The recovery period gave me time to focus on something I'd been neglecting: systematic skill acquisition.
Over the next few months, I made it a priority to absorb knowledge from as many sources as possible. The skill transfer ability was powerful, but I'd been using it haphazardly. Time to get organized.
**From a SHIELD medical specialist** (arranged through Jessica): Advanced trauma care, field surgery techniques, pharmaceutical knowledge. This took four sessions spread over two weeks, and the headaches were intense, but the knowledge was invaluable. I could now handle serious injuries in the field without panicking.
**From a master mechanic** (through Felicia's criminal contacts): Automotive expertise, mechanical engineering basics, how to hotwire practically anything with an engine. Useful for getaways and understanding how machines worked.
**From a bomb disposal expert** (SHIELD again): Electronics, explosive theory, and most importantly, the ability to stay calm under pressure. This one was nerve-wracking to practice.
**From a chess grandmaster** (hired as a "private tutor"): Strategic thinking, pattern recognition, the ability to think several moves ahead. This changed how I approached problems, made me see the larger patterns in everything.
Each skill took weeks to fully integrate. The knowledge downloaded quickly, but making it instinctive, making my body and mind work together seamlessly—that took time and practice. But I was building something: a comprehensive skillset that made me dangerous even without telepathy.
Elektra watched my training with approval. "You're finally understanding what I've been trying to teach you. Power without skill is just potential energy. Skills are what make you actually dangerous."
"I'm not sure I want to be dangerous," I replied, working through a weapons maintenance routine I'd absorbed from a Marine armorer.
"Too late. You already are." She sat beside me, her expression serious. "But there's dangerous like a wild animal—powerful but unpredictable—and dangerous like a master craftsman—precise, controlled, devastating when necessary. You're becoming the latter."
"Is that a compliment?"
"From me? Yes."
The moment felt significant, so I risked asking something I'd been wondering about. "Elektra, why are you still here? You've paid whatever debt you felt you owed. You could go back to the X-Men, or work solo like you used to."
She was quiet for a long moment. "Because this is the first place I've felt like I belonged in years. The Hand used me. The X-Men tolerated me. But here... you need me. Not just my skills, but me. That matters."
"You know you'll always have a place here, right? For as long as you want it."
"I know." She stood, heading for the door. Then she paused. "Marcus? Thank you. For seeing me as more than just a weapon."
After she left, I sat there thinking about what she'd said. My team—my family—had grown beyond anything I'd imagined when I first arrived in this world. Each person brought something unique, something irreplaceable.
And speaking of the team...
---
That evening, Felicia called a meeting. All of us gathered in the conference room—me, the three women in my bed, and Elektra, who remained separate from that aspect of our relationship.
"We need to talk about expansion," Felicia said, pulling up data on multiple screens. "We've been operating at our current capacity for months. We're good, but we're stretched thin. Every mission, we're running the risk of being overwhelmed."
"What are you suggesting?" I asked.
"Recruiting. Carefully, selectively, but recruiting nonetheless. There are people out there who could benefit from what we offer, and who could make us stronger in return."
"Such as?" Jessica prompted.
"Well, for starters, Rogue once we help her with her control. She'd be incredibly valuable—power absorption could counter threats we couldn't handle otherwise."
"Agreed," I said. "Anyone else?"
"Silver Sable," Maya signed. "Mercenary, highly skilled, practical. She could handle operations we can't risk doing ourselves."
"I've worked with Silver before," Elektra added. "She's trustworthy, within limits. As long as you pay her and don't betray her, she's absolutely loyal."
"What about someone with actual powers?" Jessica suggested. "Not to discount skills, but if we're facing cosmic-level threats, we might need more firepower."
"Agreed, but who?" Felicia pulled up a list of known powered individuals in New York. "Most heroes are already affiliated with the Avengers or X-Men. The ones who aren't are either too unstable or too villainous to risk."
"There's Kate Bishop," Jessica offered. "Young, talented, not affiliated yet. She's been trained by Hawkeye but hasn't committed to any team."
"Possibility. Anyone else?"
"What about someone from the dark side?" Elektra suggested. "Someone who operates in grey areas already. They'd be more comfortable with our methods."
We spent the next hour discussing possibilities, building a list of potential recruits. Some would be easy—people who needed what we offered. Others would be hard—people who'd need convincing that our way was worth it.
But by the end, we had a plan. Start with Rogue (already in progress), then reach out to Silver Sable for occasional contract work. Feel out Kate Bishop, see if she was interested in something less conventional than the Avengers.
"This is going to change everything," Jessica said. "Once we start expanding, we're not just a small team anymore. We're becoming an organization."
"Is that a bad thing?" I asked.
"Not necessarily. But it means more responsibility. More people depending on you. Can you handle that?"
I looked around the table at the people I'd gathered, the family I'd built. "With all of you? Yeah. I think I can."
---
Later that night, as we lay in bed recovering from another round of connected lovemaking, Felicia brought up something that had been bothering her.
"Marcus, I need to ask you something. About Elektra."
"What about her?"
"Is there something between you two? I'm not jealous or anything, I'm just curious. You two have a connection that's different from what you have with the rest of us."
I thought about how to answer that. "Elektra and I have... mutual respect. She understands the darkness in me because she has her own darkness. We're both people who've done questionable things for what we believed were good reasons."
"But you're not attracted to her?"
"I didn't say that." I turned to face Felicia properly. "I am attracted to her. She's beautiful, skilled, fascinating. But she's also keeping distance for a reason. I don't think she's ready for that kind of intimacy."
"What if she was?" Maya signed from her position curled against my side.
"Then I'd want her to be part of this. Part of us." I pulled all three women closer. "But only if she chooses it. I'm not going to push."
"Good answer," Jessica murmured sleepily.
As they drifted off to sleep, I lay awake thinking about the future. We were growing, evolving, becoming something more than just a team. We were becoming a force that could actually make a difference in this dangerous world.
But with that power came responsibility. And with that responsibility came risks.
Emma's warning about cosmic threats kept echoing in my mind. Something was coming. Something big enough that even she'd been worried about it.
We needed to be ready.
---
## CHAPTER 22: BUILDING MOMENTUM
Three months after my recovery, we were stronger than ever.
My telepathy had stabilized at being able to control around 500 people with focused effort—still nowhere near Xavier's potential, but respectable. More importantly, I'd learned to use my powers more efficiently, doing more with less strain.
The skill collection continued to grow:
**From a linguistics professor**: Fluency in French, German, Japanese, and Arabic (adding to the Russian and Mandarin I already had). My brain was becoming a polyglot's dream.
**From a professional poker player**: Advanced probability calculation, reading micro-expressions, emotional intelligence. This made me exponentially better at reading people, powered or not.
**From a physical therapist**: Deep understanding of human biomechanics, how the body moved, where weaknesses were. Combined with my telepathic ability to affect pain receptors, this made me surprisingly effective at non-lethal takedowns.
**From an MIT engineering student** (who thought he was tutoring me): Advanced mathematics, physics, engineering principles. My understanding of how the world worked at a fundamental level had expanded dramatically.
Each skill enhanced the others in unexpected ways. Medical knowledge combined with biomechanics made me a better fighter. Engineering knowledge combined with electronics made me a better infiltrator. Languages combined with emotional intelligence made me a better negotiator.
I was becoming what Emma had warned about: someone who could do almost anything if I put my mind to it. The question was whether I'd use that versatility for good or fall into the same trap she had.
---
The test came on a cold November evening.
We'd been tracking a human trafficking ring operating out of the docks—Kingpin's operation, but run by a lieutenant named Marcus Hendricks. The man was a monster, but he was also incredibly careful. SHIELD hadn't been able to build a case against him despite months of investigation.
So we decided to handle it ourselves.
"Eleven guards visible," Felicia reported from her overwatch position. "Thermal shows another thirty inside the warehouse. Plus what looks like about twenty captives in the basement level."
"Weapons?" I asked.
"Lots. This isn't street-level security—these guys have military-grade hardware."
"Which they won't hesitate to use," Elektra added. She'd been inside similar operations before. "Hendricks shoots witnesses. He won't let those captives live if he thinks we're coming."
"Then we don't give him time to think." I reached out with my telepathy, touching the minds in the building. Most were guards—hired thugs without strong mental discipline. But Hendricks himself was harder to read, protected by experience and natural paranoia.
"I can control about thirty of the guards if I push hard," I reported. "The rest will require direct intervention."
"I've got an angle on Hendricks's office," Felicia said. "Tranq round to the neck, he's down before he can give orders."
"And the captives?" Maya signed.
"That's what you and Elektra are for. Basement access, get them out while I'm controlling the guards and Felicia's providing overwatch."
"What about me?" Jessica asked.
"You coordinate with SHIELD backup. Once the shooting stops, we'll need them to actually arrest these people and process the victims."
We moved into position. This was bigger than anything we'd attempted before—more guards, higher stakes, and actual lives depending on us not screwing up.
I reached out with my mind, carefully selecting which guards to control. Too many and I'd lose fine control. Too few and we'd be overwhelmed. I chose the thirty positioned most strategically—the ones who could lock down corridors, control sight lines, prevent reinforcements.
*Sleep,* I commanded half of them. They dropped immediately, their confused companions looking around in alarm.
*Your friends are the enemy,* I told the other half. They turned on their comrades with sudden violence, creating chaos and confusion.
Felicia's rifle cracked. Through the scope camera feed, I watched Hendricks slump over his desk, tranquilized.
Maya and Elektra breached the basement entrance, moving like shadows. Through our tactical link, I watched them take down the four guards watching the captives—two men, two women, all armed with automatic weapons. The guards never saw them coming.
But something went wrong.
One of the captives was too terrified to move, his screaming alerting guards we hadn't accounted for. Suddenly Maya and Elektra were pinned down, automatic weapons fire tearing through the basement.
"Fuck!" I abandoned my position, rushing toward the building. I couldn't control all the guards—there were too many now, too chaotic. But I could disrupt them.
I pushed into every hostile mind I could reach, creating disorientation, confusion, phantom pains. Some guards froze. Others fired wildly. A few turned on each other, convinced their own teammates were the enemy.
It wasn't pretty, but it worked.
I reached the basement to find Maya wounded—a bullet had grazed her side—and Elektra defending her while trying to evacuate the captives. I took over, using my telekinetic abilities (still weak, but functional) to lift debris and create barriers while guiding the terrified captives toward the exit.
"Get them out!" I shouted to Elektra. "I'll hold here!"
She hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave me alone, but the captives needed guidance. She took them, and Maya limped after them despite her wound.
That left me alone with thirty hostile guards starting to recover from my mental interference.
I'd never been this outnumbered before. But I'd also never been this prepared.
I drew the weapons I'd taken from the guards—a pistol and a baton—and combined everything I'd learned. Combat techniques from Maya and Elektra. Tactical thinking from the Marine. Probability calculation from the poker player. Medical knowledge that told me exactly where to hit to disable without killing.
The first guard that came around the corner took the baton to his temple—a precise strike that knocked him unconscious without causing permanent damage. The second got the pistol's grip to his jaw. The third took a knee strike that made his leg buckle.
I moved through them like a ghost, using my telepathy to stay one step ahead, my enhanced reflexes to move faster than they could track, my medical knowledge to find pressure points and weak spots.
It wasn't pretty. I took hits—a rifle butt to the ribs, a knife that slashed my arm, countless bruises. But I stayed up, stayed moving, using everything I'd learned to survive.
When SHIELD arrived ten minutes later, they found me standing in the middle of thirty unconscious guards, bleeding but victorious.
"Jesus Christ, Marcus," Jessica said, rushing to check my wounds. "What happened to 'surgical precision' and 'minimal risk'?"
"Plans change," I managed, adrenaline wearing off and pain hitting hard. "Are the captives safe?"
"All twenty rescued, Maya's wound is superficial, and Hendricks is in custody with enough evidence to put him away for life." She helped me to the medic team. "But you're an idiot. You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't. And twenty people are free because we acted."
"Still an idiot," she said, but she was smiling.
---
Back at the base, getting patched up, I reflected on what had happened.
I'd gone into that warehouse thinking I was invincible, that my powers and skills made me untouchable. I'd come out bloody, bruised, and very aware that I was still human. Still vulnerable.
But I'd also proven something important: even without overwhelming force, even outnumbered and wounded, I could survive. I could win.
"You did good tonight," Elektra said, watching the medic work on my wounds. "Stupid, reckless, but good."
"That's basically my brand at this point."
"It suits you." She hesitated, then: "Marcus, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Your women—Felicia, Maya, Jessica. They're happy with the arrangement you have. The shared mental connection, the... intimacy. Do you ever want that with me?"
I looked at her carefully, seeing the vulnerability beneath her usual stoicism. "I do. But only if you want it. I'm not going to push, Elektra. You've been through enough of people using you."
"What if I said I was ready? Not for everything, not all at once. But... ready to try."
My heart rate picked up. "Then I'd say welcome to the family. For real this time."
She smiled—a rare, genuine expression. "Okay. But maybe wait until you're not bleeding everywhere first."
"Fair point."
---
Two weeks later, after my wounds had healed, Elektra came to me.
"I'm ready," she said simply. "If the offer still stands."
We gathered in the bedroom—all five of us now. Elektra was nervous but determined, her usual confidence wavering.
"We'll go at your pace," I assured her. "Nothing you don't want. Just say the word and we stop."
"Okay."
I started with just a kiss—soft, gentle, letting her set the tempo. She responded tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. Through our mental link (which I'd carefully established with her permission), I felt her desire warring with her fear of vulnerability.
*I've got you,* I sent to her telepathically. *You're safe here. Always safe.*
That seemed to help. She relaxed into the kiss, her hands moving to my chest. Felicia and Maya joined us, their touches gentle and welcoming. Jessica hung back, giving Elektra space while still present.
We undressed slowly, carefully, giving Elektra time to adjust to each new sensation. When she was finally naked, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be, I could feel her trembling.
"You're beautiful," I told her, and meant it. Scars covered her body—a map of violence and survival—but they were part of her story, part of what made her who she was.
"I'm damaged," she replied.
"So am I. So are we all, in our own ways. That's not what matters."
I made love to her slowly, carefully, letting her feel the mental connection that made everything so intense. I shared my desire, my affection, my respect for her strength. And I felt her walls slowly crumbling, letting us in for the first time.
When she came, crying out in surprise and pleasure, I felt her emotional walls shatter completely. She clung to me, tears streaming down her face—not from pain, but from finally letting someone in.
"Thank you," she whispered afterward. "For being patient. For making me feel like I matter."
"You do matter," I assured her. "You always have."
She smiled and finally, truly relaxed in my arms.
---
The rest of the night was spent integrating Elektra into our dynamic. Felicia showed her how the mental connection could amplify pleasure. Maya demonstrated positions that worked best with our particular combination of bodies. Jessica explained the unspoken rules we'd developed—communication, consent, respect.
By morning, Elektra was fully one of us. No longer just a team member, but family in every sense.
"This is nice," she admitted as we all lay tangled together. "I could get used to this."
"Good," I said. "Because you're stuck with us now."
"I think I can live with that."