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Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men

Charles Xavier has created an Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety and secrecy. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro

In the past few weeks, his students have been antagonized by a rival group of mutants known as The Brotherhood. Recently, they attacked Xavier's students during their school's Homecoming dance, leaving Hank injured and kidnapping Warren. Scott and Jean secretly set out to save Warren, while Xavier revealed the secret existence of the Institute to his old colleague at the FBI, Agent Fred Duncan. Pietro reconnected with his sister, Wanda, whom he had presumed dead. He has left Xavier's to be with her as a member of The Brotherhood. Scott and Jean battled Brotherhood members Toad and Blob and were able to rescue Warren and bring him home.

FIRST CLASS

10

Coming Home

The sun was rising on the horizon as the car finally turned onto the tree lined drive of the Xavier Institute.

Warren was still groggy from the ordeal. His head hurt and he had trouble keeping his thoughts straight. He'd probably need to get himself checked out. Which, he had to admit, was the right idea, even though it would be a pain.

Jean was asleep on the seat next to him, and on the other side of her was Scott. Scott had been silently staring out the window the whole ride home. For all Warren knew, Scott was asleep as well.

They finally arrived at the mansion itself, and Warren roused the other two. Limping, battered, and exhausted, they climbed the steps to the mansion's entrance.

The door opened just as they reached the landing. It was Marilyn, the cook, and behind her was Professor Charles Xavier.

Scott and Jean tensed at the sight of him, clearly expecting an outburst. Instead, Marilyn and the Professor both rushed forward. Before they knew what was happening, the three of them were being patted and prodded and fussed over. Marilyn became tearful, and her worried voice melded with Xavier's so that neither could be understood, save that they were so relieved to see the three of them alive.

Marilyn guided them into the sitting room and then bustled off to make them something to eat and drink. The Professor looked each of them over, waiting until Marilyn had taken her leave before speaking again.

"I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have you all back, safe and sound."

Warren felt relief flood through him, too. Now that he was back in the safety of his new home, he suddenly realized how afraid he'd been. Things could have gotten really bad. He could have been kept for a long time, hurt very badly, even killed. The thought terrified him all over again, so that he was tossed between fear and relief like a skiff on a stormy sea.

Scott and Jean also seemed to relax at the Professor's words. "I'm sorry we left without telling you," Scott said.

"Yes, well. Let's focus on the fact that you're back, and we can deal with the rest of it once you've had some rest." He paused for a moment. "Have any of you had word on Pietro's whereabouts?"

Warren was shocked by the question. Pietro was missing? Had he been kidnapped, too?

Jean spoke up, looking sheepish. "I think I know where he is." She produced a crumpled piece of paper.

Handing it to the Professor, Jean explained. "I found this when we came home from the dance. He says he's gone away. To . . . to join the Brotherhood."

This revelation hit Warren like a punch in the gut. Sure, Pietro had always kept himself a little separate from the rest of them, and Warren wasn't really close with him. Yet, the thought that Pietro had abandoned them still stung.

What hurt much worse was that Pietro had left them for the very people that had attacked and abducted him. They'd just fought for their lives to escape the very people Pietro had allied himself with?!

Professor Xavier seemed to silently feel the same way as Warren. He pursed his lips. "I must admit, I was afraid of that."

Warren was nearly as surprised by this as by Jean's initial revelation. How had the Professor suspected that Pietro had defected? Why would he have suspected such a thing of one of his own students?

"I fear there's nothing more we can do about it at the present," the Professor said finally.

"What are you talking about?" Jean blurted. "We can't just leave him with them!"

"We can't go and get him. We don't even know where the Brotherhood is."

"Pietro told us where they were in this note!" Jean replied, shaking the sheet of paper.

The Professor nodded patiently. "Yes. Where they were, not where they are. Even if the rest of them were there, they wouldn't remain, knowing that you've discovered their hideout."

Jean looked like she was going to protest further, but couldn't seem to come up with a valid retort.

"Pietro has left of his own volition," the Professor continued. "For now, we simply have to accept that. What we should focus on for the moment is that you are safe, and you are home."

"I'm - I'm sorry we left without telling you," Scott said, gripping balled fists tight to the legs of his uniform.

The Professor sat up a little straighter at that. "Yes. We'll discuss that further once you've had some rest."

Warren picked up a suggestion in Xavier's tone that there would be some form of punishment to follow. "I hope you won't be too harsh on them, Professor. If it weren't for them, I'd still be kidnapped."

The Professor smiled at him. "I'll make sure to remember it." He nodded at them all as a way of dismissal, and the three of them got up and filed into the foyer.

They trudged up the stairs toward their rooms. The weariness that Warren had been staving off came crashing around him like heavy waves.

Once they made it to the second story, Warren and Scott turned toward the boys section of the dorms.

"Warren, wait."

Warren turned back at the sound of Jean's voice.

She looked embarrassed that she'd said anything. He stared at her questioningly.

Jean glanced just over his shoulder. "Um, Scott?"

Warren turned to see that Scott had also tarried at the sound of Jean's voice. She continued, "Would you, uh, mind giving us . . . um, a minute alone?"

Scott didn't say anything in response, although Warren could have sworn he saw Scott's jaw tense. After a moment's hesitation, Scott spun and vanished down the hall.

Warren turned back to look at Jean. She blushed and looked down at her feet, and he was too tired to do much than wait quietly for her to say whatever was on her mind.

Finally, Jean spoke. "Warren . . . When I thought you were gone . . . I was so worried."

She looked up at him with sparkling green eyes. Her mouth moved as though searching for words she could not find.

Finally, she moved with a sudden burst of desperation and emotion. Before Warren knew what was happening, she was pressed against him, her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his face into hers. Her soft lips pressed into his, parting slightly as she breathed into him a heavy sigh of relief.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a great kiss. First kisses rarely are. But for Warren and Jean, in that moment, it was perfect.

The normal weekend schedule of the Xavier Institute had unsurprisingly been upturned by the events of the preceding night. Rather than training drills or studying, the students spent the better part of the day resting.

Charles went in the morning to retrieve Hank from the hospital. Charles was grateful to have a driver to transport him to and fro; he was far too tired to safely drive himself. Indeed, he dozed on the way from the Institute.

Hank was filled in on everything that had transpired. He, of course, had not known that Warren had also been attacked, and that he'd been abducted. He was dismayed to learn that Pietro had abandoned them for the very group that had left him injured. He seemed nearly as upset to hear that Jean and Scott had set out on a mission to retrieve Warren. Grateful, certainly, that the mission had ultimately been a success. His discontent spawned from a desire to have been there, too. To have helped.

Charles didn't need to be a mind-reader to see that Hank felt helpless, useless in the fight against the Brotherhood. He'd been reduced to a liability rather than an asset. And, with the recovery time for his broken nose still ahead of him, that didn't look to change in the near future - though they both agreed that the near future would hopefully feature no further assaults.

Charles also made sure to contact Agent Duncan before departing that morning. Duncan was understandably miffed that the situation had resolved itself despite him, and Charles couldn't help but feel the same, though undoubtedly for different reasons.

From Duncan's perspective, he'd had the reveal of Xavier's secret school dumped in his lap in the form of a late-night cry for help. After Duncan had bent over backwards to pull favors from his various contacts while keeping the secret, Xavier's students had gone off and solved the problem on their own. Now Duncan risked looking incompetent to his peers, and would have to run damage control to maintain the Institute's anonymity.

Charles silently listened to him rant about these inconveniences, before thanking him in earnest for continuing to maintain the secret. Indeed, the fact that Charles had felt forced to disclose it was now a dark cloud in his mind. He wished he could take it back, erase the memory from Duncan's mind and fade safely back into the shadows of obscurity.

Of course, Charles absolutely had the power to erase this from Duncan's mind. What he lacked was the ethical justification. As frustratingly needless as the reveal had turned out to be, the painful truth was that there was now no going back.

As soon as Duncan was finished chewing Charles out, he informed Charles that he would be visiting the Institute post-haste, and that they would be having a debriefing over what, exactly, Xavier thought he was up to.

And so, as the car left behind the tree-lined lane to the institute and pulled into the roundabout before the mansion's front doors, Charles was unsurprised to see a vehicle parked and waiting.

Marilyn Hannah greeted Charles and Hank at the door with the news that Charles had a visitor waiting on him in his office. Thanking her and sending them both on their way, Charles rolled to his office door.

He paused outside to steady his breathing and his nerves. This reunion could go in a lot of directions, and he wouldn't know which until it was already happening. He hoped that some of their old camaraderie might seep into the meeting and save him from the worst outcome. With that on his mind, he entered the room.

FBI Agent Fred Duncan rose at his entrance. He was impeccably dressed - Charles was sure he'd never been seen in anything but a suit - and his face was stern.

"Charles," he said simply, his voice impartial.

"Welcome, Agent Duncan." Charles made his way round behind his desk.

"Am I?" Duncan replied, arching an eyebrow. He remained standing.

Charles wasn't sure if this was a sincere inquiry or an expression of Duncan's discontent with the situation, but either way, the message was clear. "Of course you are."

Duncan nodded and settled back into the chair. "I'm a little skeptical of that, Charles. Elsewise, why were you hiding this from me? Why am I just finding out about this little project of yours, or whatever it is, when you need my help?"

Charles sighed. No use for anything now but honesty. "Agent Duncan -"

"Fred," Duncan interjected. "Or did you forget that we were friends?"

Xavier allowed a soft, sad smile. "Fred. I hadn't forgotten."

"Could've fooled me."

Fred was obviously upset. He hadn't raised his voice or changed his tone, but in his own way, he was letting Charles have it.

Charles sighed and met Fred's eyes with an apologetic gaze. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Fred. But I'd like to explain myself, and maybe we can start to mend that hurt."

Fred stared at him, arching an eyebrow again, this time in a "well, go on" manner.

So Charles did. He told Fred, in broad strokes, what had happened since they'd stopped working together, all those years ago. How Charles had taken the seeds planted by their shared mission and cultivated it into his own personal mission.

Charles knew that humanity had always met the presence of "the other" with fear and violence. Mutants were still unknown to most, relegated to urban legend alongside UFOs and Sasquatch. But the day was coming that the truth of their existence would be known, and fear, violence, and oppression would surely follow.

So Charles had cultivated the idea of creating a school. It would serve first as a safe place for young mutants, to protect them from the anger and danger of the population at large. But also it would help them to grow. Mutant abilities were powerful, sometimes dangerous or unpredictable. Young mutants would almost always have to learn how to use, control, and regulate their abilities.

Charles Xavier was uniquely poised to help them. With his access to money, technology, and telepathy, he could train young mutants to grow into safe, responsible members of society. They would grow to be living proof that mutants need not be feared. They could be trusted. They could contain their gifts and use them to help their fellow man.

Fred listened silently, showing little in the way of reaction or opinion. Once Charles stopped to catch his next thoughts, Duncan seized on the silence. "That's all well and good, Charles. And you might remember that we were working towards just such a goal, together, once. But you still haven't told me why you decided to go off on your own, and why you thought it was a good idea to hide all of this from me."

Charles nodded in understanding. "Yes. I can see how that sounds unnecessary. But I would note that our methods were not quite the same, then, as mine are now. And that you and I ended our partnership on terms that were less than amicable."

Fred ran a hand through his blonde hair, even though it was already slicked back and, as always, held in place with near medical precision. "Yeah, I remember that. Not sure if I agree with you on the first point."

"Surely you remember what happened with -"

"I remember," Fred said, holding up a hand to halt Xavier's interjection. "And I remember that we didn't see eye to eye on how to handle that situation. But I was in charge, and I made the call I made. That doesn't mean I don't agree with you on the rest of it."

"Doesn't it?" Charles countered, staring at Duncan coolly. "There was no sense of training or learning or rehabilitation in that."

"Alright, alright," Duncan said, sighing in exasperation. "I see what you're saying. I don't agree with it, but let's just move on. I still don't think you should have kept this from me, regardless of your reasoning, regardless of how you felt about our history together."

Charles nodded, an agreement to let that dispute lie. "Very well. But I stand by my decision. I couldn't have known how you would react, after how things ended and the time that's passed. Perhaps your attitude had changed. Perhaps your mission had continued, or grown in scope. Perhaps it had been spread to other members of the government."

Fred nodded. "Sure. Okay. Well, I have continued my work with mutants, although not in the same way. The whole team sort of fell apart all at once, as you'll recall." Charles nodded. "Far as I know, there are still only a few of us that know about mutants. In the FBI, at least; can't speak for the CIA or any of the other ones. Luckily, it's pretty unbelievable, and it's not hard to convince someone who may start to believe that they're buying into tinfoil hat theories."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief at that, and Duncan continued. "So I think I'm pretty much the only one pursuing that, and I haven't exactly met with much success since our project disbanded. Turns out, the Cerebro system was kind of a necessary detector. The technology has been altered and advanced since then, but it's still pretty limited without a telepath."

Charles folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "I don't want to spoil the good will we've built back here in these last few minutes, but part of the reason I hid it from you was to keep the government out of it. And I still feel those concerns, with you now in the know."

Fred pursed his lips as he mulled that one over. "Yeah, I hear you. To be honest, I don't want anyone else on this project, either. You'll remember I kept a lid on this thing back then, and I haven't changed my opinion on that."

Charles relaxed a little. "That does ease my concerns somewhat. But I fear that, even if you want to maintain the secret, too, your involvement compromises that. This is supposed to be a school. And while teaching my students to use their abilities safely, even to defend themselves, is part of my goals, I don't want this to turn into some sort of paramilitary training grounds."

Fred smiled at that. "That's exactly what will happen." Before Xavier could speak or become too appalled at that, Duncan continued, "And that's exactly why I chose to keep it a secret, then and now. Unlike many of my fellow government employees, I don't think the best use of every new discovery is to weaponize it. I think it's much safer to approach the mutant issue with care. We set this thing up right when it's revealed, and we're that much more likely to take the peaceful route instead of the armageddon one."

"My thoughts, exactly," Charles replied. The sense of relief he felt at Fred's sentiments could not be understated. However, Charles didn't want to let his guard down too much. The truth of the matter was still that Duncan was an experienced member of the intelligence community. Selling a lie was one of his most crucial and practiced skill sets.

Charles briefly debated himself on whether or not it was more moral to keep to his personal principle not to use his telepathy on another if at all possible, or if checking Duncan's sincerity for the safety of his students was the higher ground. But he didn't have time to come to a conclusion, because Duncan spoke again. "The unfortunate thing is, you may be on your way to a paramilitary organization whether you like it or not."

Charles was taken aback. The look on his face apparently transmitted this to Duncan clearly enough, for he continued. "What I mean is: You've just been attacked. And not just by anybody. By mutants. Some other group of mutants, with some sort of mission that seems to directly or indirectly involve assaulting your students. So now you're at an impasse: Do you turn up the dial on training your kids to fight, at the risk of generating mutant soldiers? Or do you leave them vulnerable?"

A chill ran down Xavier's spine. Fred's words rang true. Indeed, this very issue had haunted him since the first time the Brotherhood had made themselves known to his students.

Duncan opened his hands wide and shrugged. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Charles breathed for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Perhaps that's where your involvement in all this can come into play."

Another raised eyebrow, this one of interest. "Oh?"

"I can't be sure, but I have a suspicion. Very few people would know of this estate. Very few would know that I am a mutant, or be able to deduce that my bringing in charges and opening an Institute would be for the purposes of training up young mutants."

Charles could see in Duncan's eyes that he was starting to realize who Xavier was talking about.

"I think I know who is behind this," Charles said. "If I'm right, and he's decided to antagonize us . . ."

Fred Duncan swallowed. "Oh, God."

Charles Xavier couldn't have said it better himself.

Pietro didn't recognize his surroundings when they finally stepped out of the car.

It had been a long, quiet ride since they'd left the school. A ride during which Pietro had ached with roiling emotion.

Wanda, his sister, was back. He'd lost her, afraid that she was gone forever, fearing that she'd been killed. And then, suddenly, she was standing before him, alive and well.

Shock and joy had mingled together. She was gone, and then she was not. Wanda had been just as happy to see him, squeezing him in a tight embrace, bringing tears to his eyes to match her own.

Re-introductions were brief. Wanda said simply that Pietro should come with her. He didn't even have to consider it. Of course they should be together.

Pietro hadn't been able to conceal his shock when Wanda revealed that she was affiliated with the Brotherhood. To think that she was connected to this group that had antagonized Hank just weeks ago was as unexpected as her sudden appearance.

Wanda was adamant that Pietro withhold judgment on the Brotherhood. She asked him to trust her, and after all this time thinking her gone, all the guilt he felt, how could he say no?

But he couldn't just vanish. After the kindness of the Professor, and the friendship Jean had extended him, simply disappearing would be too much of a betrayal.

Luckily, Wanda had no objections to him making a quick errand before his departure. With his incredible speed, he ran to the Xavier Institute and left a note in Jean's room. As he laid the note on her pillow, he paused. Jean had been kind to him. Would she be hurt by his departure?

But Wanda was family. No matter how friendly Jean and the others had been, and how much - he was surprised that he'd never realized it before - that friendship had meant to him, his family had to come first.

And so it was that he now found himself here - wherever here was. He'd returned to Wanda. She'd directed him to a waiting car. Inside, the dark tint of the windows made the night outside an invisible blackness. Passing lights were but dim ghosts floating past.

Pietro's inhuman speed had one major downside, distorting the passage of time. Counting seconds was like counting months, and Pietro could never summon the patience to do so for any significant period of time. So he couldn't even begin to guess at how long they'd been in the car by the time they arrived at their destination.

They were in front of an old victorian house. The street was dark, a sleepy residential area with only the occasional porch lamp to add to the dim moonlight. The house looked like it had been aged for some time without care. It was not derelict or decaying, but signs of neglect were beginning to appear on its facade.

Wanda silently led him up the path from the sidewalk, through a yard that could use some care, up a staircase of chipping white paint, to the front door. This she opened with the nonchalance of familiarity. Pietro noted that the door had been unlocked. Perhaps they were expected. Or perhaps the inhabitants had nothing to fear.

Inside, the space had the gently disused look of the exterior. There were some decorations and furniture, and some indentations or dust outlines indicating that there had once been such. There were also signs that the space was being lived in. A bit of mess here and there, some wrappers from fast food, all pointed to occupancy. A slight scent of mold hovered with the dust in the air.

But nobody was to be seen. Pietro, finally snapping from his reverie, decided to break the silence. "What is this place?"

Wanda smiled. "This is where we've been staying."

"The Brotherhood? But what about - ?"

"The other address?" Wanda cut in. "An outpost, of sorts. This, though, is our main base."

Pietro pursed his lips at her militaristic terminolog. He thought he might ask her about it but she began to speak again.

"I believe the Blob and the Toad have gone to there." She shook her head. "A silly errand. They still think like street thugs when the Brotherhood asks them to be so much more."

Pietro's ears perked up at both of those names. "Are they the other members of the Brotherhood?"

Another smile from his sister. God, it was such a relief to see her alive, and smiling. He almost didn't hear her answer for the joy of it. "No. Of course there is me as well. And another - an older man. He traffics in illusions." Her voice dropped at this, and she shuddered. "I never cared for him."

Pietro's eyes widened. "Only four members?"

"We are only just beginning," Wanda replied. "Like your little group at Xavier's. A small beginning for something much larger, we hope."

She paused, and began leading him up the staircase to the second floor. Dusty old carpet softened their footfalls. "There is one other," she said at last.

"One other member of the Brotherhood?"

"Member, perhaps. He is the one who brought us together. Who began the Brotherhood. He is our leader. And, he is the man who saved me." She stopped at the second floor landing, looking back at Pietro with passionate, watery eyes. "He is the man to whom I owe my life."

Pietro swallowed. So Wanda had a life-debt. Suddenly what he knew of the Brotherhood and what he knew of Wanda were not in such conflict with each other. "Who is this man?" he said at last.

"He is who we are here to meet," she replied softly. She turned and lead him yet again, this time down the darkened hallway lined with closed doors. At the end was a single door facing them. When they reached it, she knocked gently.

With hardly a delay, the door unlatched itself and swung open. Pietro would have marveled at this but was already being ushered into the room by his sister.

The room inside was dark, as well. Pietro could make out a desk and chair before double windows. The desk was covered with papers, including some which looked like the large pages of an atlas or seemed to be aerial photographs. If there was much else in the room, Pietro couldn't make it out clearly in the deep blackness of shadow. There were no lights on in the room nor in the hallway behind them.

The only light came from the large double windows, with no curtains or blinds to block the moonlight streaming through them. And beside the window, almost a silhouette with only some features illuminated by the moon, the figure of a large man.

"Hello, Pietro," said the man. He turned from gazing out the window to face them. He seemed to be wearing some sort of cape that shimmered in an unnatural rhythm. Light glinted off the cape and the man's clothing as he moved, and Pietro marked a quiet sound like the gentle scraping of metal on metal.

"I'm so glad you could join us," the man said, a faint accent. Some sort of European.

Pietro couldn't explain it, but he felt fear. Not a mortal fear of being harmed or killed, but the fear of awe - of being in the presence of power and position far greater than his own. His mouth was dry as he said, "Who - who are you?"

The figure nodded, and the light glinting on the rounded shape of his head suggested that he was wearing some sort of helmet. "Indeed, we have much to discuss." The figure extended a hand to the side, and from that darkened wall a chair slid forth. It stopped just behind Pietro, and the man motioned for him to sit.

He did, and the man nodded ever so slightly. "Indeed, introductions are in order, especially since I already know your name. As Wanda has undoubtedly told you, I am the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants. You may call me Magneto."

Next Time: A day at the beach

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