X-Men: CSI

[x-dominion.livejournal.com]

Garrison finds Scott with a somewhat interesting proposition from Fred Duncan.



"You know, flying commercial might be considered a new training
exercise for the X-Men. After years of traveling around in a private
owned stealth plane, this exercise is about teaching you how to endure
seven hours in a too small, badly padded seat that smells like ten
thousand miles of stale beer farts, while a child screams in your ear
and the only food available appears to have broken the laws of reality
by having no organic components whatsoever. I have a feeling a lot of
them would fail the first two or three times." Kane said, walking into
the workstation area of the Blackbird hanger. He ignored the skeletal
frame of the plane being constructed, his own mechanical knowledge
limited to car engines, and dropped a coffee in front of where Scott
sat tinkering with a component that Kane assumed was either required
to stay in the air, or was a cleverly designed icemaker.

Scott rolled his eye, just a little. "Don't tempt me," he said, and
pondered the coffee for a moment before he decided he'd just finish
what he was doing. He reached for another screwdriver, instead. "It's
bad enough taking Jean on a commercial flight. Telepaths get twitchy
when trapped in enclosed spaces with loads of irritable people."

"Not just telepaths, eh." Kane took a sip from his own mug, leaning
against the edge of the workstation. "We miss anything while in
India?"

"Not much," Scott said, tossing the screwdriver aside and selecting
another. He nodded his head at the plane. "It's sort of what happens
when you can't really go anywhere. You don't wind up doing much."

"You could get one of those big utility vans, paint it all black with
a red trim, and a big X on the side. The X-Van!" Kane shook his head
and stared into his coffee. "Unfortunately, that would lead to a toy
line or something, and then there's the fallout over merchandising
rights, a member of the team gets photographed in Vegas with a pound
of coke and two transvestite hookers, and we end up doing mall
openings in Branson, Missouri. You ever been to Branson? Scary place."

"I don't vacation much," Scott muttered, half-in-amusement,
half-grimly. "What can I do for you, Garrison? Since you haven't asked
to be put to work..."

"Funny you should mention that. I've actually been asked by my other
boss for a favour." Garrison took another sip from his mug, swirling
the contents as he talked. "Fred Duncan's getting a little worried.
Mutant related crime is up this year, like every year of the last ten.
Reason being, of course, more mutants. Trouble is that Duncan's office
is in the centre of all of that, and it's becoming obvious how far the
FBI's forensic teams have to go to adapt to the possibilities that a
mutant suspect or tracking the effects of the use of mutant powers at
a crime scene have to go. They've been trying to develop new
techniques, but, well, it's essentially having to recreate the field
from the ground up."

"Not my area of expertise, but I can certainly see Duncan's problem."

"Well, India kind of rammed the point home, that without real methods
to not only identify the use of mutant powers, but also to be able to
analyze it to help indicate elements like control and intent, a lot of
mutant crime ends up guess work. When it is some unfortunate
manifestation that caused a kid to burn down his house and kill his
family, and when is it that Johnny is an evil little bastard and
figures he can get away it? He doesn't have an answer to that yet, but
he does have an idea." Kane put the cup down and leaned forward. "For
a number of reasons, the staff in this mansion represents the single
best trained group of specialists on the manifestation and effects of
mutant powers. Duncan wants to be able to borrow us when he needs to."

"We've been on-call to the FBI for years, more or less," Scott said,
making a series of meticulous adjustments to the piece of equipment on
his lap. "I don't see anything too different about this - it'd just be
branching out. People like Moira have consulted on cases like your
hypothetical one before."

"This is a little different, just because he wants people on the
scene, in an unofficial capacity. Dr. MacTaggart , Dr. Grey, even the
Professor all have a public reputation as experts, which justifies any
involvement. He'll provide us access to the scene, information
gathered so far, even limited access to suspects and agents on the
scene. Whatever we come up with goes through me back to him and the
lead investigator, who will be the only other person aware of our
existence." Kane tapped the table. "This is the part that gets a
little tricky. Something goes wrong, we screw up or somehow compromise
the investigation, there's no protection he can offer us in return.
Some of those kinds of mistakes carry pretty stuff penalties, eh?"

Scott raised his eyes from his work, gazed at Garrison for a moment,
then gave a one-shouldered shrug and a nod. "Be clear about that to
anyone you recruit for one of these situations, then," he said
equably. "Though your teammates are used to a lack of assurances - I
doubt that'll be a deterrent. It's just a different set of risks,
which you should make sure they understand. All I'd ask personally,"
he said, setting the screwdriver aside and picking up the coffee, "is
that you keep me in the loop, and you don't cripple my combat
capability at any point. If any of these cases draws off enough people
to make us unable to respond effectively to Magneto trying to blow up
a city, we may have to sit down and reevaluate. Unlikely, I know, but
I like to hedge my bets." He smiled faintly and took a sip of the
coffee.

"I think Fred understands where our priorities come in. As for
everyone else." Kane took a sip and grinned at Scott over the top of
the mug. "I'll tell them it'll be just like an episode of CSI, and end
up having to fight off volunteers and listen to people argue who gets
stuck being David Caruso."

"Duct tape," Scott said. "I keep a roll handy every time we're in the field."