Chapter 7

John had been reduced to asking Bobby for help. He'd
been wracking his brains all vacation and he certainly
couldn't ask his folks. Yeah, he could see it. 'Hey
mom, what do you get a junkie mutant street kid for
Christmas? Yeah, he's my new roommate. Oh, and ten
bucks or less.' He'd never see the Academy again.

Bobby had laughed his ass off and then asked him why
he wanted to get Paul anything anyway.

"Well, he's my roommate. I mean everybody gets
something for their roommate for Chrisms."

"Sure - but Paul's a jerk and he's only been here a
few weeks anyway. You think he's going to get you
anything?" Bobby's voice was tinny over the long
distance line. John shifted the phone to his other
ear and glared at his sister then flipped her the
bird. She ran off to complain to their mom that he
was hogging the phone.

"Hey - !" John yelled down the hall. "You get it all
to yourself the rest of the year! Um - sorry Bobby,
my sister's being a brat as usual. And he was here
longer, just down in the lab - he was hurt pretty bad,
he's got this killer scar on his side."

"Didn't know you were into admiring the male form.
And I was there remember?"

John blushed, immediately reminded of the one night
Paul had curled into his arms. A night that had
turned into a nightly ritual - Paul promising that he
wouldn't do anything 'funky' that he was just cold.
Just cold. Every time he be a big sucker and he'd
climb into Paul's bed and they'd sleep skin to skin.
"I'm - I'm not! Man - you've got a dirty mind.
Hanging out with Jubilee now?"

"There's a form to admire - " Bobby's grin carried
over the line like he was standing next to him.

"Oh, yeah. Sweet all over and especially when she's
walking away."

"Or walking towards you - sure is growing up."

"Out you mean." John snickered, relived by the nice
normal guy banter.

"Get him something new."

"What?"

"Paul. He's some homeless kid right?"

"Yeah."

"And he's wearing *Scotts* old clothes - man, I'd be
an asshole too, if I had to wear all that brown
polyester crap. Even those glasses - Scott's old
shades."

"Yeah. Hey - you're right, I remember seeing them in
some old pictures. Guess he didn't come with much."

"No." Bobby's tone changed. "No - everything he was
wearing was soaked in blood."

"You were along when they got him right? Everyone
knows you were." John leaned on his knees, staring at
the floor and ignoring his mom down the hall waving at
him to hang up. "What was it like - I mean you didn't
get to fight anyone did you? Wasn't he stabbed? Was
it like - some gang war or some FOH beating him up
'cause he's a mutant?"

"No. None of that." Bobby said quietly. "It was -
just him lying there - dying in some phone booth. No
one around. No one giving a shit - not even enemies.
He'd been -"

"What?" John asked when Bobby broke off.

"Nothing."

"Hey - c'mon, Bobby. I'm going to be doing the same
thing, soon you know. Rescuing other mutants. C'mon
- I won't tell anyone."

"He was just - lying there. White as a ghost. Scott
and Remy working over him like it happened every day.
And - shit - "

"*What?*"

"Some guy had raped him - " Bobby's voice broke off.
"Scott had to - to - stick his fingers up, um, inside
him to make sure - he said to make sure no one had
shoved like a razor or something up his ass. Man - I
puked. Felt like such a moron. First time they let
me go along and I'm puking in a plastic bag. I mean -
I was expecting to be fighting Magneto or something!"

"Oh. Man that's -"

"Yeah."

His mom was standing in the hall, hands on hips,
glaring. "Crap. I got to go. See you next week back
at school, okay Bobby?"

"Sure. Hey - don't tell anyone? Okay? Promise?"

"I won't. Bye."

"Bye."

So when he got back to school, and the door to their
room rattled, John hurriedly opened a book and buried
his nose in it. Paul came in, stinking of the
cigarettes he was caging from Remy then stopped
frowning suspiciously at his bed. John peered over
the top of his book, praying the other kid wouldn't
make a big deal of it.

Those *were* Scott's old glasses, John realized, red
quartz and heavy. And his old clothes - not much
different from what Scott wore now. Lots of ugly
button down shirts. Guess there wasn't much else -
John knew lost of kids came to the school with nothing
but what was on their backs. Marie had worn Aurora's
extra clothes - or she had until she started getting a
chest. But Paul was so tall and thin, now John could
maybe see where Scott's old nickname Slim came from.

His new roommate would drive him mom nuts. Paul
always hunched over like he was trying to hide his
height, John could practically hear his mother's voice
yelling at him to stand up straight. Stand up
straight, comb that hair, make his bed and what's this
about skipping classes? It was almost funny, except
that John couldn't really quite put Paul in the same
room as his mom - or any mom. He couldn't imagine
what kind of family his roommate might have had - what
his parents were like, if he'd had brothers and bratty
sisters and that was - really depressing.

It was a couple of weeks after Christmas but when John
had come back from vacation, Paul had been a
super-asshole and for a while he wasn't sure he wanted
to give him anything at all - except maybe a punch in
the nose. He'd chosen today because he knew that Paul
had gone to get his methadone this morning and he was
usually in a good mood after that.

"What's that?" Paul glared at the little gold wrapped
package on the bed.

"A present. Figured I'd better get you something - in
the interests of peace and good will and you living in
the same room as me and everything."

Paul shifted to stare at him, equally suspiciously.

"Hey." John held up his hands in surrender. "I'm
innocent, officer. It's no big deal."

"I didn't get you anything." Paul said. "I didn't
get anyone anything."

"That's okay. It's a Christmas gift and you don't
have to pay those back, you know."

Paul didn't look particularly reassured but he tossed
his little exercise ball onto his bed and picked up
the palm sized package, turning it over in long
fingered hands curiously. John held his breath as
Paul tore it open, gold foil flying everywhere.

"Oh - " Paul unfolded the earpices to the glasses,
holding them up to stare through the black lenses.
Red rushed to his face and he avoided John's eyes.

"I got the darkest I could find." John said casually,
fingers white on his school book. He was just praying
Paul wouldn't be offended or anything. He was sick of
his roommate's bad moods. "Is it dark enough?"

Paul pulled off the heavy quartz lenses he'd been
wearing and put on the shades John had gotten him.
"Yeah - they're okay."

"Okay." John shrugged, then grinned at Paul who
smiled uncertainly back. His roommate looked so
different now, without the oversize glasses weighting
his face down. His long face and high cheekbones
weren't hidden anymore, his shiny black hair and pale
skin - along with the tiny round black lenses - made
him look kind of like a Goth. And his expression
wasn't hidden away any more. John could see just how
surprised Paul was - like no one had ever gotten him a
present before. "Those parts on the side are called
sidelights, I think. Figured you'd need shades on the
side to, right?"

"Yeah. Otherwise the light hits me from around the
edges and I can't see shit." Paul said. He was
looking at the floor, out the window, anywhere but at
John while he tried to get his expression under
control. "Hey - um - these are pretty cool. Thanks."

"No big deal." John repeated. "They didn't cost
much. Merry Christmas - Happy Hanukkah - Merry
Solstice or whatever."

"Christmas." Paul muttered, picking up the exercise
ball and squeezing it in his healing hand. "I'm a -
my family was Mormon. We used to celebrate
Christmas."

"Yeah?" John prompted when Paul fell silent again.
Maybe Paul would finally talk to him about something
important. Something besides dope and sex and how he
didn't need any of this school crap. "Must have been
cold there."

Paul smiled wryly. "Except when it was hot as hell.
It was either cold as hell or hot as hell - but it was
always hell. But I guess it was okay when I was
little - Christmas, I mean. Y'know all the snow and
toys and crap like that."

"You know the professor lets anyone call anywhere -
family or friends or whatever." John offered
carefully. "Maybe -"

Paul scowled. "I ain't seen them for years. And they
sure as hell don't want to see me. Da made that
*real* clear when he -"

"What?"

The other kid jerked his chin up to stare challengly
at John. "When he shot my ma 'cause he said she'd
been sleeping with the devil to get two kids like us
then drove me and my brother out into the desert and
dumped us there."

John stared at Paul, seeing the bitter challenge in
the set of his mouth as if Paul was daring him to be
shocked. John swallowed his first automatic,
horrified response.

"That sucks." He said casually.

Paul tipped his head to the side studying him, ragged
black hair sliding across his forehead. John had the
sinking feeling that he hadn't fooled Paul for a
second. "Why are you here? Don't your folks want you
anymore now that you're a freak?"

John grinned. "I went off in the stupid mall. Scared
my mom to death, set the sprinklers off and
everything. My folks had to pay for all the damaged
clothes - man, that was the end of my allowance. I
thought it was cool as hell. And I didn't have to go
to regular school anymore."

"You got to go home though, they must've gotten used
to you." Paul said when John faltered, smile fading.

"Not - not really." John picked up his book, fiddling
with the worn cover. "They took me to all kinds of
doctor's and stuff. All the reputable ones told them
there wan'st anything they could do. There wasn't a
*cure* for what I was - then they found Dr. Riley."

Paul winced. "I've seen his commercials. Promises to
cure the mutant syndrome or something right?"

"Yeah. Five-hundred dollars for a one-hour
consultation." John said, his normal good humor
evaporating at the memories. "Then he promised my mom
he could treat me."

He couldn't go on and started peeling the paper cover
off his book instead. He began to pant, struggling
for air. "N-never mind -"

"Hey -" Paul sounded surprisingly kind for the jerk
he usually was, he came over and John turned away in
embarrassment. The hand on his arm was warm and
startled him out of his panicky memories. "Whatever -
don't worry about it. I don't care - you don't have
to tell me anything."

"No -!" John gasped, tears springing to his eyes.
He'd never been able to talk about Dr. Riley before,
never been able to cry about it. Not even with the
professor. Somehow Paul's hand on his arm made it -
easier - possible to talk and not feel so scared he
couldn't breathe like he usually did. "I never told
anyone - except the professor. That bastard -
promised my parents he'd treat me and I'd never -
n-never go off again. Then he - he did this
conditioning crap. That's what the professor calls
it."

"Conditioning crap?"

"Well -" John smiled faintly as the tightness in his
chest eased. "Not the crap part but he says that the
um - stuff he did with - with electrodes and
everything. Electroshock therapy and getting me to go
off then shocking me - was conditioning. H-hurting me
every time I went off so's I'd get conditioned against
it. I - I still can't spontaneously go off like I
could when I first manifested. I - hyperventilate and
faint and stupid stuff like that."

"I used to be able to just spark on my own." John
finished sadly. "Now I got to use a match or a
lighter or something like that."

"That sucks." Paul said, arm around John's shoulders.
The grip tightened and John knew Paul meant more than
those little words.

"You said you had a brother?" John asked, casting
around for something else to talk about.

Paul shrugged against his back. "Yeah but he's dead.
Hey - it just gets more depressing from here, as usual
for freaks like us. Lets - go and piss Jubes off or
something. Foos ball?"

"Sure."

"Thanks for the glasses. Merry Christmas or whatever
yourself."

So, John figured he shouldn't have been so surprised
when Paul tried to give him a blow job that night. At
first he thought he was having a really great dream
and when he put his hand down there, Paul's fine hair
made him think of Jubilee and that got him even
harder. But when Paul put his mouth on him, John knew
he wasn't asleep, it felt to good.

"Hey - get off me!" He pushed Paul away and scrambled
out of the bed, nearly tripping over his pulled down
boxers. "Jesus - you promised no funky shit like
that!"

Paul sat up, looking surprised. John couldn't help
but stare at his mouth and remember what it had felt
like. "I - y'know, didn't get you anything for
Christmas - I figured -"

"Man - no way - " John cried, horribly embarrassed
that his dick was still sticking out and he prayed no
one *ever* found out he'd turned down a blow job. His
*first* blow job. "I don't want a blow job - I mean
- not from you - not from a *guy*!"

Paul grinned nastily at him and shrugged. "It's all
the same hole with the lights out, John."

"No - no way." John climbed into his bed and jerked
the covers up. He turned his back on Paul. "It's not
the same and you aren't just some hole. And you're
just being a jerk."

"John?" Paul whispered a little later.

"Leave me alone!"

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever."

"Really." Paul's voice dropped even lower. "I just
thought - y'know you're like my friend or something.
I thought - it's what I know how to do. I'm good a
fucking, you know. Everyone says so."

John swallowed, tears prickling his eyes - for Paul or
himself he didn't know. "You know you're screwed up
right?"

"Guess so."

"You don't have to give me a blow job because we're -
like - friends. I don't go for guys - even in the
dark!"

"What - I mean - what do you want then?"

"I don't know!" John snapped. He rolled over and
glared in the direction of the other bed. He knew
Paul could see him clearly, even in the moonless dark.
"Maybe for you not to be such a jerk all the time?
It isn't any fun living with you, you know. Always
bitching about everything - Bobby and Marie and Winnie
are my friends too, you know. Maybe you could - try
to like it here or something? This place is pretty
cool and I - I - think you act the way you do just to
piss everyone else off."

Paul was silent.

"Didn't think I was that smart, did you?" John asked.

"Dunno."

"Everyone thinks I'm stupid."

"I don't." Paul said.

"You don't go to any of the classes, how would you
know?"

"Not that kind of smart." Paul whispered. "The other
kind. You know - how to make people happy, I think.
You - like people. Even jerks. That's a better kind
of smart than book stuff."

John sighed. "Well, maybe you could tell Mr. Summers
that 'cause I'm failing Algebra 2."

"I will."

John closed his eyes and groaned because he believed
Paul and god only knew what his teacher was going to
do about *that*.

******************************
 

Paul glared at the camera in the elevator. He was
getting really sick of the lab, Hank and all the tests
he was doing. The elevator jerked, Paul staggered in
surprise as it shuddered then raced back up to the
main floor. When the doors snapped open he didn't
have a chance to move before Scott and Jean and Ororo
barreled inside, pushing him to the back.

"Hey!"

Mr. Summers glanced at him, then at his wife, frowned
briefly and shrugged, unbuttoning his shirt rapidly.
Jean and Ororo were pulling off their clothes and it
was like a really dumb porn movie except for the
urgency rolling off everyone.

"What's going on?" Paul asked, pressed back against
the cold silver wall as he tried to avoid accidentally
touching any of Jean's bare back. She had a series of
scars down her back like giant lion had gone after her
or something. The elevator was dropping back down,
lower than the lab level, fast enough to make Paul's
stomach turn.

"Emergency -." Scott muttered, dropping his pants
like he was alone. "Don't worry, Paul. We have
priority on the elevator, that's all."

When the elevator opened, they all raced out, almost
naked. The glimpse of corridor was unfamiliar and
Paul jumped out on impulse before the door could
close. Silver corridors went off in three directions
and Bobby's voice, of all things, was coming out of
hidden speakers going on about some birds and
estimated time of arrival in Bangladesh. Paul decided
to take a hallway other than what the teachers had
gone down, he didn't want to get caught any sooner
than he had to.

He went left. The hallway was pretty short and ended
in a pair of big red doors. Locked doors with a big
silver X on it. Didn't even have a handle. Off to
one side was a locker room - sort of. The showers and
shelves were all familiar enough; the white lights and
metal and plastic looked like a science fiction set.
Paul started searching the lockers, figuring he'd look
around while he could, before he got caught. It
wasn't like he could hide. There wasn't a place down
here to hide a rat.

Gym clothes and Paul could figure out who's locker was
whose by the clothes. Remy's was obvious - tall and
thin. There was a heavy coat - the duster he'd worn
the first time Paul had seen him. The neatly folded
clothes, new white T-shirt and gym shoes with the
socks rolled up and tucked inside had to be Mr.
Summers' stuff. The locker next to his was his
wife's. Logan's smelled like his cigars - everything
the man owned did. Paul rubbed his cheek against
Logan's jersey, inhaling the scent and wishing Logan
wasn't such a prude. So that left the last girl stuff
as Ororo's.

One wall of the locker room was plastered with
newspaper clippings and pictures. He recognized Mr.
Summers and his wife, posing with Logan and some blond
guy with - wings - and some big bruiser type but the
leather bondage gear was new. Paul rubbed a finger
over a photo of the professor and Mr. Summers - a very
young Summers - smiling at the camera. Even years ago
and below the clunky glasses, Paul could tell that
grin on his uptight math teacher's face was for Jean.
She had to be holding the camera. Logan looked
suspicious in all the pictures, like he was ready to
punch out the photographer.

The pictures on the clippings weren't the same and
usually followed by titles like 'Mutant terrorists
spotted vandalizing the Statue of Liberty.' There was
a blurry photo of Ororo *flying*. There were other
pictures of people he didn't know, like the winged
guy. There werent' any of Remy and Paul remembered
Remy's feelings of isolation, just before Remy had run
off on some emergency. Paul frowned and pulled up a
stool to sit and - slowly because his eyes were
bothering him - read all the articles, chin propped on
his fists. Maybe Remy's 'emergency' that night had
been more than an excuse to get away from him. No one
came all the time it took for him to read the papers
bullshitting about the mutant agenda and terrorist
activities and 'X-men'.

Just a school, sure, Paul thought sarcastically. Just
teachers. Just a bunch of good Samaritans taking in
freak kids. Sure. And he was every teacher's pet.

Paul found a gym down here. It was small and Paul
recognized the expensive equipment from looking in to
those yuppie gyms - some of it looked like stuff the
professor could use. The blue mats and free weights
were the same as anything else he'd ever seen. A
little pool and Paul eyed it, then the door then
shrugged and pulled off his clothes and jumped in,
splashing water everywhere. Might as well get his fun
while he could. He grinned to himself and did a few
laps. This sure beat getting more tests done.

He swam around for a while but no one came and it was
boring by himself. He stole Mr. Summers' towels,
dried off and got dressed and it had been a while and
no one came. When Paul went back to the elevator and
discovered that he couldn't get it to come down and
get him he began to worry.

"Gotta be fire stairs." He muttered to himself.
There weren't. He searched the rest of the place but
all the door were locked. Going back to the elevator,
Paul slumped down on the hard white floor and wondered
how long it would take for someone to notice he was
missing. He rubbed his nose, swallowing hard. He
usually skipped classes. Half the time he didn't show
up for Hank's tests. It might be a while before
anyone realized he was - more missing than usual.
Maybe no one would. He stared down the empty hallway
where the teachers had gone. What if they came back
by a different route? How often did anyone come down
here anyway? Paul imagined someone finding him down
here, a withered husk, and that would be a pretty
stupid way to die.

He went back to the locker room and searched again,
looking for keys or something to get him the hell out
of here. Remy had a dozen different decks of cards in
his pockets, cigarettes - and a little fuzzy stuffed
frog that looked like it'd been sitting in the pocket
of his coat for years. Paul pocketed the cigarettes
but put the toy back where he'd found it. He found
matches in Logan's locker and lit up, puffing
nervously as he kept on looking. Hair clips from
Jean's locker and some nail clippers and that was
pretty much it. Except for the chocolate bar from
Ororo's locker which he ate.

Paul went back to the elevator and searched around -
again - for a button. It took awhile but while he was
running his fingers down the wall, he felt a tiny
bump. It was some kind of little hatch and - with the
clippers - he managed to pry it open. Just a bunch of
wires and Paul nearly cried. He wasn't any kind of
mechanic or anything. He could jimmy a hotel door,
but anyone could do that. He poked at the wires and
computer chips helplessly. Maybe if he broke something
an alarm would go off and someone would come. Wiping
at his running nose, Paul lifted a green wire out.
Green for go? Wasn't there some kind of electrician's
code for wire colors? And wasn't that the class Ororo
taught that he'd never bothered to go to?

"Shit!" He yelled in the empty hallway. "I hate this
fucking place! Somebody help!"

The doors slid open. Paul jerked away from the open
repair panel and glanced wildly around. There wasn't
anyplace to hide and hell, he wanted out of here
anyway.

It was Dr. McCoy, not at all surprised. He came out
and glanced at the open panel, ears flicking with mild
curiosity. He pushed it shut with a massive clawed
finger. "Good afternoon my misplaced patient. Shall
we go?"

"'Kay." Paul sidled into the elevator which got real
crowded with Hank in it. "Um - you weren't, you know,
like watching me were you? Like some kind of test or
- punishment or something?"

Hank shook his massive head. "No, of course not. The
professor suggested that I might find you down there."

Which left him wondering how the professor had known
he was there and maybe he didn't want to know the
answer. Paul followed Hank quietly into the lab.

"Now, shall we begin?" Hank asked, gesturing to a
table. Paul climbed on board and let Hank take the
usual pulse and blood pressure and stuff.

Paul shrugged. "Whatever."

"How is your nausea?"

"Kay."

"And let me see your hand. How are the exercises
going?"

"'Kay."

Hank's ears flicked with irritation at about the
seventh shrug. "Young man, I know you dislike me but
I have nothing but your best interests at heart. I
cannot *help* you if you don't *talk* to me."

A big blue hand came down on Paul's shoulder and he
couldn't help but feel the doctor's sincerity. And
hurt. Paul blinked. It was kind of hard to believe
that the doctor cared enough to be bothered by Paul -
but he did. And Hank knew he could feel things - was
an 'empath' - and he was using that knowledge to make
Paul cooperate. Paul jerked away, pissed off.

"Leave me the fuck alone!"

Hank sighed, ears flattening, then he forced a more
pleasant expression onto his big blue lion face.
"Paul - please. Let me help you. Remy visited me
earlier this week and was quite - expressive about my
care of you. I found it rather unpleasant and I'd
like to provide some other explanation when he comes
back other than 'I didn't know'."

Paul set his jaw and glared. "How about an answer for
an answer?"

"Hmm?"

"You tell me something, Simba, and I'll tell you
something."

The doctor sighed deeply. "Agreed."

"What *is* this place."

"A school, this is true."

At Paul's glare and crossed arms, Hank went
unwillingly on. "And more, as you saw. The
professor's first students were Scott, Jean, Warren -
whom you have not met - and myself. It the
professor's dream - a dream we all share - to provide
a place of safety and hope for mutants like yourself."

"Remy suggested that the methadone treatment is not
providing you much relief." Hank plowed on. "Would
you care to expand on that?"

"Yeah, everyone that says it's just like smack is
lying." Paul muttered. "And it makes me sick."

At Hank's crossed arms and waiting expression, Paul
made himself go on. That was the deal.

"It's not stopping much of the jones. I still get the
shakes and chills whine like a baby and crap like
that."

"Yes?" Hank urged hopefully. Paul chewed
thoughtfully on his lower lip.

"I - got a fast metabolism." Paul finally muttered.
"At least that's what everyone said when I complained
I was hungry all the time. Maybe - um, a higher dose?
At least you could stop cutting me down so fast?"

"Perhaps. Or more frequent doses of a smaller amount.
Now -"

"Uh - hu. My turn. So, what's with the bondage
clothes and what was the 'emergency' that gave me a
strip show in the elevator?"

"That's two questions, my friend. But - I am a
generous man." Hank gestured to Paul's arm and he
held it out for more blood samples."

"As you would know if you'd come to Ororo's geography
classes, Bangladesh is subject to seasonal flooding of
a terrible sort." Hank swiped Paul's arm and searched
for a good vein among all the old scars.

"And Cyclops' - that's Scott's 'stage name' as it were
- current plan to increase the team's positive press
and visibility is to participate in relief and rescue
activities. While we cannot save everyone, our unique
skill may save many, many lives. They've gone to see
if the suffering and loss of life can be minimized.
And the uniforms - well - we had to wear something and
leather is very resilient."

"So you're all the X-men - like those articles said?"

"That's another question."

Paul found himself telling the doctor much more than
he planned. Like that he felt 'different' somehow -
he wasn't sick at his stomach any more but something
was different. He just didn't know what. He even
told big blue that he was scared. Maybe he was going
to mutate more - get even more freaky. Like he needed
that. Maybe he was going to die - Paul didn't tell
Hank that though. And he learned more than he'd
hoped. It was all crazy shit - code names and weather
witches. Mr. Summers - the uptight Mr. Respectable
himself could shoot lasers - no, no lasers young man,
not quite - out of his eyes. And his wife could read
minds.

"No wonder I can't get nothing by her." Paul
muttered, Hank laughed and stuffed him into the
resonance imaging chamber for more scans of his gut.

"Hopefully I'll be able to actually treat some of your
problems - with your thoroughly welcome cooperation
and input, young man." Hank handed Paul his shirt,
grinning. "Come back tomorrow - without any side
trips - and we'll try this new regime. I hope to have
some dietary supplements for you as well. Probably
your stomach complaints are nothing more than a food
allergy. It's quite common among Homo Superior."

Paul grinned. This had been almost fun and a damn
sight more useful than just lying on the slab like a
guinea pig. "Sure. As long as you got answers for
me, I got blood for you."

TBC