The sound of a phone being slammed down caught his attention. He was lying on what seemed to be a cot. Even though he was awake he did not dare open his eyes. The rough feel of the material against his face told him that they still had the visor. Scott sighed. His hands were still handcuffed behind him. Preferring to stay motionless, he used his ears to tell him what was going on. Not that he really cared.

“I can’t find the SOB anywhere. I’m about ready to get a general on the phone.” Someone was very angry.

A small snicker could be heard near Scott and he realized there was someone standing close to him. There were rustlings and sounds of footsteps going back and forth across the room. A faint sound of the squeal of brakes came to Scott’s ears. A door opened and a faint gust of air hit his face. Heavy footsteps entered the room.

“Who the hell are you?” said the angry voice.

“Who the hell is asking?” This voice was deeper and very hoarse and Scott wished the man would clear his throat.

“Lt. Simpson.”

“Well, lieutenant, my name is Captain John Booker. I’ve been ordered by my c.o. to report to this Army base for some unknown reason. Since I am supposed to be on furlough, I can’t imagine why.” Hoarse voice did not seem to be amused and Scott could just imagine the glare that went with that statement.

There was a silence. Angry voice spoke up again, but with an entirely new tone. “What did you say your name was?”

“John P. Booker.”

“I’ll be damned. That’s our c.o.’s name. I put in a call to find him and the damned army sends me the wrong man.”

“Look carefully, Simpson. They not only sent you the wrong man, they sent the wrong team.”

“You’re a fucking jarhead!”

“Since my c.o. is preventing the fucking part, at the moment, we’ll leave it as jarhead, and proud of it.”

“A Marine. They send me a damned Marine. Can you beat that, Private?”

The snickering again occurred near Scott.

Hoarse voice spoke again. “Since you don’t need me and my c.o. was pulling a fast one, I think I’ll just mosey on out the door.”

“Hold up there, jughead.”

“Jarhead.”

“Whatever. Maybe you can do us a favor. Come over here.” Footsteps moved closer to Scott. “You see this yahoo? We caught him on the edge of our property. He won’t give a name, has no ID, and won’t answer any questions. Hell, he might even be sleeping through all this.”

“So you think he’s a spy?” Booker chuckled. Scott wished he would clear his throat. “Doesn’t look like it to me.”

“Me neither, but he was caught on military property. You know the orders lately, any trespasser will be assessed for terrorist potential by the c.o. Ours isn’t here and we can’t figure out what to do with this idiot. It looks like just a simple case of wandering on the property. If he’d just cooperate, we’d turn him loose. It’s not like he did anything.”

“Where’s your c.o.?”

“Unknown.” Simpson made it sound like that was a common occurrence.

“Let him go and sweep it under the rug.”

“I’d love to. Can you take him to the nearest town and ditch him?”

“Now wait just a minute…”

“Come on. Do the army a big favor.”

“I don’t do favors. Get one of your men to do it.”

“If you take him, I can honestly say I don’t know where he went.” There was a pause. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You’re a nice honest Joe, aren’t ya? What kind of report will you file this under? What the hell, okay, nearest town then I’m gone.”

Simpson moved closer. Scott could hear his breathing. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and roughly push him.

“Get up.”

Scott struggled to sit upright, but the handcuffs made it difficult. A pair of strong hands helped him up to a seated position.

Booker’s voice grew even courser. “What happened to his face?”

“One of our boys got a little excited. No harm done.”

“Why are his eyes closed?”

“We took his glasses off of him and he refuses to open them. Says light hurts them.”

“He may turn around and file a suit against the Army.”

“That’s another reason I want to shove this under the rug as fast as I can. You won’t file against me if I let you go, will you?” Simpson tried to make his voice more pleasant and failed miserably.

Scott assumed this was directed at him. “No. I won’t file.”

“Good boy.”

Something inside Scott wanted to growl, but the rest of him really didn’t give a shit so he stayed silent.

They sat him in a vehicle and seat-belted him in. Assuming he was watched, Scott didn’t move. After what seemed like ten minutes, the driver door opened and someone else sat in the vehicle and turned over the engine.

“Hang on,” said the hoarse voice of Booker. Scott felt them start forward and braced his feet on the floor.

---

They rode in silence for a time. Finally the vehicle pulled to the right and slowed, coming to a stop at a slight angle.

“We aren’t near a town. We’re just shy of the base back there. I was told I could take the handcuffs off now.” Booker’s voice was still hoarse and Scott was beginning to find it was getting under his skin.

He leaned forward and felt warm hands unlock the bracelets. He brought his hands forward and began to rub his sore wrists. There was a long silence. Finally Scott couldn’t take it anymore.

“Something on your mind, jarhead?” He knew that lashing out was irrational. This man had nothing to do with the way he felt, but he really didn’t care.

“Not really. You seem to have something on your mind.”

“You could say that.”

“Well,” Booker paused, “I really don’t give a shit what your problem is, but if you need to unload, maybe you should. Sometimes a stranger is better than a friend.”

Scott grimaced. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sometimes I wish I was blind.”

“I thought you were.”

“I was, but in a different sense. Man’s inhumanity to man can really be a shocker, you know?”

There was a chuckle. “I’m afraid that’s something the military deals with on a day-by-day basis.”

“Have you ever seen an angry mob tear apart a little girl just because she was different?” There was a catch in his voice and he stopped speaking.

A long silence followed. He heard Booker sigh.

“Let me guess. You feel you could have done something if you had been there and you hate the mob and you hate yourself for letting the little girl down.” Scott nodded. “Let me tell you a little story.

“A few years back there was an African country where two powers were at war with each other and common people were caught in the middle and they were starving. As part of a peacekeeping force, the American military was there to try to get food to the people and help end the war. In a raid to try to get hold of certain people who could give information to end the mess, Americans were caught in a hostile area and the people that were there to be saved ended up shooting down two Blackhawks and carving a convoy into shreds. This angry mob moved in and killed as many soldiers as they could, dragging some of the bodies through the streets in celebration. For every soldier they killed, those people lost probably close to 500 men, women, and children of their own.” Booker paused.

Scott cocked his head. “And the moral is?”

There was a grunt and a sigh. “No moral, no lesson, just a bad situation that got worse through misunderstanding, fear, and difference of opinion. People were killed and the ones who survived have to deal with it and go on. You’re looking for absolution and I’m not a priest. There aren’t any easy answers.”

“I’ve always thought I could handle something like this. I’m falling apart because I keep seeing that little body.”

“You don’t know what you can handle until you go through something. I heard once that coroners crack jokes as they work on bodies, but they don’t joke when there’s a child’s body in the room.”

“You’re saying it could get to anybody.”

“It would get to me and I’ve seen a lot of shit.”

Scott passed a hand across his face. ‘I wish I had my specs.”

“Oh, hang on.” He heard some movement. “I snagged these on the way out. I’m guessing they’re yours.”

Scott held out his hands and felt a familiar object fall into them. He put them on and adjusted them, tentatively opening his eyes. He saw road, sunshine, trees, and sky. Everything was fine. He turned and looked at the man next to him in the jeep. The man was about his size, maybe a bit more muscular, and had similar hair color and skin tone. He wore dark glasses and fatigues with the sleeves rolled up. Clean-shaven and sporting a military cut under the cap, he looked like any other soldier. The man grinned and Scott was struck by how young he looked.

“Can you see me?”

“Yeah.” Scott held out his hand and they shook. Booker had a firm grip. “I think you made your point and I’m grateful.”

“We all have things to be grateful for. I happen to have a pretty good job and a beautiful woman to share my life with. I’m alive and the world’s still spinning and the birds are still singing. To be honest, I was dealing with the same kind of stuff you were. I was on my way to cheer up a friend so I’d stop feeling sorry for myself. I think you helped me as much as I helped you. Get things into focus, I mean.”

Scott nodded. “I think we have the same things to be grateful for and I should be getting back to them.”

“Just remember that nothing’s black and white and you aren’t expected to understand or fix everything.”

“Good advice.” Scott looked around and realized he was near where he had parked his bike. He hopped out of the jeep and stretched his legs. “I’ll be fine from here.”

Booker chuckled hoarsely. “Don’t let them pick you up again. That jerk-off Simpson might let another grunt tap dance on your face.”

“I won’t. I can handle myself now.” He watched Booker drive away and walked through the woods to his bike. The birds were singing in the trees. He felt sad that the little girl would not hear them, but he realized he could be there for someone else and maybe someone else after that. Booker was right, you could lose some battles to ignorance and fear, but you could rise above them and keep going. Answers, though, weren’t always going to be easy. He kicked the bike and gunned the engine. He needed to get back where he belonged.

---

Logan was lounging in a chair in the library when Marie walked in.

“You just get back?” She sat down on the knee he patted.

Logan nodded as he rubbed her back. “Sorry I was gone so long. I had some thinking to do.”

“Scott got back a few days ago. What did you two run into? The professor said it was supposed to be a routine pickup of a mutant runaway.”

“She never made it. A street gang found her and killed her because she didn’t look normal. I’m glad Ororo and Jean weren’t there. It was pretty bad.”

She leaned over and kissed his hairy cheek. “Ah’m sorry.” She rubbed her fingers through his hair and he clutched her to him for a moment, then let her go. She frowned.

“Did you get a hair cut? It looks a little shorter for some reason.”

He grinned. “Must be your imagination, darlin’.”