Disclaimer:  If you don't know that Magneto belongs to Marvel by now, what the 
heck are you doing reading this?  Well, I don't mind that much, I suppose, 
because the more who read it, the better, so far as I'm concerned. 
Note:  This is a funny fic.  Sit back.  Relax.  Smile. 
The world is a funny place. 
By The Banks of the Danube 
By Mel 
Many stories have an imaginary observer.  These 
observers watch the most amazing scenes, and seem not affected.  These observers 
notice details, like the fall of hair around a face, the dead protein somehow 
imparting the players in the scene with emotions, be they depressed, lonely or 
secretive.  They notice the pallor indicating time away from the sun, or faint 
discomfort.  They distinguish the surprisingly broad shoulders in the well-
tailored suit, from the short, slim form in the oldish jacket above well-worn 
jeans. Even the way the players in the scene walk is discerned, staring at the 
ground, forging ahead in the crowd or a gentle bouncing motion thrown from 
person to person as eyes are taken up by determinedly looking at the buildings 
and faces in an effort to ignore some hidden pain.  Of course the observers have 
to take time out to gaze in silent (they're always silent) scrutiny at the city 
around them, knowing, as all well trained imaginary observers know, about the 
history of the city, say Vienna, the home of many great cultural events through 
history, and details even of the river by which the players may walk, the 
Danube.  However, there were no imaginary observers, so the scene played out 
without any notice.  It was neither an earth-shattering discovery, nor a battle 
that would affect the lives of millions.  Rather, it was a beginning.  And the 
thing about beginnings is, important ones are often missed because no one sees 
them coming.  And neither of the players in this little scene even saw the 
beginning approaching until it hit them in the face. 
~The trouble with happy childhoods is when they end and you leave, armed with 
good-wishes, and go to seek your fortune, you get so homesick,~ Lissa thought, 
staring up at the ugly, interesting faces of the gargoyles on the buildings she 
passed.  It only made it worse that the happy childhood she'd left behind was in 
Australia and here she was in Vienna, wandering the streets, with practically no 
money, and no job. Too young, too inexperienced, too underqualified. Piffle.  
She knew she was the best damn psychologist that was available at the moment.  
She sniffled, overcome again by a wave of homesickness, and loneliness.  
Loneliness?  Lissa never felt lonely.  It came again, so strong she wavered.  
More people rushing around, ignoring the pale foreigner and bumping into her.  
Her homesickness, obviously seizing its chance, gripped her heart in its cold, 
hard grip and tears welled.  She staggered, blinded by tears and buffeted by 
emotions and the careless crowds. 
Erik Magnus Lensherr, better known to many people as Magneto, Mutant Master of 
Magnetism, forged his way through the crowds, ignoring everyone.  He wasn't 
pushed around by the people on the street, somehow they knew not to be in his 
way.  It may have been his aura of power, or simply the fact that when you see 
someone that tall, that broad shouldered, and with a scowl like that on their 
face, you don't 'accidentally' bump into them.  He was unaware that he was 
scowling, not that it would have bothered him.  He was lost in reminiscence.  
Tomorrow was the anniversary of Magda's death.  He'd dealt with this anniversary 
in a number of ways, alone, with company, denial, in the many, many years since 
Magda had left him alone.  That was the word at the centre of his being.  Alone.  
He grimly surveyed his loneliness, as a child would pick at a scab.  He was 
always alone. His family and friends had been destroyed, his child, his wife, 
everything.  He had reached the point of contemplating his rejection by his 
other children when a small body bounced into him.  Automatically he started to 
push it out of his way, but two hands reached up to grasp his collar and shake 
him. Considering the difference in size she was shaking herself more than him. 
"Stop it!  Just stop being so satisfied!" she hissed in English. 
Before Magneto could react to this, the person 
attacking him slumped. 
"And stop being so sad," she ordered, then burst into noisy tears into the front 
of his shirt. 
None of this was an attack that he could recognise, and by now he was getting 
some surprisingly dirty looks from the passers-by.  He shuffled to the side, so 
that the pair of them were standing in a sheltered doorway.  The girl continued 
to cry, bawling at him with heavy sobs that didn't seem likely to ever end. 
Magneto patted her on the back, bit his lip, and tried to think of a way of 
politely pointing out that she was getting his shirt all snotty.  He couldn't 
think of anything to say, so he stood and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. 
Lissa felt no such inhibitions. She had been only just holding back her 
homesickness, and this man had attacked her with such strong emotions that her 
already weakened shields had fallen.  While she had been an empath most of her 
life, and had been trained to use her ability in the best possible way, she was 
not at her best.  She sobbed, and tried to comfort the tall, strong bewildered 
man. 
Magneto, despite the girl's pitiful behaviour, would have pushed her away and 
continued on his way, but for one thing.  She had grabbed his left hand and 
patted it, murmuring between heaving breaths. 
"It's okay, it'll be fine," she murmured at him.  He found himself trapped by 
this, and his disbelief.  She was trying to comfort him. 
Lissa finally found herself calming after almost half an hour.  Her breathing 
slowed and calmed, and her thoughts speeded up.  Here was a man who probably 
needed someone to talk to.  As soon as she realised this, she acted. 
She was stopping, Magneto thought in relief.  She 
stepped back and looked up at him, her brown eyes red rimmed, and her face 
blotchy.  Then she did it.  She was a perfectly ordinary person until she 
smiled.  Her smile shone joy, and her entire being glowed at the person she 
smiled at, as if only they existed.  Not that the smile made people think that 
she was beautiful.  It did something much more complex. People didn't care, 
after she smiled at them.  She smiled at Magneto, and while he was still 
blinking, she spoke quickly. 
"It's all your fault I did that, you know.  Now you're going to have to take me 
to dinner to make up for it. But first I have to get cleaned up."  With that she 
pulled him by the hand back out into the street.  It was very much like a child 
pulling an adult along, not waiting for argument, determined to get their own 
way. 
The sheer surprise prevented Magneto from breaking away immediately.  Once she 
started talking, curiosity kept him there. 
"I really should learn more um, Austrian.  German and French too, probably.  
What the heck, Japanese, Chinese and Russian.  You feel like such an idiot if 
you are staying in a country and you can't speak the language," she said, 
sniffing.  They reached what Magneto recognised as a youth hostel, and she 
dragged him in.  She had a tiny room of her own six levels up, and she dragged 
him in there.  She gestured at the bed, and started digging in a large bag, 
which had its contents overflowing onto the floor. 
"I'll just change my shirt, because this one is a bit um, casual.  Actually it's 
closer to a complete wreck, but lets not go there," she stood with her back to 
him, stripped off the old shirt (a faded football jersey) and pulled on a 
chenille jumper, which would have been much better if she hadn't pulled her old 
jacket over the top.  She undid her plait, and shook out her hair. 
Finally, she turned to Magneto. 
"My name is Lissa," she said, placing her hand on her chest in the age-old 
gesture of someone identifying themselves to someone who doesn't speak the same 
language.  She didn't raise her voice and or change her tone at all, unlike many 
foreigners who think that if you yell other people will understand you better. 
"Where are you taking me to dinner?" 
Magneto stared at her for a moment.  She had been 
acting as though he were an old friend, showing no nervousness at having him in 
her room.  Not even the inhibitions of a woman getting changed in the same room 
as a man.  He realised all of a sudden that he had forgotten about the 
anniversary. 
"My name is Magnus Lensherr.  I know a good 
restaurant," he said. 
"Oh, you speak English.  That's a relief.  I was hoping that you might not think 
that I was kidnapping you.  I can only say please, thank-you, you bastard, where 
are the toilets and if you don't give me a cup of tea I'll rip your eyes out, in 
Austrian," Lissa said. 
Magneto gave an involuntary chuckle.  "Where on earth did you learn that?" he 
asked. 
Lissa opened the door and waited for him to go first. "I never reveal my 
sources." 
Magneto froze.  "Are you a reporter?" he asked coldly, drawing himself up. 
Lissa closed the door after them, not seeming to 
notice his anger.  "No, I'm a mutant psychologist. Not a very successful one 
though, I haven't got a job."  She noticed him standing there.  "Are you coming?  
I don't know the way, so you'd better lead, Martin." 
"My name in Magnus," he said coldly. 
"Sorry.  I have a terrible memory for names.  Faces I have no trouble with.  So, 
let's go eat," Lissa said. 
Magneto again found himself doing as she ordered, 
because he wanted to find out what she was going to do next.  He led her to a 
restaurant, then ordered for her, because she couldn't read the menu. 
After they had been served the first course, Magneto asked the question that had 
been bothering him. 
"What do you mean when you say that you are a mutant psychologist?" he asked, 
inspecting his fork disinterestedly. 
"You know about mutants?  Those born with an extra gene that allows them some 
special power?" Lissa asked.  Magneto nodded sagely. 
"I suppose I can't really call myself a psychologist though.  I've never worked, 
and at the moment," she stuffed a forkful of food in her mouth, "it's beginning 
to look like I never will." 
Magneto tried to feel patient.  "But what do you mean by mutant psychologist?" 
"Didn't I explain?" Lissa look puzzled.  "I'm hoping to work with mutants, 
eventually." Lissa didn't see Magneto's eyes harden.  She gazed off into the 
distance, reminiscing, "I've wanted to be a mutant psychologist, although I did 
go through the normal kid stages, mutant ballerina, mutant astronaut, mutant 
fireperson, but mostly it's been a mutant psychologist.  I guess being an empath 
I didn't really have that much choice.  And mutant mutant psychologist is just a 
bit unwieldy." 
Magneto nearly bit through his fork.  "You're a mutant?" 
"Yes, why?" Lissa asked calmly. 
Magneto swallowed.  "Do you think that you should tell me?" 
"Why not?  You asked," Lissa replied casually. 
A waiter came and removed the plates, so Magneto 
refrained from answering this inane question.  Then the annoying servitor came 
back and served the main course. 
At last they were left in peace.  Magneto fixed a firm eye on his young 
companion. 
"You shouldn't tell just anyone that you are a mutant," he started. 
"I don't tell just anyone, I just tell anyone who asks," Lissa interrupted 
cheerily. 
Magneto sighed.  "But some will not be as accepting as I," he told her. 
Lissa reached for her glass, which had just been 
filled with what Magneto considered an adequate red wine.  She took a sip, and 
looked at him over the rim of the glass. 
"I've found that most people who ask are perfectly willing to accept it," she 
said, seriously. 
"I have not been so fortunate," Magneto's voice was soft.  "What about those who 
do not ask?  Those who find out on their own?" he added. 
Lissa put her head to one side to think about that. "I don't know.  Why would it 
matter?" 
Magneto stared at the woman (he guessed that if she was a psychologist, then she 
was a woman, not a girl) sitting opposite him.  "Of course it matters." 
Lissa looked at him, interested.  "Why?" she asked. 
"Because humans hate mutants.  Fear them.  They will not rest until what they 
fear is destroyed," Magneto struggled to keep his tone low and conversational. 
Lissa smiled again.  "Really?  I can't agree with you." 
"Why is that?"  Magneto braced himself for the arguments about humans and 
mutants working together, and all the rest of the 'Xavier's dream' stuff that 
had never convinced him. 
"Because I don't think that it matters," Lissa said. "Of course, you're free to 
think what you want," she grinned, and put down her fork.  "I'm the last person 
to try and convince anyone that I am right.  I just don't think that hatred and 
fear are excuses for hatred and fear." 
The waiter came back then, and took their orders for dessert. 
Lissa sipped contemplatively at her wine, then giggled a bit.  "You have the 
funniest look on your face, Marcel." 
"Magnus, my name is Magnus.  And I am simply surprised that you take the threat 
of what people think of you so lightly."  His eyes on his plate, he carefully 
finished off his meal, conscientiously eating all that was in front of him. 
Lissa just smiled. 
Almost an hour later, and Magneto was smiling.  More than that, he was chortling 
at the story Lissa was telling, her arms outspread, about the time she blew up 
her school's home economics building with nothing more explosive than an egg 
whisk, chocolate sauce and just a little brandy.  She kept interrupting herself 
though, as she had to push herself upright, after sliding down in her chair.  
After explaining the look on her teachers face, covered in chocolate, soot and 
horror she giggled for a moment, then inspected her glass. 
"I do think," she said carefully.  "That I might be just a tad tiddly." 
Magnus found this tremendously funny. 
Lissa looked at him severely for a long moment.  "You don't understand!" she 
said firmly.  "I'm a contagious drunk.  Look!"  She waved a shaky hand at the 
rest of the dining room. 
Magnus looked around.  There appeared to be a 
remarkably large number of people dancing on tables for such a decorous 
restaurant.  In fact, there he'd certainly never seen a conga line in here 
before.  He watched as a large matron kicked her legs vigorously, just out of 
time of the rest of the snaking dancers, and surprised himself with a giggle. 
Wait a moment.  The Mutant Master of Magnetism does not giggle.  He giggled 
again at that thought. 
Lissa giggled at him.  "You're tiddly too!" she said delightedly.  "I knew 
something would happen when you kept filling up my glass.  How many brandies 
have you had?" 
Magneto considered this question with the thoroughness it deserved.  "Quite a 
few, I think." 
"See?  I'm contagious." 
Some hours later, the restaurant was nearly empty, and Lissa leaned over from 
the fruit salad she was eating all the grapes out of.  "It's getting boring in 
here, Malcolm," she said. 
"My name is Magnus," Magnus said magnificently.  He took a deep breath.  "Let's 
blow this joint."  He grinned widely, feeling parts of his face ache in a way 
they never had before.  "I've wanted to say that for the longest time," he added 
conspiratorially. 
Lissa beamed.  "I couldn't agree more, Marvin." 
Magnus held his comments in as he paid the strangely swaying matre de.  Once out 
in the street, however, he turned and towered over the diminutive Lissa. 
"My name is not Marvin.  My name is Magnus.  As in Magnus, aka Magneto, Mutant 
Master of Magnetism.  It is not Marvin, Mutant Master of Magnetism, or Mandy, 
Mutant Master of Magnetism," he said, the capital letters dropping neatly into 
place. 
Lissa blinked at him.  "But you're not the mutant wassit of thingy." 
"I am!"  Magnus was affronted. 
"You are not." 
"Am too!" 
"Okay then," Lissa surveyed the gloomy, mostly empty, street.  "Pick that up 
then, if you're really a master of wassit, magnets!"  She pointed a wobbling 
hand down the street. 
Magnus made a dramatic gesture, which was wasted 
without a cloak, and pointed down the street.  With barely a flick of his power, 
he lifted what Lissa had indicated up into the air.  He turned to look at her in 
triumphant 'I told you so'ed ness.  She didn't seem surprised and awed though.  
More, he considered, stunned horror. 
"I meant the fork, not the police car, the fork!" she exclaimed. 
"You should have been more specific then," Magnus said grumpily, waving the car 
around for emphasis. 
"I was specific.  I pointed at the fork.  Put that car down!" Lissa ordered 
hurriedly. 
Magnus sighed, resigned.  Women were so fickle.  He'd just settled the car down 
when Lissa tugged on his arm. 
"What?" 
"Could you put it the right way up?" 
"Why should I?  The police have never done anything for me."  Magnus shrugged. 
"How about just for me, you put it round the other way?" Lissa's eyes were big, 
brown and bloodshot. 
Magnus was, amongst the many, many other things, a gentleman, so he politely 
turned the car around the right way.  He was rewarded by a big grin. 
"Thank you," Lissa said cheerily.  "No it's time for us to leave.  's not 
running away, it's a stragic retreat." 
Magnus nodded.  He'd used that logic too on occasion. 
As they staggered between the old, tall buildings, standing on things that they 
didn't want to think about, and getting totally lost, Lissa managed to pick up a 
bin lid. 
"It must be cool being able to do stuff like that," she said when they finally 
stopped to catch their breaths.  "Wish I could, you know, zap, pow, kazam!" She 
swung around the bin lid like a spartan shield. 
"It's not all that exciting," Magnus said. 
"I'll bet it is," Lissa said with a grin.  "Anyway, I'm sure there's some cool 
places to hang out at night over here.  Let's go find them." 
Magnus, with his much better sense of directions, led the way to the happening 
part of town.  After all, the night was young, and he was de-aged.  What more 
could Marcel, Mutant Thingy of Wassit ask for? 

Lissa lay very, very still.  There was a certain 
something about the inch long hair growing on her tongue, which let her know 
that she had been drinking a lot the night before.  With the slowness of 
tectonic plates moving, she opened her eyes.  Yup, definitely drunk a lot.  
She'd never seen this bathroom before. It's always a bad thing when you don't 
remember how you got into a strangers bathroom.  Of course, the bath was fairly 
comfortable, but what ever she was using as a blanket was just a bit too small, 
hard and awkward for comfort.  She looked down, her eyes simply slits.  She'd 
picked up a bin lid.  She supposed that that was better than the steering wheel 
from last time, but not by much. 
Dragging herself upright, using the taps, shower 
curtain walls and anything else she could reach, Lissa did a quick mental count 
of limbs.  It appeared she had all the normal ones, and no extras either, which 
was generally considered a plus.  Avoiding thinking about the last night, in the 
same way that someone walking in a tiger's cage avoids standing on the tiger's 
tail, she went to step out of the bathtub. 
Right onto Magnus's stomach. 
In the space of microseconds, they both screamed and ran to opposite ends of the 
small bathroom.  Magnus would have denied that he screamed to anyone who 
mentioned it later, but Lissa knew better. 
Just as they'd realised that this wasn't some kind of weird attack, and 
remembered who the other was, their hangovers remembered them.  Bright lights 
flashed, and both clutched at their heads in a bad imitation of people under 
psionic attack.  With the single-minded need of the badly hungovered, they both 
reached for the small cabinet.  Sitting in there was what someone had obviously 
left there.  One, single, aspirin. 
It is impolitic to describe a cat-fight between a 
freedom fighter and a psychologist over possession of an aspirin, let alone one 
where they both had to move slowly and keep their eyes mostly shut to prevent 
their brains from imploding. 
However, five minutes later, there was the natural result.  Magnus had won.  It 
was a victory to be proud of.  And he was proud.  Extraordinarily proud. 
Lissa tottered back to the bath, and turned the taps on, and sat down in it. 
"Ohhhhhh," she sighed, closing her eyes again. 
Magnus, despite the aspirin, wasn't feeling much 
better, and he sat down heavily.  "What happened?" 
"I think, and I'm not too sure about this, but I think that I got run over by a 
bus," Lissa said, then slid down into the inch deep water. 
"You too?  Must have been a big bus," he commented. 
Lissa lay, and felt her jumper getting nice and wet. "I guess so." 
Magnus picked up a phone and whispered hoarsely in it, ordering orange juice, 
water and a gross of aspirin. 
That was the beginning.  The shamefaced writing of vague contact details, 
goodbyes and well wishing was not, in fact, the end that they each thought it 
was. Things that they'd talked about, dissected and laughed about had been said 
now, and that knowledge, those thoughts were in the back of their minds. 
That's all a beginning is.  A slight change in the direction of the breeze. 
The thing about beginnings is you never can tell where they'll end up. 
Sometimes, they even go on.  Ever after.