Disclaimer: I do not own these amazing, wonderful, colorful characters. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.
AN: I've recently been kidnapped by the Avatar: The Last Airbender cartoon series section; a bit late, but a wonderful read. And I've been mildly obsessed with Teen Titans for a few years now. Yet I will never forget my first love: X-Men. So yes I've been away, but this story has sat on the computer for almost a year; I'd thought I'd try it out and see what I can do with it.
Most likely the story line has been done to death, and knowing what the new X-Men Movie has in store for us, this will become AU. But bear with me. Updates might be infrequent, and I'm afraid with life sometimes updating/ writing is not an option. I've had a rough road but I'm trying to get back into it again. Grammar is probably atrocious (I've never been good at it, and I won't pretend to be), but the story will tie in with the last Four X-Men's, and an arc not discovered (at least openly) on screen will appear.
To those of my other stories, do not fear. Updates will come!
On that note, enjoy the read, and tell me what you think!
Summary: The war that Magneto had thought to begin on Alcatraz Island, has taken off to new heights. Mutants are being hunted, persecuted for their abilities and hate crimes are of the norm. Charles Xavier's School for Gift Youngsters has opened their doors and has enrolled more children than previously thought. Ororo, Logan and Hank take care of the school in the wake of their friends and colleagues' passing, and have begun to heal from their deaths. The X-Team has grown adding old friends like Angel and Nightcrawler; with an added member of Elizabeth "Betsy" Braddock, who goes by the codename of Psylocke. Bobby, Kitty, and Piotr have become fully fledged members while Rogue begins to become an active member again. Her powers are reemerging in new and frightening ways as the Cure is revealed as a falsity.
And now in the middle of the tense battle for presidency is the Hellfire Club; an elite social club bent on helping mutants where they can - or so everyone thinks. They are not in the pacifist ways Xavier preached. They have their own agenda and now the X-Men have another terrorist group to worry about, a newly emerging Rogue, a thief with ties to Logan and Ororo, and a curious young blond woman who knows more about Logan than meets the eye. Not to mention the reappearances of a redhead that could undo the simple calm the Institute has begun to restore.
The Rise of the Hellfire Club
"If war comes upon us, it will come as a thief in the night" - Eamon de Valera
His legs are long and steady, running hurriedly over the neatly cropped emerald green fields. He can hear the crickets beneath him chirping happily and the whiz of the red alarms overhead. He dashes through the high hedges, rolling as he goes while pushing with his palms expertly into a handstand.
A thin line of red cuts across in front of him before blinking away. He counts to four and sees the light again. He smirks. 'Just like I figured.' He thinks smoothly and flips as the light blinks away once more. He crouches low as another shoots over his head and darts by his left forearm. He chuckles softly, extracting his bo staff slowly, the red disappearing briefly. They reappear in different sections, one cutting by his left temple and the second by his steel toed boot tops. They vanish and he hurls himself into the air with his long adamantum staff wasting no time to his goal. He soars above the red beams until he lands gently, one foot on the sill of the window.
He stands rigidly as a sweeping green beam blinks by his left fist and cuts through the air deftly almost hitting him in the gut. He sucks in a breath as it zips by; sweat dripping off his brow and he snorts to himself. 'Step one, complete.'
Adjusting his step, he leans forward with his shoulder and uses his free hand to draw a small square on to the glass window pane directly in front of him. It glows a red violet, almost magenta color before it pops forward into his out reached palm. He chucks it over his shoulder, reaches to undo the clasp at the top of the window and manages to drop in before the green light sweeps pass again.
He drops in a crouch, his knees pulled up to his neck. His shaggy wisps of auburn hair drift into his brilliantly demonic red on black eyes as a slow easy grin spreads along his sharp angular face. He rubs his day old stubble ruefully. Now this was the fun part.
Quickly he moves to a standing position, pulling his trench coat tightly as if making sure he is proper and flicks a playing card into his palm. It begins to glow a dim red light, leading him to the door and out into the corridor. He waits on baited breath hearing nothing that sounds like footsteps, shouts of an intruder or whispered voices in the dark. He smirks and heads to the left, knowing exactly where he had to go to reach the stairs.
Within moments Gambit is standing outside the large room of Smithsonian inner vault. It isn't like it was hard getting into the lower levels, as he easily planed out his heist days in advance. What kind of thief would he be if he hadn't?
He shakes his head as he laughs and lights up a cigarette. Not to mention a security guard with ties to the family has been very gracious with his information. Quietly Gambit takes a deep drag; letting the nicotine carry along his lungs, before he blows the smoke out into the room. A maze of red and blue, some bright orange lines crisscross over the lightly polished grey marble flooring.
He whistles in appreciation. "Knew it couldn't have been that easy," he comments dryly. It is the Smithsonian after all. He expects only the best.
Tossing his cigarette away, he retracts his bo staff. Hesitating just a second, Gambit twirls the metal over his knuckles before slamming it down into the maze of lights. Quickly he charges the staff, sending waves of bright purple vibrating through the cracks, lighting the inside up like a fireworks display on the fourth of July. Gambit chuckles as the security begins to wail and just as swiftly shuts down. He watches intently, the maze of lights begin to fizzle out until they completely shut off. The room becomes silent and dark.
Gambit nods once to himself and taps the walls cautiously. He had only used his powers to short circuit a few times in the past; not nearly of those times had seemed as thoroughly done as this one. He takes one step in to test the pressure activated flooring and nothing happens. Gambit closes his staff and swiftly closes in on the far glass case he was sent in to plunder.
He reaches it and cracks his knuckles thoughtfully. He doesn't have much time knowing the alarm would have awoken even the most asleep of guards and begins to let the tingle of his powers fill his finger tips. He eases his fingerless gloves over the glass, drawing a long oval and much in the same way he had done to the outside window, pops the glass into his palm. The pressurized air begins to leak out and Gambit grabs the object as his other hand opens a small soft canvas bag to house it in.
He glances once at it, shaking his head in thought. All this trouble for a funny looking man statue? It was maybe five inches tall, four inches around with a very serious looking hunched man leaning on a heavy pole. Decorative feathers are etched into the hard stone and the weight was hefty. Gambit once again shakes his head and drops the artifact into the bag, sealing it tightly before making his way to the escape.
Moving to the door he can hear footsteps above him. He glances up and sighs as if disappointed. They were taking the stairs, and much to Gambit's fun, wouldn't find Gambit when he decided to leave. He takes two long steps to a dumb weight system – very handy for exchanging information in such a large place as the Smithsonian was - and lifts himself into the small space while closing the metal door soundly.
The system begins to hoist him into the air as shouts yell below him. He smirks realizing they have discovered the man statue missing. The pulleys stop as Gambit opens the door, seeing the front entrance of the main museum building in front of him. He jumps down on light feet, the weight of the artifact cutting into his hip as it rests comfortably in his trench coat pocket and walks his way smoothly to the doors.
Carefully removing two playing cards Gambit flings each at nearby security cameras, the small explosions resonating in the empty halls. Arrogantly and with reason, Gambit strides from the glass doors, the locks melting away under his warm touch. He takes off into a dead run as he clears the large front lawn of the museum. It would be a few minutes between him and the rent-a-cops if they were as quick as he (which was as unlikely as them having his mutant abilities) but his heart thuds happily in his ears as adrenaline merrily pools in his veins. He smiles brightly as he takes out his staff in his escape and expertly flings himself over the tall black fencing surrounding the grass; he barely sweats at the ease in which he exerts himself.
It feels like he's coming home.
He lands in a tight crouch on the other side and listens intently behind him, his breath heavy but quiet. He doesn't hear a thing.
Gambit stands and chuckles softly to himself before pulling out another cigarette, the tip flaring to life under his finger. He knew the simple guards wouldn't be as quick as him but his body still hums to the excitement of it all. Shaking his head, the thief laughs carelessly before returning to his awaiting motorcycle in the shadows a mile away.
That was almost too easy.
Her arms are crossed tightly over her stomach. Long dark red sleeves rustle against the strain, her small black leather gloves firm across her knuckles as she waits. She barely recognizes the pictures on the television before her – her ears are tuned to the motorcycle that should bring Logan back from his latest mission.
She wouldn't call herself obsessed. She scoffs lightly, her jean clad leg tapping to an unknown beat inside her head. She isn't even sure if she knows the song, or if it was a residual effect from a previous draining that's come back to haunt her.
Rogue isn't obsessed, but she was missing Logan something fierce.
A rumble from the distance sounds and Rogue lets her ears turn in that direction. Her body goes rigid with anticipation. Her eyes are bright with expectance. It goes by softly and she knows it isn't him. Can't be – his bike is loud and worn in, dusty from travel and a baritone deeper.
Ever since Alcatraz, ever since her taking the Cure and subsequent return of her powers, Logan has been by her side. He was there in the night when the first memories she absorbed from him hit her hard and fast in her sleep while she had been unsuspecting. He was there helping her fine tune her official X-Men skills of leadership and scouting without the abilities she thought she had lost. He has been there for her when she's been down, out and totally off her game.
She isn't obsessed, but she is missing a very close friend; a friend who supports and watches out for her during her darkest moments.
And he has been gone three days. Three days away from the mansion was an eternity to Rogue. It wasn't like she didn't have other friends – she did! Jubes and Kitty were in fact close to Rogue now. But after her break up with Bobby, which both parties separated under good circumstances, Kitty was constantly tied to Bobby's side. She was starting to think of herself as the third wheel and it was uncomfortable to say the least.
At least with Logan it was always the two of them. She didn't have to think about consequences, or problems when around him because he just knew how to handle her. He was a friend, and sometimes overprotective father figure who knew her boundaries but didn't make her feel like a freak to go out of his way from touching her. It was less suffocating, and a bright spot to her life to know she had that someone in her corner. She needed that someone in her corner.
Rogue stands, stretching her tired legs. She hears laughter from the hallway and knows it is Bobby and Kitty. A small smile forms on her mouth as she thinks on the cute glances her two friends show each other. Inside there is a small ache, a desperate, dusty pang that hollows out her stomach when she thinks about their happiness but it normally doesn't last long. She likes knowing her friends are happy with each other, even if she isn't. Rogue isn't selfish enough to wish them ill harm.
Sometimes the world played out like it did for reasons those couldn't see. She knows that all too well.
Slowly she turns to the window, seeing young students run across the large front yard. She can hear the laughter from Mr. McCoy, a permanent fixture since the passing of the Professor, Jean and Scott. He really was a very likeable man with an optimistic point of view on the world, that sometimes Rogue often found herself admiring his perspective.
Surely, a man thought to be a beast could teach her a few things at remaining hopeful? She looks down at the leather, and instantly feels a bittersweet feeling grow in the pit of her stomach. She had been finally free of the burden, to be able to touch, and yet she had never been fully accepted for her choice. Yet when her powers came back, and the gloves were back on, it was like a 'coming home' feeling. She was either isolated and comfortable, or free and shunned. She didn't know which she preferred.
She doesn't regret trying the Cure before the clinics were shut down though. In fact she was glad she did. Those few nights able to sleep next to Bobby and not worrying about killing him, had erased a huge weight off her shoulders. But when they reemerged, it was like finding a part of her that had been hidden. Lost in the excitement of free touch. She was still careful after her powers re-manifested, but now she had something to work towards. Now she knew she had to try harder; because she wanted to touch again. She wanted to conquer that fear of her powers that held her back. Not having her powers, then getting them back gave her more hope to be touchable.
Rogue didn't feel like a coward in taking the Cure, but on some level she knew she had been. Control was possible. She just had to work at it. And, as she turns to look at the road with the distant sounds of a bike coming nearer, her powers were more manageable now. She still couldn't touch someone for long before they kicked in, but she was slowly gaining knowledge about how they worked.
Since the Cure her powers had become weird she realizes in a moment of clarity. Sometimes they worked and sometimes they were delayed. It was frustrating and exhilarating because it meant she could manage them in time. It meant they were possibly meant Rogue was a very hopeful yoyung woman who wanted to practice and train every second of every day because soon she could do it. Soon she would have control.
And although she was still dressed and covered at all times, it is a bittersweet feeling, that hope and want in her chest, because she knows soon, soon she'd be normal. Soon she'd have the control she often talked to the Professor about; and she feels proud that he might see this from wherever he is in the underworld, whether in Heaven like Kurt says or another place like Storm believes. She does this for him and Jean and Scott. They said she could do it, and slowly she is. It's their constant belief in her, and her own hope that she feels she can finally achieve her goals.
Control.
The bike becomes louder and Rogue looks to the entrance way, a black and silver bike coming into view. A bright smile appears across her pale face and she begins her trot to the garage. She'll meet him when he gets off the bike and the excited feeling at seeing her close friend and mentor again is enough to make her break into a dead run. He's finally home. Again.
The Harley gleams under the harsh florescent lights as Logan turns the engine off. He pulls the helmet from his skull, sniffing the air quietly as a small knowing smile graces his harsh features. Standing in the doorway is Rogue, her hair pulled harshly back in a high ponytail with the two streaks of white dancing in her eyes. She looks ready to tackle him at any moment.
He stands with his duffel bag and feels her knock into him. Her arms are slender but tight and he can't help but hug her with his remaining one arm. He smiles but hides it as she looks up. "Miss me kid?"
"Not really," she smiles and her Southern accent is dulled slightly. It's been coming out less and less the more she stays in the mansion and New York area. He remembers a time when he could barely understand her tumbled speech; he also remembers a time when Rogue was a little girl frightened but stubborn and not the young mature, determined woman before him.
It's enough to make him snort at himself in fondness.
She pulls back slightly and walks next to him to the entrance way. "How was your trip? Get ta do anything excitin'?"
He walks ahead of her and shakes his head ruefully. "You know Storm. The more recruits, the better. Couldn't find any where I was."
"And where were ya?"
"Vermont. Went to a few bars, few schools. Never had any biters."
Rogue nods slightly before they head toward the main hallway. Logan looks around at the empty corridors and looks back her suspiciously. "Where is everyone?"
She shrugs. "Most are hangin' in the rec room, or outside. Some went home. It's winter break at the end of the week. Holiday times an' all that." She dismisses easily but Logan can hear a bit of disappointment in her words. Holidays always sucked for the both of them.
"C'mon, I've got to debrief to Storm." He nudges her shoulder playfully and she laughs happily at him. They walk together in amicable silence until they reach Storm's office.
As they walk in, Rogue is taken back by how much it hasn't changed since the Professor's death. Storm was very careful not to move much, or to take anything away. She, like the rest of student body, was still grieving the loss of their mentor and by honoring his memory she keeps the office relatively the same. Rogue can spot a few placed plants of Ororo's chosen likes, but it has remained untouched in the Professor's absence.
Softly Rogue pads over to the bay window and through the distance can see the three lone tombstones in the dying sun. A pang strikes her but she is pulled away as Ororo hugs Logan tightly.
"Logan!" She says happily. Rogue smiles as Logan tightens with the contact. "How are you? How was your trip?"
"Hey 'Ro." He manages to mumble before she pulls back. He faces is slightly pink from her treatment. "Same old, same old. Nothing yet."
The shock of white hair bobs with understanding. Rogue can see the happiness of a friend fill her but her duties to the school calm her giddiness. "We shouldn't have to wait long. With the growing tension in the world, our halls will be filled with more students seeking refuge." She shakes her head, winking at Rogue. "Even more so than now. At least that's what Hank says."
"He's right though 'Ro." Logan replies, dropping his bag soundly. "The election is coming up. With what happened a few months back," he clears his throat looking away from the two women quietly as a thought takes him. Rogue can't help but sympathize for the grief Logan still feels for Jean's death.
She couldn't image the sacrifices that Logan made, killing Jean to save them all. And deep down, Rogue knows she would never want to know how much Logan feels about his actions. She knows it must eat at him when he thinks on it; when Jean had passed the first time, Rogue had felt the same grief. She had blamed herself for crashing the blackbird and almost forcing Jean to make her first decision. Now, she empathizes with Logan for his own torment.
He was an honorable man. He was taught to be an animal. But it didn't mean he liked knowing what he did. At least that much Rogue has learned through his thoughts and memories that come to her in wisps.
"With what happened a few months back," he begins again, his words slow and low. "We can't just assume the world is going to forget what mutants did. It happened, now we have to deal with the fall out."
"You are right," Ororo agrees softly. She runs a smooth dark hand through her short white locks in agitation. She looks like she is about to say something else but a rustling at the door stops her.
A knock sounds on the heavy cherry wooden door pulling the three teammates away from their conversation. Hank's blue furry face greets them elegantly. "Sorry to interrupt my friends," he nods once to Logan who tilts his head in return. Beast enters fully with his white button up and neatly pressed grey pants looking foreign beside Logan's holed blue jeans and leather jacket. "But I believe there is something you must see on the television."
They enter the recreational room, students gathering around the television. Most sit on top of each other or stand toward the back. The room is packed full of the last remaining, older and taller students.
Rogue enters with Logan, Ororo and Hank following behind her. She spots Bobby and Kitty by the paneled wall, Piotr leaning over them. Warren and Kurt are in the back corner with the new recruit Elizabeth 'Besty' Braddock; an Asian woman with purple hair and a hard British accent. Someone yells to turn the volume up, as another kid adjusts on the carpet and does as commanded.
Bobby spots her and waves her over to their group. Rogue glances once back at the other adults before stepping carefully to her friends' sides. "Bobby, what's going on?"
Robert "Bobby" Drake, the infamous Iceman who had been caught by news reporters for icing Pyro during their last battle, shrugs worriedly. "I'm not sure." His arm tightens around Kitty. His eyes trail over her, and she shrugs to his unasked question. She doesn't know anything either. "Something big is happening down in D.C."
A news reporter, the same one who had captured Bobby using his talents, appears on the screen. Her short black hair is prim and proper and her olive green suit meshes with her slightly tanned skin. She begins to speak, "Today a rally has begun in front of the White House. A man named Graydon Creed, leader of Friends of Humanity, has begun talks of presidency next month. We take you now to the coverage-"
The camera pans out as a man, tall and well built with slicked back yellow hair and green eyes stares charmingly at the camera. The background is lighter, having been recorded earlier that day. He is speaking well before the sound on the recording catches up with their replay. "...the mutants have started a war with humankind! They battle us for dominance, going so far as to publicly make a stand at Alcatraz months ago. I refuse to stand by and let our race become exterminated by people with cellular abnormalities."
"Knew it was coming," Logan says from the back of the room. A few kids nod their agreement as Ororo moves closer to the picture, closer to the other, younger members of the X-Men. Her mouth is in a straight line, her eyes dark with concern.
"Are they being punished for their crimes? Of course not – some have lost their powers." He nods to the people at his feet. Rogue can see the sweat trick down his jaw, his bulky coat ruffling in the late fall wind. "But they have regained them! How are we to know who is safe and who isn't? What if this Cure was the first step to knowing who is lethal and who isn't-" Rogue ducks her head as a few glances come her way. Ororo puts a comforting hand on her shoulder before they look on once more.
"I claim my run to presidency here and now. If voted into the White House, I promise you we will protect those who have much to lose – Homo sapiens. I will reintroduce the Registration Act, to know where the dangers lurk. We have lists for sex offenders to be careful, horrible places in certain cities mapped out to stay clear, why not a list of mutants to avoid?
"Elect me. Graydon Creed will keep you safe."
The TV clicks off as Bobby punches the wall in frustration. "Bobby, calm down." Kitty soothes but she feels as annoyed as Bobby and the others do.
"It's not fair. We didn't break the law. We shouldn't be persecuted. They have those that were at Alcatraz. And we were the ones who stopped them."
"Well they did young Robert Drake," Hank responds. He shrugs his massive shoulders as all eyes are glued to him. He adjusts his glasses before speaking again. "After we discovered the Cure was not as permanent as originally thought," Rogue bows her head again in embarrassment but Beast never looks at her. "We warned the government that mutants more dangerous, who had lost their powers, would soon ultimately regain them."
"Namely, Magneto." Logan supplies.
"And Mystique." Ororo adds.
"Yes. But once we passed the information along it seems our friend Erik and Raven had disappeared off the radar. Our only consolation was Pyro, who is still locked away within the government base specially made for his mutation."
"So what does this mean for us then?" Rogue asks. Her palms are itchy under her gloves as they sweat with worry and adrenaline. She can feel something in the air; tension and budding duty in her teammates grow. The kids around them grow restless with the feelings as if they can too sense something in the air shift. Ororo stands tall as the younger students begin to file out. They can see the determined look in her eyes and know official business is about to be spoken.
Once the children leave and only the X-team remains, including Nightcrawler, Angel and Psylocke, Storm looks at them each in turn. "We fight. We stand our ground, and we show humans why mutants aren't to be feared. We're the good guys. We have to show them that. That's what we do."
Logan walks forward, his hands in his jean pockets, and a small smile on his face. A glint in his eyes makes Rogue stand taller in pride. "And we get ready. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Creed is the least of our worries."
"Yes," Hank agrees readily. "Mutants will react to this. We must become ready to handle both sides of the war. We will become the voice of reason in these troubling times."
Storm nods and smiles encouragingly at her team; she was the leader now, and these were her people. Deep down, she knows this is what the X-Men are about. They keep the peace and help the coexistence of mutants and humans. She only wishes Charles was there to see his school begin to flourish with his principals in mind.
Back in a darkened hospital room, a comatose man lays, sleeping peacefully. He hasn't regained consciousness, nor will he ever as his brain is too far gone to be repaired. He lives on oxygen from a tube, a machine to keep his heart and lungs functioning, and a saline drip to provide him with fluids. He is unaware another presence fills his body.
His eyes struggle to lift; they struggle to move to let the shadows disappear to the presence inside his mind. He cannot budge them. His fingers tweak, and clench but they too do not move further. Softly he moans, trying to make words slip from his mouth for help but not only can he not do this, there is no one there to hear him should he say something.
The presence relaxes slightly, and begins to gather its strength. It knows what happened, what occurred months ago. He knows he is not in his own body, but in another host. He knows he is not truly powerful enough to do this on his own. And the only person who he would call to help is dead, much like everyone thinks he is.
But another thought strikes. He knows of another person, strong enough to reach him. One who he met many years ago; though she won't remember him. He has been watching her for some time before his fight with the Phoenix; before he lost his students to insanity and war. He knows she is powerful enough to help. He gathers more strength, harnessing his amazing and truly unique powers before sending out a beacon from the comatose man's brain. It is strong, but invisible and he pushes it to reach his target.
'Emma. Can you hear me? Emma, it is me Professor Charles Xavier. Emma, I need your help...'
AN: Well? What do you think? Trust me, this is just the beginning.
Drop me a line; I love to hear from readers.
Peace