AN: These first few chapters, mainly chapters one and three, are cannon re-writes. So if you find some striking similarities between this tale, and the introduction of Aurora and Northstar into Alpha Flight, don't think I'm trying to pass it off as my own genius. I did it in the spirit of Evolution, which I feel masterfully throws Marvelverse cannon and characters into a new, fresh situation. Their pasts, I haven't changed much. Just toned down a little for the sake of Evolution, and changed their characters just enough, so they would fit into the Evoverse better. Suggestions are always good, and flames are always worth a giggle ;)
Chapter One: The Rescue (Logan)
Gothic. That was really the best way to describe the place. Logan shook his head and stamped out his cigar with a low grunt of satisfaction. Freezing up here, for some reason. Even in LaVelle, Quebec, summer was supposed to be summer. Didn't make much sense.
Then again, might've been the scenery. He looked up, eyes grazing the front of the cathedral. Madame DuPont's School for Girls. Flying buttresses, like some sort of insect exoskeleton. A building made up of dark stone and pointed arches, uncomfortable and cold. The golden summer sun didn't seem to touch it. And it smelled like cold. Like fall and dead leaves. Set off something painful in his senses. Smell of despair, it seemed to him.
They'd probably been right about him not going inside. Probably for the best, in a place like this. He was likely to give a nun a heart attack.
Fifteen minutes, was all it took. Jean was stamping out of the building like she had hell on her heels, and Storm was following. Her expression was the picture of that "little black raincloud" people liked to talk about so much. He wasn't really bothered to enjoy the irony of it. Partially because it was fairly lame, and partially because they didn't have the girl with them.
He waited, patiently, to find out why.
"I cannot believe that woman!" Jean was flaring her nostrils when she got to him, where he was leaning on the Jeep.
Storm's lips were pressed into an irritated thin line, pale blue eyes narrowed. "Apparently, they've… lost her."
Angry. He smelled it on both of them.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He inquired, opening the door for them to climb in, the making his way around to the driver's side.
"Just what they said—she's not where she should be. Apparently this happens often! What kind of care is that! She's just a kid!" The red-headed girl was tumbling into the back seat now, clenching her jaw and letting out her breath in irritated little half-sighs.
He hadn't seen her so upset before. Girl could face down Charles Xavier as a minion of Apocalypse, and a few nuns had her completely flustered.
This only backed up his ingrained belief that nuns were inherently evil. He would've been amused, at any other time.
But not right now.
"She's only two years younger than you, Jean," Ororo slid into her seat, in front beside Logan. "I'm sure she's fine. You said you contacted the Professor?"
"Yes. She's in Montreal now," the younger woman pouted.
Wordlessly, Logan started the Jeep and put it in gear. He shot Storm a look, sideways, and knew she caught it. He needed to know what was up. And now. This girl needed to be found.
But before he could get his answers, Jean continued her rant from the back seat. "You should have seen them, Wolverine. The way they crossed themselves when we asked about her! Crossed themselves, like she was the devil incarnate! School for girls my ass… more like the orphanage from hell. That poor girl, we have to find her. Logan, do you know—,"
"The way to Montreal? Red, the jet is in Montreal. We came from there."
She shot him a look that should have melted him from the back seat, straight into his rearview.
Perhaps how wasn't the best time to make jokes.
"Was it that bad?"
Storm stared straight at the dashboard. "Oppressive does not begin to describe the atmosphere, Logan."
"I don't understand why the Professor didn't find her sooner," Jean was muttering, still uncharacteristically flustered. "She's probably been living there three years with them looking at her like she's some kind of demon, if her powers showed up then. And the thirteen years before couldn't have been much better."
"Charles does what he can," Storm sighed, running a thin hand through her silvery white mane distractedly, then rubbing at her temple, as if the place had given her a headache.
She smelled uncomfortable. And her body… shoulders hunched, eyes closed… sad. It had made her sad, that place.
"It's been a rough year, Jeannie," He threw in, knowing damn well that he was not the one in this car who should be trying to cheer anyone up. But the women seemed so drained, he felt obligated to try. "Getting the school running, dealing with Magneto, the outing of the Institute as a mutant joint, Apocalypse…"
He glanced into the rearview and saw that the redhead wasn't paying attention. She was mumbling to herself, using some very colorful adjectives, about the nuns at Madame DuPont's.
Jean was swearing. Ororo was brooding.
He figured he'd better step on it and get them to Montreal before someone popped an embolism.
And from the sound of things, the sooner they got the girl out of Quebec, the better.
It was supposed to be painless. Hit the orphanage, find one Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, and bring her back to Bayville, if she'd consent. A mutant with super speed. She could also, apparently, fly.
It was turning out to be painful, however.
Jean had focused in on her, recognizing her from some sort of telepathic impression passed on by the Professor—Logan didn't much care to know how they did that, or what their terminology was. He trusted Charles… but some things would always make him uneasy. Telepaths were at the top of the list.
And now here they were, in a smarmy fucking nightclub, wading through the push of sweaty, grinding twenty-somethings to find the girl.
He was half annoyed, half amused, really. Annoyed that he'd been forced to sink into this side of Montreal night life, the side that was overly offensive to his heightened senses. Of all the jazz clubs, of all the beer joints, of all the great bars the city had to offer, the girl had to pick some kind of irritating let's-go-out-get-sweaty-get-laid night club. The amusement came from the knowledge that if it'd been him stuck with a bunch of nuns for the first sixteen years of his life, he probably would've done the same.
Logan, she's near you. Check beside the door. I can see her now, but I can't get to her.
He suppressed a shiver at the feeling of Jean brushing his mind, assuring himself it was only the outer-most limits of it, where she was touching. A picture in his mind now, a girl with long, black hair, a silver streak cutting through the middle of it, falling to one side. Thin, skin so white it changed color with the lights flashing around her. Red, green, purple. Pale blue eyes, shifting.
Using his formidable weight, since height never really put him at an advantage, he shouldered through the masses. He'd been trying not to touch them too much. The animal, drunken grinding around him, girls on top of girls, guys on top of them, on top of other guys, was like a frontal assault—a little too suggestive for him to be comfortable with.
Not that he was an animal, anymore. Just that he'd rather not get involved, even for a moment. And he'd been getting the "look" from more than one glaze-eyed twenty year old. Male and female.
He caught sight of the dark-haired teen just as she slipped through the door, out into the summer night. He followed, and after pushing past a few final obstacles—mostly kids—he reached the summer street… just in time to hear a scream.
And he couldn't see Jeanne-Marie.
Her scent was there, however, thick and feminine… and afraid.
Around the corner. In the alley.
Something in him clicked, that primal thing he had, that he could call on. It could come unasked for too, of course. But this time he wanted it.
The man in the alley had her against the wall. Her eyes wide in terror. And she wasn't moving.
Like she didn't even know she had the power in her.
But she had to know… she had to know about her power, or they wouldn't. Hell, she couldn't have gotten here without it.
No time for thought, however, as he pounced on the man, threw his full weight into him, crashed to the ground with the entirety of his substantial, adamantium laced weight resting on the man's ribcage.
He felt one crack, under him. And let up. Just a bit. "Picked the wrong girl to mess with, bub."
The man squirmed, choked on his own spit. Tried to kick. Smelled like fear, like feral lust gone sour. The urge to impale the common criminal on his claws was damn near overwhelming. Fighting the thing inside of him now, willing it down. Willing the metal to stay inside of him.
A little moan, barely audible, but loud enough to his ears. He looked back to the girl against the wall, now curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her legs, which were drawn up to her chest. Shaking.
The fear coming off of her was so think it was painful.
Like she had no idea what she was.
"I'm glad you've agreed to come and stay with us, Jeanne-Marie," the professor smiled at the new girl, shaking and clutching frantically at Jean's hand.
Jean gave her an encouraging smile, when the darker girl looked at her, almost as if she was asking for permission.
The girl still smelled like fear. She had since that scene in the back alley. In fact, she'd hardly stopped shaking. Quiet, introverted, and afraid.
How the fuck did a girl like that make it in a meat market nightclub? Of course, if he thought about it, she hadn't smelled so afraid when she'd been inside the club. Not until after, in the alley. But she was still afraid now, that much was clear. Logan was watching from the doorway to the office. When he'd tried to leave, to go upstairs to his room, she'd given him a look of such panic, he decided he'd better stay. Just for awhile. Maybe until she met some of the other kids.
"Merci," She finally whispered, lips barely parting.
Jean put one arm around her, protectively. "Professor, I was thinking she could stay with me, until she's more comfortable."
The Professor raised an eyebrow, thoughtfully. Unnerving as hell, the way he did that. "That sounds fine Jean, if you don't mind sharing your new room."
Red smiled at him, and Logan couldn't help but shake his head. When Jean Grey smiled, she got whatever she wanted. Didn't even need that telepathy.
Well, most of the time.
"No, I think I'd love to."
"Is that alright with you, Jeanne-Marie? Would you like to live with Jean, while she's here?"
The girl looked up, into his eyes, meeting them for just a moment. Then flashing away, back to the floor. "Oui, Monsieur."
Her English wasn't the best, that much he'd seen. She had a grip on it, could speak just fine. But her joual-laden accent proved well enough that her experiences with the language had probably been limited to the academic.
She had the look, the reactions, and the scent of an abandoned kitten. Like she'd been hurt. Scared. Bad.
Logan reconsidered going back to that orphanage school. Maybe he'd like to give a few nuns a heart attack.
"I think you'll find that the students here are quite friendly," the Professor was smiling at her gently, using his most soothing tones. "And I hope you'll enjoy the chance to further explore your capabilities. This is a safe place, Jeanne-Marie. Feel free here."
This time, the girl met his eyes bravely. And she smiled.
He hadn't seen that, yet.
A breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding left him, and he leaned heavily on the door frame. Maybe the kid would be alright, after all.
"Thank you, monsieur. If they are like Jeanne, I am… I know I will like them."
The longest sentence he'd heard from her yet.
Jean smiled at her, benevolently, and Logan saw her squeeze the girl's hand. "Let's go see the room, huh? And maybe meet some of the kids? Then I can show you around, how's that?"
Still smiling, softly, like a pale little angel, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier smiled up at the taller girl followed her out of the room. Still clinging to her hand.
Jean turned back and smiled at them before closing the door.
And Xavier sighed, and leaned back in his chair heavily.
Storm, who had been silent the entire interview, seated herself heavily on the leather couch just beside Logan, who was now leaning against the door. "Abuse," was all she said.
Slowly, the Professor nodded. "I'm afraid so, Ororo. I did not scan her deeply, fearing for her fragility, but there is definite fragmentation of her psyche. And if the sisters reacted so strongly when you asked for her—,"
But Ororo was already nodding her head, sadly, "They probably treated her like a demon. The girl is half-starved."
"She's with us now," Xavier sounded determined, "And I sense a boisterous personality somewhere under the pain and fear. She will come around."
"How'd the Canadian government let you bring her here anyhow, Charles?" Logan inquired, if only to turn the conversation in a different direction. He had no interest in the politics of what Xavier did, of course. But the idea of that girl… the way she'd been so afraid…
Made him want to hurt something.
"Connections," was the telepath's only answer.
"I still don't understand what she was doing at a nightclub," Storm was wondering aloud now, shaking her head in awe of what they'd been through to get to the girl. "She's so shy, reserved."
His sentiments exactly. "Was wonderin' that myself, Ro. And when the guy attacked her, she didn't move a muscle to save herself, even though she coulda' beaten him to a pulp before he blinked."
The Professor shook his head, "It must have to do with her fragile condition. I sense something shifting in her, perhaps some kind of mental block. There is an aggressive, lively teenager in there. But her fear is covering it almost entirely. When she's more comfortable here, we will look into the issue. For now, I'd rather we simply allowed her to acclimatize. Jean will take care of her."
Sensible. But then, Charles was rarely anything but.
When he wasn't being impersonated or possessed, anyhow.
"Another issue has come to light surrounding her, however," Xavier tapped at his desk, where a magazine lay.
Logan took the hint, and moved to pick the thing up. MacLean's. A somber face on the front, a young man, probably no more than sixteen. Dark hair, falling into pale blue eyes recklessly. A silver streak or two in the center. Elven ears. Pale face. His eyes darted to the headline, in red.
Jean-Paul Martin and the Need for Speed
And it occurred to him just who this young man looked exactly like.
He raised his eyebrows at the Professor and passed the rag to Storm, whose eyes widened at the sight of it.
"Down to the pointed ears, Chuck," Logan growled, appreciatively. "You think they're related?"
The Professor nodded, "I believe so. I used Cerebro to locate him, in Toronto at the moment, and he does indeed have mutant powers, which he uses fairly frequently. Not dissimilar from our Jeanne-Marie's."
Logan snorted, "Found a good use for 'em, looks like. Cheated his way to a gold medal this year, apparently."
"Three, in fact," The Professor was smiling now.
"His name is Martin," Storm spoke up now, flipping through the pages, "hers is Beaubier."
"He was adopted, apparently, by a family called Martin. I searched for who his legal guardians are now, but there was no information forthcoming."
She looked up at him now, "He's no longer with the Martins?"
Xavier shook his head, "No. They died in an accident when he was six years old. Since then, there is a record of him bouncing from foster home to foster home, but the record falls short about four years ago."
"Just when his power would have manifested, likely, if they're twins," Logan realized aloud.
Nodding this time, Xavier agreed, "Yes, exactly. I've tried to contact him about the possibility of Jeanne-Marie being his sister, but he's… difficult to get in touch with."
Logan shook his head, smiling, "Well, if he's the latest Canadian heart throb, there's not much we can do about that."
Kids. Can't live with 'em…
Yeah. That was pretty much it.