Date: Wed, 11 Jul 2007 14:09:03 -0700 (PDT)
From: N L <smplsguy79@yahoo.com>
Subject: Evolutionary Leap 1

This is a work of fiction, call it fan, or slash, or even erotic.  Well,
eventually erotic.  Don't read this if such material is illegal in your
area or for your age.  The X-Men, with its characters and locales, are
copyrighted by Marvel Comics, Inc.  This work is copyrighted by the author,
and should not be reposted or distributed without express written consent.
And finally, comments and constructive criticism is appreciated; direct all
to the author at smplsguy79@yahoo.com.


EVOLUTIONARY LEAP by N.L. copyright 2007
CHAPTER ONE:  THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE

It was the sound of his feet pounding the sidewalk in a staccato rhythm,
even more than the yells and jeers behind him, that kept Ethan running.  It
was sort of soothing, the steady beat as each sneaker hit the pavement, and
it almost allowed him to forget the shouting guys chasing him.  Almost.


He hadn't even done anything wrong, at least, nothing that he could
control.  Ethan had just been minding his own business, walking home from a
rough day of classes, when they'd stopped him.  Four guys, rather tall,
rather big and rather stupid, were standing on the corner, the corner where
he normally grabbed the tube uptown.  It was quicker than a bus ride home,
and he preferred the Underground.  Hell, the Underground was one of the
reasons he'd come to London for college.  Silly, yes, but he loved it.  And
now they were blocking his way.

"Fuckin' bender," one sneered, probably the leader of the group.  He was
the largest, anyway, and the ugliest.

Ethan ignored the comment and attempted to walk around them.

"Didn't you hear me, you queer arse?" the guy asked, grabbing Ethan's
backpack and spinning him back to face the group.

Ethan felt his anger rising, but knew he didn't have a chance in hell if he
just went off without a plan.  Eyeing the group warily, he slowly moved a
hand into his jacket pocket and kept his mouth shut.

"What, are you fuckin' deaf, you little shit?  Or maybe the cat's got your
tongue."  The leader smiled at his own pathetic, cliched joke.  The rest of
the guys moved in behind him, creating a little gallery of supporters.
They laughed, and Ethan got more angry.

"No, I'm not deaf, and I can speak better than you can, you stupid fucking
Neanderthal."  Ethan regretted his words almost immediately.  These guys
were all bigger than his measly five foot ten, all weighed more than his
thin one hundred and fifty pounds.  He lifted a hand to his buzzed brown
hair, running his fingers over it, and let out a breath he was unaware he'd
been holding.  He was in deep shit.

The leader turned a bit to his group.  "Hell, the bastard's fuckin'
American!"  He turned back, his smile twisting into an ugly sneer.  "I
don't let anyone talk to me like that, you piece of shit.  And I certainly
won't take it from a goddamn American pussy boy."  He made fists with his
hands, and Ethan knew it was now or never.

Without a word, Ethan pulled his hand from his pocket and sprayed the Mace
he had hidden there directly into the leader's eyes.  Without a thought, he
gave a quick, hard shove to now screaming guy before him, pushing the
leader into the rest of his gang and watching them all fall at the
unexpected weight crashing into them.  Then without pause, as his survival
instinct kicked in and told him he wouldn't live through the fight coming
if he stuck around, Ethan took off running.


His feet were beginning to hurt, each thumping step sending pain through
his calves and thighs, and yet he continued to run, racing through streets
he didn't know, hoping to find some way to escape the wrath following him.
He didn't look back to see how close they were; he was afraid it would let
them get close enough to catch him.  Their yells were enough to let him
know they were still behind him.  His backpack thudded against his back in
a regular tempo, and he considered throwing his off, throwing at them, but
he knew the things it held were too important to lose.

The park had seemed like a good idea when he'd run into it, but now Ethan
was having doubts.  There was nowhere to hide; it was too open.  It left
too many ways to cut him off, So he made a quick turn onto the grass,
bypassing the meandering path, and headed straight for the exit ahead of
him.  He didn't know where it would take him; hell, he didn't even know
which park he was in.  Three months in London hadn't given him enough time
to fully learn the geography, and now he was silently cursing himself for
not spending more time exploring.  A sudden shout from behind him, closer
than it had ever been, made him forget that, though, and he somehow found
the strength to run even faster, bursting through the park exit and onto
the street again.

Ethan's breath was coming in ragged gasps, but he knew that stopping wasn't
an option.  He had to find a place to hide, a place to escape the oncoming
horde of scally shits trying to kill him.  He had a sudden smile, thinking
about his use of the word scally.  He was even beginning to pick up some
slang.  Escape crossed his mind again.  He began trying to find his
bearings without slowing.  A tube stop, maybe, or a shopping center.
Anything he could use to get away.  Then he saw it, a sign for a tube stop
ahead of him and across the street, surrounded by a large group of people
holding signs.  He didn't take time to read them, something about mutants
and stopping them.  He didn't care.  He'd found his way out, hopefully.  He
managed a deep breath and a quick look at the street, and then Ethan raced
across.

He heard the horn before he knew anything else.  Suddenly time slowed, and
if it hadn't been happening to him, he would have laughed at the whole
cliched act of it all.  Ethan turned to see the double-decker red bus
barreling down on him, lights flashing and screams all around him.  He
could make out the slurs from the guys chasing him, the chants of the
protesters in front of the tube stop, the screech of brakes hit too hard to
actually stop a car.  He knew he was about to die, and all he could do was
take in the sounds of it all.  His heart beat suddenly began to pound in
his ear as clear as a bell.  There was no life flashing before his eyes, no
thoughts coming to mind.  Only the simple sound of his heart, thudding fast
from his exertion and fear.

Then he began to move.  Instinct told him this was right.  Ethan, without
knowing how, without knowing he could, began to take the sounds he could
hear and bend them.  He just knew it was right, knew that he could, and did
not even try to figure out how he had this knowledge.  His head began to
spin from all the noise, and he simply raised his hands and funneled all
that clamor into a barrier.  He couldn't see it, but he could feel it, a
shield that stood about five feet around him, surrounding him in a cocoon
of thick sound.  A thought about whether or not sound could be thick
crossed Ethan's mind, but it disappeared when the bus, unable to stop for
him, hit his barrier.  He felt himself rocked to his core, the noise he was
throwing out slamming against the tonnage of metal and plastic that made up
the bus.  Without an effort, but simply with a thought and a flourish of
his hands, he suddenly shifted his shield and used the sound to encircle
the bus, bringing it to a complete stop two feet in front of his face.

Time began to move normally again, and Ethan felt his grip on the noise
around him slip and fall.  He found himself face-to-face with a massive
vehicle, and not a sound could be heard.  The demonstrators were silent.
Every car was stopped.  Even the guys chasing him were quiet, standing
shell-shocked on the corner.  His heart beat had slowed, and Ethan felt his
breath return to a soft inhale and exhale.  The bus driver, eyes wide in
horror, was staring at him.  He turned to look around him, and everyone was
staring at him.  Ethan abruptly felt as if he were naked, the way people
were looking at him.  And he was, in a way.

Ethan was a mutant, and everyone there knew.

He felt cold.  He hadn't even known he possessed this power.  Hell, he
didn't even really understand what his power was.  All he knew was that
there were guys standing there on the corner, looking as if they were about
to start up the chase again, and protesters on the other corner, obviously
unhappy about mutantism for whatever reason.  And here he was, a mutant
caught between them and staring down the face of a bus.

Sound began to return.  The bus driver laid on his horn again as the
protesters began to scream.  The guys that had been pursuing him began to
taunt him once more, though they looked reluctant to take up the chase.
And Ethan took it all in.  He could not only hear the sounds; he could FEEL
them.  He knew that, if he wanted, he could pick one out and bend it, use
it for his will.  Or he could take them all and throw them back at their
source.  He suddenly understood that he could manipulate sound to his will.
And he felt powerful.  He felt right in a skin he had never really felt at
home in.  He felt at peace.  He was whole for the first time in his life.
He felt like he'd never have to run again.

Slurs began to make their way to him.  He heard words like abomination and
freak.  He didn't care.  He was in touch with what mattered.  And he wasn't
going to take anyone's prejudice anymore.  He put up his hands again, and
felt the sound respond to his will.  He pushed against the ground and felt
himself rise up.  He could use the sound to fly.  And he could use the
sound as a shield.  He began to wonder what else he could use the sound
for, as he felt himself float up to the top of the bus, coming to rest on
its roof facing the front, looking out over everything around him.
Reaching out to pull the sound to him, he felt it gather into two balls
resting in the palms of his hands.  He knew it would work, and more
importantly, he knew he wanted to.  With a twist at the waist, Ethan threw
the balls in opposite directions, one at the gang, and one at the
demonstrators.  With a noise almost like a screeching missile, each flew
towards their respective targets and landed square in the center of each
group, exploding like a sonic boom.

Ethan saw blood, saw people flying through the air.  And then he felt the
waves of sound bombard him, the sounds of horror and devastation.  And he
knew that he was the one to cause this.  He vomited, the pain making him
sick.  He couldn't bring himself to look at what he'd caused.  The sounds
told him.

People all around were lying in various states of injury, covered in blood
and rubble from the detonated bombs of noise.  The bus Ethan was standing
on was quaking from the blasts, and he felt dust settling from the
explosions.  He could hear the moans and cries of the injured, and he felt
the sounds of hearts beating, struggling to keep people alive.  And when he
felt the first one stop, when he felt the beat cease and actually felt the
whisper of the last breath, he knew he was in trouble.  He'd killed
someone.  The sinking feeling in his gut told him what he'd heard, what
he'd felt, was right.  And he knew he was in trouble.

The peel of sirens in the distance, so foreign in this city so far from
home, brought him back to ground.  Realizing he couldn't stay, Ethan drew
the sounds to him again.  He couldn't think of what he'd done.  He had to
get away.  He used the sound to push off again, and he was in the air.  He
twisted once, getting his bearings by taking in the skyline, and then took
off, flying towards home.  And if he'd had the chance to see himself, he
would have seen that he looked so small, so much like a little boy that had
broken his bicycle on accident.  And he would have seen the tears,
glistening and streaming down his face, making his bright blue eyes glow
with sadness.


* * * * *


Bobby Drake awoke with a start, his breath coming in harsh pants.  The
dream had been so vivid, so full of emotion that he could still feel the
pain and sadness.  And he felt so odd.  He hadn't had control of ice in
this dream; his mutation had been so different.  He struggled to remember
how, but all he could recall was the blood and injury, the devastation
around him.  And he remembered being the one to cause it all.  He sat up in
bed, finding the labor difficult with the adrenaline coursing through his
veins, causing him to tremble slightly even now that the dream was over.
Sweat covered his naked torso, and he shivered as the cold air hit his
skin, causing his nipples to stand at attention.  Reaching for the shirt
he'd thrown next to his bed when he'd gone to sleep a few hours earlier, he
slipped out of bed and padded toward his door.  Shrugging into it, leaving
him wearing his boxer briefs and the now-donned tank top, he left his room
and went in search of the kitchen.  Something to drink might help calm him.

The halls of the X-Mansion, as he and some of the others had started
calling it, were quiet as Bobby padded his way down the stairs, his bare
feet making almost no noise.  It wasn't surprising, the hush covering the
mansion, as it was four in the morning, but he couldn't shake the feeling
that something was a little off.  Maybe it was just the left over emotions
from the dream.  Then he heard a slight buzz as he reached the bottom of
the stairs, and he fell into a crouch, taking what little cover the
banisters gave and feeling his hands freeze up as he connected to his
power.

The buzz moved down the hall that ran perpendicular to the entrance hall,
towards the kitchen, and Bobby fell in behind it, creeping as softly as he
could.  He saw the glint of something metal as it crossed through a beam of
moonlight, and he froze.  Was it a weapon?  He couldn't tell.  He quickened
his pace, hoping to catch up to the intruder before he or she could cause
any damage.

"Mr. Drake, don't you know it is unwise to sneak up on a telepath?" a voice
asked, baritone and soft.

Bobby jumped in fright at the sound, and then felt the tension leave his
body.  A light turned on in the kitchen, and he found himself standing
before Professor Charles Xavier, head of Xavier's School for Exceptional
Children and of the X-Men, the covert group of mutants to which Bobby
belonged, known there as Iceman.

"Professor.  I didn't know it was you."

Xavier smiled, turning his wheelchair to face the refrigerator and opening
the door.  "I know, Bobby.  If you had, I don't think you would have acted
as you did."

Bobby smiled and stood, finally relaxing.  "True that, sir."

The Professor pulled out a bottle of milk from fridge, the light from it
gleaming off his perfectly bald head.  "So, Bobby, a little warm milk to
calm your nerves?"

Bobby gave a skeptical look toward his mentor and friend.  "Nerves, sir?"

"It was not just seeing me in the dark that is making you upset, my
friend."  Xavier flashed Bobby a look full with knowledge and concern.  "I
can feel the turmoil in your thoughts."

Bobby took a deep breath, trying to let go of the emotions still lingering
from his dream.  "I'm all right, Professor.  Just had myself a little bit
of a bad dream.  And warm milk?"  he asked, a bit of good-natured scorn
escaping into his tone.  "I think I'd rather have a beer."

The Professor raised an eyebrow.  "A beer?  You know as well as I do,
Bobby, that I do not keep alcohol in this house."

Bobby sighed.  "Well, it was worth a shot."

Xavier gave a slight grin.  "Besides, I do not think alcohol would be wise
after the vision we had.  So, it is warm milk or nothing."

"Sure, sir, I'll take some," Bobby said, sighing again.  And then he
actually processed the words he'd heard.  "Wait, Professor.  Did you say
'we' there?"

Xavier pulled out a pot and poured some milk into it, setting it upon the
stove.  "Would you be so kind as to watch this for me?  The kitchen was not
constructed with someone in my condition in mind."

Bobby nodded and walked over to the range, taking a large spoon from a
drawer, and began to stir the milk now warming on the stovetop.  Xavier
wheeled his way around the island and positioned himself at the head of the
table on the other side, facing Bobby.

"Yes, Mr. Drake," the Professor began, "I said 'we.'  That was quite the
channeling we experienced, As far as I could tell, it was almost like a cry
for help.  There was an urgency in it that I don't usually get when I
connect to a mind.  It was being sent out, like a distress call."

Bobby thought back to his dream, so vivid, and he shivered.  His nipples
went back to attention, and he ran a hand over his pronounced pectoral
muscles to warm them.  He tried to recall the events, but time was starting
to erase them from his mind.  He knew that it had been real, suddenly, even
if he couldn't remember all that had happened.  Someone was telling him
something, and that person had put Bobby in his shoes to do so.  "But,
Professor, how?  And why me?  I mean, I get why they'd tell you, but why
was I in on it?  I can't read minds."

Xavier shook his head slightly.  "I am not exactly sure, Bobby, but from
what I can tell, this mutant's power resides in the control of sound.
Perhaps he is broadcasting his thoughts on a frequency only we can pick up.
Or perhaps we're not the only ones that have received his transmission.  I
cannot fully answer those questions right now."

Sound.  Bobby could suddenly remember everything that had happened in the
dream.  Or rather, transmission, as the Professor called it.  He remembered
the chase, the fear, the bus, and then the connection to power that he'd
felt.  He remembered the use of sound to stop the bus, to fly.  Then he
remembered the act of revenge, of vengeance pure, that had caused all that
damage and agony.

"Yes, Mr. Drake.  It was horrible."

Bobby looked at Xavier, a look of alarm on his face.  "I saw it all.  I saw
what he did.  And I saw it through his eyes."

"He is simply transmitting what he knows, and what does anyone know but
that which we see and feel."  The Professor looked pained, as if he was
also reliving what he had seen.  "I am not even sure he knows that he is
showing us his experience.  All I know is that he is in pain, and he needs
our help."

Bobby turned back to the milk and saw that he'd nearly let it scald.  He
pulled it from the stove and then swiveled on his foot to a cabinet, where
he took out two mugs.  "But how can we help him, Professor? After what he
did?  And we don't even know where he is."  He poured the milk into the
mugs, set the pot into the sink, and then walked around to hand one of the
cups to the Professor.  He sat at the table with the other and took a sip.

Xavier smiled softly.  "Well, we may not know exactly, but we do have a
general location."

Bobby's brow crinkled in thought.  Then he remembered.  "The bus.  That's
British.  The double-decker red bus, and the driver was on the wrong side.
And the Underground sign.  He's in London!"

Xavier nodded.  "Yes, it would appear we have a Yankee in the British
court.  And I am sure, with a little time in Cerebro, that I will be able
to pinpoint his actual location with little difficulty."

Bobby stood suddenly, almost knocking over his chair.  "I want to be the
one to retrieve him, sir."

Xavier looked at him quizzically.  "Bobby, you know that Ororo and Jean are
usually the ones I send on these missions.  They have experience with this
sort of...action.  It is a delicate matter, especially after the events he
has shown us."

Bobby nearly shook with excitement.  He didn't care about what this boy had
done; he HAD to help.  "I know, sir, but I feel really strongly about this.
Something about him, something that I felt in that dream, tells me that
he'll respond better to a guy.  And hell, I'm the one here talking to you
about this, not them.  Let me go."

Xavier sighed, and he seemed to relax resignedly.  "Perhaps you are
correct.  All right, Bobby, you can go.  But you'll be going with Storm and
Jean.  They will be in charge of this mission, and if they feel you are not
in control or helping in any capacity, they will be under orders to send
you home."

Bobby took this in.  "Of course, sir.  Thank you."  It wasn't exactly the
way he wanted it, and he didn't even know exactly why he wanted to go in
the first place, but he was being allowed.  That's what mattered.

"Now, off to bed with you," the Professor ordered.  "You will be leaving
early.  I want to resolve this and help this boy before he causes damage to
anything--or anyone--else."

Bobby took a final sip of his milk and set the mug down on the table.
"Yes, sir.  Until the morning."  He nodded at Xavier and then shot from the
kitchen, leaving a blast of cold air in his place.

He reached his room in record time, practically running through the halls.
He was going to London.  He didn't even know why this was so important to
him, only that it had suddenly become the most important thing in the
world.  He'd have to tell Marie what he was doing, pack some stuff and
organize his homework.  All that seemed insignificant, though, when
compared to the pain he'd felt from this boy.  He didn't care why; he
simply had to help this boy.  Bobby shucked his clothes and crawled into
bed naked.  Snuggling into the covers, he felt himself harden in that
familiar way, but ignored it for thoughts of that boy.  The name Ethan
floated across his mind, and he wondered if that was the boy's name.  It
seemed to fit, so he latched onto it and fell asleep with the name resting
lightly on his tongue.  Ethan.


* * * * *


Ethan awoke slowly, still feeling a persistent throb in his groin.  It had
felt so real, the conversation he'd dreamed of, the excitement he'd
experienced.  He couldn't figure out why he'd dreamed what he did, but he
didn't want to think upon it too hard.  He was having a hard enough time
holding himself together without worrying about some dream he had.  He
shook the thoughts from his head and crawled from the sheets, taking a
quick survey of his surroundings.

The room was dark, dingy, and small.  Perfect for someone down on his luck
or hiding out.  He seemed to fit both bills.  He'd found it when he left
his flat yesterday, a small bag packed and all the money he could find
shoved in his pockets.  A quick stop at the ATM, or cash point as the Brits
called it, had verified he had enough money to last a month or so.  Then he
was screwed.  But he had decided to worry about that later.  First, he had
to get out, change everything about himself, get away from the people now
surely looking for him.  So what if the news had reported that the culprit
of the tube bombing--and yes, they'd called it a bombing--was unknown.  The
people interviewed by the reporters had given strikingly different
descriptions of the suspect, and if he hadn't been the one being searched
out, Ethan might have actually laughed.  But there were enough posters
plastered around London asking for infornation--and they seemed to have
popped up unbidden overnight--that any normal person would feel anxious,
and Ethan was the person to actually commit the crime.  If what people were
telling the news was the same as what they were telling the police, they'd
never find him.  But he couldn't take that chance.

So he'd found a small hostel in an awful corner of the Victoria
neighborhood and hunkered down for the day.  He tried to order food in so
that he wouldn't have to go out, but soon realized that no one in London
delivered food anywhere.  So he'd rushed to the corner to find something to
eat, afraid to go further, and settled on a Tesco's.  Shopping at a grocery
would give him the ability to buy food for several days at a time, so he
could limit his exposure.  He brought it back to the room and settled in
with the only book he'd brought with him, his iPod turned up full so that
he wouldn't have to hear the sounds of student sex and violent drunkenness.

And now he was awake.  He must have fallen asleep, though he hadn't planned
on it.  He cursed silently at himself, thinking of all the time to plan his
next move lost.  He wondered if he should leave the country.  His student
visa was still good, so he had a good nine months before he had to leave
Britain.  But that meant nine months of hiding out.  Was it wise, to lay
low?  And what about school?  Or should he grab the next plane out, putting
as much distance between himself and his crime as he could?  Would the
police be checking the airports and train stations?  Probably.  He seemed
to remember some movie telling him that the London police usually watched
all exits out for at least seventy-two hours after a major crime.  Was that
correct?  Well, it seemed reasonable.  So, at least two more days before he
could go anywhere.  He thought about changing hostels, but decided against
it, thinking that too much movement would bring notice to him.  And he
didn't want to be out and about any more than he had to be.  He didn't
trust himself.

Well, so he had a plan of sorts.  Do nothing for a few more days, and then
get himself the hell out of Dodge.  He's figure out the hows later.  So,
that meant nothing to do.  Ethan looked at his book, wondering if he should
read some more, but he really didn't feel like it.  He checked his iPod,
and realized he'd plugged it in while he was listening to it.  Full
battery.  So he popped the buds back in his ears and sat down on the edge
of the bed.  He lost himself in the music, an oldie by Simon & Garfunkel.
The words and chords washed over him, and he suddenly felt his power flare
up.  He hadn't touched it since last night, hadn't allowed himself to.  He
began wondering if he should.  Maybe a little practice to get himself some
control.  A shield wouldn't be a bad place to start.  It would be the least
likely of his discovered abilities to cause any damage, and maybe the music
playing in his ears would help him find some control.  It had a soothing
quality, even if it was sad.

Ethan took a deep breath and positioned himself comfortably on the end of
the bed, sitting cross-legged with his hands resting palms up on his knees.
He tried to clear his mind and focused on the music for awhile, letting
himself simply feel the sounds running through him.  The song switched,
this time to an old Paul McCartney & Wings song, one of his favorites, and
he took another deep breath.  Then slowly, very slowly, he channeled the
music around him, feeling it create a small bubble around him.  He
concentrated on keeping the shield small and stationary, trying to keep it
steady.  His breathing became very rhythmic, and he felt himself relax into
his task.  Soon, he was able to maintain the shield without effort, and so
he leisurely began to expand it, trying to make it happen without exerting
too much energy .  He was afraid that if he tried too hard or too fast,
he'd lose control and destroy the whole building.  He sensed the noise
moving through him, and it felt as if it was consenting to his control.  So
he expanded it more, and the shield grew, forming to the confines of the
room.  He opened his eyes, unaware that he had even closed them, and looked
around him.  He couldn't see anything different, but he felt the shield
around him.  He wondered what it was keeping out.

The song changed, a slow one by a favorite band, The All-American Rejects.
The words hit his ears, and he suddenly bowed under the weight of what had
happened to him.  He was a mutant.  It was something he'd never even
contemplated, much less thought possible.  And he'd used his new-found
power to cause destruction and chaos.  He seemed to remember that as an
argument for mutant registration, something Congress had once tried to pass
in the States.  He'd left before the outcome of that battle, but he thought
he'd heard that the measure had failed.  He was what humans feared.  And he
felt his heart break.  He couldn't go home.  He would endanger his family,
being the mutant he was.  He couldn't stay in London either, for he was in
danger of being arrested and tried, hell, possibly even jailed for life.
The sadness of it all filled him, and without warning, his power flared.
He saw the air shimmer as the sound in his control spiked and expanded.  He
could feel the sounds of the walls cracking under the pressure of his
shield, and he quickly pulled the phones from his ears, cutting off the
music.  He felt his power quickly cut out, and the shield dropped.

Ethan looked around.  He didn't think he had caused too much damage, but he
was no construction expert.  He listened carefully, trying to hear if the
walls were still buckling, or if anyone had noticed what had happened.
Nothing.  No shouting, no cracking, not even a whisper that suggested that
anyone knew what had almost occurred.  He gave a sigh of relief.  No more
practice for awhile, obviously, not until he could decipher what would
cause him to lose control.  He couldn't risk being found out.

He picked up his book, wishing he'd been able to get a place with wifi so
he could pull out his laptop and do some internet surfing.  But any place
with that was too high profile for his taste at the moment, so he settled
for some good, old-fashioned paper reading.  It would have to do for now.
He couldn't believe he had two more days of this.


* * * * *


The speaker of the comm system crackled, and Professor Xavier's voice
filled the cabin of the X-Jet.  "I was able to find him more quickly than I
anticipated.  I could sense his power spike briefly while I was connected
to Cerebro, and I was able to zero in on his location.  I cross-referenced
the coordinates with a city map of London for you, and he is in a hostel
near the Victoria train station.  I do not know if he is going to keep his
place, however, especially being that close to transportation, so I suggest
you hurry.  I am sending the exact information to you now."  The computer
of the plane beeped briefly, and a complete map of London popped up, a
position highlighted with a small 'x'.

"Thank you, Professor," Storm answered, her eyes flashing briefly as she
maneuvered the jet into a landing sequence outside of the city.  They had
debated trying to land closer, but decided that drawing any attention to
themselves might scare off their quarry and might have consequences with
the authorities, as well.  So they chose a place as close to the city as
they dared, a small field near a major thoroughfare.  However, Storm still
thought they should disguise their presence; hence the use of her powers as
they landed.  "We'll contact you again when we've located the boy.  X-Jet,
over and out."  She cut the comm.

Jean Grey turned in the co-pilot's seat, looking back at Iceman sitting in
the seat behind her.  Her red hair caught the flash of lightening from
Storm's handiwork.  "You might want to go prepare our transportation into
the city."

Bobby nodded and unstrapped himself.  He carefully made his way back into
the cargo bay, holding onto whatever was available as the jet rocked in the
storm.  A smile crossed his lips as he opened the bulkhead and stepped into
the bay, his eyes falling upon one of the most beautiful cars he'd ever
seen.  He couldn't believe Cyclops had allowed him to borrow it for the
mission, but he was fairly certain that the Professor had something to do
with it.  Maybe his teacher had thought showing up in some style would make
enticing the boy back with them somewhat easier.  It didn't matter to
Bobby, though, as long as he got to drive.  And boy, was he going to drive.
He wasn't going to let Scott's little nagging threat of death if anything
should happen to the car bother him.  Hell, he was going to get to drive an
Audi TT.

The plane touched down with a soft bump, and he heard the engines' whine
recede as they powered down.  Hitting the controls for the cargo bay ramp,
Bobby crawled into the driver's seat and started the car.  The engine
purred to life, and his smile grew until he was nearly beaming with
pleasure.  Ororo and Jean stepped through the bulkhead door, and he
strapped his seat belt on as they climbed into the vehicle.

"You couldn't have picked a slightly larger car?" Jean complained from the
back seat, also putting on her belt.  Bobby simply bobbed his eyebrows into
the mirror for her to see and threw the car into reverse, spinning it down
the ramp and quickly shifting gears as he sped through the field's gate and
onto the road.  A touch of a button, and he saw the jet's ramp retract
through the rearview mirror.  Another button, and Madonna flooded the sound
system.

Ororo laughed.  "Could you possibly pick something gayer to listen to?" she
asked.

Bobby was tempted to argue, and was about to throw the Rogue defense out
when he saw the twinkle in Storm's eye.  So he simply shrugged.  "I thought
it was fitting.  An American living in Britain.  Something to kinda put us
in his mindset."  He pressed the gas pedal harder, and his grin grew even
more, if it were possible.  The car jumped like a cheetah running for prey,
and they picked up speed, racing toward London.


* * * * *


Ethan heard the car approaching before he saw it.  It was as if getting in
touch with his powers allowed him to hear better than ever, but really, he
knew it had more to do with feeling the sound rather than actually hearing
it.  He was peaking out the window surreptitiously when the car finally
pulled up in front of the hostel, deftly parallel parking into a spot by
the entrance.  It wasn't what he had expected, since he didn't think the
authorities would drive an Audi TT.  Especially not one made for the
American market, with American plates, New York by the looks of it.  But
maybe this was CIA or something like that.  He couldn't take the time to
find out.  He knew they were here for him.

And then Ethan saw the guy climbing out of the driver's seat.  He had sandy
brown hair, styled just so, and a build that his clothes seemed to
accentuate rather than hide.  His t-shirt was drawn tightly over his chest,
and his low-slung jeans let the band of his underwear peak out of the back.
He stretched, and his shirt rode up, letting his well-developed stomach
peak out.  Flat, and not over-muscled, from what Ethan could tell.  The
boy's black leather jacket, cut in a biker style, clung to his shoulders in
just the right way, and Ethan felt his breath quicken.  He didn't know who
this guy was or what he wanted, but suddenly Ethan knew he wasn't running.
If being captured meant being near this guy, then that was what was going
to happen.  The guy looked up, surveying the windows, and Ethan thought
about retreating.  But their eyes met, and it was too late.  Ethan got
swallowed up in the green pools.  He saw the boy smile, and Ethan's stomach
did flip-flops.  Then with a wink, the guy was gone, followed by the two
women accompanying him.

Ethan cursed himself silently.  He was sure that he looked like hell run
over.  He hadn't taken a shower since his brief stop at home, and he'd
picked his clothes more on function than style.  He looked into the cracked
mirror over the small dresser, and he was glad he kept his hair cut so
short; it would be a disaster from sleeping otherwise.

Then he remembered where he really was, why he was here, and what the guy
he had seen was most likely after.  This wasn't some date.  Ethan was in
trouble, and that trouble was the boy and his companions.  No time left to
run.  He took a deep breath and braced himself, drawing the sounds around
him to his body like armor.  If it came to it, he would fight his way out.
They wouldn't take him that easily.

But they didn't break down the door like Ethan expected.  Instead, there
was a soft knock, and then silence.  They were waiting for him politely, as
if they were on a social call.  He started to get the door, but momentarily
paused, confused.  What if they were ready to grab him when he opened the
door?  So Ethan stopped and took position in the center of the small room.
They'd have to come to him.  "Come in."

The door opened slowly, and one of the women peaked her head in with a look
of concern.  Her red hair seemed on fire it was so vibrant, and her eyes
were glowing with knowledge.  She stepped into the room, and Ethan thought
it seemed she took care not to get too close to him.  "Hello, Ethan."

He jumped, hearing her speak his name as if she'd known him for years.
"How do you know that?" he asked, cautiously pulling even more sound to
himself.

"First, let me introduce myself.  I am Jean Grey, and I have brought a
couple of friends with me.  We're simply here to talk."  She smiled, and
something about her seemed comforting.  Her other friends walked into the
room, and Ethan turned to them.

The first was the other woman, and Ethan's breath caught at how striking
she was.  Her carmel skin, flawless and almost luminescent, was offset by
snow white hair, which seemed odd.  She couldn't have been more than
thirty-five years old.  She smiled warmly and stood next to Jean.  "Hello,
Ethan.  My name is Ororo Monroe."

"And I'm Bobby Drake."  Ethan turned from her and came face-to-face with
the sexy boy he had seen on the sidewalk.  He exhaled sharply, as if a ball
had hit is gut.  Their eyes locked again, and Ethan couldn't prevent the
smile creeping onto his lips as he stared into the green depths.  Bobby
grinned at him, and Ethan felt his knees buckle.  "And what Jean said is
right.  We're just here to talk with you."

Ethan looked from Bobby to Jean again, and he was able to get his bearings.
Maybe if he avoided looking at the guy, he'd be fine, so he focused on the
girls and took another deep breath.  "Fine.  We'll talk.  Starting with
you.  How do you know who I am, and how did you find me?"

Jean smiled.  "You're not the only one with powers, Ethan."  She lifted a
hand, and Ethan watched as the book he'd been reading flew from the bed and
into her hand.  She read the cover.  "You're reading 'House of Leaves'?  Is
it any good?"

Ethan didn't respond but simply looked at her warily, unsure that he'd
actually seen what he'd witnessed.

The woman calling herself Ororo spoke next.  "We are also mutants, Ethan.
Jean and I are teachers at a school in the U.S. for people like us.  We
teach the basics, yes, but our focus is on helping mutants learn how to use
and control their powers so they can find a place in society.  We hope that
our work can help bring an end to the division between mutant and human, to
bring an end to the fear and prejudice that our kind experiences."

"And me," Bobby spoke, but Ethan refused to look.  He couldn't.  Bobby
shrugged and continued.  "Well, I'm a student there.  I just finished high
school, and I'm now taking college courses while I focus on training and
harnessing my power."

"That still doesn't answer my questions."  Ethan crossed his arms, and they
all heard a soft whisper, almost melodic, as he strengthened the shield
around himself.

"We're not here to hurt you."  Jean's voice was soothing.  "We're just want
to show you what we have to offer, and to invite you to come with us if you
so choose."

Ororo sighed, and Ethan could sense her apprehensiveness.  Did she know
he'd brought up that shield?  "We work with a very powerful telepath,
perhaps the world's most powerful.  He's the head of the school, and when
he heard you calling to him, he sent us to find you so that we could offer
our assistance."

"Me?  I didn't call out to anybody, much less someone like you guys."

"But you did," Bobby whispered, stepping closer to Ethan but still keeping
a comfortable distance.  "I got your call, too, and I'm NOT a telepath.  So
the only way for me to have heard it is if you were the one to send it."
He smiled softly, with eyes full of concern.  "You showed me what happened
the other night, in front of the Underground."

Ethan inhaled deeply.  "What?"

Bobby took another step.  "I saw what you saw, Ethan.  You let me.  I don't
know how, but you did.  And I know you don't really live here.  You left
your apartment yesterday and came here.  You told me that, too.  You told
me a lot about yourself.  i didn't realize it right away, but when I was
able to concentrate on the dream you gave me, well, I remembered more of it
than any dream I've ever had before."

Flabbergasted, Ethan stepped back.  "What?  I didn't do that."

Bobby sighed.  "Then how do I know you have two siblings, a sister and a
brother?  How do I know you came to London to study art history?"  He took
another step closer to Ethan.

"You could have gotten that information anywhere."  Ethan took another step
back, panic rising in his throat.  "Hell, enough time on the internet could
have told you all of that."

"True," Bobby responded.  Another step nearer.  "But how do I know you're
gay, and that you've never told anyone, not even your best friend, George?
And how do I know that night at the Underground was the first time you even
knew you were a mutant, much less being the first time you used your
powers?"

Ethan felt the tears, and his vision blurred until Bobby was nothing more
than a mass of colors before him.  "What?" he asked, his voice a murmur.

Bobby felt the shield fall, felt it through the emotions that Ethan was
broadcasting even now.  A quick glance at Jean and Ororo told him that they
were leaving this to him.  He had wanted to come for this reason, and they
seemed to understand that.  He moved forward and put a hand on Ethan's
shoulder.  "It's all right.  That's why I'm here.  Let us help you.  Let ME
help you."

Ethan watched the room swim before his eyes, the pain cresting in waves,
threatening to drown him.  "You can't know that."

Bobby pulled Ethan to him, putting his arms around the crying boy.  "But
you told me.  That's how I know," he whispered soothingly.

Ethan felt his power mounting as his tears increased.  He couldn't stop
himself.  "I didn't tell you!  I don't get this!"

"Shhh."  Bobby didn't know what else to say.  "It'll be okay.  Really."

Ethan stiffened, and he couldn't help crying out.  "IT'S NOT OKAY!  NOTHING
WILL EVER BE OKAY AGAIN!"  And his power connected with his words, creating
a shock wave of sound the reverberated out of him, throwing Bobby, Ororo
and Jean into the walls of the room with a crash of breaking furniture and
cheap drywall.  He sobbed, his breaths racking his lungs.  "See!"  Ethan
collapsed to his knees, and his power faded as the tears took over, leaving
him weeping in a heap on the floor.

Bobby pulled himself up, brushing off dust and cracked paint from his
clothes.  He watched as Jean and Storm got up, and a look between them told
him they were all fine, just slightly shaken.  He spun to face Ethan,
surprised at the boy's outburst, to find him sobbing on the carpet, his
back quaking with the tears.  Bobby's heart broke a little at the scene,
and he found himself sitting on the floor, pulling Ethan to him.

Somehow through the tears, Ethan managed to croak a quiet "Help me."

Bobby pulled Ethan's head to his shoulder and began to rock the crying boy
back and forth.  "Shhh.  Of course I will.  I'll be all the help you need."
And he continued to rock Ethan as he wept, leaving the room in silence.

TO BE CONTINUED.