Chapter Ten~

Alex had never wanted to lash out with his powers so badly before.

The redhead's presence was unlike any other telepaths' he'd ever brushed off before. Her connection to him was like a steel cable. He hadn't been able to suppress the instinct to cut the tie, but his abilities weren't enough to force her out of his head anyway.

But every connection was two-way street, and her unrefined mental presence was so overwhelming he couldn't help but be sucked into her perspective.

Oh god...she was in his head.

At least he wouldn't have to fake terror. The cold sweat came all on its own, although years of repeated exposure kept his hands from shaking.

They had come unarmed, in civilian dress, though the man— Cyclops, Scott Summers— had switched out his red frames for a visor. His hand lingered threateningly by the release catch on it. His mutation had hardly made him invulnerable, or even able to take a lot of punishment.

That was inconsequential, though. He had been caught 'unarmed' many times before. No one who had captured him had lived yet.

Forcing himself to relax, than tense again, he forced 'the plan' to the smallest part of his mind. Jean Grey was in his head—

His back was pressed against the cold steel of the shipping container.

Upon seeing that Alex had no intention to attack them, Cyclops lowered his hands from its offensive position and gestured for his partner to enter as well. They took even, slow steps, hands held neutral at their sides. Jean brushed bright red hair off her shoulder. Scott hesitated.

"Alexander Rider?" Scott asked, his voice loud and tinny.

"Who's asking?" Alex asked coolly, his voice thankfully steady.

"Well, my name is Jean Grey, and this is Scott Summers," Jean said, her voice and eyes (her mind, his connection to her told him) kind.

"Those names don't mean anything to me," he said, curbing his hostility. He needed these people to like him dammit. His stoicism had never lent itself well to making friends, and it hadn't bothered him for years. It bothered him now.

Be afraid, he thought. They'll forgive you if think you attacked out of fear. Quickly, he touched his connection with the telepath to be sure.

"I think you'll recognize this one, then," surprisingly, Jean Grey reached into her pockets and pulled out a business card holder. She held it out, but moved no closer. An invitation.

Alex licked his lips, and forced his legs to move. He kept his connection with the telepath in his peripheral conscious, paranoid she would perceive something that would give him away. He moved quickly, taking the card fast enough that it was impolite but not so fast it could be called snatching.

One eye on the two of them, he glanced at the embossed business card.

'Xavier Institute for the Gifted and Talented'

He narrowed his eyes at the two of the, not saying a word. Something saying nothing was the best thing to do, especially when you dealt with people who loved to hear themselves talk.

"We know what you can do," Jean Grey said (lied). And we can help you.

He froze at the sound of her voice inside his head. He could catch her off guard, he realized. Put her out with a precise strike. Cut the connection physically if his powers were too weak to sever the bond she'd imposed on him—

"We're mutants," Scott finally spoke up, offering a hand. "And we think you are too. You came to us, and we can help you."

Now...it was time to perform.

"It's not safe," Alex said, not bothering to mask his fear.

"This is the safest place for any mutant to be," Jean started mournfully, but Scott stopped her. Alex wished that he didn't wear the visor. There was a lot about people you could tell through the eyes, and his body language was all confidence. It told him as much as a wall.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Alex asked.

"What are you running from?"

"...A lot of things."

"We can help you control your powers," Jean Grey tried again, "and help you use them for good."

This is what you wanted, he reminded himself, this is what you wanted. This is the way to get in.

"I want to speak to Charles Xavier," he said, "And only him. And then I'll come."

They shared a meaningful look with each other, and at last, Jean Grey withdrew from his head.

"Let's go then," Cyclops said, his voice used to and admittedly well-suited to the voice of command.

Alex Rider sat like a pale wraith in the backseat of Scott's car, and it admittedly unsettled Jean. When she'd been scanning for him, all she could sense was fear, and strangely enough, anger. Sometimes, new mutants felt like speaking into their minds was a violation of their privacy; it was why she'd trained herself so carefully to not mind-read. Some things were impossible not to perceive, like emotions or discomfort, but she could always stop herself from prying too deep.

But he made her uncomfortable. His dark eyes were like the Professor's: much too old for his face, and they kept watching her.

She looked up and caught those black eyes in the mirror again. It was unerringly focused on her once more, and she quickly averted her gaze.

Neither of them tried to make conversation, though the overt hostility Rider had shown in the shipping container was thankfully absent. Scott had put up the hood on the convertible, and Jean sighed; she wished she could have had the noise of the road and the cool breeze whipping her hair around her face to distract her.

Their arrival to the Institute was just as subdued. The welcoming committee was reserved only after a student was definitely accepted.

They led him to the upper level meeting room, where the professor waited patiently. Surprisingly, Beast stood beside him. Usually they introduced the intimidating professor later on.

Alex didn't even blink, or spare Beast a second glance. His focus was solely on the Professor, although his eyes darted everywhere.

"Alexander?" the professor said, "My name is Charles Xavier, and I'd like to invite you to the Institute for the Gifted and Talented."

Alex's face was stony, although he held out his hand quite professionally for a firm handshake. His lips twitched slightly upward, as though he tried and failed to muster a smile. It lightened his forbidding expression somewhat.

"Pleased to meet you," he said. His British accent only made him sound more polite, if that was possible.

"Before we begin, do you have any questions you'd like to ask me?"

"...This school...it's for mutants?"

"Yes. I founded it almost forty years ago, after I published my paper on the X-gene. We have methods to locate the most at-risk children with powerful mutations and help them exercise control."

"Why me then?" Alex said, folding his hands in his lap. He still had not taken a seat, but he did not look afraid. "I don't think my...mutation is all that powerful."

"Alexander John Rider," Beast read off a file, "Missing since 2006. That's two years now. And homeless youth are always the most at-risk. And besides, you came to us."

Rider said nothing to contradict that. "I can't be the only one, or even the first."

"The day you approached the school, one of our most respected instructors and two of our students were attacked."

"We have a certain technology that helps us identify and understand the expression of the X-gene in certain individuals," Professor Xavier said, "and we have cause to believe that you are responsible for assaults."

Rider was quiet for what felt like an eternity. "I…I thought I had a plan, and it didn't work out so well. I was told to come here, but I was attacked before anything, so I just fought back in a way I knew."

"Have you been trained before?"

He glanced at Jean and Scott, who until that moment had remained unobtrusive observers.

Jean, Scott the professor's voice sounded inside her mind. Go. I'll fill you in later.

Jean and Scott took their leave, but not before giving Alex one last look. The door clicked shut behind them with a foreboding finality.

"Mutants became more than a rumor or myth in the 1960s, during the Cold War," Xavier folded his hands thoughtfully beneath his chin. "It was far before your time, so I don't doubt that you don't understand the power of censorship in those days. Nazi experimenters," his eyes fluttered sorrowfully, "were among the first people to identify mutants and collect hard scientific data on the human subspecies some people consider...superior."

Alex stood quietly, observing the bright, but frayed rope that connected the professor to an unseen person. He was too afraid to mentally reach out and touch it to find out. The rope was a braid of complex emotions— love and hate in equal measure held together by regret.

"People are generally bigoted against or uncaring of mutants because of the power of misinformation. People fear what they don't understand, and this lack of understanding is the government's prerogative. Our governments have a tendency to seize and train vulnerable young mutants with powers they deem useful to apprehend other untrained mutants for experimentation. These agents are given two choices: detain these mutants, or murder them." Xavier held Alex's dark gaze, a knowing look in his black eyes.

Alex looked down at his trainers. Was that ultimately to be his fate? MI6 had to have known from the start that Alex had an active x-gene. He had been using his powers for years before Uncle Ian had died. Had they waited, and taken advantage while he was young, only to shackle him to them when he was older?

Did they plan to make him their personal little mutant hunting dog?

But the UK was not the US! A small, tiny optimistic part of him whispered. He thought that bit of him had died ages ago, but then, apparently not. He was a teenage spy, and been around the world twice. Secret service types were all the same.

So focused on the big picture they couldn't see the people they hurt in front of them. Or, they saw them, and simply didn't care.

"Alex," the professor jolted him from his thoughts with a gentle word, "Why did you run?"

"I worked for MI6," Alex said, "And ran away when I realized what they were really on about. It wasn't safe with my foster family, so I left them."

Xavier was too experienced working with moody teenagers to let the pity show on his face, but Alex could sense it easily. Alex schooled his expression to sell the lie to the best of his ability. Xavier clearly had his own hypotheses, and Alex was more than glad to let the professor fool himself.

"I would like to offer you a place at this school, on one condition," Xavier gestured at Beast, who with lips tight in displeasure surrendered an innocuous manila folder. The professor took it, then passed it to Alex, who hesitated for a split second before taking the folder.

There were profile reports, and pictures— headshots of people Alex would recognize with his eyes closed. He was a spy after all, and he made it his business to remember faces. But these were faces he saw night after night in his nightmares.

"Sebastian Shaw," the Beast said, "the head of the Manhattan Institute in Massachusetts."

Alex's eyes slid shut and he exhaled sharply. He was a victim, he had to remind himself, to choke down the rush of rage he'd felt looking at the picture. Men like Shaw reminded Alex of his mission.

"That was the first sanctuary I'd heard of," Alex said, stiffening at the sight of the tendril that threatened to spark between the professor and him as the professor stretched out his mental presence. "I went there, and...he followed."

The professor leaned forward in interest. "Who?"

Alex frowned. He didn't know how much Xavier and his peons knew, but they knew something. They had to be on to him, to have tracked his presence from the Pleasures to the Manhattan Institute. He didn't know if they knew about London, but it was better to play safe than sorry.

"His name is Yassen Gregorovitch," Alex said, naming his father's protege with only a twinge of regret. He didn't think the dead assassin would begrudge him this favor. "He's been after me for years. I don't know where he is now, but I spotted him two days before the Manhattan Institute was destroyed. That's when I left."

That was partially the truth. He'd spent six months scoping out the institute before eliminating every disgusting mutant on the grounds. And he'd nearly succeeded before he'd lost control of his power.

Xavier nodded. "We have reason to suspect that he's a mutant—"

"He's an assassin," Alex said, straightfaced. "He doesn't need powers to kill someone. But I wouldn't know."

Yassen had been a monster of a man with a strict moral code. Alex didn't know if he would have killed tens of children just because they were mutants— ticking time bombs. Whether or not his father or Yassen would have done it, Alex was the kind of man who could, but the professor didn't need to know that.

The professor hummed, deep in thought. "There are other places a young mutant could go," he said, "But not many. We believe here that there can be a future for young mutants such as yourself. We believe in a world where we can live without fear of persecution, retribution,and violence. You don't have to stay if you're afraid,but I believe you should not go if you cannot control your powers."

Alex didn't want to use his powers. What good had they ever done him? He couldn't save Jack with them, he couldn't save Tom. His powers didn't take down SCORPIA and Sayle and every other mad megalomaniac he'd put his own life at risk to destroy.

But the Target took priority over his own personal opinion. The Manhattan Institute had taken their mutants captive; they had feared Shaw, and those few Alex didn't kill scattered to the winds. The Brotherhood of the End were fanatics, aimless and angry. These kids loved Xavier. If Alex killed Xavier, he'd have to kill all of them.

Remembering Shadowcat and Wolfsbane, and how terrifying they were to fight, Alex was strangely okay with that. How could this professor claim to stand for peace and cohabitation when he raised himself an army of fanatics?

His gut twisted at the thought of it.

"You can help me control it?" Alex asked, voice strained. "And...if he comes?"

"One of our goals is to make sure each and every one of our students can protect themselves. And all of our professors are mutants. You can be safe here, Alex."

Success, Alex thought. He was in. They thought he was being hunted; they didn't know they were the prey.

"Ok," he said, letting relief bleed into his voice. But when he looked up, he saw the bald suspicion in Beast's eyes and the uncertainty in Ororo's.

That was fine, though. He was used to playing the long game anyway.

Wow. So it's been awhile yeah? I'm just starting chapter twelve, so there shouldn't be too many enormous gaps in updating like this anymore. I also finally outlined the story through to the end- it's going to be twenty-three chapters with an epilogue.

This is probably my second longest running fic, but when I first started writing fic, I told myself I would never abandon a story I decided to post. So thanks to new and old readers alike~

CodenameVirus: Ain't life funny? I was watching pinocchio when I renamed this story. ;)

Leave a review! They remind me to update lol. I had this chapter written for a little over two months.

YellowWomanontheBrink

January 20, 2017

11:44 pm