Title: Strange Encounters

Date: 06/14/03

Author: Water-Soter

Main Characters/Pairings:  Scott, Jean, Professor X, Bobby, Warren, Hank, Logan, Ororo and Connie.

Series:  The Road Home Book I Part 3

Feedback: Absolutely! I'm new at this, so please don't burn me at the stake. Nevertheless I will appreciate any comments or suggestions you have on this story J. Write to me at www.Water_Soter@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Marvel comics and the almighty Stan Lee. It's free so please don't take the shirt of my back J. Connie belongs to me and may not be used without my permission.

Warning: this story contains mild mentions of rape, violence and foul language. So be warned, if you're easily offended, please don't read. Otherwise J be afraid, be very afraid . . . hee! ha ha ha ha  (diabolical laugh!).

Squishy  thoughts          "Yummy"  spoken         Whoopee   telepathy

The library seemed about one-third the size of the one in New York. Scott could tell from the echo their voices made. There were a lot of old books. Probably antique from the smell and feel of them. The place was huge with all kinds of rooms -- billiard, recreation, dinning, ball, and others that Scott had no idea what good they were. Not that he didn't know for what or what they were for, but because he couldn't fathom a place were things like this were the norm. Only in books and magazines, he'd always assumed. They were far away from anywhere he would ever live or even die in; the gutter was be closer to where he belonged.

But above all, the thing he noted more than anything else, was the smell. Everything was too clean. No overwhelming scent of piss, shit or rotting food; just flowers, pine and freshly polished furniture. It was nauseating. Things here were smooth and soft, no muck covering anything.

After the first hour, he felt a headache coming on. It was so unlike anywhere he'd ever been to. The lack of sound didn't help his aching head. It was so quiet here, you could probably hear a pin drop on the other side of the house. Everything here was nice, everything here was perfect. He didn't belong here; he belonged in a gutter somewhere digging through the trash for something edible.  

"Um . . . well, there's a couple of  . . ." the young woman mumbled uncertainly.

"Yeah?" Scott encouraged.                       

This girl was beginning to get on his nerves. Part of him understood how strange this was for her, but this was getting ridiculous. He was the blind one, and he seemed to be doing all the leading, asking to go here or there, or where things were and how they looked like. You'd think after the first twenty-three times she would get the hint, he thought bemused. 

"They're to your left um . . . twenty feet to your left."

Scott moved around a bit to get a better feel of the place. He wondered vaguely if they had any Braille books when Jean's voice brought him out of his thoughts.  

"To your right, um, there's some tables we use to do our homework. We also have five different . . ."

Jean's description was cut off when three sets of footsteps entered the room. One was in front leading the other two. The first sounded assertive, almost primal, while the other two seemed uncertain, inexperienced. "So, ya finally decided to show up," a gruff voice came from a few feet in front of the doorway, one that Scott recognized.

I was wondering when that man'd show up, the boy thought, noting that guy that had been following them from the onset was right outside in the hallway. "Yeah, so?"

"So? Ya took yer time." The man said with a hint of humor. Scott could hear the shift in the man's weight and suspected that he had turned toward the other two people. "If yer gonna stay here, ya should meet the others. This is Drake and McCoy."

The other two people took a few steps forward, leaving a comfortable distance between them and Scott. "Robert and Hank if you please. It is very nice to meet you." The larger of the two said in a playful but intellectual tone, the proximity of his voice startling Scott, who tried unsuccessfully to cover it. He seemed to be a bit large, but he had to be very agile to cover it so well. In fact, if Scott's blindness hadn't enhanced his other senses, he wouldn't have been able to pick up his footfall. He was some kind of medic or something down that line because he smelled of disinfectant and antibiotic, but he sounded like he was in his late teens to early twenties, not having that awkward pitch in his voice, "Our first names will suffice."

"It's Bobby, not Robert!" The other one burst out unnervingly. He obviously hated being called Robert. He smelled of sugar and lots of junk food, young. Scott could even picture the boy pouting with that remark. "So you're Scott! SEE WARREN, HE DOESN'T BITE!"

Suddenly the room went quiet, their attention drawn to the guy in the hallway. The girl next to Scott made a sudden motion that he couldn't tell if it was of surprise or anger. This girl sure has a temper, I wouldn't like to be in that guy's shoes. He thought with a snort, hearing another, more delicate and elegant footfall. Confident, with a notch of arrogance.

"Get in here 'wings'," the older man's intense voice echoed in the room, as footsteps could be heard approaching the other two guys, "and *this*, kid, is Worthington."

"Warren," the new guy offered coolly, giving no indication that he liked Scott.

There came an uncomfortable silence that allowed the brunet to examined these people a little more closely. Scott was self-conscious of the fact that he was being 'observed' by them, as though he were some piece of garbage laying in the middle of the Ritz's spit-clean marble floors. It annoyed the hell out of him, but Scott was practical. This was their home, and he was merely a 'guest'; so he played it cool.

He focused his attention on the new guy. He didn't like Scott, it was obvious in the cold way he spoke. He was rich, the scent of expensive shampoo gave him away, not to mention the elitist tone in his voice. Probably has his hands manicured to boot, the boy thought annoyed, but a sound at the doorway drew his attention.   

"It appears that all of you are getting acquainted." An English accented voice came from somewhere in the hallway, he immediately recognized it as Professor Xavier's. "Hello Scott. I trust you had restful slumber."

Scott cocked his head to the side, searching for the it's origin. He could tell that Xavier was by the doorway with a woman by his side. The slight hint of sweet perfume lingered in the air, quite different from the bitter accented one the young woman by his side had on. She smelled like lilies and rain.

The professor motored himself inside, followed closely by the woman. The people in the room moved to the sides, as the woman moved in front of Scott, and to the boy's surprise, placed a hand on his shoulder. For some strange reason, he didn't flinch or pull away, instead he found comfort in the warmth of her touch.

"Scott, this is Ororo Munroe, another teacher at this school," Xavier spoke softly, keeping his tone even but kind, "I am certain you remember Logan. He is in charge of all the physical activities of all our students."

Scott merely nodded toward the direction of the voice and felt a tad disappointed when Ororo's hand left his shoulder, taking all her warmth and strength. He had never felt such power from anyone, it was . . . breathtaking. Idly, the boy wondered how any one person could feel so warm. A heat that was so foreign to the Scott, for he had always felt as though his body were covered in ice, cold despite weather, clothing, or safe in the place resided. 

"Now that you are well rested," Xavier began, bringing the brunet out of his reverie, "I believe it is time that we address your current living status." That comment made Scott's heart sink. He'd hoped that he would have a little more time to enjoy all this luxury, but like all good things in the young boy's life, there were too few, and sadly, very far in between. "If you would please follow me to my office, we can discuss this matter privately."

Scott followed tensely, knowing that the other shoe was about to drop and "Alice" was about to wake from wonderland. At least now I have a full stomach, he thought bitterly, following slowly the sound of rubber on what was probably a very expensive rug. 

"Jeez, Warren, and they call me frosty." Bobby stated as soon as the professor was out of ear shot.

"I must agree with Robert, Warren. The child does seem perturbed enough without any of us adding to it." Hank added with a pensive look.

"I still don't trust him." Warren retaliated annoyed. He walked to one of the chairs and sat huffily followed by the other students.

"So you keep telling us." Jean said rolling her eyes.

"So tell us, my young winged friend, what is it about our less-than-fortunate guest that has, and I use the term loosely, ruffled your feathers?"

Warren turned his ice blue eyes to Hank, the others looking at him expectantly. The tension in the room seemed to double as some of them began to notice the sudden absence of their teachers. "I don't . . . dislike him, okay." Warren snapped breaking the momentary silence.

He fidgeted a little as Jean's eyes narrowed, "Of course not, that's why you're bringing out the welcome wagon." She replied sarcastically making the others flinch at the tone. Her redhead temperament was legendary, and all knew better than to do anything to make it worse. Incredibly as it seemed, she let out a sigh and continued in a calm and understanding way, shocking her fellow teammates. "Listen, Warren. I know he's a little . . . strange and I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a hundred percent about the professor letting him stay . . ."

The look in her eyes spoke volumes only adding to the effect of her words. The message was loud and clear, and for a moment, Warren and Jean locked eyes, an unspoken promise to back down that all present sensed.

"Man, I'm hungry." Bobby broke in, as the others allowed the youngest among them to lead them away to stiller waters. "Do you think Connie's got dinner ready?"

Hank looked surprised at the youth before quickly checking his watch for the time, "Oh my stars and gathers! It's well past five." He spoke with astonishment.

"Time flies, you know." Warren added with a grin.

"You guys are hopeless." Jean said as she rolled her eyes.

"Ah, but you love us anyway." Hank added, smiling mischievously at his friend.

"Maybe we should go check to make sure Connie doesn't need anything." Bobby said in a non-sequitur. That comment earning him a smack on the head from Warren.

"Isn't there anything else you can think of other than stuffing yourself?"

"Sure there is," Bobby shouted at him in mock indignation. "Video games, comics, food . . ."

Warren was about to smack him again but Bobby made a quick dash toward the hallway, stopping only to turn around and stick out his tongue at him and add, "It's better than doing whatever you do with your dirty magazines in the bathroom. I think half of New York can hear you." And he ran as fast as his legs could carry him with the golden blond youth in hot pursuit.

"Laugh it up, frost boy, but when I get through with you, all you'll have between your legs will be a dead stick!" Warren's angry voice echoed through the hallway, leaving a couple of very amused teens in the library.

"Boys!" Jean said out loud, exasperated.

Shaking his head at the other youth's antics, Hank added, "You cannot really expect any less, after all, the male species is a rather complicated creature."

"Boys!" She yelled and stalked out of the room.

"Was it something I said." Hank inquired trying to stifle a laugh, thinking Never a dull moment. before proceeding to find Warren to prevent him from killing Bobby.  

"Scott, please take a seat. There is one three feet in front of you to your right." The boy felt his way around, and reluctantly sat on one of the rather large chairs in front of the professor's desk, his posture tense and alert. Sighing, Xavier observed the young man from his place behind his carefully polished oak desk. His powerful mind scanning the very surfaces of the youth's mind in an attempt to get an idea as to where to begin. Not that he was ever at a loss for words, but dealing with such an obviously troubled teen, he sought anything that might facilitate what was to come.

The boy was thin, very thin to be exact and extremely pale, giving him a sickly appearance. His hair was messy, long enough to reach his chin but well kept. His clothing was worn out with barely noticeable holes toward the ends. He was certainly not dressed properly for the kind of the weather he had been out in, short sleeved shirt that was too small for him unlike his dark pants which seemed as though they might fall down at any moment. He needed to be fed, groomed, dressed properly so badly that it was all that Xavier could do to restrain to restrain himself from reaching out, and holding the boy to ease all his woes. 

Since his discovery of the child, Charles had sought out any and all information regarding the child, including some disturbing medical records. It had awed him that despite all the suffering the boy had known, he was still willing to risk trusting once more. Was it mere desperation or simply an overwhelming need to be loved, to be cared for? After all, wasn't this one of the most basic human needs? But now Charles felt his stomach turn, never before had so much been riding on a single conversation. The future of this young man rested in his hands.

Taking a beep breath, he let his mind brush ever so lightly against the youth's. His thoughts were not as guarded as they'd been the previous day. The boy was very anxious, but he really didn't need his powers to tell him so. The brunet's constant fidgeting gave that away. He was scared, a fear so deeply rooted that he wondered if the child was even aware of it. Afraid of being used, afraid to trust, afraid to hope for something better . . . afraid; period. And in pain, something he had known for so long, that getting through that hard shell that had been built up was going to require an incredible amount of patience as well as time.

Deciding on a best course of action, Charles began asking information that despite the fact that he had already obtained with the child's documentation, he believed that this would be a good place to start. "What was the last grade you finished?"

The boy nearly jumped at the sudden sound, then answered softly, "Second"

"We will have to test you to see at which grade you will begin your studies." By the look on the boy's face, Charles could tell that he was surprised and couldn't help but smile, "also, you will need proper attire for this weather. Tomorrow I will have Ororo and Jean escort you to the mall. Is there anything specific that you require?"

Dumbfounded, the boy merely shook his head and the professor continued, smiling wryly, "Very well then. The room which you are currently occupying is reserved for guests. Since you wish to remain with us . . ."

They want me to . . . to stay . . . here? With them? The child's thoughts ripped through his mind, stopping him in mid-sentence. Caught completely off-guard at the intensity of the thoughts followed so closely by the words, "You wu want . . . want me . . . to stay . . . hu here . . . At your house?" The boy stuttered incredulous. 

"Yes, Scott." Xavier answered without hesitation, but with a hint of sadness. He could almost see the confusing emanated from the boy as though the mere idea that he was wanted, welcomed was something beyond absurd.

Silence fell upon the room, broken only by a voice no louder than a whisper, uncertain, "Why?"  

Never had an entire future depended upon the answer to such a simple question. This was what would "make or break" the fragile soul before him, and Charles was never more aware of what was riding on this, a life.

"Because child, you are one of a small percentage of humans with extraordinary abilities, a mutant as it were. We wish for you to become a student at this school. To teach you how to use your powers along with the normal school curriculum."

"So you want me here 'cause I'm a mutie." The youth laughed bitterly at that, making Charles cringe. He had to stop the train of thought that had begun, as a wash-load of emotions accompanied that statement. He could see the child fidgeting, his mind suddenly very much aware of his crummy clothes in such an expensive setting, very out-of-place the in such an expensive setting, the ugly duckling among the flock of swans.

"No, Scott, you are not here mer . . ." Charles began, being cut-off once again.         

"Do-don't. Do. That!" the boy practically yelled, standing abruptly, but just as suddenly his voice dropped to a mere whisper his face contorted with fear, "Don't . . . don't lie."

Charles was at a loss, one moment the boy's rage radiated off of him in waves, the next, it had retreated transforming into a desperate anguish. He watched as the trembling child sat back down, curling up into a fetal position. Did he believe that his outburst would be punished? Even with his telepathy, Charles was having a lot of difficulty reading the child. He really hadn't realized how much he depended on his telepathy to get a better inside look into the psyche of patients. Now this youth was paying for his shortcomings, but he'd be damned if he let this get in the way of the boy's well-being.

"I'm not child." He spoke softly but firmly, leaving no room to doubt his sincerity. "I will not lie to you. My desire for you to remain with us is because you're a mutant, but not for reasons you believe. I wish to teach you, the basic school curriculum yes, but also how to use your special abilities, to control them. A future Scott, that is what I am offering you, an opportunity, but the choice is entirely yours. I will not force it upon you."

Charles saw the youth visibly calm as he mused over his words. He has said all there was to say at this point hoping it would be enough. Minutes seemed like hours as he felt the torrent of emotions coming from the youth despite his serene exterior, but nothing that could give away the boy's inclination. 

"How do I know I can trust you?" The child spoke quietly, but loud enough for Charles to hear. So much uncertainty but also hope rapped in his tone, his face half-hidden behind his knees. 

"Trust, I believe, is something to be earned. In time I wish we will earn yours, that is all I can offer."

"I gu-guess so."

"Then you will remain?"

"Ye-yeah, I 'spose."

Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, Charles smiled warmly at the boy, "Very well then. We have much to discuss." It wasn't the way he had thought things would commence, but it was a beginning. A start to what would hopefully be a bright future.  

Tum! Tum! Tum! . . . To be continued J.