Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Elemental - Part I [1/17] Ensemble, post-X2 (rated teen/mature)

Expand Messages
  • Katt S
    Title: Elemental Characters: Scott Summers, Remy Lebeau Summers, Alex Summers, Adam Darr Summers; (also Rogue/Marie D Acanto, Warren Worthington, Bobby Drake,
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 4, 2006
    • 0 Attachment
      Title: Elemental
      Characters: Scott Summers, Remy Lebeau Summers, Alex Summers, Adam Darr
      Summers; (also Rogue/Marie D'Acanto, Warren Worthington, Bobby Drake,
      Jubilation Lee, Piotr Rasputin, Logan/Wolverine, Ororo Munroe, Charles
      Xavier, the partridge in the pear tree, and the kitchen sink).
      Rating: Teen/Mature (lots of strong language)
      Archives: Katt's Aerie (http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/elemental.htm),
      FF.net, LeBeau Library, Quills & Ink. Anyone else please ask. I'm not likely
      to say no but I'd like to keep track.

      Summary: Someone is after the Summers brothers. The bad news is they've
      already succeeded in taking Adam. The worse news is that Scott, Remy, and
      Alex have to work together to save him. And you thought the Brady Bunch was
      dysfunctional.

      --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
      Chapter 1: Most Roads Lead Home

      Sunshine left Xavier's Institute the day Jean Grey died. Heavy rain drowned
      out any hint of summer time. Rogue would have chalked it up to Ms. Munro
      except that it had been three months and a bit since that horrible day in
      Canada. Ms. Munro was powerful but not that powerful. At least, Rogue didn't
      think so.

      "If it rains any more, we're going to have to build an ark," said Piotr,
      glancing up from his physics textbook to trace patterns on the glass.

      "Does ark building involve physics?" Rogue asked him.

      Piotr smiled. "Yes."

      "Fabulous."

      The second floor study was empty except for the two of them. The gloomy
      weather drove everyone else downstairs to watch movies, play foozball, make
      cookies-- anything but dwell on the depressing atmosphere. The only reason
      she and Piotr closeted themselves in the room was because Rogue desperately
      needed help with her physics homework and Piotr was the only one who had the
      patience to explain everything coherently.

      "I'm so sick of this!" said Rogue, throwing her pencil down. "I understand
      the concepts. I know how to solve the formulas. But when I try these stupid,
      freakin' questions, I never seem to use the right formulas in the right
      freakin' order. Why did I take the danged class anyway?"

      "Because you want to blow Frank Gehry and Franklin Lloyd Wright straight out
      of the water," said Piotr in that deep, mellow voice of his.

      "Won't I have underlings to think about that? I want to be an architect not
      an engineer; I'm just supposed to spontaneously come up with genius
      designs."

      The corners of Piotr's mouth lifted. "Yes, and I just pop acid to paint. We
      all have to take some good with the bad."

      "Isn't the saying 'take some bad with the good?'" Rogue said.

      "I'm Russian. We're genetically pessimistic."

      Rogue threw a kernel of her eraser at him. "That's not what I want to hear
      from my tutor."

      Brushing the bit of white rubber from his black hair, Piotr said, "At least
      if you expect the worse, the mediocre becomes awesome."

      "Keep it coming, Buns-o-Steel. I got a big eraser."

      "You're just stalling."

      "Damn straight. If I have to figure out the relationship between tickertape
      and the angle of the incline one more time, I'm going to completely--" Rogue
      broke off, seeing Piotr's attention dart to her left. Placing a finger over
      his lips, he gestured to the window beside the table.

      Slowly, Rogue turned her head. White-tipped fingers grasped the window
      ledge, a ledge that just barely covered a shaggy head of hair. As she stood
      to get a better look, another hand reached up over the ledge, holding
      several little tools. They looked like they could be related to dental
      equipment.

      Piotr and Rogue exchanged glances. Piotr shrugged and, casually, went
      metallic.

      The climber had braced one arm on the ledge now. His head popped up, hair
      plastered to his face, and he grinned, wiggling his fingers at them. The two
      students stepped back, surprised, going into a ready stance. There was
      something naggingly familiar about his features-- his cheekbones or
      jawline-- but Rogue couldn't quite put her finger on it. His shades threw
      her off.

      "Uh, Pete?" Rogue eased her textbook and binder to one side. "Should we do
      anything?"

      "There's a man with lock picks climbing up our house," said Piotr. "I
      definitely think we should do something."

      "Like attack?"

      "I was thinking of calling one of the teachers," said Piotr.

      "You do it," Rogue said quickly.

      Piotr's brows rose. "Are you sure? It would make more sense if I stayed
      behind; he could have a gun."

      Smirking, Rogue said, "It'll take him at least five minutes to pick the lock
      and divert the alarms on that window. You'd've gotten some of the teachers
      up here by then." When Piotr still looked doubtful, she added, "Five minutes
      and counting, Buns."

      She let out a small sigh when he finally turned on his heel and ran out of
      the room. Piotr looked as though he would have questioned her knowledge on
      lock-picking and Rogue didn't know how she would have replied. No one except
      Logan and the Professor knew about her mutation's little mental side-effect.

      Rogue knocked on the window. The guy looked up; the tip of his tongue peeked
      out between his lips in concentration.

      "We're calling the police," she said loudly.

      The guy smiled again and continued to fiddle with something under the ledge.
      Rogue put her books away-- if this was going to turn ugly, she didn't want
      her homework damaged to top it all off-- and continued to watch the would-be
      burglar.

      Her indifference melted away when he pulled out a small drill and waved it
      at her, mouthing a retort. Rogue couldn't quite hear him but the expression
      on his face was enough of a hint.

      "You are one cocky sonuvabitch," she said, trying to tamp down that part of
      her that admired his ballsiness.

      The guy bored a small hole in the window, less than a quarter inch in
      diameter. Quickly tucking the drill away, he inserted a small tool in the
      hole with a tiny blade at the tip. Angling the tool just so, he jabbed the
      window sill, twisted and pulled, cutting a wire that Rogue hadn't even
      realized was there. What a great time for the Voices to stay quiet.

      She backed away from the window, tensed for a fight even as Cyclops'
      instructions screamed at her to get out of the room and get help.

      The window creaked open-- a mere hook-latch was nothing after disabling a
      window-foil alarm from the outside. The burglar shoved the lower pane up
      then, amazingly, lowered himself until only his fingers were visible again,
      gripping the ends of the ledge.

      *Now!* Rogue's mind hollered. *Get help now!*

      She half-twisted for the door.

      In one quick, smooth move, the burglar lifted himself back up over the ledge
      and jackknifed feet-first through the window. His feet found purchase on the
      edge of the table-- she shouldn't have cleared the mess, her subconscious
      admonished-- and using that for traction, he curled his body up and over
      into a perfect shoulder roll. Water droplets flew everywhere.

      What Rogue did next was entirely her fault.

      As the burglar came up from his roll, she kicked out with toe pointed,
      exactly how Cyclops taught her not to kick. The pointy tip of her stylish
      pumps caught on his collar so that when he reflexively dove away from the
      kick, he dragged her with him.

      Rogue's knees hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thunk. Her next move was
      less amateurish, as her training--or mind-Logan-- took over. She slammed her
      forearm against his throat and, after hearing him gag in a very satisfying
      manner, grabbed his hair. She gave that handful of damp brown hair as
      vicious a yank as she could muster.

      "Yow!" He pushed her away but she still had his hair in her fist.
      Frantically, he reached for her forearm. "Let go my hair, girl!"

      "Not a chance in hell," said Rogue. She was trying to figure out how to get
      out of his reach and still inflict pain. "You're stayin' right here until
      our teachers come and then, you'll be in such shit."

      His struggles eased. "What, they gonna give me KP duty for a month?"

      Rogue smirked. "You're in a world of hurt an' you don't even know it."

      "I think I know more than you can guess, girl."

      "Stop calling me girl!"

      "Whatever you say, sweetie-pie."

      Rogue squawked.

      "Princess? Shorty? Honeybuns?" He grunted, pulling his body into a more
      comfortable position. "Throw me a freakin' bone here, sugar."

      "That is completely disgusting," said Rogue. "You're not only a bad thief,
      you're a dirty old man."

      He frowned. "Hey, now you're being mean. I ain't a bad thief."

      Cyclops' voice cut in. "But you're definitely a dirty old man." He stood at
      the door, arms crossed, his mouth bracketed by frown lines that were deeper
      than they'd ever been when school first started. Piotr stood behind him,
      less aggressive although he was still in metal form.

      Rogue looked up, relieved. "I managed to subdue him, Mr. Sum-- I mean,
      Cyc--uh�"

      "Rogue, Piotr, go downstairs and alert the professor," her teacher said.
      "I'll take care of this guy."

      Puzzled by his unusual curtness, Rogue nevertheless scurried out the door
      after Piotr. Scott blocked the door again as soon as she slipped through.

      The burglar got on his feet, still smirking despite the fact that he was
      rubbing his throat.

      "You'll take care of nothing," he said. "Bad enough this place has more
      handholds than a cabinet factory, your alarm system is completely
      craptastic."

      "Well, you were the one who set it up," said Scott.

      "Ever heard of upgrades?"

      "Ever heard of doorbells?" Scott shot back. He pinched the bridge of his
      nose. "What are you doing here, Remy?"

      "What, I can't drop in and say hello to my favourite baby brother?" Remy
      shook his head sadly. "Youth these days; they squander family ties like so
      much gum wrapper."

      "*I'm* older than *you*," said Scott.

      "That has yet to be proven. For all anybody knows, I'm an extremely youthful
      forty year-old."

      "Remy, please, I've got marking to get back to and another class to prep
      for. Make this quick."

      The smile leeched out of Remy's face. He ran his hands through his hair,
      leaving half of the shaggy locks standing straight up. Scott allowed himself
      a smile; Remy's hair had always been a bane to his vanity.

      "We need you to come home," said Remy abruptly. "Adam's missing again."

      #

      Excused from the impromptu introduction in Professor Xavier's office, Ororo,
      Hank, and Kelly St. Anna, the newly-hired junior history teacher, headed for
      the staff kitchen to muse things over. Logan set off in the opposite
      direction muttering about piping in the pool annex while Kurt Wagner
      teleported to... well, wherever he wanted on the grounds.

      After the incident at Striker's base, enrolment boomed. To be honest, Ororo
      thought the opposite would happen-- that the children's parents would take
      them away in fear of other attacks and that other families would go into
      hiding. In fact, some parents did withdraw their children from the school
      but many more replaced them. Testing at Xavier's increased eighty-five
      percent from last year and of the number tested, almost a third stayed in
      the school. Storm supposed the rest of the children had minor mutations that
      lent itself well to distance education.

      The professor found the influx encouraging; he said it was a sign of
      acceptance that he never would have seen five years ago. He had other
      concerns, mainly to do with staff. Four teachers adequately met the needs of
      forty-eight students. A hundred and fifty was a bit much. Besides adding to
      the five core permanent staff-- Ororo, Hank, Scott, Kelly, and Xavier
      himself-- Scott suggested a permanent cook since the school's licensing
      didn't qualify it for the state's cafeteria program or the mobile kitchen
      programs. The fall enrolment also called for a permanent school nurse and a
      secretary. At the moment, Logan acted as the groundskeeper but he hadn't
      indicated how long he would stay on.

      "I don't remember Scott ever talking about his brothers to a great extent,"
      Ororo said.

      "The Summers brood exemplify the adage 'absence makes the heart grow
      fonder,'" said Hank McCoy, the senior Biology and Literature instructor.
      "The tales I could tell of our founding days. It would make your skin
      crawl."

      "Were they that bad with each other?" asked Kelly.

      Hank only shuddered delicately in reply.

      "You're one of the infamous five, huh?" Kelly snagged the closest bar-stool
      and clambered on top. "Tell all. Scott used to mumble about 'The Bavarian
      Hamster Incident' back in college."

      "Yes, I've heard about that too," said Ororo.

      "There are some things in life that are not meant to be revealed," said
      Hank, bowing. "Consider that one of them." His colleagues groaned but Hank
      was adamant. "Ask me anything else. The hamster, whether or not it was
      Bavarian, will have to remain a mystery."

      "Tell us about Scott and his brothers, then," Ororo said promptly. "Why was
      Remy not in your original five? Isn't he only a year younger than Scott?"

      "Less than," said Hank. "Remy chose not to enrol in the school. Not only was
      he born with a physical mutation-- his eyes are sensitive to the infrared
      spectrum-- but his powers manifested unusually early. I'd love to run a few
      tests on his vision one day if only I could keep him still for longer than
      five minutes. Perhaps if I bait a cage with a pack of cigarettes and a
      bottle of Dr. Pepper... but I digress. Control came to him much easier than
      Scott."

      "Why?" asked Kelly.

      "Apparently, Scott had been in a car accident as a child," replied Hank.
      "While his mutation was latent, the brain damage he sustained did not affect
      his every day skills. Unfortunately, that very section is needed to control
      his optic blasts."

      "That's such a shame," said Kelly. "He's way too young to be burdened like
      that."

      Ororo nodded but said nothing. Only when it came up in casual conversation
      did she remember that society viewed Scott as handicapped.

      "So it's just Scott and Remy?" Kelly said.

      Hank shook his head. "No, no, no, that would be too easy. Nature, in its
      perversity, created four Summers. Scott, Remy, Alex, and Adam. I believe
      Alex is in Hawai'i studying volcanic rocks and Adam is in the home perch of
      San Diego. Last I heard of Remy, he was in Louisiana. You will notice that
      while they are all still in the United States, they have spread themselves
      as far apart as possible."

      "They hate each other that much?" Having no living relatives, Ororo found
      the idea distressing.

      "Hate is so strong a word," said Hank. "Rather, let us call it a healthy
      respect for personal space. Perhaps even magnetic repulsion. You've heard of
      the Aristotelian theory of the four humours-- melancholics, phegmatics,
      cholerics, and sanguines? Or perhaps the four cardinal directions? The four
      elements? "

      "I think I get the idea," said Kelly. "I think it'll kind of nice to have
      him around. Scott's looking more animated than I've ever seen him."

      "True," said Ororo. "Warren will be visiting soon as well. Scott will have
      all those near and dear to him then." She drew a wicker basket filled with
      tea bags from one of the cabinets

      Horror effused Hank's face. "Oh, my stars and garters, I'd completely
      forgotten about Warren." He plucked it from Ororo's fingers and shoved a
      beige ceramic container with the word "Coffee" emblazoned on its
      circumference in large, raised black lettering.

      "You'll need this," he said. Then his forehead wrinkled and he added, "We'll
      all need it."

      #

      One wing away in the headmaster's office, two of the Summers brothers sat
      before Xavier, one a long-time pupil, another a long-ago drop-out.

      Remy never found Xavier's office as relaxing as Scott seemed to. There were
      too many distractions-- huge diamond-grilled windows looking out into a
      weary Italian garden, shelves over-flowing with thick leather-bound tomes,
      mahogany and oak furnishings with better pedigrees than most of the
      occupants in this building. Even the fireplace seemed to crackle richly in
      its Italian marble surroundings. His fingers ached to fondle the treasures
      and his mind kept calculating their resale prices.

      "I'm very pleased to have you visit us," Xavier said, pouring tea from--
      Remy's lungs double-clutched-- a Sevres tea set. "It's been too long."

      "Y'know how it is when business is good, Professor," said Remy, accepted his
      cup. He was holding a cup from a Sevres tea set. From the pattern, he'd
      guess it was from the 1790s. He wondered how quickly he could drain it so he
      could look at the stamp underneath.

      There was a twinkle in Xavier's eye that made Remy think the older man had
      skimmed that particular thought from his head. Indeed, when Xavier poured
      Scott's cup, he tilted the pot just enough that Remy saw the factory mark
      embossed on the base.

      Jesus, he was growing a hard-on right fucking now.

      "I'm glad that the market for antiques has grown again," Xavier said.
      "Although I must confess a weakness for Bauhaus rather than Louis XVIII."

      "Whuh?" was all Remy could come up with.

      "Give it up, Professor," said Scott. "It's hard enough to get a full
      sentence out of Remy when all his gears are working. This long after lunch
      with all your family heirlooms around, he can barely remember his name."

      Remy flicked a charged sugar cube at him which Scott caught unerringly and
      zapped into oblivion.

      Allowing himself one last Neanderthal snort, Remy pulled on his business
      persona. "I was about to say, Professor, that the market is currently
      booming. Recent events as well as the continuing economic trend towards
      globalisation and robotics that're making people nostalgic for their
      traditional roots and Scotty, if you clap, I swear I'm going to beat you
      with your own glasses."

      "I can't express admiration at your ability to memorize?" Scott asked. "Last
      time you came, you were still working on reading three-syllable words."

      "Professor, Scott's bugging me."

      Xavier sipped his tea, presumably to hide a chuckle. When he lowered his
      cup, he was all business. "So, how long do you think Scott needs a leave of
      absence?"

      Scott put his cup down. "Sir, you know Adam's a professional runaway. He's
      probably sulking in one of his friends' basements because Dad took his
      Mustang away."

      Shaking his head, Remy said, "Actually Pops bought him a Land Rover last
      Christmas."

      "Fantastic," said Scott, deadpan. "Where the hell did Dad get the money to
      buy a Land Rover? Did you lend him money again?"

      "Do I look that braindead?" When Scott's expression didn't change, Remy
      threw his hands up. "No, I did *not* lend him any money. I got better things
      to do with my hard-earned cash than watch Adam and Pops burn it on bad car
      mods and the latest combination mp3-DVD-blender-toaster-wide screen TV."

      "I'm glad you finally learned your lesson after the first five times," said
      Scott.

      "You think I would've left New Orleans if it was like the other times?" Remy
      demanded. "Adam's been gone for four weeks, Scott. His friends haven't seen
      him--"

      "They always say that."

      "--and none of his theatre buddies have either. Believe me, no actor on
      Earth would've turned down my bribes."

      "I believe you," said Xavier.

      Scott looked nonplussed. "Professor, we'll play right into his hands if I
      go."

      "I know that, too." He leaned back on his chair. "Perhaps Adam did run away
      for attention again but what if this time, he encountered real danger? No, I
      think it would be best if we looked into this matter."

      Resigned, Scott sighed. "Whatever you say, sir."

      "However," Xavier said before Remy's grin could fully form. "I also believe
      that we are better equipped to find Adam here than if you two were to return
      to San Diego this instant. Let me ask my connections, Remy. You may stay and
      supervise if you'd like."

      "I'd like," said Remy firmly. "It'll give me a chance to update your
      security system. Did Scott tell you it was craptastic?"

      "He mentioned something along those lines."
    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.