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Note: when the dialogue is in italics, it means German is being spoken.
And finally; I obviously don't own X-men. Who am I? Marvel?
Chapter 2/Chapter 4
Travelling through time is not an easy, or fun, experience. Put simply, it's as if every single cell in your molecular structure was consecutively ripped out one after the other. And you have no idea where you're going to end up until you get there. (That really puts a damper on travel preparations.) Then there's also the crushing headaches, brain-bending nosebleeds, and long-term mental damage.
In conclusion: time travel sucks.
Nora spun; pinwheeling in every-which-way, trying to find a way out of whatever wormhole she was trapped in.
After what seemed like forever (though was probably only a few seconds) the light began to recede from her vision. And then her stomach leapt into her throat, she fell, and there was nothing Nora could do to stop it.
She landed flat on her back, spine stinging. She felt around, trying to get her bearings.
Where am I? When am I? A sob escaped her lips as she curled up in a ball. The thought of not knowing where she was… it was unbearable.
Looking up from her highly-effective fetal position, Nora observed the alien surroundings. The room had very plain decor: rough wooden floors; a dirtied mirror hanging on the wall next to an old cabinet; and a metal bed frame enclosing an uncomfortable-looking mattress. The only light in the dark room came from the grey skies outside a window.
And painted on the window, she saw a black swastika.
She slowly crept over to the window and peeked outside. It was like a picture from one of the history texts. Men in shiny black boots stood at the posts of a fence that incarcerated what looked like hundreds of people. The men stood immobile and emotionless, wearing badges emblazoned with the Nazi symbol. The same could be said for the prisoners attitudes', except they all had yellow stars instead of badges.
Nora's mouth fell open in shock. She let out a small squeak and backed into a corner, trying to hide her naked body from the world. (Oh yes, she was also naked, her clothes surely in a messy pile on the washroom floor. Just one of the many other wonderful things to happen today.)
Nazis… Of course it was the Nazis… Her luck just seemed to be getting better as the day went on.
Suddenly, voices sounded outside the room, and something (or someone?) was slammed against the door. Careful not to make any sound, Nora dove under the bed just as the door burst open.
A rough voice spoke in a harsh language that was definitely European, ordering someone around. Then the bigger person exited the room, slamming the door shut. The other, smaller being stood just inches from Nora's face.
She waited, trying to keep as still and quiet as possible. The boy—she assumed it was a boy—began to cry. He sat down on the bed, causing it to creak and sag dangerously low to her head.
After a few minutes, Nora grew impatient. It's not as if he's a fully-fledged nazi! He's just a kid, like me. (Admittedly a little older, but whatever.)
She took a deep breath, and said, "Hey!"
The crying abruptly stopped.
She repeated herself, now having his attention. "Hey! Nazi-boy! Do you have any extra clothes?"
Erik Lensherr did not understand much English at this point in his life. So all he got out of that sentence was 'Nazi' and some sort of 'hello'.
The voice seemed to be coming from under his bed, but when he crouched down to look, all Erik saw was a flash of bare skin before he was kicked away by a tiny, pale foot.
Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! Nora screamed internally. The onslaught of memories was small, but painful nonetheless.
Separation.
Loss.
Anger.
Power.
Fear.
Pain.
And the Nora realized that she could now speak, read, write, and understand perfect Polish.
She really didn't have this whole 'power' thing figured out yet.
"Sorry," she murmured to the boy—whose name she now knew to be Erik.
He was confused, so now she speaks Polish? He pulled his sock back up from where the girl had kicked his bare shin.
"Why did you do that?" he asked.
"You startled me," Nora said, pulling herself up and out from under the bed. As she did this, she tugged the sheets off the bed and wrapped them around herself.
Though she was only seven, Erik was twelve and he blushed like mad at this. Nora gratefully took the extra set of clothes that he offered.
They sat cross-legged, facing one another, each trying to figure the other out.
"Who are you?" he asked, confused and intrigued by the new arrival. How had she gotten into the camp—let alone his room—without getting caught? There was no way… unless…
"In case you're wondering," she said, recalling some of Erik's borrowed memories, as well as his inability to trust people. "I am not one of Schmidt's."
"All right then," Erik said, still unsure of whether or not to trust her.
"My name is Nora," she said, answering his original question.
He nodded, obviously still confused.
So for the rest of the afternoon they talked. (In whispers of course, so they wouldn't be heard.) Nora lied about her abilities, saying that she had somehow teleported into his room. (Who knows what Erik would do if he knew that she was a time-traveller.) And Erik was astonished that there was another person out there like him: someone else with powers.
Then she let him vent—though Nora knew everything that had happened in his life up to this point. (From him always looking forward to the bit of light Hanukkah brought to his dismal life, to the horrific experiments that he'd endured over the past few weeks) It was nice to have someone relatable to talk to.
And as it turns out: their lives had a few uncanny resemblances.
Dead family member(s)? (Also known as the only people that ever cared about them.) Check.
Semi-uncontrollable powers? (That had somehow assisted in the death of said family member(s).) Check.
All-around shitty lives up until they point that they had met each other? Check.
The list went on.
They talked from mid-afternoon all the way into the evening. Despite everything that had happened earlier (in 1962), the drastic turn of events had made it one of the better days of Nora's way-too-strange-for-a-seven-year-old life. (Even with the attempted kidnapping, bloody nose that made it feel as if her brains were bleeding out, and the painful-as-heck time-travelling experience.)
Everything went well, that is, until dinner arrived.
Suddenly, a sharp knocking on the door interrupted their hushed conversation.
"Open up, boy! Dinner is here!"
Shocked out of their relaxed stupor, Erik and Nora jumped up. Making wild gestures, Erik pointed under the bed. Nora shook her head. No, there wasn't enough time.
"Boy?"
Erik put his hands over his mouth: he was going to be in so much trouble.
Nora stopped his pacing by putting her hands on his shoulders—though she had to stand on her tiptoes because of the height difference.
"It will be all right," she whispered.
Erik took a deep breath, while Nora hid directly behind the door's hinges. A butt hinge placed on the inside of the door, on my left. That means it will open into the room and to my right. If her calculations were correct, the door should be opened at an angle where it would hide her from sight.
They stared at each other and nodded. Erik opened the door.
While he received his dinner, Nora concentrated. She tried to focus on the time she came from, everything about her school: the textiles department, the playground she hated, the library she loved, and the surprisingly-comfortable closet where she slept. She needed to make the lights go bright again, even if it meant her head hurting that badly. She would gladly go back.
But when she was trying to trigger that power within her, Nora closed her eyes. This led her not to notice that the mirror was stationed directly on the wall of the opposite side of the room. Had she noticed the mirror, she might have moved out of the delivery-man's line of sight.
But she didn't notice it.
And she was seen.
Erik practically slammed the door shut in the nazi's face. Breathing heavily, they grinned at each other, convinced that their plan had worked.
"Bread?" He asked, offering her some of his meagre supper.
Nora gratefully accepted, but as she bit into the stale chunk of clumped-together wheat she cried out.
"Ow!" She spat it onto the floor.
Affronted, Erik thought, who does she think she is? Appearing under his bed, unannounced? He'd tried to be nice, he'd even give her some of his only food until morning (and that was no guarantee), and now she'd spat it out like it was trash! (Although it really was…) He was still quite offended until she showed him why she had spat out the bread.
"My tooth came out!" she said, holding it up in awe.
Smiling at the young girls fascination, Erik soberly dug into his own half of the bread. For them there was no creature that came in the night, leaving gifts for their toothache. For them there was just more pain. He watched as Nora once again bit into her bread, but instead of crying out, she cringed and held a hand to her forehead.
"It's not that bad, is it?" he asked.
"No," she said. "My head just hurts…" she paused, "I think it's almost time for me to go back."
Erik frowned, "You're leaving me?"
Nora nodded apologetically. "I must return home." That was a lie; she had no home.
Concerned, his eyes focused on her face.
"Nora," he said, sounding very confused. "Your face is glowing."
"What?!" She grabbed at her cheek and felt a slight heat coming off of it. When her hand came down, it too was shining a bright gold.
It's time.
Streams of light began to circle her hand and face, then her whole arm and neck.
And that's when all hell broke loose
The bedroom door burst open, soldiers streaming into the room, followed by a man who just reeked authority. All the newcomers to the scene yelled in rapid-fire German—all except for the man in the suit.
Sebastian Shaw—as he would eventually be known—did not get much from the scene. All he saw was his little experiment shocked out of his pale skin. And behind little Erik Lensherr... Well, Shaw never did figure out what he saw that day.
Even after weeks of interrogation, Erik did not divulge what had happened in the room. All they had been able to get out of him was that there had been someone else in there.
Someone else: another one like—no: similar to Erik. A child who'd disappeared in a flash of bright light.
