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Irritated a little that no one else seemed to want to answer the phone, Charles put down his pen and lifted the receiver. "Xavier Institute."
"Would those be the erudite tones of the accomplished Professor Charles Xavier himself?"
Charles felt his lips twitch at the extravagant good humour in the deep voice at the other end of the line. "Yes. Yes, they would. How can I help you, Mr...?"
"McCoy. Dr Henry McCoy, to be exact, and to be exact is something for which I strive when talking to a fellow academic. I'm-"
"The internationally renowned biochemist and expert on genetic mutation, yes. I've followed your published papers quite avidly, Doctor."
"And I yours, Professor, which I have found to possess both rigor and perspicacity. In fact, I'm calling about one of your recent articles. I wondered if you'd be prepared to meet up whilst I'm visiting this fair state of New York."
Charles smiled. "I would very much enjoy an opportunity to discuss your theories at length, Doctor." Despite being experts in strongly interrelated fields, they had never managed to meet. The symposiums and conferences Charles had attended, Dr McCoy had not. "Which article was it that particularly interested you?"
"The text in question appeared in the Spring edition of The New England Journal of Genetic Medicine."
Ah, his overview and analysis of theories concerning the dramatic rise in viable human mutation. "Were my conclusions significant to your own work in some way?"
There was a low rumble of a laugh; it seemed strangely inconsistent with the photographs Charles had seen of the young and unarguably brilliant scientist. "It's more that my recent work is significant to your conclusions, Professor. I seem to have gone some way towards disproving your assertion that the cause for the recent explosion in extreme mutation is not biochemical in nature. For which, I can only apologise."
"Really? Well, I'm certainly interested to hear more about that. Would you care to come here? I could offer lunch, or if you wished to stay longer, a comfortable room for a night or two. We have full laboratory facilities of course, and-"
"An offer worthy of your fine reputation, Professor, and at another time, a tour of your unique school would be just what this doctor ordered himself. But alas, miserable circumstance compels a request that you come to me. I have... a certain level of difficulty with travel currently."
That was strange. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I can certainly ask one of my students to drive me to wherever you're staying."
"Those selfsame circumstances of the miserable kind are forcing me to reside at my mother's at this point in time. Rather regressive of me, I agree." Charles could perceive embarrassed humour in the man's voice. "But she won't disturb us while you're here."
It was inevitable, Charles thought, that his mind would imagine a serious accident behind Dr McCoy's evident housebound status, when really, it could be something as simple as a broken leg. He lifted his pen again and located some paper. "And her address?"
***
"Henry's out in his... shed." Edna McCoy was radiating an anxiety and embarrassment far beyond what the situation seemed to deserve. Charles politely declined to probe for the reasons.
"Shed?" Scott asked from behind Charles' chair.
"It's converted!" Mrs McCoy said defensively, as if Scott had been challenging her. "There's a small fortune's worth of equipment in there. He had his own power line connected, and... He just likes us to call it his..."
"Shed," Scott supplied helpfully. Charles could sense his amusement.
Mrs McCoy sighed and led them through a large and well-appointed kitchen to the back door, which she opened. "It's at the end of the path," she told them, rather pointlessly as the 'shed' was obvious by virtue of being the only building out there. The array of antennas, wires and dishes attached to the roof also strongly suggested a use for the structure beyond storing spades and lawnmowers. "Will the-" she flapped her hand in Charles direction, not meeting his eyes, "device be able to get across the paving?"
Charles didn't bother smiling at her since she wasn't going to see the expression while staring over his left shoulder as she was. "The paving appears even enough." The step down from the house was another matter, of course, but Scott could help him.
"I'm afraid I can only offer a choice between Cuban and Santos beans for your coffee. Freshly ground, of course. Or we have tea -- English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Jasmine, Chinese Green, and a range of herb-"
"Yes, thank you, Mrs McCoy," Charles interrupted. "We've only recently eaten. We'll go out and introduce ourselves to Henry now, if you don't mind."
She frowned deeply, but said only, "He's waiting for you. He..." She turned to her cupboards, rummaging with jerky movements through the packets and containers. "Henry's a good man, Professor Xavier."
"Of course." Frowning himself, Charles gestured to Scott to help him over the step into the backyard.
The 'shed' was a large metal and wooden structure, more the size of a small barn than a garden shed. Glinting in the bright afternoon sun, a metal plaque on the door proclaimed that intruders would be 'subjected to myriad excruciating tortures of infinite cruelty and Boschian variety, or alternatively, boffed on the head.'
Chuckling, Scott raised his hand to knock on the door, but the door creaked open as soon as his knuckles hit, revealing a darkened laboratory within.
"Come inside, Professor Xavier," rumbled a deep voice from the shadow. "I'm beholden to the vagaries of time and interstate for your safe arrival at these lacklustre shores."
Peering inside cautiously -- Charles would daresay, protectively -- Scott said, "Lack-lighting shores, anyway. Is there some reason it's so dark in here, Doctor?"
"You would be Mr Summers?" said Henry McCoy's voice. "I wondered if it would be you whom the Professor brought along. Warm salutations to you too. I apologise for the subdued lighting, but I'm indulging in a small experiment. So if you wouldn't mind coming in quickly and shutting the door...?"
Scott looked questioningly at Charles, who nodded. They had come all this way; there was no point in delaying out here. There was, his surface scan revealed, some intent to conceal in McCoy's strange behaviour, but no malice or promise of harm.
The inside felt cool after the heat of the June sun. Charles waited patiently for his eyes to adjust. Henry McCoy was a large figure at the far end of a long aisle of laboratory benches. Shadowy things covered every available surface; Charles gained an impression of microscopes, centrifuges and open journals. "What's the nature of your experiment, Dr McCoy?"
"Call me Hank, please. 'Dr McCoy' has been the cause of far too much in the way of poor quality parody over the years -- granted, much of it self-generated. Let me reassure you, Mr Summers, the chairs, though hard and plastic -- and undoubtedly in need of some of my mother's deadly Pledge-and-elbow-grease curative -- do not come complete with spring-loaded spikes of any kind."
Scott laughed. "I'm just here to help the Professor. Pay me no attention."
"As you wish." The silhouette of Hank McCoy loomed a little closer. He really did seem to be a far larger man than his photographs had suggested. "The nature of my experiment, Professor Xavier, is simplicity itself, since as of yet I have no supposition to test beyond 'what if?'"
"What if...?" Charles prompted, his curiosity aroused. He could pry, of course, but that didn't seem necessary just yet.
"Well, for example, what if I walked closer to you? Close enough for you to see me?" And McCoy did just that.
Alarmed, Charles looked up at a huge and muscular biped form, covered in dense dark fur. It had a bestial head and rather sharp looking white fangs, which Charles could see very well as Dr Henry McCoy was smiling. Charles was grateful he had his powers to confirm both that this peeling back of lip was a smile, and that this was still whom it was meant to be.
Scott stepped forward immediately, stopping a little in front of Charles, his fingers to his temple, ready to lift his ruby-lensed 'sunglasses'.
"A late mutation?" Charles asked with forced calm. Scott, he knew, was holding back, awaiting Charles' word.
"Self-inflicted," Hank McCoy said ruefully, "I've developed a particular serum as part of my research into the biochemistry of SHMs -- Significant Human Mutations." The explanation was offered for Scott's sake, it seemed. "And I made the cardinal -- nay, the very pontiff -- error of testing it upon myself. I know, I know. It's very hard to believe I have an IQ that breaks the scales, isn't it?"
"Well," Charles started, having no idea how to tactfully answer that.
Fortunately, McCoy continued on. "It is rather a salutary tale, is it not? To be taught first hand the 'thorough and primitive duality of man'. I've always been a flag-waver for mutant rights, as I hope you know from my work, but I believe my days of being the networks' expert a la mode on mutant genetics may just be over."
"Expert... with ice cream?" Scott asked in confusion, his hand dropping down from his head again.
McCoy laughed, but there was a bitterness underlying his low voice. "If so, I believe I'm no longer vanilla or even 'Strawberry Mallow'. And the first person to suggest 'Chunky Monkey' wins today's special clonk-on-the-head prize."
Scott shut his mouth.
After showing his teeth again, McCoy continued. "And so Professor, I have asked you here under flagrant false pretences, I'm afraid. I have opened Pandora's curious little box, and now I can't seem to fit it all back inside again."
"Well," Charles said slowly, assessing the situation, "there is much you have yet to tell us obviously, and so it is hard to be able to say exactly what help we could offer. But at the very least, my school could provide you with a haven perhaps more conducive to your research."
"Oh, I don't know, Professor," Scott said with a small smile. "I think the Shed has a lot going for it."
McCoy wisely ignored Scott. "With gratitude and enthusiasm, I accept your offer, Professor. Will I be bunking with the X-Men?" Charles tensed, and Scott's fingers returned to his temple. McCoy took a step back. "Oops. Faux pas. I wasn't meant to know about them, was I?"
"How do you know that name?" Charles asked, feeling somewhat nonplussed.
"I..." McCoy sighed and turned away, moving to a bench. He returned with an open laptop, which he offered to Charles.
Taking it, Charles reviewed the opened documents, realising quickly and with a sense of horror that they were William Stryker's mutant data files. "Where did you get these?"
McCoy waved his huge paws about nervously. "Oh, a friend of a friend of a second cousin twice removed's priest knew someone in the know. You know how these things are. Someone owed me a favour. A big favour. A really big favour... oh, and Professor?"
"Yes?" Charles knew his voice was stern, but seeing these files was not something likely to put him in a good frame of mind. Who else had access to them?
There was an almost audible whoosh of air as McCoy dropped to his knees directly in front of Charles; from this close, Charles could see that the fur was a deep indigo blue. McCoy held his arms wide. "Consider the door to my mind open, sir, the welcome mat brushed and a roaring fire in the hearth. I mean no harm to you and yours. On the contrary, I'm hoping that I-"
"-will be asked to join the X-Men," Charles completed, having taken the invitation to pry immediately it had been offered.
McCoy bowed his huge head. "I find myself suddenly unemployable within academic circles; I can't imagine why. Wouldn't you have thought every facility worth its credentials would be fighting for a furry mascot that can not only walk and talk, but can actually think? And while I will certainly have a lot to learn about teamwork, I would submit with a song in my heart and a bounce in my leathery in-step to any training your fearless team leader-" he smiled at Scott "- would require from me."
"Pay's not great," Scott said. "And they call me 'the slave-driver'."
"I have savings," McCoy told him. "And I have stamina coming out of my pointy blue ears."
Charles laughed, his deeper probing into Hank's psyche having put him at ease. "It's provisional, of course," he said.
The other two looked questioningly at him.
"Welcome to the X-Men, Hank McCoy."