((Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men. But you all already knew that))
[Jersey City, New Jersey-1986]
Two figures stood at the back door of a large mansion on the edge of the city waiting for someone to come to the door. The first stood tense with his long coat catching the wind as his glowing red eyes scanned the night around him for any sign of a threat. In one hand, he held a rod that could extend at the touch of a button, and in the other, an ordinary deck of playing cards.
The second was a huge man whose skin reflected the city lights on its metal surface. The strangest thing about the sight of this man was that, cradled in his powerful, muscular arms, was a tiny baby girl, sleeping as peacefully as if she were lying in a crib on a warm night, listening to her mother sing her a lullaby.
Just then, a woman of about 40 or so opened the door with a yawn. Her brown hair, lines with the occasional strand of gray, hung loosely about her shoulders in a mass of tangles. She was dressed in a blue terrycloth robe and fluffy slippers. "Who's there? Do you have any idea what time. . ." Her sleepy eyes widened with recognition. "Oh my god! I haven't seen you in years! What brings you. . ." She stopped. An aching fear tightened in her chest as she saw her old friends' solemn expressions.
"No time for pleasantries 'dis time, chere. 'Dis is an emergency."
The two visitors momentarily glanced behind the woman at the four curious children who had followed their mother downstairs to see who could possibly be at the door in the middle of the night. She turned to face them and said "Conrad, Greg, take Blair and Kelly and go back to bed."
"But Mommy. . ."
"No buts. Do as Mommy says. Now." As the children scurried back up the stairs, their mother's eyes fell upon the infant sleeping so soundly in metal arms. "What's going on?"
"Arlene," said the giant in a deep voice with a heavy Russian accent, "Ve know you have many children already, and vould not ask zis of you if ve knew of any ozer vay. Gospozha Anderson, vould you please look after her?" he indicated the slumbering child.
Arlene Anderson, in all her love for children, found that she could hardly refuse. She'd already adopted six, so surely there was room for one more. She reached out and took the baby in her arms. "What's her name?"
After a long pause, the man in the trench coat responded, "She don' 'ave one, Chere.
Arlene looked back and forth between the two men, baffled. "Well which one of you is her father?"
The two men glanced at each other. "Neizer, really. It is difficult to explain."
"Where are her parents?"
"She don' got none, mon ami."
"They're dead?"
"No, Gospozha. It is complicated, but I vill try to explain." The Russian man explained as well as he could where the little girl had come from, but time was limited. "So please zhust give her as normal a life as you can. . .And she cannot learn vat I zhust told you. It could be danzherous."
Arlene nodded and looked down at her new daughter, frightened for her now by what she had just learned. She couldn't turn her away now, knowing what harm would befall the innocent child if she did. "Alright. I'll call her Jessica Leigh."
The Cajun nodded and the giant leaned over and kissed the baby's forehead. "Do Svedanya, Little Zhessica. . ." With that, the two men walking away, knowing that it'd be years before they saw Arlene and Jessica again. . .IF they ever saw them again.
((A/N: Gospozha=Russian for Mrs.))
[Jersey City, New Jersey-1986]
Two figures stood at the back door of a large mansion on the edge of the city waiting for someone to come to the door. The first stood tense with his long coat catching the wind as his glowing red eyes scanned the night around him for any sign of a threat. In one hand, he held a rod that could extend at the touch of a button, and in the other, an ordinary deck of playing cards.
The second was a huge man whose skin reflected the city lights on its metal surface. The strangest thing about the sight of this man was that, cradled in his powerful, muscular arms, was a tiny baby girl, sleeping as peacefully as if she were lying in a crib on a warm night, listening to her mother sing her a lullaby.
Just then, a woman of about 40 or so opened the door with a yawn. Her brown hair, lines with the occasional strand of gray, hung loosely about her shoulders in a mass of tangles. She was dressed in a blue terrycloth robe and fluffy slippers. "Who's there? Do you have any idea what time. . ." Her sleepy eyes widened with recognition. "Oh my god! I haven't seen you in years! What brings you. . ." She stopped. An aching fear tightened in her chest as she saw her old friends' solemn expressions.
"No time for pleasantries 'dis time, chere. 'Dis is an emergency."
The two visitors momentarily glanced behind the woman at the four curious children who had followed their mother downstairs to see who could possibly be at the door in the middle of the night. She turned to face them and said "Conrad, Greg, take Blair and Kelly and go back to bed."
"But Mommy. . ."
"No buts. Do as Mommy says. Now." As the children scurried back up the stairs, their mother's eyes fell upon the infant sleeping so soundly in metal arms. "What's going on?"
"Arlene," said the giant in a deep voice with a heavy Russian accent, "Ve know you have many children already, and vould not ask zis of you if ve knew of any ozer vay. Gospozha Anderson, vould you please look after her?" he indicated the slumbering child.
Arlene Anderson, in all her love for children, found that she could hardly refuse. She'd already adopted six, so surely there was room for one more. She reached out and took the baby in her arms. "What's her name?"
After a long pause, the man in the trench coat responded, "She don' 'ave one, Chere.
Arlene looked back and forth between the two men, baffled. "Well which one of you is her father?"
The two men glanced at each other. "Neizer, really. It is difficult to explain."
"Where are her parents?"
"She don' got none, mon ami."
"They're dead?"
"No, Gospozha. It is complicated, but I vill try to explain." The Russian man explained as well as he could where the little girl had come from, but time was limited. "So please zhust give her as normal a life as you can. . .And she cannot learn vat I zhust told you. It could be danzherous."
Arlene nodded and looked down at her new daughter, frightened for her now by what she had just learned. She couldn't turn her away now, knowing what harm would befall the innocent child if she did. "Alright. I'll call her Jessica Leigh."
The Cajun nodded and the giant leaned over and kissed the baby's forehead. "Do Svedanya, Little Zhessica. . ." With that, the two men walking away, knowing that it'd be years before they saw Arlene and Jessica again. . .IF they ever saw them again.
((A/N: Gospozha=Russian for Mrs.))
