now. That was how he reacted when he didn't have words for some experience yet – and instead, kept observing the control panels of the ship, trusting them absolutely.
Johnny also gazed through the viewport – he was buzzing with energy, ready to do great things in this strange place – that's Johnny.
"The window is opening in four minutes," declared Reed.
He said it without addressing anyone in particular – this was a fact, and a fact needed to be heard.
Sue looked into Reed's eyes.
"We are going through it," she said. It wasn't a request or a plea – it was a matter-of-fact statement – they had already discussed it.
"We are going through it," agreed Reed.
Ben put both his hands on the armrests of his chair.
"Four minutes," Johnny said.
The remaining time was spent quietly – time went by normally, and then they were four minutes away, then three, two, and suddenly the ship was in an area where all readings were going off Reed's measuring instruments and beyond any parameters known to Reed's calculations.
The radiation wave hit them four people at once.
Reed could feel it and recorded it with his notebook in his hand while the wave was passing, his hand making a few strokes, and then stopping – something changed at the cellular level, and Reed's cells failed to transmit information to his nerves properly.
Sue reached for Ben, but she grabbed nothing – a space that used to be reachable somehow turned into something she could feel, but not reach.
Ben gave out a non-verbal sound – the one that described the action his body was taking that wasn't covered by any mental frame.
Johnny's panel began to sparkle as if alive – not from the panels, from him.
Everything in the ship started to resonate with the unmistakable sensation that this particular moment was happening – the one you spent so many years preparing for, and suddenly it's here – and there is nothing else you can do but be a part of it. Four people were turning into something they weren't – stars were still the same indifferent stars, but the ship was changing.
Reed tried to make sense of the readings that his instruments were registering.
Then he looked at the figures in front of him.
And in that part of his brain that keeps going while everything around goes crazy, he thought – extraordinary.
---
Shi'ar imperial space. In transit.
Kallark moved through space at a speed dictated by the pace of the praetor of the Shi'ar imperial guard who led the expedition, which was quite fast compared to everything else in the galaxy trying to move quickly.
Briefing had been informative, as expected of the Shi'ar. They don't act on partial knowledge – they analyze and process the information, decide the best course of actions, and deploy appropriate resources. Kallark was that resource assigned to this particular case, and he found no fault with his assignment as it accurately characterized him.
A mutant, earth. The Phoenix bond complete, and not partial anymore – no longer an unstable connection between the Phoenix Force and an unwilling carrier, but a full integration. Shi'ar had seen such cases before – they had protocols. And those protocols existed specifically for these kinds of cases. Full integration of a Phoenix Force with a willing carrier was different than partial, and it's always better to be prepared.
His mission was to perform an assessment of the current situation, inform the Shi'ar Empire about it and decide on the next steps. Assessment of situations like this was his routine. Simple, standard procedure – and it suited his abilities perfectly.
He was not concerned.
Concerns were a rare state for Kallark. Being concerned implied uncertainty, and Kallark never felt uncertain – he was sure of himself. And his powers were proportional to that certainty. Which translated into practice rather effectively.
He reviewed the briefing again – a young woman, the carrier, in a family on a planet not yet formally recognized as a member of the galactic society. The full integration of the Phoenix Force with the young woman. It was time to act since the Shi'ar preferred solving Phoenix-related problems before they became problems.
Earth was approaching.
Not very soon – the distances in space had to be covered by something, even as powerful as he was. But it was the only destination available to him, and he was moving steadily towards it.
He thought about the carrier. The full integration of the Phoenix means that she was already a full-fledged Phoenix herself, which would be noticeable on the distance.
He also considered the notes of the briefing – the family she was a part of, the people around her, and energy signatures detected by the Shi'ar's long-range instruments nearby the Phoenix force field. It didn't have anything to do with Phoenix, as these were exactly the readings that a full Phoenix bond created. Something else.
He reviewed those readings three times without identifying them using the empire's vast database of information.
Then he filed this as interesting and continued moving towards Earth.
Stars flowed around him at their usual pace, and Earth rotated in its usual way – people lived their ordinary life there, ignorant of the fact that the best warrior of the Shi'ar Empire was on the way to their planet. There was time.
Time was his ally on the way there.