Author's Note: Thank you to Independent Fire for the only review I have. I'm updating this just for the hell of it. I kind of got the impression that no-one wanted to read this, but then I looked at my Stats. Please review, and tell me what you think. Thank you in advance.

Washington, America.

The day after.

Marc didn't go to school for the rest of the week. He stayed in his room, trying to learn control for his new ability. He only emerged at infrequent intervals to eat and to use the bathroom. His father had again contacted Ottawa, to ask if there were any registered metamorphs that could train his son. Unfortunately, there were none registered with the Alpha Flight, or anywhere else that kept records. Officially, he was the first recorded in a new category. John came to see him after school on the third day.

"You don't look sick to me," he said, knocking on the door and entering the room.

"It's not something visible," said Marc, swinging round. A book dropped unnoticed to the bed. "I'm probably coming back next week. It's something that… snuck upon me and surprised me. I never usually get ill."

"Yeah, well, I came to tell you that you won't see me round there any more. I'm moving schools starting Monday. It's a boarding school upstate, in Westchester County." He looked sideways at Marc. "It's a school for mutants."

"Mutants? You mean you're…"

"Yep, I'm a mutant. A pyrotechnic."

Marc was momentarily confused. Then understanding dawned. "Oh, a fire-controller. Is that why you're always playing with those disposable lighters?"

"Yeah, here, I'll show you," he said, pulling one from his pocket and flicking it-

-And Marc mentally snatched it from his hand, shutting it down.

"Don't, you idiot!" he said, in a low, urgent voice. "You'll set the fire alarm off!"

Then he saw the lighter hovering midway between him and John. So did John. Their eyes met.

"And you're a telekinetic," he said slowly, a grin breaking out on his face. "Any other surprises I should know about?"

Marc was furious with himself. He had just revealed his secret to someone outside the embassy, and even though John had revealed his own abilities less than ten seconds before, he was still annoyed at his lack of self-control.

I'm also a telepath, he thought, and saw John twitch, looking for the voice.

"Nice," said John. "I think you'd like to meet Dr. Jean Grey. She's one of the teachers at the Institute, and she's a telepath and telekinetic, too."

All or nothing, Marc, he thought, and said, "But I bet she can't do this."

So saying, he switched into John's body, wearing exactly the same clothes. Losing control of the lighter, Marc reached out and caught it as it began to fall. The look of shock on his face was so comical that Marc burst out laughing.

"A metamorph," he said, wonderingly.

Marc felt a thrill run up his arm as he held the lighter in his hand. He instinctively knew that he now had John's ability. He tried levitating the lighter in his hand, but he couldn't move it.

"I want to try something. I think…" He quickly shifted back to his body, then dragged a protesting John out of the Embassy and to the nearest park. There was a section of dense woodland with a clearing that Marc knew of, and he dragged John all the way there.

He let go as they stood facing each other in the middle of the clearing. "Pass me that lighter again," said Marc, as he again shifted into John's body.

John did, and as he caught the lighter, he felt the same thrill run up his arm. Flicking the lighter, he cupped the small flame in his hand, and felt it grow, felt it move… felt it live. He manipulated the flame into a small bird, a running cat, a leaping dolphin… and then John called the flame to him. Relinquishing control, he watched the small dolphin 'swim' to John, then gasped as it grew in size and became a blazing copy of himself.

Shifting back again, he stared in awe as the flame copied every movement of John. Then, with a sputter, the flame disappeared. John smiled ruefully. "Still working on my control," he said. "You handled that pretty well for a beginner."

"Hell, that's all I've been doing for the past three days. I didn't know I was a shapeshifter until the detention I had to do with Sims. It manifested while he was looking at me. I had to wipe it from his mind, or I'd be looking at a Friends of Humanity lynch mob. He thinks that the detention went too fast, but that's only because he doesn't remember the ten minutes which I erased."

John laughed. "Come on, lets go to the mall. I need a sugar boost."

"Uhh, are you sure that's wise? I mean I know what you're like after you've had sugar, or caffeine, or both."

"Hey, that's not fair! I'm fine! I just get a little excitable," he said, faking a wounded look. "I'm going anyway, so I'll see you around if you're not coming."

"Of course I'm coming, stupid, someone's gotta be the victim of your jokes when you get hyper."

The walked along the streets, stopping to get large Cokes and a large bag of M&M's for John. They were laughing, each telling progressively worse jokes, when they ran into Luke Sims and a group of his friends. They tried to move away, but Sims' friends had them surrounded and outnumbered.

"Hey John, I heard you're moving schools. That have anything to do with the fact you're a mutie freak?"

What did you do?

John didn't have any telepathic ability, but Marc caught the stream of consciousness all the same. I blew up a cigarette he lit after he snatched the lighter off me. He didn't take it too well.

You're impossible, you know that?

Would you really have me any other way?

"Hey, punk, I asked a question."

John and Marc shared a look, and Marc said Wind him up as much as possible. Don't forget, we're both Homo Superior, and if it comes down to it, we can take him.

John nodded to Sims' comment, and to Marc's suggestion. He absently pulled a lighter from his pocket, and began playing with the lid. It was a big Zippo lighter, with a shark's mouth design along the edge of the lid. It clicked and snapped annoyingly as he flipped it open and closed. "Yep, it would happen to be because I'm a mutant, or Homo Superior," he said, leaning on the last two words. Marc folded his arms, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Sims got the message.

"And because you have some kind of freak power, you think you're so much smarter than us, do you?"

"No," replied John, still playing with the lighter. "I know I am." He glared up at Sims, an insolent expression on his face.

Sims stepped in close. "Listen, freak, I'm going to pound you flat for that." He drew his fist back, and drove it forward into John's face. Marc's face hardened, and he formed a mental barrier between Sims' fist and John's face.

There was an awful crack, and Sims screamed in pain, his knuckles suddenly bright crimson with blood, and his hand hanging at an odd angle from his arm. John just stood there, a smile blossoming on his face.

"My wrist, you broke my damn wrist!" he shouted.

Actually, that was me. If you're going to fight someone, make sure they're your own size, said Marc. In that instant, he shifted into Sims' form, and took a moment to accustom himself to the extra forty pounds.

"Good God, I think my IQ just dropped fifty points," he muttered to John. John burst out laughing, just as the others crowded in to take a shot at him. Marc stepped into their path and glowered at them. John surreptitiously pulled the flame from the lighter and held it in the palm of his hand, eyes closed, concentrating, waiting.

"Don't," he warned. "We're better, faster, and far more powerful than you. Forget about this, and just go home."

"You just wait until the Friends of Humanity hear about this!" shouted one of the boys. "They'll get you for this!"

"What, for self-defence against an aggressive attack?" He shifted back. "Forget about this little episode, and I won't mention it to the police. There are any number of innocent ways in which someone can break their wrist. Get him to the hospital, and get that fixed. And remember," he added, his voice turning threatening, "If you say a word to anyone, I'll come and find you. I've been a telepath longer than a metamorph, so I know more tricks for the mind." They turned around and walked off.

"But what if they do send the Friends after you?" asked John, a rare note of concern in his voice.

"If they do, I'll plead ignorance, and cloud their minds until I can get away. I can also change my appearance, so I could walk into a crowd as me, and walk out of the crowd as someone completely different. Relax. The only thing I can't claim is diplomatic immunity, as being a mutant isn't a crime."

"Yet," said John. "There's a Bill before the Senate at the moment requiring all mutants to register themselves with the authorities, like their name, address, and power or powers. Special cases like anti-human mutants will be restricted, and things like that. This is all stuff I've heard ever since I started paying attention to the news, especially anti-mutant news."

They'd carried on walking, and reached the Embassy as John finished his Coke.

"Well, If I don't see you over the weekend, this is it," said John. He threw the empty cup into a nearby trashcan.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll see you, John. What was the name of that place you're going to? Mutant High?"

He grinned. "The Xavier Institute for Gifted Children," he replied. "If you want, I'll mention your metamorph to Professor Xavier and see if he can help you. I'm moving up there tomorrow, so I'll have a word first thing."
"Cheers mate," said Marc warmly. He headed into the Embassy, through the main area and into the residential section. Walking through the main lounge, he saw his mother talking to two strange people. One was a short black woman with long white hair and blue eyes, the other a tall redhead with brown eyes. As soon as he looked into those eyes, he knew that she too was a telepath. They both wore long black trenchcoats with a stylized X within a circle on the breast pocket and collars. He advanced cautiously into the room, doing a brief mind scan of his mother's mind. Their names and where they were from burned brightly in his mother's neurons.

"Hello, Marc," said the redhead. "My name's-"

"Dr. Jean Grey," he finished, and was rewarded with a bright smile from the black woman.

Her eyes narrowed. "And I'd have known if you did that telepathically, young man. How did you know?"

"Mom was thinking your names and you match the description a friend gave me."

She frowned. "And who would that be?"

"Pyro. I mean, John."

"Oh, yes, St. John Allerdyce," she said. "He's moving in tomorrow, isn't he?"

"Yes," said the other woman. "My name's Ororo Munroe and we represent the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children. But then if you've talked to John, you already know it's a school for mutants. Your mother was just telling us about a secondary mutation which you've experienced recently. However, she didn't tell us what it was. Can you tell us?"

"It'd be better if I showed you," he said. He started shifting and a second later there were two Jean Greys in the room. The real Jean took a step back, muttering, "My God, a metamorph."

Ororo looked shocked. "He's just like Mystique, isn't he?"

"Who?" he asked, shifting back.

"She's a metamorph, like you, who disappeared some time ago from the Institute. As far as anyone knew, she was the only one that existed."

Marc knew what was coming. He spoke to Jean telepathically. If you're worried that I'm her, there's nothing to fear. I didn't know I could shapeshift until three days ago.

It's OK, she replied. She never had any telepathy that we could discover. It was just a shock to see someone who could do that again. She visibly pulled herself together. Get your things together, we're leaving in a few minutes. I've persuaded your parents to let you come to the Institute, and in light of the increase in Friends of Humanity attacks recently, they feel it's advisable for you to leave, even for a short while. She shifted back to audible speech. "There's nothing to fear about the Institute, and Professor Xavier's the person who trained Mystique in her abilities, so he can help you learn control. He can also build on what your telepathy tutor started."

"Pack some clothes, Marc, and your laptop," said his mother, smiling at him. Even though she seemed happy, Marc could see the worry lines on her face. Jean's thoughts were running on the same track.

"There's really nothing for you to be scared of, Madame Duchaine. Marc will be safe and well cared for, and he'll be interacting with other children of his age. He'll be in no danger."

Marc practically raced for his room and started packing with the ease of long practice. He had his clothes, shoes and toiletries in a bag and his laptop packed away in less than ten minutes. He took down three of his favourite posters and rolled them up inside a rigid cardboard tube, and laid the tube next to his bag. He then removed an ice hockey stick from its mounting on the wall and zipped it into the case which held his regular one. Five minutes later, the bags were loaded into the boot of the four-seater convertible outside the Embassy, and he was saying goodbye to his mother. Jacques was at a meeting with the President, and so didn't see his son leave. Jean had telepathically contacted him and arranged everything. He was sorry to know that his son would be leaving without saying goodbye, but just as the meeting came to an end, he felt Marc contact him telepathically.

I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye, Marc.

Dad, affairs of state come first, that's what you've always told me, right? There was amusement in his tone. Anyway, I can talk to you from anywhere like this. I'll phone you tonight. Be safe.

And you, Marc. And you.