"Not by any stretch of the imagination," Lucius says. The visions are receding, he realizes, and exhales slightly. It's the only visible sign of relaxation; the headaches hang around like a hangover, sometimes for hours. He expects that it will be one of those mornings when he tells Peter to let him be.

"Exactly why we mock it so much," he murmurs as he leans back, and he looks up and back at her. His gaze is measuring, weighing. She would be in her rights to inform on him, after all. He wouldn't even truly blame her too much for it.

He smiles slightly. "Thank you."

Better, he thinks, to get his and her mind off this slightly uncomfortable aspect of their alliance, and he leans his elbow on the desk. "I keep seeing a phoenix," he says. Rising from the ashes, flying as if in attack. "Can you think of anyone - one of the deviants, perhaps - who spoke of a phoenix?"