Chapter One
Carol Danvers walked up the steps to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with a bit of an ironic grin. Yes, 'gifted'. Such an understatement.
She was accompanied by a close friend of hers, Henry McCoy. She was a reporter; he was a famous scientist who took controversial stands on the hot button mutant issue. They'd met in an interview and had become surprisingly jovial companions since then.
Until one day he walked into her office and told her in a quiet undertone that he knew who the caped crusader Ms. Marvel was and could she please step out to speck with him for a moment.
Somehow the angry, suspicious blonde had ended up with him on the steps of this oversize manor house, the ink of an employment agreement with its proprietor still wet. She wasn't quite sure how the charming Hank McCoy had got her to agree to this, but she was actually looking forewords to working with the foremost authority in modern genetics.
While they both taught high school mutants their ABC's.
It was an interesting arrangement to say the least. But somehow Carol couldn't find it within herself to be apprehensive about her choice. Something just seemed very…right about this place.
"Good morning Ms. Danvers, Hank" A charming African woman with a shock of the purest, most living white hair Carol had ever seen greeted them just inside the foyer. She hugged the big man close it a friendly embrace, before turning the same brilliant smile on Carol and offering her hand.
"Carol, please, since I don't doubt we'll be working closely together." The woman's hand was rough, callused, not at all in keeping with her almost transcendent image.
"I'm Ororo Munroe, but many will call me by my nickname: Storm." Carol found it hard to believe that someone would ever associate this calm, tranquil woman with a rough, turbulent weather phenomenon.
"So how's it going?" Hank asked with real concern, he'd found out just recently that a colleague, and very good friend, of theirs had died, quite unexpectedly not too long ago.
"Everything's alright" Ororo smiled tightly, a slightly shadowed expression on her face, -
"But it's good to have you back. We've missed you a lot. A great many things have happened since you've gone."
"So I've heard," he smiled, big genuine, open expression, "But I'm home now. Is it safe to assume the Professor still has the same office?"
"Indeed," she replied, including Carol in her amused smile, "This way."
The house was magnificent, with enough solid wood panelling to make the Sierra Club weep in devastation. Everything was polished, but not overly so, there was a patina of use in the mansion that many of the wealthiest houses never really acquired. This residence wasn't a showplace of opulence, it was a home.
Ororo didn't knock on the door, but a strong male voice with a faintly British accent called out a greeting as soon they'd approached. It was, naturally, the patriarch of this peculiar clan, the famous Charles Xavier.
He wasn't the only one. There were four other people in the room. A small man with a big attitude and flyaway black hair was dressed in clothing more appropriate to a truck stop than a wealthy home, a taller, cleaner cut gentleman with red mirrored glasses fitted in like a knife to a well oiled sheath, but with an intensity that almost made Carol uncomfortable, a young gun, barely able to shave, with the ice blue eyes and an earnest, eager to please grin, and then there was the woman.
Or was it girl? Her face was still flush with the roundness of childhood, but her eyes looked like they'd seen far too much. Carol couldn't see much of anything else. She was wearing an oversize hooded sweatshirt bearing the school logo with the hood up, polished black combat boots, and khaki's that disappeared into the hem of the sweatshirt. The small man with the rough hands was rubbing her shoulder almost absently.
"Hank" the professor greeted him warmly, "It's good to have you back"
"May I introduce Carol Danvers?" Hank gestured, "I believe I told you about her Professor"
"Indeed," Carol found herself the recipient of the full force of Charles Xavier's warm, intelligent gaze. "You are very welcome here Carol. Might I introduce your colleagues? This is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops." The man with the glasses, nodded in welcome, and offered a manicured hand.
"The young man on the sofa is Bobby Drake, called Iceman," The younger one leapt off the sofa with a theatrical bow and flourished a rose, made of crystal clear ice. She took it with a grin
"Do ya greet all the women ya meet with ice roses Bobby?" the accent that poured through the room was pure clover honey. Scarlett O'Hara reborn. The woman tossed her chin slightly enough to shed the heavy hood, and revealed a shockingly white widow's peak and a debutante's archly amused smile.
"Only the beautiful ones," he joked back.
"Well then," she chuckled.
"Mr. Logan, who is also known as Wolverine," The trucker rolled his eyes at Bobby's antics and offered her a well worn hand.
"And that's Rogue,"
She glared again at Bobby with a laughing undercurrent, then turned her head, "Good Mornin' Miss. Danvers"
"Good morning" her eyes were beer bottle green and welcoming, but she made no move to go over and shake Carol's hand. Hank walked up to the foot of her armchair, with a jovial grin that could charm chicken right off the bone.
"I don't believe we've met Miss…"
"Rogue" she supplied, "just Rogue."
He extended his hand to her in greeting. Her whole attitude shifted. She stiffened, drew back in her chair. The tension level in the room ratcheted up so high that Carol wondered what the hell was going on. The green eyes flicked from her, to the hand to the owner of the hand.
"Ya don't know do ya?" she said, trying to sound amused, but it came out tightly pinched.
"Know what?" Hank asked, puzzled.
She said it lightly, but the words carried venom, "Shakin' mah hand is a dangerous proposition Mistah McCoy."
"A risk I'm willing to take for a lovely young lady," he said gallantly.
A smile of real pleasure crossed her face, "Then how could I refuse such an offer?" she flirted back with the grace of a southern born lady.
She untucked her right hand from the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt and extended it, palm down. It was gloved in a stretch knit, skin tight black, which disappeared into the cuff of the sweatshirt. He bent his head and kissed the back of her hand, like it was something he did every day.
"Mr. Logan" Hank greeted, "I've heard a lot of you, and it's a pleasure to meet you in person."
"Considerin' who ya heard it from I'm surprised to hear it" He gripped Hank's hand rather more firmly than was strictly necessary and glared in a friendly manner at Scott. With a reporter's eye Carol noticed that even though Scott's glasses were mirrored he was clearly returning the glare.
"Scott," the Professor was clearly trying to retain some dignity in the conversation, "…teaches Social Studies to the younger students, Ororo teaches History. Bobby is our Mathematics teacher. Mr. Logan is our Martial Arts instructor. Rogue teaches Art and Music."
"But that's just our 'day' job" Rogue drawled, "I believe Mistah McCoy has filled you in on what we do after hours"
"He has" Carol's throat was inexplicably dry as she suddenly wondered. What other powers did this room full of strangers have?
"I'm a telepath" Charles suddenly said, "To answer your question. Storm is a weather witch, she can manipulate natural phenomena. Cyclops has a visor that allows him to manipulate his optic beams. Bobby can create ice out of ambient moisture. Logan…."
"SNINKT" Carol jumped at the noise as three nine inch claws slid out of the knuckles of Logan's right hand. "I heal real quick too" he said with a wicked grin.
"Ah yes" the Professor said with an indulgent smile, "And I believe that Rogue is best to describe her gift."
"I'm a conductor" Rogue said tightly, "Whenever ah touch someone ah absorb their memories, their life, and if it's a mutant, their powers. It ain't pretty, for either one of us." She drew her flawless complexion into a frown, momentarily absorbed in a stray thought, "So what's your thang?" the belle asked suddenly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well ya wouldn't be here if ya didn't have one"
"True" Carol was somehow annoyed, and so she decided to demonstrate rather than describe. She lifted herself up into the air, head brushing the high ceiling, and flew, dropping down in front of Rogue.
"Groovy" the young woman smiled.
"I'm indestructible. Can't be hurt. I can also lift just about anything. Cars. Trains. Planes."
'Sounds like fun" Bobby said eagerly.
Carol smiled indulgently, "It has its moments."