I, Mutant

I, Mutant Chapter Twenty

Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta…good luck on the Microsoft gnomes… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: *glomp * Because I felt like it so ner. Morgan: *echo echo echo * Readers/Reviewers: This is the last chapter for this fic. After this, we’re back to the main arc again. J Thanks for reading and reviewing!

He was not exactly a lonely child. He just preferred the company of those long dead in the physical world to that of his age-mates. There was just something about the children his mother kept bringing over that left him cold. Not one of them had read a book beyond Dr. Seuss or A.A. Milne. Not one of them had much interest in things beyond playing games with plastic soldiers or something loud and oddly slow on the video set. But he played nice, being polite and showing interest. His mother would let him see his other friends if he made nice with these, the children of her colleagues and old family acquaintances. Play nice, he repeated to himself like a mantra whenever one of his mother’s chosen playmates would do something stupid like draw on his books or make his computer misbehave. Play nice and you can go back to your own pursuits soon enough…

“Hey, man, you coming in or not?”
He blinked and shifted his gaze to Robert, his oldest true friend and the one person who didn’t seem to think it odd when he had these little staring fits or exhibited his seemingly super keen awareness. “I need to wait for just a moment,” he replied softly, his lips quirking into a slight smile. “I just noticed something.”
Robert nodded, turning back towards the office. “I’ll be filing.” He sighed, turning his eyes heavenward for just a moment before adding in a slightly sarcastic tone of voice, “I bust my ass to join this group and I’m a glorified file clerk!”
“Could be worse,” he called after his friend. “Could be a glorified janitor like in wet works.” That earned the shudder it should have and all was well between them again. He was sore from weapons training, sore from the hit he had taken from Robert and sore from the heavy, new sword he had received as a gift from one of the benefactors of the group. But none of that mattered in that moment, that blazingly glorious moment when things fell into place. “Of course it makes sense,” he murmured, turning away from the office he shared with Robert and heading for the massive library six stories below the ground. “I thought of it!” Play nice, he reminded himself, pushing the down button. Play nice and no one will wonder… He stepped into the elevator, smiling tensely at the man stepping out, and waited until the door slid shut before unzipping his duffle. It was still there, his protective gear. He would need it soon enough.

Taking a deep breath, Mark let it out in one long, slow sigh. The books were all in order, his swords and daggers put away, his clothing stowed neatly. His papers were tucked away so securely that even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him at security checkpoints. It is not my fault, he repeated to himself firmly. I am not responsible for the turns the Universe takes, no matter how much I’d like to believe so. I am not at fault. My discovery was not to blame. He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and let out a sigh. One case remained unopened, and had for some weeks now. He was fairly certain the contents still bore splatters of blood and residue from the fight, from Robert. It was like a sick compulsion, the need to open it. He knew no good would come of it, admitting to himself the secret he had tried so hard to keep hidden. He had only just begun to truly believe it himself. “I am not defined by one particle of my being,” he murmured into the quiet room. “I am not defined by my differences.”


“What’s going on there?”
“That,” Professor Xavier smiled fondly at the device, “is a readout from Cerebro.”
“What’s a Cerebro?”
“Ah, simply, it’s my mutant finder,” he laughed softly. “At least that’s what the kids call it. It does much more than that but at the moment, I’m verifying some information…” He took up the print out that was spewing from the machine and scanned it perfunctorily. “Mmmm…”
Mark stood very still, a study in nonchalance. He knew the man could read minds but he also knew the Professor had not read his out of courtesy and a sense of propriety. He didn’t know, Mark thought. Play nice… “So are my theories on Bush confirmed? He’s an alien?”
“Hardly,” the Professor smiled, a shade less jovially than before the print out. He gave mark a glance and tucked the paper into his breast pocket, pursing his lips as if in thought. “Join me for tea in my study, Mark? I’d like to discuss the new acquisitions to the library with you.”
Mark nodded slowly, wondering. “Professor…”
“I think tea would be just the thing this morning,” the Professor continued. “It’s Storm’s birthday, you know, and Logan is insisting on making a cake. We’ll need all the fortitude we can muster for this evening.”
Mark followed the older man from the room, his own lips pulled into a frown. He knew what this was, what the Professor was doing. And he knew that, deep down inside, he was not quite ready for anything else yet. “Tea is a good idea then,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “It’s the only civilized way to start a morning, after all…”