I have no idea what this fic even is. I started by thinking Mojo would want to get in on the X-Men '97 action, and he would do it via a grittier reboot of Evolution. In my head, that reboot became a pastiche of My So-Called Life.

I don't know if there will ever be another part of this, I intended it as a one-off, but it was fun to write.

Anna and Remy's first meeting is cribbed straight from Angela and Jordan's. You can view it on YouTube.

I have written a fic for tomorrow, but I can't post it to this site due to its rating. If you're an adult, you can view it on the other site.

{Mojo: X-Men '97 is a hit! We need to get in on that action! Through savvy negotiation and a little bodily harm, I have secured the rights for the other hot X-Men animated property: Evolution. I also have secured the X-Men themselves to star in it!

Network executive: Aren't they, uh, too old for that?"

Mojo: No! Gabrielle Carteris turned 30 during 90210! Suspiciously old teenagers have always been a staple of teen shows! Plus, It means we can get sexy without any complaints from Moms Against Mojo.

Network executive: So, the plan is to take it in a more edgy, modern direction. Are you also going to have Rogue be torn between Gambit and Magneto, only to kill off Gambit when that plotline is finally, mercifully resolved?

Mojo: Hell to the no. Romy sells. People love those two kids together. They're going to be my main draw. We're about to film the pilot right now. Come watch and you can see what I'm cooking.}

*

Mojo Presents a Mojo Production by Mojo

My So-Called Evolution

So, the only good part about being a foster kid is that you get a fresh start whenever your old parents get sick of you. This time, it was with the Prydes in Bayville. Carmen and Terri. A sweet couple with a daughter of their own, Kitty. They were big on family dinners, loved baseball and competitive cheerleading, and went to the synagogue every Shabbat.

They didn't know what to make of me when I showed up on their doorstep with my studded collar and chunky boots and heavy eyeliner. I'd decided to go Goth this time, the opposite of the All American Sweetheart version of myself I'd tried out with my previous parents. I'd liked them, and it felt like I died a little bit when they sent me back to the state home. They said to me that it wasn't my fault, I was a great kid, but they were getting divorced and couldn't give me what I needed anymore.

Whatever. It was my fault for getting attached. But it meant Goth felt right.

For a cheerleader, Kitty was pretty cool. She helped me dye my hair the first week I was there. She said all the hot girls had streaks, and I needed one too. I asked why she didn't have any, and she rolled her eyes and said that, duh, she was going to be Baby to my Ginger. I knew it was really because her parents would have grounded her for life if she tried. I saw the way they looked at me when I came down to breakfast the next morning.

"Your hair was still so pretty," Terri said mournfully.

"But it's, like, hot now," Kitty replied, and Carmen shushed her.

Everyone expected Kitty to be in love with Scott Summers, the captain of the football team. But she was into a guy named Kurt, a German exchange student who was staying with Principal Darkholme for the year. He was her nephew or second cousin or something random. Kitty said it was a tragically doomed romance, because Kurt would go back to Bavaria at the end of the summer, but that made it all the more beautiful.

She wanted me to find a guy too, so we could double date. I didn't tell her it would be a tragically doomed romance too, as her parents were already getting sick of me. Late one night, when I went to the bathroom, I heard them talking about me being a bad influence on Kitty. She might be into drugs, Carmen said. She looked so sweet in her photo, Terri replied, like a little Southern peach.

So, I told Kitty I was into Remy LeBeau, which was kind of true, but also was like saying I was into Leo or River. Everyone was into him, and I had about as much chance with him as I did with a Hollywood star. He dated college girls, professional models starting their careers, cool girls in bands. Once, though, I brushed against him in the hallway by mistake, and he smiled at me. Kitty talked about it for weeks.

We're hanging out in Kitty's room after school when she brings him up again. I'm painting my nails black and trying to look unimpressed by the terrifying number of cheerleading trophies she's won. She's flipping through Tiger Beat.

"I have, like, the perfect plan to get Remy to notice you," she says excitedly, "Ali Blair is, like, having a party this weekend, and I snagged us an invite. We're going to give you, like, a makeover, and he won't be able to take his eyes off how totally hot you are."

"What's wrong with how I'm dressed?"

Kitty just looks at me. I look down at myself. I'm wearing my oversized Siouxsie and the Banshees hoodie and ripped black jeans, with my usual chunky Docs on my feet.

"Let's go shopping," she says.

Although Kitty's a pro cheerleader, shopping is her real competitive sport, and Bobby Drake is her favorite teammate. Bobby's on the cheerleading squad with her, and he's gay, although nobody except us knows it. Especially his girlfriend, Opal. We help him find reasons not to have sex with her.

We meet him at the Orange Julius. We each get a drink and split a pizza dog. I take the biggest piece as compensation for the pain and suffering I'm about to endure.

"Here's to Anna getting her man," Kitty declares, holding her drink in the air.

"Why?" Bobby asks, "Has she finally settled for, ugh, Lance?"

"Ew," Kitty wrinkles her nose, "Anna can, like, do much, much better."

"I'm right here!" I say, "And damn straight I can!"

"Phrasing," Bobby murmurs and sips his drink, "So, who has Anna gotten to come inside her crypt?"

"Hey, phrasing yourself!" I shoot back.

Kitty stirs her drink with her straw, a little smile on her lips, "Remy. At least, like, he will at Ali's party."

Bobby laughs, "Are her boobs going to grow three sizes by then? You saw his ex, right? Bella? She was in Swimsuit Illustrated."

"I didn't know you paid attention to boobs, Bobby," I hiss, keeping my voice low enough that only he and Kitty can hear. Bobby can be an ass, but I'd never out him.

"I do when they're that size," he holds his hands out in front of his chest, miming giant tits, making them jiggle. I roll my eyes.

"Gross."

"Anna has nice boobs too!" Kitty says in my defense.

"Can we stop talking about my boobs?" I cross my arms over my chest, slump deeper into my oversized hoodie.

"We just need to, like, showcase them," Kitty continues as if I'd said nothing, "Which is why I asked you here today. We are totally giving Anna a makeover! I'll be Stacy and you'll be Clinton."

"This will be the ultimate test of my gay powers," Bobby whispers, "Okay! Let's do it!"

That weekend, I'm standing in Ali Blair's living room, feeling like a total poser. Kitty and Bobby managed to talk me into their idea of hot goth: a sheer green shirt over a black bra, a leather mini with ripped fishnets, studded gloves. She swiped purple eyeshadow on my lids, and matching lipstick on my mouth. At least I got to keep the Docs.

When she got here, she squeezed my hand, wished me luck and then went to dance with Kurt, so I'd be alone and more approachable. Bobby and Opal have joined them. I see them all shaking their hips, swinging their arms above their heads, laughing. I wish I could join them, but Kitty would remind me to stay on mission.

"Wanna dance too, cutie?" Lance comes up beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder. He stinks of cheap cologne and the cheaper beer that one of the kids got with their fake id.

"Uh, not in this lifetime," I slip his grasp and head to the kitchen without looking back. It's full of kids, talking and laughing, playing beer pong on the marble island, making out. It's too noisy and too hot and too high school, and I suddenly want to be anywhere else.

"Hey, goth girl, come drink with us!" a boy I don't recognize thrusts a red solo cup at me. Beer sloshes onto the floor and he laughs.

"Just need some fresh air," I duck under his arm and head for the kitchen door.

I take a deep breath as I close it behind me, but then I realize I'm not alone on the back porch. Remy LeBeau is standing there, leaning against the railing, holding a cigarette between two fingers. He's six feet and an inch of perfection in a ratty, old Saints T-shirt and torn jeans. Awkwardly, I belly up to the railing next to him, and try to think of the perfect opening line, one that would make him realize that I was witty and sophisticated and worth knowing.

"It don't feel like a Sunday," he says, looking up at the moon.

I stare at him, "That's because it's a Saturday."

He turns to face me, "Are you sure?"

"Well, Kitty's parents went to the Shabbat service this morning, and yesterday was a Friday, and it was Thursday before that, because I had that history test, so…" I stammer to a halt, my face feeling like it's on fire. If Kitty were here, she'd tell me I was blowing my chance. Cool girls didn't correct the boys they liked, or ramble about the days of the week and their school schedule. Cool girls just were. Effortlessly.

"Oh, oui."

He takes a long drag of his cigarette and blows out smoke in a cloud. Wordlessly, he hands it to me. The old me would turn him down. She would tell him that "butts were gross" or some other cheesy line from a PSA. The new me puts that cigarette to her lips and hopes she can make it look like she's done this before.

I inhale, and it's so, so bad. The smoke scratches and burns all the way down to my lungs, and I hack and cough, eyes watering. My stomach churns with a mix of nausea and embarrassment.

As I hand the cigarette back to him, I notice that my lipstick's left a purple ring on the paper, because I hadn't already humiliated myself enough. I want to run and hide, but that won't make me look any cooler.

"Sorry."

He smiles at me, and places his mouth right where the lipstick print is, and it's the most dang erotic thing I've ever experienced. I think I really may be in love with him now.

As I'm staring at him like an idiot, the kitchen door swings open behind us, and Duncan appears.

"Hey, Remy, This party blows. Let's go over to Richter's place."

"You want to finish this, chere?" he hands me the cigarette. As soon as he's back in the house, I stub it out on the railing and stick it into my purse. Kitty's going to lose her mind over it. I can hear her now, Remy's mouth touched where your mouth touched. It's almost like you kissed! And he called you chere! That's like French for have-sex-with-me-now. My makeover totally worked.

I go to report in.

The next week sucks in the way that all school weeks suck. Teachers calling on you in class to answer questions you don't know. Pop quizzes. Bad cafeteria food that even prisoners would call cruel and unusual. Running laps in gym class as the coach stares at your boobs.

Kitty keeps pushing me to talk to Remy. He gave you his cigarette, Anna! He called you chere! He's practically in love with you! It's a cute story, but I'm not naive enough to buy it. The truth is he handed me his trash, and he didn't know my name. I'm basically the janitor.

On Thursday, though, she finally changes topics. One of Kurt's favorite bands has come all the way from Germany, and are going to be playing at the Hellfire Club on the south side of town this weekend. She saw a flyer for it posted at the mall, and wants to surprise him. I tell her the club sounds rough - you don't call yourself the Hellfire Club unless you're looking to attract a certain type of customer - but she waves my concerns away. It's Bayville, how rough can it be? It's just some promoter being edgy. And Kurt will be with us … and maybe Remy if I invite him? Then, she's back on how cute a couple we'll make, and it's somehow become a settled fact that I will be going with her to the club.

Apparently, Bayville can be pretty rough. The Hellfire Club's a dive in a rundown part of town. Its clientele's mostly male, a lot older than we are, and interested in getting drunk as cheaply and efficiently as possible. Das Eisenherz Syndikat even looks a little nervous as they set up their instruments on the battered stage, conduct their preshow check. It's the type of crowd that throws bottles if they don't like your sound.

Kitty and Kurt are too wrapped up in each other to notice how bad the club really is. He's telling her all about the band, and she's listening to him with cartoon hearts in her eyes. I tell them that I'm going to get a drink at the bar, but I don't think they hear a single word.

I ask the bartender for a Coke. I don't want him to card me, and I need to keep my head about me in a place like this. I have to look out for Kitty. She can be annoying, but she's the closest thing I've had to a sister. Besides, I tell myself, she won't be the one who takes the blame. Her parents will put me on the first bus back to the foster home before believing it was her idea, and I'm not about to blow up a decent situation.

As I'm heading back to them, a man steps in front of them and blocks my path. He's a Goth. A real one. He's got teased-up black hair that's almost as tall as he is, heavy eyeliner and lipstick, and a giant silver ankh around his neck. I think he must have spotted me as a total poser, but he smiles at me, teeth white and sharp in his pale face.

"I saw you with your friends. You must be sick of being a third wheel. Why don't you hang out with me?"

"No," I try to step around him, but he catches my wrist. I look back at the bartender for help, but he's busy serving other people. I suspect he wouldn't care even if he had seen. Girls are on their own in places like this.

"I'm just asking you to spend time with me. Don't be stuck up."

"Let me go," I tell him, angry and scared. Where are Kurt and Kitty?

"We'll have a drink, a little conversation. You'll like me once you get to know me."

"I said no," I kick him square in the balls. One of my foster parents was ex-military, and insisted the whole family joined him for taekwondo each week. He thought it would build character and discipline. I wasn't sure about that, given what a nasty drunk he was, but I picked up a mean snap kick.

His hands drop to his crotch, "You bitch!"

"Anna," I feel a hand settle on the small of my back, and I look up to see Remy LeBeau standing next to me. He's wearing a cut-off shirt that shows every one of his muscles, "I was looking everywhere for you, chere."

"You were?"

"Let's go somewhere quieter, so we can catch up."

"Hey, I'm not done with your friend," the Goth protests, a little nervously. Remy's got six inches and fifty pounds of muscle on him, "She assaulted me! I could call the cops on her."

"Yes, you are," his tone is final, "And I saw you grab her first, so you go right ahead and call them."

"Whore," the man spits, but turns away from us and disappears into the crowd. I see the black shock of his hair above their heads for a few months longer, and then he's gone.

I realize I'm shaking and I take a sip of the Coke to calm myself down, "I had that handled, Remy."

"So I saw," he smiles, "But back-up never hurts. No need to be honte. You here alone, chere?"

"No," I reply, " I'm here with Kitty and Kurt. They're… somewhere."

"Ohmigosh," Kitty runs up to me and throws her arms around me. I hug her back, "Are you okay, Anna? Kurt saw you kick that creep."

"One hell of a kick too," Remy says admiringly, "He'll be feeling that for a week."

"Ja, are you okay?" Kurt echoes, "We should go home. This is not a safe place. I can see Das Syndikat another time."

I nod my head, and we let Remy escort us to Kitty's car. When I'm settled into the back seat, he leans inside, elbows on the window. His face is only inches from mine, and he smells deliciously of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke. Normally, I'd be dizzy from the pure, distilled sexiness of it all, but the adrenaline's wearing off and I'm tired and want to be in my bed. Alone.

Not that I've ever shared it with anyone, right? I definitely have never shared it with him, sleeping naked, his long body pressed against mine and giving off almost too much heat, our three cats curled up around us….

{Mojo: No. No! Wrap it up now, so we can reset her!}

"See you first period, Anna."

Kitty waits for him to saunter back into the club and then screams so loud that Kurt flinches away from her.

"Ohmigosh, Anna. I know you just went through, like, trauma trauma. But he saved you! He knows your name! He wants to see you first period!"

I lean back against the seat. I want to say to her that, of course, he does. He's my home and harbor, after all. But the thought makes no sense, and my head hurts, and ….

It all fades to black.