**TWO MONTHS AGO**
Rogue fingered the ivory keys tenderly. Her nimble digits traced over black, then white, then black, then white. The concert grand stood in all its glory in a bare spot just in front of the window where a glittering patch of sun fell across the floor in the day and a silver beam of moon at night.
Papers with furious note-heads and stems scrawled between staves lay scattered across the top of the magnificent instrument, black and glossy with the afternoon sun. A series of notes were played over and over as Rogue tried to progress with her song. She wasn't avidly trying to make it in the music industry, but Caleb had said she had talent and he was very encouraging. So she sat, writing a small compilation of songs resurrected from deep in her blood and soul.
Caleb assured her they were beautiful and suggested that when she finished, she should definitely get a professional to take a listen. Rogue was positive that her sudden flourish of wonderful ideas for music came from Caleb himself. A love song just hits deeper when the writer is actually in love. And Rogue was certainly in love with Caleb. They'd been in a steady, wonderful relationship for almost two years now and she grew fonder of him by the day. Any day now, he would pop the question. She could feel it.
The object of her musings entered their New York apartment at the precise moment Rogue allowed herself to stop in her thinking and daydream of him. He flashed her a grin and knelt beside her on the piano bench, their hands grasping and resting in her lap. Caleb was tall, fairly built with a mop of thick, black complicated swirls and two chocolate brown eyes that brightened like the stars at the sight of her. He was Abercrombie material, but no one would ever tell him that. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd want to hear, being the sensitive, soulful artist he was. He'd most likely say that appearance is as relevant as hate. Whatever it was, Rogue still resisted the urge to jump him when he donned a tight turtleneck that traveled the length of his Michelangelo body.
"Why'd you stop? It was sounding great!" He kissed her.
She shrugged. "Ah was thinking of you." She said finally, grabbing his mouth in another kiss. They smiled against each other's lips and parted. "Anyway, why are you back so soon?" She slapped his arm playfully.
He stood and entered their kitchen. "I forgot my keys," he called out. Soon the sound of jingling metal accompanied his way back out the front door. Rogue stopped in her piano dallying and counted precisely three seconds before he returned back through the door, stalking toward where she sat. She stood immediately and turned to receive him, opening her arms wide and embracing him. They kissed with wanton passion for nearly a full minute.
"We are pathetic," Rogue said close to his face.
He nodded. "I know. I'll be back." He slipped from her arms and closed the front door behind him on his second way out. Rogue shook her head and sat back down.
Her fingertips waltzed across the keys and began composing a blissful serenade, swallowing the room in a deep blue tone as she pounded life through each key. She tipped her head back and let the music pour from her heart.
Three gunshots rang outside.
Rogue jumped, startled and shaken from her reverie. Horror-stricken, she bolted to the window that looked out over the city sidewalk. A small circle of curious, aghast onlookers gathered around a single center. Rogue's heart thrashed against her. She didn't even hear the sirens coming from down the street, but when the ambulance dissolved the crowd, Rogue sank against her windowsill in a freakish blow of anguish. She screamed and crumpled onto the floor.
Caleb's body lied facedown on the sidewalk, blood seeping from his still form.
**
"And so you see, boys. I saw the both of you, young, intelligent, charismatic, wealthy, and of course, mutants." Xavier smiled genially. "I understand that soon you will be inheriting your father's business; I am offering you a chance to perfect the use of your powers in a safe, friendly lifestyle with other mutants. What do you say?"
"We say yes," Warren answered immediately. His brother Bobby nodded enthusiastically beside him. Xavier's eyebrows raised in mild surprise at their swift and certain affirmative reaction.
"You're sure? This is, undoubtedly, a life-changing prospect for the both of you."
"We're sure," Bobby blushed at his eager intervention. "After you wrote us, we researched your cause a bit more before we came today and were very pleased with what we learned. We're aware that Warren and I will be part of your first recruit in a school dedicated wholly to the progress of human-mutant relations, and the... team you plan on assembling- in complete confidentiality of course."
Warren nodded. "Our father and us both believe this is a good idea for us. He feels it will give us the direction we need to run his business properly." Warren Worthington III hoisted his leg atop his other and folded his hands professionally on his knee. "He conveys his apologies for not being able to join us today, but unfortunately he won't return from his conference in Toronto for about another two weeks."
Xavier held his hand up. "No need to apologize. I spoke with him on the phone and he explained the situation in its entirety to me. I'm glad you've decided to join my school's first recruitment."
The two brothers rose from their chairs. "Then will see you in about a week?"
"A week, alright." Xavier wheeled from under his desk to shake hands with the boys.
"I'm pretty excited about all this." Bobby commented, piling into the passenger seat of Warren's Ferrari.
"Yeah?" The older of the two said, throwing him a sideways glance. "Me, too."
Bobby shrugged. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, it'll be a nice break from being the silver spoon-fed brats we are."
"Speak for yourself." Warren revved the engine, smiling.
"Oh give me a break." Bobby flipped a hand out of the window and the billionaire brothers drove off, wind whipping both boys' blonde locks in their eyes.
**
Scott Summers roamed the outskirts of the store like a thief circling the treasure, contemplating the best way to get in, get what he needed, and get out. Finally, he plunged in amidst the silk bras and cotton panties and lace and velvet and satin and oh my God I've got to get out of here... He sped for the door but was intercepted by a body that looked like it belonged on one of the platforms displaying the exaggerated mannequins.
"Can I help you, sir?" She asked through a plastered smile, wringing her hands. She's new, Scott decided. Good, new was good. Maybe they could help each other.
"I'm, uh, looking for something for my wife." He glanced at his surroundings timidly as if one of the baby doll ties would undo and strangle him.
The woman nodded. "Um, okay, how... big is she?"
"What?" Scott's head whipped to the saleswoman and noticed her small hands gesturing, somewhat nervously, toward her generous breasts. "Oh, uh, gosh. Not... not that big, I guess."
She smiled, the entire situation suddenly striking her as funny. 'Keep it together, Jean. You were hired for this. You can do it.' Scott noticed the saleswoman's shoulders relax and her chin tilt up as if a swell of confidence had ballooned inside of her, consequently shriveling Scott's to a meager portion.
"Okay," she continued, grabbing a passing woman by the wrist and halting her pursuits. "C'mere Penny." She looked to Scott. "About this size, you think?"
Scott's eyes fluttered over the woman modestly. "Yeah, that's about right."
Jean nodded. "Alright. Follow me. Thanks Pen."
Scott watched 'Pen' nod and disappear in the sea of lingerie then followed his own associate into another section of the store.
She led him into the depths of the underwear world and turned to face him, hands planted on her full hips. "See something you like?"
'If I weren't married, yeah.' He shot the thought from his head and looked around, mustering up the courage to fumble through a few racks of the scant clothing with his big fingers. "I don't know. My wife's not really into this kind of stuff." Scott waved a hand at a wall from which a slick leather ensemble hung, whip accessories included.
The woman giggled. "No, I wouldn't imagine." What's that supposed to mean? "Does your wife wear any colored undergarments, or usually just white?"
Scott shifted, recalling Wanda's bras and panties. "White..." Is that bad, he added silently.
The woman's eyes became wide. "No! It's not bad. It just means she'd probably be more comfortable in something simple yet adorable... like this." She plucked a white silk nightie that met to mid-thigh and had little to cover up top. But Scott didn't even see it.
"Did I say that out loud?"
"What?" She said, turning from the nightgown.
"I didn't say, 'Is that bad,' out loud," Scott stated firmly this time. His eyes grew. "Are you-?"
She slammed the garment back onto the rack and closed the gap between them. "Listen sir. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to, please. I... I just started here and I haven't gotten into the swing of things yet." She clasped her hands together. "Please don't-"
He held his hands up. "Hey, don't worry about it!" He took a cursory glance around them and bowed his head nearer to her. "I'm a mutant, too." He tapped his rose-red sunglasses and her jaw gaped.
"You are!" He nodded. "Oh my God! You had me scared to death for a second!" She hit him on the shoulder and he laughed.
"Hey! I'm sorry, it just took me by surprise that's all. So, a telepath, huh?" He relaxed, feeling slightly more at home with a fellow mutant.
She nodded glumly. "Don't get me wrong, I don't go prying into people's heads or anything. In fact, I lock myself up in my own head- and I think your wife would love this piece, sir." They waited while a middle-aged woman passed them. "I lock myself up in my head so I don't hear anything. Most of the time it's like I don't even have the power. I don't get any of the perks of telepathy, but at least I don't get any of the crappy stuff either. Your thought just beamed so loudly."
"I'm sorry. I live with a telepath so I'm usually good about that. I must have just slipped."
"It's okay. You're nothing compared to some." She flipped a scarlet wave behind her back. Redhead, Scott noticed idly. It was no secret he preferred redheads, his wife serving as evidence. What man didn't when you came right down to it? As far as Scott was concerned, you weren't a red-blooded man unless you've fantasized at least once about a woman with red above and, of course, the kinky patch below. "You said you live with a telepath?" She asked.
Scott picked up the nightie she'd presented to him and headed for the cash register. He fished in his jackets inside coat pocket and retrieved a small white rectangle of paper. "Call this number. He can get those voices cleared up for you."
She looked down at the card. Charles Xavier. She met Scott's eyes and they held each other's gaze for a split-second. "Jean." She said simply.
"Scott," he replied. Fucked, he added, safe behind mental walls.
**
"Remy, this is Charles Xavier. I was wondering if you'd thought any more about my offer-" BEEP.
"Delete Message." The answering machine stated.
Remy decided it was time to delete it after listening to it about eighty times. He didn't want it to still be there when Francesca came back from Paris. He was house sitting for his old friend/casual lover's New York penthouse for the last four months while she no doubt got fucked every which way under the cloak of a drunk, sinful, cocaine-induced Parisian night. "I'm having a blast," she wrote on her last postcard. Translation: I'm condemning myself to hell with about three different men a night.
Remy settled into her couch. There was no saving Francesca. There was no saving him. Damn, maybe this place Xavier was offering wouldn't be half bad. Probably clean his nose out a little. He was getting sick of this fast-paced, New York minute shit. He needed a break. What he wouldn't give for one lazy afternoon on the banks of a Louisiana river. No. He would never go back there. Not ever.
Westchester was a nice enough place. He lit a cigarette then extinguished it, disgusted. He reached for her portable next to her answering machine and pressed talk, only to press it again. He pressed the phone to his mouth and tumbled the idea around in his head.
He looked around Fran's house at her Persian rugs and original Victorian period paintings. Story of his life: beautiful and expensive, but so damned superficial and ultimately worthless.
He dialed the number that he'd memorized from the answering machine. Why not? Where the hell else did he have to go after Fran came back? After all, it was a meal and a bed.
**
Ororo slid the sleek, sequenced dress from her slim, toned body. She replaced it with a breezy orange one that clung tight to her plump breasts and flared out from there to just past her knees.
"Oh 'Ro, I'm going to miss you so much, girl." Marilyn hugged the African goddess from behind. The two women held the position for a moment, staring at themselves in the full-length mirror.
"Do not be sad, Mary. I have confidence that we will meet again. Someday."
Marilyn, Ororo's current roommate and current best friend, groaned and fell back on her Queen waterbed. "Don't feed me promises. I get enough of that from Davy."
Ororo turned, sighing. "My time here is over. It is time I move on."
"Why!" Marilyn shot from her bed. "Why, Ororo? Africa, L.A., Vegas, why run anymore? Stay! Stay here with me! We'll go out every weekend and party until we drop, find wonderful, beautiful, rich men, come stumbling in around four. We have great careers modeling, here; girl, you are going somewhere! Why give it all up now?"
Ororo inhaled deeply. She'd heard these arguments before, every time she left. It should have flattered her that there was always someone somewhere that begged her to stay, but instead it broke her heart into pieces. She couldn't stay... anywhere. She had to continue moving ahead, forward, on. Like the wind.
She touched the cheek of the young girl before her- just one of the many in her trail of broken hearts. Today a model in New York, yesterday a nightclub singer in L.A. What was tomorrow? She didn't know, and that was precisely what Ororo Munroe loved about her life.
She hugged Marylin a final time, silenced her tears as best she could, and boarded the next bus to Westchester. Xavier had been forced to get a hold of her telepathically, as she and Marilyn were never at the apartment and she believed cell phones were ridiculous. He offered her a place in his first recruitment and she agreed, but made no promises on how long she dwelled with him at his mansion. He agreed. "Just come and see how you like it."
She owed him from a previous favor. He knew that, but didn't use it against her or as a bargaining chip to come. Which is probably the reason she agreed to do it. He simply said, " It will, perhaps, bring some closure, Ororo." And closure she could very well do with. Because sometimes, not often, but sometimes, she still felt dirty, like three-inch caked on grime dirty, when a man spilled his seed inside of her, even if he worshipped the ground she walked on. And Lord knew there were several of those.
**
Logan stopped at a red light. He exhaled a coiling tail of cigar smoke and replayed last week's events in his head. The department brought in this snot-nosed kid that took three minutes before he was singing like a canary. He's in with the mafia- a nobody, really, just someone to finish off the dirty work. Young and misled, they're a dime a dozen. Logan asks who killed Rogue's beau. The kid says it was "The Heartbreaker."
"Who the fuck is Heartbreaker?"
"He's this guy," gulp. "I ain't never met him. They say he's related to Bugsy Malone." His eyes roaming the closed off room frantically, suddenly noticing there's no windows. Logan knew Bugsy. Everyone with a badge knew Bugsy Malone. "They just said that Heartbreaker killed Caleb."
"They say why?"
"Naw, they didn't say that. Sometimes the guys talk about him, though- Heartbreaker. They say he's the meanest one out there. No mercy, you know?" He pauses. "But I ain't never met him." He repeats, and Logan knows it's true. The mafia isn't stupid. They would never let a squealer like this punk meet someone as important as this Heartbreaker obviously is.
Logan sent the kid to overnight restraint. He was dead the next morning. It peeved Logan that someone managed to get through his division's securities and shoot up a key witness.
"Fuck," Logan mumbled, a fresh batch of irritation hatching inside of him as he replayed the night and its disappointing end. The light turned green.
He pulled up in front of the library. Rogue was sitting on a bench under a huge white umbrella, the fat yellow sun beating down on her. She squinted her eyes and noticed him.
"Hey," she said shortly, tossing her olive green suitcase in the back seat next to his oversized duffel bag and climbing into the passenger seat. He grunted a hello. "Tell me something, Logan." She inquired of her partner.
He recounted last week's entire happenings and she listened attentively, sipping her Starbucks latte. "So what's this got to do with Xavier's mansion? Ah mean, why did Ah pack my universe into my suitcase so we could run off and live in a school for mutants?"
He shook his head and made a sharp left. "Not a school, a cooperative living environment... to the public. I looked into it a little more and talked with Charles Xavier himself. It's actually more like a superhero team. Think of it as being back to our old crime-fighting days just a bit more advanced." Logan took Rogue's drink and gulped down the last large swallows before adding quietly, "And Caleb's killer is there."
"The Heartbreaker is going to be there? How do you know that?"
"I did some old-fashioned investigating around the slums of New York, saw what I could see on this Heartbreaker fellow. Last anyone had heard he was going to be laying low for a while at Xavier's place. So badda-bing, badda-boom I call Xavier and we're in. Thankfully we're mutants so it wasn't a problem getting past him. Which is good, 'cause the guys a telepath."
"Yikes, that's going to be a little hard to work around." Rogue said.
"Nah. The guy's a real ethics buff. He told me specifically that he didn't go rummaging through people's heads without their permission."
"That's good." A beat. "Ah'm real sorry Ah couldn't be there to help you do all this, Logan. Ah just haven't been in the mood to do much of anything, lately."
"Hey, don't even think about it." He patted her thigh reassuringly. It wasn't romantic, or even suggestive, just protective, like the older brother he'd come to be to her over the last eight years. A year ago, Rogue made the announcement that she'd fallen in love and that she couldn't go on in the business anymore. It would simply be impossible to keep the secret government division under wraps and still manage a relationship with Caleb. She chose Caleb. Everyone understood, but it was hard just the same. Logan had lost a great partner.
But when he heard Caleb had been shot to death, he was all over it in a matter of seconds. He'd been expecting Rogue's phone call and when it came, the two met up and were back to being partners in the ninth division of the Secret Service: a.k.a. the Opal Meridian. Few knew the ninth division even existed.
"It's good to see you back, Rogue." He said.
"Yeah, whatevah." She shifted in her seat. "Ah just want to find this bastard and put a bullet in his head."
Logan knew how Rogue felt right now and he knew she appreciated his words, even if she deflected them like annoyances. If she took them to heart, she would shatter under the emotion. And Logan knew Rogue. She would never crumble like that. One thing he always respected about his former partner: they would take her kicking and screaming.
**
Xavier had just finished dotting the 'i' in his name on a document when Scott and Wanda knocked on his office door.
"Professor." Scott poked his head in, followed by Wanda. Xavier ushered them inside and they stood by the door, his arm around her slim waist.
"Professor, they're all here," Wanda announced.
"Alright, thank you. I'll be there in a moment." They smiled and retreated down the hallway.
Xavier had even thought of a name for the team he was to build with these promising young mutants.
Xavier wheeled out of his office and to his parlor where his new recruits awaited. Scott, Wanda, Remy, Jean, Ororo, Logan, Rogue, Warren, and Bobby- his first generation of X-Men.
NOTES
This probably should have been the first chapter and the other one be second, but something told me to do it this way... the voices in my head, maybe; I don't know. Anyways, the next chapter will take place about a month later, right around when chapter one is taking place, and it'll kind of go into who loves who, and who's noticing who, and who IS who, and who knows what, and who DID what, and... um, yeah.
Hope you like. REVIEW if you do; REVIEW if you don't.
Rogue fingered the ivory keys tenderly. Her nimble digits traced over black, then white, then black, then white. The concert grand stood in all its glory in a bare spot just in front of the window where a glittering patch of sun fell across the floor in the day and a silver beam of moon at night.
Papers with furious note-heads and stems scrawled between staves lay scattered across the top of the magnificent instrument, black and glossy with the afternoon sun. A series of notes were played over and over as Rogue tried to progress with her song. She wasn't avidly trying to make it in the music industry, but Caleb had said she had talent and he was very encouraging. So she sat, writing a small compilation of songs resurrected from deep in her blood and soul.
Caleb assured her they were beautiful and suggested that when she finished, she should definitely get a professional to take a listen. Rogue was positive that her sudden flourish of wonderful ideas for music came from Caleb himself. A love song just hits deeper when the writer is actually in love. And Rogue was certainly in love with Caleb. They'd been in a steady, wonderful relationship for almost two years now and she grew fonder of him by the day. Any day now, he would pop the question. She could feel it.
The object of her musings entered their New York apartment at the precise moment Rogue allowed herself to stop in her thinking and daydream of him. He flashed her a grin and knelt beside her on the piano bench, their hands grasping and resting in her lap. Caleb was tall, fairly built with a mop of thick, black complicated swirls and two chocolate brown eyes that brightened like the stars at the sight of her. He was Abercrombie material, but no one would ever tell him that. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd want to hear, being the sensitive, soulful artist he was. He'd most likely say that appearance is as relevant as hate. Whatever it was, Rogue still resisted the urge to jump him when he donned a tight turtleneck that traveled the length of his Michelangelo body.
"Why'd you stop? It was sounding great!" He kissed her.
She shrugged. "Ah was thinking of you." She said finally, grabbing his mouth in another kiss. They smiled against each other's lips and parted. "Anyway, why are you back so soon?" She slapped his arm playfully.
He stood and entered their kitchen. "I forgot my keys," he called out. Soon the sound of jingling metal accompanied his way back out the front door. Rogue stopped in her piano dallying and counted precisely three seconds before he returned back through the door, stalking toward where she sat. She stood immediately and turned to receive him, opening her arms wide and embracing him. They kissed with wanton passion for nearly a full minute.
"We are pathetic," Rogue said close to his face.
He nodded. "I know. I'll be back." He slipped from her arms and closed the front door behind him on his second way out. Rogue shook her head and sat back down.
Her fingertips waltzed across the keys and began composing a blissful serenade, swallowing the room in a deep blue tone as she pounded life through each key. She tipped her head back and let the music pour from her heart.
Three gunshots rang outside.
Rogue jumped, startled and shaken from her reverie. Horror-stricken, she bolted to the window that looked out over the city sidewalk. A small circle of curious, aghast onlookers gathered around a single center. Rogue's heart thrashed against her. She didn't even hear the sirens coming from down the street, but when the ambulance dissolved the crowd, Rogue sank against her windowsill in a freakish blow of anguish. She screamed and crumpled onto the floor.
Caleb's body lied facedown on the sidewalk, blood seeping from his still form.
**
"And so you see, boys. I saw the both of you, young, intelligent, charismatic, wealthy, and of course, mutants." Xavier smiled genially. "I understand that soon you will be inheriting your father's business; I am offering you a chance to perfect the use of your powers in a safe, friendly lifestyle with other mutants. What do you say?"
"We say yes," Warren answered immediately. His brother Bobby nodded enthusiastically beside him. Xavier's eyebrows raised in mild surprise at their swift and certain affirmative reaction.
"You're sure? This is, undoubtedly, a life-changing prospect for the both of you."
"We're sure," Bobby blushed at his eager intervention. "After you wrote us, we researched your cause a bit more before we came today and were very pleased with what we learned. We're aware that Warren and I will be part of your first recruit in a school dedicated wholly to the progress of human-mutant relations, and the... team you plan on assembling- in complete confidentiality of course."
Warren nodded. "Our father and us both believe this is a good idea for us. He feels it will give us the direction we need to run his business properly." Warren Worthington III hoisted his leg atop his other and folded his hands professionally on his knee. "He conveys his apologies for not being able to join us today, but unfortunately he won't return from his conference in Toronto for about another two weeks."
Xavier held his hand up. "No need to apologize. I spoke with him on the phone and he explained the situation in its entirety to me. I'm glad you've decided to join my school's first recruitment."
The two brothers rose from their chairs. "Then will see you in about a week?"
"A week, alright." Xavier wheeled from under his desk to shake hands with the boys.
"I'm pretty excited about all this." Bobby commented, piling into the passenger seat of Warren's Ferrari.
"Yeah?" The older of the two said, throwing him a sideways glance. "Me, too."
Bobby shrugged. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, it'll be a nice break from being the silver spoon-fed brats we are."
"Speak for yourself." Warren revved the engine, smiling.
"Oh give me a break." Bobby flipped a hand out of the window and the billionaire brothers drove off, wind whipping both boys' blonde locks in their eyes.
**
Scott Summers roamed the outskirts of the store like a thief circling the treasure, contemplating the best way to get in, get what he needed, and get out. Finally, he plunged in amidst the silk bras and cotton panties and lace and velvet and satin and oh my God I've got to get out of here... He sped for the door but was intercepted by a body that looked like it belonged on one of the platforms displaying the exaggerated mannequins.
"Can I help you, sir?" She asked through a plastered smile, wringing her hands. She's new, Scott decided. Good, new was good. Maybe they could help each other.
"I'm, uh, looking for something for my wife." He glanced at his surroundings timidly as if one of the baby doll ties would undo and strangle him.
The woman nodded. "Um, okay, how... big is she?"
"What?" Scott's head whipped to the saleswoman and noticed her small hands gesturing, somewhat nervously, toward her generous breasts. "Oh, uh, gosh. Not... not that big, I guess."
She smiled, the entire situation suddenly striking her as funny. 'Keep it together, Jean. You were hired for this. You can do it.' Scott noticed the saleswoman's shoulders relax and her chin tilt up as if a swell of confidence had ballooned inside of her, consequently shriveling Scott's to a meager portion.
"Okay," she continued, grabbing a passing woman by the wrist and halting her pursuits. "C'mere Penny." She looked to Scott. "About this size, you think?"
Scott's eyes fluttered over the woman modestly. "Yeah, that's about right."
Jean nodded. "Alright. Follow me. Thanks Pen."
Scott watched 'Pen' nod and disappear in the sea of lingerie then followed his own associate into another section of the store.
She led him into the depths of the underwear world and turned to face him, hands planted on her full hips. "See something you like?"
'If I weren't married, yeah.' He shot the thought from his head and looked around, mustering up the courage to fumble through a few racks of the scant clothing with his big fingers. "I don't know. My wife's not really into this kind of stuff." Scott waved a hand at a wall from which a slick leather ensemble hung, whip accessories included.
The woman giggled. "No, I wouldn't imagine." What's that supposed to mean? "Does your wife wear any colored undergarments, or usually just white?"
Scott shifted, recalling Wanda's bras and panties. "White..." Is that bad, he added silently.
The woman's eyes became wide. "No! It's not bad. It just means she'd probably be more comfortable in something simple yet adorable... like this." She plucked a white silk nightie that met to mid-thigh and had little to cover up top. But Scott didn't even see it.
"Did I say that out loud?"
"What?" She said, turning from the nightgown.
"I didn't say, 'Is that bad,' out loud," Scott stated firmly this time. His eyes grew. "Are you-?"
She slammed the garment back onto the rack and closed the gap between them. "Listen sir. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to, please. I... I just started here and I haven't gotten into the swing of things yet." She clasped her hands together. "Please don't-"
He held his hands up. "Hey, don't worry about it!" He took a cursory glance around them and bowed his head nearer to her. "I'm a mutant, too." He tapped his rose-red sunglasses and her jaw gaped.
"You are!" He nodded. "Oh my God! You had me scared to death for a second!" She hit him on the shoulder and he laughed.
"Hey! I'm sorry, it just took me by surprise that's all. So, a telepath, huh?" He relaxed, feeling slightly more at home with a fellow mutant.
She nodded glumly. "Don't get me wrong, I don't go prying into people's heads or anything. In fact, I lock myself up in my own head- and I think your wife would love this piece, sir." They waited while a middle-aged woman passed them. "I lock myself up in my head so I don't hear anything. Most of the time it's like I don't even have the power. I don't get any of the perks of telepathy, but at least I don't get any of the crappy stuff either. Your thought just beamed so loudly."
"I'm sorry. I live with a telepath so I'm usually good about that. I must have just slipped."
"It's okay. You're nothing compared to some." She flipped a scarlet wave behind her back. Redhead, Scott noticed idly. It was no secret he preferred redheads, his wife serving as evidence. What man didn't when you came right down to it? As far as Scott was concerned, you weren't a red-blooded man unless you've fantasized at least once about a woman with red above and, of course, the kinky patch below. "You said you live with a telepath?" She asked.
Scott picked up the nightie she'd presented to him and headed for the cash register. He fished in his jackets inside coat pocket and retrieved a small white rectangle of paper. "Call this number. He can get those voices cleared up for you."
She looked down at the card. Charles Xavier. She met Scott's eyes and they held each other's gaze for a split-second. "Jean." She said simply.
"Scott," he replied. Fucked, he added, safe behind mental walls.
**
"Remy, this is Charles Xavier. I was wondering if you'd thought any more about my offer-" BEEP.
"Delete Message." The answering machine stated.
Remy decided it was time to delete it after listening to it about eighty times. He didn't want it to still be there when Francesca came back from Paris. He was house sitting for his old friend/casual lover's New York penthouse for the last four months while she no doubt got fucked every which way under the cloak of a drunk, sinful, cocaine-induced Parisian night. "I'm having a blast," she wrote on her last postcard. Translation: I'm condemning myself to hell with about three different men a night.
Remy settled into her couch. There was no saving Francesca. There was no saving him. Damn, maybe this place Xavier was offering wouldn't be half bad. Probably clean his nose out a little. He was getting sick of this fast-paced, New York minute shit. He needed a break. What he wouldn't give for one lazy afternoon on the banks of a Louisiana river. No. He would never go back there. Not ever.
Westchester was a nice enough place. He lit a cigarette then extinguished it, disgusted. He reached for her portable next to her answering machine and pressed talk, only to press it again. He pressed the phone to his mouth and tumbled the idea around in his head.
He looked around Fran's house at her Persian rugs and original Victorian period paintings. Story of his life: beautiful and expensive, but so damned superficial and ultimately worthless.
He dialed the number that he'd memorized from the answering machine. Why not? Where the hell else did he have to go after Fran came back? After all, it was a meal and a bed.
**
Ororo slid the sleek, sequenced dress from her slim, toned body. She replaced it with a breezy orange one that clung tight to her plump breasts and flared out from there to just past her knees.
"Oh 'Ro, I'm going to miss you so much, girl." Marilyn hugged the African goddess from behind. The two women held the position for a moment, staring at themselves in the full-length mirror.
"Do not be sad, Mary. I have confidence that we will meet again. Someday."
Marilyn, Ororo's current roommate and current best friend, groaned and fell back on her Queen waterbed. "Don't feed me promises. I get enough of that from Davy."
Ororo turned, sighing. "My time here is over. It is time I move on."
"Why!" Marilyn shot from her bed. "Why, Ororo? Africa, L.A., Vegas, why run anymore? Stay! Stay here with me! We'll go out every weekend and party until we drop, find wonderful, beautiful, rich men, come stumbling in around four. We have great careers modeling, here; girl, you are going somewhere! Why give it all up now?"
Ororo inhaled deeply. She'd heard these arguments before, every time she left. It should have flattered her that there was always someone somewhere that begged her to stay, but instead it broke her heart into pieces. She couldn't stay... anywhere. She had to continue moving ahead, forward, on. Like the wind.
She touched the cheek of the young girl before her- just one of the many in her trail of broken hearts. Today a model in New York, yesterday a nightclub singer in L.A. What was tomorrow? She didn't know, and that was precisely what Ororo Munroe loved about her life.
She hugged Marylin a final time, silenced her tears as best she could, and boarded the next bus to Westchester. Xavier had been forced to get a hold of her telepathically, as she and Marilyn were never at the apartment and she believed cell phones were ridiculous. He offered her a place in his first recruitment and she agreed, but made no promises on how long she dwelled with him at his mansion. He agreed. "Just come and see how you like it."
She owed him from a previous favor. He knew that, but didn't use it against her or as a bargaining chip to come. Which is probably the reason she agreed to do it. He simply said, " It will, perhaps, bring some closure, Ororo." And closure she could very well do with. Because sometimes, not often, but sometimes, she still felt dirty, like three-inch caked on grime dirty, when a man spilled his seed inside of her, even if he worshipped the ground she walked on. And Lord knew there were several of those.
**
Logan stopped at a red light. He exhaled a coiling tail of cigar smoke and replayed last week's events in his head. The department brought in this snot-nosed kid that took three minutes before he was singing like a canary. He's in with the mafia- a nobody, really, just someone to finish off the dirty work. Young and misled, they're a dime a dozen. Logan asks who killed Rogue's beau. The kid says it was "The Heartbreaker."
"Who the fuck is Heartbreaker?"
"He's this guy," gulp. "I ain't never met him. They say he's related to Bugsy Malone." His eyes roaming the closed off room frantically, suddenly noticing there's no windows. Logan knew Bugsy. Everyone with a badge knew Bugsy Malone. "They just said that Heartbreaker killed Caleb."
"They say why?"
"Naw, they didn't say that. Sometimes the guys talk about him, though- Heartbreaker. They say he's the meanest one out there. No mercy, you know?" He pauses. "But I ain't never met him." He repeats, and Logan knows it's true. The mafia isn't stupid. They would never let a squealer like this punk meet someone as important as this Heartbreaker obviously is.
Logan sent the kid to overnight restraint. He was dead the next morning. It peeved Logan that someone managed to get through his division's securities and shoot up a key witness.
"Fuck," Logan mumbled, a fresh batch of irritation hatching inside of him as he replayed the night and its disappointing end. The light turned green.
He pulled up in front of the library. Rogue was sitting on a bench under a huge white umbrella, the fat yellow sun beating down on her. She squinted her eyes and noticed him.
"Hey," she said shortly, tossing her olive green suitcase in the back seat next to his oversized duffel bag and climbing into the passenger seat. He grunted a hello. "Tell me something, Logan." She inquired of her partner.
He recounted last week's entire happenings and she listened attentively, sipping her Starbucks latte. "So what's this got to do with Xavier's mansion? Ah mean, why did Ah pack my universe into my suitcase so we could run off and live in a school for mutants?"
He shook his head and made a sharp left. "Not a school, a cooperative living environment... to the public. I looked into it a little more and talked with Charles Xavier himself. It's actually more like a superhero team. Think of it as being back to our old crime-fighting days just a bit more advanced." Logan took Rogue's drink and gulped down the last large swallows before adding quietly, "And Caleb's killer is there."
"The Heartbreaker is going to be there? How do you know that?"
"I did some old-fashioned investigating around the slums of New York, saw what I could see on this Heartbreaker fellow. Last anyone had heard he was going to be laying low for a while at Xavier's place. So badda-bing, badda-boom I call Xavier and we're in. Thankfully we're mutants so it wasn't a problem getting past him. Which is good, 'cause the guys a telepath."
"Yikes, that's going to be a little hard to work around." Rogue said.
"Nah. The guy's a real ethics buff. He told me specifically that he didn't go rummaging through people's heads without their permission."
"That's good." A beat. "Ah'm real sorry Ah couldn't be there to help you do all this, Logan. Ah just haven't been in the mood to do much of anything, lately."
"Hey, don't even think about it." He patted her thigh reassuringly. It wasn't romantic, or even suggestive, just protective, like the older brother he'd come to be to her over the last eight years. A year ago, Rogue made the announcement that she'd fallen in love and that she couldn't go on in the business anymore. It would simply be impossible to keep the secret government division under wraps and still manage a relationship with Caleb. She chose Caleb. Everyone understood, but it was hard just the same. Logan had lost a great partner.
But when he heard Caleb had been shot to death, he was all over it in a matter of seconds. He'd been expecting Rogue's phone call and when it came, the two met up and were back to being partners in the ninth division of the Secret Service: a.k.a. the Opal Meridian. Few knew the ninth division even existed.
"It's good to see you back, Rogue." He said.
"Yeah, whatevah." She shifted in her seat. "Ah just want to find this bastard and put a bullet in his head."
Logan knew how Rogue felt right now and he knew she appreciated his words, even if she deflected them like annoyances. If she took them to heart, she would shatter under the emotion. And Logan knew Rogue. She would never crumble like that. One thing he always respected about his former partner: they would take her kicking and screaming.
**
Xavier had just finished dotting the 'i' in his name on a document when Scott and Wanda knocked on his office door.
"Professor." Scott poked his head in, followed by Wanda. Xavier ushered them inside and they stood by the door, his arm around her slim waist.
"Professor, they're all here," Wanda announced.
"Alright, thank you. I'll be there in a moment." They smiled and retreated down the hallway.
Xavier had even thought of a name for the team he was to build with these promising young mutants.
Xavier wheeled out of his office and to his parlor where his new recruits awaited. Scott, Wanda, Remy, Jean, Ororo, Logan, Rogue, Warren, and Bobby- his first generation of X-Men.
NOTES
This probably should have been the first chapter and the other one be second, but something told me to do it this way... the voices in my head, maybe; I don't know. Anyways, the next chapter will take place about a month later, right around when chapter one is taking place, and it'll kind of go into who loves who, and who's noticing who, and who IS who, and who knows what, and who DID what, and... um, yeah.
Hope you like. REVIEW if you do; REVIEW if you don't.