X-Men: Raising the Bar

C

CPaulLandri

Civilian
Joined
Sep 8, 2008
Messages
76
Reaction score
0
Points
1
This is an AU X-Men story. I havent a clue as to the continuity of the comics so I'm pretty much writing blind. This is going to have a Mature Rating, but as it stands now, it might be lower. Hope you guys enjoy.

X-MEN
Raising the Bar


The second worst day of my life occurred just a few days before Halloween. I should have seen it coming, but I guess I’m not perfect. As I bent down to pick up a half melted beer tap (The scorched remains of the Leinenkugel’s logo were evident, and I winced at it. I loved Leinenkugel’s,) I glanced over at Freebird. She was shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. This was her place too, even though I owned it. Damn it, Paul, I thought, you let her down. You should have seen this one coming; the Kitchen isn’t a place for our kind yet. You were an idiot to try and hide it.

“It’s all gone. The whole place,” Freebird’s tiny voice resonated in my ears. I couldn’t look at her, not yet. I dropped the beer tap and walked over some more of the burnt out rubble. Those kids got us good. Racist scum, they even managed to burn the jukebox.

All my Dropkick Murphy’s C.D.’s were completely destroyed. Truly, there is no God in heaven. The place stunk like a bonfire put out by beer. You know the kind of smell I’m talking about, right? The smell of burnt wood mixed with the old, musky beer that’s been left to die alone at the bottom of a pint glass? It smelled like that. Not an unpleasant smell, per se, but damn it all if it didn’t make me nauseas. This was my bar. My bar!

It was Freebird’s too, even though her name wasn’t on any of the papers. It was just as much my place as her’s. She loved working here, loved living upstairs with me, loved serving pints to loyal customers (they weren’t loyal anymore, mind you, because they found out about Freebird and I. About who and what we were, and didn’t like it.)

I never thought it would come to this, though.

Yeah, you hear about it on the news. Some jerk decides to take a baseball bat and break a few windows, give a scare to the shop-keep. Stuff like that, but that’s far away. Far from your place where everyone comes to have a good time and watch the Yanks win and the Knicks lose, or (when Freebird decides she wants complete control of the remote,) reruns of Scrubs and The Simpsons. I always allowed that because I love those shows and I love Freebird. Not in the way most twenty-eight year old bar owners love twenty three year old strictly off-the-books employees. Nah, I loved Freebird in a way most guys never could, nor would.

I looked over at her and she walked towards me slowly, careful not to step on any glass (not that it would have mattered, but I suppose it was a force of habit at this point,) and hugged me tightly. Usually she never hugged this tight, but I could tell she was sad. Sad and scared and pissed off in a way I’d probably never know. This bar was more than a job to her, it was her home.

Our home.

“Why’d this happen, Paul?” Freebird asked, looking up at me as she always did. She was short, about Five foot three and weighing no more than 95 pounds soaking wet. Her eyes were green and her face dotted with freckles. Her hair was the kind of red that made boys turn their heads for a second look. It was like wildfire and she knew it. She braided it last night and was going to (much to my protests,) wear the lederhosen the Jagermesiter people had given us to help promote Oktoberfest. Chances are the outfit would have caused quite a stir. Freebird was a very pretty girl. Today though, she looked much older than twenty three. I hated it.
I looked into her eyes, trying to find an answer. You’d be surprised how easy it was to find one in those green eyes. Whenever she was worried about the rent or some dopey customer and how he or she was going to get home on a rainy night, I’d just look into her eyes and tell her straight-up that everything would be fine and to let me handle it. I’d smile a jack-o-lantern grin and she’d smile back, reassured and ready to dispense the last legal drug to the Great Unwashed.

I couldn’t tell her things would be okay this time. I couldn’t tell her I’d handle it because I couldn’t. Paul Cammerreri could do a lot of things, but reassuring Freebird that everything would be alright wasn’t one of them. I shook my head. A tear fell from her right eye and her lip quivered. She buried her head into my chest and began to sob.

Keep it together, Paul. I thought. Let her cry, but don’t you dare! If you lose it, you might as well hang yourself in the ruined mess of a bathroom over there. I had to be strong. As strong as the day I got kicked out of my parent’s house. The day they insulted me with the check. The day they bought me out so they’d never have to see me again.

As Freebird sobbed in my arms I pictured my mom and dad. They’d probably enjoy watching this. Hell, they probably would have set the fire themselves if they weren’t nestled away in their McMansion in Freehold.

Ma and Pa were both big Financial planners in Manhattan, so needless to say, they were really well off. When they found out who I was, that is to say, what I was, they wanted no part in it.

You know, you see it on the news all the time. Parents finding out the truth and going into fits of extreme rage and kicking their kids out of their houses, or sending them to some evangelical camp to make them “normal”, but that’s far away and you never think it could happen to you. Hell no, my parents are progressive people. They vote Democrat and give to three charities and they recycle to boot!

Apparently Far Away is just a place we give to the reality that’s right in front of our faces. Not so far away, huh? So when the reality hit them about what I really was, I suppose they couldn’t handle it.
#
“You’re kicking me out?” I asked. This was seven years ago.

“Of course. We’d hate to think about what people might say about us.” My mother said, taking a sip of that God aweful merlot she’d gotten from a recent trip to Paris. Italian wine is so much better. So much more mature in flavor. I should know. I would be owning a bar in the very near future. I looked at my father, a man who had always been sympathetic to everyone. His hair was now completely gray but he was in damned good shape for someone in his mid-fifties. Personal trainers will do that, I suppose.

“Son, we understand you’re upset, but you are still our son,” He said. His voice was cheerful despite the bombshell he had just dropped on me, “so we’re prepared to make sure you’re…comfortable.”

“God, you aren’t going to shoot me, are you? I mean, I can try to change!” It was a stupid thing for me to say, but like I said, I had just been delivered a bombshell.

“Always had a flair for the dramtic,” my mother said, a little snarkishly. “No, Paul, what we are saying is, we’re going to give you a bit of money.”

I don’t think I ever saw my Old Man whip out his checkbook faster. I guess they were in a real hurry to get rid of me. He scribbled down some things on the check and tore it off like an old band-aid. He handed it to me.

Half a million.

I’ll repeat that, because it bears repeating.

Half a million dollars.

I looked at them, skeptical at first, but as I saw how serious they were, I could tell they wanted me out, and soon. Like, five minutes ago, soon.
 
“You’re buying me out?” I asked, looking up at them. “Throwing money at me isn’t going to make me disappear.”

“Actually, it will.” My mother said, taking a long sip of the god-aweful merlot. You know, even California reds are better than French. “Pack your things and leave.”

“But…” I tried to say something else, but the tone of my mom’s voice indicated the matter closed. I looked at my father beseechingly, trying to find a little sympathy.

“Son, you are la famiglia, and always will be.” I knew right away the matter was done and over with. When the Old Man spoke Italian, it was done. “But this is for your own good.”

It sounded to me like they were trying to save face. The Knights of Columbus didn’t take too kindly to my kind, and both of my folks were members. My parents were old school Italian, afraid of change despite their progressive views. My mother looked at me impatiently, like I should have left already. I suppose this little windfall was their way of atoning for what they felt was necessary to do to their son. Sort of how those mafia jerks kill a bunch of wise-guys and then go to church on Sunday.

Family honor, I guess.

I pocketed the check and went upstairs and began to pack my things. It wasn’t very time consuming. When you can move objects with your mind, mundane things have a way of becoming easier and much more interesting. As I watched from the doorway my personal effects floating through the air and into my dufflebag, I couldn’t help but think about what I was going to do with all that money in my pocket. Half a million is a lot of scratch, after all.

I know what you’re thinking. I should have been happy to be leaving with five hundred thousand dollars in my parents money, severance pay for being what I am, but I was always a good son and they were (until recently,) really great people. I sighed heavily, not knowing where to go or what to do. I was twenty-one years old with only an associates degree under my belt. I would have been a little more along in my studies if it hadn’t been for all those nights being made a loser by what made Milwaukee famous.

Then it hit me.

A bar!

I’d open a bar. Everyone likes bars. Everyone likes to go to bars. How could I fail? I had half a million dollars and a love of good beer (if you can forget about Old Milwaukee for a second.) It seemed to click into place right then and there as my last pair of jeans and an old, tattered Suicide Machine’s shirt drifted effortlessly into my duffle bag.

It was almost too easy.

#
Freebird had stopped crying and my blue and white striped Brooks Brother’s shirt was wet with tears and a little clear mucus. She broke her strong embrace and wiped her nose. She took three steps towards the charred bar and kicked one of the burned barstools. At one time they were upholstered with red leather, now they were cracked and cooked as black as Cajun chicken. The stool didn’t move very far, the damned thing disintegrated under the force of her kick.

“I don’t know why this happned, Freebird.” I said, sound of my voice echoed through what was once my bar. It sounded hollow, sad, and nearly dead. “I guess folks just aren’t ready for people like us in the Kitchen.”

Hell’s Kitchen, home of the Westies and still a predominantly Irish neighborhood (some of the Paddys spin yarns about a guy in red Pajamas who captures crooks and mafia pin-heads at night, I always told them if they believed in such non-sense, I had a Bridge in Brooklyn for sale. Cheap,) seemed like a great place to open my bar. And for seven years we did really well. Last years SuperBowl was one of the best nights of the year. We took in more that one night than we had in the entire month of February. Thank goodness for small victories (right, Tom Brady?)

But even a small victory can turn into a big defeat.

Freebird smiled, but it was a sad smile. The kind you’d expect from someone who had lost a loved one and was thinking back to an extremely happy time with them, knowing full well those times would never come back because they’re as dead as the dead person. The bar was dead. There was no reason to rebuild it; no one would come because now they knew. Now they knew and it was graffitied on the sidewalk outside of the place.

MUTIE BAR

There were some other choice words which I will not say here. I don’t think it’s necessary to recount what they spraypainted along the sidewalk aside from what I just wrote. But I will say this though, perhaps to make you a bit more sympathetic to me and old Freebird’s predicament. One of the words (which was preceeded by the word Mutie,) is a derogatory term for the female reproductive organ and it rhymes with bunt.

I didn’t want Freebird to see that. She’d blame herself for this, and it wasn’t her fault.

We tried our best to hide what we were and for seven (in my case, and three for Freebird,) years we’d hidden what we were from our customers. We were just two young kids who were lucky enough to own and live above a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. The beer was always cold and cheap and we never served Bud or Miller or any of that mass-produced crap. The worst we sold was Pabst Blue Ribbon (thank you very much!) and we were damned proud of it. People packed the joint every night because we were friendly and fun and didn’t give a damn. The jukebox was always red hot and played nothing but good old punk rock and old school rock and roll. If it was your birthday you got two free pints of whatever you wanted and if it was your twenty-first birthday you got a shot of Spoolies (don’t ask what it is, I picked up the recipe from the guy who delivers my mail. Rest assured, the stuff will get.you.drunk!) and we even hosted a chili cook-off one year. Yeah, things were good and getting better, until last night that is.

Freebird looked back at me, her eyes glowing hot with tears and rage, “you try to make an honest living, and this is how they repay you.” She took a step towards me, “Paul, you don’t deserve this, you’re too good a guy!” She said, and busted out into fresh tears. “What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?” She said between short sobs. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t know, Freebird. I mean, I could call the insurance company, but I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to me being a mutant. I said I was a HomoSapien on the application (you needed to do that, for some reason, they said it was for informational purposes only, but I heard stories, maybe you saw it on the news? About mutants who were denied financial support for checking the box marked Homo-Superior, of course, this was all in that magical fairly land of Far Away and didn’t happen to guys like me, but at this point, Far Away was too damned close and I wasn’t taking any chances.)

I didn’t know what else to say to Freebird, so I hugged her and let her cry a little more. She was never this emotional about anything, not guys, not other girls, nothin’, but like I said, this was her home. When you lose your home, you have a right to cry.

I kissed her head and told her to hush. We’d think of something.

But what, I couldn’t fathom.
 
I didn’t even hear him until he spoke. I had no idea how long he’d been standing in the ruined doorway.

“Hell of a shame about this place. I liked it here.” The voice was just as rough as his face. A face that looked like it had seen a lot of bad days and even worse nights. He was wearing dark blue jeans and one of those t-shirts the Jersey kids affectionately called a “wife beater”. He had on a tattered and well-worn black leather jacket and a cowboy hat. He sniffed the air before he spoke again.
“You had Leinenkugel on tap. Only damned bar in the Kitchen with Leinenkugel on tap.” He took a step inside. I broke my embrace with Freebird, who looked at him suspiciously.
“What happened?” He asked, his black work boots crunching already broken glass.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, annoyed.

“I see the place got burned up, but how did it happen?” He ran his finger across the bar, the fingertip now black with soot, and sniffed it. I looked at him, puzzled.
“I mean, what led to this? I know for a fact it wasn’t an accident. Don’t take a psychic to figure that out.”

Freebird looked at me, her suspicious gaze was gone. I could tell she recognized this guy, and when she nodded at me, I knew it was ok to talk to him.

“My friend recognizes you, you a regular here?” I asked.

“When I’m around, I come in.” He said, sniffing the air again. “I was here a couple of nights ago, watchin’ hockey on the t.v.” He pointed his thumb at the melted high-definition t.v. that was struggling to stay on the wall. “Rangers beat Montreal in overtime.”

I tried to remember him, but it was hard. You know, you see so many people day in and day out it’s hard to remember everybody.

“I remember you,” Freebird said, “you were here with another guy. Skinny. He wasn’t from here.”

“Got it in one, kid.” The guy said. Freebird looked at him sourly; she hated being called “kid”. I made it a point never to do it.

“I still can’t put my finger on who you are, but I have to ask, why are you here and why do you care so much about what happened last night?” I raised my eyebrow, “unless you’re one of those racist jerks who’ve come to rub my nose in this. If that’s the case…”

“Just tell me what happened last night, and I’ll explain why I’m here, okay,” he smiled before adding, “bub?”

#
Thursday nights were always good for business at the bar. Weekend warriors started early and the college kids came down from Midtown to get a jump on their binges. Thursday was also dart night. Pints were half price until ten and the Rangers were playing the Devils in their first match-up of the season. The place was buzzing and the juke was blasting Springsteen. I was pulling a couple of pints of Guinness for a couple of Paddys all the way from Brooklyn when they showed up.

They walked into the bar the way John Wayne might amble into a saloon in a Sam Peckinpaw movie; cocky, arrogant, the entire world owing them everything. Rich kids from Columbia University going slumming on a Thursday night. I should have known they’d be trouble, but I couldn’t devote my attention to these three guys. I had work to do.
Now, chances were they had been half in the bag by the time they got to my place, but it was hard to tell. They could have just been loud and obnoxious by nature. Freebird was serving some of the regulars a round of scotch and chasers when they came it and I knew right away they’d start picking on her if they got the chance. I’d seen it a hundred times before, but I wasn’t too worried about it. Freebird was pretty, but not an idiot. She could handle herself just fine, especially some frat boys who in a very predictable fashion, ordered a round of Blue Moon.

See, I’m the kind of guy who gives folks the benefit of the doubt. So when they ambled up to the bar and ordered, I thought maybe they wouldn’t be so bad, but things started getting a little hairy after their third round of beers. They yelled at the T.V. (I’m not sure who they were rooting for, but chances are they didn’t know a hockey stick from a hole in the ground,) made fun of the other customers and were very pushy. As I washed some of the dirty glasses Freebird approached me.

“Those guys are starting to get on my nerves, boss.” She said. She called me boss when we were working because she thought it was funny. I looked at her and shrugged.

“They aren’t hitting anyone with the barstools, and besides, they’ve tipped fairly well.” I said.

Stupid, Paul. Really stupid.

“If you say so, boss.” Freebird said. She sounded mad, but reassured me with her smile. I smiled back and she went back to serving beers.

About a half an hour later was when the trouble really started. The three frat boys had taken control of the dart board and were making a real mess of it. Tossing the darts in every direction except for the space where the dartboard was. Many of the people sitting near the dart board had moved to safer tables.

One of the boys screamed drunkenly, “oh ,beer wench!” The other two laughed as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. High fives all around. Freebird went over to them, clearly not amused.

“What?” She asked, clearly irked.

“You know,” The guy said, his speech slurred, “you came over here when I called you beer wench. Does that make you a wench? Huh? Wench?”

“Yo, bro, that’s harsh!” Frat boy number two said, high fives all around again. Freebird looked at me. I started to walk over to her, but she waved me away. She’d handle it.

“So, lemme ask you something,” The boy with the slurred speech said, “you got, like, a boyfriend or something?”

“No.” Freebird said, impatiently, “do you want something to drink or what?”

“Or what!” Slurred Speech said. Ripping peals of laughter screeched from his mouth. High fives again from his bros. “you know what I want, and I know what you want and I got it right here.” He pointed to his groin and the screechy laughter again cut through the din of the crowd. By now some of the regulars and had gotten up and left, others were watching this transaction with a kind of morbid interest.

“You’re cut off.” Freebird said, a self-satisfied smile crossing her face. “Besides, I really don’t think what you’ve got is what I want. I doubt I’d be able to see it if I tried.” She turned and began to walk away, but not before Slurred Speech grabbed her arm.

“Stupid little…” he didn’t have time to finish what was sure to be an obscenity filled tirade, because little Freebird grabbed Slurred Speech by the collar of his polo shirt and lifted him off the ground and threw him across the bar. I only had three seconds to spare him from a quartet of broken ribs or worse. I used my power and stopped him in mid-air, despite the fact that I was completely horrified in doing so.

“You’re cut off, and now you’re thrown out.” I said. Letting the kid down gently, “I don’t want to see you or your friends in here again.”

Slurred Speech had wet himself, his face a bright red and his eyes were beginning to well up with tears.
“Mutie trash!” He said, his voice breaking. I let him go and he ran out of the place. His friends stumbling out like a duo of hobos.

The bar had gone dead silent. Even Springsteen had shut up. The patrons looked at Freebird and me with a mix of horror and disgust. I don’t think I had seen the place clear out so fast in the seven years I owned the place. At least they had the decency to pay their tabs before they left.

“Jesus, I’m sorry Paul. I really screwed up.” Freebird said. She was shaking a little. Poor girl, she’d never been spoken to that way before. I don’t blame her for what she did. But I could clearly tell she blamed herself.

“It’s okay, Freebird.” I said, “just a bad night, is all.” I had always been an optimist and tonight was no different. “I’m sure they’ll be back tomorrow. After all, you’re going to wear those ridiculous lederhosen the Jagermeister people sent us, remember?”

She smiled, but it was an uneasy smile. I could tell she was expecting me to get mad, but I couldn’t get mad at her no matter how hard I tried or how badly she thought she screwed up. It was impossible to be mad at her. See, when you love someone the way I love Freebird, it’s tough because you know all the good things they’ve done for you and how much you need them to survive. I wasn’t mad at Freebird at all. I was, however, mad at myself.

I shouldn’t have served those guys, and now our cover was blown. No one would come in to the place after tonight. The Kitchen could be a very unforgiving place and I had a strong feeling we’d not be forgiven for this little upset.
 
We closed the bar early that night, knowing no one would show up. Word gets around fast in the Kitchen after all. Freebird was sweeping the floor as I turned over the chairs and put them on the tables. I could tell she was feeling down on herself. It killed me to think that she was blaming herself for what happened. I finished putting the chairs up and went to her.

“Stop it.” I said.

“Sweeping? I’m almost done.” She replied, not looking up.

“No, I mean blaming yourself for what happened tonight. So what if people know we’re mutants? This is the twenty-first century. All that racial bull-crap happens down south. We live in New York, the most progressive city in the world. We’ll be fine. I promise.” The worst part about telling her that was that I believed it. So I guess I was really to blame for what was going to happen. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for bed. I’ll finish down here.”

“Okay, boss.” She said and gave me a kiss on the cheek. A lot of twenty-eight year old guys would have probably taken that as a sign, and maybe it was or had been a sign in the past, but like I said, our relationship was special despite the fact that she was only younger than me by five years. She handed me the broom and went up to my apartment where she slept in the small living room. I had one of those fold out couch deals and if the thing was uncomfortable she never said so. Not that a bar in the middle of the bed would bug her much. Freebird was indestructible.

So far as we knew.

I cut some corners with my sweeping because I was starting to feel drowsy. It was a very rough day and I could use the extra sleep. In a strange way I was glad we closed early. Tomorrow would be a new day. A fresh start. Everything would be fine. I put the broom under the bar and shut out all the lights save for the ghost light behind the mirrored wall where I stored the liquor behind the bar.

Freebird was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. I yawned and felt my eyes getting heavier. I went into my room which was decorated in the slob-chic style I had grown accustomed to over the years. Despite Freebird’s many attempts to clean my room on her days off, the place was a constant pile of clutter. Music and movie posters were my wall paper and the ceiling fan was constantly on. It wasn’t much, but I liked it.

I didn’t even bother taking my shoes off. I lie down and fell right to sleep. The next thing I knew, the entire bar was engulfed in flames.

Freebird was screaming for me to get up. I remember that. The smell of smoke had wafted through the upstairs and I knew we had to get out while we could. Thank goodness for fire escapes. Freebird and I were in no real danger upstairs just yet, but I later found out that the fire did tear through the apartment (destroying all of my beloved movie posters. Again, there is no God in Heaven,) although it took a while for the blaze to travel up. We managed to get across the street and watch the place burn. The fire department finally arrived (seemed like an hour, but in reality they only took about ten minutes to get there,) and put out the fire. It took them a while to do it what with the alcohol bottles exploding every which way, but around day break they had managed to get it under control.

The police arrived shortly after and were questioning witnesses. They asked me the standard questions and I answered as best as I could. They were going to come back later to check if it was arson. All signs pointed to it but they had to make sure. I wasn’t really paying much attention. I was in shock, so was Freebird. Thinking back on it now, the fire really didn’t bother me much. What bothered me was the graffiti on the sidewalk near the front door.

MUTIE BAR
 
“Sad story,” the guy said gruffly. Picking up and then dropping pieces of what was once my bar. It was irritating, but what could I do? Not like I could fix any of it. “You got any ideas as to who did this?”

“Yeah,” I said, “we had to throw out a couple of frat boys last night.” I was about to say that Freebird and I used our powers to do it, but stopped short. The guy might not be so on the level.

“Had to use your powers to do it?” The guy asked. He took another sniff in the air. Again, I looked puzzled.

“Don’t know what your talking about, friend.” I said. The guy rolled his eyes at me.

“You know they sprayed ‘mutie bar’ outside the front door, I can put two and two together, you know.” He said.

“Yeah, we used our powers.” Freebird said this, walking closer to the guy. “And this is what happened. Racist scum.” Her face was red and burning, I could tell from looking at her, the way she clenched her jaw when she closed her mouth, the way she squeezed her eyes into a squint.

“Take it easy, darlin’, we’re going to find out who did this.” The guy was confident about this statement; as if finding people was what he did all his life. Finding them, and then hurting them. Badly. “but first, I think introductions are in order.”
He held out his hand for me to shake. I shook it.

“Name’s Logan.”

“Paul Cammerreri. This is Freebird.”

“Pleasure,” Freebird said.

“Now, I want to get one thing clear, I was going to come here anyway to talk to the both of you, but I was afraid you’d turn me down. However, seeing as how those punks burned this place down I figure you’d be a little more willing to hear my offer.” He smiled. It was the smile of a man who wasn’t used to doing it. It was ugly, but had the potential to be nice if he worked at it. That is, if he could ever find something to truly smile about.

“Offer?” I asked. I was intrigued and suspicious. I let him speak.

“I’m a mutant, just like the two of you kids. I been casing this place for a couple of months. Feeling you two out, seeing if you’d fit in where I call home.” He ran his finger across the sooty bar, rubbed the soot on his thumb, “I think you two’d fit in pretty good.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. Freebird looked puzzled, too.

“You watch the news?” Logan asked.

“Sure, when I can.” I said.

“Ever hear of a guy named Charles Xavier?”

I had heard of him. The guy was a big mutant rights leader. Crippled and bald as a newborn. Fox News called him a manipulator who was trying to take over the world right from under regular humans. Apparently the guy had really strong mind powers. I could see where that could get a little dicey. Fortunately I don’t watch Fox News.

“Yeah, the mutant Martin Luther King,” I said. “What does he have to do with you, and more importantly, what does he have to do with Freebird and me?”

The man called Logan looked at the two of us, “I work for him. He’s been watching the two of you for a while. He wants you to come visit his school.”

“Sorry pal, but I quit school when I opened this place. I’m done studying.” I said. Freebird nodded in agreement.

“I don’t think you understand. This is a school just for mutants. It’s also a safehouse for people like us.” He flashed another ugly smile.

“How do I even know you’re telling the truth? How do we know if you’re really a mutant?” I asked.

Snikt!

“There’s my decoder ring, bub.” Logan said. The claws must have been at least five inches long and looked razor sharp. I believed him right away.

He retracted the claws back into his hand. They left little holes in his hands that looked like they might gush blood at any second, but the wounds closed up, like watching a cut heal in fast motion. He was a mutant after all.

“I can heal.” Logan said, “And I can tell you that your guess was right. It was those three kids who torched this place.”

“How can you tell?” Freebird asked.

“The nose knows, darlin’. The nose knows.” He smiled, but it was a different smile. The smile his ugly one could be if he only worked at it more.
 
Suddenly, and this is where it gets a little strange, folks, but don’t stop reading just yet, because there’s a point to it. The room began to smell something aweful. Much worse than it did already, like someone cut open a hardboiled egg that had been sitting out for a week or three. I heard a faint noise, sort of like a pop, coming from the men’s room.

“Have you told zem about za offa?” The voice was clearly German, but damned if I could see the person who it belonged to. He (or it?) came from the bathroom. He wore black pants and a black shirt, a white tab in the middle of his collar. A priest’s outfit, no doubt, but what startled me about him was the body that filled the outfit.

Now, sometimes, maybe you read it in the paper or see it on the news, you know, in that magical, mystical realm of Far Away, about mutants who don’t look right. Some have purple skin or have gills, or look like a goat or something. I had never seen one up close, so when I grabbed Freebird by the arm and exclaimed “sweet Jesus!” I wasn;t exactly ready for his retort.

“Indeed he is, my zon, I am very sorry about ziz place. You had Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap. I love Pabst.”

He smiled, and for a fuzzy blue priest with a curly mop-top and (was that a freaking tail!? You gotta be kidding me!) his smile was radiant. He turned to Logan, “I got tired of waiting in za car. I hope you don’t mind.”

Logan looked amused, “not at all, Elf.”

The blue priest looked back at Freebird and me, “Forgive me. My name is Father Kurt Wagner, but in the Munich Circus I was known as the incredible Nightcrawler!” he bowed ceremoniously, as if Freebird and I were a king and queen. Freebird smiled at the Priest, taking him in like a novelty.

“I had heard there were mutants who looked different, but I’ve never seen one up close before.” She said. The one called Kurt smiled again. It was a smile that came easy, and probably put people at ease despite his almost demonic appearance (the irony didn’t hit me until later, I guess I was still in shock,) suddenly his vanished in a puff of acrid smoke and then reappeared closer to Freebird, took her hand and gave it a quick kiss.

“Is this close enough, child?” He asked, and Freebird laughed. It was a nice sound. The icy wall of sadness had started to melt a little. I think I’ll always be grateful to the Nightcrawler for that. I smiled.

“Are zey coming wis us, Heir Wolverine?” he asked, looking at Logan.

“Don’t know yet, Kurt, you teleported in here before they could give me an answer.” Logan looked annoyed, but his voice betrayed him. He and the fuzzy blue demonic looking priest were close. That much was certain.

“So what exactly are you offering us, Mister Logan?” I asked, Freebird broke her gaze from Kurt and looked seriously at Logan.

“A place to stay. A place where you’ll be accepted for who you are. A place where you wont have to hide your powers from anyone.” He was about to say more but Kurt chimed in.

“A place where you’ll never have to vorry about za fire. From man…or devil.”
 
There wasn’t anything to pack. All we had were the clothes on our backs and the torched remains of the Leinekugel tap I had found earlier. Don’t ask my why I held on to it, I guess I’m a sentimental fool, but I needed the memento of what life was like before all this craziness. Logan had double parked his car, a black Dodge Avenger, a few feet from the entrance. Kurt got in the driver’s seat and Logan rode shotgun. Freebird and I, naturally, took the back seats. It wasn’t long before we left the scorched remains of the bar, and our old life.

I told myself not to look back at the place, but I did in spite of myself. There were too many good times there not to. I shook my head. How could some people be so stupid? The fact that they torched the place didn’t bother me as much as the fact that those three drunken idiots wouldn’t get caught. Even if they did get caught they wouldn’t go to jai; on an arson charge. These were human kids burning down a mutie bar. Chances are the judge would send me to jail because I hid being a mutant from my clientele.

Freebird took my hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. She said nothing. Freebird didn’t have to say anything. It was the little things she did, squeezing my hand or helping me up the stairs if I’d had one too many after we closed, or reminding me to take my shoes off before I went to sleep (don’t ask, I have a tendency to just fall asleep in my clothes, wake up at four in the morning and undress down to my underwear,) that made me grateful for her being there. This was no different.

She was tough, I can tell you that. From the day I met her, I knew she was a fighter. It was touch and go in the beginning, but she made it. I think one of the reasons the bar did so well was because of Freebird. She could talk sports with the guys or dish with the girls. She was the best of both worlds and people responded to that. Her smile could light up a room and make even the meanest drunk mind his manners when she was around. Most importantly, Freebird was fearless (being indestructible helps, I guess,) and was always looking into doing crazy things on her days off. Skydiving or mountain climbing just for the adrenaline rush. I envied that about her, that she was willing to do those things, but I wasn’t despite the fact that if I ever fell from a mountain or my parachute didn’t open, I’d survive because I could stop myself from being street pizza. I guess I was just irrationally afraid. Freebird always said it was a poor man who lived his life afraid, and a rich man who stopped being a spectator and got out there and lived his life. I’d smile at her and tell her to go jump out of a plane. I had a bar to run. She’d smile at me and shake her head as if to say ‘dear man, one day you’ll be old and you’ll wake up and find yourself with gray hair and wrinkles and look in the mirror and say “where did my life go?”’

It was turning out to be a sunny day and Kurt had the window open half way on his side. The breeze was crisp and as we got farther out of the city, smelled like a combination of cut grass and dead leaves, the smell of fall.

“Where are we going?” Freebird asked. It was the first any of us had spoken since leaving the bar.

“Westchester.” Logan said, “be there soon.”

“Ritzy,” Freebird said, and looked at me. She smiled. There was a hint of mischief in the smile. She was digging this, I could tell. Something about starting over from scratch must have appealed to her and to be honest, I was kind of digging it too. I didn’t have any other friends aside from Freebird and it would be nice to be with my own kind (that sounds weird to say, doesn’t it?) and be able to use my powers without fear of getting stoned to death by angry human beings.

“Vait until you see za place,” Kurt, who apparently was the amazing Nightcrawler in the Munich Circus, said. “I zink you’ll find the place most accommodating.
 
I haven’t been to many places in my twenty-eight years on this planet. So when we pulled into the half-mile long driveway of Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, My eyes did widen a bit. You have to imagine the nicest college campus in America, and then multiply that by about a hundred. If I had this Xavier guy’s money, I’d burn mine. Freebird, who took a while to be impressed with anything gave a whistle and nodded her approval.

“Vait until you zee za library.” Kurt said, his voice was thick with pride. I smirked. Pride was a sin, wasn’t it?

“I’m sure Hank will give to both the dime tour of the joint.” Logan said. They parked the car near the large double doors which would have been a fine entrance to a medieval castle. I looked out the window and saw people out on the lawn. You would think the place was an actual college with Middle States accreditation. They were playing Frisbee and reading books under trees. A guy with four arms was playing a double guitar. A pair of conjoined twins was levitating a statue and a girl, who looked about five years old, was boiling the water in the fountain.

“Reminds me of the West Village,” Freebird said. She got out of the car and stretched. It was a long ride and the sun was beginning to set. I got out too. I was happy to be out of the car, but damn it all if I wasn’t tired. I tried to stifle a yawn, but to no avail.

I walked over to Freebird and the two of us took in the scenery for a moment. Both saying nothing but thinking the same thing (it was weird when that happened. Completely coincidental in nature, but sometimes I’d be thinking of something and Freebird would say, “you know, I was just thinking…” and she’d articulate into words my thoughts. It happens with humans, a lot.)

“You know, I was just thinking,” she started, “that this morning feels like a year ago.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. Weird, huh?” I looked over at Logan, who was standing by the fuzzy blue priest. Kurt motioned for us to come inside. “I think they want to show us around.” I said. We walked over to them.

“Right ziz way, if you vould be so kind.” Kurt said, giving the giant oaken door a push. It swung open with remarkable ease. Freebird and I both stepped into the mansion’s foyer and were both amazed at the height of the ceilings and the old Victorian style.

“Ceilings are high because of the flyers, makes gettin’ to class easier.” Logan said. As if he willed it, a man with wings zipped by, a feather falling from his back and drifted aimlessly to the ground.

“Warren was one of za first of Xavier’s students.” Kurt said, “You vill meet him soon, I think.”

“This place is enormous.” I said, “Kid’s parents must pay a ton in tuition.”

“Actually they don’t pay a cent.” Logan said, “Xavier lets them stay here for free.”

“He’s gotta be richer than Jesus!” I exclaimed. I looked at Kurt and bit my lower lip, “sorry, father.”

“Forgiven, my son.” He said.
 
Freebird smiled at me, I was never too good with priests. Or rabbis for that matter. Religion was a weird subject with me. That isn’t to say I was anti-religious, but sometimes I got mad at God. In fact, I don’t think we’re on speaking terms right now. I blame Him for it.

“Now, I believe za Professor is waiting for us. If you would follow me.” Kurt turned to Logan, “I vill take it from here, Logan.”

“No problem, Elf.” Logan meandered in the foyer for a bit as we followed Kurt to meet the fabled Charles Xavier. The cavernous Mansion was cold despite the sunshine pouring in from the great bay windows which lent a cheery air to the place despite the silence. It must have cost a fortune just to heat the place. Our footsteps echoed through the hall. Outside some of the students were playing basketball while others dove into an Olympic-sized swimming pool. It was nearly Halloween but the afternoons were still mild enough for it, I guess.

“I wonder if they have a racquetball court.” Freebird whispered. Apparently Kurt heard.

“Yes, we do, as vell as stables for horses.”

“Paul, do you get the feeling that we’ve fallen down a rabbit hole?” Freebird asked.

“I’m just waiting for the Cheshire Cat to show his pearly whites.” I said.

Kurt ignored this.

We stopped at a door that looked like the hundred others we passed on the way to it. Kurt gave three loud knocks.

“He might be vis students.” Kurt said.

“Come in.” A deep, commanding voice said.

Kurt opened the door.

“Class dismissed.” The voice said again. About fifteen students got up from neatly arranged chairs and gathered their books and filed out quietly. All of the students looked fresh-faced and young. Must be Freshmen.

“Zay are here, Professor.” Kurt said.

I guess I was expecting something else. Something more befitting a man of such fame. You see, this guy is like the Martin Luther King Junior of my kind, and as such, you’d think his office would be filled with stacks of books and awards. You’d think he’d have his degrees hanging on the walls. Instead there sat Charles Xavier at his modest sized desk reading looking over notes from the class he just dismissed. The walls were adorned with paintings that had to be over two hundred years old. Apparently the man didn’t like to boast about his intelligence or his achievements. He preferred to surround himself in the tranquil presence of art.

I liked him already.

“Paul, Freebird, welcome to my school. Please sit down.” He looked up at Kurt and smiled, “Thank you, Kurt.”

”My pleasure, Professor.” Without any adieu the furry blue priest exited the room without opening the door. He simply disappeared as if he never existed.

“Father Kurt was always a joy to have in class. Very bright, loved philosophy.” Xavier said, He put the notes he was looking at in the drawer of his desk. There was a moment of silence.

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that we have to meet under these circumstances. That place meant a lot to the both of you.” His face looked grim, but it was a face that didn’t exactly fit. This was a man who, though often very serious, was full of joy and radiated tranquility wherever he went.

“It was our home.” Freebird said, “Our home and more.”

“Indeed. It isn’t easy when you’re the victims of a hate crime.” Xavier wheeled himself from behind the desk and came closer to us. “I understand you didn’t call the police.”

My face turned a darker shade of red, “I was afraid to. Hell’s Kitchen cops are generally anti-mutant. I was afraid they might throw us in handcuffs and bring us in.”

“Yes, law enforcement is still unsympathetic to our kind. A shame really.”

That was an understatement.

“I certainly hope you both will consider staying here with us. You see, I’ve been monitoring you both very carefully. It isn’t easy hiding your mutation from the general population, and the two of you did it for years.”

I shrugged, “You gotta do what you can to survive.”
 
“Such is the nature of our species,” Xavier said. His jaw was set in a way that expressed that he had seen things he probably shouldn’t have in his lifetime. Friends lost, enemies made. It must be tough for a guy like him, trying to keep a good portion of the mutant population safe.

“This is a really amazing place, sir.” I said, “we haven’t even seen the entire place, but from what I can see you’ve really set up a paradise for these kids.”

He smiled, “hardly what I would call a paradise with all of the hormonal changes going on with many of my students it can get fairly noisy towards the weekend.”

I had to smile. Teenagers can be pretty rough. I know I was.

Freebird tapped my arm, “I think we should stay. At least for a little while. Figure out our next move.”

I looked at her and right away I could tell that a little while didn’t mean a little while at all. She wanted to stay for good and I couldn’t blame the girl. Just by being here for under an hour I could tell it was going to be a good fit. Aside from being indestructible Freebird was also a leaper. She could jump extremely high. One time she damn near cleared the building where our former place of work and residence once stood. She did have a problem with landings though. When you are indestructible you tend to cause a lot of damage using your momentum like that. A couple of times Freebird put gaping holes in the roof of the building. I suggested to her that she stop leaping and the look I got was one of both fire and brimstone. Leaping, she had said, was what made her truly free. She likened it to being a bird (hence her name, I think. She never told me her real name and I just assumed it was because of her leaping abilities that she came up with the moniker,) the only animals on earth who could go anywhere and do anything because they weren’t bound by gravity. I had to counter that by saying that she couldn’t fly.

“Close enough,” she had said. And for some reason (and to this day, I still don’t know why, but I speculate,) tears rolled down her face. I felt guilty. I know I had said something that struck a nerve with her and I was sorry for it. I remember feeling quite cold in my stomach, like I had crossed some invisible line that I shouldn’t have crossed. It’s like when you say something stupid to your girlfriend. You know you can never take it back, and you’ll always worry that they’ll hang it over your head like some poisoned piece of mistletoe that gets you yelled at instead of kissed.

Only Freebird didn’t yell. She just walked back into the bar and cried on a barstool.

I remember standing outside for what seemed like an hour. People walked by, as they so often do in Hell’s Kitchen, not looking at you, but directly ahead or on the ground. Eye contact could still get you mugged around here. I looked up at the sky, trying to find a star, but it was hard to do in New York. Instead I saw some nutcase in red and blue pajamas swinging from a rope and landing on a fire escape. He somehow managed to climb the smooth wall of the building he’d landed on and, as if by magic, took off again with a mighty leap.

Only in New York.

I walked back into the bar and she was still crying. Not hard, mind you, but her emotions were locked in some secret place I wasn’t allowed into. A wall of memories flowed through those tears. I wanted to put my hand on her shoulder. Wanted to desperately, but found that the cold spot in my stomach had turned into the Ice Age and my hands were trembling. I was scared. I thought for a long time that she was going to pack her scant belongings and leave the bar for good.

Leave me for good.

It scared the ever loving hell out of me. If I were to lose her it would be all over for me. I relied on her for so much and I said something stupid and I regretted it.

It took every bit of courage I had to do it, but I did put my hand on her shoulder. I expected her to shrug it off and for her to get up and walk away from me, her eyes burning with accusations of betrayal.

Instead she placed her hand on mine and gave it a light squeeze. Her hands were soft. Delicate for someone who cleans glasses with industrial strength detergent on a nightly basis.

She turned to face me, her eyes were red from crying and her face was wet with spent tears. She took my hand and was up in a flash, wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace.

“I forgive you, Paul, but promise you’ll never say that again.” She whispered. Her breath was hot in my ear. I wanted to question her. Ask her why it hurt so much, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“I promise,” I said. “I wont say it again.” I held her tight and it was then that the idea came to me. It was such a simple, stupid idea, that I nearly kicked myself for not thinking about it sooner. All of this could have been avoided.

I broke the embrace and dried her tears with my hand. She wiped her nose on her sleeve (gross, I know, but you know what? Don’t judge. She’s my friend, not yours,) and gained her composure. She returned to being the tough girl who had come into my bar some two years earlier.

“Come on,” I said, “lets go outside a minute.”

“Why?” She asked, “it’s getting late.”

“Well, I had this idea just now. It stemmed from something I saw outside. Some nutcase in blue and red pajamas was base jumping off of the building across the street. The dude could climb like a spider.” Freebird smiled at me.

“You don’t read the Daily Bugle much, do you?” She asked.

“I like the Daily News.” I said defensively, I took her by the hand and led her outside. “I think we’re going to have to go around back where no one can see us.”

“You aren’t going to take advantage of me while I’m still emotionally vulnerable are you?” Freebird asked.

I sighed.

“Guess not,” she said. I detected a hint of something in her voice. Disappointment perhaps? Nah, couldn’t be.
 
We went to the back of the building, back by the dumpsters. The fire escape ladder hung down low enough for me to grab without having to jump or use my power. I encouraged Freebird to climb up, but I think she had an idea what I was thinking.
She squatted low and jumped with all her might. I watched as she sprung into the air. It really was a sight to see her jump. She smiled brightly as she passed me. It was a thing of beauty to watch her become truly free. I suppose with some practice I might be able to hold myself up longer than ten minutes, and man do I sweat like a pig when I try. It takes a lot of concentration to hold yourself up. Lifting hundred pound aluminum kegs with my mind is easy because those are outward objects which I can allow my field of telekinesis to envelope and lift without much thought. But lifting myself forces my focus inward and, much like a body builder might have trouble lifting his own body weight at first, I struggle with lifting myself.

Freebird was an outward object, so I channeled my power and focused on her. Easy as pie, so they say. It’s a weird feeling being telekinetic like I am. Objects feel different in your mind, and people feel especially different. With my field around her, I could almost sense what she was thinking, as if someone was trying to tell me a secret, but my ears were filled with cotton balls. I could feel Freebird’s heartbeat (it was beating very fast, which was to be expected, she was practically euphoric when she jumped,) and as she was about to land and create what could have been another gaping hole for the super to fix and for us to make an excuse about, I slowed her down gradually and she landed softly. I was still standing on the fire escape when I saw her peer over the side of the building and give me a thumbs us.

“Come on!” She said, “lets be free together!”

At first I was reluctant, Hells Kitchen and all that, but at two thirty in the morning, I doubt anyone would kick up a fuss. I climbed to the top of the roof and saw Freebird ready to leap off of the building and onto the neighboring one. I ran with all my speed and leapt shortly after her, floating a little so I wouldn’t fall and break my neck. It was easy to allow myself to float like this because of the forward momentum. I let Freebird land gently again and we hopped over to the next building, and the next.

By the end of it we had both leapt ten whole blocks. It really was a great feeling. The wind blowing, the feeling that, yeah, we were free like the birds. At least for a while. Freebird was laughing for the entire time we were out, I was too busy trying to concentrate on not breaking my neck and lightening her falls to laugh, but when we stopped and I saw her, out of breath and smiling like she’d just completed the new York City Marathon and won first place, I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Now I’m not too sure what prompted it, and I doubt it would ever happen again in a million years, but she walked over to me (she had landed at the very far edge of the building,) and took my hands in hers.

“Thank you for this.” She said. I didn’t think much of it, but there was something in her voice. Desire perhaps? Gratitude, sure, but it was coated in something else. Something a bit more…

I didn’t have time to think about it because she was kissing me. Hard. With a passion I hadn’t experienced in my life. It was as electrifying as it was unexpected and my heart beat faster than it ever had before.

You know, a man will think some pretty strange thoughts at the oddest times. Here I am, Paul Cammerreri, standing on a roof ten city blocks away from my home and place of self-employment, being kissed by someone I never thought of in a romantic way (however, I thought about her romantically once she urged me to kiss her back,) and wondering for the life of my how I could have been so blind to it. It felt right, sure, hell, it felt good. Two years of pent up sexual tension will do that, I suppose, but at the same time, I felt like if something were to happen on this rooftop tonight, things would never be the same between us.

I opened my eyes (they had been closed for the duration of this,) and saw Freebird’s were open too. Passion raged through them and I could tell she wanted this. Wanted me.

Now before I go on with the rest of this, I seemed to have forgotten to mention to you what I look like. I’m a fairly average looking guy standing at an even six feet tall and weighing one hundred and eighty pounds. My hair is cut short and I like to put that styling glue in it to make it stay where I want it. I’m very lean for my height and have brown hair and eyes (I’m of Southern Italian decent, so it goes with the territory,) and whenever I look in the mirror, I never see someone worth dating. Hell, I never see someone worth having a conversation with half the time. Freebird, however, begged to differ.

She kissed me hard again, and her hands moved towards my belt. I had to stop her for a moment. Had to know something.

“Are you sure you’re wantin’ this?” I asked, out of breath.

“More than anything.” She replied, equally breathless.

We made love on that rooftop, free as birds that night. And eventually found the stars and fell asleep together under them, blanketed by their indifferent embrace.
 
“Would you like some time to think it over?” Xavier’s voice snapped me out of the memory. I don’t know how long I was standing there, but I think it had been a considerable few moments. Long enough to warrant the professor’s question.

“Uhm, no Professor.” I said, I knew Freebird wanted to stay and that was good enough for me. “We’ll stay, at least until we can figure things out.” Freebird smiled at me. Professor Xavier smiled also and put his hand across the desk for me to shake.

“Then welcome to my school, both of you.” We took turns shaking his hand. “Now, before we set you up in a room I ask that you accompany me to visit our doctor. It’s school policy that all incoming students receive a full physical and analysis of their mutant abilities.”

To be honest I hadn’t had a physical since I was in high school. I had insurance, but the bar kept me very busy. The professor led us out of the room and into the hallway. By now, more students were out on the lawn. Classes must have ended for the day.

“Now, the Institute offers several programs of study. However if the choices do not appeal to you, you may make up a curriculum of your own. Say, for example, you wished to really study basket weaving, you could do so if you so pleased.” He said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that he couldn’t possibly have been joking. Charles Xavier didn’t seem like the type of person to joke around much despite the kindness that practically dripped from his pores.

“What about something like culinary arts?” I asked. I had been interested in cooking for a couple of years but wasn’t very good. Freebird usually worked in the kitchen at the bar. We didn’t have an expansive menu, just burgers and wings. Stuff a drunk person needs, you know, the essentials.

“Certainly,” Xavier said, “as a matter of fact the person you are about to meet has a degree in culinary arts.”

“I thought we were seeing a doctor.” I said.

“Hank is much more than a doctor, I assure you.” Xavier said, leading us to a door. The sign on it said ‘Dr. Hank McCoy, M.D. (among other things)’. I raised my eyebrow at this.

“Bobby’s idea of a joke.” Xavier said, commenting on the sign. “So who would like to go first?”

Freebird shrugged. She wasn’t in any particular rush, but I had a thing about doctors. I wasn’t much of a fan. Better to get it over with than have to wait to be poked and prodded, I always say.

“I’ll go.” I said.

“And if you don’t mind, Miss Freebird, I will keep you company while you wait.”

“That would fine.” Freebird said. “Good luck, Paul. Keep your chin up and your pants on.”

My face turned red. I knocked on the door before I heard a deep voice tell me to come in.

I wasn’t expecting what I saw when I entered the room. Doctor McCoy stood at about 5’9 and was as wide as an ape. He was also covered from head to toe in blue fur. He smiled at me, showing ferociously sharp teeth. I would have been terrified of the man had he not been wearing a white lab coat and spectacles.

“You must be one of the new students the Professor was telling me about. Paul, right?” He reached over a tray of surgical equipment and put out his hand (paw?) for me to shake. I shook his hand and to be honest it was like shaking hands with a bear. “Doctor Henry McCoy, at your service.”

“Paul Cammerreri, standing politely.” I couldn’t resist the Simpson’s reference. Call me immature if you must, but it’s still relevant.

“Indeed.” McCoy didn’t seem to get the reference. “Actually the correct quote is ‘smiling politely’, but I won’t take off points for a minor gaff.”

I liked him right away.

“Professor Xavier says you need to examine me. School policy.”

“Yes. But before we go any further you have to sign this form.” He pulled out a clip board from his desk on the far left of the room. Speaking of the room, it was slightly larger than Xavier’s office and had the necessary accoutrements of any doctor’s office. However what caught my attention was all of the diplomas on the wall. There had to be at least two dozen.

“If you would just sign here, please. This form serves two purposes, it lists me as your primary care physician and waves your right to sue me if I kill you during surgery.” He smiled. “Actually the second part was a lie. My hands are as steady as a rock.” He held out his massive blue paws to show me how steady they were. “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at my degrees.”

“What did you do to get them? Mail order?” I asked as I signed the paper.

“My stars and garters, no!” he chuckled, “I earned them. You see, my experience with women was lacking from the moment I entered these doors and well, its easier to understand genetic theory than a woman, am I right?”

I said nothing, but I knew how absolutely right he was.

“Let me see, according to these I’m a biologist, geneticist, horticulturalist, mathematician, medical doctor, surgeon, dentist, physicist, engineer both electrical and chemical, I have a degree in classical music theory as well as jazz, and according to this one I can cook. I’m very proud of that one.”

“Very impressive.”

“It’s nothing really. Now before we begin I’m going to ask you some questions. These are general questions for your medical file.”

“Sure, go ahead.” I said.

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Good boy,” Dr. McCoy said. “Do you drink?”

“On occasion. I used to own a bar and you’d think I’d be drunk every night, but the restaurant industry is full of alcoholics so I try to limit myself as much as possible.” It was the honest truth. Freebird had a couple more than I did every once in a while but not by much.

“Any allergies to speak of?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And here is where it gets a little dicey. Are you currently sexually active?”

My faced reddened only slightly, “not at the moment.”

“When was the last time?”

“Almost two years ago.” I said.

“Your girlfriend must hate you.” He said with a smile.

“Oh, Freebird isn’t my girlfriend.” I said. My face turned really red this time.

“Forgive me for my assumptions.” He quickly changed the subject “And did you use any protection the last time?”

I hesitated for a moment. Dr. McCoy looked up from his clipboard.

“No.” I said finally.

He said nothing. No admonishment or anything that would indicate judgment. I was grateful.

“And your primary mutant ability is telekinesis?”

“How did you know that?”

“Charles briefed me before you came in. I believe while you were walking down to see me.” He said, “And your secondary mutation is heightened speed, strength, and agility?”

“Yes.”

“Been seeing that a lot lately.” He said, off-handedly.

“What?”

“Secondary mutation. We once thought it was a freak occurrence, a recessive gene impeding on the dominant X-factor which is released during puberty, but with every new crop of students we’re seeing more and more cases of secondary mutation.”

“Interesting,” I had no idea what he was talking about.
 
He began by taking my blood pressure and then testing my reflexes, making notes on his clipboard.

“So far, so good. Blood pressure is normal, reflexes are good. Do you exercise?” Dr. McCoy asked.

“Not a lot. I chalk that up to a fast metabolism.”

“Hmm. I think your mutation has something to do with that.”

I shrugged, McCoy kept on with his examination.

“So did the professor tell you anything else about me? He’s a psychic so he must know everything about me and Freebird.”

The hairy blue doctor chuckled, “Charles knows just as much as I do about you and your friend, Freebird, I assure you. He never reads a person’s mind without permission.”

“Really?” I asked. To be honest, if I had Charles Xavier’s powers, I’d read the minds of every woman who ever turned me down, just to see what I did wrong.

“Xavier believes in responsible use of one’s mutant abilities. He reasons that mutants have been given their abilities by nature for the betterment of all mankind, both homo-sapien and home-superior.” Dr McCoy’s voice had just a touch of pride in it. He believed in what Professor Xavier stood for, and in a way, it was hard to blame the furball. Despite the fact that Freebird and I had been the victims of a hate crime, I didn’t hate the people who did it, and for as much as I missed my bar, I was keen to put it to rest. Freebird seemed to think that staying here was a good idea, so I might as well just suck it up and enjoy the ride.

“Now for the fun part,” McCoy said, “I get to take your blood.”
Crap. I hate blood tests. Needles don’t bother me; however the sight of blood makes me gag a little. He got the needle ready and found a vein, swabbed it with alcohol and plunged the needle into my arm.

“Now that wasn’t so bad.” McCoy said, “I’m wondering how I’ll be able to draw blood from your friend. Xavier told me she’s indestructible.”

“Try a jack hammer?” I suggested. McCoy laughed.

“Actually, I think I have something that might do the trick. You’re all finished here, you can send her in.”

I stood up and walked out of the room, arm bandaged and a little sore from the needle. I told Freebird she could go and see McCoy. I sat down next to Professor Xavier and waited for Freebird’s exam to be over.

“This place is really something.” I said, looking around the hallway, “I bet it’d take a month to see everything in here.”

“Two and a half, actually.” Xavier said, “We’re constantly building the place up because of the influx of new students.”

”There are a lot of us, huh?” I asked.

“Yes, but not all mutants believe in peaceful coexistence.” He frowned, “but that is a lesson for another semester, as it were.” He paused before saying, “I sense a very strong bond between the two of you. If you don’t mind me asking, how was it the two of you met?”

Rainy, cold nights in the Kitchen were the worst. People barely came out to the bar on the rainy nights. I had just decided to close up shop since my last customer left about two hours ago. I was putting up chairs when I heard the door open and slam shut. I turned around with a start, thinking the wind had blown it open, or maybe I was being robbed, but when I saw the short, bone thin girl with matted hair and a dirty face collapse on my floor, I ran over to her.

She was soaking wet and shaking, muttering nonsense. I lifted her off the floor (she had to be no heavier than 85 pounds. Like I said, she was bone thin,) and put her on a chair near the jukebox. Her eyes were glazed over and her teeth chattered. I don’t know why I did it, but I felt her forehead (my mother used to do that when I was sick,) and sure enough, she felt hot.

A fever. Those can kill you if they aren’t taken care of, and who knew how long this wretch had been sick for? She kept muttering something about making her own way out (whatever that meant,) and how she didn’t need daddy’s help.

“Hey,” I said, “I think you’ve got a pretty bad fever. I’m going to get you some aspirin.”

“fuh…fuh…forget you ma…mom…jus…just get out of…my..wa…way.” She said, “I’m no…tt…not a…freee..freak!”

I waved my hands in front of her face, “hey, hey! Come on, look at me, kid. Jesus, can you see me?”

It must have taken a lot of strength of will to get her eyes to focus, but she looked at me, and I saw that she knew someone else was with her.

“suh…suh…sick. I’m….so…sick.” She said. Her voice was weak but she was talking to me and not some imaginary, fever induced parents.

“I’m going to help you. Just sit tight, okay?” I kept a bottle of aspirin in a drawer behind the bar. I filled a glass with water and gave her three tablets. I told her to swallow one at a time, but she took all three and downed them with three gulps of water. Fat lot of good it did. The poor girl threw up the water (and the aspirin,) not two seconds later.

“You gotta take it easy.” I said, refilling the glass and giving her one aspirin at a time. She took one tablet and one sip of water and started gagging. She took another sip of water and seemed to calm down a bit.

Her teeth were chattering but her lips weren’t blue, so that was a good sign. “You’re going to be okay, we’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes. They really couldn’t be called clothes anymore. Tatters I suppose would be a good word. Rags also worked. I picked her up and carried her like you might carry a toddler and bought her upstairs to my apartment.

She was still muttering but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

I set her down gently on the couch and ran into my bedroom and tore the blanket off of my bed and ransacked my closet for a sweater and some pants. Nothing I had would fit her, but it was better than cold, wet rags.

When I came back into the living room she wasn’t muttering anymore, but her teeth were chattering still. Her eyes were open and some of the glaze had vanished. I think the aspirin was working its magic.

“Can you put these on?” I said, “I’d do for you, but we just met and I don’t make a habit of dressing girls I just met.”

She smiled weakly, but said nothing, just chattered her teeth at me. Women really have a knack for making your life difficult. I sat her up and closed my eyes and took off her tattered shirt and, opening my eyes for only a second to put the sweatshirt I found on her (no, I didn’t see anything.) The pair of sweat pants turned into a real challenge and I had to look at her tiny feet to see where to put them on. I think I put them on backward, but that was okay. I didn’t think she noticed.

I told her she could lay down on the couch.

“Okay.” She said, meekly. I covered her with the blanket and after a while, she stopped shivering. I tossed her old clothes in the trash. When I came back, she had sat up and was looking around the room.

“You’re going to be fine, I think. You’ve got a fever.”

“Where am I?” She asked, sounding very weak, but coherent.

“In my apartment. You came into my bar and collapsed. You’re really sick.”

“How did I get here?” She asked.

“I don’t know, but I think you’d better lie down for a while. I’m not going to hurt you or anything.” Seemed like a stupid thing to say, but she smiled at me when I said it. She took my advice and laid down on the couch again. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep.

It was a Tuesday night she walked into my bar. Thank goodness I was closed on Wednesdays because I stood up all night watching her sleep to make sure her fever went down.
 
“Jesus Christ!” She exclaimed about two hours after sunrise. I had dozed for a moment and almost fell off my chair. “Where the hell am I?”

Apparently she was feeling better.

I stood up quickly and put my hands up defensively, “you collapsed on the floor of my bar last night, you had a fever. I gave you some aspirin. I guess it worked because you don’t look like you’re going to die.”

“Where am I?” She asked. She tried to stand up, but had to sit back down on the couch, I guess she was still pretty weak.

“In my apartment, above my bar.” I said.

“No, I mean what state am I in?”

I was puzzled, “New York. You’re in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Seems like it.” She said, “I guess I made it. I feel like crap.” She rubbed her temples. I guess she had a headache.

“My name is Paul Cammerreri. I own the bar downstairs.” She looked up at me and smiled. I think our friendship officially started then.

“Freebird.” She put out her hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Freebird?” I asked, “interesting name.” I shook her hand. It was warm and delicate. Fragile, almost.

“It’s the one I got.” She said.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Colorado. I used to live right outside of Denver before my parents kicked me out.”

I was intrigued. Her parents threw her out. So did mine.

“Join the club,” I said, “I hear Colorado is nice.” I could have said something else, but what?

“Not so nice when you have to hoof it all the way from Denver to, where did you say I was? Hell’s Toilet?”

I laughed, “Might as well be. No, Hell’s Kitchen. You walked all the way from Colorado to New York?”

“Yeah. I got no car or money for the bus.” She looked over into my tiny kitchen, “Look, I don’t mean to, I dunno, impede on your hospitality or anything, but have you got anything I can eat, maybe? It’s been a few days.”

I nodded, “Yeah, and don’t worry about impeding on anything. You’re welcome to whatever I have.” I meant that. Something told me that Freebird and I were similar, and I wanted to ask her why she had gotten kicked out. Maybe for the same reason I did, but I was afraid to ask. I still hadn’t come to terms with it yet.

Freebird, my new friend, smiled at me again. She tried to get up again, but had to once again sit down. “I’m not liking this not being able to move thing.”

“I think once you eat something and rest, you’ll be okay.” I wasn’t sure of that, but it felt right. “After all, you did walk all the way from Denver to my neck of the woods.” I went into the kitchen and checked the fridge. Pretty bare cupboard, but there was some bread left (yes, I keep my bread in the fridge. I like it cold,) and half a jar of peanut butter (ditto on the P.B.) and some strawberry jam. I made her a sandwich that took all of a minute for her to devour. I was surprised she kept it down considering the night before water made her vomit.

“Thanks. That was the greatest sandwich I ever ate.” She said, “forgive my manners.”

“No problem,” I said, “uhm…like I said, you’re welcome to stay here if you’ve got no place to go. I’m not a weirdo or anything.”

“Your clothes would beg to differ,” she said, again that smile. “I’m just kidding. I don’t know where Fat Kat tattoo is, but they make a mean sweatshirt.”
I let her keep the sweatshirt. She wore it every night for the first three months she was with me. She was always complaining about being cold. I guess because she was so thin.

“Look,” she said, “I appreciate this, I really do, but you don’t wanna have me hanging around here. I’m…”

“What?” I asked. Maybe I wouldn’t have to ask why she got thrown out of her house after all.

“Never mind. I don’t think a nice guy like yourself would understand.” She said, she looked down at my carpeted floor. “I don’t think even I understand.”

“You’d be surprised. I’m a bartender, I’m used to listening to people’s problems.”

She looked up and squinted at me, as if sizing me up for what she was about to say. There was a long pause.

“If I tell you, and you freak out, I don’t care how weak I am, I’ll fight you if I have to.” She sounded serious, and maybe she was, but the threat didn’t sound real. Maybe because, deep down, she knew she wasn’t alone.

“I won’t freak out.” I said, and meant it.

“I’m a mutant.”

“So am I.” I said.

“liar.” She said, “prove it.”

I probably shouldn’t have done it, because she was so weak still, but I lifted her off the couch. I thought she might panic, but instead she looked at me with a satisfied gaze.

“What can you do?” I asked.

“Well, aside from being susceptible to fevers and the like, for the most part I’m pretty indestructible.” She grinned, “Back home I got hit by a truck going sixty down a thirty, split the truck in two, didn’t even faze me. After that, I tried to hide it from my folks, but they kinda knew. They let me stay for a while, but the neighbors talk, and don’t get me started on the pastor.” She shook her head, “so I walked away instead of ran away.”

I regaled her with my tale of woe, about the money and about opening the bar.

“A lot cooler than my story.” She said, “My folks were pretty tight with their cash.”

I shrugged, “Well, seeing as how we’re both genetic freaks who are probably going to burn in the hottest pits of hell, why don’t you work for me when you feel better?”

“Jesus, what did I do? Hit the lottery?” She asked no one in particular. “Why are you being so nice to me?” this time she aimed the question at me.

I didn’t have an answer right then. I guess because I loved her then, the moment she smiled at me and I knew everything was going to be okay. Because she was like me and I was no longer alone and in turn, neither was she.

“Just a nice guy, I suppose.”

“Well, if you’d have me, then I cordially accept the invitation.” She stood up, although with some effort, “as soon as I get better, the first thing I’m going to do is clean this place up.”

I looked around. It was a pig sty.

I smiled. “Deal.”
 
“Of all the gin joints in all the world…” Xavier said, he looked at me and smiled, “you took her in sight unseen.”

“Bogart, very nice.” I said, “I didn’t know what else to do, sir. It’s like I said, I loved her from the very beginning.” I didn’t know if telling him this would lead to the story of the night on the rooftop, but he didn’t ask. Maybe he knew about it already. He was a psychic after all. “She was a runaway, like me, and lets face it, I was lonely and could use the help.”

“Of course, and in so doing you both found something.” Xavier nodded as if he was agreeing with his own statement.

“I guess you could say that.” He had no idea how right he was.

Freebird emerged from Dr. McCoy’s office wearing a bandage on her arm just like me, I guess the good doctor figured out a way to draw blood from someone who couldn’t be physically damaged. McCoy emerged behind her.

“Those genetic inhibitors Dr. Richards donated to the school really came in handy, Charles. I suggest we send Reed a fruit basket, if you would excuse me.” He gave a quick wave of his paw and strode off down the hallway.

“You know,” Freebird said, “But he would make a great pediatrician.”

“how do you figure?” I asked, looking a bit puzzled.

Freebird grinned, “He reminds me of Cookie Monster.” She turned to Xavier, “so now that you’ve taken our blood, what comes next?”

“I took the liberty of arranging a room for the two of you.”

My face turned red and I looked at Freebird. She looked a little apprehensive.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Xavier said, “it’s one of our bigger rooms. The bedrooms are separate.”

Call it a hunch on my part, but I suspected the Professor knew a little more than he was leading on. Xavier motioned for us to follow him and we did, but kept a few steps behind him.

“Did you mention anything to him while I was in there?” Freebird whispered. Her tone was quizzical, not accusatory.

“No. I did tell him how I met you, though. Did you mention anything?”

“No.” She said, I knew she was telling the truth, Freebird never lied to me about anything.
 
When we reached the room which Freebird and I would now call home, I had to admit I wasn’t expecting much. Just a dormitory-like space with no windows, but, when we walked into the room, I couldn’t help but marvel at the size of the place.

“This room is bigger than my apartment.” I said. Freebird nodded in agreement.

“Better color scheme, too.” She added.

As the professor gad promised, the bedrooms were divided. You could compare the room to a really fancy suite in a hotel. It had a sitting area and a large bathroom.

“I hope you find it comfortable. You will find the dressers are filled with clothes. Seeing as your clothes were lost in the fire, I took the liberty of getting you something else to wear aside from the shirts on your backs.” Xavier smiled at us and urged us to make ourselves at home.

“I have a class to teach in a half an hour. I must be going. I will check up on you later if you’d like.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I bid you good day, and welcome to your new home.” He smiled at us again and rolled away, on to teach his next class.

“This place is amazing!” Freebird said, she was rummaging through one of the dressers. She held up a grey t-shirt that bore the insignia of the school.

“I’m liking it.” I said, but I guess I didn’t sound very convincing to Freebird, she looked over at me, a concerned look on her face.

“I know its not Hell’s Kitchen and I know its not your bar, but we’re with people who understand us now.” She walked over to me. “I know its been hard for us for a while, but I think this is going to be good for us.”

I walked over to the easy chair near the window and sat down. It felt good to sit.

“You remember the night you went into the hospital?” I said. I didn’t want to bring it up, but she had to know how I felt.

I awoke to the sounds of New York. Sirens, car horns, pigeons, and roadwork. If anyone knew we were on that rooftop all night, they didn’t call the police. I looked at Freebird and my face turned red. Her head was resting on my chest. For a fleeting moment I felt ashamed of myself. Yes, I loved the girl who was lying next to me. Yes, I wanted what happened last night as much as she did, and yes, It was possibly the greatest night of my life, but I still felt a twinge of guilt for allowing it to happen. Freebird had become my closest friend and perhaps now that friendship would be irrevocably changed. I hated to think that we’d lose what we’d built up since she decided to stay with me.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. Her smile told me I had nothing to worry about.

“Hi.” She said.

“Hey.”

“I love you.” She kissed my cheek.

I suppose a lesser man would have gotten up and bounded off the roof of the building had a girl told him that, but the fact of the matter was that I loved her too. You know, friendship can breed very strange emotions. I had once only thought about Freebird in a plutonic kind of way, and maybe at one time, she thought of me in a similar fashion, but working and living together and the fact that we were both mutants had to have played a part in what happened last night.

“I love you, too.” I said. I sat up. We were both fully clothed (we’d managed to put our clothes on before falling asleep, in case anyone found us,) and the sun was just coming up. The air was cool and breezy. A perfect morning.

“Do you really?” She asked, “because I understand that what happened last night…”

“I always have,” I said. “and I always will.” I put my arm around her, “so are we dating now? How does this work?”

She chuckled, “I don’t know. To be honest and please don’t laugh, you were my first.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Really, really.” She blushed, “I mean, we don’t have to be an item or anything. In fact, maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

She frowned, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, for one thing. I wanted what happened last night, and I know you did too, but now that we’ve gotten it out of our systems, maybe it would be best to kinda leave it at that.”

She had a good point, but what was done was done and couldn’t be undone. “Well, I’m not sure this would ruin our friendship since we both professed our love for one another. Really, Freebird, I love you but if that’s what you want, then you got it.”

Freebird nodded, “It’s what I want, Paul. And I love you too.”

We left the rooftop and walked the ten blocks back to the bar, making small talk, but not speaking about what happened the night before. I can’t say I was extremely disappointed because of my earlier feelings of guilt, but there was a bit of sadness to that walk back home. Freebird was everything I could have wanted in a girl and for one night I knew what it was like to have everything.

We were still friends, though, and that mattered more.

The next couple of days Freebird practically glided around the bar. She was even friendlier than usual and the customers loved it. Even though she wanted us to be friends, she would occasionally look at me knowingly. I could see the love in her eyes and started to hope that maybe she was going to reconsider.

Three weeks had gone by and Freebird started getting sick. She told me her stomach was bothering her and before I could ask what was wrong she would bound into the bathroom to throw up. I didn’t think much of it, I had a bar to run and would now be short handed because I insisted she take the day off despite her protestations to the contrary.

“I’ll be fine if I just lie down for a little while. You need me, I’ll be fine by tonight.” She said, she heaved again.

“Yeah, you know, I think that’s what the customers want, you throwing up all over the place.” I said, good naturedly.

“Very funny,” She said, “I’ll be fine.”

She wretched again.

“I’m giving you the day off.” I said.

“Fine.” She said and wretched again.

The night was busy, but nothing I couldn’t handle on my own. We’d done good business and I was happy to be closing, I wanted to check and see how Freebird was doing. I was putting up the chairs on the tables and was about to sweep the floor when Freebird came down. She was wearing the sweatshirt I had given her the day we met and a pair of pajama bottoms with cows on them.

“Hey, you feeling better?” I asked. I put up the last chair but Freebird took it down and sat on it. She looked pale. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Could you sit a minute?” She said. I nodded and took down a chair and sat facing her.

“Whats up?” I asked.

“I’m pregnant.”
 
I remember blinking three times before opening my mouth and nothing came out. My stomach had turned very cold and I was grateful that I was sitting down. I think for a moment I forgot how to breath.

The first emotion I felt was guilt. I had done this to her and it had opened a Pandora’s box. Never mind being friends now, things had completely changed.

The second thing I felt was anger at myself. Had I shown some restraint that night this would have never happened, Real smooth, you jackass.

“I just want you to know it’s not your fault.” She said. She took my hands in hers. My hands were cold and shaking a little. “Stop feeling guilty, ok?”

“I don’t feel guilty.” I finally said, but she only smiled at me. She knew I was lying.

“You don’t lie well, Paul. And for God’s sake don’t freak out. I have enough money saved up and my insurance will cover a lot.”

I cleared my throat, “Well if you think for a minute that I’m not going to take care of you and this baby then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“I’ll let you if you promise not to freak out or feel guilty or get mopey like you do when you feel guilty about something.” She kissed my hands, “And if you blame yourself for this, I’ll kill you.”

I felt reassured and the coldness in my stomach was gone. The way I reasoned it, it could have went two ways. The way it just went (of which I was extremely grateful,) or she could have decided that getting rid of the kid was the way to go. I don’t believe in abortion personally, but I understand that a woman has a right to do what she wants with her body.

“So…” I said, “are we an item now?”

Freebird chuckled, “I guess so.” She got up and sat down on my lap and kissed my forehead, “You’re going to be okay, right? You’re not going to throw up or faint or anything, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I just can’t believe I’m going to be a dad.”

“I think you’ll do a good job. Besides, when the baby starts teething there’s plenty of whiskey here to put on his gums.”

The cold in my stomach was quickly replaced with something that felt like excitement.

So for the next six months things were great. The bar was doing tremendous business and Freebird was coming along well. I did most of the work around the bar while Freebird chatted up the regulars. We even had a pool going as to the gender of our baby. We’d both decided to make things easy on ourselves and name the baby Sam. Samuel if it was a boy and Samantha is it was a girl. Some of the older guys insisted she’d have a boy if she ate broccoli with every meal while the women claimed she’d have a girl because of the way she carried the baby. I didn’t care either way. I liked the relationship we had now that there was a baby involved. Somehow we both felt a little more whole, but of course thinks have a way of getting turned upside down in a matter of moments.

One night we were cleaning the bar. It had been a modestly busy Thursday night. Freebird was complaining of a headache and some mild nausea. Now, it hadn’t been easy finding a doctor to care for her but I heard there was a clinic that had a mutant friendly doctor working there. Dr. Percival was a pretty friendly guy who didn’t ask a lot of questions, but had the necessary tools to deal with Freebird’s mutation. So far, he had said, she was doing well but all of a sudden, she started feeling tired and nauseas. That night she looked very pale and I noticed she was sweating a great deal. I asked her if she was okay, and she said she was fine and got back to work. I went behind the bar to get the broom when I heard her fall.

“Paul!” She said, “I think something’s wrong with the baby!”

I was at her side in a flash, turning her on her back and holding her hand. “Just stay put, I’ll call an ambulance.”

She threw up a little on the floor. I hoped to everything good and true that it was only something she ate and not something wrong with our child. As I got up to get the phone, I saw liquid on the floor, but there was blood in it.

I dialed 9-11 and told them what was going on. They assured me they were sending an ambulance right away. I hung up with them and called the clinic where Dr. Percival worked.

“I think Freebird is having the baby.” I said, “She looks bad. Her water broke.”

The grumbly voice of Dr. Percival said, “They’re probably going to bring her to Beth Israel. I’ll meet you there.”

I hung up the phone with Dr. Percival and ran over to Freebird. She was in a lot of pain and she clung to my arm as if she were on the edge of a cliff. I had to tell her to ease up, or she’d shatter my entire arm right to the shoulder.

“It’ll be okay. The ambulance is coming. Dr. Percival will meet us at the hospital.” I said. I wiped the sweat from her forehead. Freebird moaned in pain.

“I think something is wrong!” She said. I tried to tell her everything would be alright and that she shouldn’t panic. It worked to a degree.

The ambulance arrived and the medics took her in. I was able to sit up front and sure enough, they took us to Beth Israel Hospital. They put Freebird in a wheelchair and as soon as we came in I saw Dr. Percival looking calm, but a little impatient.

“She just collapsed tonight, Doctor. Her water broke.” I said.

“I’ll take it from here.” Dr. Percival said. He was an older man with a white beard and bifocals. The He wheeled Freebird off and a nurse escorted me to the waiting area.

I never liked hospitals. Something about them just screamed death at me. I know they’re supposed to be a place of healing, but knowing there is a morgue in the basement doesn’t exactly help. Plus the smell of the place, you know the smell, disinfectant and cafeteria food mixed together. Worst of all, I had to wait to hear whether or not everything was okay. Time seems to move slower in hospitals than it does in the real world. The two hours I was sitting alone in the waiting room felt like two years.

“Mister Cammereri?” The voice of Dr. Percival filled the empty waiting room. I looked up and tried to read his expression. It was even.

”Is she okay?” I asked, rising from my seat.

“Freebird is fine.” He frowned, “However there were complications with the delivery and we did everything humanly possible for her. I’m afraid she miscarried. I’m so sorry.”

I had so many questions in my head I didn’t know what to say. I felt the tears fall from my eyes and a black cold form in my stomach. I was confused and shocked. How could this have happened to her? To us? I felt sick for a moment. I wanted to, for no other reason other than he was there, punch Dr. Percival in the face. I wanted to burn the world. I wanted…

I wanted to see Freebird.

“Can I see her?” I asked, my voice breaking. Percival nodded and led me down the hallway. Our footsteps the only sound in the tomb-like corridor. “Does she know?” I whispered.

“Yes. She knows.”

My chest was heavy, grief can do that. My heart broke when I saw Freebird in the hospital bed. She looked smaller than normal. Somehow this ordeal had shrunken her.

“Paul.” She said weakly. She was exhausted and sad. I could barely look. “Sam died.”

My face burned with tears, “I know, kid. I know.” It was the second time in my life I called her kid. I leaned in and kissed her forehead.

“Why’d this happen?” She asked. I didn’t have an answer and I still don’t. “Are we bad people, Paul? Are we being punished for being what we are?”

“No, Freebird, we’re not. It just…wasn’t his time.”

“Her time. Sam was a girl.”

If my heart was broken when I walked into the room, it had now been reduced to dust. I couldn’t help breaking down, and for a long time we cried together. I held her tightly and through my tears I whispered, “Siete la mia famiglia e lo proteggerò sempre. Niente di difettoso accadrà mai ancora voi, il mio amore. Giuro al dio.
 
“I remember that,” Freebird said. We hadn’t spoken about it much since it happened, we grieved in silence, the two of us.

“Well, I just want to see you happy, and if this place does that, I’m all for it.” I walked over to her and gave her a hug.

“Hey! You must be the new guys!” Both of us were a little startled when the dirty blond haired guy sauntered into the room. He was a little shorter than me and had icy blue eyes. Why he didn’t knock before he entered escaped me completely.

“Uhm…yeah,” I said, breaking my embrace with Freebird.

“The name’s Iceman.” He put out his hand, I shook it.

“I’m Goose and this is Maverick.” I pointed to Freebird with my thumb. She grinned.

“Oh, a Top Gun reference, I get it. Ha Ha, very quick of you. I haven’t heard a Top Gun reference since oh, three minutes ago.” He smiled wide. His smile was pleasant if not mischievous. A good natured smile of a person who has a very good sense of humor. “My real name is Bobby Drake.”

“Paul Cammerreri. This is Freebird.” I said.

“Nice to meet you. Say, you guys seen the whole campus?”

“Not yet,” Freebird said.

“Cool! I’d be happy to show you and introduce you to some of the other X-Men.”

“X-Men?” I asked, “Is that what you call your soccer team or something?”

Bobby smiled at us again, “No, man, the other mutants who help out around here, Beast and Nightcrawler and Wolverine. My pals.”

“Well, since we really have nothing else to do, I guess you could show us around the place a little more.” Freebird said, “and introduce us. I’d hate for us to be anti-social.” She looked at me for reassurance. I guess she thought I would want to just sit around in our new room all day, but the truth of the matter was, I wanted to meet some more of our kind. In fact, I was excited about it. I smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze. She smiled back.

“Great!” Bobby, the one who called himself Iceman, said, “So what are your powers? Actually, you don’t have to tell me, because I already know. Xavier briefed us while Logan and Kurt were on their way to get you. That is so cool that you’re indestructible, you and Peter will get along great. And Doctor Grey can help you, Paul. She’s a telekinetic, too.”

He kept chattering like that for the entire time he showed us around. I couldn’t help but admire his enthusiasm.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Similar threads

Sugarculted
X-Men: X-Children
Replies
7
Views
2K
Sugarculted
Sugarculted
Jennifer Walters
Doctor Who: Return of Donna Noble.
Replies
0
Views
2K
Jennifer Walters
Jennifer Walters
X
XMenFilesFANFICTION: My X-Men Fanfiction
Replies
5
Views
2K
xmenfilesfan05
X
Deep Thinkin'!
Twenty Sunless Years: An X-Men fanfic
Replies
7
Views
2K
Deep Thinkin'!
Deep Thinkin'!
jaymes_e06
X-Men the series online
Replies
16
Views
1K
jaymes_e06
jaymes_e06

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 2 (members: 0, guests: 2)

Staff online

Members online

Total: 1,299 (members: 38, guests: 1,261)

Latest posts

Forum statistics

Threads
200,563
Messages
21,761,617
Members
45,597
Latest member
iamjonahlobe

Share this page

Back
Top
monitoring_string = "afb8e5d7348ab9e99f73cba908f10802"