A/N: This Story has been nominated for the POTO Reader's Choice PhanPhic Awards in the category of Crossovers! After 5/17, voting will begin! Be there! Virtual Chocolate Mousse to all who vote for me! It's over on freewebs dot com/phanphicawards

The Locust

From the Journals of Erik:

The worst part about the lemonade was the way it made the mask itch. At least none had gotten into my eye—I would have been forced to remove it in public to deal with the problem. Lemon juice on a paper cut is bad enough—lemon juice, however diluted, in an eye would be a brief agony.

I was glad of an excuse to get away from all those people, if only briefly. I did not want them there. My instincts were playing havoc with me. I, the Opera Ghost, who felt his safety was endangered merely by admitting Madame Giry and the Daroga, now had four strangers whose motives were suspect, right there, in my house. Not only were they in my home, I had led them there—not only led them, aided them over my threshold.

Now I would have to deal with the consequences.

I had lied when I told Katherine I had not thought of a use for the barrels of gunpowder stored in my house. They were my last resort, for I had decided long ago that I would not be taken alive, to be studied, dissected, incarcerated, or executed.

It would not be necessary to wire all the barrels for detonation; one or two would suffice. The chain reaction would take over from there…

The switch for electrical circuit slumbered in a box permanently affixed to the mantelpiece in my room. I opened the box with the key I keep on my watch chain. The trigger was a little bronze figurine of a locust.

I had intended it to be a locust; the wax model that I carved and used to cast the bronze piece had been a locust, but the finished work was a grasshopper, instead. There is not much difference between the two insects, visually, but the locust is the ravager and destroyer of crops, whereas the grasshopper is hardly more than a pest.

All I had to do was turn it. I could use my hand. I could use my telekinesis. I didn't even have to touch it. A ninety degree turn, and then the grasshopper would hop…

We would all hop, and the Opera House as well…

It would be so simple, so easy, and so soon over.

It was the clear and obvious choice.

Turn the grasshopper, and I would not have to find myself another bolt-hole, another home. I would never have to endure it as they took Katherine away, as surely they would. I would never have to hear her say, I'm sorry, but I can't marry you. I want to marry-----whoever. There would never be a hole wrenched in my life, in my heart, by the loss of her.

So why was I not doing so?

I took off my mask and stripped to the waist. Once in my bathroom, I drew a basin of cold water and started to wash. I did not want to die while I was uncomfortable and sticky.

Such a simple thing to do—a little flick of the wrist, the grasshopper would have done its work, and then—oblivion, if I was lucky.

I didn't want to do it. I was being forced to do it…

But by whom?

I toweled myself dry. I could turn it later. I certainly could never unturn it once it was turned.

I suppose I was still trying to catch up with myself. Katherine was not mad, her friends were not figments of her imagination, they were real—and they were in my home.

I wished I had paid better attention to what she had told me about them.

Was it Sir Erich who was pushing me to this extreme? He had been overbearing, it was true—but Dr. Grey—Mrs. Summers—Jean had essentially said not to take him seriously, and over the past hour, he had gone from seeming like a threat to seeming more like a older man, verging on elderly, who was having a long day.

Auroré, who shook with fear in the more confined areas of my domain, and clung to Katherine's hand as she descended underground—was she the threat? No, and how cruel would it be to kill a lovely woman, with a heart generous enough to greet me as a friend, on sight,—and not only to kill her, but to do it in the way that she obviously feared more than any other?

That was the Khanum's sort of game.

Jean had also claimed me as a friend, although she had not demonstrated it as warmly as had Auroré. I had now been kissed by two women, even if it was not on the lips. An embarrassment of riches.

That left Professor Xavier—who had educated Katherine, who ran an entire school full of students like Jean and Auroré and Katherine…

And like me.

I combed my hair, and put on a clean shirt.

Could it really be true that to these people, among these people, I was utterly normal?

I remembered what Katherine had said when first she saw my face. "If you came down to breakfast at Xavier House, just as you are, the only thing anyone would say is, 'Good morning, Erik. Would you care for some coffee?' Although they might offer you kippers as well…"

I would like to wake up one morning in a place where I could go down to breakfast without my mask, to be greeted and offered coffee, as if I were like anyone else. I would even eat the kippers. I would like that very much indeed.

As I chose a fresh waistcoat, I could perceive a great knot of tension building in my chest, though I didn't know quite why.

If the school was real…

Which it was.

If these people were as inclined to like me as they seemed…

Which they might be.

If I was, by their standards, utterly normal, a man like other men…

Which I might be.

If it was true…

I had to find out. I had to put them to the test.

Excerpt from a letter from Jean Grey-Summers to Scott Summers.

"The Professor found me a place to live through the British Consulate, and a few years later, brought me to Xavier House. I have been there ever since. I have a home there; I have family there—they are my brothers and sisters, as much as if they were born so." finished Auroré.

"Forgive me," Erik interrupted. "I have been listening, but there is something I must do, now, before—", Instead of finishing the sentence, he took a deep breath, put both hands up to his face, and removed his mask. Then he looked at each of us in turn, visibly bracing himself against the reaction he feared—that we would look at him with disgust, abhorrence, and revulsion.

I have to say that Kitty gave a very accurate, not to mention compelling, description of him in her letter.

Someone had to break the silence, so I said, "My governess's etiquette lessons are completely unequal to this situation, but I think it's a great compliment that you should feel comfortable enough with us to do that."

"You see?" added Kitty, who sounded remarkably cheerful (and hopeful) at this development. "I told you."

"You could not find a group of people less inclined to scream and take fright, than we are," said the Professor, in his softest tones. "If anything, yours is one of the less extreme outward manifestations of the Evolved state. You really ought to see one of our school photograph albums."

"If you think you are ugly, you are only clinging to the aesthetic ideals of an inferior species," lectured Sir Erich. "Know who you are, be proud of what you are, and go masked or unmasked as you choose."

"You're turning very pale." observed Auroré. "I think you are breathing too fast. Do you feel dizzy?"

Erik had indeed gotten a little over-oxygenated. Once he was recovered, he said, incredulously, "You mean it. You genuinely mean it. All of you mean it." He had reached out to touch our minds, to see for himself, of course. I had felt it.

"Yes," Professor Xavier confirmed. "We do. I hope the three of you ( meaning Erik, Sir Erich, and Kitty) will forgive me if I say that the entire situation, as it was on the roof when we arrived, could have been averted had you only talked about what was bothering you, rather than getting worked up over it.

"It seems to have been a willful misunderstanding of Sir Erich's rather clumsy effort to tell you," the Professor said to Erik, "that you made a good impression on him, and to tell you," he turned to Kitty, "that he cares about you very deeply."

"I do not see that I was particularly clumsy about it." Sir Erich defended himself, "although I had not meant to break the news about the adoption in quite that manner. I had meant to tell you privately, some time tomorrow. I—am sorry." he surprised us by saying to her, and to Erik, "I apologize to you as well. I would have taken it amiss if someone had intruded upon me in that fashion. I should not have done so."

"Thank you," said Erik, after a bemused moment of silence. "I accept your apology."

"And my hand?" Sir Erich extended it to Erik, who shook it.

Kitty's face had taken on a mulish expression.

"I think perhaps a further explanation to Kitty is in order." the Professor prompted.

"What do you want of me, blood?" snapped Sir Erich.

"It seems to me that Jean and Auroré have set an excellent example by telling the stories of their lives, however briefly. Perhaps you might follow them?"

"Very well," Sir Erich said, with reluctance.

TBC…and soon!

A/N: Sorry to have gone so long without an update—I've been working on another fic, also a POTO, called If Music Be The Food of Love (Shameless self promotion) But I have not left this one behind.

To answer some questions—Yes, Logan will appear in Part 3 of this story—we're well into Part 2 at this point. He will have claws—whether they will be adamantium or not depends on whether or not I can come up with a reasonable explanation for them in the time period in which this takes place.

Kurt will appear in the last chapters of part 2. When will that be? You'll know it when he turns up.

Hello to all my faithful and patient readers! Queen Ame, you'll have to wait and see what part Hitler has to play in this story.

Thanks, Sarahbelle, your enthusiasm is highly contagious!

Hi to Hobbit Babe, Selenawolfe, and Pickledishkiller! Thanks for hanging in there!

Baby Vixen—well, I'm mom to two orange tiger cats, Boo and Tater. They might like a vixen in the family…