1X02 – Pop Rocks and Pixie Stix – Act II | X-Men: The (fan fic) Series

1X02 – Pop Rocks and Pixie Stix – Act II

1X02 – Pop Rocks & Pixie Stix – Act II

Scott sat in the pilot seat of his Cessna Citation M2, a personal aircraft with seating for seven, including the pilot. It would just barely fit the whole team, if he could ever get the whole team together on a trip, but at this point he didn’t think that would ever be an issue, especially since Wolverine hadn’t come back yet.

“Bobby’s snoring,” Jean said as she slipped into the co-pilot’s chair delicately, there wasn’t exactly a lot of room.

“It’s only a little over an hour flight,” Scott frowned, glancing back at the younger man who was curled up in a blanket.

“I guess he’ll take what he can get,” she smiled, then gave a little frown, speaking quietly, “I don’t think he’s really slept much since the Sabretooth incident.”

Scott creased his brow, then tapped his temple, “How’s he doing?”

“The Professor and I haven’t really intruded,” she spoke as if she might have pushed some boundaries, “he’s doing remarkably well, all things considered, but we’re more worried that he’s hiding how much it is bothering him.”

“Perhaps he just needs some more time?” Scott offered weakly.

“Time isn’t the cure-all everyone thinks it is, we both know he’s hiding very old wounds,” Jean frowned, but sensing that the subject was closed for the moment as neither of them knew what else to say, she glanced over at the controls. “One of these days you’ll have to give me flying lessons.”

“You want to learn how to fly?” he wasn’t really surprised at the thought, he simply never heard her comment on it before.

“Yeah,” she smiled at him, “it would be good to have more than one pilot on the team… and I think it’d be fun.”

“True,” he couldn’t argue with her logic about having more pilots among them, “but lessons take up a fair amount of time.”

“I won’t mind,” she went back at the controls, “and we can get started now with the basics, what am I looking at here?”

“Ah, actually,” he reached up to a compartment over her head, having to lean in close to the woman in the cramped area, pulling down a spiral book and handing it over to her, “here you go, this might be easier.”

“Ooo, it has colored pictures,” she teased, flipping through the diagram laden book.

“That will help in knowing where everything is in this particular plane,” he chuckled lightly at her joke, “but you’ll need to know the mechanics of flying, aerodynamics, how to control pitch and yaw… you know, I’m not a qualified instructor.”

“You said the same thing when the Professor asked you to teach at the school,” the red head pointed out, “yet look at you now, torturing young souls with long division and osculating curves.”

“That was a fun crash course in getting our teaching certificates,” Scott smiled at the memory. “Good thing the Professor knows people on the New York Board of Education.”

“Yeah,” Jean smiled with him, “though I think you’re right, I’d rather not rush pilot training.”

“You know what,” he settled on an idea, “I’ll set you up with my old instructor, we still keep in touch, and I’ll look into what it takes to get my own instructor license. Maybe we can get the whole team trained up on how to fly my baby here…” it suddenly dawned on him that other people would be touching his plane, messing with her controls… “in an emergency only, of course.”

Jean laughed at him, he was as bad as Bobby and his Escape, “Of course.”

…

“Hey, you hear,” Jubilee sat down at the table next to Meg with Sharon and Sofia sitting across from them.

“Alison Blaire totally rocked it on American Idol last night,” Meg said between gulps of her orange juice.

“Well, there’s that too,” Jubilee frowned, then said, “but Scott, Jean, and Bobby went out on one of their missions today.”

“Huh, that means the Professor will be covering Trig II today,” Sofia said as if she wasn’t sure what she thought about that.

“We don’t have Scott or Jean on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Meg pointed out, “tidy, no subs for us.”

“But what you guys think about this though?” Jubilee asked the group of girls. “Our teachers running out playing hero against Bucket Head?”

“What are you talking about?” Sharon asked, taking a sip from her tall glass of milk. “Missions? Bucket head?”

“Long story short?” Jubilee asked.

“Please,” Meg said cheekily.

“One of the founders of this school, a friend of the Professors, well, he kinda went off the deep end,” was about the most polite way Jubilee could put it, “he declared war on regular humans and set up this group of like-minded mutants as an army.”

Sharon nearly choked on her drink, “Excuse me, declared war? An army?”

“Pretty much,” Jubilee shrugged, “from what I’ve been told,” Meg gave her a look, “okay, from what I’ve been able to eavesdrop, the government has classified them as terrorists since they can’t really go around saying mutants exist.”

“I was wondering if the government knew about us,” Sharon frowned, “I mean, how could they not?”

“Yeah, they know,” Meg’s wings drooped a bit, “right now they keep it quiet so as not to cause a panic, although the Professor seems to think that there’s a strong possibility we can integrate with society peacefully.”

“You don’t sound terribly convinced of that,” the shape shifting mutant pointed out.

“Not to say I agree with Magneto, but,” Meg sighed, “the human race has been known to treat others different from themselves quite badly. The Jewish Holocaust is the obvious parallel but it doesn’t stop there. You have the Belgians in the Congo, Americans and the Natives, Australians and the Aborigines, England and Europe with the slave trade, the warring African tribes, Cambodia and Tibet, and the list just keeps going…”

“Surely you don’t think it will come to that,” Sharon’s cat eyes went wide, “that we’ll be thrown into… oh, what are those things… internment camps? concentration camps? How could the government get away with such a thing?”

“Look at Syria,” Meg shrugged, her wings rustling, “thousands are being murdered there by their own government and no one really did anything about it until they started using chemical weapons.”

“What? You’ve have them send in a strike team and take out the corrupt government,” Sofia shook her head, “that would cause even more chaos, a power vacuum worse than what happened in Eqypt. Not to mention if mutants had a hand in it, publically or no, every government would go into overdrive to ‘contain’ us because it shows we not only have the way but the will to take them down,” she let out a gritted sigh.

“Oh, geesh,” Jubilee threw her head back and bemoaned, “you two get all depressive when you talk politics.”

“Yeah,” Sharon laughed nervously, “all the kids ever talked about at my last school were fashion, boys, and their latest ringtone.”

“We do that too,” Meg assured the girl, “just, with my mutation, it makes me think about these things. I’ll never be able to hide like Jubes here, or Sofia. Even you could use contacts once you get your changing under control.”

“You could hide your hair under a wig and your wings in a coat,” Sofia pointed out, “just like Warren does.”

“And my eyes?” she gestured to their almond shape at an unnatural slant, the irises and sclera completely black.

Sofia frowned, her lips going a bit skewered, “Botched Rhinoplasty?”

“That’s for the nose!” Jubilee rolled her eyes.

“Even if I could hide and cover everything,” Meg pushed her plate away, not exactly hungry anymore, “I’d be doing just that, hiding, like I was leper, like there was something wrong with me.”

“And there is nothing wrong with you, Megan,” the pixie girl nearly jumped out of her seat at the sound of Ororo behind her, the woman placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, “there is nothing wrong with any of us, mutant or human, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

“I know, Miss Monroe,” Meg couldn’t look the woman in the face.

“But sometimes it’s hard to remember it,” the older woman replied knowingly, “it’s okay, we’ll always be here to help remind you.”

“Hey, yeah,” Jubes started to get a bit seriously, “regular people, and Katy Perry fans, spend loads of money to get their hair dyed pink all the time, you’re totally stylish!”

Everyone stared at the firecracker who glanced between them all before saying, “What?”

…

When Saint-John and Dom opened the door, the first thing they heard was the blaring music of Katy Perry’s Firework. Giving each other a glance and shrug, they continued into the rented apartment to see Rogue sitting at the kitchen table, tapping away at her laptop, a few books strung out next to it.

The first thing John did after dropping the large duffle bag was go over to the tv and click it off. “Rogue, seriously, Katy Perry?”

“Sorry,” she didn’t bother to look up from what she was doing, but pointed to her temple, “was punishing a couple of voices that spoke out of turn.”

“Oh, okay,” Pyro nodded, at least she had a legitimate reason, “want me to turn it back on?”

“Nah,” she gave a sly grin, “I think Wolverine’s learned his lesson.”

“Yeah, but for how long,” the Australian laughed as he leaned down to zip open his bag, “let’s see, C4 or Semtex… C4 or Semtex…”

“Semtex,” Dom was pulling all manner of detonators and equipment from his two duffels, “always Semtex.”

“Semtex it is,” there was a positively evil gleam in Pyro’s eyes as he stacked three bricks of the plastic explosive next to him.

“Wait, Pietro said make sure the feds stayed off our backs,” Rogue looked between them and their small arsenal, “not devolve the situation into a Wile E. Coyote cartoon.”

“Hey,” he gave her a pointed look, “I don’t tell you how to do your job when you go information gathering.”

“Yes you do,” she seemed rather annoyed by that fact too.

He blinked, “No I don’t.”

Rogue tapped roughly against her temple as if she was gesturing for him to ‘think about it for a second’. He realized she was referring to the psyche of his that she carried around with her. Due to the fact she had absorbed him many more times than most, he was rather louder than the rest, more solid, but of course nowhere near as solid as the first person she ever absorbed.

“Oops,” he chuckled at that, “on behalf of my psyche, I apologize.”

“He’s making fun of you now,” she frowned, “calling you a wanker.”

He lifted his head up and looked straight at Rogue’s forehead, “Traitor!”

“Don’t worry, Rogue,” Dom was inspecting a M18A1 Claymore mine, “while you and Pietro are doing your part, Cooper and her team will be quite busy elsewhere.”

“Good,” she nodded, “I’d hate to have studied international patent law for the last three days for nothing.”

“Why don’t you just absorb someone?” Pyro asked, “I mean, I know you don’t like to add to the peanut gallery if you don’t have to, but a patent lawyer has got to be the most benign person in the world, Kathy Bates excluded.”

“I might have to play pretend for a few hours,” she frowned, “and once the absorption wears off, the knowledge goes the way of sub-continent tech support and it’s not worth it.”

“Once you get Pietro past the energy barriers,” Dom had moved on to a couple canisters of flash bangs, “it shouldn’t take him too long to locate the vault.”

“Well,” she went back to the computer, “you plan to keep Cooper running for at least five hours, that should give us plenty of breathing room.”

“Speaking of o’ speedy leader,” Pyro glanced around, “where did he go yesterday?”

“That’s his business,” Rogue started to close up her books and computer, “he’ll be here in an hour, and ready to go.”

“So you do know where he’s been going?” Pyro eyed her suspiciously.

“Of course,” not only was she his second but she had recently absorbed him, it was hard to hide anything from the woman, Pyro knew that the hard way.

The Aussie exchanged glances with Dom, the other man asking, “Anything we should be worried about?”

“Nothing you two should be worried about,” she said pointedly and that was the end of that.

…

“Ugh,” Jubilee laid her head on her desk, “I think they let Kitty cook the meatloaf… bad idea… baaaaaaaaaad…”

“I liked it,” Sharon grinned, “though that could be the feline in me enjoying a little carnage.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jubilee gave her a thumbs up, her head still flat against the desk.

“Class,” Ororo gathered everyone’s attention, “who can tell me what the dividing line between history and pre-history is?”

“Jurassic Park 3?” one of the guys piped in, sending the class to giggling.

The teacher gave him a none-too-amused look, “This is world history, Ben, not cinema history,” her eyes then scanned the room. “How about you, Jubilee.”

“Um,” she lifted her head up to glance up at the woman whom Jubes freely called by her nickname, something only a rare few could get away with at the school, “pre-history is before the written record?”

“Good,” Storm gave her a soft smile, “and when did pre-history end?”

Jubilee thought about this for a second, “About the time Logan was born?”

This set the class into another, much louder, fit of laughter, even Ororo herself failing to stifle a grin as she said, “Close, but I’m afraid much earlier than that.”

“It varies?” Ben offered up after he managed to catch a breath. “Depending on when the culture in question began written records?”

“Correct,” Storm nodded to him, “this occurs for most cultures somewhere in the Bronze to Iron Ages. The Great Pyramid of Egypt was built around 2560 BCE, the Epic of Gilgamesh can be dated back to 2000 BCE, and the Illiad to around 1190 BCE.”

“Miss Monroe,” Christy held up her hand and the teacher nodded at her to ask her question, “Gilgamesh was a half-god which made him really strong, right? And the gods of Mythology, they could do things like read people’s minds, shape shift, fly, run fast… sounds an awful lot like mutants.”

“Are you asking if mythology is actually misunderstood historical record?” Ororo looked at her thoughtfully. “That perhaps mutants were mislabeled as gods due to their seemingly supernatural abilities?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Christy nodded, a bit embarrassed at her own question. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

“Ah, yes, Clarke’s Third Law,” Storm said appreciatively.

“Clarke?” Christy frowned, “I thought I was quoting Pratchett.”

“And this is why you buy the annotated editions,” Jubilee lifted her head to speak the words then let her head fall back down again.

Ororo gave Jubilee a wane look at the comment but continued, “It is possible mutants existed that far back. The human population was much smaller and so the likelihood of a mutation occurring could be arguably less as well. Couple that with a more supernatural minded people and instead of realizing that most mutations are a form of energy manipulation, even if it doesn’t outwardly seem that way, and they could have been mistaken as gods.”

“Or witches,” Meg said from her seat next to Jubilee.

“Or fairies,” Storm countered easily. “Our little Meg here could be a descendant of the Seely Court.”

“She looks more like a pixie to me,” Ben checked her out, a little too obviously.

“I’m Welsh, you dolt,” she gave him an annoyed look, “not Cornish.”

“There’s a difference?” he asked, seemingly innocently, and Jubilee hoped for his sake that he wasn’t trying to pull her chain.

“One, get a map,” she told him off, her wings bristling, “two, Fae are Irish while Pixies are from Cornwall and Devon, three, I’d technically be a Tylwyth Teg, and fourth, no one asked you, you uncouth swine.”

Ben threw his hands up in defeat while the rest of the class tried to figure out how anyone could pronounce Tylwyth Teg with a human tongue. Welsh was not a natural language, Jubilee decided.

“Meg,” Storm admonished her gently.

“Sorry, Miss Monroe,” her wings drooped as she lowered her head.

“I’ll let it pass, this time,” the teacher told her, then addressed the class, “now, would everyone pull out their books and turn to chapter three.”

…

Scott held the printed out copy of the photo taken of the Acolytes as they sat at the café, the scene matched up perfectly, minus the mutants. “This is the place.”

Bobby was spinning on his heels, taking note of the names on the buildings, though that didn’t help much, “These are all offices, hundreds of businesses, they could have been staking out any one of them.”

“Or any particular person,” Scott frowned, “and we can’t exactly go door to door asking if anyone has had any business with the Brotherhood that they’d like to share.”

“It’s a bigger dead end than the other location they were spotted,” Bobby sighed.

“At least we’re not alone in our frustrations,” Jean was looking straight forward, “though I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“Jean?” Scott asked.

“The couple sitting at the table with the red umbrella,” she said and Scott tracked his eyes towards them, trying not to be obvious about, “the blue sedan,” there was a Ford Focus sitting in one of the few parallel parking spots, “the bum laid out on the bench,” there was a dirty looking older man who looked to be asleep, “they’re government.”

“Surveillance teams,” that put a wrinkle in things, “Duncan said there were agents on the ground here.”

“Do they really think they can stop the Acolytes?” Bobby frowned, “I mean, they’ve been trying and failing as bad as you did… erm… that came out wrong.”

Scott gave the man a wry look but sighed.

…

Val walked swiftly into the mobile command center which was strategically placed several streets away from the known locations the Acolytes had been spotted at.

“Bring it up,” she told the guy working the keyboard as she stood over him. Seconds later, the computer screen showed three figures standing in front of a building, talking. “That’s Scott Summers alright, and Jean Grey and Robert Drake. Any sign of the rest of them?”

“Back tracing using the traffic cams,” the man was just another faceless NSA squint on loan to the Department of Homeland Security, “doesn’t look like it.”

“I have confirmation of Summers’ Cessna having landed at Wings Field this morning,” a woman spoke up from another station. “Three listed passengers. No flight plan scheduled for departure. Want me to ground it?”

Val thought about this for a second, “Not at this time, but keep the thought on speed dial.”

Watching the live feed before her, the three mutants might as well been tourist for all their gawking. “What are you doing here with only the three of you?”

“Cooper,” a man came from the other end of the command center, “we have a positive sighting of Allderdyce and Petrakis.”

“Where,” she immediately asked.

…

“Scott,” the woman got his attention as they were walking down the sidewalk trying to decide what to do next, “they’re leaving.”

“The agents?” his eyes darted around and sure enough, the couple was getting into the blue sedan, “Could you see why?”

She put her hand up to silent him as she focused on the rapidly departing vehicle, “They’ve been spotted, Pyro, Avalanche, at a museum…”

“This is Philadelphia,” Bobby frowned, “that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

Jean furrowed her brow and the car turned a corner, “Bronze… a sitting man… an Agent Cooper…” she shook her head, “these were just surface thoughts, to get more I’d have to dig.”

“It’s okay,” he nodded to her as Bobby pulled something out of his back pocket.

“Maybe I should have,” she looked frustrated, “the Acolytes could be anywhere.”

“You’re not compromising your morals,” Scott made that clear, “we’ll call the school, get the Professor or Betsy on Cerebro. We’ll find them.”

“Or we can just go to Benjamin Franklin Parkway and 22^nd street,” Bobby spoke up, turning around the magazine in his hand to show Rodin’s The Thinker in an ad for the Rodin Museum. “A bronze sitting man? I told you picking up a tourist guide book was a good idea.”

…

“Hey, Dom, snap a picture, will you!” Pyro had hopped up onto The Thinker, his arm around his shoulder. He stuck his other fist under his chin to match the bronze statue’s pose. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking…”

Sighing, Dom finished attaching the Semtex to the base of the statue and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sirens were starting to pick up in the background, it was about time. Taking a second to line it up a good angle, he took the photo.

“You want one?” Pyro asked courteously as he climbed down.

“No thanks,” he slipped his phone back into his pocket and grabbed his duffle, “We’ll hit the Gates of Hell next.”

“Gates of Hell huh?” Pyro mused, picking up his duffle, “sounds like me after a curry.”

X-Men: The (fan fic) Series

A series of short stories in a fictional X-Men TV Universe.