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It started when Raven ran screaming from the bedroom. A shouted string of apologies and half-hearted explanations made an attempt to follow her, but she was long gone, leaving the heavy wooden door wide open. Charles and Erik scrambled out of bed, pulling on various discarded items of clothing from the pile in the middle of the room.
The lights hadn’t been turned on yet, but the sun rays streaming in through the curtains made that hardly matter at all. In the inky blanket of night, Charles’s bedroom could be engulfed in the kind of comfortable darkness Erik didn’t know from anywhere else. He liked it when it was dark. He’d let Charles look at him in ways he’d never dream of letting anyone else, but even still, a gentle hand brushing over his scars was different than a pair of pitiful eyes.
Charles was the first to break the silence. “So much for keeping this under wraps.”
Erik didn’t answer. The sheets smelled of cologne and sex and the earl gray tea that never seemed to leave Charles’s clothes. The first time was in Manhattan. A motel too nice to be described as seedy, but still carried traces of mothballs and regret. They were each a few drinks in, and the next thing they knew, they were waking up with the sheets tangled around them. It was a one-time thing, a mistake, something they’d never discuss again. But when it happened again, it was slightly harder to ignore. And the third time, they didn’t even have any alcohol to blame it on. Ever since the original encounter, the so-called mistake led to countless nights full of whispered touches and falling asleep in each other’s arms.
In the kitchen, Raven stood over the sink, furiously rubbing water into her closed eyelids with her fingertips.
“Good morning, Raven,” Charles said brightly as he and Erik walked in, though the edges of his voice were uncomfortably tight. “How was your night?”
Raven turned around and stared at them coldly. “Your buttons are done up wrong.”
Charles looked down. “So they are,” he muttered, fixing them. “Can I get you some breakfast? Toast, perhaps?”
“I actually don’t think I can eat anything ever again.”
“Look, I’m terribly sorry you had to see that.”
“So am I.” Her tone was dry as she swiped a wrist across her eyes. She swung her arms absently in an attempt at casualness before gesturing to the two of them. “So, how long has this been going on?”
“Two months,” Erik replied. “Since the night after we recruited Angel.”
Raven’s nose wrinkled a little as she nodded, clearly not wanting to imagine said night.
“You know, it’s actually a very beautiful thing,” added Charles, for some reason. Erik looked like he had forgotten how to breathe. “The ways two people express their love for one another.”
Raven clamped her hands over her ears. “Shut up!” she exclaimed. “Please stop talking.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And it’s not as though these are entirely foreign concepts to you. You’ve had the sex talk.”
“You gave me the sex talk!”
Erik couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. He knew from Charles’s anecdotes that Sharon Xavier wasn’t an exceptionally warm or attentive parent, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected that she never got around to having that sort of conversation with any of her children. He tried to imagine teenage Charles sitting down with Raven and explaining concepts in overly scientific ways.
In reality, though, the supposed “talk” had consisted of advanced biology textbooks being passed silently under thirteen-year-old Raven’s door.
“I trust you’ll be able to keep this a secret?” said Charles. “We’d greatly prefer it if there weren’t rumors floating around.”
“Only if we never have to talk about it again.”
“Nothing would make me happier.”
As it turned out, boarding houses ended up being the perfect breeding ground for rumors, but Raven still avoided the hallway Charles’s bedroom was in like it was a typhoid ward.
“Hey, Rogue, what was the best cupcake you’ve ever eaten?” Kitty was splayed upside down on one of the recliners in the common room. She was holding a Sharpie, bent at an awkward angle to reach the sides of her shoes.
From the sofa, Rogue said, “Why don’t you just take off your shoes to draw on them?”
“Because this way’s more fun. And I didn’t get an answer to my question.”
Rogue thought for a minute. “Probably my first one.”
“Oh, really?” Kitty opened her eyes wide. “My first time eating a cupcake, I thought I was dying.”
“What, because it was so good?”
“No, probably because I had never experienced anything like that before.” She drew a sloppy heart. “And I felt really sick afterward. Honestly for a while I wondered if I was allergic. Or if that was even possible.”
“Allergic to cupcakes?” said Bobby from where he was doing his homework at a nearby table.
“I dunno. People can be allergic to some weird shit.”
“And were you?”
Kitty grinned. “If I was, I definitely got over that.”
Bobby winced, giving her an embarrassed grin. “I feel like I shouldn’t be listening to this.”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
Just then, Scott walked in to herd the younger students off to bed. Glancing at Bobby, he narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Why, is there something deviant about eating cupcakes?”
Bobby froze, stuttering out his response. “No, it’s just, you know, personal health stuff is… personal.”
“I don’t mind talking about my allergies,” Kitty piped up, just barely stifling a grin.
A knowing smile stretched across Rogue’s face. “At my old school, my friend Violet was the first one in our friend group to share cupcakes with a guy,” she said, doing her best not to look at Bobby’s horrified face. “Well, share is a bit of a stretch. He ended up hogging all the cupcakes and didn’t even let her have one!”
Scott frowned. “Well, that’s not very nice. If you share snacks with someone, you always make sure they get some.”
A very heavy silence filled the room before Kitty dissolved into peals of laughter.
Five minutes later, all three of them were sitting in chairs across from Charles’s desk after Bobby finally let it slip that cupcake was a codeword for orgasm.
“You three are supposed to be role models for the younger students,” he told them seriously. “I’d like to know why you thought that was an appropriate topic of conversation.”
“Technically, we weren’t actually saying anything inappropriate,” Kitty pointed out. “Anyone listening in would have just thought we were talking about desserts.”
Charles opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again.
Bobby was still beet red, eyes fixed on the ground. “I’m… so sorry.”
“Alright.” Charles clasped his hands together. “I’d like a page-long essay from each of you on the importance of modelling appropriate behavior.”
Rogue frowned. “But…”
“Or a page-long essay on the reproductive system.”
“No, the first one’s fine,” she said quickly.
“Wonderful. You’re dismissed.”
Sometimes you learn the hard way that sounds travel far. It was an abnormally hot day and so every window in the mansion was open, letting the noise from outside bounce off the walls. Protests weren’t unusual. They were at the sweet spot of distance from the school that they could be heard clearly but not seen. Even though none of the protests were exceptionally close to the school, thanks to the secretive and distinguished nature of a school for gifted students, everyone knew it was an open secret that there was a group of mutants living on their own somewhere in Westchester. Charles and Erik had an agreement: Erik (and everyone else, but mostly Erik) was to leave the protesters alone, though the minute they set one foot on school property, all bets were off.
Alone in an empty classroom, Logan stuck a hand out of the window to flip off the empty forest before slamming the glass shut, muffling the noise like a pillow.
As if on cue, John moped into the room wearing only a pair of jean shorts and sneakers. A T-shirt was draped around his shoulders as he used it to mop sweat off the back of his neck. “The Professor said Bobby’s not allowed to make it snow in the common room even though it’s a million degrees in here and we need you to talk to him about it.”
Logan looked up. “Nope. Absolutely not. Shirt on.”
John groaned dramatically. “But it’s a million degrees in here,” he whined as he pulled the shirt over his head.
“It’s one too many health and safety violations I’d like to be dealing with today.”
“He says, two minutes after smoking a giant-ass cigar in the middle of a school.”
“What’s it gonna do, kill me?” Logan answered. “When you’re not a kid anymore and stop bitching about having to wear a shirt at school, you can do whatever you want.”
The kid rolled his eyes so hard Logan was half-expecting them to stay that way. “When did you turn into my mom?”
Logan snorted. “Hopefully never.”
John peered at the window and marched over to open it back up. “Why is the window closed?”
“The shitheads are outside again,” said Logan, blocking his path.
Something in John’s demeanor changed. Without another word, he turned on his heel and bolted down the hall.
Logan followed him. “Where are you going?”
John didn’t look back, throwing open his bedroom door and rifling through the drawers in his nightstand. “I need my lighter.” He found it, flicking it open and watching the flame ripple. Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed with a curious quirk of his eyebrows.
“Uh-huh. And you’re planning on…?”
“I’m gonna firebomb the shitheads until they leave.”
A blink. Then, “I don’t think so.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re not firebombing them.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes. I am.”
“John.” Logan straightened up to block the doorway, tone much calmer than one would normally expect from someone trying to talk a teenager out of burning people to death. “Put the lighter away.”
The kid didn’t move. “No. It’s mine.” The window next to his bed seemed to almost vibrate, either from the heat or the noise. Clearly John’s bedroom was much closer to the action.
“I’m not saying you have to chuck it. All I’m saying is maybe cool off before you decide to do something that Xavier would have your head for.”
“I am cool,” said John, though his angry fidgeting said otherwise. “I just want them to go away.”
“They’ll lose steam eventually.” Logan made his way over to the window and shut the blinds. John watched with a furious spark in his eyes, but made no effort to stop him.
From outside, they could still hear the crackly, tinny sound of a megaphone.
“PROTECT REAL HUMANS.”
“LOCK UP THE MUTIES.”
“MUTANT SCUM.”
John stared at him. “I’ve been waiting for them to lose steam for months.” His voice was tight.
Logan gave a tired sigh. “I know you have, kid.” He kept his eyes on John’s hands, which were still fidgeting with the lighter. A flame seemed to bloom from his palm. “And I know it’s probably scaring you more than you thought it would.”
“I’m not scared. I’m pissed off.”
“You know you’re allowed to be scared, right?”
John didn’t say anything. Then, “Doesn’t it piss you off?” He nodded towards the closed window.
Logan shrugged. “You get to pick what bothers you.”
John laughed. It was sharp, hysterical, almost rough around the edges. The hand on his shoulder was enough to push him over the edge and he burst into tears, throwing himself at Logan, fists gripping the back of his tank top like a lifeline.
Logan froze at first before finally enveloping the kid back in a hug. He didn’t tell him it would be okay; he just silently held him and let him cry.
“I fucking hate all of them,” John muttered through gritted teeth, sniffling back another sob.
“Yeah, kid, don’t we all?”
“They don’t get to…” He gulped, looking back up. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his face a damp mess with tears and sweat. John roughly wiped them away. “Fuck. They don’t get to say all that shit about us, and then what, I’m just supposed to let them and not do anything about it? I thought I was supposed to stand up for myself.”
“You go anywhere near them and the cops are coming. If there’s anything those guys out there want to see, it’s a mutant kid locked up. And we’re not giving them that. Not today.”
Considering this, John pulled away, his shoulders tense and a blush slowly creeping up his neck. Finally he mumbled, “It doesn’t look like I’ve been crying, right?”
Logan thought about answering, but eventually decided against it. “Look, bub, nothing’s gonna happen to you. Or anyone. Really think about it for a second. Even just think about the ones running this place. Do you have any idea how much metal we’ve got in the building?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not worried about that. I just hate that I’m crying because of them.”
“Nothing wrong with crying or feeling shit, you know.”
John groaned, dragging his hands through his hair in exasperation. “You know what? We don’t have to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Okay, fine. Just… I don’t have to tell you this. We’ve got you.”
He nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ll be getting out of that any time soon.”
Logan glanced back at the window. The noise was already starting to die down. “No.” There was something almost prideful in his voice. “I’m not.”
The day Charles and Erik started to seriously question whether or not the rules around students being off school property were too lenient just so happened to be the day Kitty Pryde was hauled into the Headmaster’s office. They stared at her with the same look that made the kids in there for skipping classes want to shrink into their shoes, but she didn’t so much as flinch.
Ororo stood next to them. They had been at this long enough to know that sometimes the two of them weren’t enough to get to the bottom of any given situation. If Bobby was freaking out because his parents had sent him the hundredth letter asking if he was sure being gay wasn’t just another phase, Charles was usually enough. (Either him or Logan, considering the kids latched onto him like a security blanket.) But if a group of seventh-graders were trying to have a bonfire in the common room fireplace that ended badly, they sent in Scott to put his Boy Scout skills to good use. If a pair of friends weren’t speaking to each other because one of them blabbed a secret, Raven was usually the best at diffusing that. If a twelve-year-old girl was having a panic attack in the bathroom because the girl’s mother never thought to explain to her what a period was, they sent in Jean.
But Kitty was more of a mystery. Erik and Charles could each count on one hand how many times she had gotten in trouble, rarely for anything more severe than what Scott had described as “saying the most vile, disgusting things two feet away from us without us knowing” in a horrified voice coated in his trademark Good Catholic Boy Shock. And yet here she was, sitting up straight with her features relaxed into a soft scowl. The way she gripped the armrests of the chair made the bruises on her knuckles stand out.
Erik and Charles decided to take the chance on trying to figure out exactly what made a reasonably level-headed girl like Kitty beat up a group of human boys in a park. To make extra sure, they resolved to bring in Ororo if it ended up being a young person thing or a girl thing.
“You’re very lucky Professor Xavier found out what happened so he could erase their memories,” said Erik. “Next time, you might not be so fortunate.”
Kitty didn’t answer.
“You’re not even trying to defend yourself,” Charles pressed.
She still didn’t say a thing, but the anxious twist of her mouth made it seem like she was trying to bite back words.
Eventually, Charles told her softly, “We’re not going to expel you. You don’t have to worry about that. But unless you tell us exactly what happened and give us a good explanation for why you did what you did, we’ll have to give you detention.”
Kitty’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. In a voice that would have sounded daring if it hadn’t shaken, she answered, “I can’t tell you. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I can’t say what it was.” She paused. “I’m really sorry.”
Erik nodded. “What are you sorry for? That you’ve decided this is something you can’t tell us, or that you punched someone in the face?”
She held up two fingers. She punched two people in the face. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you and I’m making things harder for you.”
“But you’re not sorry for getting in a fistfight.”
Kitty looked up. “No,” she replied definitively. “They had it coming.”
Erik sighed. “Kitty, you’re going to have to give us something here.”
“Why can’t you tell us what happened?” asked Charles, preparing to ask whether or not she was being threatened and if he needed to stop Erik from killing anyone.
“Because it’s upsetting.”
“Upsetting for you or upsetting for us?”
That made her stop. “You’re a telepath, Professor. Why don’t you see for yourself?” She didn’t mean to sound that rude, but it was too late to take it back.
Charles smiled compassionately. “I’d never look into your head without permission. And I’d like to hear this situation in your words.”
A brief silence passed before Kitty drew a shaky breath. “I went for a walk and I saw these boys in the park. One of them went to my old school in Illinois. And there was this younger kid wearing a kippah and they were surrounding him.” She twisted her necklace chain around her finger, absently running the Magen David across her lips. Erik and Charles weren’t sure if she was even aware she was doing it. “They were yelling a whole bunch of things at him. Like really vile things. You know.” Kitty nodded at Erik. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re right.”
There was no response as they listened.
She continued, “I wasn’t going to let them get away with it. So I hit them.”
Finally, Erik nodded in understanding. “I see.” Kitty could have sworn she saw something that looked an awful lot like pride flash across his eyes.
“We’re supposed to be the kind of person we needed when we were younger,” she added. “No one ever did that for me when I was a kid.”
It was Charles’s turn to nod. “Well, I can’t say I condone the use of violence, but there are always people worth defending.”
Erik grinned and held onto his hand under the desk.
In a small voice, Kitty asked, “So, detention?”
“No,” they said together.
“We’ll implement a buddy system for when the older students leave school property,” said Charles. “I’m trusting that’ll keep incidents like these to a minimum.”
“You can certainly handle yourself, though,” Erik put in.
For the first time during that entire interaction, Kitty felt herself smile.