X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 22: That long-distance
feeling
I dragged myself to the breakfast table.
"Hey," Evan chided, "look what the cat
dragged in!"
I stopped myself after the first hint of a grimace. Angel's a nice girl. Deep breath.
"Sorry," I said.
"Rough session with Professor X."
"Oh, right!" Kitty said, far too chipper. "I'll bet it was his 'open your mind to
me' lecture, wasn't it? Gawd, that was
the worst!"
"What are you talking about?" 'Rogue' asked.
"Oh, man," Evan whined, "I *hated* that
one. 'Don't worry, I'll never peek at
your deepest secrets.' Yeah, like it's
possible to avoid thinking about them, in a place like that. Man am I glad that training's over."
"Amen," Kurt whispered.
I found myself suddenly engrossed in trying to imagine what
Kurt might have to be ashamed of, when Kitty started giggling like a
lunatic. She turned to 'Rogue' and
tried to talk over her giggles.
"Picture it!
There you are, with, like, this super-powerful telepath, trying not to
even *think* of your darkest secrets…"
"Yeah?" 'Rogue' drawled.
"Well…" Kitty had more giggles, "remember
last night?"
"Oh.
OH!" Rogue's eyes grew wide
and she started to snicker too, giving me occasionally sympathetic glances.
"What?"
Evan looked back and forth between us.
"Nothin' for YOU to worry about," Jackie told him.
"Girl stuff."
Kitty said, almost simultaneously.
Jean was looking suddenly curious. 'Rogue' moved over next to her.
"I'll tell you for one – no, two – teensy weensy
favors."
"Do *I* have any say in this?" I asked, irritably.
"Nuh uh." 'Rogue' said, giving me a fine display
of her tongue.
I hung my head.
"Yeah, I'm in," Jean said, far too smugly. "Let's talk in private."
Sometimes I hate my life.
*****
My mind full of verb conjugations, I stumbled out of French
class. 'Rogue' and Kurt were ahead of
me, laughing about something. I tried
not to watch. I shuffled into line for
the rations generally referred to as 'lunch.'
"Can I help you with that?"
I turned to see a husky blond man in a red letterman
jacket. He had the look of a rich
scholar-athlete. One of the perfect
people. The question was: what was he
up to? Coming on to the new girl? Moving into the (so to speak) virgin
territory? Or was he connected to Mark
Taylor? I tried not to let any
nervousness show, but my belt thinned out as I acquired a nice set of armor
under my clothes. I didn't think they'd
try anything in a public place, but I didn't plan to take any chances. All of which left me fumbling for a
response. Treat him like an (ugg)
potential boyfriend, or like an (ick) potential rapist? With a sigh, I bit back my snarl and tried
to formulate a nice-girl answer.
"Uh, sorry, I still new here. I'm Angel Quinn." I
held my hand out to him limply, knuckles up.
My foot was ready for a blow to the knee, if I needed it (harder to
block than a crotch shot).
"Pleased to meet you," he said. Even his voice was perfect, a rich
baritone. "I'm Duncan
Mathews. Can I get your lunch for
you?"
Damn, what does a girl say in a situation like that? "Uh, I guess so." Smooth.
He gave a charming smile and slid my tray forward. His other hand made light touches on my
shoulder and elbow, helping to guide me along.
I realized that as the female, I would no longer be leading the
dances. Indeed, it was probably
socially appropriate for my 'escort' to be giving me small touches of control
and guidance. I felt like I was being
herded. Either that, or he was
metaphorically pissing all over me.
That is to say, marking his territory.
Still, it was rather interesting. From a social perspective, I mean.
"I'd advise you to stay away from anything with a
sauce," he confided. "You
never know what they're trying to cover up."
The cook looked up at that and wrinkled her ancient nose at
him. "Still telling your lies,
Mathews?"
"Just helping a new student, Mrs. Harper." His voice was filled with warm charm.
"Get on, you scamp!
I still haven't forgiven you for that 'rat giblets' remark."
By the time we'd reached the end of the line, Duncan had
helped me select one of the better looking salads, a light sandwich, and a
non-fat shake. He added his own items
to my tray, then insisted on paying.
"For the privilege of your company."
Hmmm, did that make me a whore? Instead, I said, "Sorry, but I'm not sitting with anyone
from the team."
He looked genuinely hurt by that. "We're not that bad, I assure you. Rumors of our eating human flesh have been *greatly*
exaggerated."
I shouldered past him.
"Maybe. But your friend
Taylor over there threatened to rape me the other day." I couldn't keep the edge out of my
voice. "If you think I'm going to
sit with him or his friends, you're out of your mind."
He certainly acted well.
He seemed shocked. "You
aren't serious, are you?"
"Serious as anthrax."
"Well…I…he couldn't have…that is…" He paused to recover himself. "Let *me* at least talk to you. I guarantee, I had nothing to do with that. And I'll make damn sure to talk to Mark
about it, too."
I considered for a minute.
He certainly sounded sincere.
And it would be stupid to throw away a potentially useful ally. And we were safe in the crowd. And I still wanted to know what he was up
to.
"Okay, over there," I said, motioning toward where
Scott and Jean were eating.
"Great."
Scott scowled as he looked up and saw us approaching. Jean greeted us with a secretive smile.
"Mathews."
"Summers."
"Duncan, hi!
And thanks a lot."
"Believe me, it's my pleasure."
I sat down, eyeing Jean and Duncan. "This is a setup, isn't it?"
Duncan nodded.
"Well, not a 'setup' exactly," Jean
explained. "It's just that you
need someone to show you around Bayville.
Something better than the malls."
"So she asked me if I knew anyone who could help you
out," Duncan slid in smoothly.
"I'd hardly ask one of my teammates to take on a job that I wasn't
willing to do myself…"
I snorted.
"Well, when a beautiful girl asks me to take another
beautiful girl out on a date, who am I to refuse?"
I stared at Jean in sudden suspicion. "This is part of Ja— Rogue's bet, isn't
it?"
Jean paused, as if trying to figure a way out of it, then
nodded.
"Bet?" Duncan asked, amiably.
Across the table, I could hear Scott's teeth grinding, but
he didn't say a word.
I thought fast and finally came up with a fairly good
alteration of the truth. "We were
kind of arguing, last night. I said
wasn't really sure I was ready to start going out, and other people," I
glared at Jean misleadingly "said that I wasn't giving people the benefit
of the doubt. They claimed that *some*
boys were true gentlemen, and they wouldn't try to take advantage of you or
expect some sort of payback, just 'cause you went out together." There.
That should make my position clear.
Scott was smirking now.
Duncan looked briefly embarrassed before moving gamely forward.
"Well, I'd like to redeem my gender. Much as I'd like the chance to take you out
tonight, we've got the game, then the post-game events. Unless you'd feel comfortable in a football
crowd?"
"Definitely not."
The very thought made me add an extra layer of hard armor in the bikini
regions. I covered the movements with a
quite genuine shiver. "It's too
bad you aren't free, because that would have worked fine."
"Ooo, back luck.
We could still do it. I'd be
happy to introduce you to the guys. And
they aren't a bunch of Mark Taylors. I
can promise that you'd be safe."
"No. Thanks
anyway," I said, inwardly elated.
"But tomorrow would be great, if you're free then. I'd love to show you one of our nicer
restaurants, treat you to a movie, maybe take you to a couple of Bayville's
nicer sights."
"Uh…"
"I'm sure we don't have anything planned for
Saturday," Jean added, helpfully.
"And I'm sure the Professor would be happy to give you the time
off."
*Oh, thanks a ton Jean,* I thought, as sarcastically as I
could. Maybe she didn't have her
telepathy going right then.
"Wonderful!" Duncan said. "That would be great!"
"I—I guess it's a date then," I said with a
sinking feeling.
"What time should I pick you up?"
*****
Gym class was a relief.
Jackie-Rogue and I managed our switch.
She headed for somewhere inconspicuous; I headed for the track. Today was one of my 'off' days. Not a day to practice running for 50 minutes
straight. That was what I liked best,
but the coach had convinced me that the best way to build up my endurance was
to do intensive running on every other day, rather than every day. If I kept things up, this paltry 50 minutes
of running wasn't going to cut it. I
needed a longer workout. Maybe I'd
start running back to the mansion after school.
I did some stretches and limbering up. For some reason the track team hopefuls
glared at me. Fortunately, I wasn't
Angel at the moment, so I could glare right back. That gave me the nicest feeling, so I actually smiled at
them. It probably wasn't a very nice
smile, because they acted kind of spooked by it.
I did a half-dozen laps to get warmed up, then headed in to
the weight room. Free weights are
definitely the best, but the nautilus was open, so I decided to do some leg
work. The nautilus is pretty good for
that. I set my weights and started
pumping, getting into the feel of the reps.
The whole physical training is an exercise in frustration, if I may call
it that. The big beefy guys can do
everything I can do, with up to three times the weight load I can pull. Well, I can get up to over half on some of
the leg exercises. No matter how much I
train, no matter how intensively I work my body, I will never, ever be able to
match those guys in strength.
Briefly, I thought I might be able to get around that by
"cheating." A few nights
back, when no one was around, I briefly tried the shapeshifting powers again
and changed back to Jerry Tratwick. I
was able to adjust things, so that I shifted into a bigger, beefier, vastly
more muscular guy. Then I tested myself
in the weight room just off the Danger Room.
The results were surprising. I was able to lift and curl a little bit more, but for all
practical purposes, my strength was unaltered, even though my shape was changed
considerably. After thinking it over, I
tried to change into a smaller body. It
took some work; I had several false tries, but finally I was able to accomplish
it. There was a moment of intense pain
as my body squeezed itself into a smaller size. When I looked into the mirror, I saw a six-year-old. A six year old GIRL. Hard as it is to believe, Rogue was rather
cute as a child. When I went to the
weights, again I found my capacity virtually unaltered. I made a damn strong child.
All of this just reinforced what I wanted to do anyway. I'd run more experiments as I trained, but
it seemed to me to be one more example of what Jackie had told me long
before. My power changed *shape*, but
it didn't alter what I was. So my
interest in fitness was doubly important.
Anything I gained through training would apply to every shape I
eventually learned to use.
So there I was, happily doing reps, zoning out while waxing
philosophic on the pluses and minuses of my particular situation. The weight room was nearly empty, only one
or two other people in it. This wasn't
too surprising, since football season was almost over and the basketball
players aren't nearly so big on weight training. I wasn't too worried about Mark Taylor, since he had a grudge
against Angel Quinn, not Rogue. So life
was good, I pumped away, and let my mind wander.
That's why I was so surprised when someone grabbed my
shoulder. I looked up, half expecting
Mark Taylor. Reflexively, I armored up,
flowing mass out of my belt and shoes and into cloth and plate, just under my
sweats.
It was a man in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in a Bayville sweatshirt and matching
sweatpants. He might have passed as a
student from a distance, but up close it was obvious that he was in his late
twenties. I scrambled out of the
nautilus machine to face him, making sure that I'd made every preparation to face
him. Gloves reinforced? Check.
"Buzz" going? Check. Scalp armor? Check.
"It's been nearly a month," he said, giving his
lips a snide twist. "Did you think
we were going to just forget you?"
My mind raced. It
was just short of three weeks ago that the accident had occurred. I'd been seeing Rogue off and on for about
three weeks before that, and very intently during the break. She'd told me plenty of personal secrets,
but nothing that seemed to connect to this.
Who was this guy? What did he want? Clearly, he was no friend.
"It's been a busy month," I stalled. "Ah'm still thinking."
"I'll bet."
He said with a sneer.
"Mystique had clear instructions to wait, but she jumped the gun,
didn't she? She always has to go
playing her own game. Well you
certainly pulled a number on her. Don't
imagine that you'll even get the chance with any of the rest of us."
I tried not to let the shock show on my face. "No one ever knows what Mystique is
really up to," I said in Rogue's comforting drawl. "Ah sure as hell don't." I tried to circle around toward the other
door.
"Some of us are thinking that you sucked her dry. That you know everything she knew."
I visibly shuddered.
That was way too close to the truth.
"Believe me," I said with utter sincerity, "having ANY of
that woman's thoughts inside mah head would be enough to drive me over the
edge. Having all of it – Ah think Ah'd
kill myself."
"Then you aren't concerned about the Solution
Option?" he probed.
"The what?"
I scowled, trying to think of what he meant. Chemical solution?
Dissolving something? Solving a
problem? Was this something that Rogue
would really know about?
"Just testing.
It's just one of the options in case you don't cooperate with us. Remember, all we're asking for is a couple
of little numbers. One touch, a few
minutes work, and we won't bother you again."
He certainly knew about my powers. Maybe it was time for a little intimidation of my own. I slowly began to undo my gloves. "Maybe YOU'D like to feel a little
touch," I suggested.
With a cruel smirk, he raised a hand and grabbed me around
the throat. That is, he was standing
across the room, squeezing his hand on empty air, but I felt his grip on my
throat. Some sort of telekinesis, I
assume. Not that I cared much after a
moment. While he prattled on about the
deep inspiration he'd taken from _Star_Wars_, I was quickly realizing that
things were going black. It wasn't so
much the constriction on my throat – I could still get a gasp of air through –
it was the fact that he was pressing on both my jugular veins. I thrashed and squirmed, but there was
nothing to touch. I couldn't even touch
the 'fingers' around my throat. All I
could do was struggle while my vision narrowed down to a smaller and tighter tunnel. Then as suddenly as it had come, the
pressure was gone. I collapsed on my
hands and knees, heaving in ragged breaths, while I tried to clear the fog and
dizziness out of my head.
"Not too sharp, are you? Last time should have convinced you. We aren't so dumb that we're going to send out someone who need
to touch you. Maybe you just need a
little more convincing."
Flexing his fingers with a predatory smirk, he moved his
hand in a open-palmed swing. If I
hadn't been so groggy I might have figured it out, but instead, I took a hard
slap to the face. It was hard enough to
snap my head to the side and leave my ears ringing for just a moment. I staggered up to my feet, trying desperately
to think of a strategy. He moved his
fist in a low underhand swing. I tried
to jump back, but the hit took me in the gut.
Strangely, that wasn't actually too bad. I realized that he'd hit the armor, which had cushioned the blow
and spread the impact.
I looked up. He had
a rictus-like gasping smile; he looked utterly psychotic. But he didn't seem disappointed that he'd
hit me on the armor. Maybe he didn't
know. I exaggerated my reaction,
curling extra hard around the blow and gasping.
"You and your little school friends think you're so
tough. Time to face the real world,
little girl. This world plays by OUR
rules. You don't like it? Tough."
This time, he gave a kick.
It hit on the back flank of my left thigh. Again the armor blunted it, but he'd managed to kick in one of
the most sensitive parts of the leg. I
gave a scream of pain (mostly faked) and let the momentum swing me off my feet
so I crashed to the ground. Thank god
he wasn't trying to cripple me! I don't
think I could have handled a blow like that to my knee.
"Too back I can't feel you this way, or maybe I'd show
you a real good time."
My head was suddenly grabbed in two powerful, invisible
hands. I felt a smooth, invisible rock
mashing my lips back.
"Like that, you little tart? That's about the only way you're ever likely to get some, isn't
it? Hey, if you get desperate enough,
maybe I can show you what it is that you're missing! It's not like anyone else is going to be able to."
He punctuated that bit of sensitive romance with a
backhanded slap to the face. I tried to
tone down my reaction to that. The last
thing I wanted was to take real blows from him. So far, I still hadn't figured out any sort of attack I could use
against him.
"Oh yeah, almost forgot. In case the physical stuff isn't convincing enough, I was
supposed to give you some threats, too."
He gave me an idle kick to the gut. Even the little training I'd had from Logan
let me see that this guy had no style at all.
He didn't need it. He had all
the class and artistry of a grade-school bully. Someone that can hit you, knowing that you can never hit
back. He seemed to have figured out
some of the more sensitive spots to hit, but he had no technique and no real
power. I was pretty sure, even with my current
level of training, that if this guy hadn't had his powers to back him up, I
could have wiped the floor with him.
Unfortunately, he *did* have powers, which he used to kick me in the
kidney.
"So we spotted the little hit job on your friend Gavin.
Oh, yeah, that was back before she
turned into 'Angel Quinn' to ditch the heat." He spotted my reaction.
"Yeah, you better believe we're keeping track of you guys. What ever happened to those tacos that ran
the hit on them? It you was halfway
smart, like us, you would have buried them all, somewhere where they'll never
be found."
He paused to grab me around the throat again, while his
other hand slapped me back and forth. I
think the modern term is "bitch slapping." I am ashamed to admit that it brought me to tears. There had to be something I could do to this
guy! Collapsing to my hands and knees,
I thought about the crossbow I had once used.
I didn't have enough wood on me (a mistake I would NEVER repeat), but
maybe I had enough power to just create it.
But he'd see a crossbow before I could even use it. He'd grab it right out of my hands. But what if I rigged something inside the
arm of my shirt? Something more like
the design of a scuba diver's spear gun?
Powered by elastic, I could do that.
One quick spear to the gut, before he could react and knock it
aside. I concentrated, trying to create
a new weapon. First I needed the plates
of wood on my arm...
"So anyway, we were thinking that maybe that whole hit
job wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe you
care about Gavin. Maybe we should just
drop details of her new identity to the organization that set up the first
hit. Or maybe we should come up with
something on our own, maybe a little snatch-and-play with that redhead, or that
little roommate of yours. She might be
able to walk through walls, but I'll bet I could hold her in place. Or maybe your little soldier-boy. You know, Mr. Stick-up-the-butt. I wonder if he'd look better if he was Mr.
Bullet-in-the-skull? I'm just saying
that you should consider the consequences, if you decide to keep pissing us
off."
With that, he grabbed me and lifted me up by the
breasts. I could see his (real) hands
flexing, and I could feel my weight being lifted from the chest, but it didn't
hurt. I realized that I had a solid
armor breastplate. He was grabbing
that. Inwardly, I felt immense relief. Outwardly I screamed, to give him his
show. I was slightly afraid that he
might be able to figure out how to apply telekinetic pressure *under* my
armor. Far better to let him think he
was succeeding now. I think the tears
and expression on my face from the previous slaps helped the realism, too.
"Think it over.
You know how to contact us. Next
time, I won't be so reasonable. Hasta
la vista, BITCH."
With one last kick, he knocked me hard into the wall. Neither the kick nor the impact was very
bad, with the armor. I let myself slide
to the floor, as if I had barely any strength left. I was trying to get the elastic just right, but I wasn't ready
yet. So before I could shoot him,
before I could drive a spear through his stinking guts, the bastard walked out
the back door and left.
Moments later I had barely regained my feet when the front
door slammed open. It was Scott in the
lead, with Jean not far behind. Behind
them were people I knew and others I didn't.
The coach. Some of the track
team. A whole crowd.
"What happened?" Scott yelled, staring at me. "We heard screaming."
I felt like an utter idiot.
Of course! What's a girl's first
impulse when she gets in trouble? She
screams or threatens to scream. And in
this case, it would have been enough to save me. Obviously, I wasn't much of a girl. Not only had I never thought of it, I still didn't care much for
the idea. Instead, I wanted to meet him
face to face. I wanted to plant my fist
in his nose. I wanted to sink a spear
into his gut. The thought reminded me,
and I smoothed the crude speargun back into a wooden wrist band.
I stood there, breath heaving in and out. If I could judge by the feel of my face,
there was no sense in denying that *something* had happened.
"Out the back door," I gasped. "A man, late twenties, dressed in
Bayville sweats."
There was immediately a pile-up against the back door, but
it seemed to be jammed.
Scott stepped toward me, looking deeply worried. "Are you okay?" He reached gently toward my cheek.
I flinched back from the contact. Belatedly I remembered that I had the "buzz" going;
nothing would have happened even if he'd touched me. I saw a look of confusion in his face.
"Rogue?"
"Ah'll talk to you later," I promised. "After school."
The back door finally came free, but there was no one to be
seen.
Continued in Chapter 23, "Aerobic workouts for
mutants" appearing NEXT Week!
since 07/07/03
