XCave.NET

Summary: Two people, two totally different lives….a chance meeting. Are first impressions always correct?

Twenty-seven years ago,
Province of Alberta, Canada, near the city of Edmonton,

“Man, I can’t do this.” Standing out in the frigid Canadian winter, the large, burly figure blew out smoke as he turned to his partner. “I got kids of my own.”
“So do I Jack,” his partner grunted as he heaved the sack from the car’s trunk. “But ya kno’, if it is says to be killin’ him, we kill him. Its either him or us and our kids.”
“But Bill…”
“Look, we do it like this. Just put one in the side of his head, and a good one in his leg. That way it will be the cold who will do him in, not us.”

“….”

“Come on, I said we ain’t the ones takin’ his life. It’s the damn cold.” The taller, bulkier Bill drew out his hunting knife. Sharp and silent. No one would even know about it.
“….’k, but make it fast and I ain’t gonna see it.” Jack stepped away. “He looks just much like my Charlie.”
“Pansy,” Jack scoffed and with two swift slashes, drew out blood onto the stark white snow. “Done. There. Ain’t nothin’ ta it.”

“Yeah, well, lets get outta here before anyone shows up.” Jack was already half way around the car, just holding down the bile churning in his stomach.

About half an hour later,

“Oh God, Sister Teresa, Sister Angela,” the black and white garbed female called out to her sisters. “Come quick.”
“What’s the matter Mother?” Both nuns, their habit similar to their older colleague, rushed out from the back door of their station wagon. Even the driver, Old man Eugene stepped and hurried as fast as his arthritic legs would carry him.

“Mary mother of God!” Sister Angela exclaimed at the sight of the bloodied body. “Its just…a…..”
“Stop gawking junior,” Eugene snapped at his son, Eugene Jr. “Get the poor kid inside. He still alive? Ain’t he?”

“Yeah…barely.” Although almost giant like in built, Eugene Jr. was a bit slow in the uptake and shy to boot, something that his old man thought made him a sissy.

Nodding his head at this father’s order, he lifted the small body as if it were a feather and carried it to the station wagon.

“What kind of monsters be that treat a child like this?” The usually reserved Teresa bristled in barely contained anger. Taking the back seat of the truck, she set on providing first aid to young boy.

----

Twenty-four years, three months and seventeen days ago,
New York City, New York, United States of America,

“Can I…? David?” The barely audible whisper clearly sounded over the pin drop silence of the room.
“Huh,” the dark skinned man sitting beside the bed roused from his half asleep state, looked up at the intruder. “Hey Charles, come in…come in.”

Carrying a large bouquet of assorted flowers, the young, dashing Charles Xavier stepped through the door and into the room located in the maternity ward of the Westchester County General Hospital.

On the bed lay, N’Dare Munroe, David’s wife and the mother of their newly born daughter, a bald, caramel skinned baby that lay a baby-cot beside her mother.

Setting the flowers at a safe distance, Charles headed towards the baby, a smile forming on his face at the cute frown on the baby’s face as he caressed her chubby cheeks, her hand bunched tightly near her face.

“Sweet child,” the newly appointed Professor of Psychology mused. “May you have everything in life and more…”
“From your lips to the Goddess’s ears,” N'Dare spoke from the bed, her tone tired and sleepy, but full of motherly love.
“Congratulations N’Dare, both of you,” Charles stood back up. “Have you decided on a name?”

“Yes,” David nodded; his pride and joy clearly written on his face. “It was N’Dare who suggested it.”

“Ororo, beauty….beautiful,” the mother whispered, and as if on cue, the child tilted its head towards her, revealing snow colored locks and she opened her eyes….

“Blue!” Charles’s squeaked, suddenly excited. “She’s got…”
“Blue eyes and white hair,” both parents smirked at him. An avid science nut, they knew that Charles would react this way.
“But…how?”
“N’Dare’s family…” was all David said, handing the explanation over to his wife.

“Its quite common in my family,” the regal African Princess explained. “White hair, cat like blue eyes, skin a bit lighter than that usually found in people from my tribe.”

“Like you have,” Charles pointed out. That was the first thing that he had noticed when he had met his friend David’s wife for the first time. Although having seen skin shades varying from almost back to a light brown in the people of African origin in America, it was the first time he had ever seen in a person who had just arrived from Africa…except for a few special cases, like N’Dare and now Ororo. The ones who were in America, had been there for generations. He could explain their skin condition, that is the lack, no, less amount of melanin in their skin, but with N'Dare, it was as if there was a glow in her skin, the same glow that he could see in her daughter…and once again, the scientist in his was intrigued.

“Drop it Charles. We all know what you are thinking, and yes, she already has more hair than you,” David caught onto the way the gears in his friend’s mind were turning. If given the time, he was sure that Charles would find an explanation for it, or spend his whole life trying. However, as far as he was concerned, he was not only content but also happy with his life. He had a wife that he still couldn’t believe agreed to marry him, and if that wasn’t enough, he now had a little princess of his own. There was nothing else that could make him happier, nothing else he wanted….except…. “Hey Charles, I hope you don’t mind…” he looked at N’Dare and got a confirmatory nod. “I…we have something to ask of you.”

“Yes?” Charles tore his eyes from the child. Seeing the three of them like this….only of things had gone differently in his life. ‘Moira,’ he bit down a bitter sigh. She had made her choice, her life…a life in which he had not position, no say; no nothing.

“We want….We would like…uh…”

“What David is trying to say…” the bolder N’Dare took things into her own hand. “..is that, we would like you to be Ororo’s godfather.”

The dumbstruck expression on Charles’s face would have been comical to both N’Dare and David, had it not been it for them.

“Charles?” For a moment, David thought that they had asked wrong. Even if they were friends, very good friends, and their race had never been an issue between them…maybe now….

“Meh..ugh,” Charles cleared his throat. “You want me to be…” noticing the apprehension rising in his friends’ eyes, he quickly recovered and nodded his head. “I’d be delighted.”
“You sure?” David asked to confirm.
“Why? You have anyone else in mind?”
“Uh…no.”
“Then its settled,” the newly crowned godfather stepped up to his goddaughter’s side.

“From this day forth, I Charles Francis Xavier am the godfather of this child, Ms. Ororo Monroe.”

----

Nineteen Years, eight month and two months ago,
City of Calgary, Alberta, Canada,

“What do you mean he ran away?” The shrill voice echoed through the halls of the Our Saints House for Children. An orphanage, it had been the home of one fifteen year old Logan, until that afternoon.

“He said he ain’t comin’ back?” The short statured boy squeaked in front of the mega-uber-witch, Mrs. Johnson. Warden, uh, caretaker of the home, the wart-witch was a terror that scared everyone, even her diminutive husband, Reginald, Reggie to his friends. The only person who dared to challenge her had been that Logan and although more than happy to lose him, Thelma was worried about the children’s aid she would losing out on.

“Why ain’t he comin’ back?”

“Uh, he says,” Jimmy Broflosky gulped. “He…said, that…he said that he was only stayin’ here causa Sister Teresa and since she ain’t no more, meaning she died, even he doesn’t have anythin’ here ta make him stay.”

“So, what’s he gonna do? Live out there himself?” Thelma bellowed as if challenging Jimmy to oppose her.

Instead of taking the ‘verbal’ bait, Jimmy just nodded dumbly.

“Well good riddance. Let the little fucker die for all I care.”

----

Nineteen years and one month ago,
Cairo, Egypt,

“Yes, can I help you?” The woman at the front desk at the US consulate looked up at the man standing before her.

“Yes,” the man nodded. “My name is Charles Xavier. I am here on an appointment.”
“Just a minute.”

Standing there, the only thought through Charles’s mind was how he was going to handle the situation that awaited him. From what he had heard, things were very bleak…very very bleak.

“You are here for Ororo right?” The woman’s doubt was clear in her eyes. “Do you have the papers and I’ll need to see him identification.”
“Yes,” Charles handed her the appropriate documents.

Gesturing towards the empty chair, the middle aged but slender women hurried off towards the door that let to the interior of the consulate.

The next time Charles saw her, she was not alone….but had a young five year old Ororo with her. The child’s shock and loss was clear in her eyes. Usually a bright blue, they had dulled to an almost grayish black.

“Ororo…” Charles called out softly. Bending down to the child’s level, he reached out and drew her in an embrace, his own heart breaking at the lifelessness in her body. Was this the same Ororo that would never sit quite for even a minute, always on the move, always trying something new…always causing and getting into trouble. ‘What happened to you child?’ He wanted to cry out…..but didn’t….he already knew the answer. His dear friends, David and N’Dare, both had perished in an accident, with Ororo just barely surviving the blast.

That was the reason he was here. Not to fulfill a duty, an obligation, but to fulfill a promise he had made all those years ago.

He had promised to be the child’s godfather and now, with her parents gone, he would fulfill that promise to the best of his ability.

He would be ‘try to be’ her father. Give her all his love….hopefully as much as her real parents had given her.

----

Present day,
Westchester, New York,

“Hiya Logan,” a loud young voice rang out from across the street.
“Hey kid.”

At the same time, several miles away, a class full of children stood up,

“Good morning Miss Monroe.”