Author's Note:
First XMEN Fanfiction, first story on this site-- please review, any imput is appreciated, and I DO NOT own X-Men Evolution, otherwise there would be a character by my name in there wreaking havok ^_^.
~BianKa/Bianquis
17:32
Ramey Base, Puerto Rico
You'd think that living on a tropical island would save you from certain problems that go on everywhere else. In its own way, it does, but this was one issue that I couldn't escape from.
The sound of the TV blaring in the living room down the hall could be heard from my room, even through the solid wooden door and the cement walls. The news overflowed with reports translated into Spanish from around the world, all in regards to mutants. As selfish as it was, mutants taking over the world wasn't at the top of my list of things to worry about. While everyone debated over the issue of them becoming a part of society, my biggest issue was more of a local one.
Correction: it was about as personal as the matter could possibly get.
"Chiquita, you okay?" My mother's voice came from beyond my door, followed by a sharp knock. I didn't say anything, hoping that maybe she would just assume I was sleeping. "You need to eat something."
"I know," I sighed in Spanish, loud enough for her to hear. "I'll be out in a second."
"Okay…"
With a grunt I sat up in my bed and stretched. My arms and back cracked, the bruises I couldn't clearly remember receiving protesting the movements. My body felt sore and my head was a whirlwind, shifting from pain to dizziness at the most inopportune of moments. Right now there was simply a dull pounding against my forehead, the best I'd felt since last night.
Last night... I couldn't remember much after I'd gone crazy. I knew that I'd run out of the party, through the city, and somehow collapsed on my bed without having my mother even question my arrival, but everything after I had spoken to Cristina was a blur I didn't want to clarify.
"Chiquita…" I jumped, not having noticed that my mother was still standing at the closed door. "Don't stress yourself too much over Andrew. You'll find someone better soon enough." This time I heard the slapping of her sandals against her heels as she walked away, but I didn't calm until I was certain that she'd gone beyond earshot. I sighed, the anxiety returning.
As much as I wanted to lie to myself and pretend that I couldn't remember the party, I couldn't fool my own head, or forget the memories that were so clearly etched behind my eyelids. Closing my eyes, I allowed the memories to play unbridled for a few minutes, in hopes they'd lose their novelty by the time sleep came around.
Flashback:
One Night Earlier
Something bad was about to happen.
The get-together was in full swing, my cousin, Chino, managing the music like the professional DJ that he was as people moved around, dancing in corners or under the stars in the backyard. Andrew and I were lounging on a sofa, watching a game of truth or dare that some of my classmates were playing. Compared to the parties that we'd had in this house over the summer, this one was particularly low-key, and considering that the alcohol had been kept to a minimum and all the bedrooms had been locked, I couldn't understand the paranoid feeling creeping up my spine.
"Baby, something wrong?" he repeated, squeezing my shoulder. I hadn't even noticed that Andrew was speaking to me, so I mustered up a smile and patted his hand.
"It's nothing."
He looked at me for a moment with his dark eyes, but eventually returned my false smile with a real one. "Okay, Chiquita..." he said, and kissed my forehead.
I winced, another wave of anxiety washing over. He pulled back to look at me, and I struck my poker face again. This time he fixed his steady gaze firmly, and I knew there'd be no avoiding it unless I got away soon. Chuckling nervously, I looked around for an excuse to leave and noticed the drink in my hand. "Whoops, guess I had too much to drink," I said, quickly standing up.
"You don't drink," he reminded me. I held up my plastic cup of Coke.
"Yes, I do." He shook his head, but a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. "Warm soda can't be healthy, so I'm gonna get myself another. You want?"
"I'm fine, loquita," he answered, waving a hand. "Be back quickly?"
"Claro que si," I called with a wink, already down the hall and heading into the kitchen.
Set across the kitchen counter were several bowls of chips, dip and picadillos, finger food of the best kind. Two girls were whispering to each other and hovering over a cell phone, most likely expecting a text. I recognized one as Andrew's cousin, Cristina, but the other girl was just another mini-drama queen from the 9th grade, so I'd never bothered to learn her name. Brushing past them, I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a liter of soda.
They immediately went silent, but that wasn't anything new: all of the kids seem to have a slight aversion to me. My mother had once suggested that it had to do with the fact that I didn't look like them, but my jeans and white camisole were hardly anything compared to the gothic phase that I went through during freshman year. "Intimidation" had been the eventual verdict behind the masses' strange behavior, but whatever it was that intimidated them, it was unintentional on my part. Ignoring them, I pushed my cup to the ice dispenser.
"Andrea, I heard about what happened with Andrew."
The one who had spoken was Cristina, a sympathetic look on her face as she came to stand next to me. We'd spoken at their family reunions since Andrew and I had gotten together a couple of months ago, but we weren't what anyone would consider to be close, so I found this to be somewhat odd. Then again, most girls tended to do this when "tragedy" arose, extending friendship where there would have never been an opportunity.
Figuring she was talking about our row the other day, I shrugged. "Stuff happens. When people get angry, they say and do things they don't mean." A quiet fizzing noise came out of the bottle as I cracked away the cap, the familiar sharp smell reaching my nose. She seemed surprised.
"So you forgave him?"
"Well, yeah," I said, shrugging again. Why was she reacting so strongly? "It wasn't as if he was serious about it." She nodded sagely in agreement, patting my bare arm with a sweaty hand—the night was strangely hot, and suddenly I felt the need for a drink—not of the carbonated kind, but rather a drink with a more alcoholic base. The prospect of just a soda without anything to spike it seemed bland, and that made me feel strangely irritable. So distracted I was by this alien desire that I almost didn't hear what she said next.
"You're right. I mean, it's obvious he loves you, not that skank, Frances."
Ice water seemed to plummet into my insides, and the Coke liter shook in my suddenly tight grip. There was no delayed reaction in which I realized what she had meant because it had dawned on me as she was saying it.
The fake worry and sympathy were blown away by pity and annoyance: the moment she'd touched me she'd projected that she thought me a fool for being with him, for allowing him to disrespect me so. There wasn't a sliver of doubt: I had known something was off about how I was being looked at, and I had known that it wasn't just the jealousy-ridden, fight-seeking wildcat inside of me that had kept wondering about that girl. The paranoia was coming from somewhere, and it only took a moment to put two and two together and see that it was from him.
The rage that overcame me was so strong that I wasn't sure if I imagined the heat rising in the room as my eyes washed over with red. Without a word, I clutched the liter in both hands and swiftly left the kitchen, my whole body vibrating with emotion as I entered the living room and saw him sitting there lazily, a brief smile lighting his face when he saw me.
Then he really looked, and the smile vanished as he stood to his feet.
"Chiquita, what's—"
"Who the HELL do you think you are?" I yelled, advancing on him. He just stood there, unable to speak for a moment, and I pushed him in the chest, hard enough that he tripped back and had to circle away to keep from falling onto the couch.
"Chiquita—"
"Don't you dare call me that!" I shouted, even louder. He stared at me in shock, and that only fueled my anger. "You're a liar, a cheating, lying BASTARD!"
To anyone else, his expression would have looked the same, and even to me, it did, but I felt it—the moment of realization, and the same cold feeling I'd experienced only moments before, backed with a tiny pang of guilt that was all his own.
However, him being the master I'd never known him to be, he just played it off and pulled me into an embrace.
"Andrea, I don't know what you're—"
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I screamed, hitting his chest until he released me and backing away with clenched fists.
"Baby, I swear—"
"SHUT UP!" I chucked the nearly-full liter of soda at him with as much force as I could muster. When it came in contact with his face, his head collided into the wall with a sickening crack, and several girls in the room began to scream. He momentarily lost his balance and grunted in pain as he stumbled over his feet, reaching for anything to keep from falling to the floor. I stepped forward to shove him again but a pair of hands held me back as his friends rushed forward to help him.
"Danielle, calm down!"
I struggled against the boy's hold, kicking and thrashing out as I watched the people crowd around Andrew, the poor and helpless victim. They looked at me in horror, mouths open and eyes filled with anger. I distantly noticed that the one holding me was my elementary school "boyfriend" Robert, the first kid who'd made use of the name after the hyphen in Andrea-Danielle, and had eventually proposed in the playground.
I'd had the sweetest people around me, and wasted my time on this liar and his false promises.
Suddenly I no longer felt hurt, only the insatiable need to hurt him, to kill Andrew.
"Let me go!" I roared, and broke one of my arms loose. He tried to clamp my arm down, but I brought the heel of my shoe down hard against his shin, leaving what I was sure would be a nasty bruise. He cried out in pain and I flinched, the sound of his agony seeming twice as loud in my ears until I broke away.
I collided straight into the chest of one of Andrew's friends, and this one wasn't quite as gentle. Reaching down he hoisted me onto his shoulder, unceremoniously lifting me about six feet into the air. Despite the change in elevation I continued to struggle, the need for blood almost vital. I clawed against his back and the arms that were binding me, my eyes fixed on Andrew's slumped form against the couch.
"Andrea, what are—" Andrew grunted and looked up at me, his eyes both confused and scared.
Something's wrong, this isn't Andrea. Despite everything, being so violent isn't normal… even coming from a girl as temperamental as her.
As he blacked out, I realized the lack of orthography in my thoughts.
A girl as temperamental as me.
Why would I think of myself in third person?
In the breath I took to think of that, I became desperate, not for violence, but for peace. I knew he was wrong, but this just didn't seem like the way to go about it—Andrew was a really good guy, he could just make some stupid mistakes when it came to women. It wasn't worth killing him over, neither of them deserved that. I stopped fighting for a moment, somewhat whiplashed by my change of heart.
Whose side am I on, anyway?
Jordan set me down carefully, the whole room in a hush. "Andrea, are you better now?" he asked quietly, both hands on my shoulders, whether as a restraint or for comfort, I couldn't tell. I felt lightheaded, that was how I felt. I looked around in a daze, and through all of the gaping faces, I saw her.
I hadn't been sure as to whether I wanted to hurt him or not, but I knew for certain that she was somebody I wanted to kill.
Fear filled her face, and I tasted it like salt. Faster than I even knew I could move I was in front of her, her shirt balled in my hands as I pushed her up against a wall. She cried out and several people rushed forward but I didn't release her. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought her face close to mine, those watery green eyes that had enticed him meeting mine with terror. Her fear paralyzed my body, but couldn't dominate the rage that belonged to me and the women in the room.
About time somebody kicked her ass...
I chuckled, my grin widening as her eyes grew large. "Doesn't seem like such a bright idea now, does it?" I asked, just loud enough for her to hear. "You figured everyone would protect you, but obviously, you don't know who you're dealing with... you're nothing but an insect," I hissed just as I got pulled away by Jordan and thrown to the floor.
Cold gripped me tighter than any of them had, and the sudden silence made my throat catch. Finally nobody was touching me, nobody could influence me, but... I wanted so much, I just couldn't move fast enough, or be in enough places to do anything. I was shaking with the aftershock of all of the anger, so overridden with emotion that I didn't even notice why the girl clinging to Andrew was really screaming.
I looked up and was met with brown eyes, wild as an animal and flashing gold at the edges of the irises. A mane of untamed pitch hair haloed the strong-featured pale face, falling past her shoulders and to her lower back. I blinked, and realized it was my own reflection staring back at me from one of the mirrored vases scattered about the house. Immediately I scrambled away, covering my mouth in horror. This was more than just an angry outburst.
Those eyes weren't human... but they were mine.
I looked around wildly and was met with the expressions I'd expected—no, known—would appear on each of their faces. I knew exactly what each of them felt, and would have given anything for it to have just been intuition, but my eyes couldn't be hidden, and I decided it was neither the time nor place to be caught confused or anything less than completely armed. As swiftly as this whole scene had come to pass, I got to my feet and ran past everybody out the front door, not caring for the hour of the night or for the fact that it was easily ten minutes to my house.
I just needed to run until I found the person that I'd lost in my own mind.
End Flashback
Nobody had followed me home, but Chino had stopped by to make sure I'd gotten back safe early in the morning. It would seem that he had been the one to tell my mother of Andrew's cheating antics and my temper tantrum, and I was grateful that she was leaving me alone to think things through.
Cristina, Andrew, Robert, Jordan and Frances—I couldn't explain exactly how, but something had happened that had laid them out to me: their desires, values, forms of thinking... They were now the most predictable people in the world. All I remembered feeling was from their perspective: Cristina's cravings, Andrew's paranoia, Robert's hatred towards Andrew, but the frustration of holding me back when he longed for a fight... it was confusing, and even more so that I was calm with the fact that this wasn't normal.
I shouldn't be able to understand them so thoroughly.
Running a hand through my hair, I forced myself to stand. I could quite possibly blame my outburst on a temper that nobody had ever heard of. Most of my issues were in the mind anyways, not like the one guy the authorities had tried to detain in San Juan for setting the plaza on fire. Then again, it could have just been a one-time thing and have nothing to do with mutation: things would return to normal then, right?
Right...?
Shaking my head, I turned the lock on the door knob with a click and pushed it open into somebody.
"Sorry, I didn't—" My muttered apology was cut short as I took him in. The person I'd hit was a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, his complexion white and his hair blue-black. He was dressed in jeans with a jean jacket over a white T-shirt, clothes that were casual enough, but his stance was tense, coiled to spring at the slightest sign of danger, and it was intoxicating just how alert he was. Nothing escaped those piercing eyes and that sensitive nose as he sniffed the air, not even me. He turned his head and sized me up out of the corner of his eye.
"Found her," he said with a grunt. Before I could react, my mother turned around and smiled excitedly at me.
"Andrea, this is Mr. Logan, from that school I mentioned to you," she said, her cheeks warm and her smile wide. She'd mentioned some prep school calling to offer a scholarship, but the details had been sketchy and she'd been waiting for the school's representative to come and talk to us. I'd almost forgotten completely, what with all the other worries crowding in my head and begging for attention.
"Um… cool," I said, trying to feign enthusiasm. She was too excited to really pay much attention and hurried to the kitchen, most likely to make coffee. I eyed the teacher warily, but when I didn't sense any danger from him or any fear from my family throughout the house, I followed him to the living room, idly noticing that the TV had been turned off. An older man in a wheelchair turned his chair to face me properly as I entered the room, a welcoming smile on his face.
"Hello, Andrea," he said, nodding. I eyed him suspiciously, and gave everyone else a quick once-over. Two older teens, obviously a couple: the woman was a redhead, and it didn't take any heightened sensitivity to feel the critical perfectionism she applied to herself. The male was tall and wore a pair of deep red sunglasses, the lenses far too heavy to be a cheap, gas station pair. He was dressed neatly, as was the older man and the girl; this would have led me to believe they were here on business were it not for the so-named Logan's alertness. I looked back at the older man.
"I'm Professor Charles Xavier," he continued, and motioned to his companions. "This is Scott Summers and this is Jean Grey. They are both students at my school, and I'm here to speak with you and your parents about quite possibly enrolling you with us."
"I'm in my junior year," I stated, unsure as to why anyone would be interested in enrolling me halfway through high school. "How'd you find me, anyway?"
"I believe it would be best if we discussed this with your parents present," he said, skillfully avoiding my questions. There I knew: this wasn't a normal visit, and I could tell by the tenseness in the younger man's shoulders.
"You mean, discuss with my mother," I corrected, plastering a smile on my face as she entered the room. "My father doesn't live with us."
"We've been separated for about nine years now," she explained, motioning for everyone to sit down. The couple settled into one couch and the Professor rolled next to it, Mr. Logan standing next to him. I settled next to my mom at the other couch. "I assume you've already met my daughter, Andrea? They've told me that this school would be good for your abilities," she said, addressing me with a proud smile.
My breath stopped in my chest and I looked toward the Professor. He was staring at me evenly, almost confirming what I dreaded without a single word. Shaking my head, I stood up, making Mr. Logan bristle. Crazy imagination, making up misunderstandings where there shouldn't be any. They were talking about math or science or some other scholastic ability.
They couldn't possibly know.
"Andrea, please listen to us," the Professor said calmly, but I was too busy trying not to panic to attempt a calm demeanor. Crossing my arms, I stood between the door and the sofa, focusing my eyes on the older man. I could feel it now: he was perceptive like me. The way he looked at me and the way he looked at my mother—he knew the way that I knew, only different. My gut feelings were nothing in comparison to the strength I felt from this man, and I didn't want to take a step closer.
"I'm listening," I answered stiffly through tight lips. My mother glared, appalled at my rudeness, but the Professor simply accepted it with a nod and turned to my mother. The redhead still looked at me, but I averted my gaze from her: she made me uncomfortable.
"It has come to our attention that your daughter has exhibited particularly... exceptional gifts," he began, but my mother still looked between us with the same confused expression, waiting for the moment of enlightenment. I gulped. She could be too perceptive for her own good, too.
"Andrea, how would you feel if you explained?" the redhead suggested, a smile on her face. I stared at her.
"May I ask what this is about?"
Ignoring my mother's cold tone, I continued to stare. Were they for real? "Exactly what are they talking about?" my mother asked me in Spanish, but I dismissed her again. "Andrea!"
"How do you guys expect me to know?" I asked. My voice was smooth, but I couldn't stop it from catching at the end. I gulped again, and took a deep breath. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"We're like you, Andrea, and we only want to help," the so-named Scott Summers said, smiling carefully at me. I sized him up: in a fight, he would have the upper hand. I took another step back.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I insisted, daring him with my eyes to object. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly—"
"How about you tell us exactly what happened last night?"
This time my mother and I tensed up at the same time. I had no idea what to say, but my mother knew all too well how to react. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed, getting to her feet. I looked at the man, curious and wary at the same time. I needed to know something. "What happens in my daughter's personal life is her business! A school should have nothing to do with that! Andrea, go--"
Call me Danielle.
Xavier smiled. "Alright then. Danielle?"
I knew it. This man had heard me speak to him without words, and had heard without error.
"How did you know?" I asked out loud, and he answered the way I had spoken to him before.
We have our ways. We only want to help, Danielle.
"How do I know you're not one of them?" I didn't have to specify that I was referring to mutant-hunters.
I do believed that I've proven myself to be a mutant myself, haven't I?
I sighed. Something felt off, but it was about time that I got things clear with my mother at least. "Mom, there's something I have to tell you." She looked at me, the distress apparent in everything about her. It pulled me, but I forced myself to ignore it before I began to mirror her as well. "Something... strange happened last night."
"Chino told me that Andrew..." she trailed off meaningfully. Uncrossing my arms, I stuffed my hands into my shorts pockets and looked down at my shoes. "You don't have to talk about it if you're uncomfortable, we can wait until later."
"Don't worry, it's not that." Biting my lip, I looked up at the Professor, who nodded in encouragement. I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Well, you already know I've always been very sensitive, right?" I began, and she nodded, clearly not knowing what this had to do with anything. "Well, lately it's been getting worse."
"The panic attacks?"
"Well, yeah, but that's not what I mean." Her need to understand was jerking at my tongue, so I tried my best to word it out as quickly as possible. "I mean that I can... well, I feel what another person is feeling at any given time."
Her doubt made me feel embarrassed and I looked away, more towards the kitchen area. "I'm not sure what triggers it, or why last night I went crazy, but I felt Andrew's paranoia, and thought that maybe it was a panic attack coming on, so I moved away from him to calm down. In the kitchen Cristina accidentally told me what he'd been doing, and while she was talking to me, I felt an almost uncontrollable need to drink something strong, with Don Q and Pasoa or something..." I felt I could go on about all the things I'd been craving, but chose to leave it there to keep the girl from getting into any more trouble.
"Cristina's just going through one of those phases, y'know? That, added onto how I felt about Andrew... it was overwhelming, and I lost it," I muttered. I didn't want to say anymore, and distantly hoped that was enough information.
"What do you mean, 'lost it'?" the redhead, Jean, inquired. I mentally sighed, and decided to elaborate.
"I don't remember too much. I know that I became very violent and knocked out my ex-boyfriend with a bottle of soda, but half of the tension wasn't even mine. It was scary, but also kind of..." How did you describe that unbridled feeling?
Exhilarating, that's what...
A moment of silence passed, and my mom spoke up. "Well, we all have our tempers," she reasoned, laughing lightly. "And anyways, the little ass deserved it." Her attempt at lightheartedness was so fake that I doubted she was fooling anybody. A snort from the short man proved me correct.
"Logan, would you please go check on the X-Van?" the Professor asked, somewhat crisply. Shaking his head and smiling to himself, left. I flushed pink: this was going to be hard. Once he was gone, the Professor cleared his throat and addressed my mother.
"Now, Mrs. Cruz, I understand that it may be hard to consider what Andrea is going through right now," he said calmly, "but these changes are not the same that are to be expected of all children."
"What are you trying to say?" my mother challenged, an attempt to cover up the fact that she was worried and scared. "You want to lock her up in an institution, too?" I lowered my head at this: here, children who knew too much were cured in a more "scientific and humane" form.
He must have sensed my embarrassment, because the Professor quickly veered the conversation away from that subject. "No, not lock her up," he quickly corrected. "Just help her to learn control of her gifts, and provide an environment where she will be safe to grow with others like her."
"I know there are plenty of kids who are sensitive like Andrea, but it's really not that big of a—"
Before she could continue, I turned on the TV. "He means gifts like those people have, Mom." My tone was unintentionally icy, but I didn't care. My mother finally sat back down and was frozen in place, her eyes glued to the television in horror as the three visitors stayed silent. I turned to my mother. "Being this sensitive isn't normal, Mom."
"She's... a mutant?" she whispered. I couldn't help but flinch: she'd said it, the taboo word.
"Yes, Mrs. Cruz, she is," the Professor stated, folding his hands on his lap. "Unlike most young mutants, it would seem that your daughter's telepathic gifts began to develop at a much younger age than would be expected. Now, though, it is clear that she cannot continue to hide her powers as she did before."
"Powers?" she repeated, incredulous. "These... episodes can hardly qualify as--!"
"The mutant gene can take many forms, ma'am," Jean interjected. "The Professor and I are both telepaths, and several of the students at the Institute have very unique abilities."
"I don't care about—" she stopped herself and took a deep breath. "I'm not too sure that I follow. You people come out of nowhere to tell me that my daughter can suddenly read minds, and I'm supposed to believe you? I think it would be best if you all just--"
"Mom, don't you get it?!" I snapped before anybody else could respond. "They're right, okay?" The tears in her eyes were what made me lower my voice. She knew the truth, but didn't want to face it out of fear of what would happen once I was thrown into the world as a living target.
"Mom...I've spent all my life thinking something was wrong with me, and now I know the reason why," I whispered, trying to get her to see things from my perspective. She shook her head stubbornly, and I realized I couldn't take much more. "Look, just... think about it, okay? This isn't easy to accept, and I could use your help."
As I was turning to go, the Professor called my name. "Look, I need to blow off some steam, okay?" I said apologetically, pulling my hair into a ponytail. "I really don't know who you people are, but we can talk later about whatever it is you came to talk about. This is a lot for her to take in at once."
And for you, I'm sure.
The voice this time came from the redhead, her tone sympathetic. I swallowed hard and turned away, already starting to run before I'd even gotten to the doorway.
It's nothing new, just proof that it's not all in my head.
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
Xavier's POV
This was going to be much more difficult than I'd thought.
The woman hadn't spoken for several minutes, simply gone over the conversation we'd just had over and over in her head. Scott and Jean were restless, so I sent them to wait outside with Logan; having too many people present was making the woman nervous.
"Um, Professor?" Scott looked in from the hallway, an unsure look on his face.
"Yes, Scott?"
Mrs. Cruz looked up wearily, but her face lit with recognition as a short, heavy-weight eighteen-year-old walked in. His black braids ran across his head in an intricate design and his worn A-shirt hung from his muscular frame as he walked in breathlessly, worry etched on his sweaty face.
"Tía, bendicion, donde esta la Chiquita?"he asked, looking around in hopes that his cousin would appear.
"Que paso, Gianni?"
"I need to find her, it's important," he said, and moved to the living room.
As stood to her feet, I took tabs on the situation from his surface thoughts and relayed them urgently to Scott, Jean and Logan.
"She's in danger. We have to hurry."