Scott Summers wasn't really concerned when the incoming Blackbird didn't respond to first hails. Jean could be contrary that way sometimes. But when the plane arrived at the mansion, then just hovered over the open hanger, clearly on automatic pilot, he became worried.

//Professor?// he called along their link, standing outside the mansion steps, staring up at the hovering plane. //Are they all right?//

//Get that plane down now, Cyclops!// the Professor's answer was immediate and colored with anxious concern. That sparked him into instant action.

Racing inside and down the levels to the fortified control bunker just off the hanger, he input and sent his personal override codes. He shut down the auto pilot cautiously and set the jet down in the concealed hanger by remote. By then, the Professor himself had arrived in the control bunker, along with the other students. But he firmly shooed the rest of the team out, ignoring their curious protests.

"This did not go as I had anticipated, apparently Miss Braddock was in worse shape than our brief contact indicated." The Professor stared through the reinforced viewing window at the now silent jet, a hint of apprehension showing on his normally serene face.

"What do you mean?" Scott demanded as he moved swiftly through the post-flight safety shutdowns. The Professor shot him a measuring look.

"Perhaps you are the best one to assist here after all, Scott," he said enigmatically. "You will need your mental shields at full force from now on. Don't drop them for anything, even Jean, until I can isolate her."

"What's happened in there?" Scott asked, shooting a concerned look at the still silent plane as he obediently strengthened his mental shields.

"Elizabeth Braddock was only a latent telepath. Recent trauma brought her powers to the fore. And she has little ability, it is now clear, to control herself. I warn you, this won't be pretty." Xavier's face was stern. "Open the doors now, Scott."

Apprehensive, he cycled the lock, leading the way into the hanger bay, hearing only the sharp pings and groans of the engines and airframe as they cooled from flight. Xavier's chair rolled in near silence behind him. He reached the jet, popping the manual release on the door and muscling the door open.

From inside came a brief, tearing cry, like a moan or a sob. Pushing the door fully open, he climbed swiftly inside. The sight that met him in the cockpit shocked him.

A beautiful woman, with long, flowing lavender hair and creamy pale skin was lying naked on the deck between the seats, cradled between Jean's thighs. Jean was naked as well, but she was holding the other woman's arms, hands brutally tight around the other woman's wrists, using her teeth to bite her on the shoulder, the neck, red hair stark against pale skin. He could see bruises and cuts, old and new, all over that pale skin. Above them both, also naked, was crouched Warren. His wings were held high, braced on the seats. He was currently fucking the lavender haired woman hard, his body sheened in sweat. She groaned and sobbed underneath him, writhing in apparent pain, her eyes wide and glassy.

"What the hell?" Scott shouted, stunned, disgusted. Warren looked up, and Scott recoiled at the helpless, sickened, defeated look on the other man's face.

"Stop her!" Worthington said, desperately. "She's in our heads! Stop her!"

"Hit her, Scott! Knock her out! Quick!" Jean cried, lifting her head from the other woman's neck. Tears were running down Jean's face, her green eyes huge and horrified. Appalled, he lunged forward, fist balled up and struck the lavender haired woman hard on the chin, snapping her head back and sending her into unconsciousness.

Warren immediately pulled back with a hoarse cry, falling away between the seats. Jean released the woman under her, shoving her body away with revulsion and scrambling desperately toward Scott. She threw her naked self into his arms, clawing at him wildly. He held her close, trying not to look at her or let the feel of her affect him. Beyond, he could hear Warren throwing up all over the front of the plane. The sharp stench of acid made his own stomach churn.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! She was in our heads, she made us do it! Oh, God, Scott, I just want to die!" He held Jean close, looking over her shuddering body in confusion at the Professor just outside the door.

"What the hell happened here?" he snapped. The Professor was staring at the unconscious woman sadly, with that peculiar look of concentration on his face that he had when he was using his mental abilities.

"She is safe now. I have blocked her powers," he said with a weary sigh, rubbing his forehead hard with his hand. "I am afraid I severely underestimated the damage that had been done to her." He looked older then, subdued and uncertain for the first time in Scott's memory.

"She did this? Made them do this to her? Why?" Scott snarled, simultaneously sickened and outraged. No matter how confused his personal feelings for both Jean and Warren, this was a horror that no one should have to endure.

"She was raped, Scott," the Professor said stonily. "Some victims rationalize that they deserve the abuse, particularly when the rapist was close to them emotionally. Apparently at some time during the flight here, she externalized that belief through her telepathy, forcing Warren and Jean to act out her rationalization."

"Oh, sweet Christ," Scott breathed, as the full horror of it sank in. His arms tightened around Jean and he stared at the unconscious Englishwoman with mingled pity and disgust. She was both tragic victim and ruthless aggressor. One of the perils of extraordinary mutant abilities was that rules had to be created as you went along. There were no easy answers, no glib responses, no pat solutions. "What can we do now? For Jean and. . . Warren, this is a nightmare."

A low groan came from the front of the plane and Warren rose unsteadily to his feet, staggering back over the seats, his blue eyes devoid of life. He carefully didn't look at the woman lying still on the deck beyond. "I never want to see her again," he said, pale and shaken. "She raped us!"

Jean nodded violently against his chest, her voice thready and scared, verging on panicked, "I can't look at her either, I can't. I couldn't stop her. Oh, God, and what she made me do. . ." Her voice trailed off into racking sobs, her slender body shuddering in his arms. He tightened his hold on her protectively.

"Professor, you have to do something," Scott said, glaring at his mentor. "Block it somehow, remove their memories!"

"I can't remove them, Scott. Suppress them, perhaps."

"Well, then do it, damn it! This is killing them!" Jean keened miserably in his arms. He held her tightly, trying to reassure her that way. The Professor met his fierce glare for a long moment, pity in his gaze, then he sighed in resignation.

//Bring Jean here,// he said mentally. Scott shifted them toward the exit, the motion making Jean burrow harder against him, as if he was the only safe, stable element in her world now. He held her on his lap, glaring at Xavier as the other man reached up to place his hand gently on Jean's forehead.

Through the tiny link he shared with the Professor, Scott felt the barest hint of the huge energies Xavier focused on Jean's mind. Whimpering, she first slipped into a light doze, then slowly the stress and pain - save for her bloody, bitten lip - faded from her face. Finally, after a dozen long, silent minutes, Xavier looked up at Scott, his face pale and strained.

"Finished. I can't erase them completely, or just cut them off, she needs those hours. So I altered her memories; Betsy became hysterical on the way and fought them, hurting both of them, endangering the plane. This will help explain any lingering emotional resonance they may have. As well as explaining the wounds they all have. It's best we tell the same to the rest of the team."

Scott looked hard into Xavier's face, nodding finally. He was normally vehemently opposed to messing around in other people's heads, but the desolation on both their faces had been too much for him.

"And me?"

"Someone aside from me needs to know what really happened," Xavier said heavily. "I will shield your memories from telepathic scans, but leave them intact." Scott just nodded, accepting the burden without any complaint. It was what a leader did for his team. He slid out of the jet, carrying Jean to the medical trolley they'd brought just in case Elizabeth Braddock had needed it. He'd need another one, maybe two, he thought grimly.

He laid Jean gently on the trolley, covering her naked body with the thin blanket, smoothing it carefully up to her chin. She seemed at peace now, at least, the horror and helplessness banished. Her face was still damp with tears. He brushed them gently away.

He returned to the jet, briefly concerned as he saw the Professor just sitting beside the plane, forehead cradled in his hand, eyes closed.

"Professor?" he asked carefully.

"Memory alteration is difficult work, particularly on another telepath," his mentor replied, wearily. "Give me a few minutes before you bring Warren out."

Knowing that he couldn't avoid it any longer, Scott climbed slowly inside the jet again. The stench of vomit was strong, overlying the lingering stink of fear and sweat and sex. Warren was huddled in the farthest seat away from the woman. He'd managed to find and drag on his pants, but his chest was still bare and gleaming with sweat. His wings twitched with short jerky motions, clearly indicating his distress.

"You heard the Professor?" he asked the winged man quietly. The blond head lifted, haggard face revealed. Eyes that looked as if they'd gazed into the depths of hell searched futilely through his visor in the dimness.

"I heard him," Warren finally said, harshly. "I can't fucking wait to get rid of these memories." He shivered hard, his arms sliding tightly around himself. "You may think I'm a bastard, Scott, but whoever did those things to that woman needs his head blown off. And she made me do them all to her again!"

"She's not well," Scott said calmly, moving over and crouching beside the seat, not quite able to reach out and touch the other man. "That's why she's here. We'll help her get over it. Help her heal, and teach her how to control her power so this can't happen again."

Warren stared at him, desperation clear on his face; self-loathing and helplessness vying for dominance in his eyes.

"Did I do that to you?" he demanded suddenly. Scott's heart dropped into his stomach, the stench of vomit had unsettled him already, but it was the question that made him ill. He knew he'd gone pale when Warren flinched back.

"I did, didn't I? I fucking raped you in the hall," Warren said, his eyes shimmering with angry, helpless tears. Self-disgust. Revulsion. The sight made Scott reel.

"No," Scott said, his voice shaky, drawing ruthlessly on his own strength to lend to the other man. "No, you didn't. I could have left. I should have left."

"I threatened you," Warren insisted, his voice cracking. Not himself, no, not his normal arrogant, self-assured self at all. This was all wrong, wrong, wrong, Scott knew. The other man was broken and it was up to him to help fix it.

"Stop it, Warren," he said, harshly, reaching out and catching the other man's shoulders in his hands, shaking him once. Blue eyes searched his visor desperately, futilely, trying to read his expression around the concealing visor. "I didn't remember you, but I remembered the way you . . . tasted. You gave me a hundred bucks. That kept me from working for almost a month. I was grateful."

Warren's eyes widened in shocked surprise, the expression strange on a face so blasted by horror. Then Scott found himself leaning forward, pressing his mouth to the other man's, ignoring the foul taste in his mouth to give him the reassurance that he couldn't give with his gaze, his tongue sweeping inside. Warren groaned, strong arms reaching out and dragging him close. Then suddenly he tore his mouth away and buried his face in Scott's neck, body trembling. Scott's arms slid slowly around Warren in return, feeling the cool brush of feathers on his arms as they passed under the other man's wings.

They sat that way, silently holding each other, until the Professor called to them.

Scott helped Warren stagger outside and down onto the hangar deck. Warren dropped to his knees before the Professor's chair, lowering his head into the Professor's lap, wings arching up, rigid. The Professor raised his brows in surprise, glancing briefly at Scott before his hands lowered slowly onto that sweat-soaked, golden head.

"Do it," Warren said, his voice hoarse and brittle.

"Relax, Warren," the Professor said calmly. "Easy breaths." The winged man drew several deep, shuddering breaths, then he too slipped into a light slumber as Jean had. It didn't take Xavier nearly as long to alter Warren's memories as it had Jean's, but when he was done he favored Scott with a measuring look.

"I'll need to work on Miss Braddock as well, but only once she's awake again," Xavier said, no accusations or condemnation in his tone. But he seemed somehow troubled. Scott kept his mind and his face carefully neutral. He wasn't ready to look at recent events, and how they might affect him personally. He still had too much to do to secure the safety of his teammates.

"I'll bring her out in a minute," Scott said firmly as he slid his arm around Warren, lifting the other man off the Professor's lap and easing him gently down to the floor. He was surprisingly light for his bulk. "After I get Jean and Warren dressed again." Xavier nodded his understanding, allowing his field leader to do what he did best, take charge of a difficult situation, and trust he'd be able to bring them all out safely on the other side.

Scott Summers sat in the medical bay on a stool, his forehead braced on both palms, elbows braced on knees, his feet spread wide. He was staring at the joins in the tile floor. Aimlessly tracing the lines between his boots. Trying desperately to distract himself.

He was tired. So tired that he knew it would be impossible to sleep. After he'd dressed Jean and Warren and their new member as best he could in the tattered remnants of clothing he'd found inside the cockpit, the Professor had finally allowed the rest of the team to enter. To help move their three patients to the medlab. Scott had remained behind, to clean up the Blackbird himself, erasing the evidence that anything other than what they'd said occurred had.

It had taken a long time, and several powerful solvents, to get all the smells out of the plane to his satisfaction. He wasn't concerned for himself, but he knew eventually Wolverine would return and he didn't need the man's enhanced senses spilling their secret. It would be psychologically harmful to Jean and Warren; there was no telling what damage it might do to the English beauty herself.

Then, when he finally emerged, Bobby and Ororo and Peter had cornered him, demanding to know why the Professor had really locked them out for so long. He'd gone as stoic and leader-like as he could, following along with the Professor's hastily implanted mental explanation, but he knew they were just concerned. His explanation had been thin, but they had seemed to accept it, finally, as if things couldn't be settled until Cyclops took a stand on it.

It should have flattered him, instead it just made his heart ache more. He hated to lie to them, but he still couldn't shake the sense of helpless horror he'd seen in Jean's green eyes. There was no way he was sharing that with any of the team. They didn't need to know, since the Professor had blocked the Braddock girl's powers so that she couldn't influence anyone else that way again. Ororo and Peter had helped him settle them all into the medical bay for the night. Then they'd all gone off to bed, the Professor last of all, favoring him with a warning frown and a curt instruction to get some rest. Which he'd promptly ignored.

Now, it was just a matter of waiting for them all to wake up.

"Hey," came a weak voice. Jean. He leaped to his feet, moving over to her bed quickly. She looked okay, her normal wry self peeping from her eyes. There was a dark bruise on her cheek and dark circles under her eyes, but she looked well. Normal.

"What do they feed little English misses anyway, steroids?" Jean said, lifting her hand to her head with a gentle wince. "I thought she was going to tear the cockpit apart before we could get home."

"One of you finally cold-cocked her," Scott replied, feeling a tentative smile cross his lips. "You were both flaked-out exhausted, however, so the Professor gave you a nudge to put you to sleep. Feel better?"

"Better than what? Yeah, I guess I do," she said, sliding herself up in the bed. She glanced down at the frilly nightgown she was wearing, then darted a measuring look up at him. He blushed. He couldn't help himself.

"It better have been Ororo who put me into this thing," she said with a teasing gleam in her eye. He grinned and shrugged, not above a little teasing right then himself. He was tired and he'd earned it, damn it. It had been a long, stressful day today. He squinted at the clock on the other side of the room. Yesterday.

"Well, since it's almost morning anyway, you might want to get your butt out of bed and help the Professor with our little steroid-enhanced supermodel over there," he nodded his head at another medical bed, beyond a drawn screen.

"Okay," she said with a shrug. She swiveled in the bed and dropped her feet over the side. He watched her with weary patience, ready to move if she staggered. But she just bounded to her feet, padding across the cold floor to tug the curtain aside and stare in at the sleeping Englishwoman.

"Wow, she's really beautiful," Jean said, almost automatically chewing on her lip. As she always did when something was bothering her. She winced to find it split, frowning at the other woman darkly. "Packs quite a punch for a skinny little Barbie doll."

"Makes her a good addition to the team then, doesn't it?" he said quietly, butt perched on her now empty bed, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her. "Provided the Professor can help her sort out her issues."

"Yeah," Jean said, a brief frown crossing her face. He almost held his breath, but the look passed. She spun on him, then smiled, dropping her hands to her hips.

"You were trying to see if it's transparent, weren't you, Scott Summers?" she asked with a teasing smile and a careless hand waved toward her nightgown. He shook his head solemnly at her, and she just rolled her eyes at him. "If you weren't you should have been, leader-man," she said with a mischievous wink, then she turned and headed for the door.

"I'm going to go shower, then get dressed and find the Professor," she said, waving at him as she disappeared out the door. He sat on her empty bed, staring after her blearily for a moment. She was herself again. Teasing him, taunting him. His heart lightened fractionally.

One down; one fine.

Two to go.

Feeling weariness roll through him, he laid back on the medical bed, able to smell her on the sheets. He sighed deeply, then closed his tired eyes just for an instant. And was asleep.