They came on a Thursday.
Thursday was the first time they broke the usual Tuesday rule.
Alaric, always professional, thought about mentioning it but chose not to.
The X-Men had their reasons for picking Thursday.
Scott liked to change his schedule for important events, believing predictability was risky.
Alaric noticed this, felt a brief respect, and moved on.
The plane landed at the marina.
The group then took a chartered boat.
The captain avoided eye contact as they boarded and didn’t seem excited, but he took the job for the money.
At half past two, the boat reached the anchorage, and four people stepped onto the dock.
Scott Summers led the way.
Alaric saw that his posture showed years of learning to manage a face he couldn’t fully use.
Today, Scott wore red-tinted glasses instead of his visor.
He carried a leather portfolio under his arm, holding it as if he had worked on it for a long time and still wasn’t sure it would succeed.
Jean Grey followed.
Alaric noticed she had chosen her clothes carefully: dark trousers, a soft sweater, and no jewelry.
She dressed to seem approachable, and Alaric appreciated that.
Ororo was third.
Alaric had read her file twice.
She was trained as a meteorologist, inherited leadership of a Kenyan region, and was known as one of the more politically skilled senior X-Men.
Meeting her felt different.
Right away, he recognized another sovereign like himself, someone truly connected to the land.
She nodded at him from the rocks.
He nodded back.
The fourth person was Logan.
Logan wasn’t technically on the official delegation list.
Hank had emailed Alaric the list the previous week.
It had only three names.
That morning at breakfast, Logan decided to come anyway.
He told Scott at six-fifteen in the kitchen at Westchester, while Scott drank his first coffee.
Scott considered saying no, but let him come.
Saying no usually caused more trouble.
So Logan was here.
He was wearing a flannel shirt.
He was carrying a six-pack of beer by the neck.
“Vane.” “Logan.” “Brought beer.” “I see that.” “Wasn’t sure if you had the kind I drink.” “What kind do you drink?” “The kind of man drinks.” “I’m not sure I’ve got that.” “Figured.” Logan stepped around Alaric and walked up the path to the porch.
He moved with an easy, confident stride, like someone who knew the area well and didn’t need help.
Alaric watched him go.
He turned to Scott.
“Director Summers.” “Mr.
Vane.
I apologize for the additional party.” “He brought beer.
I’ll forgive him.” “I’m sure you will.” He led them up the path, which was now well-worn.
Tobias had checked it with a level last month, and Amos had added new crushed shell where needed.
Today, the path was just right.
About a third of the way up, Ororo, walking beside Alaric, made a small approving sound.
“You leveled the path.” “Ah, yes.” “The whole path.
To within a millimeter.” “I declared it so.
The actual leveling was Amos’s work.
He did the practical part.
The declaration handles the maintenance.” “Why?” “For a friend who comes in a wheelchair.
He hasn’t commented on the path.
I haven’t asked him to.” She looked at him briefly, and her face changed as it had at the dock.
It was the look of someone realizing they had met the kind of person they hoped for, but didn’t expect.
She did not, then or later, say what the small adjustment was about.
She did not need to.
— The formal conversation lasted about an hour.
Scott had the X-Men’s formal proposal in the leather portfolio.
It was a standing mutual defense treaty drafted with SHIELD’s legal division.
The document had the X-Men’s endorsement and included reciprocal commitments.
According to literature on small sovereignty diplomacy, these were the most a young state could expect from a major defense group.
Alaric read the proposal on the porch with Scott across from him and a cup of tea between them.
He read it carefully.
He noticed the writing was much better than the brief Voss had written for SHIELD.
Whoever wrote this had been thorough.
The clauses were clear, and the promises were real.
He set the document down.
“Director Summers.” “This is an excellent draft.” “Thank you.” “I’m going to counteroffer.” Scott had expected this, just not so quickly.
His face showed a slight, unsurprised reaction.
“Right.” “What I’m willing to offer is the following.
Any X-Man, by name, can enter Vantage at any time without prior notice, as a private citizen, regardless of operational context.
While that X-Man is on Vantage, threats to their person are treated by the laws of this country as threats to any resident.
The reverse isn’t true.
I make no commitment, in this offer, to send any aid or support outside of these borders, to support any X-Men operation in any context, or to coordinate Vantage’s policy with the X-Men’s policy in any future scenario.
The arrangement is asymmetric.
I’m offering safety, not alliance?” Scott was quiet for a long moment.
“You’ve thought about this.” “Yeah.” “You don’t want a treaty.” “I don’t.
A treaty would turn Vantage into a faction.
As soon as that happens, every other faction starts planning around it.
I want Vantage to be a place.
Places aren’t the same as factions.” “That’s a fine distinction.” “It is.
And it’s the distinction I’m committed to, professionally.” Scott looked from the document to the porch.
He glanced at Jean, who stood at the porch rail with her arms crossed.
Her face was calm and controlled, the way it was when she wasn’t reading the room.
He looked back at Alaric.
“I’ll take the counteroffer back to the team,” he said.
“Of course.
Take whatever time you need.” “I think we’ll accept it.” “You don’t have to commit today.” “I think we’ll accept it today.
I want to think about it overnight.
I’ll have an answer by tomorrow morning.
The answer is going to be yes.” “All right.” He folded the proposal back into the portfolio.
He did not, immediately, get up.
After a moment, he said, “The protections clause in your public document.” “Specifically, the clause for genetic expression.” “You wrote that very carefully.” “I tried.” “It’s going to mean a great deal to a number of people I’m responsible for.” “I hope so.” “I’m not going to ask you why you wrote it.” “Yeah, that’s it.” “Some other person on my team is going to ask you.
Not today.
Some other day.
You’ll answer them honestly when they do.” “I’ll do that.” He stood.
He held out a hand.
Alaric stood.
He shook it.
“Mr.
Vane.” “Director.” “Until tomorrow.” “Until tomorrow.” Scott went to find Logan, who was, at that moment, standing at the eastern boundary of the residential area with his claws extended, looking thoughtfully at the air in front of him.
— The conversation Alaric had with Jean Grey, alone, in the garden, while Scott, Logan, and Ororo did the rest of the visit, was not a conversation he had been expecting.
She had asked for it.
She had asked at the porch when Scott had gone to find Logan, with the direct phrasing of a person who did not waste anyone’s time.
Could we talk for a few minutes?
He had said yes.
She had said the garden.
He had taken her to the garden.
Dara was not in the garden.
She had gone to the community building earlier with her notebook and tea.
Alaric suspected Dara had read Jean’s mood, not the morning’s.
Jean stopped at the herb row.
She looked at the small wooden tags Dara had whittled.
She looked at the green that Dara was growing all around the tags today.
She turned to him.
“I haven’t read you.” “All right.” “I haven’t read you for a few minutes.
I want you to know.” “I’d like to read to you, with your permission, briefly, before the rest of the visit ends.
Not the surface.
The deeper register.
The shape of who you are.
I want to come back with a sense of who you are.
I’ll report what I find honestly to my colleagues.
I won’t share it beyond that.
The reading itself will leave no trace.” He took about ten seconds to consider.
He thought about it for about ten seconds.
“Got it.” “Yes?” “You don’t want to think about it longer.” “I’ve been thinking about whether to allow this since I read your file.
Before you arrived.
I had decided yes if you asked.
You’re asking.
Yes.” She closed her eyes.
He stood very still.
It didn’t feel like much.
It wasn’t the dramatic telepathic experience stories describe.
Instead, it felt like someone was quietly sitting across from him in a calm room.
It was gentle attention, not probing, just present.
It lasted about five seconds.
He never felt intruded upon.
She opened her eyes.
She looked at him for a long moment.
“Mr.
Vane.” “I hear you.” “You’re exactly what you appear to be.” “All right.” “That’s not a thing I’ve said about a person in a very long time.” “Sounds fine.” “You’re also, underneath that, slightly lonely.
In one way.
You’re not lonely the way an isolated person is lonely.
You’re lonely the way a person is lonely who has met one or two specific people whose absence you’ve started to feel, even though you’ve only spent an amount of time in their presence.” He did not immediately answer.
“Thank you for telling me.” “You’re welcome.” “You’re not going to tell me who.” “You know who.” “Sounds fine.” She looked at him a little longer.
“You’re also—and I’m telling you this because I think you might not realize it, though it wouldn’t surprise me if you do—you’re the most precisely worded person I’ve ever read.” “What does that mean?” “It means the words you use, even in your own thoughts, are the same ones you’d use if you were defending them in a courtroom.
You’ve built your inner world the way you’ve built your country.
From the inside, I can see what your friend—and mine—Charles saw from the outside: you’re a very specific kind of careful.” “That sounds like you’re accusing me of being lawyerly.” “I’m.” “Fair.” She laughed, the kind of laugh that comes from someone who has spent thirty years as the most powerful person in most rooms and stopped trying to prove it long ago.
“Thank you for letting me,” she said.
“Thank you for asking.” “I think we’re going to be friends.” “I’d like that.” “I would, too.” They walked back to the porch.
— Scott found Alaric on the porch about twenty minutes later.
Logan was already on the porch by then.
He had put his claws away.
While Alaric was in the garden with Jean, Logan opened a beer with his thumbnail and finished it, then opened a second and drank it more slowly.
Now, with a third beer, he sat in Alaric’s chair with his feet up on the porch rail, looking relaxed and satisfied, like someone who had just learned he could do something he’d been curious about.
He nodded at Alaric.
“Vane.” “Logan.” “Hell of a wall you got.” “Thank you.” “Tested it.” “I noticed.” “Doesn’t bend?” “No.” “Couldn’t push the claws through?” “No.” “Tried two ways.” “How did you try the second way?” He grinned.
“I’m not telling you.” “Beer?” “Yes, please.” He handed him one.
Alaric sat on the porch rail.
Scott stood behind him, leather portfolio under his arm, watching them with the tired look of someone who had been the responsible one for forty years and still wasn’t used to dealing with Logan.
“Mr.
Vane,” Scott said.
“My team has decided.” “Already?” “While you were in the garden.
The decision was easy.
Yes.” “Right, then.” “I’ll draft the formal acceptance and have it on your desk by Monday.” “Take whatever time.” “Monday is fine.” “That’s the plan.” He handed Logan the document.
Logan put the document on his lap.
Logan did not, particularly, read it.
Logan opened a fourth beer and held it out toward Alaric.
“Vane.” “Yes.” “I’m gonna come visit.” “You’re welcome.” “Not on the official trips.” “That’s the part I figured.” “Just to drink beer on your porch.” “You’re welcome to do that.” “Good.” He clinked his beer, lightly, against Alaric’s.
“To the wall,” Logan said.
“To the wall.” They drank.
Behind them, Jean walked up to the porch and stood at the rail next to Scott.
Ororo came up the path from the residential area, where she had spent most of the last hour alone.
She put her hands in her coat pockets and stopped at the bottom of the porch steps.
“Mr.
Vane.” “Storm.” “You have done a lot here.” “I’m trying.” “My country and your country are very different countries.
I want to acknowledge that.” “Sounds right.” “My country is one that many people come from.
Yours is a country that many people will come to.
They’re different problems, but also the same problem at opposite ends of the scale.” “Sounds right.” “I’ll be in correspondence.” “I’d like that.” She nodded once.
She did not, then, get on the porch.
She turned and walked back down to the path, where the chartered boat captain had come up to indicate that the chartered boat was going to need to leave fairly soon.
Scott followed her down.
Logan finished his beer in two long pulls, stood up, set the empty bottle very carefully on the porch rail next to Alaric’s, and clapped Alaric on the shoulder.
“Vane.” “Logan.” “I’ll see you.” “You will.” He walked down to the boat.
Jean stayed on the porch for another minute.
“Come visit,” he said.
“It will.” She walked down to the boat.
— They left.
Alaric stood on the porch with three empty bottles and one half-empty cup of tea.
He stood there for a long time.
After a pause, Dara came up from the community building.
“They’re gone.” “They’re gone.” “Logan tested the wall.” “He did.” “How many ways?” “Two.” “He’s going to come back.” “I think I like him.” “He brings beer.” “I noticed.” “Get the bottles.
We’ll recycle them on the next supply run.” “Already doing that.” She went into the kitchen with the bottles.
That evening, Alaric slowly walked the perimeter.
He thought about the word Jean used for what she sensed in him, and how she hadn’t named the absence she felt.
He remembered Logan’s grin and Ororo’s nod from the rocks.
Mostly, he thought about Scott, the drafted treaty, the quick yes to the counteroffer, and the respect of a man who had spent forty years at this work and could see someone else who would be doing it, in their own way, for a long time.
The walk took him an hour.
He came back to the house.
He picked up the journal in the kitchen.
The X-Men came.
Logan brought beer.
Ororo nodded at me from the rocks the way one sovereign nods at another.
.
Jean asked permission to read to me, kindly read to me, and told me a true thing.
Scott and I made a deal in two minutes that I had been thinking about for two months.
Carol has not been here for some time.
I am not going to write about that.
He closed the journal.
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