Disclaimer – I usually write for another fandom (Ninja Turtles), but have recently acquired an interest in X-Men, thanks to Skybright Daye's, 'Fragility' story. I also enjoyed the movies, so it's not too surprising that a plot-bunny found its way to my doorstep.
The title, Familiar Stranger, is one that I've used to head a chapter in one of my TMNT stories. I also gave it as a gift to another author of that fandom and who contributes to Stealthy Stories, when he had a missive needing a heading. Nevertheless and considering the topic of this X-Men story of mine, Familiar Stranger fits nicely. Titles are such a burden to create sometimes. I do reserve the right to change it, however, if inspiration strikes. :0)
In either event, I own nothing but the OC's in this missive. All other characters are the soul property of whoever receives royalty checks for them.
Also, anyone who considers themselves an expert in the X-Men-verse is also welcomed to 'show me the way', as far as what's right or not about this chapter. I tried to recall what the school might look like from outside its front gate, so I might be way off. I will change whatever is necessary to make this as true to canon as I can. Always my goal, folks!
Anyway, on with the first chapter!
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X-Men Story – Familiar Stranger
Chapter 1 – Waiting
As she stood outside the closed gate, she gazed up at the huge building beyond. She read aloud the stone-cut writing over the front entrance, her voice soft and wondrous, "Xavier's Academy for Gifted Children."
It's so – unassuming, she thought to herself. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her coat and fingered its contents. A gift, a token of peace, a supplicating guesture of love - a rememberance she had managed to keep, despite...
She quickly dismissed that thought.
As the wind picked up and played with the hem of her pants, she shivered once. Fall was going to be a cool one, she mused to herself, hunkering further into her coat for warmth. In fact, the weather and the castle-like architecture of the school reminded her of visits to England; back when she was fresh out of college and desperate for adventure. She had taken in the local tourist traps, eagerly exploring the numerous ancient castles dotting the British landscape, and absorbing the history the country afforded.
It was a wondrous time for her.
So much had changed since then, though…so much…
As she stared up once more at the magnificent structure beyond the gate, she wondered who had built it and how old it was. It seemed as ancient to her as the castles she visited so long ago.
Meredith then swallowed and felt the subtle tremor of her hand react to her nervousness. "Maybe they'll kill me outright rather than let me see her?" she worried again, suddenly second-guessing her decision to come here at all.
"It's a dangerous idea," her elderly mother had told her, just before she left. That was a week ago, but her mother's words still rang in her ears, "They don't take kindly to us humans, you know. You're not like them, Meredith. Just – let her be."
But, if she came in peace, if it was true the one who governed this – school – for special children had intuitive powers as rumored, wouldn't he 'know'? Wouldn't he understand that she meant only to reunite herself with her own flesh and blood?
Wouldn't it be obvious to – him?
She noticed a wild, unkempt trail of Boston ivy weave itself along the endless line of wall surrounding the property, running left and right of the gate. Despite the soft contours of the vines, the wall seemed stoic and forbidding. Even the gate, with its bold and unique design, seemed to tell her she wasn't special enough to be here. She should leave at once it seemed to say to her.
Then, alongside and imbedded into the gate support, an intercom beckoned. It was her next task and quite simple, really. All she had to do was push the button. Someone would then talk to her through the speakers to find out what she wanted - or challenge her outright and tell her to go home.
For a moment, Meredith seriously considered doing just that – turning back and forgetting that she had a daughter.
For only a moment, though.
As she stood there and thought about her options, a feeling so strong and primal that whole armies would probably tremble in fear to challenge her suddenlygrew within the diminutive woman. Meredith stubbornly swallowed her remaining lump of trepidation and defiantly balled her fists.
No one would keep her from seeing her daughter, her only child.
No one would dissuade her, not even the memory of her husband, Frank - dead, now, these past two years. In fact, it was Frank's absolute hatred for what their daughter had become that caused the child to leave home in the first place. He had sent his own flesh and blood packing, telling the thirteen-year old to get lost, to go away and never come back. To him she was just a – freak among freaks, and he told her so.
Freak. Such an awful word.
Remembering his hateful comments, tears now filled the woman's eyes as she stood before the imposing gate, gazing up at the stone façade of the school. She easily recalled how horrified and hurt Frank's words were to their daughter. Marque had been so crestfallen, as if her father had struck her across the face.
Nevertheless, Meredith had helped her to pack, promising Marque that it would only be for a little while, until 'they' got used to the idea, until they adjusted to her mutation.
Only, they never did – Frank never did.
Despite his wife's protests, he had burned every picture of their daughter, every trinket, every piece of clothing left behind that had been hers. Everything but the one thing that had meant most to the girl, now tucked safely in Meredith's coatpocket.
Salvaged on the sly before Frank could takehis daughter's belongings to the dump, Meredith had squirrled away the locket, keeping it hidden deep within the linen closet in the bottom of a box filled with Frank's high school trophies. He never looked at them anymore, his athlethic days long over, so it was the safest spot to hide anything belonging to their disposed daughter.
Andhe never discovered it, either.
Nevertheless, her husband tried to forget Marque, forget that he had a daughter, his only child, and he didn't care if Meredith didn't share in his feelings. He even scoffed at her 'mother's love', insulting her intelligence, declaring hatefully "how can anyone love something like – THAT?" and then smacking Meredith across the room for emphasis.
Not that it did any good, because Meredith still loved her daughter, no matter what Frank said or did.
Meredith had regretted her compliance, too; her spineless reaction to her husband's overbearing ways. She could have done something rather than cower, should have said something, to keep Marque home, maybe even leave with her. But, she didn't, Meredith stayed behind because she was - afraid.
Nevertheless, had it not been for her husband, she would have probably made this trip long before now, long before too much time had erased the bonds she shared with her little girl.
No longer little, though, she thought ruefully as she stared once again at the building in question.
Nearly five years had passed already. Marque would be eighteen, now.
Would Meredith even recognize her daughter? After all, even before the girl had left to join this school for special children, she had begun her change.
For that matter, would Marque even remember her own mother?
Would she want to, was the bigger, more haunting question tugging at Meredith's heart
"Would she – still love me?" Another phrase cameto Meredith.
Shaking her head, the woman dismissed her insecurities, the 'what ifs', and her personal fear of rejection. She had had enough rejection in her life as it was, enough compromising. It had to stop. Regardless of whether Marque accepted her or not, accepted her apology, the woman would do what she came to do.
She would beg forgiveness from her daughter and then let the 'chips' fall where they may.
If Marque refused her, Meredith would return to California and the life she had left behind. She would try to forget, to move on, and to live without her little girl.
If Marque didn't, well…it was all Meredith could hope for. It was all that mattered to her, that small, nugget of hope that, somehow, some way, she might be a mother again.
As she steeled herself for the inevitable rejection, the woman pressed the intercom button next to the gate. As her other hand wrapped tightly around the locket in her coat pocket, she heard the soft whir of amotor and casually looked up.
There, situated ten feet above her, acamera turned, soon training its lens upon her. Meredith took a deep breath, held her head high,and - waited.