A/N: Apologies if Erik came across as a little OOC in the last chapter. I'm trying to stick true to their characters and I know it seems super unlikely that he'd go all abashed around a random woman. So yeah…sorry about that. I'll try to avoid going all OOC on you guys as best as I can.
Anyways, apologies if things seemed a little meh in the prologue or if anything seems a little off. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this fan fiction, it all depends on how my muse is feeling. But I will try my very best to update as regularly as possible and finish it :)
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 Three
Elle POV
I rummage through my drawers, attempting to ignore the presence of the stranger behind me. Erik, he said he was called. Erik Lensherr. I shove what few things I hold dear into a black bag, collecting my clothes, toiletries and my favourite mug that I saved up for last Christmas. It's bright blue and covered in white polka dots and a symbol of pride, representing all the hard work I've been doing these past two years.
Charles is waiting outside, the block my flat is in not being wheelchair friendly, but Erik took it upon himself to escort me. I'd have argued, only I liked the feeling of reassurance it brought me, not that I'd ever tell him that he makes me feel weirdly safe.
I turn to find him frowning at the corner of the grimy flat, "You appear to have an infestation of rats,".
"Meh, they keep me company. Besides, my landlord's an asshole, he's too lazy to do anything about it. I've asked him plenty of times about calling in pest control, but he just ignores me. I suspect sexism's at play. Either that or just pure laziness," I shrug, nonplussed.
"Well, that's it. Let's roll," I say, flinging the bag over my shoulder, then remember the soggy uniform I'm still wearing. "Actually wait. I'm just gonna go change real quick, seeing as somebody, not that I'm naming any names *ahem* Erik, spilt drinks all over me,".
He looks down at the floor in shame, "Yes, well, sorry about that,".
I raise an eyebrow at him and then go into the bathroom to quickly change. A faded stripy jumper and some brown slacks later, and I'm once more dry and comfortable.
"Ready?" Erik asks and I nod, "Yup,".
Clutching my bag, I begin to make my way down the stairs, Erik hot on my tail. "So, do you teach at this mysterious school as well?" I ask and he chuckles.
"No, no I'm not really the teaching type. Myself and Charles only meet up occasionally to play chess, you see, for we have conflicting ideals," He says. Okay. What the heck does that mean?
"What kind of ideals?"
"The kind that concern mutants and sapiens," He replies curtly. Which didn't really explain all that much, but I suppose he's just trying to keep up this mysterious aura of his, which is a complete contrast to the bumbling fool he'd come across as at the café. I'm starting to think that he's normally this cold and calculating, and that I'd been privy to a rare moment of clumsiness earlier on.
"Charles believes that sapiens and mutants can co-exist, but I disagree. Just know that there's always a place for you in the Brotherhood," He says.
I frown, "The Brotherhood? Doesn't sound very female-friendly,".
He laughs, "All brothers and sisters, all mutants alike, are welcome in the Brotherhood of Mutants. We're fighting for our right to take our place as the superior species,".
"Huh, well, I'll think about it, Mr Dark and Mysterious," I say, a teasing smile tugging at my lips as he rolls his icy eyes in an act of derision.
Once out on the street again, Charles smiles at me, his eyes kind and reassuring, "So, to the school then?"
Claire POV
Sometimes you just have stand back and wonder, how did it come to this? Yesterday morning all was well, myself and Peter had sat outside with Grandmother eating brunch as usual, enjoying the soft breeze of autumn, chattering amongst ourselves. Then Peter had found the file on Dad's work with Trask and Bishop, and everything kicked off.
Now here we stand, face to face with what appears to be a very real school, with a sign next to the gate reading "XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS".
"So it does exist, Peter," I smile triumphantly and he nudges me in the ribs with his elbows, "Yeah, but it just looks like one of those fancy private schools for child prodigies,".
"Don't judge a book by it's cover, Uncle dearest," I grin as I turn to open the gate.
"Excuse me? Can we help you?" A male British voice asks from behind us, causing us to jump.
I turn to find myself face to face with a man in his mid-twenties with piercing eyes and soft brown hair looking up at us curiously. A blonde woman and a man with cold eyes stand behind them. I can feel their eyes sizing myself and my uncle up for measure, no doubt wondering what we're doing here.
Or at least they were, until they began to wonder what one earth was going on with my uncle dearest.
"What the hell?"He hisses as electric blue sparks race up and down his right arm. He shakes his arm as if that will help anything, only causing himself to smack his right arm into the metal barred gates behind us, which for some unknown reason curved under his touch.
He yelped, clutching at his right arm with his left hand.
I can hear the newcomers muttering amongst themselves in concern, picking up on bits of conversation;
"Did he just-"
"-he has the same mutation as me?"
"-well, this is the first time I've met a mimic-"
Peter suddenly cried out as his clutched at his head with his hands, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"Peter! Peter, it's okay, it's okay, just calm down, just breathe. Come on Petey, you can get over this, it's okay," I say, rushing towards him and placing a calming hand on the arm that hasn't erupted into sparks of blue electricity.
He grunts in pain, his eyes closed shut tightly. I twist my body to face the newcomers once more, asking, "You're mutants right? This is a safe place for mutants? Right?"
The man in the wheelchair nods, "Yes, it is. I can help your uncle, don't worry-"
The kind man is interrupted, however, by another burst of blue sparks that sizzle up and down both his arms, burning my skin in the process.
"Ugh," I moan, wriggling my fingers as the revolting blisters heal over in seconds, much to the surprise of the strangers. The man in the wheelchair begins to roll his chair forward warily, his periwinkle gaze concerned.
"Peter, look at me Peter…"
Peter POV
Peter, look at me Peter…
I open my eyes, blinking as white dots of glaring lights brace my vision. I can feel myself wobbling, my body cracking under the pressure of being in the presence of so many new mutants.
One moment I'm fine. The next my arm's lighting up and I'm suddenly aware of all things electrical nearby, all things metal and magnetic. If that wasn't bad enough, don't even get me started on the telepathy.
All those thoughts, not just of the people around me but of all the people back at the school. All these thoughts tumbling around in my mind, forming one huge gigantic wave of indistinguishable noise.
Before now, the only other mutants I'd really known had been Nathan, Claire and my mom. If that school really is a safe haven for mutants, and I've reacted like this to being close by to only three of them, then how will I cope when I'm surrounded by them?
Claustrophobia begins to plague me at the thought.
Peter calm down.
I bristle at the familiar sound of the soft-spoken British voice.
I'm fine, I've got this, just-
The voice intercepts my line of thought.
Peter, you are not fine. Clear your mind.
I snort mentally, That's pretty hard to do when it's so cluttered with everyone's thoughts.
Peter, the voice says sternly, listen to me. Clear your mind.
I frown as I close my eyes once more, taking in deep breaths as I attempt to clear my mind. It's not as hard as I thought it would be and I smile as I begin to feel a little calmer.
Good work, Peter. Now, imagine that you're taking these new abilities and you're placing them in shelves or perhaps, drawers. You can still access them when you need to, but they'll be more in your control, less in the way.
I do as he says, imagining myself folding up the ability to control metal into a neat and orderly pile, alongside electrical manipulation and manifestation and telepathy. They sit there alongside flight, regeneration and clairvoyance.
The electrical sparks have subsided, the surrounding metal stops vibrating and my breathing calms down. No longer is my mind plagued by a wave of noise. I open my eyes slowly and uncertainly to find them connecting with those of the young man before me. Hazel connected with periwinkle for a brief moment before he looked away.
"You're very powerful, Peter," He says and I nod, uncertain how to respond. "You too," I reply, unable to hide how awkward I feel. I mean, I just completely lost it in front of this guy, and needless to say, I'm feeling a little embarrassed.
"Err, what just happened?" A feminine voice cuts in, and we turn around to face the young blonde woman from before.
Her electric eyes are wide with incredulity as she says, "You too?"
"Huh?" I reply and she rolls her eyes and raises her palm, a ball of blue electricity forming in the middle.
Oh yeah. "Yeah, I guess. Me too," I say, unsure of myself.
"And you just had a total meltdown because…?"She trails off, her gaze expectant, as she turns to look at the tall, intimidating man stood beside her.
"He's a type of mimic, Elle. It's difficult to describe, but it's as though he can absorb the mutations of the mutants near to him, but without affecting the mutants themselves, and can then use that mutation as he likes from there on out, as he likes," The man in the wheelchair explains.
I frown, "Well, thanks for the analysis. But, and don't think me rude, who the hell are you?"
Charles smiles ruefully, "I rather think I should be asking you that question, Peter. This is my property you're standing on. I'm Charles Xavier, pleasure to meet you,".
He gestured to the pair stood behind him, "And this is my old friend, Erik Lensherr, and a new acquaintance, Elle Bishop,".
I freeze at the familiar name, my thoughts drifting back to the sight of the name that had been one amongst many in the list prisoners in that god awful file.
Charles must have seen the direction my thoughts had headed in, for now he appears deeply worried. He looks as though he's about to open his mouth to say something, when Erik says rather suddenly, "Charles, you know I prefer Magneto,".
Elle laughs out loud, "Magneto? You can't be serious!"
