~ I don't own nor do I work for Marvel I just use their characters in stories and such. K? ~

A/N: o hello people. Yeah. This is based around Ultimate X and such. But the idea of the X-men going public has always angered me. So here's the spiel: the X-men aren't famous although they fight Magneto and some people know who they are the government is still out to get them cuz we all know that that's what Bush would do if this was real right?

New York City. The big apple. It really is a magic place when you get right down to it. It's a place of children's faces on display windows, who see magic as apposed to a lot of machinery. It's a place of gray snow and a gate that can't be placed at either a walk or a run. It defines the holiday season as Kitty Pryde showed me just a few weeks ago.
"No you don't get it!" snapped the Illinois born mutant over a pair of blue jeans, "no they aren't just jeans you Goth! Rogue? Hello.are you listening to me?"
"No," ah answered truthfully ah was watchin' snow that was beginnin' to fall outside Bloomingdale's store window. The graceful flakes arched downward as a man walked quickly by outside blowin' into his hands for warmth.
"We only have like 3 days left before Christmas, and Chanukah starts tomorrow night! I've done next to no shopping!"
"That's great," ah said. Ah had taken in every word jus' wasn't processing in right. Snow does that to you. You can tell especially with kids, like the three-year-old who was in front of me then. His fingers were crammed into his mouth and he stood transfixed by the flakes that slowly fell and hit the pavement, meltin' away forever. Kitty was still jabberin' on in a nearly incoherent fashion. Who knew Valley Girls were from Chicago?
She gave up after a few minutes, "Rogue, you wanna hit Starbucks?"
"Sure," ah said, castin' one last glimpse out the window as a tall guy walked by in a trench coat. We exited the store at the corner of Lexington an' 3rd, pullin' our winter coats further up aroun' us. I could see my breath floatin' above me like a ghost before driftin' away in some unseen wind. Kitty walked in a typical New Yorker style. She had adjusted well. Me? Ah'm a southern Mississippi girl, born an' raised. I'm not used to snow. An' probably never will be an' that threw me off causin' me to look more like a tourist then I ever had.
As soon as we wandered in to the little coffee shop Kitty dropped her bags at the nearest table. Ah dropped my coat off happily in the warmth. Snow melted on the brown floor next to me. The room was lit brown, everythin' about Starbucks screams "coffee." It makes you really wan' a cup. Ah'm sure that helps profits.
Kitty came back with a brown cardboard tray in her hands holdin' out one white cup for me. "Thanks," ah said takin' it. Kitty nodded an' added about fifty sugahs stirring it nonchalantly her left hand on her chin.
The streets of New York were empty, unlike in the summer when everythin' and anythin' you can imagine is happenin' on every street corner. Magicians, salesman, and food venders waited for you until about November then it got too cold an' they all disappeared. Sometimes the last of the species would carry on 'til the first snow then call it quits.
The door to the coffee palace opened again sendin' in a gust of icy wind. Kitty swiveled around in her bench. Two people walked in one was so bundled up I hardly recognized her, but the other grew up in Alaska, a New York City winter wasn' gonna do it for him.
"Hi Scott, hey Jean!" called Kitty, waving her gloved arms around like an idiot.
"Hi," said Jean taking off her hat revealing her short red hair, "how's it going?

Scott came and sat next to me. His were eyes hidden behind red ruby quartz glasses. Which ah'm sure can be a pain.
He an' I are in the same boat really. Neither of us can control our powers an' I fear that's the way it'll always be. He'll never be able to really look at us, not in a bizarre totally red way that ah'm sure he's gotten used to an' me? I'll never be able to touch anyone.ever. That thought always depresses me. I guess it's one of the trials and tribulations of bein' a mutant: you can't choose your gift. An' you can't always control it.
"Don't forget you guys," Scott's voice cut into my thoughts as well as Jean and Kitty's conversation, "Proffesor Xavier wants us back at the hotel by 8. I would say try to make it in earlier. Its not safe out there." That's Scott all right. Determined to be in charge and more responsible then any one ah've ever met.
"Geez chill out Scott, it was a great idea of the professor's to have the holidays in the city. My mom does really miss having me home for Chanukah though," said Kitty fiddling with the Star of David around her neck.
"Oh," sighed Scott slowly, Jean touched his hands from across the table and ah felt a wave of sympathy. Cyclops was an orphan. I knew what it felt like not havin' anyone to love you, my parents aren' the best in the 'my daughter is a mutant' field. Nor can they even say Homo - superior without mutterin' "freak" in the middle. But Scott really had nobody. Totally. 100% alone.
When Kitty finished her coffee we pulled ourselves out of the wooden
benches and began to jog toward 5th, leaving Scott and Jean heading
towards 2nd Avenue. FAO Swartz towered above us, men dressed as toy
soldiers stood guard over the land of fantasy. Across the way the
Plaza glittered in all of its glory, it knew its importance and I
would have thought it was snooty if the Proffesor hadn't been payin'
for us to stay there.
Ah saw him again.