Chapter Eleven

As Todd suffered through Mystique's long-winded rant about the consequences of ditching school in favor of frivolity, he wondered what was up with Xavier's kids. They seemed to stick out to him, and the girl, Jean, was always trying to be nice to him. The other guy, Ron? Sean? Something like that, anyway; he was just indifferent to him, not being horrible, just not overly friendly. He had stuck up for him once in the gym class they shared. Todd was always picked last in their current unit, basketball, and Sean had protested it, saying that he was better than anyone, and that should be taken into account. Todd put his fingers to his head. No, it wasn't Sean. Was it Ron? John?

"Toad? Are you even listening to me?"

Todd looked up. "Sure thing. I heard every word, yo. Lemme ask ya somethin.'"

Mystique took in a loud hiss of breath, composing herself. "Yes, Toad? What is it?"

"That kid Xavier has at his school. The guy with the smokies. What's his name?"

"Scott Summers?"

"Scott! Man, I was thinkin' it was John or somethin."

Mystique's expression changed. She smirked wickedly at Toad, all annoyance forgotten. "Why was he on your mind, Toad? Is he your friend?"

"Naw, He's just in my gym class. I couldn't remember his name."

"What do you think about him, Toad?"

"He's cool, I guess. I think he's kinda weird, y'know? Why doesn't he take those shades off?"

"Why indeed…Toad, what about Xavier's other student? Jean Grey? What's your opinion on her?"

Todd rolled his eyes. "Perfect and Popular. I've met a million girls just like her, yo. She's just a pretty face. She's nice to me n' all, but…"

"What would you say if I told you that Xavier's School for gifted youngsters is really a mutant safehouse, just like the boarding house you live at with me?"

"Git outta town, yo! Damn! That would explain a lot of stuff! So are they, like, the other mutants you was tellin' me 'bout? When we was comin' up here?"

Mystique just nodded, gears clicking in her brain. Todd was none the wiser for this contemplative look his guardian had just taken on; he was busy thinking of all the things that made sense since Scott and Jean were mutants. Why Scott didn't take the shades off, why Jean seemed to know what he was thinking sometimes…

"Toad, I want you to keep acting as you have been; I don't want you to acknowledge that you know of their powers yet. Just keep doing what you've been doing, acting as you've been acting, and when the time comes to act on it, I'll let you know."

"Sure, Mystique. I could do that," Todd said, nodding.

"Good. Now I'm going to excuse your absences for today, but please try to at least get marked present before skipping class, all right?"

"Cool. I'm gonna go an' find a jungle gym or somethin.' I gotta make sure my legs are strong, right?"

Mystique just waved him off, turning her attention to a stack of papers she had to look over. She hated being the principal sometimes.

Todd found one better than a jungle gym: an abandoned lot, filled with nothing but tractors, cranes, and bits of concrete and metal. Perfect.

The boy grinned, tightening his sneakers and starting the workout. Todd liked acrobats. He liked the idea that a person could sail through the air, high off the ground, and by dexterity and timing, fail to fall. That's what he did. He had an inner clock that told him just when to curl into a summersault or reach out for a pole or a well-placed crane.

As he leapt from platform to platform, swinging from bits of metal and chords on the cranes, Todd couldn't help the smile that broke across his face. Powers or not, this is cool, he thought. Who needs wings when you can fly just as high without them? After he had exhausted his body, Todd reluctantly began his journey home, shaky from the exertion, but still pleased. Without thinking he cut through the High School, where the sprinklers were pelting the lawn and sidewalk mercilessly. He walked through the length of the lawn, not caring that he was now drenched from head to foot.

It was a fitting pickmeup from the crappy day he'd had thus far. Better than sinking to his no good Pop's level; man drowned his sorrows in liquor, not caring for the repercussion it had on his wife and his son. Stepping at last into the Brotherhood Boarding house, ignoring the shrieks of protest from Mystique about him dripping slime and dirt all over the carpet, Todd smiled. It was a good town, Bayville. Weird freaky mutants and school aside, it was a good place. He decided then, that he might not have to make his journey to Brooklyn again for a long time.

OoOoOoOoOo

Charles Xavier sat contentedly at Cerebro's platform. After a lengthy show of mutant activity in the poorer section of town, it had calmed, with no casualties. The source was the lad Todd Tolansky, simply using his powers for his own amusement in an abandoned construction lot. Charles sensed that the boy wasn't at all what he seemed to be. Jean had been saying as much since she'd met him, and the man found himself proud of his new pupil, and glad that she'd been right.

Ready to turn in for the night, and consequently make rounds to ensure that his charges and colleagues were inclined to do so as well, Charles was slightly miffed at the detection alert Cerebro sent forth. He wheeled around, powering the screen and watching the process as the computer tracked the location of the mutant signature.

After hesitating, the tracker started moving east. Charles wondered excitedly if it was the same signature that had been lost when he'd discovered Mr. Tolansky and Mystique, wondering why on earth it had been so long since the mutant had used their powers. It had been months! Charles alerted Logan, since he knew Ororo had requested a week to visit her sister in the city.

Logan, if you'll please come to Cerebro, It's detecting a new mutant.

Detecting mutant signature…Cerebro droned for the third time. Charles was pleased to see that the tracking icon had finally slowed at the bottom of Germany.

Identity confirmed. Kurt Wagner. Age 14. Location: Eichstätt, Bavaria, Germany. This is the fourth occurance of mutant activity in this area.

As Logan walked into the room, his eyes widened at the full-body rotation that was Kurt Wagner. He whistled softly. "Woah, Chuck. I'd say this kid's definitely a mutant."

Charles had to agree. "I believe that this boy not only carries the mutant gene…he's a second generation mutant."

The boy in question, Kurt Wagner, was quite a sight to behold. He was skinny, and the height displayed was about Jean's current height, but it had a question mark next to it. As well as having blue hair on his head, he also had blue fur that coated the rest of his body, which included a tail, elongated two-toed feet, and three-fingered hands. He stood with a hunched posture, which made sense when you considered his tail, and his eyes…were they glowing?

"We may have to go in person to recruit this one, Logan."

"I can see that."

"And we'll have to work out a way for him to attend classes at the high school…I would venture to guess he's lived a rather sheltered life."

"I can definitely see that."

"Prepare the jet."

"We're goin' now? It's already dark!"

"If we take into consideration the time it will take to get there, and find the boy, as well as the fact that they are 6 hours ahead of us…"

"Right. I'll get the jet ready, you talk to the kids."

"I will."

Logan left the room, as did Charles, though not before placing a call and leaving a message on the machine.

"Hello, this is Charles Xavier. I was wondering if you could put the technology of your hologram into a more compact device…say, a necklace, or a watch. If you could please return my call, we'll talk prices and the realm of possibility."

OoOoOoOoOo

Kurt Wagner winced as he sat down to breakfast, earning a sympathetic look from his mother. He'd sustained injuries a few months ago, and while they'd healed, they were still tender sometimes. His feet were the worst; he couldn't wear shoes, and so the burn scars on his soles were especially hard to walk on.

"Waren Sie draußen wieder, Sohn?"+

Kurt jumped as his father clapped him on the back. He nodded, accepting a pot from his mother to put on the table. Of course, they weren't his real parents. He had been found floating by in the river where the Wagners were fishing. They'd saved him from probable death, and hadn't been scared away by his appearance. More than I can say for the people who made the scars on my feet, Kurt found himself thinking, frowning and snapping out of his negativity as his father continued his mainly one-sided conversation with his son.

"Übten Sie zu verschwinden?"+

"Ja," Kurt murmured, smiling a little. He loved his foster parents. He loved that they had taken him in and raised him as their own when they could have just let him drift on by them. He loved that he didn't have to hide his appearance when he was around them. They loved every furry inch of him, just the way he was, and he never had to keep secrets from them.

"Verschwinden! Üben Sie Sie englische folgende Zeit, Kurt,"+ his mother joined then, scooping some sausages onto her plate.

Kurt made a face at the sausages, not saying anything to his mother's chastising. Verschwinden. Disappear. They were referring to the newfound skill Kurt had developed. If he concentrated, he could disappear from one place and reappear in another. It was a much more worthwhile hobby than practicing his englische.

"I know you don't practice, Kurtie," his mother continued, smirking at the confused look that crossed her son's face.

"…Was?"

"Aha!" Kurt's mother crowed, tapping his head with her spoon. Before she could scold him, there was a sudden knock at the door. All teasing atmosphere left the room as Kurt's eyes widened. He scooped up his plate with practiced ease, making his mother gasp in surprise when he simply vanished from sight with the food. All that remained was foul-smelling smoke and the knowledge that he'd been there not 2 seconds ago.

Kurt hadn't gone far. Just around the corner into the shadows of the staircase. He quietly set his food on the floor next to him and peeked around the corner into the room where his parents still sat. He'd have to listen, because he couldn't keep his eyes open when he was in shadow; while his dark fur camouflaged him effectively, his eyes glowed brightly in shadowed places, and would give him away. He heard footsteps advancing slowly to the door; his father's. He wanted to open his eyes, but he had to settle for just listening for the unexpected visitor's voice.

He heard horribly mispronounced German; the man was foreign. If Kurt had sorted through the butchered request correctly, he wished to come inside. He heard the door open wider, and a strange humming sound. There was a pause before the door closed, a faint smell of tobacco, and then heavy footsteps on the floor as the door finally closed.

He heard a different voice; there must have been two visitors, though Kurt had only heard one set of footsteps. He said something in English. Kurt cursed himself for the first time for not practicing like his Mutti had told him to. He heard his mother say something back, and his father distinctly say 'no,' in German. They must have been discussing whether they could speak English. Erik Wagner couldn't pronounce a word in the strange tongue if his life depended on it.

He heard the first visitor's voice speak in English, and unless he was mistaken, his name was mentioned. Kurt listened hard for any words he knew. His mother replied something, and his name was mentioned again. Newark? Something about Newark.

Finally his mother had to translate for his father. "der Herr möchte mit Kurtie sprechen,"-- she hissed, looking at him. Kurt knew his parents could see him; they'd lived with him and his tricks for fourteen years. Why did these foreigners want to speak to him?

"Ja," Erik murmured. "Kurt? Hergekommen bitte,"+o he said firmly.

Kurt froze. They wanted him to come? He trusted his parents, so slowly, he blinked. The foreigners were a stocky man who almost looked like the bodyguard of the other man, who was in a wheelchair. That explained the hum. And the lack of the second pair of footsteps. The stocky man next to the cripple raised his eyebrows. So he had known Kurt's location? Or had he suspected?

The crippled man smiled. He said a phrase in English slowly. Kurt found himself understanding a bit. He'd…asked Kurt if he understood English. The boy slowly nodded. "Ja…wenig….A little."

The man nodded like he approved. He said something else, far quicker, and with more words. Kurt shook his head, making a face of confusion. His mother tutted at him, and translated. "Er kann nicht Deutsches, Kurtie sprechen,"o+ she explained.

Kurt nodded. This was obvious. And he'd rather the man not try to butcher the language again.

For some reason, as soon as Kurt thought that, the man smiled at him. His eyes widened as a voice came into his head. It wasn't specific German phrases, but it didn't sound like the little English Kurt knew. It was like no language he'd heard before. Was this man thinking into his head?

Kurt, I would like to invite you to join a school with me. A school I run in America; in New York. I know you have some abilities that make you unique…my companion and I have these abilities too.

Kurt looked skeptically at the crippled man. Was he secretly blue and furry?

The man laughed aloud, and Kurt was again disconcerted. You…can read my thoughts? He thought tentatively, eyes widening as the reply was made in the affirmative in his head.

Yes, Kurt. Just as you can disappear? We would like to offer you the chance to hone your abilites; be a part of a team.

Kurt let a grin split his face. "Mutti! Papa! Dieser Herr wünscht mich in seiner Schule in Amerika!"+o+ he said then, looking excitedly at his parents. They glanced at each other, worried.

"What about the vay he looks?" his mother said in English, making Kurt's forehead wrinkle.

"Was?" he insisted, looking at his mother, and at the crippled man as if they were sharing a joke about him.

Your mother just expressed concern given your looks, and I was just about to tell her that I am a very wealthy man, and can provide an effective way to shield your looks from those who might not appreciate them.

Kurt turned to his mother, about to try and put the long thought into words, but she was looking in fear at the crippled man, and Kurt realized that she'd heard the voice that time too.

Will Kurt have schooling? Obtain a degree from an American school? Kurt's father thought.

What about his English? He doesn't know very much. He may need to study, Kurt's mother mused worriedly.

Yes on both counts. If you wish, I could impart much of the knowledge through thought, but it may impair his future knowledge, not to mention that it wouldn't be entirely ethical.

Kurt's parents jumped, as if they hadn't realized their thoughts had been heard.

I realize this is a big decision to make, and that you may want some time to think on it, but I must say any questions must be voiced now, because I cannot speak German very well on the telephone. It's worse than when I try to speak it in person, if you can imagine.

Kurt chuckled lightly, muffling the sound immediately. He saw only good things to the decision. All he'd cared about was the fact that he was blue and fuzzy. If this man could take care of that, then he'd be set.

"I think ve may have to discuss this, Herr…" Kurt's mother trailed off, realizing they'd never completely gotten this man's name.

My name is Charles Xavier, Frau Wagner, and I assure you won't feel undue pressure from me. I will give you a phone number to call when you've made your decision, one way or the other.

What of my son? You aren't from an American circus, are you? This thought came from Kurt's father, who struggled to follow his wife's speech as much as Kurt did.

I assure you, my interest in your son is purely concern for his well-being and a desire to help him.

Kurt's father nodded, and Kurt saw the man wheel away through the door that his silent companion held open.

OoOoOoOoOo

As smart as Charles claimed to be, as a telepath, Logan couldn't figure the logic he had sometimes. Here they'd been driving all night for God knew how many time zones, suffering from jetlag and general fatigue, only to tell the people to sleep on it. They couldn't have just called to do that?

Logan hadn't understood a lot of it, either. Granted, he'd thought it was pretty cool when their kid appeared; he'd thought something was standing in the shadows, thought he'd caught a scent, but he hadn't really been sure. Now a natural chameleon he could appreciate, teleportation aside.

When he got back in the jet, he started it without argument, though his thoughts must have been loud and clear.

"We obviously couldn't bring him with us, Logan, he doesn't have the language down, and we need to be sure we're prepared with enrollment, passports, and a cloaking device so he can enroll in the High School. I'm certain they'll decide to let Kurt come. He'll be a valuable asset, won't he?"

Logan could tell that most of Chuck's assessments were rhetorical, so he didn't answer, but it didn't stop him from thinking longingly of his bed at home. He could go for some shut eye. He realized that it would still be hours before bedtime by the time they arrived in New York.

"I wonder whether or not I've gotten a call back from those hologram-inducer people who helped design the Danger room…" Charles mused meanwhile.

Logan knew he didn't require an answer or an insight, but decided to offer some anyway; "I dunno, a portable hologram producer? How big would it have to be? He'd have to carry it with him all the time without arousing suspicion."

Charles said nothing, and Logan muttered under his breath. He couldn't wait to get to his bed, he didn't care what time it was, damn it. Anyone who tried to pry him from his rest would get skewered.

OoOoOoOoOo

Scott decided he really didn't like certain aspects of his new life. While he was all right with the fact that he was trusted a helluva lot more than he used to be, he was not quite as all right with the fact that though his new mentor, Xavier, was supposed to be a telepath, he liked to leave in random intervals to some remote corner of the globe for recruitment, often leaving him very short, if any, notice at all.

Immediately upon sensing the jet gone, Jean had deemed it time to party, getting out all the music she owned and putting a different CD in every room in the manor. Scott, with his meager (growing) collection, couldn't compete with it, but he could deny her access to his room, where he blasted his own preferences without abandon.

After they had calmed down from the initial excitement, they'd realized that they had school in the morning, and dejectedly went around the rooms, collecting Jean's collection. Try as they might, they couldn't find the last CD, and Jean said it was bound to turn up, and retreated to her room. Scott, unable to sleep, sat awake, trying to find tasks to busy himself with. He hated nighttime. He found himself padding down the stairs and turning on the lights.

In his mind, Scott knew that lights were nowhere near the light and heat he wanted, but it did help a little. He drank a tall glass of milk, hoping it would make him sleepy, and then went back to his room, leaving the lights on, and slipping into an uneasy sleep.

OoOoOoOoOo

He dreamed of Jack. More specifically, the events that led him to Jack. There was sporadic darkness, being a blind beggar for a while, never hitting the same street twice during the times that he couldn't see. He felt pleased that he'd procured some treasure or other, and then someone had started asking questions. Scott spoken to them, albeit rudely, and he sensed something wasn't right. The man had asked for his name. Scott had given it, and the guy had paused. Then he repeated Scott's name, like he'd heard it before. Scott was up and running before the guy even got up.

He was a cop. The guy called for backup, telling the units his position as Scott ran from him. Scott hadn't memorized this neighborhood yet, and not knowing the layout he ran into every obstacle that came his way. He pushed people aside, he knocked over trashcans, and he ran smack into one of the cop cars. The guys were on him like a flash, his hands pinned behind him, ducking his head into the car and talking to their radios.

Scott just waited for his headache to stop. When it did, he slowly slipped his thin wrists from the confining handcuffs and pulled the tape from his eyes. From there, he waited until the police came and opened his door, then he banged the door into the first man and ran like hell. In the alley behind the police station, Scott suddenly had a mad desire to jump the fence and head for the alley four streets over. He didn't question it, just did it, and quickly. Then he met Jack.

When Scott ran into the alleyway in question, he saw the man huddled in the corner, covered by a blanket and looking for all the world like a bum. Scott almost turned around, but his appearance had spiked Jack's interest.

"Whatcha runnin' from, kid?" he asked, looking at the skinny adolescent.

"Cops," Scott said bluntly, spinning and imagining they were surrounding him.

"Hoo boy. What didja do ta the cops, kid?"

"I existed," Scott muttered, with an added "Damn it," when he felt his heart pounding in his ears. If that kept up, it might give him a headache, and if he got a headache, he might get his unique brand of eye problem that usually accompanied a headache.

"How old are ya anyway, kid?"

Scott just looked in annoyance at the bum who asked too many questions, and curtly answered him, bringing his fingers to his head and shutting his eyes. "Thirteen."

"Huh. Ya look older n' thirteen, kid."

"Fourteen then."

"Come on, kid, why so hostile?"

"My head hurts."

"So?"

Scott turned his face to look at the man, keeping his eyes closed, just in case. "Trust me, it's bad."

"Uh-huh. So are you thirteen or fourteen?"

"What does it matter?!" Scott snapped, eyes open just a bit. Out surged the power, knocking three planks off the fence before he got them closed. "Shit," he said loudly, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, wishing he hadn't thrown that tape away. He felt the planks of the fence, finding the hole and feeling how big it was. "Thirteen," he added, thinking he was speaking to the air, because people usually ran upon seeing his eye-blasters.

"Huh. Ya don't look it."

Scott nearly had a heart attack. "What are you doing there?" he asked stupidly, facing the general direction he'd heard the voice coming from.

"I was here a minnit ago, kid. Unless you forgot already," the man laughed, like he found it funny.

"You…you didn't run?"

"Naw. I do figure ya need some help, tho.' Am I right?"

"Um…yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Well, come with me. I gotta place the cops never find me. We'll both hide out there. Deal?"

"You…you don't care about my, uh…my eyes?"

Scott heard the man pause, and when he spoke again, it was in a happier tone, though it was a much harder voice than he'd yet heard the man speak in. "I think it was destiny that brought ya to me, kid. You an' me? I think we'll work out jus' peachy."

Scott nodded, slowly, then quicker, smiling as he felt the man tying some material from the blanket around his eyes. "Yeah," he said quickly, following this man to his new life. Little did he know the Living Hell he'd just volunteered for.

OoOoOoOoOo

+You were outside again, son?

+ You practiced to disappear?

+Disappear! Practice you English next time, Kurt.

-- The gentlemen would like to speak to Kurtie

+o Kurt? Come here please.

o+He cannot speak German, Kurtie

+o+This gentleman wants me in his School in America!

OoOoOoOoOo