Disclaimer: X-Men First Class, Heroes, nor anything else in this fan fiction that you recognise, belongs to me. I own nothing. All rights belong to Marvel/ Tim Kring.

Chapter Two

Peter POV

"Nathan? What the hell is this?"

I shake the sickening file at my older brother, my face contorted in rage.

"Peter, just listen to me, it's not as bad as it looks-" Nathan begins but I snarl in disgust and growl over him, "NOT AS BAD AS IT LOOKS? YOU'RE FUNDING A MAN TO TORTURE PEOPLE AND IT'S NOT AS BAD AS IT LOOKS?!"

"Petey, look, it really isn't that bad, it's not like they're really people anyway, I mean, they're mutants, they're not natural," Nathan says without batting an eyelash.

I sputter in disgust, "Not people? Of course they are! Just because they're mutants doesn't mean they feel pain! God, you're a hypocrite. You can fly Nathan, so what does that make you, huh?"

"Lower your voice, Peter,"Nathan hisses.

"IT MAKES YOU A MUTANT! As am I, and Claire and Mom!" I growl.

"Mom is not a mutant, and neither are we," Nathan scoffs.

"Nathan, are you hearing yourself right now? We can fly. Me and mom can dream the future. Me and Claire can heal from any injury. What does that make us? MUTANTS! So how the hell can you justify torturing your own kind?!" I spew and Nathan glares at me, "We aren't torturing them, we're experimenting on them,".

"Oh please. So-" I glance at the notes at the top of the pile of papers I'm clutching, "So pumping 5000 volts into a girl that can manipulate electrical energy is just "experimenting" is it, it's not at all agonisingly painful,".

"She can manipulate that stuff, I'm doubtful it hurt her," Nathan shrugs.

"But what if it did? What if she screamed for them to stop? What if the memories still haunt her at night? All of which could have been prevented had you not been a major hypocrite and funded this god-awful project!" I snarl before turning to leave.

"Peter, where the hell do you think you're going?" Nathan asks and I shout back, "Away from you!"

"I know he's always been a cold bastard, but I'd never think he'd be capable of this," Claire says as she nibbles her lip worriedly whilst she flicks through the incriminating file, "God, this is awful. Imagine what they'd do to me, if they got their hands on me, Petey,".

"Don't worry, Claire, I won't let them touch you," I smile down at my eighteen year old niece. Being only four years younger than myself, she's more like a sister than a niece.

"We should run away, Petey. I mean, I reckon Dad's pretty pissed off right now-" Claire begins but I cut in, "He wouldn't hand us in, Claire, he wouldn't do that,".

"But would he? I mean, I would never have thought he'd fund something like this, but now, well, now I think he'll think we know too much,".

I sigh and run my hands through my hair worriedly, "Where would we go, Claire? What would we do?"

She wrinkles her nose in thought, then says, "I heard of this place, over on Long Island. My friend, you remember West? Well, he mentioned it once. Said it was a safe place for mutants, 'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters',".

I laugh, "A school? Thank you think might exist?"

"Look, West said they'd been to recruit him and that he was thinking of going. What harm can we do? I'm sure they could help us out, if anything. I mean, heck, this torture chamber needs to be taken down, maybe they can help us with that?" Claire asks.

"You want to take it down? I'm in for that. But I highly doubt that a school full of children can help," I say and Claire grins, "Ah yes, but a school full of gifted children,".

Elle POV

It took me a while to get myself off my feet. It taken more than a few train hops, thefts, minimum wage jobs and begging to get me my scummy little flat in downtown Manhattan.

But hey, even though I can hear the rats scuttling across the floorboards at night and the grime on my window makes it impossible to see out of, it's mine. To rent, anyways, but still, it's my own little form of freedom.

By day, I work at a nearby café as a waitress, and at nights I work as a dancer at a local nightclub. The kind that wears very little and dances for men. I don't particularly feel all that great about myself when doing it, but the money helps pay the bills and I've faced worse things in my life.

Today had begun like most days do.

I'd dressed myself for work in my blue gingham dress and white apron, pulled on my white tennis shoes, brushed my hair and pulled it back in a long ponytail, cleaned my teeth and had a quick cup of coffee and an apple. Then I'd walked to work, avoiding the local beggars and people in general.

I'd arrived at work, under the alias of "Laura Bailey", and greeted my co-waitresses, Rosie and Jenna, and my boss, the chef, called Parker.

All was going well until, around mid-morning, I had taken the orders of two young enigmatic men. They'd been playing chess and joking amongst each other when I'd wandered over. The taller of the two had looked me up and down with his piercing icy eyes for far too long for my liking and I'd glared at him, causing him to blush profusely.

Then, he'd gone and bumped into me, spilling liquids all over myself. I hate getting wet, staying in the shower for as short a time as possible and then thoroughly drying myself down afterwards. Over the years I've become rather paranoid about it, the result of the torture I suffered at the hands of my capturers.

So, add the fact that he'd been eying me up before and had now spilt liquids all over me, I was more than a little ticked with him. And then he came in.

My capturer. My torturer. My father.

I did the only thing my mind could think to do; I ran.

Now I'm gasping for breath, hiding in the kitchen, much to the confusion of Parker, hoping to God that he didn't see me.

"You alright?" He asks and I shake my head no. "What's up?"

I look towards the door worriedly. "It's my father," I whisper, "He's found me,". Parker frowns but then looks out of the window in the door that separates the bar from the kitchen, his gaze quizzical.

My father's voice carries through the walls, "I'm looking for an Elle Bishop," he asks Rosie, who frowns and replies, "Well, she's not here. Why do you want to find her?"

So I'm guessing he didn't see me then. Phew.

"She may be under a different alias. Does a girl that looks like this work here?" He shows a picture to Rosie who freezes then shrugs, "Nope. Not seen her in here before,".

Jenna walks over to look at the photo, "Hmm, I think I saw a girl like that when I was in New Jersey visiting relatives last month,".

I turn away, sighing in relief and attempt to gain control of my shaking.

When I turn back, my father and his minions seem to have lost interest and left, much to my relief.

"You wanna leave out the back, hun? You look like you need to lie down. Go have some rest, just be back on time tomorrow," Parker smiles kindly and I nod, "That sounds good, thanks,".

I collect my coat, an old beige affair that I bought in a thrift store, and a very badly hand-knitted scarf, wrap up, and head off back home via the back way.

I walk slowly, looking this way and that, only to scream aloud as I bump headfirst into that irritating man from before. I notice his friend sat in a wheelchair behind him.

"Are you alright? You seem rather shaken," He asks in an indistinguishable accent, his voice all too deep and attractive. I let out an irritated sigh, "I'm fine, just let me past,".

He nods and steps aside as his friend calls out, "You're planning on running again, aren't you?"

I freeze up. Damn telepaths.

"So what? It's none of you business, telepath,"I glare at him. I'm all too well acquainted with telepaths. I can still remember that horrid blonde one from the later years of my imprisonment, digging around in my brain.

His irritating friend raises his eyebrows, "You know he's a telepath?"

I shrug, "I've met one before. It wasn't a pleasant experience,".

"I'm sorry about that," The one in the wheelchair says, his periwinkle blue eyes so sincere it catches me off guard. "We're not all terrible, though. I simply wanted to offer you an alternate solution to going on the run again,".

I narrow my eyes at him, "And that is?"

"My name is Charles Xavier. I run a school for mutants. You'll be safe there," He says and I sigh, "I'm sorry, but I'm not one for taking charity,".

"Well then it wouldn't be charity. You could work there, perhaps as a teacher or a nurse," He suggests kindly but I shrug, "Look mister, I don't have any training and I'm not exactly a great role model. I doubt I'd be of any help,".

"I'm sure we could find something for you, Elle," He says and I continue to narrow my eyes at him.

It could be a trap. But it might not be, and it sounds like a pretty good deal. I have no doubt that now my father has managed to track me down to this side of Manhattan, he'll soon find me, one way or another. So either way, I can't stay here anymore.

What have I got to lose?

"Can I get my stuff from my flat first?" I ask and Charles grins, "I'll take that as a yes then. And of course you can, my dear,".

I smile back, my gaze flitting across to meet Erik's concerned eyes. His cool pale eyes send shivers shooting down my spin, but I brush off the sensation. "Come on, I only live down the street, it's not far,".