This Must Be the Place

Posted on Sun May 31st, 2026 @ 3:35pm by Jean Grey-Summers & Marisol Cabral & Logan

3,326 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: Episode 7: Pathogens and Contagions
Location: X-Mansion
Timeline: March 14, 1992

This had to be it.

Madi had visited five other schools, looking them over from the outside, trying to decide if this one was the school for mutants. They had all appeared open and inviting. There had been no dense, not gate- only a sign indicating the name of the school.

But this place was different. A tall wrought iron fence surrounded the property- which seemed huge, by the way- dotted with stone pillars here and there. Two slightly larger stone pillars flanked the drive, a wrought iron gate standing between them. A sign next to the entrance read “Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.”

This had to be the place. Nervously, she clutched her trumpet in its case and adjusted the straps of her backpack. She studied the pillars and found that one had a speaker on it. Further examination revealed a numbered keypad as well as a red button labeled “press to talk.” Without considering what she would even say, she reached up and pressed it.

There was an uncomfortably long pause after Marisol pressed the button, long enough to make her wonder if this address was wrong too. Then, at last, the intercom crackled to life, carrying the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle.

“Rahne, knock it off. You’re not allowed to answer the phone, what makes you think the front door is any different?” a young woman called from somewhere in the background.

“I want tae talk tae them!” a younger voice shot back, thick with a Scottish brogue.

“No!” the older voice replied immediately. A brief burst of scrambling and muffled protest followed, the sounds traveling clearly through the tinny speaker.

“I hate ye, Kennedy!” the child shouted. “Ye’re a mean witch!”

Another pause settled over the line before the first woman returned, her voice now perfectly calm and polite, as if nothing at all had happened.

“Xavier’s Institute. How can I help you?”

Outside, Madi’s face had broken into a small grin. Children with strong foreign accents were quite probably the cutest thing ever and the exchange had even been cute. But, once the older voice addressed her, she was sent crashing back to reality and the smile faded. “I…” she started, then faltered. “Um… I heard that- that this is a safe place?” she finally finished.

There was a brief pause as the intercom crackled, its static stretching the silence between them and the unspoken question hanging beneath it.

“Yes, it is,” the young woman finally replied. A wave of relief seemed to ride on those simple words. “Are you sick? Do you not feel well?”

“No, I’m fine,” replied Madi. “I mean, I think I’m fine. I feel fine. I just… I have nowhere to go.”

“If you were sick, you’d know,” the young woman on the intercom replied. There was a trace of sadness in her voice that made Marisol suspect she was speaking from personal experience. “If you’ve nowhere else to go, then you’ve come to the right place…”

Another pause followed, and then a long, glaring buzz sounded from the gate, signaling that the fence had unlocked and she was free to enter.

The gravel driveway leading up to Xavier’s was neatly maintained and crisply edged, even though the chill of early spring had left most of the surrounding grass brown and dull. A large fountain marked the center of the circular drive—still winterized and dry, yet impressive all the same. As Marisol drew closer, the mansion seemed to grow larger and more imposing, its stately architecture the unmistakable product of immense wealth and careful design.

“Hallo!”

The front door swung open to reveal a girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve. Her Scottish brogue made it immediately clear she was the same voice Marisol had heard over the intercom only minutes before. Her hair was messy and unkempt, her clothes wrinkled and mismatched, and when she sniffed at Maribel, it was with a curiosity that felt distinctly less than human.

“Whit dae ye have in yer bags?”

“Not much,” answered Madi, amused. “Some clothes, shampoo, a toothbrush. This,” she added, holding up a brown leather case, “is a trumpet.”

“I’ve ne’er seen a trumpet afore.” The Scottish girl replied while not hesitating in her attempt to try and take the case away from Marisol.

“Don’t pester her!” A tall and willowy blonde replied and Marisol had the face to connect to both voices that she had heard over the intercom.

“I’m Kennedy and this is Rahne.” The blonde said while reaching out and dragging Rahne away from Marisol by the scruff of her shirt.

The younger girl snarled in response to being pulled away and the noise didn’t exactly sound human but she conceded to being pulled away when she realized she had forgotten about a smashed granola bar in her pocket that she ripped open and began to devour.

“Is the Headmistress expecting you?” Kennedy asked while doing her best to ignore Rahne’s open mouth chewing.

Oh shoot. She didn't need an appointment, did she? She hadn't thought of that. "Uh... no," Madi replied. "I don't even know who the headmistress is. Oh, sorry, I'm Marisol Cabral. Most people call me Madi."

“Nice to meet you and don’t worry. This is actually pretty normal around here.” Kennedy gave a casual wave of her hand, as if that explained everything. “People find out about us and just… show up. Especially with the clinic out back.”

Her gaze drifted across the foyer, flicking briefly toward the staircase. For a moment, she seemed distracted, like she was listening to something no one else could hear before her attention snapped back.

“The headmistress is Jean. She’s been running Xavier’s since the Professor got sick.” Kennedy said it lightly, offering no further explanation. “I let her know you’re here. She said to come upstairs.”

She turned with an easy confidence. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”

Kennedy led Marisol out of the grand foyer and up the sweeping staircase. They paused briefly on the second floor. Down the hall, a piano struggled through a halting melody while someone sang along off-key and enthusiastic. Two students lingered nearby with books in hand, casting curious glances at the newcomer before slipping into another room.

Kennedy didn’t stop for long and she continued up to the third floor.

Rows of open doors lined the hallway, offering glimpses of lived-in bedrooms with clothes draped over chairs, posters on walls, the quiet hum of dorm life. Marisol didn’t need to ask; this was clearly where the students lived.

Near the end of the hall, an open bathroom door revealed chaos.

Wet, soggy towels were strewn across the floor, and the sound of dripping water echoed faintly. Sitting on the edge of the tub was a woman in her mid-twenties with striking, impossibly bright red hair. Her arms were crossed, her expression fixed in a look of long suffering frustration as she stared at a pair of denim-clad legs sticking out from beneath the sink.

A scatter of tools surrounded them as whoever was attached to those legs wrestled with the plumbing under the sink.

“It’s flooding in the tub again!” the redhead groaned.

The legs shifted, kicking slightly in irritation.

As Kennedy and Marisol approached, the woman looked up. Her expression softened into an amused, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“Oh—hi! Hello Madi! Sorry about the mess…” She stepped carefully over the man under the sink and extended a hand. “I’m not entirely sure what happened up here.” She paused of a beat, then warmly continued with her salutations. “My name is Jean Grey. Welcome to Xavier’s.”

Madi hastily switched her trumpet into her left hand before grasping the other woman’s- she reminded herself to be very gentle- and offering a nervous smile. “Thanks,” she said. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full here. I wish I knew about plumbing.”

“I wish I did too.” Jean let out a soft, knowing chuckle as she nudged a few damp towels aside with the toe of her shoe. “This is Logan,” she added, gesturing toward the pair of legs sticking out from beneath the sink. “At the moment, he’s our best hope. At least until I give in and call a real plumber, which brings its own… complications.”

“NO POWERS!” a boy’s voice rang down the hall, sharp and indignant, followed by a series of thumps and scuffling blows.

Jean’s green eyes flicked toward the disturbance, narrowing just slightly. The noise died almost instantly, as if smothered mid-breath. After a beat, she turned her attention back to Marisol, her composure seamless.

“I understand you’re looking for a place to stay.” It wasn’t really a question, not with the luggage in Marisol’s grasp. A faint, welcoming smile touched Jean’s lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me a bit about yourself?”

From under the sink came the metallic scrape of a spanner, then a low grunt.

“Yeah, hi,” Logan muttered, voice rough and distracted, somewhere between greeting and complaint. “Don’t mind me.”

He shifted deeper under the basin, one boot bracing harder against the tile as he twisted at something stubborn in the plumbing.

“Over a hundred years on this earth and somehow I end up losin’ a fight to a school bathroom.” A beat, then drier still, “And of course it has to happen with company.”

There was a sharp knock from the pipe, followed by a muttered curse.

“Funny thing is, I grew up in a world with no indoor plumbing. Lived long enough to get ambushed by it anyway.” He gave the fitting another hard turn. “If this damn thing spits at me again, you’re both gettin’ welcomed to Xavier’s with buckets.”

“Do- do you want some help?” offered Madi. “I’m really strong. Like once pulled a bus off a cliff without even trying strong.”

A snort came from under the sink, followed by another metallic scrape.

“Appreciate it, kid, but if you yank the whole wall out tryin’ to help, Red here’ll make me fix that too.” He shifted, one shoulder knocking lightly against the cabinet. “Give me a minute. If I lose round two, I’ll holler.”

“That’s not true, I’d call a plumber,” Jean said with a soft chuckle while playfully nudging the toe of his cowboy boot. “Though I might make you explain to a whole floor of teenagers why they’ll be sharing a bathroom until it’s fixed.”

She glanced back at Marisol, her expression settling into something more focused as she returned to her original question. “So... you’re very strong. What else?”

“That’s about it, as far as I know,” answered Madi. “Well, I also punch and hit pretty hard, but that’s really just an extension of super strength, isn’t it?”

There was a final grunt from under the sink, then the sharp squeak of metal tightening metal.

“Hits hard, lifts heavier,” Logan muttered. “Could do a lot worse.” He gave the fitting under the sink another turn, still working the shared drain line that fed the tub, then rapped the pipe with his knuckles like he was daring it to argue. “Truth is, flashy’s overrated. World’s full of folks who can light up a room. Half the time what matters is the one who can put their shoulder to somethin’ and move it.”

He went still for a second, listening. No fresh groan in the plumbing. No sudden rush. No angry spit of water from the tub behind him.

“Hnh.” There was the faint satisfaction of a man who thought he’d won. “There. Think that did it.”

A beat.

“Just learn where to put it,” he added, still half under the basin. “Strength’s easy. Control’s the part that keeps you from punchin’ holes in things you meant to save.”

“I meant more about you,” Jean said with a soft, gentle laugh while offering Logan a hand towel to dry off with. “Tell me who you are, where you’re from, what brought you here… why you need a place to stay.”

Madi had been thinking about a dented gym floor and punctured volleyball at the mention of punching holes in things, but suddenly realized Jean had been talking to her. “Oh!” she said, shaking her head in an effort to recall what had been said. “About me. Well… I play trumpet,” she replied, holding up the case that held her most prized possession, “and I come from Michigan by way of Arizona. I was forced to out myself as a mutant in order to save a bus load of kids, but nobody really saw it that way. So I ran. I’ve been getting day work with general contractors and barely scraping by. That’s really no way to live. So when I heard about this place, I made my way here.” She paused for a second. “I notice you have a bunch of small kids. I used to be an elementary phys ed teacher, if that’s any use at all.”

Logan took the hand towel without looking and wiped his hands dry, dragging it once over his forearms before letting it hang loose in one hand as he pushed himself out from under the sink with a low grunt. He came up to a crouch first, then to his feet, broad through the shoulders and still carrying the rough, slightly damp look of a man who’d just gone a round with old plumbing.

He looked at Madi, then at the trumpet case in her hand.

“Bus load of kids,” he said, like he was turning the shape of it over in his head. “Sounds to me like you did what needed doing.”

His gaze stayed on her a moment longer, steady but not hard. “World’s got a bad habit of punishin’ the wrong people for the right reasons.”

Then his eyes dropped to the case again. “Trumpet, teachin’, super strength.” The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “Yeah. School could do a lot worse than that.”

“Absolutely,” Jean said with a small, assured nod. “I can always use the help, especially when it gives the students a way to burn off excess energy. If they’re learning to control their abilities at the same time as they are playing, it feels less like a chore and more like something they actually enjoy. And who knows, maybe you could give a music lesson or two?”

For a moment, the redhead's gaze drifted, distant and thoughtful, as if she were quietly reorganizing a dozen priorities at once. Then her focus sharpened again.

“This floor is for student housing. The level below us is reserved for faculty and residents, so we’ll find you a room there and get you settled.” Jean cast a sidelong glance at Logan. “Except for him. He’s out in the boathouse by the lake. It’s a bit more… rustic.”

Her expression shifted, softening into something more serious, more protective. “And if any legal trouble comes from what happened with the school bus, Marisol, please tell me now. I have access to a very capable legal team. At the very least, they can have the records sealed so your identity remains private.”

Dare she mention the police coming to her home and the mysterious call? Perhaps not yet. She didn’t know if she could trust these people, yet. And beside, that was all left back in Michigan. Maybe if they came looking for her here she would worry about it. Until then, she would just forget about it.

“Thank you,” Madi replied. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Alright,” Jean said, nodding once before extending her hand to seal their deal. “Then welcome to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.”

She paused only a beat before a lighter note slipped in, she was already shifting into planning mode. “Oh! One last thing.” A faint, almost playful smile touched Jean's lips. “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Oh, um…” stammered Madi. She had never actually thought about it before. Ice cream was practically a food group in her family and they ate just about any kind they could get their hands on. It took her a moment to decide which one was the one she looked forward to the most. “Praline pecan,” she finally answered, and the mere thought of it- with churros on the side- made her mouth water.

Logan, still holding the hand towel, gave a faint grunt that might’ve passed for approval.

“Praline pecan,” he repeated, like he was testing it for weakness. “Kid’s got taste.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced toward Jean. “That puts her two steps ahead of most of this place already. Half these kids’d probably say blue or somethin’ that glows in the dark.”

He scrubbed the towel once over his hands again, then nodded toward Madi. “You keep savin’ bus loads of kids and pickin’ decent ice cream, you’ll do alright here.”

“I didn’t realize we had an ice cream aficionado in our presence.” Jean teased Logan briefly as she left the bathroom, the towels and plumbing tools already tidying themselves up behind her. “Here I thought you were going to say you were too old for dessert.”

Logan snorted and followed her out, hand towel still slung over one shoulder. “Old, yeah. Dead, not yet. Means I’ve still got room for coffee, bad decisions, and decent ice cream.”

“You can keep those bad decisions to yourself,” Jean quipped, continuing her playful banter with Logan before turning back to Marisol. “Now you see why he’s been quarantined to the boathouse.”

“Come on, Madi,” she added, her tone warm and welcoming. “Let me get you settled into a room, then I’ll introduce you to our doctor, Cecilia Reyes. After that, I can show you around the mansion and the grounds.” Jean paused, considering what usually mattered most to new arrivals. “Unless, of course, you’re hungry.”

“Not quite yet,”’answered Madi. She had eaten the last time the bus had stopped about an hour ago- only a sandwich, but she was small and didn’t need much. “Maybe in a bit. I think I’m a little too keyed up to eat right now anyway.”

“Sounds good, let’s get you settled,” Jean said, flashing one of her dazzling smiles.

They had barely made it down the hall when two boys burst through a doorway in a chaotic tangle of knees and elbows. They hit the floor hard and without hesitation, the larger one scrambled on top and pinned the other. He leaned in with a wicked grin, his long, reptile-like tongue unfurling as if he meant to let a thick strand of saliva drop onto his opponent’s face.

“Marcus! Dereck!” Jean’s voice cracked like a whip, all warmth gone in an instant. “No.”

The boy with the tongue froze, then slowly slurped the saliva back into his mouth before pushing himself off. Both boys climbed to their feet, now suddenly fascinated with the floor as Jean fixed them with a steady look.

“Last warning,” she said.

They didn’t wait for more, and the pair bolted down the hall in the opposite direction.

Jean shook her head, a breath of laughter slipping through her exasperation. “Are you sure you want to stay?” she jokingly asked Marisol. “Don’t answer that. Let’s find you a room.”

Madi only grinned. She had been en elementary school Phys Ed teacher; the addition of mutant abilities didn’t really add much. “Lead the way,” she replied.

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