Chapter Text
The first day of Charles Xavier's freshman year of high school, his entire life was ruined, and he didn't even know it until he was called down to the office during sixth period. He sat in the waiting room with the summons that had been delivered to his English class and bounced his knee as he went over every horrible scenario that could have prompted this meeting. He had just settled on the untimely death of his mother by his stepfather's hand and was preparing his own reaction to this senseless tragedy when Principal Worthington stepped out of his office and said, “Charles Xavier?”
Charles entered the principal's office and was surprised to see someone familiar standing off to the side by the filing cabinets: the tallish, slim, stern-faced man who had helped him find his biology class earlier when Charles had gotten confused. Charles waved to him, but the man did not wave back, so Charles turned to Mr. Worthington and asked, puzzled, “Is this about how I was tardy to Biology? It's just, I didn't know you had to go through 220A to get to 221B, so—”
“No, no,” Mr. Worthington said with a smile. “Nothing like that. Go ahead and have a seat.” Charles sat down in one of the chairs in front of Mr. Worthington's desk. Mr. Worthington sat across from him, and spread his wings out casually as soon as he was comfortable. Charles couldn't help but stare a little. “Having a good first day, Charles? Aside from getting a little lost on the way to Biology, that is.”
“Yeah,” Charles said. “Um, it's been good.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mr. Worthington smiled again, a warm, soothing smile. “And, of course, you've already met our own Mr. Lensherr.” He nodded to the man standing in front of the filing cabinets.
Charles glanced at Mr. Lensherr again. Still no smile from him. “Uh-huh. He helped me when I was lost.”
“Yes.” Mr. Worthington looked down at his desk and coughed. “Yes. Well... good.” He picked up a pen and tapped it against his blotter. “Charles, this may seem like an a rather strange change of subject, but please bear with me.”
“Okay,” Charles said, wiping his palms on his corduroy pants.
“Your medical forms say that you're an omega?” Mr. Lensherr snorted, and Charles blushed. Mr. Worthington gave Mr. Lensherr a warning look, then turned back to Charles. “Please don't feel you have to be ashamed or embarrassed. We're all mutants here, and of course our conversation is completely confidential.”
Charles wasn't entirely certain what to say, so he just nodded. When Mr. Worthington didn't go on, he ventured a small, “I am.”
“And they've... explained things to you, haven't they? At least the basics?” Mr. Worthington now looked as though he were moving into less comfortable territory, so Charles took pity on him and nodded again. “Good. Very good. So you know, of course, that there are some mutants who are alphas. Male alphas aren't any different from human men, except that they pursue omegas almost exclusively...” Here, Mr. Worthington began to falter, and glanced over at Mr. Lensherr, who sighed loudly.
“I smelled you out. You're mine,” Mr Lensherr growled. He sighed again when Charles's eyes went wide and paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Or you're going to be. Not now, but soon. Someday. Shit.” Mr. Lensherr turned his back on Charles and stalked toward the door, giving one of the filing cabinets a kick as he passed. The loud, reverberating clang made Charles jump. Mr. Lensherr stretched his hand toward the filing cabinet and there was a bang of reversion as the dent he'd made popped itself back out.
“Erik,” Mr. Worthington said in a low, warning voice. “Control yourself, please.” Mr. Lensherr laughed sharply. “For Charles's sake.”
“Oh yes,” Mr. Lensherr said, faintly mocking. “We mustn't upset the children.” He came up behind Charles's chair and rested his hands on the back of it, very carefully not touching any part of Charles. “Do you know what this means, Mr. Xavier?”
Charles twisted around in his seat so he could look up at Mr. Lensherr. “No?”
Mr. Lensherr bent his knees and leaned forward in order to properly loom over Charles. “It means that you are going to make the next four years of my life a living hell.”
“Erik!” Mr. Worthington stood and his wings snapped to attention. “I said, control yourself!”
“So fire me!” Mr. Lensherr cried as he backed away from Charles. “Kick me out! A fourteen year old child? This whole thing is absurd!”
Mr. Worthington stood and herded Mr. Lensherr out the door, shielding Mr. Lensherr from Charles's view with one wing and saying in low, soothing tones, “Go on and wait in the next office, Erik. Sheryl, could you get Emma Frost down here? She's always better with this sort of thing. Thanks so much.” When Mr. Lensherr was safely out of the office, Mr. Worthington closed his door again. He turned to Charles with an apologetic smile and said, “I'm sorry, he was keeping himself together so well before you got here. Perhaps I should have known it wouldn't last.”
“He... smelled me?” Charles asked, still shocked by Mr. Lensherr's outburst.
“Yes,” Mr. Worthington said slowly. “I gather that some alpha males are especially sensitive to scent when it comes to their, er, 'mates.'”
“I'm his mate?”
Mr. Worthington steepled his fingers and regarded Charles solemnly. “From his perspective, yes. But from the school's perspective? Certainly not. At least, not until you graduate.”
“What about my perspective?”
Mr. Worthington shrugged. “Your perspective is up to you, Charles. Frankly, I don't blame you if you find the whole thing distasteful right now. You're young. You shouldn't feel obligated to live your life as if you're already attached, you know.”
Charles crossed his arms, trying to make himself feel more secure. Mr. Lensherr had seemed so nice that morning, despite his imposing looks, and Charles hated knowing that he'd had an ulterior motive. “I don't feel attached to him,” he said.
“From what I understand, most omegas don't. At least not at first. I suppose it's just as well.” There was a soft knock on his office door, and Mr. Worthington said, “Is that you, Miss Frost?” Apparently, the answer was affirmative, and so he said, “Come in, then. You're not interrupting.”
The door opened and pale, blonde Miss Frost stepped in. Her mannerisms were surprisingly reserved despite her very striking appearance. “Hello, Charles,” Miss Frost said aloud. In Charles's head, however, she continued: Out of my class for barely five minutes and already getting into trouble?
i haven't done anything, Charles thought back.
Unhelpfully, Mr. Worthington said, “Miss Frost is a telepath too, Charles.”
“I know,” Charles said. It came out sounding more rude than he meant it to, so he added, “She's my English teacher.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Worthington said. “I'm going to make Miss Frost your advisor, Charles. I think she will be very helpful as you navigate this difficult time in your life.” He scrawled a note in Charles's file. “If you don't have any more questions for me, then I'm afraid I'll have to turn you over to Miss Frost. The day continues on, you know.”
“Just—I mean, are you going to tell my parents?” Charles looked from Mr. Worthington to Miss Frost and back. He felt terribly young and helpless all of a sudden, and wished that he could rewind everything to that morning, when he'd considered himself so grown-up because he was finally really in high school.
“There is a confidentiality clause that applies in a case like this, but that's more for Mr. Lensherr's sake than yours,” Mr. Worthington said. “The school won't be informing your parents, Charles, unless Mr. Lensherr oversteps his bounds. But I certainly encourage you to tell them yourself.” Charles nodded, thinking privately that there was no way he was ever going to sit down at dinner that evening and tell his mother and Kurt that, on his first day of high school, one of the teachers had... what? Fallen in love with him? Charles wasn't even entirely clear on this much. He understood that his world had blurred and shifted into something else, something far different from what it had been that morning, but he couldn't see exactly how. “Anything else?” Charles shook his head. “Well, then. Go ahead and follow Miss Frost.” Charles stood while Mr. Worthington scribbled something out on a hall pass. When he was finished, he tore the pass off the pad and handed it to Charles. “For when you're ready to go back to class,” he explained.
Miss Frost steered him out of Mr. Worthington's office and around a corner to a small meeting room with a round table. It was empty. “Where's Mr. Lensherr?” Charles asked as he took a seat. Just then, the bell rang.
Miss Frost didn't wait for it to stop before answering his question. Home, she thought, or on his way. I'm afraid today's events shook him rather more than he wanted to admit.
is he in love with me? Charles asked, feeling dumb.
Miss Frost's answering smile didn't make him feel any smarter. Oh sugar , she thought, right now he probably hates you . She took a seat across from Charles. But he'll get over it.
i don't understand! Charles sniffed and was alarmed at the prospect of crying in front of Miss Frost. this doesn't make any sense.
Think of it this way, Miss Frost thought after a moment. Finding your mate is supposed to be exciting and pleasurable, isn't it? Like coming home after being gone for a long time. And not just for mutants, I suppose. Charles nodded, and she went on. It's supposed to be something you're proud to share with others.
“But Mr. Lensherr can't tell anyone about me,” Charles whispered.
No, Miss Frost agreed, nor would he want to.
because i'm just a kid , Charles thought miserably. He was more dismayed at this reminder of how immature he was than at Mr. Lensherr's predicament. well, why doesn't he just go find someone his own age?
I'm sure he's tried , Miss Frost thought with amusement. But I will pass along the suggestion . When Charles glared at her, she sighed and said, “Charles, he can't .”
“Why not?”
“Well, he won't want to, now that you've signaled to him that you're perfect.”
“I didn't give him any signals!” Charles gasped.
Not that you know about. Miss Frost winked, and Charles squirmed in his seat. I'm sorry, hon. Your biology did the talking for you.
Charles slumped down over the table and rested his chin in his hands. does this happen often? Miss Frost shook her head. so why don't they just fire him?
Miss Frost hesitated. They don't have good cause to. At least, unless he touches you.
Charles could feel her discomfort and it made him uneasy. he said i was going to make his life hell. why doesn't he just quit?
I'm sure he'll seriously consider it, at least for the next few weeks, she thought. But in the end, I don't think he'll want to leave. He'll probably want to stay to keep an eye on you. This made Charles feel creepy. Miss Frost obviously sensed that and hurried to add, Besides, he likes this job. He said he got too frustrated with his old one.
what was his old job?
Mutant rights advocacy. He was a lobbyist in Washington for several years.
huh. Charles wasn't sure what to make of this. Being a lobbyist sounded far nicer to him than being a high school teacher. does he teach government?
No, physics. That's what his degree is in, although from what I gather he spent most of college working his way into the political world. Miss Frost tipped her head to one side. Sometimes he'll help the debate team, though.
what's his mutation? Charles asked.
Metal manipulation, Miss Frost answered. And being a pain in everyone's ass, apparently. She waited while Charles giggled. He was part of the group that pushed for an officially integrated human and mutant public school , she added when she knew Charles was listening.
oh.
The original idea was to get an all-mutant school together, but since that didn't materialize, this was the next best thing. Charles picked at his nails and didn't respond. He's not a bad man , Miss Frost finally thought. You could do far worse .
hadn't thought about it, Charles responded. i'm fourteen .
Really, Charles , she thought. There are plenty of men who wouldn't have come and told the administration right away. Plenty of men who would not have told you. Who would have watched you from afar for years— her thoughts stretched and hesitated— who might not have stopped at watching.
Charles wrinkled his nose. but he could still—
He could , Miss Frost thought firmly. But he won't .
but how do you know?
Because I've read his mind.
oh. Charles kicked at the floor, scuffing the toe of his sneaker on the carpet. i don't like to do that too much. it makes people nervous.
I find it makes life run far more smoothly. Miss Frost flipped her perfect blonde waves over her shoulder. It eliminates uncertainty .
maybe , Charles thought, unconvinced. He sighed and said, “I was going to go out for cross-country.”
You still can , Miss Frost thought, but Charles detected a sliver of worry between her words. Mr. Lensherr will adapt. That's his job, as your coach and teacher.
“We'll see,” Charles said. “May I go to class now?”
“If you're ready,” Miss Frost said. Charles nodded. “Fine. It's just as well, really, since there are twenty-five or so sophomores I'm meant to be terrorizing right now.” Charles smiled at that, and Miss Frost smiled back. “Come see me if you run into trouble.”
“OK,” Charles said, standing up and moving toward the door.
And don't forget your homework for tomorrow , Miss Frost thought as she held the door open for him. No excuses .
***
That evening, after Charles had finished writing and printing out his journal entry for Miss Frost on their summer reading, he did a search on Google for information on alpha and omega pairs. He was not exactly shocked to see that a lot of the results were pornographic, but he carefully avoided those in favor of the Wikipedia page, some blogs with names he trusted, and newspaper articles. Yet everything he read there seemed to him distressingly vague. No one knew exactly why alpha males chose the mates they did or why they became so attached so quickly. The current theory posited that this “imprinting” phenomenon stemmed from a need for mutants to be as genetically compatible as possible for the sake of reproduction. This made sense to Charles, but he was disappointed to see that none of the studies he could find had managed to prove anything conclusively or determine how alphas knew a particular omega's DNA was compatible with their own. One thing Charles learned with no small degree of annoyance was that imprinting was more common in same-sex pairs—presumably because heterosexual mutants had a lot more to choose from in the way of finding people to have sex with, and so the urgency of imprinting was diminished. He also read a survey suggesting that male alpha/omega couples were more likely to incorporate violence into their sex and courtship than were female alpha/omega couples, which he did not like one bit.
So, instead of continuing to read about the subject that was relevant to him, he clicked through the blogroll on Jezebel and wound up backreading the blog of a feminist alpha which documented lesbian life with a clitoral phallus. Pictures were included: some tastefully explicit, but most just pleasant snapshots of her with her partner and friends. It was fascinating, but very far removed from Charles's own life, and so Charles stayed up until one a.m. reading her entries and trying to forget what had happened to him on his first day of high school.