Children of the Atom #1 (of 3)
"Homecoming"
Prologue
“Moira? MOIRA!”
“Here. oh christ… HERE! My leg is trapped!”
“Thank the Lord I found you. What happened? Where’s Dr. Friedlander?”
“She’s… urgh, help get this off of me. It’s David. David took her.”
“Your son’s escaped?! Oh Jesus. He did this? He kidnapped Sharon?”
“No. No, he didn’t… didn’t kidnap her. He… took her. Saints above, he took her body.”
“Moira. Moira, I’m sorry about Sharon, but we have to get out of here. David’s collapsed the elevator shafts; there’s no way up besides the access tunnels. Can you walk?”
“Donnae worry about me; I’ll manage. God, James. Just before he left, David was ranting. He’s going for Charles.”
“Don’t worry, Moira. We’ll warn him. He’ll know what to do.”
“I hope yuir right.”
End Prologue.
One.
Night had fallen over the Xavier Institute; Dusk's final, rosy fingertips sliding away over the western horizon. The fireflies were out; tiny bits of yellow and green swaying in the warm summer breeze while the moon hung in the sky, reflected in the gently lapping surface of Breakstone Lake. New York City was over an hour's drive away, and even the city lights of Salem Centre, the Institute's nearest burg, had little impact on the twinkling stars above. It was a Sunday, mid-July, and the evening was cooler than one might expect during high summer. This far out removed from the city, however, things were always a little different.
Nights like these-- peaceful, tranquil, quiet-- came fewer and farther between these days. Charles Xavier, owner and Headmaster of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, longed for those nights that seemed so long ago, when his original class, his first six X-Men, would spend summer evenings swimming in the lake, playing games and eating under the stars. He rarely got out to watch the fireflies anymore; resigning himself so often to watch these events from the window of his study. Tonight, however, not even those paltry luxuries could be afforded. Something important was happening, and, for better or worse, he was the cause.
Blue eyes were transfixed, fastened on the flat-panel television screen in the far corner of his study. A press conference was airing; one that he attended, one that a student was so kind to DVR for him. One would think someone with the access to the sheer amount of technology that he had would know how to program a simple digital video recorder, but Xavier had enough on his mind already. He was about to make possibly the single most important decision of his life.
It was an interesting thing to watch; Xavier never really got a chance to see what he looked like on TV. The digitized Xavier sat in front of a lowered podium, his prized student-- his first, Scott Summers, standing stoically at his side. His speech was long, impassioned, moving, and his final statement was a big one.
"--and with that in mind, I feel that it's finally time to put an end to masks, an end to hiding our gifts behind 'secret identities' and ill-fitting clothes."
Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Charles Xavier, also known as Professor X. And I am a mutant."
Two.
Scott Summers stared blankly at the ceiling above his bed, engulfed by the ruby-red stucco oblivion. Yesterday's events weighed heavily on his thoughts; he could scarcely believe what his mind brutally reminded him was true. The Professor had outed them on global television. It was an uncomfortable thing, to be under the scrutiny of the entire world. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for every spoon-fed celebrity who punched a paparazzo that got too close. It had been nearly 24 hours, much of it spent doing little of use. Cyclops was getting twitchy.
His thoughts, in conjunction with the oppressive weight of his sleeping goggles, made sleep pretty much impossible for the tightly wound, self-contained field leader of the X-Men. Finally, giving in to the restlessness, Scott sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. It was a useless gesture, much like the rest of this useless day, something sought out for a sense of normalcy than any form of need.
This wasn't going to work.
Scott Summers needed a drink, a run, a... something. But first, he needed his pants. Standing from his bed, Scott's back popping ominously as he fought gravity's pull for the first time in hours, he moved towards the closet, opening it up and retrieving his X-Men uniform. Unlike the rest of the team--the rest of the world, for that matter-- Scott never really took off his uniform. And because of Xavier's recent upgrade of the X-Status Quo, their uniforms passed off as normal clothing half the time anyway. Well, normal for a leatherdaddy bar. Sitting down in a misused chair near a desk littered with half-written papers and a picture frame turned face down, Scott Summers pulled on his leather pants the human way, one leg at a time.
Three.
This wasn't going to work.
Piotr Rasputin, sometimes called Peter and sometimes called Colossus, was just about as far as a person could get from the mansion without leaving the property. Standing on a rarely used boating dock on the southern edge of Breakstone Lake, he raised his eyes from the water's surface to the tiny, silver-bathed wisps of cloud that raced across the darkening sky. He had attempted to escape the air of unrest that had been circulating the mansion for the past 24 hours, but he'd brought it with him. Tension locked up the muscles of his back and neck, and he rubbed them uncomfortably, his gaze returning from the stars to settle on a fresh, unpainted canvas. Painting was a loss. Perhaps the Muses were mutant-haters too. The thought made him grin despite his black mood.
"Fine. I surrender."
Piotr decided that now wasn't the time to be alone. He'd spotted Sam and Kitty escaping to the solace of the woods not long after his arrival at the lake. Ororo was visiting family in Kenya; Xi'an had taken two weeks with her siblings and was meeting with Emma Frost in Boston. Certainly, there would be more souls around once September came; the Massachusetts Academy was being reintegrated back to Westchester, which meant many new faces, young and old alike.
For now, however, Piotr's choices were slim. Rogue was around here somewhere, and by the small, warm, comforting touch in the back of his mind, the Professor was still in his study. Then, of course, there was Scott... A stroke of genius--Pete would return to the mansion, and he would coerce his fearless leader out of bed. Being miserable together had to be better than being miserable alone. With the idea set firmly in his mind, Piotr hoisted his easel and his paints and headed off in the direction of the mansion.
As he approached the large building he'd long ago come to call home, a tiny weight lifted from his chest. It was as if, in surrender, Peter found release. And maybe, somewhere, someone was listening.
Four and Five.
Not all of the property owned by the Xavier Institute was manicured lawns and strategically placed shrubbery. The eastern section of the property was deeply wooded, most of it wild and untamed, left that way because the woods offered the estate seclusion from the surrounding farmlands. Conversely, the western edge of the property broke abruptly, split away from the sprawling greens below by a cliff face and waterfall dropping to the lake below, dotted with rocky caves.
These woods, however, weren't always as overgrown. Deep, dark, hidden sections of the property contained a number of forgotten, rarely used relics. An old fishing cabin, for one, sat in growing dilapidation not far from the lake's edge. Another section of the woods contained the Xavier Cemetery, old stones and statues reclaimed by nature, overgrown with moss and vines and trees. Only a very small section of the cemetery remained marginally maintained. Among this row of newer headstones sat Charles Xavier's parents, his stepfather, a sister, and two of his lost charges.
John Proudstar
Soldier. Brother. Loving Son.
June 4, 1977 - May 22, 1999
Jean Ellen Grey
Daughter. Sister. Friend.
March 17, 1981 - March 17, 2003
Katheryn "Kitty" Pryde and Sam Guthrie found themselves alone here, in the Xavier Cemetery, more and more often lately. It was beautiful and serene; it held memories of lost friends for both of them. It was also a place where they could be alone. Sam sat on a stone bench near the overgrown wrought iron fence, one arm draped along the smooth stone back. His legs were stretched out casually, sandals kicked off, bare feet resting in the grass. Kitty was stretched out on her back, head resting on his thigh, looking up at the stars. One of his hands toyed with a few of her wild, untamed curls. Both of her hands cradled a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Kitty sighed; it was a sound that spoke of contentment.
"I really like it out here," Kitty told Sam breathlessly. Chicago rarely had green space like this. Part of her would never get used to living outside the concrete jungle. She didn't know where people got off talking about how quiet the country is; it was damned noisy. Just, a different kind of noise than the sirens and horns and the voices of passersby.
"Yeah." Sam, on the other hand, was right at home. Maybe that's why he led her out here in the first place. He’d grown up a full-bred country boy, and sometimes, he felt more like he belonged out here with the weeds and the broken down cabin than in a mansion with a bunch of superheroes. The idea made him long for home… how long has it been since he talked to his mom?
Pressing his lips together, Sam exhaled through his nose, stroking his thumb across Kitty’s damp forehead. She smiled up at him, brown eyes shining. One look was all it took to make the country boy forget his troubles.”Yeah?” she repeated, mocking his twang with a coy bat of her eyes. Reaching up, she coiled a finger in the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. “Ah think you just like it out here ‘cause you got li’l ol’ me all by your lonesome.”
Sam snorted, grabbing her wrist. “Watch it, Scarlet. Ah think you put a way a little more o’ that Jack than you can handle.” He was grinning, though, and as he leaned down, Kitty grinned in return, leaning up to meet him.
When their lips met, it was like old friends finding each other again. Time stood still, the stars aligned, and the Beatles filled their hearts with a serenade. When Sam finally broke the kiss, he felt like he was fit to burst—he couldn’t catch his breath. Kitty chewed her bottom lip, looking quite pleased with herself.
“Ah got somethin’ for you…” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. Just out of view, Sam was grasping a tiny, velvet box.
Six.
Rogue was pacing the hallways again. She'd been doing it off and on all day, roaming the mansion, unsure where to go or what to do. Everybody was gone, and Rogue didn't feel comfortable enough to go into town-- not today. Not after last night. They'd already gotten spray painted once, received countless death threats, and a surprising number of calls asking about enrollment. As fast as their lives already were, Rogue was sure it was only about to get worse. Finally, Rogue bit the bullet. She had to talk to the Professor. She had to know why. Maybe if she understood his reasoning, she wouldn't feel so betrayed. She liked people not knowing she was a walking, talking, freak of nature.
It was all such a shock. Right after, she'd asked around. Nobody knew he was going to out them; nobody. Everyone was just as shocked as she was. Storm even called from Africa; she talked to Cyke for forever. And now, standing in front of the Professor's study, she wondered what she'd say. She wondered if she was gonna like what he told her. Raising a gloved hand to the polished wood, she knocked softly.
The light rap on the door roused the Institute's Headmaster from his thoughts, and he was immediately thankful. Xavier hit the pause button on the video feed, freezing his digital self in its tracks.
"Yes?" Xavier inquired, although he'd already assumed it was Rogue. Mental patterns were like fingerprints, even the shapes of blank spots therein. Rogue's mind had always been closed to mental intrusion due to her split psyche.
"Are ya busy, Professor?" The southern lilt confirmed what Xavier had already believed true; it was indeed Rogue. Anne Marie Mathis was one of the newer members of the team, but in this case, new did not equal inexperienced. Rogue, as she called herself, was a ward of the state who dabbled early on in petty theft. Her ability to drain energy through skin-to-skin contact made crime too easy for the young, impressionable girl, and soon, she had graduated to grand larceny.
During the time Rogue spent as a member of Xavier's third class after being placed in his care, she developed into one of the most trustworthy and valued members of the student squad. Rogue was a good girl at heart; she just suffered from a... lack of direction from time to time.
"For you, Rogue?" Xavier's smile was fatherly; the wise crinkle of his eyes full of warmth and assurance as she peered through the door, arms crossed defensively as if waiting for a reprimand. "Of course not. Have a seat."
Rogue pushed her way through the door with a smile that she couldn't help but give in return, hovering there at the edge of his study as if she were treading on sacred ground. Xavier's private sanctum still awed her a little, and she had to clear her throat a few times and force herself into speaking above a hushed whisper. Settling into one of the chairs opposing Xavier's desk, she gripped the armrests lightly.
"Saw th'news," Rogue said simply. Her comment was as neutral as possible, an opener, an attempt to gauge his reaction.
Xavier's smile turned from inviting to rueful in response, and he nodded. "I would be surprised if you hadn't."
Xavier hadn’t warned anyone he was going to do what he’d done, ‘outing’ not only himself, but his entire student body. A heavy sense of foreboding weighed on his soul. Did anyone ever truly know for certain the moment they alter the course of world events? It was the end of yesterdays; was he really ready for what tomorrow would bring?
Parting his lips to speak again, perhaps to explain, Xavier was interrupted by a stab of angry, though familiar, thoughts. Knitting his brow, Professor X reached out to touch its source.
~Scott?~
Outside, Scott Summers, now fully dressed and summarily pissed, was rapidly advancing on the front gate. There was a ruckus outside—third time tonight. Bastard kids.
“Enough is enough,” Scott muttered through clenched teeth. Raising a hand to his visor, he sent out a thin optic blast right at the front gate, straight through the bars. No, Scott wasn’t a murderer, but he wasn’t above making a couple of kids ruin their trousers for their trouble.
The ruckus was enough to draw Piotr from the hallway out the front doors. Seeing the ruby flash of his leader’s mutant abilities, the Russian dropped his supplies, instinctively shifting his flesh into carbon steel.
“Shit!” came a surprised shout from the darkness beyond the gate’s floodlights. “Get the fuck outta here!”
The pair of voices sounded like a couple of middle aged men. Ridiculous. Before they turned tail completely, one of them threw a brick over the gates. A car started in the distance and peeled out, leaving a bitterly amused Cyclops stooping to retrieve the brick in their wake. The Professor was already contacting him, his concern evident even in his mental speech.
~ It’s nothing, Professor. Just a couple of pests. Already taken care of.~
Scott had to fight a grimace at Xavier’s mental intrusion. He understood the reasons for constant contact, but sometimes, Scott just wanted to be left alone. Raising his eyes from the completely unimpressive brick the pair of would-be protestors threw at him, Scott caught the now shiny, metallic shape of their resident Colossus making his way up the front walk.
Smirking a little, Cyclops thumbed the brick. It had been crudely wrapped in paper. A note.
“So,” Scott asked the approaching Russian, “what do you think? ‘Die Mutant Scum!’ or ‘Muties Go Home!’?” His voice betrayed a bit of bemusement, but his expression was as deadpan as ever.
Piotr cocked his head and took note of the paper Scott was unwrapping. “If I had to pick one… ‘Muties Go Home’.”
Scott let the brick fall to the ground as he opened the note, holding it up to be read aloud.
“Go Away, Gene Freaks. Gene, of course, spelled with a J.” Summers crumpled the paper and handed it to Piotr to dispose with. Sighing, he turned away. “I love this town.”
Piotr furrowed his brow, watching the other man as he adjusted his jacket’s collar on his way to the garage. He called after him. “It would happen nearly anywhere else, Scott. Every town has its bigots.”
“Maybe you’re right, Peter,” Scott responded, completely unmoved by his words. “But I’d like to think someone, somewhere knows how to spell. I’m going to Harry’s.”Piotr picked up the discarded brick as Scott reached the garage. “Do you want company? I could use a drink.”
Scott barely slowed down. Briefly pausing halfway through the door, Scott looked at the taller man with a derisive smirk.
“Yeah. Don’t wait up.”
Scott slammed the door, and moments later Piotr heard the telling roar of an angry man starting up a fast car. Scott’s sporty little metallic blue company car squealed out of the garage, up the drive, and through the gate. Peter sighed. Rearing back his fist, Colossus threw the brick towards the house. In his transformed state, his throw sent the brick clear over the mansion, sailing off lost in the darkness.
Seven and Eight.
Back in Xavier’s study, Rogue immediately noticed the shift in the Professor’s expression. Live around telepaths long enough, and you could sometimes read them as good as they could read you. Turning her head to the door in anticipation of yet another security breach, Xavier stopped her with a calm word.
“Nothing to worry about, Rogue. A thrown rock; Scott and Piotr are taking care of it.”
Rogue relaxed, bare shoulders slumping a little. Nodding, the southerner flipped an errant lock of dark curls behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she should push the subject, but she just had to know.
“Professor…? Why’d ya do it? Things like that… we’re gonna be lookin’ forward to a lot more of it now.” She hadn’t meant for her question to come out as accusatory as it did, but she couldn’t hide the anger. Or the fear. Xavier let out a soft sigh and motioned to the chair.
"I do apologize, Rogue, for not giving anyone warning. Up until that very moment, even I was unsure if I could go through with it.” Steepling his fingers, Xavier leaned forward on his elbows. Rogue retook her seat as offered, this time hugging her middle.
“We’ll have to update some of our defenses,” he continued. “In the event that these sporadic threats become more violent.” Pausing for a moment, Xavier collected his thoughts before continuing. “I simply felt I had to,” he sighed, leaning back and folding his hands in his lap. “I have been living a lie for fifty years, Rogue. I’m getting old. I don’t want to die denying who I am.” Another pause. “I am sorry that I pulled you into this unwillingly.”
Rogue leaned forward, slowly winding like a clock spring. “We all trust ya, Professor, but… I mean, we all got families. Some o’ them don’t even know.” She knew her objections were too little, too late, but simply having them heard would have to do.
“You’re all grown, Rogue,” Xavier answered. “With this new class, I’ve decided to do something different. No masks. No hiding.”
“I sure hope you’re right about all o’this,” Rogue said with a frown. She couldn’t help her skepticism; she knew enough about human nature not to feel comforted by his offered words. Relaxing a little, Rogue looked out the window. “When’re the new kids gettin’ here?”
“The school year starts in September. I’ve talked to a few friends about our staffing problem. Much of Frost’s staff will be re-integrated along with the school, but we’re going to need help. This new class may turn out to be even larger than yours.” Xavier couldn’t help but beam a little at the idea.
“Long as you don’t have me down teachin’ Remedial English, I’m happy,” Rogue chuckled. She couldn’t help but smirk at his pride when it came to his students.
A ringing phone interrupted their conversation. Xavier smiled apologetically as he slid his hand over the receiver. “Excuse me, Rogue. Could you hold on for just a moment?”
“O’ course. Sure.” Standing again, Rogue moved to the large bay window in an effort to give him some privacy. The Prof was really gonna have to get him a secretary soon.
“The Xavier Institute, Charles Xavier speaking. How may I help you?” Leaning in his chair, he nodded at the girl at the window and turned away. Hearing the voice on the other end, Xavier’s face immediately softened, but not for long.
“Charles? It’s Moira. Somethin’ terrible’s happened.”
“Moira? What is it, dear? What’s wrong?”
Rogue turned back from the window, sensing his concern.
“It’s David! He saw yuir announcement on the telly; he was furious. He’s gone mad, Charles!”
”Moira?! Moira, calm down, just tell me what happened!”
“I am tellin’ you wha’ happened, you bastard! David found a way out, Charles!
Professor X -- Charles Xavier
Cyclops -- Scott Summers
Rogue -- Anne Marie Mathis
Colossus -- Piotr Rasputin
Shadowcat -- Katheryn Pryde
Cannonball -- Sam Guthrie
Proteus -- David Xavier
Dr. Moira MacTaggert