Chapter Text
She stomped out of the doorway, sighing when she saw how dark it was outside. If that damn light hadn’t broken, she would’ve been out of here hours ago. She was so in her head it took her a few seconds after exiting the doorway to realize two men were standing there. She stared at them for a moment, but when they made no move to leave, she brought one of her hands up defensively.
“This is the stage door. Not a public entrance.” She looked around at the otherwise abandoned street. “And there aren’t any more shows tonight.”
One of the men stepped slightly closer, smiling. “We know. We’re here to see you.”
“You must be mistaken. I’m not an actor here. Not anyone you would know of. And hell, I’m not even supposed to be here this late.”
“I broke the light.” The other man had stepped forward.
She was getting genuinely frightened. The realization that she was alone with two strange men in an alleyway was sinking in. Hell, one of them had just admitted to a crime, seemingly just to make her stay late. Just as she started to think she needed to run, the shorter man put a hand in front of the other, making him take a step back. A look passed between the two of them, as she tried to figure out the fastest way to the subway stop.
“I promise you, we’re not here to hurt you. You don’t need to run.”
She blinked.
“My name is Charles Xavier. This is Erik Lehnsherr. We’re like you.”
“The fuck you are. You’re two men who just cornered me in an alley. And he--” She pointed at the man who was still quiet. Erik. “Just claimed he broke the light, which, one: you shouldn’t know that there was a broken light, and two: that’s quite literally impossible, as it has been flown out until I had to fly it in to fix it. You’re telling me you, what, climbed the wall just to break one stage light so you could corner me this late?”
“I didn’t climb the wall. I did this.” Erik flicked his hand, and the doorknob on the stage door flew off, flying until it was hovering between them. Only the adrenaline coursing through her stopped her from shrieking. “Here’s the bolt I took out.” He held out his hand, which she realized had been fisted by his side. In his palm was the very bolt that she’d just replaced from the yoke of the broken light.
I told you. We’re like you.
This time, she did let out a slight shriek as Charles’ voice seemed to echo through her mind. Erik was grinning, and Charles had two of his fingers lightly touching his temple.
Erik was the next to speak. “So… what do you do?” The question hung in the night air, as she tried to rationalize what was going on.
Fuck it, she ultimately decided, and she could swear she saw Charles’ mouth turn up slightly. She’d unpack that later. For now, she closed her eyes, seeing the men’s familiar nervous system bloom in the darkness behind her eyes. Carefully, she reached out to them in her head, brushing against the nerves in their arms slightly before pulling away all sensation from them.
“Holy sh--” The British voice had her opening her eyes, watching as the two of them grabbed at their arms, trying to stimulate the nerves. Grinning, she let all sensation flow back instantly.
They stared at her. Charles was looking at her like she was perfect, while Erik had his head cocked slightly, as though contemplating her deeply. She turned to Erik. “You couldn’t have at least given me the bolt earlier? I spent a solid 45 minutes looking for a spare. You’d better be glad I’m getting overtime, or else I’d be slapping you right now.”
The contemplation on his face slowly turned to a smile, though his head remained tilted. “Here you go.” The bolt floated slowly towards her and she reached out to grab it, twirling it slowly around in her fingers.
She took them to her small apartment, where they sat side by side on her couch. It was barely large enough to fit both men, and she left them to figure it out as she made her way to her bathroom. Dousing a rag in water, she washed off the concealer and foundation caked onto her face. She stripped off her long-sleeve shirt, leaving her in a small undershirt. She looked at herself in the mirror. Thousands of thin black lines originated from her eyes, travelling across her body. She worked each morning to cover them on her face, then wore long sleeves and pants every day. She wore gloves all day, ostensibly to protect her hands from the heat of the metal lights in the theater; really, though she wore them to hide the lines on her hands. She peeled them off, and finally walked back into the main room where the other two sat.
She leaned against the wall. “So. What’s this all about?”
Unsurprisingly, both men were staring at her newly revealed markings. They weren’t even very dark, as she wasn’t using her mutation at all. Still, neither of the mutants in front of her had any physical traits, so she supposed they may be surprised at hers. She knew only a few mutants beyond herself, and two of the four of them had similar experiences in trying to hide their more physical mutations.
“Are the markings a part of your mutation?” Charles asked, gesturing towards her.
“They’re a map of my nerves, I believe.”
Now Erik spoke. “And that’s what you do, then? Manipulate nerves?”
She nodded.
“You can take away pain.” It wasn’t a question, and it came from Charles.
“Well, yes, bu--”
“Incredible.”
“And what about you two?”
“I can manipulate metal and magnetic fields, and well, he’s a telepath.”
“Oh.” One of her mutant acquaintances was a powerful empath, but she had personally always doubted the existence of a true telepath.
“You know an empath?” Charles said, his voice slightly excited.
Cory winced ever so slightly, then began to purposefully keep her thoughts shallow. “Yes, I do.”
“And did she teach you how to do what you’re doing right now?”
Surprised, but slightly satisfied that her strategy was working, she answered. “She explained that when emotions are purposefully pushed to the surface, others get hidden by them. I figured it may be similar with thoughts.”
“A form of… mental shielding. Fascinating. I can’t even figure out your friend's name.”
“And you won’t. Most women, mutant or not, don’t appreciate strange men appearing at their place of work in the dark.”
Finally, Erik spoke again. “The alternative was appearing at your place of living. We figured the prior option was better.” A strange glance was sent to Erik from Charles, one she had to assume was based on a thought she, not being a telepath, wasn’t privy to. She did, however, catch the warning in Erik’s eyes as he glared back at the Brit.
Ultimately deciding whatever was going on between them was none of her business, she continued with trying to figure out why they were here. “You still haven’t answered my question. What is this all about?”
Charles answered. “We’re assembling a CIA team made of mutants.”
Cory snorted. “Yeah, right.” She expected the men to start laughing and explain what they were really here for.
Instead, Charles remained dead serious. “I assure you, it’s true. A different mutant, a dangerous one, is somewhere out there. We don’t know exactly what his plan is, but we know it’s not good.”
She stared at him for a solid 30 seconds, before ultimately deciding that he wasn’t fucking with her. Biting her lip ever so slightly, she tried to process what he’d said. “How many mutants are on this team?”
They looked at one another. She internally groaned -- clearly they weren’t proud of the answer. “As of now, it consists of Erik, myself, my sister, and two other mutants who have agreed.”
She let out a small laugh. “So… five?”
“We hope to recruit more.”
“ Hope .”
“Many are… unreceptive.”
She shook her head. “Listen. I am not going to turn over my life for two men with a hero complex. I appreciate you coming to ask me about… this , but I won’t be a part of it.”
Erik, who had been silent up until then, sat straighter on the couch. “How long does it take you to do your makeup each day?”
She looked to him. “What?”
“And what happens if you need to take your gloves off?”
“I don’t. Or if I absolutely must, I dirty them with some grease or something. People only really see what they expect.”
“And what is it they see in you? What is it they expect?”
She shrugged. “A human.”
“But you’re more than that. If you come with us, people we see that you are more than that. No more gloves. No more hours of makeup. Just you. A mutant.”
She dropped down onto the old armchair across from the couch. “Well, you’re certainly more convincing than he is.”