Chapter One
The car rolls up the white pebbled driveway slowly, Charles watching the plump and pink-skinned holiday goers with a sense of dread in his stomach. The next three weeks of outdoor activity looms ahead of him like a void, filled with sun burn and arranged group activities and obnoxious minds brushing against his own. Worse still is the prospect of three weeks completely lacking in good company, and of trying desperately hard not to hear thoughts that he shouldn't, which is hard when he is in such close proximity with hundreds of strangers for any extended period of time. Slip ups would definitely occur; it was only how scarring they would be upon himself and others that was so worrying.
No wonder the dread is refusing to budge.
The superficial buzz of his mothers thoughts tickles at the edge of his mind, fuzzy and indistinct, and the harsher, sharper thoughts of Mr. Marko's- Kurt, Charles, he's family now, first names for family- from the drivers seat felt to him like a wall of ice.
"Why didn't we go to the Bahamas again?" Kurt said in the front, and Charles doesn't need to hear the discontent in the man's voice; he can feel it in his mind. It's almost a greenish-grey haze to Charles, swirling over the man's consciousness like ink in a glass of water. His mothers' hand touches lightly against his stepfather's, and Charles feels the man's conscious effort to avoid recoiling. A muscle still twitches in his neck every time he remembers that this man is the one his mother chose, over all other men, to marry after the loss of his father, this snake with a foul temper and infidelity practically bursting from his being like solar flairs. Charles tries not to wonder how long it will be before he finds his mother on her bedroom floor again, puffy and tear strewn, empty whiskey bottles lying like machine gun shells in an empty war zone. He tries not to think of the sheer number of times he has found her like this before, instead watching as she looks at her second husband and says,
"The Bahamas is too crowded this time of year, darling. We'll go next year."
"Hmph."
Charles looks over to Raven hopefully, but his 'sister' of sorts (he had employed incredible amounts of his power as a child convincing his mother that she in fact had two children) is looking out the window at the enormous hall, twirling a finger through her unnatural blonde hair. To Charles, the building just looks like the Xavier Manor; same time period, same size, same corridors and impersonal opulence. Just another place in which to avoid people like the plague. Another place for his abilities to make him feel alone amongst the stifling intimacy of others. To Raven, however, it seemed like a marvelous new opportunity, her mind positively buzzing with possibilities, images flashing through at a lightning pace. It made Charles' lips quirk with affection. He couldn't help but be drawn in by her fantasies, hopefully brushing against her mind with his own like a moth to a candle.
She shuts him down within seconds, whipping her head around to scowl at him, and her voice sounded clear in his head, red-tinged with warning.
Stay out of my head, Professor.
Charles doesn't understand why the accidental nickname had stuck so thoroughly. Brushing off his hurt, he does as she asks, and the comforting blanket of her consciousness reduces to a tantalizing whisper on the edge of his mind.
Anything for you, Raven, he whispers wearily to her through the last remaining connection. He feels a brief touch of gratitude, and then she returns to ignoring him. So much for sibling support.
The car comes to a stop in front of the main entrance and a tall, dark haired man approaches, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes smeared across his sharp face. Kurt puts the car in park and steps out to shake the man's hand in as close an approximation to amiability as Charles is yet to see the man perform. Raven launches herself from the car with the enthusiasm of a hummingbird and whisks off in the direction of the lakefront before Charles can even call to her. He sighs, and pulls himself from the car to see a rather unwelcome sight approach. Charles merely writes it off as further evidence for his horrible luck. He sees his step brother step up behind the two men and stand beside the dark haired one like a dog on a leash, which Charles wryly notes is quite an accurate comparison. Cain leers at him and Charles suppresses a horrified shudder at the feeling of Cain's mind against his own. For some reason, it feels… Dirty. And wrong. His mind makes Charles want to take a shower. Charles' mind is distracted, however, when he feels Kurt's thoughts shift to him moments before-
"Charlie boy, come over here and meet Mr. Stryker, the owner of this…. Fine establishment." Charles cringes. If there is one thing worse than being called "the professor", it's being called "Charlie boy".
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." He says politely and takes the man's hand in his own. Stryker's eyes are piercing as he sizes Charles up.
"I hope you will enjoy our stay with us, Charlie." Stryker says, and Charles wonders whether it is just because he can read the man's mind that the man seems to feel the exact opposite.
"Thank you sir." He says eventually, and Charles searches desperately for an out. It comes with a gangly youth in glasses and a Stryker Cabins uniform, who begins unpacking the car boot in a particularly clumsy fashion.
"Erm… If you will excuse me…" He attempts to smile and turns on his heel as quickly as he can, making a note to avoid entering a conversation with any of them as much as possible. The hapless youth left to deal with the devastating load that is his sister and mother's luggage is, to Charles, a welcome distraction. He smiles at the young man, and bends to take a suitcase in his hands.
"Here, let me help you." Charles says warmly, and the young man looks up at him, startled. Charles takes a quick plunge into the young man's mind in search of his name and is flooded with images and feelings; Hank McCoy, science blueprints, recognition, shock and suddenly the overpowering image of a blonde lady. Charles retracts quickly, reeling. No stranger had ever seemed to feel him inside their minds. This young man, however… Charles shakes it off as his own imagination and reminds himself that this is why his power is so dangerous. He can't keep rummaging inside people's minds. It's indecent. The youth- Hank, Charles corrects himself- is staring dumbly at him, and Charles realizes he has been standing there stock-still for longer than is socially acceptable.
"Uh," Hank says, and offers a shy smile.
"Thanks…?" Charles shakes himself off internally.
"No problem."
They put the bags onto a large luggage trolley, and straightening up, Charles extends a hand.
"I'm Charles, but most people call me the Professor." Hank smiles in earnest now and takes his hand in his own. Charles can't help but notice how simply massive the young man's hands are in the comparison to his own, and how much warmer their handshake is than the one he had just previously.
"Hank McCoy." He says, and Charles can't help but think 'knew that' to himself lightly. After a moment, Hank clears his throat.
"Well, if you'll follow me this way, uh… professor, I'll show you to your rooms."
"That would be lovely," Charles smiles again at him and they set off down the hill, Hank pushing the trolley towards a set of white washed cabins on the edge of a leafy forest. It's a nice change to feel a quiet mind against his own, a mind filled with equations and blueprints and electrical circuits and yet it wasn't infringing upon his. That doesn't happen very often. As Charles shields his eyes from the sun and chats amiably to Hank, he starts to think that maybe the next three weeks won't be so bad.
***A.N. Hazzah! A new story! And this is a collab with my dear friend and occasional beta Ema, who is writing the next chapter soon. Should be available before the week is out! Give us your opinions, we poor starving authors need all the love we can get. And by love, we mean reviews!