BIG BOLD NOTE: I have not seen X3. I will not see it until this story is complete. Please, if you review, do not include spoilers for it, or criticize me for being uncanonical to X3. Thank you.
Narra woke at first light. Casting about physically and mentally for the source of the disturbance, she felt the tangle of fear and panic that usually meant one of the children was having a nightmare. It had to be a strong one, if it not only registered with her but also woke her up; Narra had long since learned, out of self-preservation, how to dampen the receiving aspect of her empathy.
She projected calm and assurance until she felt the fear subside; then she relaxed and stretched out her mind, letting her empathic sense expand over the mansion. It was an exercise she mentally likened to tasting and identifying the different elements of a new, exotic stew. Most of the emotions she "tasted" were calm, the occupants sleeping or drowsily waking; here and there she sensed a sharp spike of alertness. She slipped deeper into her empathy, ignoring her other five senses for the moment. Under the surface of serenity was a richer blend, reflecting the dreams of those whose emotions she sensed. Joy, despair, confusion, discontent-- the sharp flare of exhilaration stood out-- anger, hope. She let her mind sift through them; it was like running her hands over a variety of fabrics of varied texture, some pleasing like smooth velvet on rough hands, some stimulating like coarse canvas, some ambiguous like silk, some just plain unpleasant, like itchy wool.
Narra pulled her senses back into her own head and lay in bed for a few minutes, luxuriating in the sensations of soft, clean-smelling sheets and a warm blanket, admiring the muted colors the sunrise reflected onto her ceiling. Then she sat up, swung her legs out of the bed, and stretched.
It was too early in the morning to practice kata; she usually did that after the students in the room next to her had gone to breakfast so as not to alarm them with thumps or kiyais. Instead she lifted the monitor of the laptop computer sitting on her desk, waking it from sleep.
Every day she spent at least an hour searching the Internet for any signs of her family. She hacked into police databases and hospital records, though she wasn't sure if she wanted news of that sort. She sliced into low-level government networks, trying to determine if the men who had ransacked the house and attacked her were indeed military. She monitored the e-mail accounts of her parents and her sister-- they were dormant, of course; her family would assume they were being watched. And they were. By being more careful than the others, Narra was able to access the records of everyone else who had hacked the e-mail accounts recently, and she began the long, laborious process of tracing their IP addresses, gleaning whatever information she could along the way.
She also frequented message boards and news lists of all kinds, all pertaining to genetics. His work was her father's second great love, and even on the run, he would still be involved with it. Narra searched for posts pertaining to his research, or even written in his style; she knew she would recognize it. She found nothing, which worried her incessantly. Even if he hadn't been keeping up with his research, her father would have known that a science forum would be the best way to get a message to her.
Today was no different. The only lead she got was that one of the IP addresses that had sliced into her father's e-mail account seemed on the brink of resolving itself, to what looked like a location in Canada. She frowned. Canada?
Narra closed the laptop, stood, and stretched. Reaching out with her emotional sense, she found the room next to her blank, which was a pretty good indication that it was empty. So she made sure she had a large enough clear space-- she'd neglected to do so her first morning, and paid the price of a stinging foot for the rest of the day-- and began her katas.
She skipped some of them because of the stitches still in her shoulder, though Jean had said those could come out in a couple of days. Even abbreviated, Narra enjoyed the exercise, both in its own right and for its familiarity. It was a link to her past, and she had abruptly learned to cherish those.
Narra showered, dressed and braided her hair quickly, then tucked the laptop under her arm, slung the backpack over her shoulder, and went downstairs for some breakfast. The small kitchen was nearly full, so she grabbed a few slices of bread and ducked out, earning a few curious glances. She hadn't met all of the students yet; there had to be at least fifty of them.
Her lab was on the ground floor, in an out of the way hallway, the door flanked on one side by a ceramic half-sized Pallas Athena statue and on the other by a table with a vase of flowers. The interior of the small room was clean and austere in contrast to the warm wooden paneling and decorative ornaments of the rest of the mansion. A black lab counter ran around three sides of the room, interrupted on each side by a refrigerator. In the center was a wooden table with electrical outlets and network ports inlaid in the surface, and several chairs pushed underneath. Various pieces of equipment sat on the lab counter, exotic and novel to the untrained eye, but quite familiar to her. On the wall to her right was a cabinet, from which she took a neatly folded lab coat and a pair of safety glasses; beneath the cabinet was a collection of clear glass canisters and plastic bottles, holding cotton swabs, bandages, isopropyl alcohol, and other substances.
Narra felt a faint smile tug at her lips as she plugged the laptop in in the center of the room and opened the refrigerator. Always before she'd shared space in someone else's lab, usually her father's or another professor's; now, she couldn't shake the faint pride of possession. It still wasn't technically hers. of course, just an unused room in the mansion, furnished with equipment that, despite having been in storage, was more advanced than anything she had ever seen before. But it was a lab; it was where she belonged.
She worked for perhaps a quarter of an hour, connecting the computer to download information while simultaneously setting up the gel electrophoresis machine, before a timid tap on the door interrupted her. "Come in," she called, putting down the solution she was mixing and looking up.
The door swung open slowly, propelled by a hand that proved to be attached to a young teenage girl with flaming red hair. "Um... Miss Symestreem? Storm said you wanted to see me?" She radiated confusion and nervousness.
Narra smiled, trying to put the newcomer at ease. "Please call me Narra. You can sit down if you like." She gestured to one of the chairs, and the girl hesitantly took it. "Did Storm explain why?"
The girl shook her head. "You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," Narra said. "I've only been here a week."
"Are you a mutant?"
"Yes," Narra said. "I'm an empath."
"What's that?"
"I'm sensitive to emotion."
The girl frowned, then nodded. "I get it." She shifted in her seat. "So..."
"I'm also a geneticist," Narra explained. "With the professor's permission I'm creating a database of DNA from the students here, in the hopes of analyzing it to determine what genes control what mutations."
"Oh. So you want my DNA?" She looked around at the equipment. "Do you need to draw blood or something?"
Narra shook her head. "Only a skin sample, and then I'll have a few questions for you."
The redhead shrugged. "Sure, I guess."
Narra donned gloves and removed the sampling device from the drawer, getting a fresh tip from the package and attaching it. The gadget looked like a syringe with a wide mouth. Jean had said the device had originally been developed by the military as a quick way of identifying unrecognizable soldiers on the battlefield; Narra hadn't asked how the X-mansion had acquired possession of it. She swabbed the girl's arm with alcohol and placed the open end of the sampling tool against her skin, sliding the operational lever.
"That's it?" her volunteer asked as Narra took the thing away. It left only a faint red circle on her skin.
"That's it," Narra confirmed, removing the glass chamber that now held the invisible skin sample and placing it on the counter. She affixed a fresh sticky label to it. "What name do you prefer?"
"I'm Tracy Cassidy, but everyone calls me Siryn."
Even as Narra's hand automatically filled out the label, she blinked. Of course, I should have recognized her. She looks just like her father. Her mind flickered back to the night thirteen years ago when she'd hidden in the shadows of her father's study and eavesdropped on his conversation with a man named Banshee. I wonder if she knows our fathers know each other? Narra thought, but did not ask.
"What can you tell me about your powers?" she asked, moving to the computer and opening the database entry program.
"I scream," Siryn said. "I shatter things with my voice. And I can incapacitate people."
"What sort of things?" Narra's finger moved quickly over the keyboard.
She shrugged. "Glass. Steel. It depends on how loud I scream."
"When does your power tend to manifest itself?" Seeing and sensing puzzlement, Narra rephrased the question. "Can you control it? Does it happen when you're angry?"
"I can control it," Tracy said, then admitted, "When I'm mad it sometimes gets out of control."
Narra asked more questions and typed the answers. Finally, she smiled and said, "Thank you."
"That's it?"
Narra nodded.
Siryn stood to go. "Are you, like, staying here?"
"I hope to," Narra said. The Irish girl gave her a strange look as she left.
Narra spent the rest of the day manipulating and analyzing Siryn's DNA, trying to get enough information to compare to the other genetic sequences already on the computer. They'd been on the DVD she'd brought from Pittsburgh, the results of her father's earlier studies on the mutant community of Pittsburgh.
The shadows slanting through the window and the growling of her stomach finally reminded her that it was getting late, so she replaced the lab coat and safety glasses in the cabinet, washed her hands at the small sink, and disconnected the laptop, tucking it under her arm once again. The hallways were much fuller at this time of day than they had been in the morning, and some of the young mutants gave her curious looks, but most of them were traveling in groups and too absorbed in their conversations to notice her. She took that as a good sign; it meant they were happy.
After stopping in the library to pick up the book she had started earlier, Narra visited the kitchen. By comparison it was relatively empty, only occupied by two giggling girls who left soon after she arrived, laden with soda and a bag of pretzels. A refrigerator rummage produced the materials for a cheese sandwich, and the basket on the island furnished an apple. Narra sat down to eat and read and was quickly absorbed into Dr. McCoy's theories.
"So you're the new one?"
Narra looked up to see a teenage boy with loose brown hair looking down at her. He was playing with a cigarette lighter. "Yes, I am."
"They say Wolverine tore you up pretty good," said the boy.
"It wasn't that bad." Narra put the book down to look at him and his two companions. One was another boy, blonde with wide blue eyes; the girl had flawless skin and dark hair with a startling cream streak at the front.
"I'm John," the first boy said. He looked faintly bored. "Everyone calls me Pyro." He flicked the lighter, and a ball of flame suddenly hovered in his hand. He cupped it, showing it off, and the boredom was replaced with intense fascination.
"I'm Narra," she said.
"Bobby Drake," said the other boy, extending his hand where John had not. She shook it, and instantly felt chilled. "Also known as Iceman."
"I'm Marie." The girl had a pronounced Southern drawl and a warm smile; Narra also noticed that she wore gloves, and hesitated before offering her hand. "Everyone calls me Rogue."
Narra stretched out with her empathy to graze the top level of their emotional sense, but the strong barrage startled her. Right, she thought wryly. I forgot. They're teenagers, incapable of emotional subtlety. She reached out more cautiously the second time. Her predominant impressions were of John's arrogant good humor, and more strongly, the mix of attraction and longing between the other two that could only mean mutual and unrequited affection. "Nice to meet all of you," she said.
"Where you from?" Bobby asked.
"Pittsburgh. You?"
"Boston."
"Mississippi," Rogue said, and Narra felt a surge of uneasiness before she closed off her mind.
John shrugged. "Born in Australia. Parents moved to New York when I was three." He flicked his lighter again.
"What's your power?" Bobby asked.
Narra felt a little like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar, because she'd been using it to analyze them, but she kept her face neutral and her voice even as she said, "Empathy."
John looked interested. "You play with peoples' emotions?"
"No," Narra said. "I sense them, and occasionally manipulate them if need be."
He looked unimpressed by the distinction. "How come you're not in classes?"
"I've graduated," she replied. "I was a senior at the University of Pittsburgh before I left."
"Why'd you leave?" Rogue asked. She looked interested, and intuition indicated that it was more than a casual question.
"People were after my family."
Having analyzed her and duly attempted to impress her, apparently John no longer found her of interest. "You guys want to go play foozball?"
"Want to come?" Rogue asked Narra.
She shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'll stay here for a while. Have fun, though."
The three exited, and Narra couldn't miss the look Bobby gave Rogue when she wasn't looking, and the look Rogue gave Bobby when he wasn't looking. She fought the urge to smile.
The book recaptured her attention until it grew dark outside, at which time the interior lights automatically flickering on recalled her to the present again. She realized how much time had passed, and wondered why no other students had come in for something to eat. Perhaps there was another kitchen? She reached out with her empathy and felt a stronger concentration of emotions coming from her left than her right; following the sensations took her eventually to a large dining room, with a large number of round tables scattered about and a long line of chafing dishes on a rectangular table near the wall.
Her deprivation-induced hunger was beginning to fade, and she took only a small helping of rice and vegetables and a roll. Storm looked up, smiled welcomingly, and waved her over to join Jean and Scott; the Professor was not in the room.
When Narra sat down a little hesitantly, the two women were talking about classroom instruction. "You teach?" she asked during a lull in the conversation.
"Yes," Jean said. "All three of us. Scott teaches automotive repair, Storm teaches history, and I teach science. The Professor teaches literature and math," she added.
"Automotive repair?"
"We have a fleet of vehicles in the garage downstairs," Scott explained. "They help me maintain them."
Narra nodded. Storm asked, "Did Tracy come see you? I asked her to."
"Yes, thank you," Narra said. "I took a skin sample from her and started comparing it to the others in the database."
Jean frowned. "You've done others already?"
"No, their genetic information was on the disc," Narra explained. "My father had analyzed many mutants in the Pittsburgh area when he was investigating gene regulation of mutation manifestation, so the records were still with his other work."
"What did he find?" Jean asked. "I don't recall reading any papers on the subject."
"No, he never published," Narra said. "The work was never finished, but preliminary research indicated..."
-
Logan leaned against the doorframe and watched the two women talking. It was an interesting picture. Jean's bright hair contrasted with Narra's dark, but in the way they used their hands and the concentration on their faces he saw the same intensity, a devotion to whatever they were talking about. Probably science.
He realized he was staring at Jean, captivated by her face, and that Scott was glaring at him. He grinned at the X-Man and looked around. Rogue was eating at a crowded table with a bunch of other teenagers, and she looked happy. She looked up and saw him, gave him a smile and a wave, and went back to her conversation.
He straightened up and turned around, retreating from the bright room into the dimly lit hallways. He'd gone to say goodbye to Jean, but just as suddenly had changed his mind. It wasn't as if he was leaving forever; Logan had already decided to return after his search to see if the Professor could read anything more from his mind. Besides, if he didn't say goodbye, she might watch closer for his return.
He reached his own room and collapsed on the bed after taking off his shoes and shirt. Everything he owned occupied a small duffel bag by the door. He would leave early in the morning.
---
Author's note: I took a little creative license with the layout of the mansion, thinking there was no way that the kitchen shown in X2 could feed all the students.
Oh, and speaking of X2, we're coming up on it relatively quickly. One more chapter, I think, if that. Since this is movie canon, Narra obviously won't be involved with the events of Alkali Lake—directly, at least.