"Professor, Dr. McCoy, you made it!" Scott sprang from the hard plastic chair that sat near the door of the hospital lobby, quickly walking to greet his former teachers and current colleagues. The hospital lobby was crowded, with relatives and friends waiting on news concerning a high school fistfight that ended with one student smashing his opponent's head into a locker, several mothers whose toddlers had swallowed their playthings, and members of a local church, who had hosted a picnic earlier, a picnic that had inadvertently served some bad macaroni salad. Doctors rushed in and out of the dreary waiting room, some clutching charts, others calling out names, and still others merely running from one wing to another.
"Of course, Scott. We came as soon as you called. Has there been any news on Jean yet?"
"No, they haven't said a word," Scott's voice creaked, raw from earlier shouting and sobbing. "I keep asking, but no one will tell me anything." Even with the reflective glasses covering his eyes, it was plainly obvious that Scott was near the breaking point. He had been at the hospital since eleven-thirty, and a cursory glance at the clock revealed that it was nearly two o' clock. Charles glanced toward Hank before answering.
"Scott, calm down. Jean will be fine, I'm positive."
"I'm sorry, it's just…I-I wasn't expecting to see-this is-"
"Scott, calm down," Charles repeated. Just take a deep breath and sit down. Let's just wait until we hear from the doctors." By now, most of the occupants of the waiting room had noticed the immense hulk of blue fur that was Dr. Henry McCoy. Some paid no attention to him, others moved to the chairs placed furthest away from him, and still others shrank into the chairs in fear, too scared or dumbfounded to move. Upon first glance, it would be hard to blame the third group. Hank had the build and skeletal structure of a massive gorilla, large muscles rippling under thick blue fur. Along with his large, pearly-white fangs and gigantic paws, each one roughly large enough to engulf an entire human head, one would assume this was a fearsome predator. However, McCoy was nothing like the assumptions constantly made about him. Rather than a predator, Hank was more a thinker, possessing a mind that could easily rank among the most brilliant of today.
"Mr. Summers?" A doctor stood in the hallway leading to the emergency room. Scott's ears perked up, and he rushed over to the doctor with a speed that would make most observers believe that Scott's mutant ability was super speed.
"Is Jean ok? What happened?" The doctor, a man of about forty-five with more hair on his upper lip than on the top of his head, a fact that, sadly, did not deter from drawing a thin clump of wispy brown hairs from right to left over the shorn peak of his skull.
"She's fine, sir. We've given Ms. Grey a complete physical, and she appears to be in perfect health. I've ordered a series of blood tests to screen for any infection or possible drug use, and as soon as those come back, she'll be discharged."
"Is she awake? Can I go see her? What happened to her?" Scott's voice traveled a mile a minute, his words blending into each other with no discernable pause between.
"She regained consciousness about a half-hour ago, and she appears lucid. However, we've ordered several blood tests in order to rule out any infections or drug use. She's in room 115, second door on your left. You can go see her, but we may need to perform additional tests, so be prepared to return to this lobby." He had been a doctor for years, long enough to have developed an innate ability to decipher even the most garbled, frantic speech. He had also been a doctor long enough to develop an over-inflated ego, something that had made him somewhat of a pariah about the hospital. This was all unknown to Scott, however, who was so grateful to hear of Jean's recovery he quickly shook the doctor's hand and blurted out a few words of thanks before dashing off down the hallway that lay beyond. The Professor wheeled his chair past the doctor not long afterwards with no issue, however the doctor outstretched his arm when Henry attempted to lumber past.
"Sorry, sir, there are no," the squat doctor scanned the tall blue mutant from head to toe, with a repulsed sneer painted across his lips the entire time. "Pets allowed past this point." Henry arched a cerulean eyebrow at this gossamer insult before standing erect to his full six feet, flexing his thick, lengthy arms and glaring down at the doctor.
"Sir, might I possibly offer you the prospect of retracting that statement?"
Jean let her head hit the thin hospital pillow with a soft thud, blowing a stray strand of auburn hair out of her eye. How long are they going to keep me here, she wondered with exasperation. They've checked me out, I'm fine. I refuse to be coddled like this, not when-
"Jean?" Scott was leaning into the room, one hand on either side of the doorjamb. Even with the sunglasses covering his eyes, it was obvious that he was wracked with worry; his thick brown hair mussed from his hand's constant motion through it.
"Scott, I…" Jean sat up in the mechanized hospital, unsure of what to say. Before she could say anything, however, Scott closed the distance between the door and her bed in just a few short steps, wrapping his arms around her in a strong hug.
"Jean, I'm so happy you're alright." Scott said when he finally released his grasp on her.
"I feel fine," Jean said with a smile. "I've got no idea what happened back there. One minute I have the most painful migraine of my life, and the next minute I'm waking up in a hospital. I've got to admit, it's a little unnerving."
"I cannot say that I blame you for feeling that way, Jean." Charles' voice called from behind Scott.
"Professor? When did you get down here?"
"Hank and I arrived about twenty minutes ago. We came as soon as Scott informed of what had happened." Scott stayed close by Jean's side, clutching her hand in his own, but he sidestepped so that the Professor could make eye contact with his former student. Jean let out an exasperated groan.
"I'm flattered, but really, I'm fine. I've got a large class load this semester, and I feel like I've just been pushing myself a little too much, especially with exams just around the corner."
"Be that as it may, I would request that you return to the mansion for the remainder of the day, if only to rest." At this request, Jean's green eyes widened in disbelief, as though the thought of this request was no different than the professor suggesting the roads were all paved with provolone cheese.
"I couldn't do that, I have so much schoolwork-"
"Jean, this is not optional. I do not wish to dredge up a painful memory; however, I believe you recall when your powers spiked out of control?" Jean nodded grimly, remembering that near-fatal day more than she wished to, the day she nearly tore down the entire mansion with nothing more than her own thoughts. The Professor opened his mouth to continue speaking; however he was interrupted by Scott before he was able to utter a single syllable.
"Professor, you can't think something like that would happen again. Jean's older now; she has more control than when she was in high school." The professor opened his mouth again to speak, but paused before he spoke, leaving his mouth hanging agape. Then, after several seconds, he spoke.
"Of course not Scott. I'm simply worried about her well-being. On the off-chance that this is not merely an isolated incident, I would prefer to capture it while it is still in its infancy." As Xavier finished his sentence, Henry came plodding into the room, his eyes locking straight on Jean. The padded bottoms of his feet made soft noise on the linoleum whenever he made a step.
"Ms. Grey, how are you feeling this afternoon? Apart from the issue of lying in a hospital bed, of course." Jean chuckled at Hank's quip.
"I'm fine, really. I realize that this whole thing was a little frightening, but I feel fine now. I'm really not sure what happened." Jean answered, smiling but growing weary of being coddled.
"Be that as it may, you do understand our concern?" Xavier asked. Jean's head fell and here eyes refused to meet those of her former teacher, but she granted him a weak nod of her head. She hung her head not in shame, but in defeat, realizing now that there was no way she was going to avoid missing several days of classes. She leaned back onto the pillow.
"Now that the matter is settled, I believe all that is left is for the doctors to discharge you. Hank, did you happen to see where he went?" Hank turned to Charles with a sheepish grin across his face, the skin beneath his thick blue fur tinting a slight pink.
"I believe I may have inadvertently frightened off our dear doctor. He attempted to bar my entry past the lobby, which led to a brief discussion on the rights of mutants." Charles grimaced at Henry's statement.
"You didn't harm him, did you?"
"Heavens no. It would be against my personal code of honor to begin a fight purely based on the ill tongue of one lone person. I am a firm supporter of the first amendment of the constitution, and I in fact encourage the free expression of ideas in any public forum. He, however, remains ignorant of my docile nature." The grimace did not leave Charles' face, and as Scott and Jean began to talk amongst themselves, Charles motioned Henry out into the hallway to talk, leaving the young lovebirds with a moment's solitude.
"Henry, I realize that times are difficult for mutants, and I realize that your obvious physical mutation makes this even more difficult. However, I also realize that you are aware of my abhorrence of even threats of physical violence, except as an absolute last resort."
"I realize that Charles. However, you are not the being referred to as a "pet."
"You are right, Hank. All I ask is that you try to control your temper." Henry rolled his eyes, but responded in the affirmative before glancing back into the hospital room, where Scott was laughing at something Jean had said. Henry glanced back at his friend and former mentor.
"When are you going to tell him?" Charles held his forehead in his hand.
"Hank, how can I tell him? I've just got to do a more thorough job this time around. Hopefully, this time it will be permanent."
"I sincerely hope you are correct, Charles." Hank said, noticing Scott moving toward the door out of the corner of his eye.
"Hey, Jean's really anxious to get out of here, so I'm going to go find a doctor. Everything alright?" Scott asked, slightly worried about Henry and Charles' unexpected departure.
"We're fine, Scott. Just business with the institute," He checked his watch, pulling back the sleeve of his specially tailored suit. "You're right; we should leave soon if we want to make it back in time for the arrival of our new recruits." At this mention, Scott slapped his forehead with the open palm of his hand.
"That is today, isn't it," Said Scott with little enthusiasm in his voice. "Have you told the others yet?"
"I informed them earlier this morning. Most of them share your apprehensiveness to this upcoming alliance." Charles stated with a bemused smirk.
"It's not apprehension it's…I mean, Tabitha lived with us before, and you've told me about what Magneto had over Colossus, but Gambit and Wanda aren't exactly our biggest fans."
"Scott, there is nothing to worry about. I have done several mind probes of Mr. Lebeau, and I'm confident that he has no malevolent intentions, for Rogue or anyone else. As for Wanda, I'm sufficiently convinced that her anger towards us has subsided ever since she found her father was alive."
"I know, Professor, you've told me all of this, it's just…I have a bad feeling about all of this."
"I wouldn't worry about it. We have faced many obstacles before, and still we have prevailed."
"Alright, I guess it's nothing to worry about," Said Scott in a tone that revealed he was anything but convinced. "Look, I'm going to go get the doctor, I'll be right back." As Scott dashed off down the hall, searching for a doctor willing to put his prejudices aside for five minutes, Henry turned back to face Charles.
"He is going to discover the truth someday, Charles." Xavier's eyes darkened along with his voice, his eyebrows shifting downward and his lips twisting into a studious frown.
"No he will not. I abhor keeping this from him, but there's simply no other option."
The spring wind whipped about Ryland Street in a gentle cyclone, sending bits of discarded paper twirling about several inches above the ground. The tiny bits of white and brown danced about the unkempt grounds of a rundown two story at the end of a near-abandoned street in suburban Bayville. The grass grew at uneven lengths, mostly due to numerous attempts by the residents to mow the grass, then giving up several minutes later. This pattern would repeat every two or three hours over a weekend before being forgotten entirely until a later date. The house itself was in a similar state of disrepair, almost to the point of becoming an eyesore. Paint was chipping everywhere, revealing at least four separate colors the house's exterior had possessed in the years since being constructed. All the windows were intact, however they were caked with a thin film of dirt and dried paint, again in a multitude of colors. The flattened piece of land that served as a driveway was devoid of a car, however tire marks and spots of oil decorated the cracked and barren dirt, dirt so mistreated nothing grew from it anymore. All this was observed by a pair of bright crystal eyes, flashing beneath deep black hair tipped scarlet. The young observer sat with her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins. A lone duffel bag was her only companion, the faded black object stuffed with all the belongings she saw fit to keep, which were decidedly scarce.
"Are you just gonna wait outside all day?" Frederick Dukes, a fellow resident of the decrepit house. A mutant, he possessed the unique power to create himself immovable, a gift aided by his immense size of nearly two tons.
"It's not that bad of a day out. I kind of like it." Wanda stated, still staring out into the street.
"Well, you can come in if you feel like it." Blob never had been adept at conversation.
"Thanks, Freddie, but I'm just going to wait out here if it's all the same to you." Freddie had never heard this phrase before, so the meaning behind it eluded him. As such, he continued, meanwhile trying to figure out how it would be different.
"You know, I don't see why you wanna move in with a bunch of boring jerks like the X squad. All they're gonna do is have you savin the world for people who'll just try and kill you anyway."
"I'm not joining them, I just want a roof over my head that doesn't leak, and food that you haven't laid claim to yet." She finally made eye contact with Freddie at the last part of her statement, making sure he caught her meaning behind it.
"I told you Wanda, I have a slow metabolism. I need to eat more than most." He responded, rubbing his rotund abdomen. Wanda's gut response was to roll her eyes.
"Yea, you've told me a few times. Look, I'm not joining up with stick-up-his-ass Summers or anything. All I'm doing is getting free food on Xavier's wallet," Wanda stated before, out of the corner of her eye, she spied a black conversion van, its side painted with a large Xavier symbol, a black X on a red field surrounded by a yellow circle. It was a risky endeavor considering the current unfavorable opinion of mutants; however the worst that had currently happened to the van was an incident in which it was egged by a crowd of bored seventh graders. Wanda grasped the cloth handles of her duffel bag with on hand. "I think that's the X-squad coming up now. Um, I'll see you later, I guess."
"Look, Wanda, remember that you've always got a place here. Don't let that Xavier guy play with your mind or anything." Had either Freddie or Wanda known the complete picture about their lives, Freddie's statement would have seemed downright sinister. As it was, it carried an astounding level of irony. Neither one of them was currently aware of it, but Wanda was not always the devoted daughter she was currently. Time was when Wanda held no greater dream, no greater desire, than to end her father's life with her own hands. She devoted sleepless nights and grueling days to this goal, at one point nearly succeeding. Her father, however, grew weary of her constant attempts and hired a telepathic mutant, one with less moral obligations than Xavier, to warp his own daughter's memories, from the tortured life she had actually led to false memories that cast him a decidedly more favorable light.
"I won't, Freddie," Wanda said, wrapping her long burgundy trench coat around herself despite the pleasant spring air. "And, um, thanks. Freddie." Freddie's eyes darted nervously, not used to the idea of being thanked for something.
"Well, don't mention it." He said quickly before ducking back inside the house. The van was now parked at the curb in front of the house, a statuesque woman with mocha skin and shimmering white hair standing outside the driver's side door. Wanda approached her apprehensively, having only heard about the woman through word of mouth.
"Hello child. Are you ready to leave?" Ororo Monroe spoke in a calm, dulcet tone. When one could control the entire weather with only their thoughts, it was important that one keep their emotions in check.
"Yea, I guess." Wanda's voice was a low grumble, low levels of disaffected anger with no suitable target, instead bouncing about her mind and her words. Ororo pulled open the side door of the van, motioning for Wanda to deposit her bag within, which she did, meeting the eyes of a blonde girl of similar age to Wanda, a pair of grey headphones covering her ears as she moved her arms animatedly to whatever music was pumping from the portable CD player.
"Wanda, this is Tabitha Smith, she will be joining the institute along with you." Tabitha pulled the plastic device from her head.
"Hey, love the outfit. Let me guess, red's your favorite color? No worries, I like someone that can pull off the monochromatic look. Call me Tabby. What's your name, girl?" Her smoky voice managed to express both a laid-back attitude and a limitless well of energy. She grinned as she spoke, her lip-gloss painted lips pulling back every so often to reveal a perfect set of pearly-white teeth.
"Wanda. Wanda Maximoff." She spoke with even more unease than when she had first walked over to the van. She climbed into the backseat of the large van, buckling herself in and wishing she had brought a book to read as Tabby began talking with the rapidity of a machine gun, relating stories and anecdotes about her short stay at the institute.
"They're really joining the school?" A deaf person could have picked up on the disbelief in Jean's voice. Checking her out from the hospital had been noticeably simple; the doctors diagnosing Jean with simple exhaustion before doing everything except tossing Jean out a window. It was overtly clear to all four of the mutants present that the staff of the hospital, at least the ones they came into direct contact with, wanted as little to do with the mutants as possible. The treatment hurt, but the four did their best to exit the hospital with as much dignity as possible. Scott had requested to drive Jean home in his own vehicle, a request neither Hank nor Charles could possibly deny. Now, following the van back up ninety-five toward Bayville, Scott was informing Jean on the issue currently on the lips of everyone residing within the Xavier school.
"The professor only told me about it last week. Apparently, he's been meeting with Gambit, Colossus and Boom-Boom for four months now, scanning their minds to make sure this isn't some scheme to get inside the school."
"Well, I understand Gambit and Colossus, but Tabitha? What sort of threat could she pose?"
"I know, Tabitha never really completely left the mansion," Scott joked, referring to Tabitha's deep friendship with Amara Aquilla, another resident of the institute. "But as the Professor explained it, he figures Tabitha has been away from the institute long enough to warrant a background check." Suddenly, the car in front of them turned onto an off ramp, causing Scott to hit the brakes hard. The abrupt leg movement caused his pants to tighten, the ring box in his pocket suddenly pressing into the muscle of his thigh. His mind immediately clouded with depressive thoughts concerning his aborted attempt at a proposal. Scott almost wanted to pull his convertible into the nearest rest stop and propose to her right then and there, but something held him back. I want to do this right. I want to show her how special she is, and I don't think a highway toilet is really-
"You are upset." No emotion lay in Jean's statement, which is exactly what it was. Not an observation, but a simple statement of fact. After she said it, however, a look of pure confusion swept across her features. Scott made sideways glances at his girlfriend, unsure about her statement.
"Uh…yea, a little bit," Said Scott, his voice shaky with what Jean had just said. "I'm, uh, just thinking about a lot right now." Scott said it quickly, but it was hardly a lie. Half of his thoughts were wrapped around the botched proposal, and the other, undoubtedly more dominant half of his thoughts were contemplating Jean's peculiar behavior all day. He counted the instances, first with the mirage that had appeared in her eye in the parking lot, then her "exhaustion", and finally he came to her extraordinary display of empathy. It wasn't so much the statement that bothered him as it was the tone of her voice. It…wasn't her, to put it simply. Jean had always had a gentle nature to her voice, a nature that simply wasn't there.
"Scott, are you ok?" With those four small words, the gentleness returned. Scott was barely able to keep his eyes on the road at this point. Jean's behavior was all over the map.
"I'm not who I'm worried about, Jean. Are you sure you feel alright?"
"Of course I'm fine. I've told you, I've just been a little stressed recently. How many times are you going to ask how I'm feeling?" Jean questioned, growing agitated at the frequency of this repeated question.
"Look, Jean, you'd tell me if you weren't doing well, right? You'd let me know if something was bothering you?"
"Of course, Scott. Why wouldn't I?" Jean's voice was full of honesty, and Scott could hardly resist smiling back at Jean.
"I'm just still a little worried about what happened earlier, that's all."
"Scott, I'm happy you care so much, but I really am ok. You worry too much sometimes."
"I just prefer to be cautious, Jean." Scott was unconvinced that his girlfriend was as well as she claimed, but he put it out of mind for the present. He concentrated instead on the upcoming induction of former enemies to the institute, hoping that, if his suspicions were correct, Jean would come to him with whatever was troubling her.
"Mon ami, yi gonna eat yo fries?" A crowded fast food restaurant somewhere in the downtown district of Bayville, filled with nine-to-fivers on lunch hour. Buried in a booth furthest from the counter, three bodies sat unconcerned with the rat race swarming about them.
"Da, Remy. My answer iz ze same az ze four times you haf asked me for my fries." Piotr Rasputin answered his friend, Remy Lebeau, as a small blonde girl, no older than, four, fidgeted in her seat, more concerned with the small plastic toy that had come with her meal than the conversation.
"De man gave me a medium when I ordared a large. All 'm askin fo is a few."
"Remy, I ordered an extra large for a reason. I am positive if you simply approach ze counter and explain your problem, zhey vill replace your fries."
"I already ate half de box. Dey ain't gonna replace anyt'ing."
"Remy, vhy are ve arguing about fries?" Piotr questioned, suddenly very confused about his friend's behavior. He had lived with Remy for almost two years, much of which was training under the despotic eye of Magneto, and never once had they argued during a meal. His friend had always been loud, constantly telling jokes and stories, a far cry from his own family, who viewed dinner as a quiet, solemn affair. At Piotr's question, Remy's eyes darted from right left in rapid motion behind his sunglasses, a motion noticed only by Piotr. Remy was visibly nervous.
"Dis ain't a good idea." He said quietly, taking a small bite out of his hamburger.
"You are referencing our joining ze X-men." Piotr said, lowering his voice as well. The opinion of mutants, while nowhere near as low as it had been directly after the Apocalypse debacle, was still nowhere near what any person would call favorable. Indeed, several groups had cropped up in the past two years since the fall of Apocalypse, most notably a group calling themselves the Friends of Humanity. Overall, members of these groups were responsible for over seven hundred attacks on mutants and mutant sympathizers, ten percent of which had resulted in fatalities. One could no longer refer to it as paranoia, now it was simply survival.
"Course 'm referencin de X-men," Remy snapped, in a tone harsher than what he had intended. "Sorry Petey, m' jus on edge bout all dis. You t'ink dese people just gonna accept us?"
"Zere professor seems confident zhat zhey vill in time. He seems trustworthy enough."
"Don' know bout all dat. De professor seems alraght 'nough, but yi givin any t'ought ti what Wolverine gonna do once we show up? O Summers? Don' t'ink dey gonna be as acceptin of us as de professor seems."
"I am not concerned vith zhem. I believe zhat zhey vill accept us vithen time."
Maybe yi, mon ami, but yi didn't kidnap one o dere own." Piotr noted the slight twinge of regret in Remy's voice, a striking change from the boisterous personality he usually carried around.
"You made zhat choice yourself, Remy."
Mi father was kidnapped! What did yi 'xpect mi ti do?," Remy shouted, drawing the curious eye of several nearby restaurant patrons. He lowered his voice before continuing. "I hate dat S.O.B. wit all mi heart, but he still de man dat raised me. Ain't nothing gonna change dat." Remy's eyes dropped low, focusing on his food and refusing to meet the eyes of his friend. Suddenly, there was a pulling on his black t-shirt, the small thin arm of Piotr's baby sister Illyana seated next to him in a booster seat.
"Mr. Remy?" She stared up at him with large blue eyes, her wispy blonde hair framing her face. Even the most hardened misanthrope would have a difficult time not finding this child endearing.
"Wat di yi need, enfant peu?"
"делает та середина S.OB.?" Remy's eyes grew so wide one could almost see their unique nature, even with the black aviators he was wearing. Remy had not picked up much Russian during his time with Piotr, only small phrases and words, not even enough to get by a day in Moscow. However, he could tell by her tone and the naturally curious nature of children that she wanted to know what S.O.B. stood for, a question he had no intentions of answering. Still, he hemmed and hawed for several seconds before Piotr interrupted, rescuing Remy from this uncomfortable situation.
"Illyana, vhat did I tell you about repeating what Mr. Remy says?" Illyana took on an exaggerated look of deep thought. The young girl spoke Russian easier then she spoke English, however, she had been though enough by her brother so that she could get by.
"You told me…not to repeat anything he says?"
"Da. Remember, Mr. Remy says many bad zhings," Remy arched an eyebrow at this comment, but did not say anything. "You should pay him any heed."
"Ok Peta." Illyana gurgled happily before turning back to her toy, the question resolved in her mind. Piotr smiled at her joy before turning his attention to his friend.
"Remy, vhat did I tell you about your language and my sister?" Remy smiled sheepishly at his friend.
"Je suis desole, Piotr. Yi know how talking bout mi father gets me."
"I am aware of your hostility towards him. However, I vould ask zhat you vatch your language around my sister." Remy popped the last of his burger into his mouth, washing it down with a large gulp of soda before carelessly grabbing his brown leather trench coat off the back of his chair and shrugging the battered article of clothing onto his shoulders. He plucked a single cigarette from an open pack of Marlboros within a pocket of the coat before turning back to face his friend.
"Noted, mon ami. Yi bout ready ti hit de road?"
Scott pulled into the garage of the mansion, turning through the rotary section of the winding driveway with the precision only afforded by the fanciest of sports cars. He, much like earlier in the day, helped Jean out of her seat and shut her door, leading her into the mansion's kitchen with her fingers entwined in his.
"I understand the professor's hurry to get back here and all, but I'm still not sure why we couldn't stop by my dorm to grab my books. Seriously, the trip would have taken all of five minutes."
"Sorry, this is just a really weird day for everyone. Look, Jean, I'll take you down there tomorrow, ok? Besides, I'm pretty sure I still owe you a lunch." replied Scott with a smile, a smile which Jean returned.
"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Suddenly, Jean grimaced and, letting go of Scott's hand, clutched her forehead, a move that sent Scott into a panicked state.
"Jean, are you ok?" What happened next would perplex Scott until his dying day. Jean held her forehead in pain for an eternal second, then, as though this was purely instinct, Jean stood tall, her normally green eyes almost red with intensity. However, before he could register this new behavior, everything was gone. Jean was there, the same Jean Scott had fell in love with from the moment he laid eyes on her.
"I am fine, Scott. I think I should lie down, however." Scott was hardly about to disagree with her at this point. She just needs a good night's rest, that's all Scott. You've been watching too much X-Files, he thought, explaining away his own nagging paranoia. With their hands clasped together once more, they pushed open the swinging door leading out into the luxurious foyer, a move that startled Rogue, sending her jumping back several inches.
"Gah! Scott, dohn't scare meh lahke thaht," the Southern Goth gasped before noticing Jean right next to him. "Jean? When'd ya get back hehre?"
"I just walked in, Rogue. I'm taking a few days off of school to get my head straight."
"Oh…um, welcome bahck, Ah guess," Rogue mumbled. It was no secret to the majority of the institute that Rogue had harbored an intense crush on Scott when she first moved into the institute, a crush that had led to highly antagonistic between her and Jean. When Jean and Scott finally did begin to date as an official couple, it was suspected by most of the residents that she had somewhat begrudgingly given up on this crush. However, the caustic feeling between her and Jean and never fully dissipated.
"Uh, Rogue, why were you just hanging out by the kitchen door?" Scott questioned. Scott was possibly the only person who remained unaware of Rogue's crush on him. Far from it, he saw Rogue as a fierce and determined somewhat introverted, teammate and friend.
"Ah…Ah dohn't know," Rogue said after several seconds of silence, sounding just as perplexed by her answer as any outside observer. "Ah remembah comin down tha stairs, and Ah remembah Ah was fumin about that Swamp rat joinin this place…than, Ah cahn't remembah anything til just now." Scott arched an eyebrow; a move he was noticing was happening a lot.
"I think there's a full moon or something. This entire day has been weird since the sun came up. Hey, I'm going to get Jean settled, I'll talk to you later Rogue, I hope you feel ok."
"Me too, Rogue. I hope things are going well for you here." Jean said with a warm smile and voice. Rogue returned her smile with depressed eyes rimmed in purple.
Uh, yea, Ah'll talk to ya'll later." As Scott and Jean walked up the grand staircase that filled the middle of the entrance foyer, Rogue couldn't help but feel a deep twinge of jealousy, jealousy that almost instantly melded with rage from the bowels of her heart.
First Ah fahnd out thaht stupid swamp rat is comin hehre, and now little miss perfect shows bahck up. How much worse cahn mah day get? Just as Rogue finished her thought, the massive main doors of the mansion swung open, producing Ororo Monroe, with Wanda and Tabitha in tow. Tabitha strutted in with the cat-like gait of a ego driven supermodel, a large pink suitcase wheeling behind her.
"Hey, it's the Rogue! How ya doin? Still got the Goth look, huh? That's cool, you pull it off, you and Wanda both. Oh my god, you should so check out this new store they got down at the mall, you'd love it! Anyway, how ya been?" Rogue stared blankly at the smiling face of Tabitha Smith, the girl's rapid fire word delivery taking a moment to register in her brain.
"Ah'm doin fahne, Tabitha. Ah think ya should go fahnd Amara, though, she's been anxious tah see yah back hehre." Rogue was only half lying. While it was true that Amara was indeed looking forward to having her best friend back within the institute's walls, Rogue was desperately hoping the mention of Amara would be enough to send Tabitha off somewhere else, leaving Rogue with the solitude she so craved.
"Oooo, where is that girl? I haven't seen her in a while. We've got catching up to do!" Rogue's wishes were fulfilled as Tabitha strutted off, suitcase in hand, in search of her companion. Ororo gave Rogue a small smile once Tabitha was in another room.
"She will calm down once she and Amara have had a chance to talk. One of their meetings is often all it takes." From behind Ororo came Wanda, a near-psychotic scowl painted across the lower half of her face. She dropped her duffel bag onto the red and gold carpeting that ran wall to wall across the entire room and up the middle of the stairs.
"I want to kill that girl. I want to kill her in horrific ways." Ororo shifted an admonishing glare Wanda's way.
"Wanda, I realize that you and Tabitha are somewhat different, and I also realize that Tabitha is in a somewhat hyperactive mood today. However, that is no excuse for an outburst of that nature." Wanda's scowl disappeared to an extent, now one of mere dissatisfaction rather than manic nature. She rolled her eyes before answering Ms. Monroe.
"Right. Um, is there any way I can get something to drink? I'm really thirsty." Wanda asked in a voice that was half pleading, half growling. It was the voice of someone in need but too proud to admit it.
"Of course, child," said Ororo, her voice still as calm as ever. "Rogue, would you mind showing Wanda the kitchen?" Rogue was stunned at Ororo's request. Guess tha integration starts now, she thought with surprise, suddenly faced with an enemy as a person.
Sure thang. It's raight though hehre." Ororo gracefully walked up the main staircase towards her greenhouse as Rogue pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen, holding it open for Wanda.
The students were all in full uniform in one of the larger ground-floor rooms, standing at attention, although fidgeting slightly. Everyone, with the exception of Jean, was present, ready to greet the new students. Tabitha, being a familiar face even to the youngest of recruits, was hardly a novelty and was largely greeted as an old friend. Wanda, on the other hand, was gifted at most a wave and brief eye contact. The only people who had said more than two words to the mysterious girl were Ororo and Rogue. Even Rogue, who appeared to share a plethora of similar interests with the girl, had found herself tongue-tied around Wanda. Remy and Piotr had shown up at precisely six fifty-five, a fact Piotr blamed on Remy. Piotr had immediately moved, along with Illyana, to the furthest chair from anyone else, his apprehensiveness plain to anyone. Tabitha was sitting as close to Amara as possible, attempting to break her concentration by making goofy faces. Amara was holding up thus far, but she was close to cracking, the corners of her lips twitching as Tabitha stuck her tongue out again. Remy had sprawled out on a couch in full view of the elders of the institute, his relaxed position suggesting he had lived within this mansion for years. Xavier had been speaking on the current state of relations between mutants and humans, and although he had speaking for near twenty minutes, his entire speech could be summed up in three words: relations were poor.
"We mutants are facing dark times. As more of us reveal themselves to the world, the violence and prejudice increases. However, as more mutants reveal themselves, more of the public, mutants and non, are looking to us for an example, an example I am proud to say has been nothing but exemplary. Now, with our new recruits, I hope to continue that shining example. So, to former students and former enemies, I welcome you our fold. Welcome to the Xavier Institute."
A/N: I don't own any of these characters; they are the property of Marvel and their creators. Not an action packed chapter this time; just exposition. Be patient, though, there is action coming. I would like to thank everyone who reviewed; the reviews are what keep me writing. I will update as soon as possible.