I began writing a collegiate fluffy-angst story…thing... and then began to think about what sort of school it was set in. It was thus I came to decide to turn it into this as things simply seemed to fit. I mean, who can't see Mrs. Fredric being some sort of badass-with-the-power-of-death-stare and mysterious head-mistress after Xavier? Not to mention Shawn and Aaron Ashmore… So, now it is a romantic development with an actual plot; yay for plots!
This is not an X-Men buff writing this, but the story is completely AU anyways, set several years after the more traditional team perished or something like that. So, if things are out of whack, suck it up!
"Some would ask why study the works of a playwright who's been dead for five centuries. What use could something so outdated be?" Newly appointed Professor Myka Bering paced the wooden floor of the lecture hall, staring up into the eyes of nearly two-hundred young men and women, girls and boys. Her energetic steps mirrored the urgent intensity of her words. "Something so unrelatable? We live in a world where one can pull a device from their pocket and connect to any location in the world. An era in which disease is nearly non-existent. We live in the midst of human evolution, a scientific progression that wouldn't even be theorized until three hundred years after such a playwright's death!
"How are we to take the words of a man who lived in a time where to go ten miles from your home was an impressive journey for most? What can we gain from a man whose society still supported slavery? From a time of peasants who lived with backs bowed under the weight of tyrants? When women were bereft so many civil rights? " She came to an abrupt halt on the lecture stage's right edge, standing in a pool of sunlight. Her gaze followed the trail of rays upward to the large glass windows lodged at the top of the white walls, just shy of where they met the ceiling.
"While societies may grow and change, human nature remains much the same. We are plagued by the doubts of Hamlet. By the sorrows of Tennyson. By the love songs of Rilke. We experience the emotions of men and women who lived thousands of years before us, and wage the same battles for understanding and-"
Myka, you're needed. Report immediately, as you are.
The voice, echoing inside her skull, stopped her in midsentence.
I'll be there shortly.
"And," she picked up, adjusting her glasses. "And I'm afraid I must end our first class together early. However, let me leave you with this. Today, all of you gifted young individuals, deemed mutants by your race, still battle against an oppression not so unlike that which mistreated people of certain race, of certain gender, and of certain sexual orientation have battled for centuries. Through time, we are all joined in a struggle to survive, understand, and enjoy what it means to be human. This semester we will explore these connections in the writings of figures separated from us through time, and you will find just how strongly related we all, as humans, are… You are dismissed."
The silence shattered as students flipped down their desks and began hustling out of the lecture hall through the large double doors. She watched for a moment before ducking out the private lecturer door.
The wood-paneled halls of Xavier's School for Higher Learning sat more or less empty despite it being the first day of fall semester. Most students and their professors still sat locked away behind classroom doors, beginning what would be several months of academic reprieve from the outside world.
But she had little time to think of it. Myka's walk turned into a run as she moved through the space, making her way to a stainless steel elevator. She scanned her finger print for verification and hit 'B2.' A moment later, the doors opened and she stepped out.
Gleaming white and built of arched walls, the halls of the lower levels gave the impression she'd entered into a different world, separate from the collegiate atmosphere that rested just a few tens of meters above. She passed doors and offshoots, navigating the maze at a break-neck sprint with the sureness of one who'd walked it many times over.
Though, being graced with an eidetic memory certainly helped things along.
At last she arrived at the door she needed. It swooshed open before her, revealing a cavernous room of a size rivaling some stadiums. Filling the center of it was the reason for the room's immensity: a sleek, black aircraft that looked as if it had been torn straight off the page of one of those sci-fi comic books Pete and Claudia wer always reading. Blackbird 2.0, as they'd named it, beckoned to her, its docking clamps already undone.
"Mykes! C'mon! Artie's briefing us on the way!" Pete called over the quiet hum of the engines. Standing in the cockpit's darkened entrance with one hand propped on the top of the doorway, he waved her up the ramp.
She ran towards him, augmenting her speed via her telekinetic powers. "What about our uniforms?"
"No spandex this time. We're going civilian." He stepped aside and activated the door as soon as she was in. It slid shut with a hiss. "Ready for takeoff! Let's go!"
"Got it," Todd Funk called from the pilot's seat. He was young for the team, too young in Myka's book. But, the 19-year-old, gifted with technology and imbued with the power of abnormal reaction time, had been an obvious match for the recently vacated position of Blackbird pilot.
"Hey Myka! Pumped for The Ghost?" Red-headed-spitfire-bundled-in-a-twig-thin-package Claudia Donovan leapt out of the co-pilot seat and followed her teammates into a compartment lined with seats on each side.
"The Ghost? We've pinged him?" Myka asked incredulously as she took grabbed a Tesla stun-gun from the rack, tucking it in the back of the waistline of her black skinny jeans. She moved to a seat and strapped herself in next to Pete. "Steve, Leena" she acknowledged the tall blond man and short dark-skinned woman already seated across from her. They smiled back; Leena gave a short wave.
"Yes. Yes we have," her question was finally answered.
Myka turned her head to find Arthur Neilson step in from command center in the rear cargo bay. The short, grizzled old man, director of the X-Men field team, clambered into a padded seat at the end of the other row. "Claudia. Seatbelt."
The young woman grumbled and pulled the four-point harness over her shoulders, snapping them into place at her chest.
"Mrs. Fredric and Cerebra," he continued, "picked up his signature. We've tracked him to a suburban house in Chicago."
Pete leaned against his belt, groping under the seat. "What's the game plan?" He came up with a bottle of water and held it out to Steve, an asking expression on his face. The other man rolled his eyes before reaching to take it in his palm. When he returned it to Pete a second later, ice crystals clung to the bottle, clouding the transparent surface.
Artie eyed the exchange. "You're going to wrap this up peacefully. Mrs. Fredric wants The Ghost caught, not harmed. We want to convince him to come with us. Force is a last resort, and only because we can't afford to let him keep running around the world. We don't want to scare him into accepting any deal MacPherson would offer if MacPherson were to find The Ghost after this encounter."
"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I kinda like the idea of a kick-ass superhero running around, busting haters, murderers, and child-abusers and then pawning them over to the po-po," Claudia piped in.
"And that," Artie replied, "is why you're running comm from the cargo bay with me. Leena and Myka will head the effort as they're most qualified by their talents. Steve, you'll go with as backup. Pete, watch from outside. He'll be in house 209."
Claudia groaned. "I say what everybody's thinking and get to bite the bullet for it." Her eyes clouded a little in disappointment, the air rolling around her.
Myka looked at her sympathetically. If her book that had judged Todd was fair, it read that Claudia was too young for missions as well. But, working together, Myka had found the 18-year-old to be an astonishingly capable handler as well as a field-agent of limitless potential. Yet, occasionally, her untempered youth would shine through.
"We can't let him run around playing judge, jury, and executioner Claudia," Myka tried to explain. "No matter how righteous it seems. It's only a step away from McPherson."
The redhead looked like she was about to argue when Artie cut her off. "We can argue the finer points of philosophy after he's in our custody."
Pete nodded. "No way is he slipping away this time."
Loose buckles in and hanging cargo straps swayed as the jet began to slow and drop to a lower altitude.
"Dropping you in the backyard across the street." Todd yelled from the cockpit. "Doors open in three!"
Myka her hands on the safety-harness buckle, preparing to undo it.
"Two!"
Across from her, Leena nodded, signaling for Myka to take point.
"One! Go!"
With a flick of her thumb, the restraints fell apart. Before they hit the ground, she was already bolting toward the door. With little more than a quick glance out, she jumped and hit the ground running. Rounding the corner of the house, the street came into sight. She slowed as grass turned to asphalt beneath her work-boots. Leena and Steve pulled up beside her, matching her pace as they walked quickly towards their target. The neighborhood was dead, the children at school and the adults at work. Opening her mind in preparation, she sensed Pete pass them, marking his location despite his talent for invisibility.
209 was your ordinary 1960s American dream with a slight modern touch– the white picket fence, the porch with a wooden swinging bench, the good ol' stars and stripes flapping gently on the breeze from a short pole nestled in a bracket beside the front steps.
But the psychic profile of it was… something else. She could feel the thin, acrid shadow of anguish emanating from within, hinting of pain. Terrible things had happened here in the recent past. And now, more were being done inside, but to the source. Myka might have questioned the truth of what she'd told Claudia mere minutes ago had she the time to.
"There are two people inside," Leena whispered as they climbed the wooden steps to the porch.
The white-washed floorboards creaked in protest at their weight, making Myka cringe as she nodded her agreement. She reached out for the silver door knob. It turned easily and the front door swung open, revealing a small hallway with shattered glass scattered across its hardwood floor. Amidst the shards were the crushed stems of several beaten, red lilies.
Something was definitely going down. Muffled words colored with controlled rage drifted from another room. The glass crunched beneath her soles as she entered, gesturing for the other two to follow suit.
The hallway opened into a large kitchen. Stone tiled floors and roomy atmosphere decked with sparkling, new appliances spoke of wealth just as the scattered chairs lying on their sides spoke of a scuffle. Moving along the wall, she neared a doorless opening into what was presumably the living room, a corner of a leather couch peeking through the opening.
"Did you enjoy her helplessness? Her innocence and the way you bereaved her of it? You sick bastard!"
A hard thump sounded from the room, followed by a sharp groan.
"Seven years old. Did it make you feel like a man?" Another thud, this time with a weak cry of pain.
"Please… I'll never touch her again. I leave, and pay child support from the other side of the country, or whatever you want. Just… just…"
Myka peered around the corner just in time to witness a lithe figure slam a well-executed kick into the stomach of a man who sat bowed over on his knees. The blinds were pulled, layering the room in shadows with only the weak glow of what little light could sneak in from the windows. She caught a glimpse of the man's hands zip-tied behind his back as he begged, his face pressing against the carpet.
"Well, I didn't expect the police to arrive so quickly," the same voice called out, making a sudden switch from anger to almost whimsical nonchalance in its British accent. "I always have to call. I almost ought to call you bunch competent, if only you'd caught this bloody bastard earlier. Step out where I can see you, all of you, and perhaps I won't kill him."
The brunette froze, her cover clearly blown. But that voice… this didn't make sense. Yet, there was no time to think. "I'm coming out." Raising her open palms, she stepped around the corner. Leena followed suit.
The Ghost… was a woman?
A whip-thin woman, standing fifteen feet in front of her with raven-hair framing her pale face, in fact. Dark eyes roved Myka's body, measuring, and then moved to Leena's.
The Ghost finally snorted. "Well, you most certainly are not the authorities. I guess that explains the competence." She stepped back from the man, now pointing the gun at Myka. "It was lovely meeting you, but, I'm afraid I quite nearly forgot the time. I don't suppose you and your friend still hiding around the corner could call the police and tell them I've found them another child rapist, could you?" she took another step. "Ta ta."
Grabbing for her Tesla, that's when Myka felt it. The world around her began to shift and ripple, her body aching as if she were being compressed and pulled apart all at once - as if she'd been thrown into a garbage compactor, yet was being simultaneously stretched apart like a scrap of chewed gum.
Her powers. She couldn't move, but she could still use her powers. The fear of losing control argued yelled out against the idea. Countering whatever was going on would take a significant amount of effort, too much of which would jeopardize her carefully maintained balance. She could lose more than control – she could lose herself. Such was the nature of strength.
Yet, there seemed little choice. She began cutting holes in her carefully constructed walls, incisions in her mental barriers. Closing her eyes, she reached out to The Ghost, hoping for a hint of what exactly it was the mysterious woman was capable of so that she might counter it.
Time.
Eyes closed, she willed herself to match whatever it was The Ghost was doing to the world around them, trying to maintain a bridge between the two of them and yet firmly grasp her own sense of self while the torrent of power raged its course through her veins. She could feel ripples in space flowing around her, battering and assaulting as she tried to manipulate them to match The Ghost's pace. It overwhelmed, and it was just as she felt as if she might be slipping that all of the pieces fell into place.
"Well, you're something special."
Myka's eyes opened to gaping maw of a Berretta, the barrel's opening now no more than perhaps a meter and a half away and angled for her chest.
The Ghost eyed her warily, all air of playful cockiness gone from her features and voice. "Don't. Move."
Myka hadn't really been planning on it; the cocked gun aimed at her heart had done a rather good job of convincing her not to. Though, when she considered it, stopping the bullet probably wouldn't be all that difficult. Her eyes darted to Leena. The shorter woman stood frozen in place, completely still- not even a hair drifting out of place or a shudder as she drew breath. Nothing.
Her gaze moved to the hands of a wooden clock hanging on the wall. The hands sat limp, unmoving, though its face rippled as if composed of some unstable semi-liquid.
"So, are you another hunter, strapped with some advanced device you've worked up to counter my sort?" the dark eyed woman questioned almost rhetorically.
"Hunter?" Myka repeated carefully, uncertain of where she stood. She could feel the woman's rage bending towards her.
"Oh, come off it. I suppose it was too much to hope the Black Diamond had fallen apart in the past century," she scoffed.
Myka tried to make sense of it. The Black Diamond - the Brotherhood of the Black Diamond. A cult of murders, of men dedicated to the eradication of "demons," or rather, the earliest appearances of human mutation. The group was little more than legend, a whisper of an evil that had perhaps existed centuries ago and since petered out of being. It was myth.
The Ghost had confused even Mrs. Frederic with her ability to jump in and out of Cerebra's detection; to be there one moment, gone the next, and then appear days later as if she'd never been left. All had been left wondering how an adult mutant who registered so powerfully could have escaped detection in childhood. And now it almost made sense. If the woman was speaking of centuries, then maybe…
"We're manipulating time," Myka whispered her thought in wonder.
The Ghost's expression became one of wary curiosity. "You only just gathered as much?" It wasn't a jibe, but rather an honest inquiry as if the gun-wielder was struggling to figure Myka out just as Myka was the gun-wielder. Yet, the firearm's barrel didn't lower.
"Yes." Myka made herself hold the other woman's gaze. "I'm Myka Bering, and my friends and I are just like you."
"Oh? And how might that be?"
"We're different." Myka almost smiled at the paradox. "Leena," she gestured at her frozen friend, "can read certain types of Chi – can read emotional and life energy and sometimes even manipulate it," she tried to explain. "My friend around the corner can sap heat energy from his surroundings and manipulate water molecules."
"And you?" The Ghost prodded.
"I… I have a range of talents, such as telekinesis and telepathy," she fumbled. Not even Mrs. Fredric was quite certain of just how far Myka's powers spanned, but those two were certainly the most exercised of her repertoire. "I tried to match your manipulations of space and energy... I didn't realize what it would lead to."
The other woman was staring at her with a strange energy in her eyes. Myka hoped it was favorable.
"Then who do you lot work for? I know better than to think you simply stumbled in here just moments after I myself did. What is it you want?"
The brunette realized she was being given a chance, and knew it could not be wasted. "We belong to a secret organization of people like us," Myka explained quickly. "Like you and me; people call us mutants. We manage a school for 'mutant' children who have little place else to go; we offer sanctuary for adults, as well as provide a political front for pro-mutant support. We track down what others would call misfits and protect them. We would like you to come back with us."
"And I don't suppose this offer has anything to do with my… activities, as of late?" The Brit's sarcasm didn't go unnoticed.
Myka cringed at the question. She'd been hoping to avoid this part. Her explanation could not afford to raise this woman's defenses.
"You're 'activities,' have been fueling some anti-mutant campaigns. Mutants are just people. We have to abide by certain laws, too." She looked openly at the beaten man, frozen in mid-collapse on the floor. "I know what he does is wrong; it's sickening. But the way you're going about solving it is hurting others. I don't know what drove you to this, but we'd like to help you, to incorporate you in our fold. You want to make a difference. We can give you the proper channels."
The indecision rolling off the pale woman was overwhelming. Myka knew she had her almost convinced, could feel the bonds of trust quite nearly solidified. It was so close…
But The Ghost shook her head. "Too perfect. I don't know what you are or who you are, but I do know that I don't care for the rules of the close-minded, or what I've seen of this time period, or whatever organization you truly work for."
Myka's stomach plummeted as the dark-haired woman continued. She knew where this was leading, and didn't want it to. A black rift began to form beside The Ghost, space and matter contorting around it to make room, as if the gaping hole wasn't quite on their same plane of existence. A portal, perhaps. Myka could almost feel the atomic particles around it behaving eratically.
"I'm must deny your offer. Whatever weapon you're holding, draw it slowly and drop it."
Myka held out her open hand, trying to stall. Either she'd have to apprehend the woman now, or follow her through whatever sort of rift was forming. "Please… I don't know your name, but please don't do this."
"Now."
Myka complied, slowly drawing out the strange, glass-and-brass contraption that was her Tesla. It slid free of her waistline, and she held it out beside her, pointing towards the wall.
Rather than trying to disappear, as Myka had expected and been preparing to prevent, The Ghost stared at the weapon, her eyes widening into pools of surprise and recognition one moment only to narrow into suspicion upon the next. "Is that… where did you get that?"
Myka set it gently on the floor. "A Tesla gun, developed by one of my organization's fore-fathers," she tried to explain.
"Oh, Nikolai," The Ghost murmured. "You always spoke of…"
Myka's breath caught in surprise. The way she'd said the name sounded almost… reverent. Familiar. As if this woman had known the man.
The Brit's eyes moved from the object to Myka's gaze, searching, weighing. "You've never known you could time travel? You only just now figured it out?"
Myka nodded.
"You must be talented to have picked it up so quickly - rather powerful." It sounded almost like a compliment.
The X-Woman didn't answer, unmoving in The Ghost's gaze. Myka could almost see a conclusion being assembled behind the powerful stare.
And then, the Berretta swung away. The brunette watched as the clip was removed, the chamber unloaded, and the safety flicked on with unpracticed but precise motions. Myka finally let her arms lower to her sides.
"I've never much liked guns." The Ghost strode towards her, and Myka held her breath, unsure of what exactly to expect. For the first time, she was able to get a clear look at the figure they'd been chasing for months. The dim light glinted off of delicately chiseled features and was swallowed completely by nearly black eyes. The orbs seemed to absorb all the energy of those rays and store them away, such was the intensity of their look. The intelligence of it.
Her observations were interrupted as a hand pushed the unloaded weapon against her chest. Myka brought up a palm and caught it despite her surprise. As The Ghost let go, instead of retracting her hand, she held it out between them. Myka watched it before meeting The Ghost's eyes once more. Still off balance from the turn of events, she stared dumbly for a moment before clasping the hand with her own.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Myka Bering. I would be happy to accompany you," The Ghost spoke seriously. As she did, the black crevice began to shrink behind her. "I hope we will be able to put this… meeting at gun-point behind us."
"Yes. Okay. So," Myka stumbled for words. "Um. Yeah. I guess we should probably, you know, return to time to normal?" Things had worked out unbelievably well; really, she was having a difficult time not looking a gift-horse in the mouth, but did her best.
"Of course."
And in the blink of an eye, the clock hands were spinning once more, the air moving through Leena's lungs, and all the furniture no longer rippling.
"Woah!" Leena jumped back as she spotted her partner shaking hands with the Ghost, when only a split second before the latter had been holding Myka at gunpoint from across the room.
Steve jumped into the doorway. "Nobody move!" He held his Tesla before him, aiming it towards the time-shifter.
Myka stepped between them, shielding the shorter woman with her body. She would not let any hasty mistakes ruin the agreement they'd come to. "It's all right. She'll come with us." As soon as Steve lowered the weapon Myka gestured for him to lead the way out.
"What do we do with him?" Leena asked, pointing to the beaten man. The way the dark-skinned woman - the epitome of compassion - looked at the him so harshly… Myka had no doubt that he was indeed scum. He had toppled over onto his side and now lay there, softly moaning.
"We'll tip the police when we're clear. Let's not keep Blackbird waiting out there." She noticed the Brit tense. "Blackbird is our airplane," she explained.
"Ah." The nervousness glinting in the Brit's eyes immediately morphed into anticipation. Myka noted the change curiously as she ushered the team back out onto the street.
Pete appeared standing in the middle of the vacant street as they stepped clear of the property. "Hey, where's the Ghost and who is this pretty lady?" he asked, walking backwards in front of them and eyeing the Brit up.
Myka ignored the question. "Did evac contact you?"
He shook his head.
"Call them."
"You could just-"
She gave him a hard look even though she knew he was only teasing.
"-just not use your brainy powers while I use the Farnsworth and call them in," he finished. He pulled out the small device and flipped it open. "Hey, Claud, we're ready for pick up. Insertion point work?"
"Yep, we're there," came the muffled response.
They rounded the house across from 209 in time to see a doorway appear in what had looked to be empty space. The ships cloaking abilities never failed to astound. Claudia stood in entrance, waving them aboard and standing aside to make room.
Myka leapt up first and immediately turned to help the others - Leena, Steve, and then their hesitant new acquaintance. It wasn't fear, but Myka didn't know what else it could be. "It's all right," she tried to reassure. The Brit looked at her for a moment and nodded, taking Myka's hand and letting herself be pulled up. As soon as Pete was inside, she activated the door controls. "Doors are closed," she shouted to Todd.
The plane hummed and began to lift. The Ghost stumbled at the change and Myka grabbed her forearm. The brunette guided her into the first seat on the right before helping her with the safety harness.
"I've heard of these aeroplanes," The Ghost said absently, gaze moving over the interior of the jet, soaking in every detail before returning to Myka as the brunette buckled the Brit in and moved on to the seat beside her. The word rolled off her tongue like it was something completely foreign.
Myka regarded the woman strangely as she belted herself in. "Heard of-"
"Any complications?" Artie cut in as he ducked in from the rear cargo bay.
"None. Everything went smoothly. We need to tip the police," she answered.
"Done. So, this is The Ghost?"
"The Ghost?" The woman in question looked to Myka for an answer.
"That's what we've been calling you, since we didn't have a name."
Claudia leaned forward in her seat, staring at the newcomer with wide eyes. "The Ghost is a chick? Oh holy batsignal!"
"A smokin' chick at that."
Myka shot Pete a look that said, "Really?"
But the Brit just smiled at their enthusiasm, even though she didn't get the references or language.
"Do you have a name?" Artie interrupted, tone unphased and lacking any scrap of diplomacy as per the usual.
"Helena. Helena G. Wells," the Brit answered, ignoring the unwelcoming demeanor of the older man.
"Wow, like HG Wells? That guy who wrote The Time Traveler?" Pete asked brightly.
"The Time Machine," Myka and Helena both corrected simultaneously. Myka's eyes met those of their new acquaintance in startled surprise.
The Brit grinned in delight. "So my works have survived the years-"
"Hold up. You're saying that you're the HG Wells? Like, the father of the modern science fiction genre?" Claudia questioned.
"Father?" the Brit repeated, frowning in distaste. "Oh, damn it. Well, I suppose being credited with genre is something, but still… "
"You're telling us that you're the The Island of Doctor Moreau HG Wells?" Myka interrupted skeptically, struggling with the mere idea of one of her childhood idols and favorite authors not being anything like the man she imagined him to be. Or rather, not being a man at all. Not that Myka had anything against the idea of HG Wells being a woman – quite the contrary. It was just too surreal; she had imagined herself meeting many literary figures in her daydreams – what she'd say and what they would be like. But here, to have her dreams and expectations, her memories of old photographs and imaginings shattered... it had to be impossible. "But that was written by a man who died yea-"
"Charles?" Helena scoffed. "My brother most certainly did not have half the wit required to write the simplest of children's book. One could hardly get a half-decent, coherent sentence out of him. He did, however, have a manhood, which I most cleverly used to get my stories published and taken seriously." The black-haired woman paused in thought. "Though, if everybody still credits my works to his name, I suppose it may not have been so clever after all… how could he do this to me? To never credit his sister, the true author, not even on his death bed? I wou-"
Helena rambled on, and Myka stared in wonder until she felt Artie's eyes on her. Prying her gaze away, she turned to meet them. The grizzled older man didn't need her telepathic powers to know what she was thinking.
The Ghost, it seemed, was far more than they'd bargained for.
I have a terrible track record when it comes to finishing stories. However, I already have beaten out nearly half of this one . Said half merely needs editing and such, so expect weekly or perhaps bi-weekly updates? Hopefully...
On a final note, reviews are most welcome, as are any criticisms. Actually, they are quite desirable - they make my day, so fork 'em over!