October 21st, 1962
Brooklyn, New York
The lighting in Sunny's Bar is dim. Barely any sunlight filters through the windows, paned with many different colors, but what does manage to make it through dances in sparkles on the scrubbed dark wood tables where men who came in for a late afternoon drink sit and chatter amongst themselves.
I sit at the bar, quietly sipping my beer, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. Next to me, Logan lights a cigar and takes a long drag. He closes his eyes and lets the smoke out through his mouth. The scent doesn't help my head.
I glare at him. "Do you have to do that right now?" I grumble.
"Easy, kid," Logan says in his low, growling voice. "I smoke when I want."
My hand tightens around the glass and I roll my eyes. "If you want me to continue sleeping with you, I suggest you stop calling me 'kid'."
Logan raises an eyebrow in my general direction. "I don't need you, you know. I could find anyone else in a heartbeat."
In response, I take a long drink from my beer. He's right. I need him a whole lot more than he needs me. I stick with him because in the twelve years I've had my powers, he's the first person I've come across that isn't a normal human. And I'm scared of being alone again. The only problem is, Logan's the biggest bag of dicks I've ever met.
I mean, I can't blame the guy. I've been alive for only twenty-four years. Logan, on the other hand, was born in 1832. That's a hell of a long time to be alive and still look as good as he does, and still want to keep living, for that matter. He's got unbelievable regenerative abilities that help keep him young and these three bone claws on each hand that he can extract and retract at will. He can disguise himself well. The only thing that draws attention to Logan is his incredibly charming personality.
Me, on the other hand, well, I'm dangerous. Logan can be, too. He's a raging ball of wrath that won't hesitate to slice your balls off if he's in the mood – that's part of the reason why he's joined so many wars over the decades, to blow off some steam – but I prefer to keep my anger reigned in. The only reason Logan's put up with me for these past few weeks before he ships off to Vietnam with his brother is because I took one look at him and instantly knew his entire life story. That's one of my powers. At will, I can read minds. When I met him at a different bar, he tried to call himself "Jimmy" as he hit on me, and I turned to him and said, "Stop lying to yourself, Logan." From then on, we became acquaintances.
Logan didn't take too well to my knowing his entire life story, but there was a part of him that seemed grateful he didn't have to hide with me. Now there's the question of, what makes me dangerous? Reading minds isn't really that bad. My touch is the thing that's deadly. Since I was twelve, I've had to avoid skin contact with humans. I don't know why, but when I touch them, I start to absorb their energy. It apparently doesn't work on Logan, which is why we've been able to have countless frivolous nights together. It's been nice, having intimate contact.
"When do you leave again?" I ask Logan.
"Few days." Logan drains his bourbon and lifts his hand to the bartender to refill his glass. "You gonna be all right without me?" he adds snarkily.
"I'm not going to miss you," I tell him. "I'm just counting down the days until you leave."
"Mmhmm." Logan puffs on his cigar and taps the end in an ashtray.
The bar is starting to get stuffy. I peel off my black leather jacket and drape it over my lap. I hook the low heel of my boot against the rung of the stool and wiggle my leg up and down impatiently. The heel squeaks against the wood.
Logan eyes my leg a couple of times before balling up his fist and growling, "Would you cut it out?"
"My, my, someone's testy today," I say. I steady my leg.
"Yeah, well, you'd be testy too if you were shipping off to another war."
"I thought you liked to fight." I lower my voice and nudge him in the ribs. "And you can't die, remember? What's there to worry about."
"It's not me, it's Victor," Logan says darkly.
Ah, right. Victor Creed. Logan's brother. If Logan's a hothead, Victor's is full of flaming coals. I've only met him once and I didn't care for him. He's rude, he's an asshole, and he enjoys the war way more than Logan does. Killing is enjoyable to him. He's got that healing factor, too, and he definitely uses it to his advantage. At least Logan has some morals, a little more common sense.
"Just shoot him in the head whenever he starts acting up," I suggest lightly.
"I'll shoot you in the head," Logan mutters into the brim of his glass.
"I gotta pee. Watch my jacket," I say, and hop off the stool and leave the jacket in my place.
In the bathroom, I do my business and wash my hands. The top of my stringy, dirty-blond hair is starting to frizz, so I take some water and run my fingers through it to calm it down. I dry my hands with a paper towel and then wipe the remaining dampness on my jeans as I head back out to the bar.
The bell over the door jingles, and in walks two men. Like always, I cast out my senses for them, doing my typical Are-You-Human-Or-Not game, and find that they're just like Logan and I. What are the chances? I glance at the men, turn to Logan, look back to the men, and find that they're walking straight towards him.
I scuttle over to the bar while the two men flank Logan. Logan lifts his cigar to his lips, staring straight ahead, as the tall man on his right in a black turtle neck and brown leather jacket says, "Excuse me, I'm Erik Lehnsherr."
Logan drops his cigar, a look of pure annoyance on his face, as the younger, shorter man in a beige overcoat says smoothly, "Charles Xavier."
"Go fuck yourself." Logan takes a drag from his cigar, still refusing to meet the men's eyes.
The taller man, Erik Lehnsherr, shrugs at his friend and turns to leave. The other man, Charles Xavier, gives Logan a small, sorrowful look that Logan doesn't see before lifting his head and turning his attention directly on me. I stand there like a deer in headlights, and before I can react, I feel him inside my head, snooping.
The dull pounding in my head from earlier magnifies tenfold, and I grip my hair just as Charles raises his hands to his head in a similar fashion and lets out a small groan of pain.
My knees start to wobble under the pressure of the sensation that my brain is expanding. Scenes from my life, all the way back to my childhood, flash in front of my eyes at top speed as I realize that the fucking idiot is still searching my mind.
"JJ?" Logan puts his hand on my shoulder, and then his head whips around to Charles. "Are you doing this?" he snarls.
I throw up these walls in my head – something I've never done before and honestly didn't know I could do – which cuts off the mental connection, and say, "What the hell?" I wanted to yell, or at least raise my voice, but I'm a little breathless from the pain.
"I'm sorry!" Charles Xavier says, and he actually does sound apologetic. Well, I would be, too, if I'd seen all that.
The bar has fallen silent. Everyone is staring at the four of us as we make a scene. Logan takes his wallet from his back pocket, throws some bills on the counter, grabs my arm and points threateningly at Charles and Erik. "Outside. Now."
Logan drags me out of the front door, closely followed by the two men. The evening sun burns my eyes and sends sharp pains to the back of my head. I start to rub my temples, and Logan sees this action and rounds on Charles again.
"Hey, would you quit it?" he yells in his face.
"I'm not doing anything!" Charles says, holding his hands up in defense.
"It's fine, Logan," I say. Then I notice that Erik is holding my jacket. "That's mine!" I make a grab for it, and Erik releases it quickly, as if he were dropping a snake.
"A simple 'thank you' would do," he says wirily.
I twist the fabric in my fingers and find Charles staring at me with these incredibly blue eyes. "How did you do that?" he asks in wonderment. "Shield me from your mind, I mean."
"I don't know," I snap.
"Look, what the hell do you want?" Logan says.
"We came here to offer you a job," Charles tells him. "But I suppose your earlier sentiments still stand?"
"Damn right."
So, Charles turns to me.
"What, you didn't get who you came for so you're picking up the sloppy seconds?" I say. "No, thanks."
"You don't even know what it is," Erik says.
"I wouldn't mind repeating what Logan told you a few minutes ago," I say heatedly.
"What a charmer," Erik says. He looks down at Charles. "We have a long list. We're just scratching the surface."
"I know, but this is something I hadn't anticipated," Charles replies in a low voice. His eyes dart to me for a brief moment, and I lower my mind shield and press into his mind, like he had with me.
At the same moment Charles lifts his two fingers to his temple, I suddenly get the urge to stop. I calmly exit his head and stare between the three of them blankly.
I shake my head to clear it. "What the hell was that?"
Charles smiles at me. I hear his voice, but his lips don't move. You're not the only one with mind powers.
"What the hell was what?" Logan demands when no one answers me.
"N-nothing," I say, and furrow my eyebrows at Charles.
"So, we'd like to talk business, if you're up for it," Charles tells me promptly.
"Um, I don't know…" I say slowly.
Logan stares at me in disbelief. "You're considering it?"
I shrug, holding my arms out in perplexity. "I don't know! It wouldn't hurt to see what they want."
Logan scoffs and shakes his head.
I pointlessly lower my voice and tell him, "What else am I going to do once you're gone?"
He's still shaking his head irritably. "Fine. You want to team up with these lunatics, be my guest. I'm out of here." And he turns his back and stalks away.
"Logan!" I call. "Just – wait!"
"Bye, JJ!" he says loudly, waving his hand without turning around. "It's been nice knowing you!"
"Don't leave, you asshole!" I shout. Logan just shoves his hands in his pockets and lets out a laugh before he turns a corner and disappears. I turn back to the two men. "Make this quick, I need to go after him."
"Doesn't seem like he wants you around," Erik says.
"You know what? Shut up, nobody asked you."
Erik chuckles.
After a brief, awkward moment of silence, Charles sighs quickly and says, "Well, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Charles Xavier." He holds out his hand, and I shake it quickly.
"Jerilyn James. Call me JJ."
We look expectantly at Erik, who reluctantly holds his hand out and says, "Erik Lehnsherr."
I take his hand, and almost immediately we break apart as our skin sparks like a jolt of electricity. Erik glares at me. Hmm. That was odd. Must be some sort of static electricity. It was more powerful, though, like when I touch humans. But I thought it didn't work on people like me, people like Logan. After all, I didn't shock Charles.
"Care for a drink?" Charles says.
Erik agrees, but I say, "No, thanks. I'm all drinked out today."
Erik rolls his eyes at Charles, who just says, "Why don't you go inside, I'll meet you in a bit." After Erik leaves, I'm left standing with a smiling Charles.
"What?" I say.
"Come, walk with me," he says, and we start to walk in the opposite direction from where Logan disappeared. I look back longingly at the corner, hoping he'll be waiting for me at our motel room once I'm done here.
"I have an estate in Westchester County, and I'd like you to join me and a few of my friends there," Charles says.
"A house party, huh?"
Charles seems to wrestle back a sarcastic remark before regaining his composure. "No. We're using it as a training facility."
"What are you training for?"
"Erik and I gathered other mutants and devised a team that I hope to train well enough to help the CIA bring down a man named Sebastian Shaw."
I stop in my tracks and let out an incredulous laugh. "You're joking, right?"
Charles turns to face me, staring with a flat expression.
"Okay, you're serious, then…What do you mean, 'other mutants'."
"Other mutants," Charles repeats, not quite understanding. "Recruits." After a moment, he adds, "Don't you know what you are? You're a mutant, like me. And like my friend Erik, and your positively delightful friend Logan."
"Mutant, huh? That's not exactly the term I'd use." Freak is generally what I've called myself all these years. We resume walking. "So, what do you want me for? Or should I say, what did you want Logan for before you had to settle with me?"
"I'm not settling," Charles says. "I just didn't know you were here in New York."
"What are you talking about? How did you know where we were at all?" I ask.
"A few weeks ago, I was able to touch the mind of every mutant on the planet and get their location," Charles explains. "I felt your mind, but you were so far away at the time we were recruiting."
"If you're not recruiting anymore, why were you looking for Logan?"
Charles hesitates before saying, "One of our recruits was killed during an attack on an offsite CIA base, Division X. We were lucky to come out with the remaining four members of our little team."
"I've got to say, telling me that this is a life-or-death mission you're inviting me on isn't a good selling point." I look over at Charles. Dark brown hair, sort of long, combed nicely. Really fancy clothes – the expensive overcoat, a lavender button-up shirt, pressed pants, leather shoes. "Are you CIA?"
"No," he says with a small chuckle. "I suppose you could say I was recruited myself at Oxford about a month ago. I had just published a thesis on mutation, which helped a certain CIA agent that came into the recent discovery of mutants locate me."
Oxford guy, huh? Yeah, he looks like the posh, stuck-up type. He's even English. We turn right at the next street corner.
"So, the CIA know mutants exist. They put you up at some secret base. It was attacked – by who?" I ask.
"Sebastian Shaw. He's, well, he's essentially trying to raise mutant ascendancy by way of nuclear missiles. He threatened a U.S. government official to advocate the installation of nuclear missiles in Turkey. Now, he's forcing the Soviet Union to retaliate and place their missiles in Cuba, aimed right at the United States."
Again, I stop in my tracks. "Okay, look, politics aren't really my thing. It seems like you're way in over your head here and I honestly don't know how a band of misfit mutants are going to bring this guy down."
"Shaw has a small army of mutants, including one he took from us, and we have a small army of mutants. We're training to fight them."
"You may want to get Logan back, then. He loves a war. Or maybe try his brother. The two of them could probably take on Shaw single-handedly."
"I'm not forcing anyone to join us if they don't want to," Charles says. "I'm giving you an opportunity, just like I gave the others. You can take it, or you can leave it."