Diamonds Are Forever

[Marcus Godfrey]

His face formed into a mask of determination, Marcus traced an erratic grid pattern around the sun room. It was an area of the house that he found particularly baffling: while he understood the architectural mentality that had led the architects to include an east-facing lounge and breakfast room where he could enjoy the morning sunshine, and while he was well aware that such strange extra rooms were exactly the sort of thing that a man like him should have in his LA home, he always had a hard time thinking of anyone he knew who was up early enough in the morning to take advantage of it.

Aside from the man half-conscious on the couch, of course; but that was usually because he still hadn't completed the crawl to bed after the night before. A groan escaped from the slightly drooling and most most definately more than slightly drunk limb-splayed form of his brother; half-brother really, lacking somewhat in the looks, hair, and concept of manners that Marcus had clearly inherited from the parent they didn't share.

"Don't mind me," he grunted, casually tossing the morning paper at Dion's bald and head. There was another groan, some scuffing of jeans against whatever it was the sofa was made of, and then a thud as the sibling hit the floor. A few slurred noises followed as Dion thought about moving; but clearly deciding that the carpet was clearly comfortable enough, they soon morphed into shallow breaths and light snoring.

Marcus rolled his eyes, finally finding the cufflink he'd been searching for, and fumbling it into place in his sleeve. His shirt was pressed with laser precision, and while he personally wasn't responsible for that little factor of neatness, everything else about him was meticulously trimmed and tweaked to look exactly the way he wanted it to. Idly, he toyed with his open collar, flicking at a starched collar as he debated the addition of a tie. Not today, he decided. He'd almost said it aloud; not that Dion would have cared in the slightest about anything happening before at least 3pm.

A sigh followed. It was so nice to not be alone in the house.

"Feed the cat," Marcus yelled casually but insistantly over his shoulder as he strode out of the room.

"You don't have a cat," Dion countered, his voice muffled by the floor. An afterthought followed. "I hate cats."

Scooping his keys from a bowl as he passed, Marcus tossed them up and snatched them from the air, a tweak of smile tugging at his lips as he headed for the door. Note to self: buy a cat.

* * *

There were all manner of benefits to being him, Marcus was reminded as he waited silently in the lift. Some of them came from his looks, or from the innate charm that came from the residual flecks of British in his accent; not just looks that attracted those who had never met him, but also looks that made him recognisable enough for his fame to do it's work. He was a household face, even if he wasn't necessarily a household name; a career in primetime television had been his stepping stone to greatness, back before he'd started wielding his financial naus as a producer, investor, businessman, and philanthropist.

More than that though, there were other benefits. One of the few useful things that his father - wherever he was - had been a particular variation on one of his genes, which unlocked certain beneficial abilities. He'd never really known what to call it; and while he was sure there were websites and comic books rife with potential suggestions, all he knew was that when he spoke, people listened. He hadn't abused it - not since he'd stopped being a drunken student at UCLA, anyway. Back then he'd needed a few honeyed words to help encourage the more attractive of his female fellows to pay attention to the slightly nerdish law student with the quirky accent; but now he had enough fame and charm, he used his powers more wisely, offering the right words to the right people, to help them do the right thing.

Time and time again, he'd been accused of having a silver tongue; if only those people knew how right they were.

The mystery that surrounded what he did was the entire reason he was here. Treadstone Industries offered something that even with all his wealth and connections he'd never been able to get before: answers. He wasn't sure if his powers offered the potential for any of the world-saving advances that Tom Harriman had spoken about in his press conference; but perhaps he could come to understand himself a little better, and in the process help to encourage others to take Doctor Harriman up on their offer.

First however, there was something he needed to see.

He knocked on the glass door, but didn't bother to wait before stepping through. His most charming smile formed on his features. "Hello, Dahlia."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

Soft and silken, the threads of music wove almost audibly through the air. A woman's voice (http://youtu.be/uUMTqG-MGO8) slid seamlessly amidst the instruments, rising and falling with each breath. Every crescendo seemed effortless, and each fading phrase was a bit of perfection.

Fingers coursed through loose blonde curls, jewel-blue eyes sliding closed as she shifted her position. Dahlia leaned back in her chair crossed her slender legs, mind lost in the music. Hands settled in her lap after smoothing out her mini-skirt (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=46152730), and she remained still for the rest of the song.

As it faded away, an audible sigh passed crimson-glossed lips. While she loved many different styles of music, opera continued to be one of her greatest passions. So much so that she had already obtained season tickets for the Los Angeles Opera.

The silence that fell was blissful, no telephone ring, no incoming message chime, no buzz from Emma, Tom, or Francois. Just her and-

-knock-knock-knock-

Dahlia swiveled in her chair to face the heavy glass door, jewel-blue eyes opening to a familiar sight, even as a familiar voice rang in her ears.

"Hello, Dahlia."

Warmth rushed through her senses as she stared, stunned silent at the handsome gentleman that had waltzed into her office without so much as a by-your-leave. Then again, she mused, he'd been the same the last time she'd seen him, nearly five years prior.

"Hello, Marcus..." Dahlia said quietly, her gaze darkening even as her expression remained flitting between neutral and pleased. Even after the clarity that time had eventually brought, he still had that effect on her. "...you're looking well. Care to have a seat?" A graceful gesture towards the sitting area just beyond her desk, where two comfortably stuffed leather chairs sat in front of a gas fireplace.

[Marcus Godfrey]

Marcus didn't allow the smile to subside in the slightest. "And you haven't aged a day," he charmed back, graciously accepting her invitation to sit.

Frankly, the way that Dahlia had chosen to decorate her office wasn't to his taste. There seemed to be an undue obsession with glass and crystals that he simply couldn't fathom; and while the chairs and fireplace were quaint enough, Marcus firmly believed that if you found yourself needing anything like that, you might as well leave the office entirely.

Even so, finding himself in front of a roaring fire with Dahlia Ericsson brought back memories that he was more than happy to dwell on.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," he said politely; not an apology, but about as close to one as he was likely to get. "But given how much attention you seem to be garnering in the press lately, I decided that I paid you a visit. Of all my investments, this one is certainly the most -" He flashed her another smile. "- pleasant to check up on."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"You do say the sweetest things." Dahlia smiled this time, her expression warming a bit as she joined him, sitting back in the leather chair with a sigh. Hands folded together in her lap as she crossed her legs, while her jewel-blue eyes drank in the sight of him before catching his gaze once more.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't mind at all." she replied with an expression that was just of open. "By that I assume you mean Doctor Harriman's press conference? Yes, this is actually the best coverage we've received since our philanthropic efforts were made public post-Katrina."

Tilting her head, Dahlia continued on, becoming more animated as she spoke about the new department. "I thought it was high time that Treadstone joined the mutant genetic research field, and count myself quite lucky to have secured Doctor Harriman as the lead scientist."

The blonde looked over her shoulder as her phone chimed twice and Emma's voice issued from it.

"Miss Ericsson?"

"What is it, Miss Temple?"

"I have those invoices ready for you to sign. Shall I bring them up to you, or would you prefer to come speak to Doctor Harriman about them?"

"I'll be down later to discuss them. Thank you, Miss Temple."

The intercom clicked and went silent, and Dahlia turned back to Marcus with another smile. "My apologies. I don't have an assistant yet, so all the calls are still coming to me directly." Fingers smoothed out the supple gold leather of her skirt as she glanced over towards the small built in bar on the far wall.

If ever she needed a drink, now was it.

"You know, its almost lunch time. Could I interest you in a drink? Your usual, perhaps?" She rose slowly, her expectant gaze still holding to his.

[Marcus Godfrey]

Marcus' mind strayed to his house guest, and the state he'd been in when he'd left that morning. He didn't judge his brother for his antics too severely - there were mitigating circumstances after all, of a sort - but it was a habit that he put a lot of effort into avoiding; most of the time, at least.

He held up a hand, and offered a polite smile. "It's a little early for me, I'm afraid," he apologised, careful to make sure there was absolutely no judgement in his tone. "I can't quite manage to party as hard as I could when I was younger."

He offered a slight shrug. "Don't let me stop you, though."

Marcus allowed silence to fall for a moment; not long enough to become awkward, but enough to clearly separate one topic of conversation from another. "And yes," he continued, "Your boy Harriman certainly caught my eye."

A ghost of frown puzzled at his brow. "I am a little curious though. This is some progressive research even by Treadstone standards, and it's a pretty big jump from what you normally have our boys and girls working on. What made you of all people hop on the mutant bandwagon?"

[Dahlia Ericsson]

A smile curled her lips as she nodded, walking over to the bar on the far wall. Fingers moved, taking a faceted crystal glass down from the shelf and adding two cubes of ice. A shot of dark rum was next, closely followed by equal measures of pineapple and orange juice. She sipped and sighed internally, her back still turned toward him for a moment.

Dahlia turned however, when he continued speaking, as it would have been unforgivably rude not to. Blue eyes sought his as she re-took her seat, legs crossing as she angled herself towards him.

"It's not quite as progressive as you think. Treadstone is one of the only companies who's written hiring policy includes a clause about non-discrimination that legally applies to mutants. As much mutant research as exists, however, none of it is geared toward truly helping mutants understand and control their abilities."

She took a long sip and tilted her head, gazing at him silently for a moment. "Besides, you of all people should understand that in business, you either move forward or you get left behind. While the company is building steadily as it should in its more traditional avenues, this seemed like the next, logical step for growth."

[Marcus Godfrey]

Marcus felt a small pang of disappointment as he heard her rational response.

She was correct, of course: any research and development firm worth it's salt looked for new directions of exploration. The press conference might have played Treadstone's hand somewhat, but it also made their intentions public. From now on, any time another firm came out with mutant-derrived technology - no matter how long they might have been researching it in secret - it would look like a concept stolen from Treadstone.

Even so, he had hoped for some deeper significance to her pro-mutant stance, beyond merely driving home Treadstone's equal opportunities policy. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping; or rather he was, but wasn't sure what he hoped would be accomplished. Maybe if Dahlia had revealed some secret mutation, it would take the edge off; make it easier to reveal his own.

But Dahlia was a 'normal', it seemed. Any illusions about honesty that Marcus had been harbouring flew out the window; perhaps it would be best to test just how effective Doctor Harriman's efforts towards anonymity really were.

"Well," Marcus said, renewing his smile. "Here's hoping that Doctor Harriman's noble ambitions aren't just a pipe dream. And make sure that he puts me down for one of those flying cars he's been telling the press about."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

A delicate, almost imperceptible furrow knit itself between Dahlia's slender brows. The urge to tell him what she was lingered there in that furrow, the words balanced precariously on the tip of her tongue. If no one else knew, she mused, at least Marcus would know the truth. Because when the time came and he found out about Athalie, she'd be forced to reveal her own mutation anyway, as the little one possessed the mutant gene.

Lifting a hand, she spent a moment brushing her bangs aside, hoping the gentle press of her fingers would ease her expression back to neutral. Eventually she smiled, nodding at Marcus' words and taking a lingering sip from her drink. Distantly, she thought of the new bottle of wine she'd bought, and decided that the bottle, a glass, and the boat were the new evening plan.

"You'll be second on the list, Marcus, only because I don't think we'll be able to pry the first one out of Doctor Harriman's hands." Dahlia said with a smile that was just a bit slow to blossom. Her free hand rested atop her knee, while the other set the glass down on the small side table and traced a fingertip absently along the rim.

[Marcus Godfrey]

Well, this was decidedly awkward.

While he might have been one in his youth, Marcus was not a womanising man anymore. Part of it had been because of the extra media scrutiny his burgeoning fame had brought with it - scrutiny that he would much rather have avoided, considering his secret mutation. Mostly though, he'd simply grown up; and while rumours and implications that he was still the same old hound dog continued to persist in the tabloids, Marcus was satisfied that they were all fabrications; and most of the time, that was enough.

But while he might not have continued with the woman-a-night lifestyle of his early days, he'd hardly become a monk. There had been many romances over the years, and many parts of high society were littered with old flames. Some of those relationships had ended amicably; some of them not so much. And some had just ended; and at times, Marcus wasn't entirely sure why.

One of those old flames sat before him now; one of the amicable ones, thank the stars. Whatever there had been between the two of them, it had been fleeting, and they had decided - mutually, he hoped - that the partnership they were better off pursuing was one of business.

A shame, he mused, resisting the urge to let his mind delve too far into memories of the intimate way he knew Dahlia Ericsson.

"I'd very much like to meet the good Doctor," he said, steering himself back to the subject that his mind had wandered away from. He searched for a suitable excuse. "I'm sure I can offer a few helpful pointers on his screen presence. Perhaps I can even talk him into a few more appearences; help to raise the profile of his research even more."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

The blonde took one last sip of her drink, wincing inwardly at precisely how fast she'd drunk it. That...well, that was going to have to be explored later. With wine involved.

You're going to turn into an alcoholic like your mother.

The vicious little inner voice always had a way of pulling at the most painful bits of her past. Dragging them kicking and screaming into the light of her consciousness, no matter how well she'd thought them buried and disappeared.

Dahlia set the glass down and shoved the unhappy thoughts away. There was business to attend to, and a guest in her office who needed her attention. Deserved it undivided, in fact. "Let me call downstairs and see if he's at a good stopping point. I'd be delighted to affect an introduction."

Rising, she took measured steps past Marcus and over to her desk, fingers reaching out to flip on the direct intercom to Emma's desk. "Miss Temple, is Doctor Harriman particularly busy at this moment? I have someone I'd like him to meet."

"Just a moment, Miss Ericsson, let me have a look in the lab." Emma replied crisply, her tone perfectly smooth, even, and professional.

Footsteps could be heard briefly, before the pop and hiss of a pressurized door opening. Moments after, the footsteps returned. "He's between experiments at the moment, Miss Ericsson, and would be delighted to be introduced."

"I'll be right down, Miss Temple, thank you."

A button cut the intercom off, and silence reigned for a few seconds as Dahlia looked up to Marcus and lingered there. "If you'll follow me, Marcus, I can take you down to meet the good Doctor." she smiled and gestured toward the door as she came around her desk.

[Marcus Godfrey]

Marcus fought an uncomfortable shift. For a man who'd chosen to be both a lawyer and an actor at various points in his life, he wasn't particularly fond of lying: not when it came to intentionally deceiving people, at least. He wasn't fond of secrets either, though those he was forced to keep with reluctant frequency. Mutant registration offered him an escape from that; and while it was an involuntary escape from his secrecy, it was one he was more than happy to accept.

And yet, apparently there were parts of him which were not so willing to give up on those secrets just yet; and they were busy wrapping an ever-tightening knot around his innards.

"I'm sure you've got much more important things to be getting on with than showing a tired old celebrity around the place," he tried, searching for some kind of excuse that might stop her from coming with him; anything, just so that he wouldn't have to reveal it to her just yet.

"Besides," he added. "This lab of his must be pretty easy to find, if you've got volunteers traipsing in and out all the time."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"You are not a tired, old anything, Marcus..." Dahlia smiled softly, leaning slightly against the open door of her office. Bright blue eyes watched him approach and stop within inches of her in the doorway.

"...but I insist on at least making the introduction. This way."

Her stilettos clicked along the stone tile floor, echoing in the relative quiet of the hallway. Her office was not on one of the busier levels, something she had managed to do on purpose. Dahlia wanted and needed as much privacy as possible while they were getting Applied Science off the ground, and launching X-Force in the mean time. The offices lining the sun-drenched hall would remain empty until everything was clicking along, and until she had an assistant capable of running interference for her. She meant to ask Tom if he knew of anyone local who would fit the position.

Once in the same elevator Marcus had come up with, Dahlia pressed the button marked TH-1. Tom was nearly giddy when he noticed the designation, according to Emma. Leaning back as the elevator began to move, she tilted her head towards her companion. "Doctor Harriman is still in the process of stocking the lab with all of the equipment he needs, so please do forgive the boxes that are likely carefully lined up along the hallway. We've never started up a division from scratch before in my tenure, and its been eye-opening as far as sheer cost."

[Marcus Godfrey]

Maintaining smiles was hard when you didn't particularly feel like smiling.

These were the times in life where his experience as an actor came in extremely handy. Every footstep brought him closer to his secret being exposed, and added to the snowballing feeling of dread in his stomach.

He barely even registered what she was saying; it was only years of practice at mind-numbing high society functions that let him subconsciously absorb her words without actively listening. "You should see the state my house is in at the moment. I have a brother staying with me; I don't think he even knows what a cupboard is, let alone how to put anything back in it."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"Oh? I didn't know you had a brother."

Dahlia said with a tilt of her head, exiting the elevator as soon as it stopped, its doors having opened in near-silence.

"Must be nice to have family nearby, however, instead of just living in an empty house. I admit I miss the chaos of my New Orleans home, where there was so much...activity."

Thankfully, she caught herself before she mentioned Athalie, as that was what she really missed. The sound of her echoing laughter, her bright smile, her little feet racing to and fro...

Dahlia averted her gaze until she'd taken a deep breath and regained her composure. She'd have to tell him, but for now, focused on Emma down at the end of the hall.

"Miss Temple." she put on a smile as they approached. "Allow me to introduce Mister Marcus Godfrey. Marcus, this is Emma Temple, Doctor Harriman's assistant."

[Emma Temple]

Emma stared. Not just an ordinary stare either: Emma stared.

Instantly, she was very glad to be sitting down, because her knees were not feeling particularly stable. Her heart fluttered; her whole body felt shakey; and she was overcome with the almost unstoppable urge to squeal like a hyperactive school girl.

Marcus Godfrey. Marcus Godfrey. He was here, close enough that she could reach out and touch him.

Should she touch him? Oh god, should she touch him?

She snuck a subtle breath, trying to calm herself. She tried standing, smoothing down her skirt as she did. Then she remembered the weak knees. Damn. She couldn't sit down again though; that would just look silly. And rude. She couldn't be silly and rude in front of -

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Godfrey."

The next thing she knew, she'd walked a few paces around the desk, and had an arm jutted out towards him. What was she doing? Was she going to... was he going to...

Then it happened. Marcus Godfrey took hold of her hand. Marcus Godfrey was touching her. She felt faint. She actually felt all faint and lightheaded. It occurred to her that she should be embarassed, but she didn't care.

"I-mi-mi-mi-Emma," she stuttered, a few two many M's thrown in. She wasn't sure what kind of smile she was pulling right then, but it felt huge. It felt hot, too. Her whole face felt hot. Was it hot in here? Why was it hot?

"I didn't realise you had an interest in -"

Then it hit her. She didn't mean to - she never meant to - overhear his thoughts, but she did. There was something about a brother, a dad - an absentee father; she had no idea his life story was so tragic, how sad! - and then Dahlia, dinner, a date - oh, Dahlia, you lucky... - and then secrets. Secret thoughts; secret memories; secret powers.

Mutant powers.

Marcus Godfrey was a mutant.

He was a mutant, and Dahlia didn't know. Worse, he didn't want Dahlia to know.

And then she heard why. Her heart genuinely sank. Oh, Marcus...

"- our research," she finished. Her smile had faltered, but she managed to keep it going, for appearence's sake. She tried to give Marcus a message - a don't worry, I know, but I'm going to help you message - but she wasn't quite sure if she managed to pull it off. Maybe he just thought she had a lazy eye.

Whatever. She needed to get Dahlia out of here, and fast, before Marcus was forced to say anything that he didn't want to say in front of her.

Her mind fought frantically for some sort of distraction of excuse. "Did you get the, uh -"

She realised she was still holding Marcus' hand. Squeak! And that she was still looking at him. She forced herself to let go; forced herself to turn to Dahlia, and tried again.

"Did you get the memo, Miss Ericsson?"

[Dahlia Ericsson]

The blonde was forced to dip her head to hide her smile. Emma was adorable on a daily basis, but watching the normally witty and self-assured young woman stutter and hold Marcus' hand just a bit too long...well. Entertainment came in many forms.

Dahlia shifted and clasped her hands behind her back, her crystal-blue gaze returning to Marcus and Emma. Her expression went blank as Emma posed a question to her, and it was her turn to run in circles to catch up.

"A memo, Miss Temple? If it came after ten this morning, then no, I haven't seen it yet. Can you give me the general gist of it?" Dahlia asked, lofting a brow and trying to remember if there had been a waiting message on her screen before Marcus had come in.

[Emma Temple]

"It was from -"

She glanced from side to side, leaning forward as her voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "- Business Process."

It was a euphamism that didn't need any further explanation. The unorthadox activities that took place in Treadstone Tower's sub-basement were not the kind of thing that could be freely declared in the company accounts, and so Dahlia had established the enigmatic Business Process division of the company as a cover; something to help discretely shuffle funding for equipment, and to sneak the salaries of any X-Force exclusive personnel through payroll.

It was a terrible lie; but it was the only one that Emma could come up with on short notice. The only one that stood a chance of getting Dahlia to leave, at any rate.

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"Ahh...that must be the memo I was waiting for."

Dahlia nodded and smiled at Emma, before turning to Marcus.

"I'm afraid I simply must attend to this. Please forgive me for being unable to make the introduction." Tilting her head, she glanced down at the sleek cell phone in her hand and frowned at it. There was no alert on the screen, and it made her wonder if her last transformation had erased the settings again.

No matter. She'd simply call the tech guys after seeing to the memo.

"Marcus, I have a reservation for lunch at Cafe Pinot (http://www.losangelesrestaurants.com/restaurant.cfm/restaurant/219/CafePinot). If you've finished with Doctor Harriman, perhaps you'll join me. Just come back up to my office."

Her phone chose that moment to ring, making her sigh softly. Leaning in, she kissed Marcus on the cheek before answering as she walked away.

"Ericsson...ah! Lucius, I'm glad you called. Listen, we need to have a talk about the prototypes. Do you have a moment?" Her voice trailed off as the elevator door closed behind her.

[Emma Temple]

Emma turned back to Marcus - Marcus Godfrey, eee! - and offered him an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry about that. It's just that I, well -"

She frowned, a little flustered. Normally she'd be far more subtle in explaining her abilities; it was often the sort of concept that people needed to be eased into, but her demonstration had been somewhat abrupt.

"I read minds. Well, hear thoughts. Overhear, really. Just what you're actively thinking, nothing deep and personal or anything. Not that I ever would try to read anything like that. It's just that when people think things I hear it by accident, and I heard what you thought about your powers and how much you wanted Dahlia not to find out, and -"

[Marcus Godfrey]

Marcus offered her a smile: not a forced smile, or a beaming smile; a small, genuine, heartfelt one. A hand came to rest gently on Emma's shoulder, the contact stopping her verbal tirade in mid-flow. He met her gaze, his eyes thick with sincerity.

"Thank you," he said, and meant it. He didn't know how she'd known; he didn't much care. Dahlia was gone; and for now, his secret was safe.

His hand fell away; a hint of embarassment tumbled through him, and he smoothed down the front of his shirt in the hopes that it would soothe it. It didn't.

"Is Doctor Harriman in here?" he asked.

Emma nodded, worldessly; it took a few seconds of patient waiting before she realised that she would need to unseal the door to the lab and let him in. Marcus offered her another small smile before mustering his composure, and striding confidently into the lab.

[Tom Harriman]

Of all the people who had wandered into his lab over the last few days, this was the first time where he honestly didn't have to ask the name. Tom wasn't easily starstruck - he'd passed dozens of celebrities on the street without it being more than a casual bit of this is what I did today information to relay back to Alice - but this particular time seemed noteworthy for a variety of reasons.

One of those reasons was the wide-eyed lab assistant following him around like a hypnotised puppy; the other was the poster of a considerably less clothed Marcus Godfrey that had adorned his sister's wall for a good portion of her teens.

Tom was on his feet within seconds: not rushing with the kind of enthusiasm that Emma had displayed; more relieved that it wasn't the sort of person that he'd been expecting.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a genuine smile. "And I'm not just saying that: I was expecting to have to meet and greet with one of Dahlia's crusty old shareholders again, and I've done about enough of that to last me a lifetime."

His brow tugged into a frown of polite curiosity. "What brings you to my lab, Mister Godfrey?"

[Marcus Godfrey]

"I prefer Marcus," he countered, returning Tom's warm handshake.

Though he'd already seen him on television, Doctor Harriman was far different from what he expected. Anyone could look like a well-meaning professional if you stuck him in a fancy suit and gave him a few prepared statements and a little bit of speach coaching. But seeing Harriman now, dressed in his lab coat and surrounded by his natural habitat, he wasn't what Marcus had expected at all.

Scientists were - in his experience at least - socially awkward individuals who spent as much time as possible avoiding interactions with people. Harriman on the other hand seemed born to it; Marcus recalled how he'd mentioned teaching, and decided that must be the reason. Tom didn't have the aura of an unapproachably intelligent man; up close, Marcus bought into everything he'd said at the press conference even more.

"I saw your little conference yesterday," Marcus explained, answering Tom's question in stages. "Being one of Dahlia's crusty old shareholders, I wanted to congratulate you: it's always nice to see Treadstone showing the world a friendly and compationate face."

There was a moment's pause; Marcus fought to overcome the last of his reluctance.

"As a mutant, however: I'm here to ask for your help."

[Tom Harriman]

As a mutant.

Tom knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Mutations were about genetics; being surprised to hear about a celebrity mutant was like being surprised that a mutant had auburn hair or could roll their tongue. And yet it did, somehow: when Jack Covington and Crystal Villanueva had spoken out against the Mutant Registration Act, part of him had assumed that they represented the sum total of celebrity mutants, not just the tip of some iceberg.

The highly insensitive question had already tumbled from his lips before his brain even thought about trying to stop it.

"What can you do?"