The Phoenix Crisis

Chapter 1

 

 

By three in the afternoon on the sixth of January, Jason Elliot White's temperature reached a hundred and seven degrees Fahrenheit. The doctors at DuPont Children's Hospital could not apply the usual antibiotics and anti-inflammatory drugs because of an extensive list of allergies given by the boy's family physician. He didn't have the muscle rigidity typical in hyperpyrexia*, but his kidneys definitely showed signs of distress as did his strained heart. His blood tests all showed normal with the exception of his creatine kinase count which was dangerously high even for an adult. He showed photophobia and nuchal rigidity common in meningitis, however, repeated MRIs showed no evidence of cerebral oedema. He had no record of any autoimmune diseases but at this point, the doctors wanted to test for everything from AIDS to lupus.

He was a very sick boy. Although this wasn't the first time Jason White came through the doors of Children's, his doctors were very much afraid that this would be the last.


Richard White clutched his twelfth cup of coffee, no longer tasting anything but the coppery flavour of his own blood from where he'd bitten through his lips. He drank coffee for the lack of anything else to do; his brain didn't want to function at any level any more, because coherance would mean thinking about his son who was in that room hooked up to machines, convulsing and...

Richard went for a thirteenth cup.

Across from him was Lois Lane; Jason's mother, formerly his fiancée, and currently his housemate. She'd run out of doctors to interrogate and the nurses gave her a wide-berth after one of their well-meaning, if slightly dim, members suggested a sedative. The said member was sent home after a barrage of wounding remarks from Ms. Lane. She prowled the perimeter of the waiting room, having been barred from the rest of the hospital after she'd all but assaulted a passing doctor for information on her son.

Richard knew how to read Lois' mask. She was never brasher than when she was frightened out of her wits.

Clark Kent, Lois' writing partner and someone Richard counted as a friend until recently, stood near the entrance of the private waiting room. His slouch was more pronounced than usual, his bright blue eyes gone icy. He stared at the wall as though willing it to go transparent.

That was probably what he was doing, Richard surmised. Just using his X-ray vision to look through all the walls and staring at what the doctors were doing to his son. Richard's son who was biologically Clark's son who was really Superman, Metropolis' favourite citizen, who could launch a small continent into outer space but couldn't stamp out the mysterious tiny invader attacking Jason's body.

There was a fourth person in the room; in spirit if not in body. At least not his own body. Scott Summers found himself acting as a silent counsellor as he milled around in Richard White's head, repeating the useless proverbs that he himself heard when his fiancée died. He hated the words but he had nothing else to give his host body.

Except...

Scott pushed against Richard's mind.

Richard's vision went yellow. "Not now," he groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

It's important, Scott said.

Clenching his eyes, Richard thought as forcefully as he could. Nothing could possibly be more important right now.

What about a doctor that might be able to help?

What the hell are you talking about?

I think I know someone that might be able to help, Scott said. A doctor who specialises in mutant DNA.

Jason isn't a mutant.

"Is that what this is?" Lois asked. "Did someone say he might be a mutant?"

Dammit. Richard didn't realise he'd spoken aloud. "No. I just... was thinking aloud." He glanced at Clark who had straightened a little from his slouch.

"Hmph." Lois tapped her finger rapidly against her arm rest. "I'm going to get a doctor to check."

"Lois--" Clark started to intervene but Richard shook his head.

"Leave her alone," he said after she left the room. "Chasing after her's never helped."

Uncertainty flashed across Clark's face but he stayed in the end. "What were you saying about mutants?"

"Nothing," Richard said.

"Is it...?" Clark tapped his temple.

Strange how just yesterday, Richard's life was a normal kind of messed up: a broken engagement, a son on the verge of middle school with all its joys and headaches, and a mental condition from a burst brain aneurysm. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd turned into a bad sci-fi plot. His ex-fiancée's partner was Superman, his hallucination was really another man's ghost living in his brain, and his son was so goddamn sick.

Jason...

Who is this doctor? Richard asked Scott.


Every atom of Clark's body wanted to get away. Superman couldn't save anyone in a hospital, his logic told him. He'd be better off answering the call of that burglar alarm across town or that drive-by shooting on the other side of the state, or even intervening in a pub across the ocean on the verge of breaking out into a racial gang fight. But Clark's heart fought it. He had a right to be selfish about this. Even Jor-El abandoned his precious council when his child's life was at stake.

Jason.

Oh, God, Jason.

Across from him, Richard White inhaled yet another cup of coffee. The man had a cast-iron stomach. Or perhaps more accurately, his body numbed any pain that could have been caused by the less-than-stellar food available in the hospital in the middle of the night.

Strange how just a week ago, he was one of the few men that Superman disliked. Clark Kent appreciated his friendliness but Superman seethed every time Jason wistfully recalled how his daddy used to take him flying every weekend, or how his daddy was the only one who woke up early just to watch TV with him. Richard had had everything that Superman wanted but he threw it out.

On the other hand, Superman had had everything Superman wanted and he threw it out as well. So maybe they weren't that different. Maybe that person in Richard's head changed him for the worse.

Clark sighed. On the third hand, a malicious ghost wouldn't have given Superman relationship advice either.

"You don't have to be here," said Richard.

For a second Clark wanted to say "Where else would I be?" then he remembered that Lois thought Clark Kent was just visiting Richard for a guy's night out when Jason took a turn for the worse. She didn't know that Richard knew who he was.

"I don't mind," said Clark.

"I mean it," he said. "I'll take care of them while you're gone."

And that, Clark reflected, was a major hitch in his goal to get Lois back. Richard had taken care of Lois and Jason while he was looking for Krypton, he looked after them while he had to save Metropolis, and he looked after them during those first two years back when Superman juggled the duties of a father and a guardian to the world. And, most importantly, Richard didn't have to share himself with the rest of the world.

"I want to be here," Clark insisted.

Richard shrugged and went to get more coffee.

One thing was clear: psychic symbiote or not, Richard loved Jason. It was obvious in the way his heart hadn't stopped its rapid beating, in how aged he looked when the on-going joke at the office was that Richard was going to be the crush of every high school intern who passed through the Planet's doors. Clark didn't know what his chances were of getting Lois back but he didn't want a good man like Richard to be hurt.


More than anything in the world, Lois hated being in the dark. She hated that everyone who worked in this hospital knew more than she did about her son's condition. She hated the medical terminology and the machines and the scribbled notes on the clipboards which meant absolutely nothing to her. She hated how people rushed in and out of those double doors without a glance to even give a hint about who they were rushing in and out of. She hated the guardedly fearful expression on Clark's face. She hated how Richard looked the same. Most of all, she hated that damned thing that put her baby here.

She returned empty handed only to find Richard secretively speaking on the phone. "Dr. McCoy, this is Richard White. I've been told you have a medical background with mutants."

"Mutants?" Lois mouthed. "What about mutants?"

He gave her a "don't worry about it" gesture and turned his back. Lois' eyes narrowed.

"What's going on?" she asked Clark.

He shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor. God, it was like being trapped between a cliff and a brick wall! Lois threw her hands up and settled on eavesdropping.

"I was wondering if you... that is, if you aren't too busy to..." Richard let out a quiet hiss that may have been rather profane before continuing, his sentence breaking near the end. "My son is very, very sick. Please, can you come down here to take a look at him?"

With his cell phone tucked away, Lois could finally ask questions. "Who was that?"

"Just someone I heard about while I was doing a piece," Richard threw over his shoulder as he worshipped at the coffee machine again.

Within half an hour, two new people pushed through the waiting room: one was an Asian woman with brilliantly dyed violet hair who was so put together, she made Lois feel every one of the twenty-four hours she'd spent worried. Her partner was even more fantastic: almost six feet tall and at least four feet across, his muscles packed into a custom-made suit and his whole body covered in bright blue fur.

"Ladies and gentlemen." He nodded to the doctors and nurses. "I'm Dr. McCoy of the--"

To Lois' surprise, Richard strode up to the big blue doctor and took his hand in a firm clasp. "Hank, thank God! I wasn't sure if the school could get you on such short notice."

"Erm, yes, as it happens, I was at the school." Dr. McCoy stared at him as confused as Lois felt. "I'm sorry, but have we met?"

Embarrassed by his initial enthusiasm, Richard backed off, crossing his arms. As soon as he did that, Dr. McCoy went a little grey. "Oh, my stars and garters."

Seeing a lull, Lois jumped in. "Dr. McCoy, I'm Jason's mom."

"Mrs. White, yes." Distractedly, he turned to her and bared his teeth, his two upper incisors gleaming. His dentist must be so happy about that; Lois, not so much. She hoped that was a smile. "I promise you, I will do everything I can for him. My associate, Elizabeth, will be aiding me."

Elizabeth shook Lois' hand. "Elizabeth Braddock. Yes, the hair is really this colour and no, it has nothing to do with my mutation."

"Please lead the way and tell me about the boy," the doctor told the closest person in scrubs.

A doctor with the ID tag, "Cameron" gave him a file and ran through the case so far. "We would have started testing for mutation if we knew what we were looking for," she said as they disappeared into the double doors and once again, Lois was left in the dark.

Jason.

Oh, God, Jason.

She needed a cigarette. She'd run out of people to call and information to google. How the hell did you google kryptonian-human hybrids anyway? All she ever found was how popular hybrids were in turn-of-the-century zoos or essays about evolution or the different coat patterns on a liger versus a tigon.

What the hell was going on in there?

Please, give me something. Anything. Talk to me. What's happening to my baby?

Waiting was the worst part. Waiting with nothing to do but worry.

An hour passed before the double doors swung open again. Dr. McCoy lumbered out, murmuring to a sheaf of papers and a nurse who officiously recorded his words in a clipboard pad. Lois was at his side in an instant.

"Is Jason okay?" she asked. "What can we do?"

The doctor slowly reached out a hand--paw?-- and patted her shoulder. His hand was heavy but warm and Lois couldn't help but get an impression of a gigantic teddy bear especially when he spoke in that rumbling voice. "Jason is all right for now, Mrs. White."

"Lane," she corrected automatically.

"My apologies." He waved to a door behind the nurses' station. "Dr. Cameron has been kind enough to lend me her room for a moment. If you'd like to step in?" He looked up at Richard and Clark, obviously unsure of whom else to invite.

"I'll go and, uh, water your plants," Clark stuttered. "Um, if you need anything..."

"We'll call," Richard said. His lips moved a little afterward but Lois couldn't catch the words.

Lois accepted the proffered seat in the office. Richard stood uncertainly near the chair, made movements to sit, straightened then finally sat down with a short growl. The doctor went around the other side of the table, took one look at the tiny swivel chair, and opted to stand.

"As I said before, my name is Henry McCoy," he said, his voice still a low-pitched rumbling, but with a soothing note. "I specialise in mutant genetics as well as emergency medicine."

"My son's not a mutant," Lois said. Then, realising her blunt wording might not go over well with the nice mutant doctor, she added, "It's not a bad thing to be a mutant; I just know he isn't. Jason's problem is... something different."

He looked at her, his blue eyes searching. "I would like to add that as a doctor, I can promise you complete confidentiality. As you can probably surmise, my patients are mainly mutants, many of whom do not want to be outed as such. Whatever you tell me, I will not tell a soul."

Lois bit her lip. It wasn't her secret to tell. Even though their relationship had fallen apart, she'd promised Superman that she'd keep Jason's paternity a secret to keep their son safe. But now that very secret was threatening his life.

Oh God, her baby.

Lois opened her mouth--

"I'm his father."

-- and left it open in shock. Papers flew and picture frames shivered as Superman zipped into the tiny room, his stature making it appear even smaller. Lois might have imagined it but the cape seemed to reach out to her, briefly caressing her shoulder before it settled heavily down his shoulders.

To his credit, McCoy only blinked. "I see." He adjusted his glasses and sat back. "Oh, I see indeed. This does complicate matters quite a bit."

"I'll give you whatever you need," said Superman. "Whatever is in my power."

"Of course," said McCoy. "But this does bring up the issue of the DNA tests I've ordered from the laboratory. I don't think I would be wrong in assuming that you would not want that information to be public?"

"Yes," Lois said.

"Very well then, consider them gone." McCoy leaned back on his chair, closed his eyes and just sat there for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes again, he said, "That's taken care of. We can--"

"What did you do?" asked Lois.

"He contacted someone telepathically," Richard said, surprising Lois again and this time, McCoy and Superman as well. "Well, it seemed the likeliest answer," he said in reply to their inquiring looks.

McCoy didn't confirm or deny the statement. "My practice is in upstate New York," he said. "It contains a fully functional lab as well as a medical clinic. Since ninety percent of mutations catalyze during puberty, we have extensive experience in adolescent paediatrics. I would suggest moving Jason there for some time until we can discover a treatment for his condition."

"What is his problem?" Lois asked. If she could only have information, she wouldn't be helpless.

"My hypothesis-- and please take note that this is just an educated guess at this point because of the lack of genetic information-- is that his body is reacting to the complications inherent in hybrid DNA," McCoy said. "I've seen from his file that he's had a history of health concerns."

"But he was growing out of them," Richard interrupted.

"That may have been the case but he's now going through puberty in addition to various psychological pressures in his environment."

Lois got up, affronted. "Hey, we're doing or best to keep his environment as good as possible and I don't think you--"

"Lois," Richard took her hand, one of the few times in the past few years where he'd touched her voluntarily. "Sit down."

"--have any business insinuating that we'd--" She was starting to yell. She knew she was starting to yell but she couldn't seem to stop herself. It was yelling or crying and she refused to cry in public.

Superman held a hand out, placating. "Lois."

"This is your fault!" she snarled, jabbing a finger at Superman. "Your goddamned DNA is messing with everything! With his allergies and his pneumonia, and with every bout of the flu where we thought his lungs were going to-- and you weren't there! You weren't... Oh, God, and now Jason's..." She almost collapsed but she gripped the chair and forced the weakness out of her body.

"I'm sorry," said Superman, quietly. So quietly that Lois knew the words were directed at her ears only.

McCoy, who'd been keeping his gaze politely in the medical file, spoke up. "This is no one's fault any more than having brown hair or green eyes or blue fur. I will leave the decision up to you on whether or not to come to my clinic, but I encourage you to make your decision by the end of the day. My colleague and I can stay until then but, unfortunately, we have other commitments that we couldn't reschedule and quite frankly, the faster we can get those test results, the faster we can decide on a treatment."


In the end, it was a no-brainer really. Jason was strapped to a stretcher and loaded up in Hank's chopper with his IV. Lois and Richard followed right beside them carried by Superman. It was weird hanging piggy-back to him but Richard couldn't care less about dignity at the moment. He would have hung onto chopper's landing skids if it meant he could be with Jason.

Tell me more about Hank McCoy, he told Scott to keep his mind busy. How good is he?

He's one of the best doctors in mutant physiology, Scott replied. He's got a degree in almost everything you can get a degree in and plays a wicked tackle football.

You know him personally?A second later, Richard nodded as he made the connections. He's part of that school where you teach.

Actually, the last time we got in touch, he was Secretary of Mutant Affairs in DC.

Richard searched his memory banks. I only know him from his appointment to the UN for a few years ago. I don't remember anything about his retirement--

You were a little busy at the time.

Richard nodded silently even though he knew the action was wasted. So he can find a cure for Jason?

If there's a cure, he can find it or find someone who can.

If there was a cure? Richard didn't like the sound of that.

They arrived at Xavier's by six in the evening. The estate was huge, larger than Richard's own family spread. Property taxes must have been a headache, not to mention lawn care.

We have horses, Scott said.

Of course they did.

The helicopter landed right in front of the school on the circular driveway. A few kids ran up to the edge of the asphalt, obviously curious about the guests. Their jaws dropped when they saw Superman land beside it.

"Thanks," Richard felt compelled to say when his ride let him down. Superman just nodded.

The eldest of the kids-- a boy with dark, curly hair-- ran to the chopper doors as soon as they opened.

Artie? Richard heard Scott say. He felt the other man's shock as images of a very young version of the boy flashed through his head. In Scott's mind, Artie was no older than Jason.

How long have you been gone?

I... I don't know. I... Jean said... well, actually she never really confirmed anything, did she? Dammit.

Richard was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear some of those thoughts.

Elizabeth Braddock descended first, smiling quickly at Artie. "Is everything ready?"

The boy nodded and for a little while, the two of them just stood there staring at each other while Dr. McCoy and Superman lifted Jason's stretcher out. Finally, Artie signalled to the other kids who ran back into the main building yelling at the top of their lungs.

Richard let Scott lead the way to the clinic, too tired mentally and physically to care about how uncanny it was to walk through this place. It was like an extended bout of déja vu-- the dark panelled hallways, the mullioned windows at the top of a double staircase, the kids swarming the rooms. There were a few differences though: couches that Scott had never seen before, floor-length curtains, a bulletin board in the main entrance.

And the kids. He'd never seen these kids before.

"Mr. White, Ms. Lane."

Richard-Scott spun around. Scott faltered a little.

A woman-- Ororo, Scott supplied-- drove a wheelchair down the hall. Although her hair was completely white, she didn't look older than Richard himself.

A wheelchair? Scott said. What the hell--

Richard shook the excess confusion away and held his hand out to her. Her handshake was firm and dry, all business, but her face-- she looked like Scott felt.

"I'm sorry for staring," she said, finally releasing Richard's hand. "You... you resemble a very dear friend of ours. I'm very pleased to meet you both. And you too, Superman, although I wish there had been better circumstances. Hank will take Jason to the medlab downstairs; it is his domain after all and his assistant will take good care of him. Why don't we go to my office; I'm sure we have plenty to talk about."

"'Ro," Scott burst out.

The woman was taken aback. "Yes?"

"Ro, what the... where's the professor? Why is Hank in charge of the medlab? Where the hell is Jean?" Once Scott started talking, Richard couldn't make him shut up. His own panic added to Scott's. "What are you doing in a wheelchair?"

This time, Lois joined in the gaping. "Richard, do you know these people?"

"No," said Richard. "Yes," Scott said soon afterward.

"It's complicated," Richard, Scott, and Superman all chorused.

"All the more reason to go to my office." Ororo gestured to a long line of doors behind her to the double doors edged with tinted, patterned glass. In Scott's memories, this was Professor Xavier's office but it now had a plate proclaiming "Ororo Munroe, Headmaster" on a discrete brass panel.

Feeling like a very lost White Rabbit going down a spiralling rabbit hole, Richard-Scott followed.


Lois stared at the rich furnishings in Munroe's office. She was no expert but it didn't take a PhD to figure that it would take Ivy League tuition fees to have an office like this. Leather-bound books lined one wall while the rest were covered in a jungle of ferns, orchids, and various other green things that were so healthy they could probably move under their own power.

"Please have a seat," Munroe said as she wheeled around to the other side of a heavy oak table. "Can I offer some water or perhaps, lemonade? Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee," Richard said quickly. "Bring the pot and don't spare--"

"-- don't spare the grinds," Munroe ended quietly. She stared at him, searching. Truth be told, Lois didn't blame her. Richard had been acting strangely since his hospitalization but Lois had put that down to minor brain damage. "I think," said Munroe, "that it would be best if I tell you about our school, the services we provide and our mandate. Hopefully, you will be more at ease after my spiel."

"I could hardly be more uncomfortable," said Lois.

Munroe dipped her chin, a serene smile on her lips. She could be frighteningly Zen, Lois realised.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters began thirty years ago as a mentoring program for the growing number of mutants. Our founder, Charles Xavier, wanted to help mutants control their gifts in order to live as normal citizens and perhaps use their talents to help society. He had already been giving one-on-one guidance to a number of gifted children, but thought an environment where they would be surrounded by peers, by other mutants, would be beneficial to their growth and training. Mutation, you see, is highly connected to emotional and mental well-being as well as genetics. Over the years, we have grown in response to demand and provide not only education but a safe haven for those who have nowhere else to go."

"What of the terrorist rumours?" asked Superman.

Munroe's crossed fingers showed white knuckles for a moment. "We are a school, first and foremost. We do have a group that trains for self-defence but only because in some instances, we have to rescue our students from unpleasant situations."

"There was the Alcatraz incident six years ago," Lois said. "Reports came in from bystanders about a white-haired African-American who could fly."

She had to hand it to Munroe; she knew how to keep her face. "And did your sources happen to mention what this person was doing?"

"Aiding the army," Lois admitted.

"Not all mutants agree with our dream of co-existence," said Munroe. "There are a few factions who believe in mutant superiority. Others believe that the only way to co-exist is to have a separate mutant state, by choice or by force. There are humans who see mutants as a threat and those who see us as a step-down in evolution. And of course, there are those who would seek to be rid of mutants altogether."

She cleared her throat to speak again but a knock interrupted her. "It's me, darlin'."

"Come in, Logan."

The door opened to receive the helicopter pilot, a scruffy, muscular man with impressive mutton-shops. He pushed in a tea service, the delicate birds-eye maple and jade-glazed ceramics out of place with his appearance. Lois wondered what his role was in this place. Chauffeurs didn't have that menacing air unless they doubled as bodyguards. And if he was a bodyguard, who did he work for?

Closing the door behind him, Logan slid the tea cart between Richard's chair and hers, giving Superman a cursory glance. The lower part of the uniform seemed to amuse him the most. "Hank wanted me to tell the kid's folks that he's all settled in."

"How is he?" asked Richard.

"He isn't getting better," Logan answered. "But he's not getting worse either." He exchanged a look with Munroe, one that Lois recognized easily because she shared the exact same type of looks with both Clark and Richard. They were communicating in the way that only very close partners or lovers could.

Whatever the conversation, Logan settled behind Munroe's chair, resting a hand familiarly on the back of her wheelchair. Lovers, Lois quickly decided. You couldn't mistake that proprietary air the man had for Munroe: warning the other males away but confident in his position at the same time.

"What I will say now must not leave these grounds," continued Munroe. "It is for the safety of the students and the staff." She looked up at Superman. "If anyone were to discover some of this school's... extracurricular activities, they would shut us down at best and destroy us at worst."

"Destroy?" Superman repeated, one brow rising slightly.

"They've done it before," Logan said, his words sounding more like a growl. "You think we have reinforced, bullet-proof windows because we ran out of home reno ideas?"

"Bullet-proof windows?" This time Lois was the one repeating. "My god, what is this place?"

"It is a school," Munroe said firmly. "But sometimes, we are also something else." Logan gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. "Have you ever heard of the X-Men?"

 


* Medicalese translations
hyperpyrexia: exceptionally high fever
creatine kinase: enzymes found in skeletal and myocardial muscle and the brain; typically occur in elevated levels in the blood following injury to brain or muscle tissue
photophobia: intolerance or painful reaction to light
nuchal rigidity: rigidity in the neck, typically found in very high fevers, especially in cases of meningitis.
cerebral oedema: excess fluid in the brain

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