So, I guess I'm a little late with this… just a little. Oh, God. Well, saw this floating around on my computer, and I realized some people might want me to finish it. Yeah… Okay, I'm sorry! I'll try to do better. Promise. Pinky swear.
I now feel like I'm five.
STEVE – 9:30 AM
Truth.
No one spoke, the room silent except for the hum of idle hardware echoing from some distant corner of the room.
Steve glanced around the table at the faces of his friends. Claudia watched the Victorian with wide eyes glistening with hero-worship, Pete much the same but tempered by a clear attraction and a new level of respect. Myka sat with a spine ramrod straight, brow furrowed and lips slightly parted as though a thousand thoughts were flying through behind those eyes, all contradiction and nothing strong enough to be conclusive. Standing at the head of the table, Artie's features, as ever, were rough and unreadable but noticeably lacking any show of surprise.
Helena shifted awkwardly. "I – there were very few of us then, and very few of them. Mutants and members of the Brotherhood, I mean." Her words held none of the flair, none of the proud confidence she seemed to otherwise emanate. " We both kept ourselves hidden, but I was perhaps a less careful in my foolhardy youth than I ought to have been. I was found, and the Black Diamond was nothing if not persistent. Common citizens and the law had no real knowledge of us. I had little choice but to be the huntress or the hunted."
Truth again. More or less. Steve couldn't shake the feeling that something was being left out of that stumbling explanation.
"Yeah, well," Artie interrupted, "either you missed a few, or someone's done their homework and decided to play copy-cat, and that would've taken a lot of research. The Brotherhood isn't something well documented." His tone was harsh, full of blame, and it caught Steve off-guard.
The Brit frowned and looked down at the table.
"How this happened doesn't matter now," Myka spoke up, breaking the slight atmosphere of animosity developing between the newcomer and the older man. "What are we going to do about it?"
"Wait and play catch up," the senior agent replied a little abashed. "Even though we have nothing to catch up with. Mrs. Fredric is in contact with Europe and the board. We can assume they're searching. But for now, you're all still on call 24/7, and Mrs. Fredric will be with Cerebra around the clock. Now I've got to go try to put names and faces to our victims. I expect you four to brief Ms. Wells on what is expected of her as a member of the X-Men. Dismissed."
Without another word, the grizzled man walked away.
MYKA – 10:00 AM
When she made it to her room, Myka was surprised to see that the antique clock on her dresser read 10:00 AM . She opened the drawer below it in search of suitable dress slacks. She'd woken up in a terrible state only 5 hours ago, but for once the dreams and memories from three-years past were nothing more than vague images - MacPherson's outline as he escaped up a marble staircase, Sam's eyes as the life faded from them. It was as if it had been weeks since they'd last plagued her rather than a mere quarter of a day.
But here I am, recalling them to mind, Myka scolded herself.
Work was surely her reprieve. There was little room for ghosts to do more than peek out from their dark, musty corners when the Brotherhood had just been thrown on your plate. And not to mention the arrival of HG Wells, who just happened to break your every eidetic conception of what your childhood hero had been like. That woman was an anomaly – thus far, not a terrible one, but still a ripple in Myka's cautiously constructed and carefully ordered world.
A tired sigh fell from her lips as she pushed the stray thoughts away and continued dressing. There was research on anti-mutant cults to be done, a new member of the team to orientate, papers to grade, and breakfast to eat. And, for the first time in half a week, she felt like eating.
Deciding her ponytail was a little too haphazard, she moved to the small, dark-wood boudoir which sat nestled in the corner to search for a brush.
That was when it caught her eye. Sitting on the sparsely furnished wood beneath the aged, oval mirror, was the square, velvet-covered jewelry box she'd fled to the greenhouse to escape that very morning. The presence of that one inch cube suddenly owned the room, the black of it absorbing every ray of light.
"Hey, Myka." A knock at the door jarred her from her lapse. Claudia's muffled voice pushed through the barrier. "Better hurry up, before Pete decides he needs to try to eat all the waffles in order to impress his new lady friend project."
"Okay," the brunette called back hoarsely, glancing over at the clock. 10:13. Where the time had gone, she had no clue. It couldn't have taken much more than five minutes to change.
She stared at her reflection in the polished glass. It had been so easy to get lost at the sight of that small box. Last autumn had not been this bad for her. Perhaps the use of her powers in order to catch Helena had been of greater consequence than she thought. Perhaps she should talk to Mrs. Fredric, or maybe Dr. Cho.
She'd think about it.
Slowly, her fingers grasped the soft jewelry box while the other hand opened the top left drawer of the boudoir. She set the case inside and slid the drawer shut once more, watching intently as the object disappeared from sight.
With a deep, shaky breath, she found her hairbrush and put it to use, though never allowing herself to meet her reflection's eyes. The things she might find there were frightening. She tamed her curls as much as half a minute would allow before tying them back up and heading for the door.
Hopefully, Pete had decided to try to beat his waffle-eating record. God knew she could use the distraction.
LEENA - 10:20AM
"So, that is it? I'm an 'X-Man'? The term is a touch politically and biologically incorrect, me thinks. Does this mean I am to be given one of those awkward suits you were all wearing?" Helena questioned over the rim of her steaming Earl Grey.
Leena had put the morning meal on hold, and now everyone, save Artie, was filtering in to sit around the table to break their fasts. Or, in Pete's case, break their breakfast records. How he'd gotten it into his head that stuffing one's face with waffles would impress a polished, romantic interest was beyond the B&B's proprietress.
Really, a piece of her wanted to pull him aside and tell him to give it up.
Part of her gift was that the compatibility of two people was nearly transparent. Auras gave away emotional tendencies, which in turn gave away personality, and thus compatibility. She'd admit, there were successful couples that broke the typical rules; near any relationship was viable if both parties put in the effort. But, the odds were undeniably against him.
It was a blessing and a curse, this mutation. How were you supposed to walk around, seeing couples who thought they'd found love, but knowing in your soul that they were bound to fail? Would it be a kindness to interrupt their moment, explain your qualifications as match-maker, and then send each of them off towards a better candidate?
"Hey, the chicks dig my spandex," Pete choked out through a half-chewed mouthful of maple-syrup-soaked carbs. "Everybody loves a man in a cape."
The Victorian woman arched an eyebrow. "You lot have capes? I imagine they would be both terribly inefficient and cumbersome."
"Nah, I was just speaking metaphorically. You know, superhero stuff."
"Not that Pete hasn't frequently petitioned Artie to let him add one to his repertoire," Steve piped up.
"Yeah," Claudia agreed as she peeled an orange. "And then Grumpy-Bear always tells him to take it up with Mrs. Fredric, but he's never had the balls to actually do it."
"Hey, I've got the balls!" Pete pouted. "Mykes, there you are! Tell them I've got balls!"
The moment the tall brunette strode into the room, Leena knew there was something off with her. Myka's early departure from dinner on the previous night had been worrisome, yet when the mourning woman had strode in with the team less than half an hour ago, things had been looking up.
Now, motley greys were choking out the shades of her character.
Myka gave Pete a funny look as she took her typical seat to his left. "Sorry, Pete, but I actually can't. I've never had occasion to see them, and I'd actually really prefer not to."
The table snickered. There would be no assuaging of his wounded pride from his teammate.
"Backtracking just slightly," HG interrupted, "what exactly did you mean by 'superhero stuff'?"
"You know. Like comic books and…" he stopped chewing at the lack of recognition in her eyes. "You actually don't know, do you?"
HG looked at him wryly. "I'm assuming these comic books are some form of literature?"
Myka snorted as she spread butter on a muffin.
"Only the very best. They're books about superheroes. Like, people with special powers that either fight for good or evil. Like mutants! Only, before it mutants were actually known about."
"Oh man, we have so much to catch you up on," the young red head cut in gleefully.
Myka looked scandalized. "No. You two are not leading the HG Wells astray. Virginia Woolf and WH Auden are quality reading to catch up on. Maybe Ray Bradbury. "
"Nope. Claud and I make two against one. Comics are a go!"
"Oh no, no, no. They're picture books! Ask any literary critic in the last 50 years and-"
Leena watched as the trio argued over what the time-traveler ought to read first. Helena grinned behind her mug and Steve just shook his head at the agents-turned-kids and kept eating with a smile on his lips.
This was how mornings were supposed to be.
At least, until Pete got so caught up in his gestures that his fork, laden with nearly half a syrup-coated waffle, went flying through the air and by chance happened to land directly on Leena's gloved hand where it rested on the wooden table. After a moment of silence, she began to laugh.
"Oh dear," the Victorian on her left reached over, plucking the missile from the white cloth and tossing it back at the apologizing man. "Here, let me take that and run it under water to prevent a stain-"
Leena's chuckle died as she flinched away from HG's hands. "I can't… you can't touch me," she explained at the Brit's rejected look. "Part of my mutation is that I absorb the energies of other humans via skin-contact. It would be very… painful for you."
Helena's eyes moved from surprised to intrigued and finally settled at sympathetic.
Even after a decade of explaining it to people, the dark-skinned woman found herself shifting uncomfortably and breaking eye contact. Walking over to the sink, she peeled glove away, rinsed her skin, and donned one of the spares she always kept lying in a kitchen drawer.
Yes, hers was a curse-worthy gift.
CLAUDIA – 12:00 PM
"So, what will today's orientation entail?" The raven-haired woman asked as she, Pete, Myka, and Claudia all crammed into the elevator.
"Spandex," Pete informed with a grin.
Claudia rolled her eyes. "And ability testing," she pointed out.
"And then rules," Myka amended when it became clear no one else was going to.
The platform ground to a halt, the silver doors sliding open. Claudia took the lead as they strolled through the halls and into the Blackbird's nest. This was her turf. Her base of operations. Her home-away-from-home, even if it was just next door to her home. That was why she'd been drug along, really. Someone had to navigate and operate all the school's fantabulous scientific creations and doohickeys, so why not the master responsible for the creation and tweaking of half of them? Myka was the supervision and medical expert, of course. And Pete… well, he didn't really have anything else to do, but Claudia had her suspicions that he was just tagging along for the spandex show. He'd been dead-set on coming after he'd seen Myka hand the Victorian Under-Armor to put on beneath her clothes.
Such a guy, the redhead thought. She loved the man to no end, but no one could deny he had all the subtlety of a five year old jumping up-and-down and staring into the window of a candy shop.
The group traversed the maze of packed aluminum shelves, overloaded workbenches, and carefully maintained equipment before finally coming to a halt before the 3-D scanner. It seemed they weren't the only ones with work to do. A jet-black, titanium coupler the size of her thigh sat on the raised scanning platform. Two steel arms lined with lights circled it, hanging from a rotating plate above.
A thin man with a mess of sheered brown hair hovered over the control panel.
"Todd! Have you been dismembering my child?" Claudia asked as she inspected what was surely a piece of the Blackbird's forward propulsion systems.
He shrieked and jumped at the sudden sound of her voice. She couldn't help but smile at the way he spun about and ran a nervous hand through his hair.
"Claudia! And everyone. Uh, what are you doing here on a Saturday?"
"Just answer the question, bud," she prodded.
"I say guilty," Pete declared. "He screamed like a little princess."
"He does seem rather flustered…" HG toyed.
Myka, ever the voice of reason and no-fun, decided to step in. "C'mon guys. Give him a break. I'm sure he knows what he's doing." She shot him a smile. "Don't let them give you too much grief, Todd."
Of course he knows what he's doing, Claudia thought with a suppressed eye-roll. He's the only one who does besides me. Doesn't mean we can't have any fun with him... She watched as he relaxed and adjusted his glasses. It's so cute when he does that.
"Thanks Professor. I take it you guys need the scanner?"
"Ten-four, Big Ben," Pete answered.
"So, what exactly are you doing with that channel?" Claudia pointed to the pipe in the machine, interest piqued.
Todd pulled a schematic from his pocket, and she was at his side before he could finish unfolding it across the glowing control panel. His fingers played across the blue ink and scribbled notes. "You see how this pipe acts as a choke point? I've been running simulations, and was thinking that if we shaved off a few millimeters on each end so that it would taper in a parabolic curve, the current could be amplified without compromising the…"
A throat cleared loudly. Both of the youths looked up to find three sets of amused eyes upon them.
Suddenly Claudia was very aware of the fact that she'd basically buried herself in Todd's side as they'd examined his plans. Heat flooded to her cheeks. She lurched away as if burned. Her glance darted to Todd's face, but he just looked confused.
"So…" Pete said, "Think you wanna remove that thing so that we can get this show on the road?"
"What? Oh!" And there it was. Red flared across the young man's face. "Of course." He sprung to the platform and scooped up the heavy black piece with a bit of effort. He hauled it the few feet to a cart and set it down. "So, what exactly are you guys doing?"
"Taking note of my physique, apparently." Helena, already free of her riding boots and bereft of jeans, finished the last few buttons of her shirt before shedding it and offering it to Myka. Picking at the black spandex, she clambered up onto the glass pedestal. If the Victorian was shy in the slightest, she hid it perfectly. Not that she had any reason to be shy.
Claudia felt a pang of insecurity. She glanced at Todd, but his eyes were on the Brit as she spoke.
"If this uniform I'm about to receive is indeed a group endeavor, why have I not yet had the pleasure of witnessing Agent Neilson in it?"
"Take it as a blessing," Myka offered teasingly. "Right, Pete… Pete?"
The brunette stuck an elbow in the unresponsive man's side as the cold grey arms began to spin around HG, casting shifting fluorescent grids across her body. "Huh?" He tore his gaze away from the platform for less than half-a-second. "Uh, yeah. Mm-hm." And then he was gone again.
Claudia sighed. Boys.
HELENA – 12:20 PM
Had Helena been anyone else, she suspected she might have found her situation rather awkward.
One thing she hadn't put any particular amount of thought into when jumping between periods of stasis had been clothing; of course, there was the need to blend during those times spent outside of time travel. That, however, was as simple as locating a clothing shop, charming the best-dressed clerk into offering her assistance, and then disappearing from the dressing room with her fresh look before anyone was any the wiser.
Yet, she truly realize that the pure shamelessness of modern attire was an unexpected delight as she stood on a glass pedestal in nothing more than a second layer of synthetic skin, surveying the four mutants just on the other side of the slow blur of lighted titanium spinning around her.
Peter was ogling, of course.
Claudia, the darling, was staring hard at the scanner's terminal, her expression stiff and unreadable. Helena couldn't help but wish the redhead would look up – she might have noticed that the young man with glasses seemed aware of the existence of but one person in the room, besides himself, and it wasn't the scantily clad Brit on a raised plinth with all the lights shining upon her.
And then, of course, there was the elusive Professor Bering. The brunette was obviously painfully aware and embarrassed by the actions of the man beside her. Myka had rolled her eyes at him and offered the Victorian a sympathetic look. Her gaze wandered around the room after that. Whenever it wandered to Helena, it never strayed from the Brit's face.
It was a touch disappointing.
It was whilst considering that disappointment that the whirl of the machine came to a grinding halt, its luminescence fading away.
"Got it," Claudia announced, motioning for Helena.
Hopping off the platform, the Brit made her way over and stared at the image on the glass. It was none other than herself, in a perfect 3-dimensional rendering. Her interest was instantly piqued, a thousand questions flooding to mind at once and all else forgotten.
"That machine made this? Can it do any object? How does it work? Are the images captured upon film from every angle and then assembled, or is it a measure of the refraction of those many lights, which is then used to judge the distance of my contours? Which spectrums register?..."
The secrets of this device would be hers.
HELENA – 2:00 PM
Needless to say, more than an hour passed in that room. Pete had long since become bored and left, and Myka had roamed off to the medical lab to await the next portion of the "orientation" ordeal.
Helena had enjoyed that time immensely, spending it prodding wires and examining circuits while young Claudia and Todd tried to placate her curiosity before it could become overly destructive. When the trio had at last finished designing that set of "spandex" which would be hers, the two youths had all but ushered her out of the room despite her request to observe the production process. Apparently, the facility was extremely self-sufficient and cutting-edge. They'd promised her it would be finished before evenfall, offered a handful of directions as to where she might find the professor, and then more-or-less shoved her out the door.
"Spandex," Helena mused aloud as she wandered into the hallway. It was an odd term, and terribly confusing. She was under the impression that the black Under Armor she was wearing was spandex, but then everyone also seemed to call their blue-and-yellow uniforms "spandex." She would have to seek some clarity on the subject.
Trying to recall exactly where the redhead had said to go, Helana strolled along the passage. Her bare feet pattered on the cool, presumably tile floor - her clothing had been completely forgotten in the face of advanced technologies.
She peeked into several rooms before at last finding the one in which Myka resided. The brunette, now clad in a stark white lab coat, sat comfortably on a stainless-steel medical table, her back turned and long legs swinging mindlessly a few inches above the ground.
"I apologize for the wait, Professor Bering," Helena announced as she entered.
The professor jumped a little at her voice before sliding off her perch and turning to face the newcomer. "Helena. Oh, no worries. I understand this time period must be something for you. Besides, I kept myself busy. I went over your medical reports for the tests." She gestured with one hand to the clipboard and pen in the other.
Helena almost smiled at the slight awkwardness of the startled woman. "It was all up to par, I hope?"
"Mostly. Dr. Hernandez's medical survey doesn't have your blood-work," Myka announced after a moment.
Helena carefully schooled her features. "Ah yes. She thought I looked a bit woozy from my first aero-plane encounter and it was decided I ought to hold off," the Brit explained nonchalantly. "Do you require it now?"
"No, but we probably should take a sample now. I can ask Kelly to analyze it later," Myka answered.
Relief flooded the Brit at mention of delay, even though she knew it would be of no consequence in the long run. They would examine and likely discover the secrets of her blood sooner or later. The latter was merely preferable.
She realized she was fretting over all of this in the presence of an alleged telepath.
Yet the brunette continued, apparently none the wiser. "If you get injured on a mission, it would be good to have a blood-type on record. If that's alright."
The Victorian nodded as she rolled up the tight black on her forearm. "But I can inform you, I am AB negative."
The professor's eyebrows shot up instantly. "The discovery of blood-type wasn't published until 1900…"
HG straightened and offered a proud grin as the brunette approached, needle in hand. "I'm surprised it took Mr. Landsteiner that long to publish his findings. Professor, I have long been a connoisseur of all scientific fields. I suppose this is now quite literal, but I was exploring blood-work ages ago. The handiest test-material has always happened to be mine own."
The smell of alcohol flooded her nostrils as Myka gently grasped her wrist and ran a cold, damp swab against her skin.
"Is there anything you don't know?" the professor teased gently. She offered a brief look of warning before the needle pierced Helena's skin. The steel found a vein on first try, and blood began to fill the transparent hypo as its plunger coaxed it out.
"Hmm…" The Victorian playfully considered it a moment. "One thing, I suppose. If you desired it, could you not tell for yourself that which I do and do not know?"
The pinch of the needle left. Myka held a swab to stem any bleeding before she turned and moved away.
Helena sensed the change of mood and instantly regretted the question. "Myka, I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. It was not my intention, and I have overstepped-"
The brunette silenced her with a raised, latex-sheathed hand. After storing the sample in what seemed to be an electric cooler of sorts, she began to remove the gloves. "There are things you should know if we're going to be working together. And, if there's one thing I've noticed about you, it's the intensity of your curiosity," she said as the gloves found a waste bin, her voice a blend of careful and wry. "I might as well save you from dying of it."
Helena smiled but said nothing, waiting as patiently as she could manage as the Myka moved to the sink and began washing her hands.
"I would never do it without permission, but I could - if I 'desired it'," Myka admitted as she began. "People can practice to fight telepathic intrusions, but I'm pretty certain you don't that have experience. Though, it seems one can never know with you…" she half-joked. "But something happened several years ago, and I learned that there's a price to my sort of… of power." The brunette wrinkled her nose and stared at the paper towels as she dried her hands. "I was in a very… distressing situation, and ventured beyond the known limits of my abilities. The results weren't pretty."
The damp paper found the waste-bin, and the piercing green of Myka's eyes found Helena's. They bore into the Brit with a near-physical weight.
"I lost myself, Helena. I forgot who I was and became something… someone, else. To get back to where I am, I've had to create barriers in here." She tapped her temple. "When I use my abilities, there's always the chance that I'll damage those safeguards. So, I don't, unless I have to."
The room lapsed into a silence which Helena, despite all her charm, was uncertain of how to break. At last, she moved over to the professor and squeezed her arm. "I apologize for making you divulge information which obviously makes you uncomfortable. You are clearly a remarkable individual, Myka."
After a half-beat, the tall woman laughed weakly. "So, I'm not a monster, then?"
Helena fought a frown at the suggestion. "Anything but, Professor. I think that in the face of limitless power, a great many people would succumb – become monsters, as you put it. You, however, have clearly done the opposite."
"Thank you," Myka answered, looking at her feet. "Well, how about we get this testing over with before Pete comes looking for you?"
Helena cringed and rolled her eyes, earning a genuine smile from the other woman.
The pair made their way to the adjoining room. At its center was a white cylinder chamber, its sides reaching the ceiling and its width great enough to hold perhaps five Helenas. One side of it was almost completely glass, revealing the metallic pod's interior. There were straps on the floor to secure feet, and a network of stiff braces for arms and shoulders hung from its ceiling.
Myka 's fingers danced across a control panel and the glass lifted with a pneumatic hiss. "After you," she gestured.
Helena hesitantly did as instructed. Getting into position, she allowed Professor Bering to begin tying her in.
"Will it hurt?" she asked softly as the straps tightened at her wrists.
"Oh, no," Myka immediately responded, halting her action. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Kelly usually does this. I'm not as reassuring as she is. I - you'll feel exhausted but no pain." Myka looked into her eyes and seemed to find something troubling there. "Are you okay with this? If you don't want to, we can find something else…" she moved to undo the restraints.
"No," Helena answered tightly. "I'm not the greatest fan of small spaces, but I will be fine here."
After several more reassurances that she could handle it, Myka clambered out and the glass panel slid back into position, trapping the Brit inside. Helena closed her eyes as a tingling overtook her body.
She counted her breaths as seconds slipped by. It wasn't long before they became short and ragged, but the sensation stopped soon thereafter. It, as promised, left the Brit oddly exhausted. The pod opened, admitting the professor once more.
"So, how was my performance?" Helena gathered the strength to ask as the taller woman began working on freeing her feet.
Myka smiled. "Congratulations. You are official a class-five mutant."
Helena looked on, confused, until Myka straightened and glimpsed the expression.
"Mutants are rated on a scale of one to five, five being the most powerful, one being the least."
"Ah," the Brit sounded off in comprehension. She didn't feel the energy to contribute further to conversation and instead settled for staring at the brunette's hands as they undid the nylon straps holding Helena's arms in place.
It was then that Helena noticed the ring gracing the delicate third finger of Myka's left hand.
"Myka, darling, who is the lucky individual?"
The brunette looked to the raven-haired woman in genuine confusion as the last restraint fell away. "Hmm?"
"The ring," Helena clarified. Myka was rubbing life back into the Brit's wrists. "Who's the lucky man that placed it on your finger? Not Mr. Latimer, I hope. For your sake," she joked.
The rubbing died away. Myka froze, staring at the simple engagement band on her own hand as if it were an ulcerous disease.
"Myka, what's the matter? Why-"
"So, you ladies done with all the work stuff yet?" Pete's voice rang out from the adjacent room.
Myka tore at her hand. She yanked the ring off, sliding it immediately into her jean pocket. When she met Helena's gaze, her eyes were wide and full of what Helena could only name "terror".
"Hey, what's going on?"
Both women glanced towards the open doorway to find Pete peering up at them curiously. Helena's mouth worked as she tried to formulate an answer.
"Nothing, Pete," Myka cut in, stepping down from the pod. Her voice was dangerously tight. "We just finished."
Helena was still floundering, trying to figure out what had just happened. For many months to come, she would ponder over this moment – the moment of her first telepathic experience.
Myka's voice whispered inside Helena's skull.
Please, don't say a word.
AN: Well, there you have it. Perhaps length makes up for the grand delay? Already formulating the next chapter, but I've so very many papers due this week, a wave of midterms beginning, and a second-order differential equations/ linear algebra class which is killing me most violently. And I'm clearly writing this AN with Helena's character's delightful voice…
Ooh, review? Is the Myka angst too much? Did you get enough answers? Next chapter or two should bring far, far more, as well as more development for all characters!