2 years after the Battle of New York
"Psst. Hey. Hey Jim. Jimmy. Come on, give me something to work with."
"Do your own work for once, and you might have something to work with."
James Carter kept on typing, not saying a word, despite the incessant requests by his slacker classmates for help on their computer science tests. His fingers moved at a feverish pace, his breathing barely elevated and belying the incessant thump-thump of his inner turmoil. He was just as stressed and worn-out as the rest.
The only difference is that I have a clue.
Barely two minutes before the end-of-day bell rang at Brooklyn Technical, his last keystroke sounded—the "enter" key to send his final project to the teacher's inbox. James closed down his computer and thanked the teacher quietly, completely at rest and satisfied as he strode out of the school toward his bus.
As always, the 15-year-old, five-eleven freshman took a ten-minute nap on the ride home, this time falling into a rather fitful doze filled with dreams he couldn't remember. He was jolted awake and aware of something wrong when he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of smoke from the direction of the bus's usual route. Jim sat up groggily and took a closer look.
Wait. Is that—?
His gaze sharpened and body jolted awake when the bus rounded the corner to his apartment building.
No...no way.
His legs went up ramrod straight, and he went for the emergency exit before his bus stopped or driver could stop him. Leaping out, James hit the ground rolling, gritting his teeth against the harshness of impacting the asphalt and forcing his legs to keep him moving. A fire truck was already on the scene, trying desperately to put out the inferno-laced building and not faring particularly well. Jim could already see they wouldn't make it to his floor in time.
And since their car is still parked…
The teenage kid sprinted toward a side entrance not yet engulfed in flame, running up the stairwell before the attending firefighters could stop him. He reached the sixth floor, his floor, three seconds before the rest of the stairs collapsed, causing him to stare down the inferno-strewn stairwell in alarm.
How do I— He shook his head. One problem at a time.
James made his way down the fire-strewn hallways, dodging around debris and falling drywall until he got to his apartment's door. The door refused to budge, even though the knob was turning, and he withdrew his hand a second after trying to get it open, as the knob was hot from what was on the other side.
"Mom!" he screamed, panic suddenly settling in as he began to suspect the worst. "Dad!"
"James!" a female voice shouted from the other side. "Sweetie, you're all right!"
"Yeah, I'm fine, but—" he looked around in a panicked haze, trying to find something heavy to break the door down, "—why can't I get the door open?!"
"It's blocked with lit debris, son!" his father responded, his tone resigned. "So's the way to the fire escape. Get out of here, James! Let the firefighters do their jobs!"
"No! Not a chance!"
"Jim, please!" his mother screamed.
"There is no frigging way I am leaving you here!"
"Son, for God's sake, go!"
Fear and frustration rose in Jim's gut as all the worst possibilities rushed through his mind at once. His teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut in impotent rage—or was it impotent at all?
"Guys—" James' voice rang out quietly as he felt another strange yet not unfamiliar feeling rising within him, focusing itself in his eyes. "Back the hell up!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, waiting a few more seconds before opening his eyes.
Two bright blue beams of pure kinetic energy lunged from his eyes, punching through the door and debris behind it, creating a narrow doorway for his trapped parents.
"Come on!"
His mother came through first, Jim taking her hand, his eyes closed, his father pushing her from behind, both of them coughing from the smoke and staring at him in disbelief. As James' strange feeling faded, his eyes opened, and the family raced for the nearest window, Jim remembering that the fire truck was on that side of the building. His father took a fire extinguisher and broke the window open, dousing the nearest flames in an attempt to buy more time as James signaled the fire truck to get their ladder to them.
The ladder rose with a firefighter at the top, barely making the distance to the sixth floor.
"Her first," James said, moving his mother June toward the window.
The man took her onto the platform at the top of the ladder, and Jim took the extinguisher from his father Ray, pushing him toward the ladder and taking over six feet from the window. As Ray's feet hit the deck of the platform, the ceiling between James and the window collapsed, blocking his way with flaming rubble.
"Jim!" his mother shrieked, their roles now reversed.
"Go!" he responded. "I'll find another way out!"
James left before they could argue, sprinting for the nearest operational stairwell to get one floor up, trying to reach the fire escape before the inferno spread. The seventh floor was mostly intact, allowing him to reach the outside stairs with little difficulty. The structure itself was faulty, though, rusted on the third level at a critical joint. The heat from the fire was exacerbating the problem, and James didn't notice until he descended to the second floor, when everything above him gave way, a portion of the structure pinning but not crushing him. Panic and frustration again set in as he used all of his wiry strength to try and lift the debris, but although not all the escape's weight was being leveled against him, it pushed him back down every time he tried to rise.
That feeling started again, and before he knew it, the beams emerged again, blowing the debris off and into the air.
Oh crap.
James barely had time to register the fact that what was left of the fire escape would fall back down and pancake him before he leapt over the rail, falling the last fourteen feet to roll on the hard pavement, cushioning his fall just enough not to break anything and saving him from a horrific death under almost half a ton of corroded steel.
That's gonna bruise, he thought with a wince at a stab of pain in his right leg. But at least I'm not dead.
James rose shakily and went to the front side of the building, spotting his horror-struck parents a second before calling to them. A look of immense relief took over both their faces as they took their son into their arms, holding him close as the feeling of crisis began to fade.
…
Half an hour passed as the fire was eventually put out. Replacing what had been lost would take hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars, but they didn't care. All that mattered to the Carters was that every member of their family was safe and out of harm's way.
They were wrong.
About half past three, a truck bearing the three-letter acronym of the Mutant Response Division pulled into the crowded parking lot and two men stepped out of the back. After talking with several bystanders for a few moments, one or two of them surreptitiously pointing in Jim's direction every so often, the officers nodded their helmeted heads and walked over to the Carters.
"Excuse me, ma'am, sir," the front man said. "We'd like to have a word with your son, if you don't mind."
Both parents' eyes widened in terror as they looked at each other, knowing exactly what they were there to do.
"Actually, officer," Ray said, "I do mind. My son has just been through a traumatic experience, and what he needs right now is rest, not an interrogation."
"Sir, I'm afraid it wasn't a request, and if he resists us, we will be forced to arrest him."
A look of outrage seized Ray's face as he prepared to defend his son. One of them lowered his hand to his sidearm, and they stared at one another for a second, tensions suddenly at a fever pitch. No, was the message conveyed by James's silent hand on his father's shoulder. That and his resigned expression told Ray and the officers everything they needed to know. He would go quietly—for now. One of them took Jim's arm roughly.
"Come with us, kid."
"Easy, boyo," James said, giving the MRD officer a slight snarl, prompting him to tighten his grip. The kid clenched his teeth.
Just bite your tongue, Jim. Bite your tongue and bide your time.
They marched him to the back of the truck and opened the double doors, nudging him toward the steel chair in the center of the vehicle's holding cell. He exchanged a deadpan look with each of them.
"You're kidding me, right?"
One of them pushed him inside, causing him to land face-first on the cold metal floor of the cell as the other climbed in and hoisted him upright, pushing him into the chair. Jim's hands were shackled to the chair's arms, and each guard took a standing position on either side of his front after closing the doors.
He looked from one man to the next as they whispered to each other, one of them walking behind him to bang on the wall between the cell and the driver, then returning to his spot and holding onto the subway-style handhold in the ceiling.
They have to be waiting for the driver to take off. If I'm gonna get out of here, I've gotta make my break now.
He tested his bonds for a few seconds, but there was no chance of breaking them. Jim's dark blue eyes scanned over the chair's restraints for a few moments before his heart dropped.
These cuffs are a single piece of steel. Do defects, no weld joints.
In other words, he wasn't going to be yanking his way free. Fear set in as his predicament struck home, his body itching to thrash around in panic but he forced himself to stay calm. Anger rose within him, and he gave everything he had to cultivate that feeling from before.
"By now you gotta realize that you're not going anywhere, mutie. Got a niiice eight-by-ten cell waitin' for ya." The man who said it leaned a little closer. "Try anything, and you'll get one a little smaller and much less comfortable."
James looked at the officer and found only a sadistic, hateful smile visible in the lower part of his face, the only part of his head not covered by a helmet. A surge of indignation and outright mischief stirred in Jim's gut as a devious smirk adorned his lips.
"You people do realize that A: I'm a minor, and B: this is a gigantic violation of my constitutional rights, don't you?"
The officers looked at each other and chuckled for a few seconds before one of them suddenly stopped and whispered something to the other, a question that James barely managed to overhear.
"Shouldn't we have started moving by now?"
The other man didn't get the chance to respond, as he was crying out at a sudden pain in his dislocated knee, James' leg snapping back from the well-placed kick he had given the guard. The shrieking man's comrade drew his sidearm, but never got the chance to use it, as a yell left James's body along with two beams of kinetic energy. The guard was thrown hard against the wall of the cell, instantly knocked unconscious. Jim looked down at his cuffs and delivered a single concentrated blast to them one after the other, breaking the dense steel like a twig and rising. He rubbed his wrists briefly before kicking the crippled officer unconscious.
Jim's ears strained for a moment before he heard commotion from the outside and figured their comrades heard the scuffle inside. Alarm rushing through his veins, James looked at the door and pulled at the release, noticing it was locked from the inside when it refused to budge. He glanced from one guard to the other, contemplating searching for the key before arching an eyebrow at the door and shrugging.
This is no time for subtlety.
He blasted the seam where the two doors met and saw them start to give way. Jim drew on his emotions again, releasing a more powerful stream that slammed the double doors open and gave him a clear escape. The kid sprinted out the door toward a nearby alley when he heard an unfamiliar female voice shout from behind him.
"Wait!"
Jim turned toward the source and fired on instinct, his gut telling him to fight or die.
"Jeanie, look out!"
A short, black-clad man threw himself between the beam and the woman, who—to his astonishment—was floating eight feet in the air. The man was tossed ten feet back into the side of the truck, his body leaving behind a deep imprint in its armored surface.
Jim gaped. I hadn't meant to shoot him that hard.
James turned and ran again, but only made it three more steps before he heard that female voice again, only this time it sounded different, almost—echoing.
"James, stop!"
The kid stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to face the red-haired woman and watching as her eyes and mouth went double-wide for just a flicker of a moment before she gulped and schooled her features into a reassuring smile.
"It's all right," she said without moving her lips.
"Who—what—" he stuttered, looking at the man by the truck, who was slowly picking himself up. James' eyes went wider.
"It's a long story," said the redhead hesitantly. "But we're here to help."
Jim looked between them, blankly staring as the man—a short fellow, by anyone's standards—cracked his neck as his dislocated left arm reoriented itself. "I don't understand."
"Listen, kid," said the shorter man rather irritably. "We don't have time to chit-chat, so if you're done gawkin', can we pick this up before—"
Jim's eyes darted behind him, and his face showed alarm. "Look out!"
James dove to his right as the woman dashed sideways midair and the man handsprung backwards, barely dodging the salvo of 9mm bullets directed his way by two MRD officers using the truck's front for cover. Jim ran for cover behind a nearby dumpster, and the man in black leapt toward the truck's back, boosting himself atop it in one fluid motion and running for the front. The boy stared numbly as the woman lifted her hands and disarmed the officers before the bearded shorty leapt toward the two men, delivering a double punch to their helmeted heads. They both fell to the ground unconscious.
I'm dreaming. This has to be a dream.
James closed his eyes and pinched himself. Hard. When he opened them, the chaos was still there and rising. Three more officers ran at his would-be rescuers from the main street just 20 feet off, out of their line of sight. Feeling another surge of anger, Jim's eyes narrowed, and he let loose a stream of energy from his eyes, looking from one guard to the next, catching two and knocking them aside before the third returned fire. The incoming gunfire forced him to close his eyes and duck behind the dumpster, heart hammering in his chest like a jackhammer.
A feral roar came from the other side of his cover, and he peeked around the edge to see the short man charge straight at the surprised officer, leaping to his left and spinning midair to avoid an incoming bullet, then clenching his fists and releasing three metal, knife-like appendages from each of his hands. He slashed his left hand diagonally upward, cutting the barrel of the officer's submachine gun off between his hands, then delivering a right roundhouse kick to his lower ribs. Even from that distance, James heard the snapping of bones as his eyes widened.
Who the hell is this guy, Captain America?
The chop-chop of helicopter blades was heard overhead, and James realized that those officers were just the first backup. James pushed down a sudden surge of despair and readied himself to shoot the aircraft down until he saw the woman again, standing on the now-heavily dented MRD truck. Her hands lifted into the air, and a moment later, the helicopter jolted to one side. The ends of its blades bent upward, causing the flight pattern of the aircraft to become erratic. He thought it was going to crash until it suddenly stabilized and landed softly on a two-story building nearby.
She just—whoa.
"So—"
James yelped and jumped at the sudden close proximity of the short man's voice, turning to face him.
"Like I said, can we hurry this up before more Marties show up?"
James looked at him, confused. "What? Hurry what up?"
The man rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Your rescue, bub. C'mon, do I have to spell everything out for ya?"
"You mean—you're taking me away from here? From my parents?"
"Uh...yeah, that's the idea."
Jim's face hardened and he shook his head emphatically, running toward his apartment building, toward his family.
"Kid, wait!"
No, no, no! I was supposed to come home, eat dinner, and pass out! This is not happening!
"Wake up," he muttered, rushing into the arms of his relieved parents and holding them both tightly as his eyes burned. "Wake up."
The red-haired woman touched down six feet from them and spoke softly to his parents. "Listen...Mr. and Mrs. Carter...your son...he's a—"
"A mutant," Ray interrupted, nodding. "We know." He looked to Jim. "We know now."
"Jeanie" pursed her lips. "Then you also know he won't be safe here with you, not with the MRD looking for him."
They both nodded, and Jim's heart began to sink. Were they trying to get rid of him? Were they afraid of him too?
"We can help him, keep him safe, train him to control his powers, to use them responsibly."
"Guys," Jim interrupted incredulously, "tell me you're not listening to this." One look at both their faces, and he knew they were. "But—why? Are you kidding me?" He waved at the black-clad pair. "We don't even know a thing about these people, and you're willing to—" His dark blue eyes snapped to the woman and flared with energy as his anger rose. "What did you do to their heads?"
Jean flinched a bit at his question, though why he couldn't tell. "Nothing, James."
"Then how the hell do you know our names?!"
"We track the Marties' radio chatter, kid," said the shorter man, who was sticking a cigar in his mouth. He sliced the end off with one of his claws and held a lighter up to it. A long drag of smoke was taken and exhaled as he nodded to James. "Led us right to you."
James clenched his teeth. "I'm. Not. Going. Anywhere."
"Son," Ray said, "...they're right. These people...they can help you. And the MRD will never stop harassing us until they either take you or realize you're not with us anymore."
James looked at them both intensely, still not believing how easily they were giving him up. Something had to be wrong.
"He's right, kid," the short man said, interrupting his train of thought. "Trust me, the Marties'll lose interest in your folks as soon as they realize they don't know anything about where you are."
James looked at each of them, these strangers to his parents, and realized they were going to do "what was best for him," whether he liked it or not. His eyes flared with energy as he briefly contemplated resisting, but one good look at the redhead and memory of that helicopter convinced him otherwise. His fists clenched at his sides as he took and released a deep breath.
Pick your battles, Jim.
"Damn it," he whispered finally, his head bowed, fists clenched in resigned frustration. "Okay, just...give me a second." He turned to Ray and June, still skeptical that they were in their right minds. That fear was relieved as soon as their features melted into their familiar loving concern. A quiet sigh left his lips as he hugged them both at once. "I love you."
The resigned kid gave his parents one last embrace before going with the two mutants, who flanked him in a protective formation and escorted him off the streets to their parked van, driving away incognito as the next wave of MRD reinforcements arrived at the site of the small battle.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, blankly watching the buildings pass by.
"To the Xavier Institute," the woman responded from the rear passenger seat to Jim's right. "It's a school for young mutants like yourself who need a safe place to stay and grow—and the headquarters of the X-Men. I'm Jean. Jean Grey," she said, offering her hand.
He took it gently, still emotionally numb from the separation.
Jean pointed to the driver. "He's Logan, also called Wolverine."
Jim looked at Logan's hands. I think I know why.
"How—how many more of you are there? At the Institute, I mean."
"X-Men or mutants?"
He stared at her quizzically. "I don't know...both?"
Jean smiled softly. "Well, the students are too numerous for me to give you a number off-hand, but there are about twelve other X-Men there right now. The rest are either inactive or traveling abroad."
Jim nodded and looked away, then drew in and released a long breath as he stared listlessly out the window.
"It'll be a fairly long drive to the Institute, James. You should get some rest in the meantime."
He nodded blankly and closed his eyes, letting the hum of the van's powerful engine lull him into a gentle nap. He woke some time later when Logan gently shook him awake.
"We're here, bub."
He nodded groggily and sat up, noticing for the first time that he still had his school backpack on.
The sun had taken on a gentler orange light, indicating that it was getting close to sunset, but there was still enough light for children to be playing outside. James rose from his seat and stepped out the door of the van, closing it behind him as he turned toward the main courtyard inside the Institute's gates. Logan drove the van away while Jean took his arm and guided him toward the fountain in the middle of the outdoor sanctuary. Around the courtyard was a basketball court, a long, rectangular pond, and arcs of trees leading into a large garden.
Jean looked back at him, holding out a hand to stop him. "Stay here for a bit while I go talk to Professor Xavier. I'll find out where you'll be staying."
James nodded his thanks, giving her a small, uncertain smile, the first he'd shown since last seeing his parents. Jean quickly walked away toward one of the mansion's shorter buildings, evidently the administrative hub. James looked around him, observed the children in the basketball court for a minute, saw one of them flash brightly, disappear, then reappear a second later in the path of the ball he'd thrown, catching it. He smiled despite himself, and turned toward the fountain, walking within five feet of it before catching sight of a nearby bench and the back of a white-clad woman sitting on it, reading intently. As he walked to her right side, he saw her smooth back her long blonde hair, then turn a page and keep reading. Standing in front of her rather awkwardly, Jim gulped and did the only thing that made sense to do.
"Hello," he said quietly, so quietly that he didn't think she'd heard him until she looked up at him.
She blinked once, twice, eyes widening just slightly for a few seconds before they went back to normal, and she just smiled at him. Smiled in the kind of way that instantly calmed his tumultuous mind and let him know everything was going to be all right.
She stood up gracefully and said, "Hello there," in a thick British accent, holding out her deceptively delicate right hand.
He shook it like it was an egg as a result, and learned it wasn't, as her diamond-hard grip showed him. Woah.
"Emma Frost. I'm an instructor here at the Institute."
He stared at her, blinking a few times, gaping slightly. "James Carter. I'm...new."
The pale, smooth-skinned woman cocked her head slightly, eyes growing slightly narrower, then smiled at him again. "I figured as much, from your...disoriented expression." She released his hand, which instantly went to his pocket along with his left.
James shifted awkwardly, unsure why he was so unsettled by this woman. "So...what do you teach here?"
For just a few moments, Emma's ice-blue eyes scanned over his features curiously, appraisingly, as if he were some sort of fascinating specimen, then she gave her answer. "A variety of courses, actually, ranging from English composition to European literature. Besides the normal academics, I also teach students to master their respective abilities, like all senior instructors."
"So, you're…one of them?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Them?"
He cleared his throat. "An X-Man? Woman? Uh…"
"X-Woman is fine," she said, noticing the deep shade of red he was turning. Emma's small, mischievous smile never left her face, which left James feeling even more embarassed until…
"Jim!"
He turned toward the voice, relief flooding his features.
"Found you a room."
"Jean," Emma said pleasantly—a little too pleasantly. "I see you're taking good care of this…" she directed a pointed glance at James, "fine young man."
Jean's eyes narrowed and lips pursed tensely. "Someone has to handle all the paperwork." She turned to James and laid her hand on his arm, whose hands were still in his pocket. "You'll be staying in the Freshman Quad, about three buildings down from here. I'll show you." She nodded in a general direction and tugged at his arm gently.
"Okay," he said, nodding slightly, turning back to Emma. "So I'll...see you around?"
"Of course," she responded. "In fact," Emma cocked her head and looked between James and Jean, "we might even have a class together."
Jim smiled at that, drawn to the woman in a way he couldn't yet explain.
"Goodbye for now," she added, "and...welcome to the Xavier Institute."
"Thank you."
James walked away with Jean, entering the dormitory with her and climbing a floor to end at his room, the last on the right. She unlocked the door with a key that she then gave to him.
"For the next four years and as long as you want afterward…" she opened the door, turning on the lights, "this is your home."
His eyebrows shot upward, and he laid down his backpack gently, right next to the bed. "Jean...Ms. Grey…" he sighed hard and turned to her, "look, I may be young, but I'm not an idiot. Everything has a price. If an offer seems too good to be true, it probably is." His arms crossed as he frowned at her. "So what's the catch?"
Jean sighed and gave him a long-suffering smile. "There is no catch, James. People like you are exactly why this school is here. This is all we want." She stepped toward his window, drawing the blinds and spreading her arms.
James looked and saw the dozens of mutant children in the courtyard and around, playing, safe. Safe from an angry, hostile world. Safe to be kids. To just be.
Jean stared at his pensive expression for a few moments. "You understand?"
He nodded slowly, unconsciously smiling.
Jean smiled back. "Take as much time as you need to get settled in. Dinner's at 7:30 in the main building. If you need help finding it, either consult the map on your dresser or ask one of the students." She smirked wryly. "There's always someone late for dinner in every quad."
James nodded. "Thank you."
She smiled and left him to his reverie.
So…maybe he'd been wrong in dismissing the place offhand. Even if they had kind of forced him into it, they seemed…nice, which was more than he could say for the two jackasses who tried to arrest him, or the teachers who complained about the way he looked at them when given a particularly annoying assignment, or…almost anyone, really. James smiled as he reflected on the circumstances of the offer.He was going to grant them a shot, at least. For saving his life, he supposed he owed them at least that much. But, if there was one thing his parents had taught him, it was to always live life on his own terms—and he intended to. For the moment, that meant learning all he could about his powers and how to properly focus them.
Emma mentioned something about senior instructors…they have to be the other X-Men. Which probably means their students are potential X-Men as well. If becoming an X-Man is the path to getting my life and freedom back, then that's exactly what I'm going to do.
His eyes turned to the fountain where he'd met Emma, now unoccupied, and his lips quirked upward.
And if I have some fun along the way…well, I won't be complaining.