Author's Note: So I don't know how this is going to go. I really don't. It's my first X-Men fic, since First Class has inspired me to an insane degree with the plot bunny of an Erik/OC story. So, let's see how this goes, since it terrifies me to even attempt to write Erik Lensherr.

I don't own X-Men. I only own my brand new copy of the First Class DVD. I've only been through it once so far, since I keep rewatching any scene with Erik at least four times. But hey, at least that'll help characterization.

Please review. Reviews will go to helping burn Shaw alive for killing Darwin. :( And reviews will help updates come quicker. Hope everyone enjoys.

Turning Tables
Erik glared at her. "You haven't even heard my plan yet." "I don't need to. It involves boats and a sociopathic doctor. It won't end well." With a partner in his vendetta against Shaw, Erik Lensherr thought things would change. He was right. Erik/OC

Prologue

Barcelona, Spain
1959

They had met by accident.

But then again, history was comprised of accidents and the reactions that people had to them.

To anyone who saw them on the street and knew of their backgrounds, it would seem as those they had nothing in common. She had grown up as a picture perfect all-American girl. She had been the darling of two doting parents, had been a popular girl in high school, had married her childhood sweetheart, and lived in a nice house with a picket fence while her husband worked. She had been an example of the American Dream.

His story was darker, and that was only scratching the surface that was the tragedy of his life. One only needed to look at the six numbers branded into his left arm to realize the hell that this man had walked through, the pain he had grown up with. He was a legacy of a proud people, one that had been prosecuted and murdered senseless. He had survived those horrors, and though the scars of those trials still remained, he had lived nonetheless.

To those who knew them better, there was no doubt that there was a deeper link between the two.

The first of all being the man that destroyed their lives.

Her loss had been the picture perfect life she had been living. She had been able to ignore the gifts that her genes gave her to live out her life. When that monster had walked in, he had taken everything away from her. He had taken any semblance of safety that she had possessed, and had taken everything from her, least of all her husband's life. He had twisted the blade in her heart by attacking her when she had walked in on the murder scene, causing her to lose the unborn child she was carrying.

In her eyes, she had lost everything.

In truth, however, her losses paled in comparison to his.

He had lost everything.

But when the smoke cleared from the tragedies that shattered their lives, they still had one thing to keep on going. Vengeance.

They both went after him, neither aware of the other. Neither aware that there were others out there like them, that had their abilities. Neither realized there was another who had vengeance targeted on the same person. Both were aware, however, of the reasons why they had lost everything.

They had lost everything because of the gifts their genes had gifted them.

It had taken years for both to even hear of him and his whereabouts. He had known his family's murderer by a false name. She had only learned the name of her husband's killer years after he had been killed.

It was little to go on, but it was enough for both.

In that fall night in 1959, both had tracked him to Barcelona, a normally beautiful city known for its incredible culture and its constant sun and heat. It would still be beautiful if not for the grim feeling that came to anyone who was near the hunt that was occurring throughout the streets. Two hunters were on the prowl for the same prey, they neither were aware that they wouldn't find him.

He ran down the alley, not pausing to take a single desperately needed breath. His body was in top physical shape thanks to the hunt he had been partaking in for years. His body was fuelled by the adrenaline provided by the knowledge that he was the closest he had been to catching his prey. He had never been closer. He didn't know if he would ever be this close.

But as he raced into the alley, he stopped, anger building when he realized that he could hear noise in the distance, a familiar noise coming from the air that told him that Schmidt had escaped to live another day. He hadn't caught his prey. He knew that he had escaped. He had failed again, and knew he would have to start over.

And then, he heard the footsteps behind him. It was only a few seconds before they grounded to a halt behind him. He heard the soft clicks of a gun being prepared.

His rage nearly exploded as everything crashed down around him, blinding him to everything that was going on. He sensed the metal bullet charging toward him, and it rammed into the wall without him even looking at it. He whirled around, his electric gaze settling on the brunette woman standing behind him, eyes narrowed darkly and dangerously at him.

"Where is he?" she growled in American accented English, her voice low. "Where's Schmidt?"

He only snarled back, "Why don't you tell me?"

For a few moments, they just stared at each other, his eyes on the gun and her eyes on his weaponless hands. She glanced at the bullet hole in the wall, and a different emotion entered her eyes. He recognized it immediately. It was curiosity.

"How did you do that?" she asked cautiously. She didn't lower the gun in her hands.

"Do what?" he demanded back, his voice as cold as the metal he could control.

"You know what I mean," she snarled back, rage building in her eyes.

"I clearly don't, since I asked," he retorted in just as harsh a tone.

She nodded towards the wall and the dented bullet on the ground. "You deflected that bullet. I know I'm not that bad of a shot that I'd miss you when you're only about eight feet ahead of me." Realization entered her eyes. "You're not with Schmidt."

The rage that had been slowly fading away built up again at the name of his family's murderer, and her visible knuckles turned white as she struggled to keep a hold on her gun. As his eyes narrowed dangerously, the rage reached a new high. The gun flew through the air, passing his head and landing on the ground behind him.

He studied her for a second. "Neither are you," he replied simply, disregarding the display of his gift.

She observed him for a moment, the realization that she had found someone who hated Schmidt as much as she did hitting her like a bullet. "The only time I'll be with Schmidt is when I shoot him point blank in the head," she replied, her voice cautious and edged with warning.

He smirked for the first time, and she caught an unrecognizable light in his eyes. "I see we have something in common. Schmidt is on the top of our hit lists. But tell me… what did he take from you?"

Her body stiffened. "What makes you think he took anything from me?"

"Because I know a survivor when I see one."

She studied him again for a few moments, and then her eyes were drawn to the torn sleeve of his shirt. 214782. Her blood turned to ice when she realized what it was; a brand. It was a brand one would use on an animal, but she knew what it meant. Everyone had heard the horror stories of the camps in Europe, but she had never seen living proof of them.

The living proof was standing and breathing in front of her.

"What did he take from you?" he asked again.

"Everything," she replied, her voice hoarse as she finally tore her gaze away from his brand.

His smirk darkened before disappearing. "Funny. He took the same from me."

For a moment, she hesitated again, and then looked at him. "I think we have more in common that that," she finally admitted.

"Oh?" he asked, watching her.

She smiled slightly, the first one she had given in years. "You can control metal." The smile turned to a smirk matching his previous one. "I can do something different."

She glanced at the hand that had been holding a gun seconds before. As he watched, electric blue sparks shot from her exposed palm. She held up a fist covered in a sparking, electric blue glove. This time, she could see the surprise clear in his eyes. She could only feel the surprise in her heart, the knowledge that she had just found someone who could do something as strange as her.

"Oh," he repeated. He met her eyes. "I think we have some things to talk about…" He paused as he looked at her, waiting for her name.

She put her fist down, the sparks disappearing into darkness. "Hanson," she replied, green eyes meeting blue. "Miranda Hanson."

He didn't smile back as he gave his reply. "Erik. Erik Lensherr."