This story has to be my most ambitious one to date that I never had the nerve to try before but CailleachBeare conned me into doing it. :P I will be changing the rating to R shortly as it will deal with mature themes later on. This will be a dark fic but I do not intend to write anything too graphic. If that changes (which I don't think it will) you will be forewarned. And special thanks to Beaubier for braving my chapter.

Chapter 1: Unwanted Visitor
The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning
1407 Graymalkin Lane
Salem Center, New York
The Promised Land for the wide eyed, naïve outcasts ofsociety. Utopia, for the misguided fools with delusions of normality among an increasingly violent civilization. It's tragic really, the man thought glancing around the complex, that so many believe in such lies
His eyes flickered over the many students. They all looked so comfortable and content…it really didn't seem fair. There were so many it was almost overwhelming. On another occasion, he would have welcomed the challenge. But he was older now, and he knew it would be better if he didn't get distracted. Not when there was a specific purpose to fulfill.
He was about to drive the van further along the road when a short, plump woman rushed out in front of him waving wildly. Biting down his annoyance, he reluctantly released the accelerator.
"Excuse me," the woman cried shrilly, "but may I seesome identification? Not just anyone can come in here." Giving one of his most charming smiles the man feigned bashfulness. "Where is my head these days? …Ah yes,here you g--" The woman snatched his ID away eyeing it suspiciously. After studying it at least a dozen times, much to his irritation, she stared back at him.
"We usually get are groceries delivered by Greg. Why are you here?"
"I'm just filling in for him, ma'am. Greg seems to bea little off color today."
"Alright then, but I insist on supervising you. We have far too many mishaps at this school." She huffed.
"Of course." He replied smoothly. The pair went together to the 'loading area', though not in silence.The woman had introduced herself as Mrs. Talbot after which she began her ranting. About how she hated the way the school was run and so forth. He half-listened,vaguely aware of what she was saying, tightening his hold of the wheel to stop his hands from twitching.
"--And I said that it was distasteful! The man's wife had just died and he starts 'seeing' THAT harlot--"
He took deep calming breaths…
"--the way she dresses is disgraceful! In front of the children no less! And she actually has the nerve to wear white…"
Inhaling, exhaling, inhaling…
"--not that it makes much sense. I ask you, do you think it's responsible to have these students live with them?! Totally reckless…"
The man was only to glad when it came time for him tounload the van. "Now, now, step aside. I have to make certain the food is…" Mrs. Talbots' voice died when her eyes fell on the limp figure lying awkwardly inside the van.
"Oh my lord!" The man met her horror stricken stare head on, regarding her mildly. "Yes, ma'am?"
"G--Greg –y--y--you …"
"I did tell you that he was a little…off color." Mrs.Talbot made to rush past him, but was blocked at the last second. "So sorry my dear lady, but I can't allow for you to spoil this for me." He casually brushed her cheek, silencing her in the process. "Can I?"
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Henry McCoy was truly bored. Which was a strange occurrence in it's self as he was most often to be found overworked. Yet nothing seemed to need his attention. No students were hurt or required assistance, no projects to hold his interest, not even a dust mite to battle. One team was off on the otherside of the world, and Emma Frost was dealing with 'personal matters.' in Boston.
"Alas, I have great trepidation I have viewed this Passions episode before." He sighed heavily, "…and what thoughtless person has taken the last of the Twinkies?" Hank grumbled, tossing the empty container over his shoulder to land into the wastebasket. "I suppose I should reconsider letting students know where my sacred stash is."
"Only you would think of a box of Twinkles as a 'sacred stash', Hank." Warren commented from the doorway. "And only you would be chatting to himself out loud." Warren grinned entering the lab.
"As I recall my dear feathered friend, you had a quite talkative nature when you came here. Didn't you also model in front of the mirror?"
"A lot of people do that."
"True but not many use pick up lines as well." Hank countered.
"I was practicing--"
"Of course you were."
"Anyway," Warren said with such forcefulness that the other knew the topic had ended, "I need to see Bobby.We were both in the library earlier--" Hank made an insincere gasp of shock that his friend pointedly ignored. "--and I can't find my portfolio. I think he might have taken it instead."
"Is anything important missing?" Hank asked with some concern. He knew all too well how eager certain people were to take over Worthington Industries. Three particular times came to mind, and none of them were too pleasant. He even shuddered to think what would happen if those files should fall into the hands of astudent.
"Just the annual reports. I was going to go over the figures this morning, but I got distracted by the headlines." To emphasize his point the winged mutant flung the newspaper over to his friend. At first it was hard to tell what was amiss, as it just looked like a normal edition of the Daily Bugle. As usual there was a dramatic shot of Spider-Man with the words 'menace' in bold next to an article by J. JonahJameson. That was before he caught the phase 'mutants die in blaze.'
"Apparently the Purity has been feeling very daring lately." Warren muttered grabbing himself a cup of the labs' ever-present coffee. His blue eyes had darkened and his stance seemed to take on a more tense form reminding Hank ironically enough of a cat ready to spring.
"B--but they were just children!" Hank suddenly blurted out, scanning the column. The other halted his restless pacing and gave his friend a scowl. The blue furred mutant tried not to shudder as the shadows of the lab gave his long time friend a more sinister appearance. At times like these it was easy to remember that this man had once been Apocalypse's horseman, Death.
"Do you really think that mattered to them?" He gave no reply. They both knew the answer all too well."Well…" Warren, having composed himself, started a trek towards the window. "I've decided to hold another meeting or two. With Scott and the others…as well aswith my board."
"Are you proposing that we use our public 'outed' mutant status?"
"Yes. I'm not sure how much good it will do…but I haveto try." He paused chancing a glance over his shoulder. "Will you help me with this Hank? I mean you were an Avenger--" Hank chuckled.
"I will indeed assist your noble cause, but only because my adoring admirers can not get enough of me."
"…Or I could just ask Jean-Paul."
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"This is not fair!" Jubilee fumed. "I'm not a kid anymore; I don't deserve to be treated like this! I have been an X-Man since I was--" Her companion made to speak but she wouldn't allow him to do so."Nuh-huh, I'm talking here Frenchy so no interruptions!"
Ignoring his protest that he was not French and a snide remark about Americans she continued. "Just because I got a MINOR injury everybody thinks I need a babysitter!"
Jean-Paul Beaubier fought the urge to sigh. The girl was being difficult. Not that he wasn't used to it by now-- most of his class had been especially rowdy lately, which was only increasing his massive headache.
"I am not your babysitter, but I'll be too happy to get you one if you don't stop acting like a child!" He winced at the sound of his own slightly raised voice.
Mon dieu. It's getting worse, he thought.
"How are ya'll doing in here?" Rogue asked. Jean-Paul shot her the closest thing to a pleading look he could manage. It was beneath his dignity to actually beg but he was getting desperate. Chuckling, she handed him a small bottle of aspirin. He raised an eyebrow.
"How did you know?"
"Call it a lucky guess. Ah saw a couple of your kids today." His brow furrowed.
"They bought a kegger with them into my class, Rogue."
"Aw, lighten--" "A kegger AND one of those annoying…." He wracked his mind for the correct term, "'boom boxes'! They blared that 'music' listening about…" Jean-Paul pulled a disgusted face. "…'Pimpin' 'os and takin' on the man.'" Rogue and Jubilee snickered and the speedster glared before downing the pills with a glass of water.
"Oh come on, don't you think it's funny? Even a little?" Rogue asked.
"Non, I do not. I have taken time out of my day to teach them. I do not like to have it wasted. If they want to end up losing money by ignoring the facts I'm sure Worthington could give them some pointers."
"Hey!" Jubilee exclaimed. "The birdman can take care of his business! Who are you--"
"I invested money in his company, and lost." Jean-Paul retorted bitterly. "If everyone at this school treated their jobs like he does his then we'd all be dead by now."
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The lock wasn't as complex as he had expected. Strange that so many devices were used just to ensure their safety yet the lock to the headmaster's office was a simple padlock.
Ah, but that's simple Scott Summers for you.
Despite the elaborate security systems he had pasted unnoticed into the heart of the X-Mens' lair. He had to appreciate the humor in the situation. Obvious these 'heroes' had expected some type of blunt attack from their foes; they would never suspect such subtlety. Taking a seat behind the computer, he pondered the best course of action. Personal files or something more? What little information he had gleaned prior to this excursion would not be enough. He had to know more, but he was restricted, at the moment, by time.
The blank computer screen came to life at the merest of taps at the keys. Summers user name came up but a password was needed. These systems were said to be high tech, created by such geniuses as this a man named 'Forge.' They were, for the most part, foolproof. To enter the system he had need of Summer's password.
It won't be anything as simple as a loved ones name or birth date. Not consciously anyway. It would besomething of great importance through.
He typed in 'Phoenix.'
'Access denied.'
'Reborn'
'Access denied.' He paused then smirked.
'911980.' After he was denied access again he rearranged the numbers slightly.
'Access Granted.'
"Predictable as always Cyclops"

A/N: 9 1 1980 was actually the date Madeline Pryor gave Scott, saying it was the day she survived a plane crash. It was actually the first day she lived, the day Phoenix killed herself.