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From: kielle@aol.com (Kielle)
Newsgroups: alt.comics.fan-fiction
Subject: XMEN/GENX: Starting Over 1/1?
Date: 21 Feb 1998 05:52:07 GMT
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What If...?: Starting Over
By Kelly "Kielle" Newcomb
(kielle@aol.com)

All characters are Marvel's; I'm not making any money or 
intending any harm, it's just for fun honestly.  Concept inspired 
by a random remark by Laersyn -- what can I say?  We carpool 
home every day and a lot of ideas go flying around en route.  ;)  
Feedback is appreciated.

I'll warn you right now: this is not a completed story, but I 
have no idea where it's going so this might be all you see of it.  
Apologies in advance.

***

        Two people sat on either side of a heavy oak desk on a 
bright spring day whose airy sunlight was shrouded away 
behind regal velvet curtains.  The room smelled of paper, ink, 
and long nights spent hunched over a keyboard nursing a cup 
of cold coffee.  The man was distinguished in his forest-green 
turtleneck and dark slacks; the woman was slightly mussed but 
every bit as intense as her old friend as she leaned forward on 
the edge of her seat.  Awaiting his response.  A old-fashioned 
clock ticked faintly but inexorably in the background.
        The man appeared to be deeply considering the woman's 
words of the last ten minutes, fingers steepled to his lip and 
brow furrowed in thought.  Finally he spoke:
        "I'd be lying to you if I told you that I was completely 
comfortable with this idea."
        "A know, Charles.  But it's the only way tae keep the boy 
safe.  Ye have tae trust me."
        Charles Xavier sighed and ran an absent hand over his 
head to rub the nape of his neck, but he nodded.  "I do.  It's 
nothing personal against him, and I have full confidence that 
my students are mature enough to understand this situation as 
it currently lies...it's just that I don't think the estate is a good 
place for a child right now.  Perhaps Massachusetts...?  Surely 
Sean..."
        Moira MacTaggert shook her head so vigorously that her 
russet pageboy bounced around her owlish glasses.  "Sean 
would love tae see him ag'in, true, but...well..."  She looked 
down at her hands, which were interlocked in her lap.  She 
hadn't had more than a catnap or two in the twelve hours since 
the above-ground wing of the Muir Island facility had been 
razed to the ground by unknown forces; her clothes still 
smelled of smoke, she desperately wanted a bath, and frankly 
she couldn't understand why Charles was balking on taking her 
ward into protective custody until Excalibur could nail the 
culprits.
        "It's Emma, isn't it."
        Dr. MacTaggert jerked upright to glare at him 
indignantly.  "Nothing of the sort!  Emma an' A get along just 
fine.  This has nothing tae do wi'me an' Sean."
        Tactfully, Charles moved the conversation right past his 
dear friend's inadvertant admission that there WAS perhaps 
something wrong on that particular horizon.  "I didn't say that 
it did, Moira.  I was thinking more along the lines of how she 
used to treat the New Mutants...and Rahne."  He folded his 
hands together on the desk before him, his expression taking 
on the decisive look she knew so well.  "No, I'm sorry, Moira, 
but the best place for the boy right now IS at the 
Massachusetts Academy.  He'll be safe there, safer than he 
would be here."
        "But--"
        "Do you trust ME, Moira?"
        She bit her lip and then stood up abruptly.  "A...yes, damn 
you, A do.  But A'm still considering this tae be YOUR 
responsibility if anything goes wrong."
        "I assure you: nothing will go wrong.  In fact, I think 
this'll be good for him.  He's been all alone on Muir Island 
without the company of other children for far too long."
        "Children...?  Sean's students are nae exactly children!"
        Charles couldn't help himself -- he smiled as he escorted 
her to the study door, his golden hoverchair humming gently 
over the antique carpet.  "Have you spoken to Jubilee 
recently?"
        "Mmm...  Touche, Sir Xavier."

***

        "This is a stupid game."
        "You're just saying that because you're terminally short, 
bonita."
        Jubilee scowled at her classmates from her perch on the 
edge of a planter.  She was sitting with her chin planted on her 
fist and her lower lip pouted out with the practiced air of a girl 
who, if sulking were an Olympic sport, would have to keep a 
close eye on her peers to keep from getting bashed in the knee.  
"It's not my fault that you're all mutants, and I'm NOT talking 
about your powers.  Tallness should be a federal crime.  It's 
NOT fair.  You should be required to play on your knees."
        Everett exchanged a sympathetic glance with Angelo.  At 
least, it was sympathetic from Ev's side -- Ange was grinning 
without the slightest trace of empathy.  He casually twirled the 
basketball in one finger as he innocently offered, "We could let 
you have one free shot every time one of us gets a basket...or 
maybe Artie and Leech would like to play too, we could clear 
the court for you three..."
        "Don't patronize me."
        "Oooo, what a big word -- you've been studying for the 
vocabulary test?  Now I've seen it all!  Catch me, Monet, I 
think I may faint!"
        It was a bright spring day in Massachusetts, brighter than 
in Westchester County, but that didn't account for the glittering 
sparks swarming around Jubilation Lee's fists as she jumped to 
her feet.  "All right, that does it -- gimme the frickin' ball!  You 
and me, right here, right now, mano a womano!  C'mon!"
        Angelo grinned and sketched an elaborate bow as he 
tossed the basketball her way.  Everett backed off of the 
tarmac before things got ugly.  Monet stared calmly right past 
Jubilee and enquired, "Excuse me, are you lost?"
        Jubilee blinked, confused, for a half second before 
whipping around to face whoever the heck Monet was talking 
to.  The basketball deflected harmlessly off of her shoulder as 
she turned, bouncing into the grass.  No one cared to notice or 
stop it -- something far more interesting was afoot...
        "Something far more interesting," as it turned out, was a 
little boy about Franklin's age, possibly a little older.  Seven or 
eight, roughly.  He was wearing a plain tee-shirt, sneakers, and 
jeans with a worn spot on each knee (the universal prerequisite 
for a little boy's jeans, of course), and he had a jacket which 
looked far too bulky for the warm day and which was thus 
slung over his arm.  He froze and looked as if he wanted to 
back away into the bushes, but to his credit he held his ground 
bravely under the four teenagers' scrutiny.
        What was oddest about him (other than the fact that the 
Massachusetts Academy was miles from civilization and criss-
crossed with security systems, meaning that kids didn't simply 
wander onto the grounds) was the child's slightly shaggy hair.  
It was white -- not ice-blond, but pure true white.
        Everett recovered first.  Pushing past Jubilee, he dropped 
to one knee in front of their small intruder and restated more 
gently, "Hello, are you lost?"
        The boy shook his head, still clutching his jacket tightly.  
When he spoke, his voice was tinged with an oddly mature 
melange of British-Isle accents bearing the occasional 
Germanic edge.  "No, I...I was bored, and Aunt Moira was 
talking with the lady for so long, I...can I play too?  Please?"
        Angelo couldn't help it -- he snickered and muttered 
something about "finally finding the perfect opponent for 
Jubes."  Jubilee took one deliberate long step back and 
elbowed her amigo in the ribs, hard, without deigning to turn 
around to aim.
        "Sure, you can play."  Everett stood up and gestured 
toward the side of the sunny court.  "How about you go put 
your jacket right there on the planter?"
        As the child complied, Angelo ruefully rubbed his bruised 
side and whispered to Jubilee, "Moira?  As in Dr. MacTaggert?  
Don't tell me we've got another 'student'..."
        Monet replied behind him in a quite ordinary speaking 
tone, "This IS a school, Angelo, not a social club for juvenile 
delinquents.  Just because he is younger than you does not 
mean that he does not belong here."
        Ange glared at her.  "Thank you, o Queen of Tact.  I've 
got nothing against him.  I LIKE kids.  I'm just starting to 
wonder if this is such a good place for little ones, you know?  
We get attacked an awful lot for a place which is supposed to 
be a secret..."
        At that point Ev and the now jacketless child moved onto 
the court, killing the topic of discussion for the time being.  
The rugrat was clutching the retrieved basketball to his chest, 
his blue eyes bright with excitement.  Privately, Jubilee had to 
admit that he was kinda cute.  She decided in that instant to 
make sure to do her good deed for the week by making a big 
show of picking him for "her team" even as she sighed at her 
own sudden altruistic impulse.  *Jubilation, you're just a big 
softie, arencha...*
        "Hey, hi, look, no offense, but we can't just call you 'kid,'" 
she said aloud.  "What's your name, little guy?"
        He looked up at her, his shyness evaporated by the pride 
of being allowed to play with the "big kids."
        "Erik," he told her cheerfully.  "Erik Lehnsherr."

***

To be continued...?  Dunno -- it was just a random weird idea.  
Theoretically, this is an alternate universe where Magneto was 
never re-aged by Eric The Red (or was it Proteus? argh!), and 
thus has been growing up on Muir Island under Moira's care 
(and, later, that of Excalibur) for the last eight or so years.  
(Lessee, what would be different...?  Wolverine would be 
normal, someone else would have taught the New Mutants 
(and they might not have ever stomped out to eventually 
become X-Force), the X-Men would have had to defeat 
Zaladane on their own terms, Rogue would probably have died 
(YAY!) in the Savage Land in the aftermath of her little split-
personality Danvers problem, Onslaught would have never 
happened...would the Acolytes exist?...  Hmmm!)

At first I was going to write the little guy with Excalibur or 
stick him with the X-Men (so it is NOT a rip-off of David 
Warner's Manchild work, darnnit! I didn't even make the 
connection until I started writing this endnote), but then I 
decided to make this piece possibly eligible for the GenX 
archive instead.  ;)  If anyone else wants to run with the idea, I 
have no objections.  Maybe I should move it onto the round 
robin board...?

.-=K=-.


~~~~~~~~~~~
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