Being a Mutant wasn’t something you could just turn off.
Not for all of them, at least. And even the ones who could pretend, who could blend in with the public eye had their point when they couldn’t hold it in anymore. It wasn’t something you could easily snuff down and pretend it wasn’t a part of you. It wasn’t just a switch to flick and keep going. No, not for everyone.
And you were one of them who had reached that breaking point finally one day, which is exactly how you found yourself in Xavier’s School for the Gifted, sent off by the parents who knew they couldn’t risk keeping you around. Xavier’s pamphlet came in the day after you sprouted wings and a tail and horns and scales and so many things that turned you from their lovely daughter they dressed up for pageants into some beast who nearly burned down her room had they not caught it in time. Talking you into a calm state, returning back to the picture of a human took longer than it should have, yet signs remained. Eyes sharpened, glowing like embers were trapped in them, claws that turned to talons if you didn’t cut them twice a day. The occasionally leak through of leathery wings you just couldn’t tamper down even when you tried to control it.
You were only sixteen when they shipped you away.
Xavier was a father you never expected to come across. A man who, although limited by his physique, was boundless with his mind. He understood how hesitant you were when you arrived, how you were bitter not only at your family but at your own body for what happened. How you could never live a normal life ever again. How you couldn’t see any of your friends who would simply hear ‘Oh, she grew ill, we had to send her away for treatment’ from your parents instead of the truth. You were a memory to be forgotten about in time, as would the visits from your parents finally ease up. When you arrived there were only a few faces in the mansion: Scott, Bobby, Hank, Jean, and Warren. They were older, their bond already solidified with how ever long they had been together, but they were eager to welcome you in. You learned Jean went to college nearby and that Scott was always too afraid to talk about his feelings to her before he could learn to manage his mutation. Warren wasn’t. He was always eager to speak to her while Bobby found himself more drawn to an unnamed “Misty” you had heard about from Hank.
You found that Hank was someone you enjoyed being around more than the others. And as the years passed, as you learned how to manage the scales that originally hurt when they broke through you skin now becoming a second skin, you found that Hank and you weren’t so different. Especially as they aged, as others started to appear and come and ago, and as they all tried to blend in with society while they worked to keep Mutants and people safe.
It felt like a dream to see everyone changing so much and, before you knew it, the mansion was alive with many. With young students to be taught by not just Xavier but Scott and Jean and Hank and others, with new and old faces popping in and out to keep the dream of a peaceful future alive. You’ve come to know more and more in this time as you reached adulthood. You also found how to tame down your abilities to something more manageable.
‘If only they were here to see.’ You only sometimes thought of your parents, usually close to the date you were shipped away, which was coming up soon enough. But you normally didn’t let it distract you. Not when you were in the Danger Room with endless foes coming and going. Not when you were working on how to manipulate the fire your scales naturally produced as they clicked together, ignited into waves of heat as you waved your arm. It burned them up, melted some to the ground, and lit the world around you afire, one that you would absorb with the other out-stretched arm to guide the fire back. It was a careful balance, one you had to spend time finding. Like a balance of your horns, which curled high and up and were easy to hit someone with. In moments like this they were bulky, in other moments they weren’t even there. You felt them, always, like your wings that weren’t out (another thing you were trying to work on). You always felt everything.
“Watch out!” You heard the warning too late, too focused on the faceless foe who you were holding in your hand, talons digging into the jaw and skeleton structure as you felt it crunching under your hand. Confused, you turned in time to avoid the first shot of an ice spear. Thin but sharp enough to pierce the thing in your hold. You turned with a snap on your lips to Bobby about watching where he threw those things, but another came and you didn’t see it before a sharp sting caught your cheek, then your shoulder. You flailed your arms to create heat that caused steam to amass when you melted the rest of the incoming ice spears, but the damage had already been done and you were stepping away and back with a hand up to your cheek. Pain bloomed through out you and you were trying to figure out where to focus first when the simulation around you all died down. You heard a swipe from Wolverine, Logan’s voice lowering into an annoyed growl as he stood still when the figures disappeared. The thrumming in your ear made it hard to hear who was yelling until you were away of hands almost touching you.
“Now, I might require you to ease up on your incinerating flames.” Hank. It was Hank, of course it was Hank and his soft, blue face as his hands hovered and waited until your scales flattened before taking on the illusion of skin. In reality they were always there, always ready to take what could be a fatal blow if you weren’t ready. Sure, it made your skin feel a little rougher than normal, but it was worth the extra protection. “There you are, there you go.” His hands were cold, but anyone’s would be compared to your own heated flesh. When you opened your eyes and looked up at him Bobby was lingering behind him, encased in reflective ice that still managed to convey how worried he was. And guilty.
“Nice shot.” You said as Beast tugged your hand away to examine your ear. Bobby made a face and you were left to wonder how bad it must have been. Blood covered your hand. So, probably bad. And your shoulder? Probably worse. Hank was quick and efficient though and the moment you let him take over everything felt like a breeze.
“I’m so sorry.” Bobby would repeat those words even as Hank took a part of the cloth Warrens brought him to put pressure on your shoulder on the injury there. It wasn’t bleeding so bad anymore, but Hank was guiding you out and to take you to the infirmary to at least look you over. Make sure you weren’t about to get some kind of infection during the evening. You just waved Bobby off and in a blur of movement, of being tugged along, you were in the infirmary that had slowly grown familiar to you.
“You’ve redecorated.”
“I see you’re still so observant.” Hank said. You had been joking but it appeared as though he actually had redecorated at some point. He was smiling then and let you settle back on the bed he had taken you to. Considering you had been wearing simple clothing for the training, not entirely needing a suit for your abilities or anything clothes wise in the end, you didn’t have to take anything off. The tank top exposed the injury enough that Hank, once his glasses were put back on, could look at it properly under the lighting. “Well, of course you won’t need stitches, but you’re going to remain here after I give you an injection of antibiotics. Who knows what diseases could have been frozen inside that ice, so I want to make sure sepsis wouldn’t the thing that takes you from us.” Hank was direct when he spoke. Blunt and effective and you were thankful for it. You still made a show of rolling your eyes and slumping back into the bed as he reached up to grip the rafters, hoisting himself across the infirmary.
“Of course, have to get my shots to get my lollipop, right?” You asked. But your teasing tone didn’t even catch him off guard, he had grown used to it considering you spent a lot of time there. Whether through injuries you’ve acquired or through your own boredom, you were often in the infirmary with him. He returned with said shot and you knew the procedure, lifting up your good arm. “Are you going to clean it out?”
“Of course.” The shot barely stung. Hank had to angle it so it slid in between your hidden scales, a claw of his poking between the thin seams to lift one up and find a sensitive spot. Your wince was masked with a frown and the close of your eyes. The needle disposed of, Hank was quick to set to work on fetching the syringe to wash out the injury on your shoulder and clean cotton swabs and alcohol solution when you heard something. A sound like someone was approaching. Hank and you both picked up on it and both of your turned to look at the door. Exactly four seconds later, the door opened and a face you were still adjusting to walked right through the door.
Remy LeBeau, the Cajun thief who somehow ended up in the mansion in means you didn’t pay attention to, was one of the newer faces around the mansion. He was older than you, you thought, but he acted almost like any of the teenagers you had watched grow up in the area. His confidence was nearly unmatched and just the way he carried himself often rubbed others the wrong way. Relaxed and uncaring even in the most serious of moments, something that you caught making Scott frown more than once. And here he was, papers in hand with the other shoved into his pocket as he whistled, taking a few steps in before he realized just what he had walked in on. Those red on black eyes darted between you and Hank and then his brows pitched up in curiosity.
“Why, did da’ ol’ Gambit miss somethin’?” His accent was thick and something you had to get used to. Not to say there weren’t others with an accent, Kurt for example, but Remy’s was so thick it was as if he walked out of New Orleans every time he spoke. Not in the last few years but in the last few minutes. His lips remained turned up in that eternal smirk and you questioned how someone’s resting face could be so cocky. You’ve heard of a resting bitch face, but nothing like this.
“Training accident.” Hank explained. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. LeBeau?” He asked it politely, Hank’s toothy smile ending the sentence. Remy held up the papers but didn’t get any closer and you realized he was looking at you and not Hank. The look set your nerves aflame. If there was one thing you’ve come to realize since Remy had started to parole around the mansion, he enjoyed being the center of attention. And he enjoyed giving attention, something you first noticed with his affections for Rogue. Even though he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t bring his hands on her, he did everything else he could. Rogue often got flustered enough to snap at him, though she never turned away his affections. Remy was smart enough to not try that with Jean especially considering she was always at Scott’s side, Morph got a few teasing remarks at times that were brushed off, and even Storm was at his attention for just a moment. Jubilee was too young for him and he held that affection a brother would, but you?
You avoided him.
Not that he wasn’t handsome or interesting in the way he tried to use words like a weapon of his own, but you didn’t want to deal with it. The teasing, the touching, all of it seemed like it was too much. Considering you had gone a lot of your growing years afterwards learning to maintain the heat and lower it so that people wouldn’t get burned when they touched you, you weren’t the target of many peoples’ affections. Even Hank touched you minimally for injuries alone and if you were unconscious? It took a lot more careful maneuvering to handle you then.
A double-edged sword these scales and body were, but it served its purpose well enough and you were alive to contest to that. But it’s why you kept your distance. It wasn’t uncommon for you to stay down here with Hank or alone when you weren’t needed. Why bother building a connection that might be ruined should someone give you a hug when you weren’t prepared?
“Papers for ya’.” He said simply, his eyes finally leaving you and you decided to close your own. Maybe pretending to be asleep meant you wouldn’t have to deal with him if he lingered. OR Hank would keep him distracted. “Xavier said he want’n ya’ up dere’.” Well, there went that plan.
“Wants to see me?” Hank sounded confused, though you heard when he dropped the tools on the table. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back shortly, just stay here, right?”
“Not going anywhere.” You promised. Hank’s steps were heavy and obvious when they left, but when you didn’t hear Remy’s follow him you dared to open one eye.
Remy was closer now and was lingering at the end of the bed, head tilted and arms braced on the railing down there. When he caught you looking he gave you that grin you’ve seen him give others.
“Accident, cher?” He asked. “More like ya’ got shot or somethin’.” You thought about ignoring him, maybe that would actually chase him off. You somehow suspected it wouldn’t and decided to entertain him a little. Hank shouldn’t take long, right? Hank was always quick and efficient and wouldn’t leave a patient for long. Right?
“Bobby.” You explained and Remy released a small ‘ah’ as he tapped his fingers on the railing. You felt the vibrations from it as he continued the pattern until he spoke again.
“You kno’, I don’t think we gota’ chance to acquaintance ourselves.” In a showy movement that made the trench coat he wore flow behind him, he stepped back and bowed with a showy grin. “Remy LeBeau at your service.”
“We’ve met.” You said simply and you didn’t even bother to give your name. He faltered, his eyebrows pulling together and his mouth closing to a more neutral state than the confident grin. Then he shrugged.
“Well, I figured a new impression was needed considerin’ you didn’t like whatever I did in tha’ first one to upset ya’, cher.”
“Upset me?” Your head cocked.
“You avoid the hell outta’ me, thought I messed up.”
You wouldn’t feel guilt, but you would feel a slight blow considering he realized your ploy. Your eyes lowered and you adjusted yourself into the bed further, looking to the stuff beside you like you’ve never seen it before.
“Not you.” A bit of a lie and a bit of a truth. Remy’s eyes just narrowed.
“Then yer’ gunna’ stop avoidin’ me?” He asked.
Realizing you were trapped you just stared and hoped Hank would come in to save you from this, save you from the moment of having to explain yourself. And it seemed as though your prayers were answered in a way you hadn’t expected; Scott. The man entered in the tucked in shirt and khaki pants he always wore when in casual, his glasses secured but his steps quick and even. When he spotted Remy in the room his frown deepened and his arms crossed. Remy knew what this meant and he stood up very quickly, hands raised in peace as he stepped back.
“Get back to ya’ later, ya’?” He said to you and he gave a wink as he turned, stepping aside and raising a had to pat Scott’s arm as he walked past. Scott watched until he left then cocked a brow in your direction. You closed your eyes purposefully to avoid whatever stare was behind those glasses and sighed heavily out of your nose.
Somehow, you had a feeling this was only the beginning of whatever Remy’s game was and you have no idea even what game it was.
“Is he bothering you?” Scott asked and you recognized something of a brotherly worry, a familiar sound you’ve grown used to in your time here. Where relationships grew and broke and sometimes fell into pieces that couldn’t be fixed, whatever familiar bond you’ve developed with Scott since arrival was something you had grown thankful for. Especially in moments like this when he approached and let a hand rest on on your arm, the one not with an injured shoulder.
“No.” You said. “Not really.” You settled on instead.