Author's note, 7/24/20: Yyyyeah, I'm not going to beat around the bush with all of you here. I have been putting this story off for the longest time because of various personal/professional reasons going on in my life. So much has happened in between the time I first started this and the time I jumped ship to be a part of the 'responsible adult' world. I mostly blame mental exhaustion, that's pretty much why I've been so off the grid. But why should I bore ya with all of that?
But in the time I was away, I've gotten to see the bigger picture and how I can improve. One last thing I want to clarify, this story takes place about two weeks after The Beast of Bayville episode. Anyways putting all that stuff aside, I'll just shut up now and let you read through this updated version. Please enjoy~!
Warning(s): Mentions of vomiting (Nothing serious, but just a heads up).
A ribbon of lightning streaked through the night sky, shattering the peaceful ebony blanket with piercing bursts of harsh light. It ran through the bottom of the clouds until it eventually fell away, returning the heavens to the veil of night. A low rumble of thunder filled the air as it trailed after the lightning that had faded off into the distance.
The silence of night was soon shattered again as the clouds above Bayville opened up, sending a thick curtain of rain down upon the city below. People who were still out at this late hour scurried for cover to escape being drenched by the torrential shower. Some of them were more successful than others. In the short span of a few minutes, most of the dry surfaces in the city were damp with rainwater.
The growing storm over Bayville inched itself across the skies, extending the darkness of night further in its wake. Its reach continued out to the outskirts of the city to the skies above a secluded seaside mansion. The rain immediately started to follow after the darkened storm clouds and proceeded to drown the mansion's grounds in its cold deluge.
Rainwater pelted against the front windows of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. The hallways of mansion, typically filled with the chatter of teenagers bustling about, were now devoid of a single soul. The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the halls before everything descended back into darkness. The antique wall-mounted lamps provided enough light to second floor, while cloaking the ground level in shadows.
While the majority of mansion's occupants were already tucked away in bed, one person was immersed in their work. A middle-aged bald man dressed smartly in a green blazer over a black turtleneck sweater, black slacks and dress shoes. He sat in a wheelchair and was focusing on the monitor before him. He reached out to input a sequence of commands on the terminal panel. The circular steel doors behind him closed and locked with a hiss. He entered a few more keystrokes before picking up the helmet sitting on the terminal and placed it on his head.
The room soon hummed to life.
"Welcome, Professor Xavier."
The man identified as Professor Xavier busied himself with looking over the list of names displayed on the monitor. The number of emerging mutant signatures had not gone up in the past few months, which was the norm as of late. But it never hurt to keep Cerebro's files up to date, or to review previous records. In the last couple of days, he had observed a small amount of activity in Europe but it wasn't enough to raise alarm. For the time being, he chose to leave that on the back burner while he focused on other matters.
He spent most of his nights down in Cerebro, trying to find any traces of his former friend or his associates. His search was starting to become an exercise in futility, but he continued it regardless. The only lead he had on that front was the Brotherhood. But ever since the disaster on Asteroid M, the trail had unfortunately gone—
"Mutant signature discovered."
Charles was pulled from his musing by the flashing alerts on the monitor. His hands danced across the terminal console, inputting command after command into the system. The list of names faded into the background, and a 3-D model of the globe took its place on the screen. The model did one rotation in slow motion then zoomed in on the targeted area. His eyebrows furrowed at the readings.
"Again?" He whispered, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
The satellite image on the screen continued to zoom in until it highlighted out the vicinity of the new signature. He frowned at how broad the highlighted area was, but with a few choice commands on the keyboard it simplified to a much smaller area.
"The third minor spike detected in this vicinity. Extrapolation in progress... extrapolation is now complete. Mutant signature has been identified."
A still image of a teenage boy took the place of the map on the screen. He appeared to be around the ages of sixteen or seventeen with a fair skin complexion and a slim figure that was average in height. He was dressed in a red private school blazer with a black bowtie, tan dress pants and dark brown loafer shoes. His pale blond hair was styled unevenly into two sides with his bangs cut at an angle but fell flat over his forehead. His eyes, however, were his most defining feature, an icy shade of blue that could look right through you.
"Residence: Rome, Italy. Age: 16. Identity confirmed, nam—"
The image of the boy on the screen disappeared abruptly and an error message flashed in its place. Charles looked up at the monitor in alarm. He immediately typed in a few commands, pulling up the readings that Cerebro had managed to record. The error message went away and brought the still image back to the screen. He pulled up the map from earlier and scrutinized the highlighted area. The dot indicating where the new mutant signature had been identified was fading fast before it disappeared completely.
Charles stared at the screen for the longest time, trying to make sense of what just happened. The first thought that came to mind was perhaps the signature was just too weak for Cerebro to lock onto. But he dismissed the thought. Forge would have told him if there were any noteworthy malfunctions while he was updating Cerebro yesterday. But just to be on the safe side, he made a mental note to consult with him and Hank in the morning.
Charles slid the helmet off his head, setting it down in its designated spot on the console in front of him. Taking one last look at the image of the teen, Charles turned his chair and wheeled himself out.
(-)
Michael Soletta sighed, glancing out the arched windows of his classroom. It was currently lunchtime, which meant all students were either eating outside or in the dining hall. He didn't bother to get up from his desk, opting to remain where he was to enjoy the few moments of silence before his next class. He felt his stomach roll at the thought of food, but pushed down his feeling of nausea to focus on looking outside.
His eyes were lazily scanning the picturesque courtyard of St. Agatha's Private school below him. He spotted the groundskeeper lecturing a group of oblivious female students for trampling the cosmos flower seedlings that he had planted the other day. He rolled his eyes at them, shifting his gaze to the taped off fountain area in the center. The school's many rich donors had donated funds to renovate the pre-existing one to fix the various plumbing issues and put benches around it. To quote the school's windbag of a headmaster, "It will improve the beauty of our prestigious campus!"
Right...
Michael heaved another sighed, reluctantly turning his body away from the window when the sun peaked out from behind the clouds. A stream of sunlight filled the room in a matter of seconds. It hit the back of his head, setting his hair aglow with a halo of soft gold. The warmth of its rays felt pleasant on the back of his neck as the feeling spread to the rest of his body. He hated sitting in places with a lot of sunlight, but today he was just too tired to care about moving.
He must have zoned out for a moment because he didn't hear the doors to the classroom being opened. The sounds of high heels clicked against the hard wood floors filled the room. He turned his head to see the familiar form of Professoressa Fiore walking over to the teacher's desk in the corner of the room. She was a petite woman in her late fifties, dressed in her usual midnight blue pantsuit and black high heels. Her glasses sat atop of her salt and pepper hair, which was pulled back in a tight bun.
She placed a stack of papers on the desk, and reached up to grab her glasses to place them down on top of the stack. Professoressa Fiore turned on her heel to leave, but stopped abruptly and glanced in Michael's direction. Michael froze under her gaze.
"Mr. Soletta. I assume you're aware that it's lunchtime, no?" she asked, keeping her voice even. She gave him a quick look over, "Why are you still in the classroom?"
"Yes professoressa, I-I, uh, wanted to prepare for the exam next period," he answered, hoping she would buy his flimsy excuse.
Judging by her hard stare and crossed arms over her chest, she wasn't fooled at all. She crossed the room in a few steps until she stood in front of his desk. She scanned him with her dark hazel eyes and waited for him to speak again. Michael fidgeted in his seat before turning his head to avoid eye contact with her.
"...I don't really have much of an appetite today, that's all professoressa," Michael confessed sheepishly.
Professoressa Fiore's face softened for a brief moment. She reached over to grab the seat of the neighboring desk and took a seat. Michael looked at her in surprise. On the outside Professoressa Fiore was a stern teacher, but she cared about the wellbeing of her students.
"Are you feeling ill, Mr. Soletta? Do you need to be escorted to the nurse?" Professoressa Fiore asked, holding out her hand.
"N-No, ma'am. I just didn't sleep well last night. I'll be all right," Michael said.
"You're sure that's all?" she pressed, retracting her hand.
He nodded stiffly. She fixed him with one last once over, but decided to let it go with a small sigh. She returned the chair to its proper spot and walked back up to the teacher's desk to grab her glasses. Professoressa Fiore reached into her pocket for the cloth for her glasses, giving them a quick wipe down as the warning bell went off. The lunch period was over, which meant the halls were going to be a madhouse any second now. The obnoxious sounds of chatting teenagers drew closer to the classroom door.
Professoressa Fiore groaned to herself.
"...Animals," the old teacher muttered under her breath. She glanced over back in Michael's direction. "Mr. Soletta, I meant what I said. If you need to go to the nurse at any point during today's lecture, let me know. Do you understand me?"
"Yes professoressa, I will." He promised, turning his body to face forward.
Professoressa Fiore nodded at him, taking her place at the front of the classroom as the door opened. Students filed into the room, some dragging their feet while others were still chattering away. All it took was one stern glare from their professor to put a stop to that. Students rushed to take their assigned seats, hoping to avoid another scathing lecture. Once the last student had sat down, Professoressa Fiore scanned the room with hard eyes.
"Now that we're all here, I have essays to pass back," Professoressa Fiore said, gesturing to the stack of papers on her desk. She walked over to snatch them up, "Some of you clearly didn't put much effort into writing these and it's painfully obvious."
While the professor trekked up and down the aisle, she placed a paper face down on each desk. Some papers were gently placed, while others were much harder. Everyone knew by now that was Professoressa Fiore's way of expressing her displeasure at students who didn't take the assignment seriously. She passed by Michael's desk on her way back up to the front of the room. Unlike the other students, she simply handed his paper to him with a well-concealed smile.
He looked down at the paper in his hands, flipping it over. In the corner of the paper, an A+ was written in red ink and a small note underneath, "Keep up the good work."
A ghost of a smile graced Michael's lips.
(-)
Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee—
A hand shot out from under a mountain of blankets and fumbled around for the source of the infernal beeping. The hand felt around the nightstand by the double bed before finally finding the source of that god-awful racket. With one good well-placed slam, the sound was silenced with a satisfying thump.
The occupant of the bed tiredly retracted their hand back under the blanket cocoon with a groan. A few minutes went by, the only sound in the room was soft breathing and the birds outside the windows. The blankets were pushed up at a slow pace and fell to pool around her waist. She brought up a hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, and then to cover up a yawn that escaped her lips.
She turned to glare at the alarm clock. It took her eyes a few minutes to adjust. The red numbers on the screen read five past six. She huffed to herself, reaching her hand up to brush her bedhead locks behind her ear.
"It's too early for this bullshit," Rogue groaned, pushing her body out of bed.
She stretched her arms above her head until she felt her shoulders pop, releasing the tension in her bones. Rogue took a moment to look over at Kitty's side of the room, half expecting the valley girl to be passed out in her bed. The younger girl's bed was already made, but still no sign of the girl in question.
Rogue shrugged half-heartedly.
Grabbing the brush off the top of her dresser, she took a quick glance in the mirror on Kitty's dresser. Her two toned hair was all over the place. The only way to tame this kind of bedhead would require her to hop in the shower. Rogue pulled her usual green clothes out of her closet and stepped out into the hall to the closest bathroom.
Thank god there's no school this week, she thought tiredly.
Living in a mansion with a bunch of other teenagers had taught Rogue how to take the world's fastest shower and still be ready to leave at a moment's notice. But on days where no one had to wake up early unless they absolutely had to made it worth staying in the shower longer.
Rogue closed the bathroom door behind her. She set her clothes for the day down on the sink counter. She reached behind the curtain to turn the shower on, letting the water hit her hand to find the perfect temperature. It didn't take long for the water to heat up to her liking. Rogue wiped the water off on her pants and went over to the door to make sure it was locked. After securing the lock, she walked back to the shower and stripped off her sleepwear.
Stepping under the warm spray, she went through her normal shower routine and scrubbed the sweat from last night's Danger Room session off her skin. Rogue must have stayed in the shower for about twenty minutes before turned off the water. Grabbing her towel hanging up by the shower curtain, she stepped out and dried her hair with a second towel. In about five minutes, she had dried off and gotten dressed. Rogue gathered up her clothes and the towels she used for the trip back to her room. Along the way she passed Amara, who emerged half asleep from her room. The southern girl didn't bother acknowledging her and just kept on walking back to her room. Rogue knew Amara already had a hard time functioning in the morning, so striking up a conversation with her this early would just be a wasted effort on Rogue's part.
Rogue stepped into her shared room and dumped last night's pajamas in the hamper by her dresser. She hung her towel up to dry and snatched up her brush from her bed as well as the hairdryer on Kitty's side of the room. She went about drying off her hair and brushing it in a few spots that needed it. After deeming her hair presentable, she set her hairbrush down and glanced at her alarm clock out of the corner eye. It read about a quarter to seven.
"I could have slept in," Rogue grumbled, unplugging the hairdryer and putting it back where she found it. She walked over and snatched her gloves off her nightstand, slipping them on. "I'm definitely unplugging you later, demon spawn."
Rogue slipped on her boots on her way out the door, closing it behind her and back down the hallways. She saw Amara creep back into her room, most likely to fall back into a deep sleep.
Must be nice to do that on command. Rogue rolled her eyes at the thought.
She forced those thoughts to the back of her mind and climbed down the stairs in the foyer. Her eyes went to the front doors, noting the gray clouds and rain pelted against the all glass surfaces. The storm from last night was still going, but it lacked the ferocity from earlier.
"Guess I'm staying in today," Rogue muttered, turning in the direction of the kitchen. Who was she kidding? She didn't exactly have any plans lined up while Risty was away visiting family in England. She stopped short in the doorway to the kitchen, "Why am I not surprised, Summers?"
Scott looked up from the newspaper he was currently reading.
"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in her direction.
"Do you ever sleep in? Especially on days we have off?" Rogue asked, moving to the fridge.
Scott simply shrugged at her and went back to reading the newspaper. Rogue grabbed the milk from the door and moved to the cabinets to grab a coffee mug. She poured herself a decent amount of coffee, added the milk and gave it a quick stir. She brought it to her lips and took a small sip. She put just the right amount of milk in.
"You're up early as well, how come?" Scott inquired, his eyes still focused on the newspaper. The southern girl went back to the fridge and returned the milk before taking a sit next to him at table.
"My alarm, unfortunately. I must have forgotten to turn off," Rogue supplied, nursing her cup of coffee. Scott hummed at that, flipping to the next page. Rogue took another sip of her coffee, turning her head to glance out one of the kitchen windows. "You know where Kitty is? When I woke up, she wasn't in her bed surprisingly."
Scott folded his newspaper to look over at her.
"She and Kurt have a Danger Room session with Logan this morning," he said, placing the paper down on the table. He had his own coffee cup and a peeled orange in front of him.
"I don't envy them," Rogue snorted.
A small chuckle escaped Scott's lips. He lifted the newspaper back up to continue his reading. Rogue got up to go grab an apple off the counter and brought it back to her chair after washing it off. She took a bite out of it, glancing around the kitchen.
"Speaking of which, where's the Prof?" Rogue asked, wiping her mouth off after taking another bite of her apple. Scott folded his newspaper over again to look at her. "Isn't he usually up at the crack of dawn way before you are?"
"What are you implying?" he asked, no malice in his voice.
"That you're an uptight boy scout, who doesn't know the definition of the word relax?" Rogue responded, taking another sip of her coffee.
"Oh, haha!"
The two of them shared a good laugh, before silence filled the empty kitchen once again. Scott put the paper down on the table for the second time to give Rogue his full attention.
"Last I heard, he's been spending a lot of time down in Cerebro," Scott said, picking up his own coffee cup to take a sip. He turned his gaze down to look at the dark reflection looking back at him. "No doubt trying to find any leads on Magneto."
Rogue hummed at that, taking yet another bite out of her apple.
"Knowing old bucket head, he's probably out there somewhere and who knows what he's planning," she added softly.
"And we'll be ready when he finally does."
(-)
Exams were absolutely nerve wracking for some people, but thankfully Michael wasn't one of those individuals. In some weird way, he found that they helped distract him from thinking about unnecessary thoughts. He made sure to take his time to read each question carefully before considering the possible answers provided to him. A low hum escaped his lips as he chose the answer that made the most sense to him. Professoressa Fiore's English and Literature exams were about as tough as her teaching style. If you weren't careful, her questions could really trip you up and that would be the end of you.
He flipped the page over to the final page. Luckily it only had five multiple-choice questions on it. Michael scanned each question on the back page and smiled to himself. The questions were all on "Macbeth", the last book they read in class the week before. He could still recall listening to Professoressa Fiore while she read the story to them. She would reenact all the important scenes with such passion and poise. She truly was a master of her craft.
Michael answered each of the questions without much difficulty. Flipping the test back over, he went back and looked over all his answers. As he reached the last page again, he jumped when a ruler was slammed down on a desk two rows over. Turning his head to right, he saw Professoressa Fiore standing by the desk of Paolo Bianchi. He was the resident class clown. Paolo was smiling sheepishly at the professor, but the woman wasn't having any of it. The smile disappeared under her withering glare.
Che idiota. He rolled his eyes, going back to checking his answers.
He nodded to himself and deemed the test ready to be handed in. Putting his pencil down, he rose from his seat and walked over to the teacher's desk. Professoressa Fiore had taken her seat again after giving Paolo one final glare and was grading a pile of papers belonging to her next class. Her dark eyes looked up as Michael approached her desk.
"Finished Mr. Soletta?" she asked, reaching a hand out.
"Yes professoressa," Michael answered, depositing the exam in her hands. She took the exam and placed it on top of her grade book.
Michael turned to go back to his desk, but stopped short about halfway there. He felt his stomach roll slightly in protest, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. The feeling was lingering, much to his dismay. He made the decision to turn around and head back to the teacher's desk. Professoressa Fiore looked back up when he approached, a look of concern spread across her face.
"Mr. Soletta, are you all right?" Professoressa Fiore inquired, keeping her voice soft as to not alarm the students still taking the exam. The boy's face was flushed and a few beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
"Professoressa, I'm s-sorry to ask. But may I be excused to the bathroom please?" he asked in the tiniest voice he could muster.
"Yes of course, but maybe the nurse's office would be the better option?" Professoressa Fiore stood up from her chair. A few students had looked from their exams to stare at what was happening up front.
Michael shook his head and offered her a weak smile.
"I'm fine, I think it's just an upset stomach," Michael said, wiping away some sweat from his brow. Professoressa Fiore studied his face for another moment. She looked like she wanted to tell him off for neglecting his health, but she relented with a sigh.
"Okay Mr. Soletta, but don't strain yourself."
"Thank you professoressa, I'm sorry for the trouble." He bowed his head to her then moved towards the door.
As he approached the door, he felt a whole classroom of eyes staring at his back. As he closed the door behind him, another familiar crack of a ruler against a desk was heard and followed by the stern voice of Professoressa Fiore.
Thankfully the closest men's room was a few doors down from his classroom. He pushed the door open, half expecting to see a few boys cutting class. Much to his relief, the bathroom was deserted.
Michael kept his eyes focused on the tiled floors to avoid looking at the individual mirrors on the wall as he went to the last sink by the window. He only looked up when he reached it and shuddered at his reflection. His pale face was flushed and his eyes were glazed over.
"Oh god," he whispered, brushing his bangs off his forehead.
He turned the faucet on with a shaky hand, letting some cool water fill in his cupped hands. He lowered his face to splash it against his heated skin and sighed at the relief that it brought him. He did it a few more times before shutting off the water to reach for the paper towel dispenser by the sink. Grabbing two paper towels, he dabbed his face dry and did the same for the lower part of his bangs.
Just as he was about to toss the used paper towels in the trash, his stomach rolled again at the sudden movement. A hand flew to his mouth in a vain attempt to calm the burning sensation climbing in his throat. The balled up paper towel fell forgotten to the ground as he rushed to the stall behind him.
He barely had enough time to drop to his knees and lift up the seat before he lost the contents of his empty stomach into the toilet bowel. Michael shut his eyes to shield his eyes from looking at the bile and lifted his face away from the toilet. He reached over blindly and fumbled with the lever to flush it down. After a few failed attempts, he got the toilet to flush and pushed himself to stand on shaky legs.
Stumbling out of the stall, he took slow steps to get back over to the sink to wash his mouth out. Turning the water back on, he washed his hands first before repeating what he did earlier. Michael alternated between bring water to lips and spitting it out to get rid of the foul taste.
After doing this a few more times, he shut off the faucet and reaching to grab another paper towel. But his hand grabbed at air.
He paused his efforts to look over to his right, and froze.
"Che diavolo?" Michael whispered.
His hand was translucent in front of his very eyes, allowing him to see the paper towel dispenser clear as day through his skin. He moved his hand forward and jumped as his hand passed through it like a ghost.
"Cosa sta succedendo!" Michael yanked his hand back, cradling it to his chest with his other hand.
Michael glanced back at the paper towel dispenser. A small ring of shadows had formed around the area he stuck his hand through moments before. He took a hesitant step towards it, but as he approached it the shadows fizzled away in the light. Glancing back down at his hand, Michael reached out again with that hand to touch towel dispenser again.
"Yo Soletta, you alive in here!"
Michael jerked his hand back against his chest as the bathroom pushed open and one of his classmates stuck his head in from behind the door. The other boy gave him a look when he turned his head to look over his shoulder.
"U-Uh yeah, I'm good," Michael retorted, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
"That's good because Professoressa Fiore looked like she was about to send out a search party. See ya back in class," the other boy said, ducking out of the doorway.
Michael waited a few minutes after the door closed before looking back at his hand. Taking a deep breath, he raised it from his chest and almost cried at what he saw. His hand had returned to a more solid state. He took a few slow breaths to calm his nerves and grabbed some paper towels to dry his face.
He risked a glance at the mirror, then down at his hand.
"Just...what the hell was all that?"
(-)
"Mutant signature discovered. The fourth minor spike detected in this vicinity. Extrapolation is now complete. Identity confirmed, name: Michael Soletta."
Charles smiled as the familiar still image of last night's readings appeared on the screen.
"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Soletta."
Translations - All of these were done with Google Translate, so I apologize in advance if it seems inaccurate:
Professoressa (Professor feminine)
Che idiota (What an idiot)
Che diavolo? (What the hell?)
Cosa sta succedendo! (What is going on!)
Author's notes: Yeah, hi again. How are we all doing today? I hope you're all safe during these... uncertain times. I've finally managed to get this rewrite done... and it only took about four-ish years, go figure. Like I mentioned above, I'm not going to get into details about what has gone on since we last spoke. The only thing I wanted to say to you all was... all apologizes but life has happened. I can't really say anymore than that.
There's a few thing I would like to address, though. First thing is, I wanted to thank the people who have sent encouragements and stuck by the original version of this story. Thank you guys so much!
The other thing, I just want to establish a few things. Now that I'm back, I will warn you that sometimes the updates might take a while. It might be because I'm having a severe attack of writer's block. Weak excuse yes, but there's good and bad days. I'm also working on a few one shots for the future, but those aren't a priority right now.
One side note, I am bad when it comes to doing characters with accents...so there might be a severe lack of that. If I figure out how to properly write them, I will go back and update accordingly but for now I'll stick with what I have.
Now the last thing I wanted to establish about this story. I will not be doing main characters x OC pairings because that's not my style and I'd just rather not. I don't believe in breaking up established couples just to put them in relationships with mine, so there's that.
I'm all for constructive criticism because it helps me learn and grow as a writer. With that said, thank you for reading and I will catch you all next time!
Revised on 10/24/21