Title: Take a Mutant to Lunch

Author: Layla Voll ([email protected])

Website: none

Rating: G

Pairing / Main characters: Cyclops, Iceman, Gambit, Bishop

Series/Sequel: complete

Summary: A handful of "lucky" X-Men participate in a local's school tolerance and diversity program.

Disclaimer: The Take A Mutant To Lunch program and the answering machine message belong to Gladys Hammonds, as seen in the wonderful story "Don't Let Her Play With Dolls." (http://members.aol.com/supersoul/dolls3.txt) Characters and places you recognize, as well as the universe the story is set in, belong to Marvel. The story itself, such as it is, belongs to me. Any comments are welcome, particularly about any X-Men history I've accidentally made up.
Corrections might be made in the interests of accuracy.

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Take a Mutant to Lunch

By Layla Voll

 

Scott Summers scrolled through the hundreds of Xavier.edu e-mail messages, deleting unread MAKE MUNNEY FAST!!!! and BEWARE GOODTIMES VIRUS!!!! and DIE MUTIE SCUM!!!! and anything else in all caps and exclamation points. He forwarded others to their intended recipients, mostly graduate students and researchers trying to get in touch with Professor Charles Xavier or Dr. Henry McCoy; he himself answered the reporters looking for sound bite reactions to the latest mutant crisis; and he filed away cryptic feelers from mutant underground contacts for further research. Then, with a sigh, he turned to the voice mail messages, doing the same weeding out process: deleting the random obscene phone calls, making note of a potential new student, and feeding individual messages into the correct voice mail boxes. At times like this, he was very glad Jubilee was up at the Academy in Massachusetts.

"You have no more new messages in this mail box."

Thank you, he told the electronic operator, and turned to the next item on his To Do list, preparing the agenda for the morning meeting. Except that the message light on the phone was still on. Odd. He checked the mailbox again, but no new messages had come in. He listened to the whole electronic menu all the way through, even the parts he usually star keyed through, and was finally rewarded when the operator told him "Mail box 3 has one new message." Mailbox three? What was that? He punched up the outgoing message.

"You have reached the School for Gifted Youngsters. If you wish to report a dangerous mutant sighting, press 1. If you suspect that you, your child, or your neighbor is a mutant, press 2. If you would like to join our Take a Mutant to Lunch program to promote human-mutant relations, press 3. Otherwise, leave a message after the tone. Have a nice day."

Ah. The Take a Mutant to Lunch program. Whose bright idea had that been? Anyway...

"Hi. Um, this is Ms. Bertinelli. I teach eighth grade social studies at West Salem Junior High, and I wondered if you would have lunch with some of my students. We're doing the Diversity and Tolerance unit, you see, and each of the boys and girls have to meet individually with someone in that, er, field. I have four students who were interested in exploring issues of diversity and tolerance with, um, mutants, and I hoped they could each, well, take a mutant to lunch."

Scott groaned and took down the telephone number. He decided to make it agenda point number five, putting it down low to soften everyone's resistance.

***

"Okay, so that's decided." Finally. "As long as the women's locker room showers are broken, men and women will alternate days taking showers first after morning Danger Room sessions. Anyone scheduling additional Danger Room sessions may use the showers, but you need to put up a sign on the door specifying your gender, which Bobby has 'volunteered' to make. Anyone putting up a sign with the incorrect gender gets dishwashing duty for a week. Any further comments?" Betsy looked set to bring up her desperate need for a good shower after her morning jog yet again, but he had studiously ignored her broad hints that the shower in the boathouse would be the most convenient one. "Item number five. The Take a Mutant to Lunch program." He overrode the confused murmurs with the ease of long practice. "Some time ago we instituted the Take a Mutant to Lunch program in order to improve public relations. No one has ever taken us up on it. Until now. I received a call this morning from an eighth grade teacher who wants four mutants to take four of her students to lunch. Any volunteers?"

Dead silence. The sound of ten adult men and women who apparently believed they were invisible as long as they didn't catch his attention. Scott rolled his eyes unnoticed, one of the great advantages of ruby quartz glasses. "Okay. Thanks for your enthusiasm. We'll just have to pick candidates the fair way and draw lots."

"I don' notice you volunteering-"

"I really don't think I-"

"Whose bright idea was this, anyway?"

But, like all unpopular ideas, it was an orphan.

"Write your name on a slip of paper - yes, your name, Bobby - and put it in - and legibly, Bobby - put it in this mug." There was a pause in which only the faint sound of pencils scratching was heard. Too few pencils scratching. "Betsy? Warren? You too, Remy."

"Gambit be lookin' forward to havin' lunch with a little girl."

"Remy!"

"Mebbe a pretty little girl, non?"

"REMY!"

"Remy, you can't get out of this by pretending to be outrageous," Jean said reasonably. "We all have to take our chances."

"Bishop din'."

"I did not think that my presence-"

"If Bishop don' haf to, I don' haf to."

"Okay. Fine. Bishop?" Scott tried to memorize the shape of the slip Bishop handed him. Bishop being taken to lunch by a 20th century junior high school girl was not an image he particularly wanted to entertain. "Are we missing anyone else?"

"Lo--- erm."

"Yes, Bobby?"

"I said, 'No. Erm.' "

Since no one else brought up any other wayward X-Men, Jean shook the slips and handed the mug back to Scott.

"Bobby." The first volunteer groaned theatrically.

"Remy." The second sighed and gave Rogue a wink. "Guess our lunch plans are on hold, eh, chere?"

"Uh, Bishop." The soldier from the future received his orders stoically.

"And... myself. Well. That's it for today. I'll call the school and set up an appointment."

The X-Men filed out, back to doing whatever they had been doing. Scott casually cornered Storm.

"I noticed that our four volunteers are all men, and I thought perhaps that might give the kids the wrong idea...."

"No, Scott."

Scott sighed and made his way back to the office, coincidentally catching up to Betsy on the way. "Hi, Betsy. Say, I noticed that the lunch people are all men, and I thought that in the interests of gender equity..."

"No, Scott."

He sat down at the desk. One last shot before he picked up the phone.

Jean?

No.

Just thought I'd ask.

***

So, two days later, it was a sadly gender-imbalanced group that met four students outside of Harry's Hideaway. "Hello. We're from Xavier's Institute. I'm Scott Summers; this is Bobby Drake; this is Remy LeBeau; this is..." Damn. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "This is Bishop." Bishop glared at the kids, daring them to question the singularity of his name. "I suppose we should just pair off and go in?" Scott looked hopefully at the group, willing them to move and take that one step closer to getting out of there. Fortunately, one studious-looking boy stepped forward to join him, and the rest followed suit. He winced briefly as he saw the cute blonde in the short skirt move unerringly for Gambit. It was only lunch. She was only thirteen. Gambit didn't even like blondes. He hoped.

His partner introduced himself as Todd, and they moved to a table in the corner.

"Okay. We made up these questions beforehand? And you can just answer them?"

Scott sighed with relief. This wouldn't be so bad.

"First question: when did you discover you were a mutant?"

Standard question. He'd expected it, and hoped the conversation would remind the kids that their fellow classmates might be discovering mutant powers right now, and to be tolerant of accidental outbursts. "I was fourteen. My powers kicked in when I was in the middle of a busy downtown area. I knocked over a crane, endangering some of the people there, but managed to demolish the crane entirely before anyone was injured."

"Wow. And, second question, those powers are?"

"Optic beams. Lasers shoot out of my eyes," he clarified. "These glasses help to control them."

***

"Right." The small girl with purple streaks in her hair had commandeered Bishop. Her eyebrow rings glinted as she tossed her head. Bishop guessed that the hair was not a natural mutant manifestation. "How old were you when you discovered you were a mutant?"

Bishop regarded the girl across the table. I was eight, and mutant Emplates were attacking my sister in the ruins of a city that is whole and undamaged in this era. "Eight."

"What is your mutant power?"

An easy question. "I absorb and rechannel energy."

Great, Marti thought. I get the talkative one.

***

"So, like, when did you discover you were a mutant?"

"Gambit not half as adult, or half as pretty as you, chere, when he discov'r he a mutant."

"Huh?"

"I was about ten, chere."

"My name is Caitlin."

"Non, non. Chere is, is just chere. It's French."

"Ooooh!" she squealed. "I know French! I'm in second year French! Here. Wait. Umm... Jer. Mapple. Caitlin."

Gambit winced.

***

"There are these questions I'm supposed to ask." The younger boy rummaged through the pockets of his jeans, pulling out many things, but nothing that looked remotely like a homework assignment. "Hold on. I'm sure Todd has them." Bobby watched his kid go over to table where Scott and the serious-looking kid were happily ticking off agenda items together. There was a brief conversation, and then he returned. "I'm back," he said, unnecessarily. "Aww... I need paper. Hold on." Back to Scott and Todd. Back to Bobby. "I'm back. Aww... I need a pencil."

"No problem," Bobby said, sympathizing with the kid. "I'll just take one from the bar." And he leaned headfirst over the counter, rummaging around the limes and swizzle sticks to retrieve a pen. "Voila!"

"Cool! Umm.. first question. When did you discover you were a mutant?"

"I was eleven, and I was sitting in my cousin's wading pool, in the middle of summer, and it suddenly froze up on me. That's my power, see: I make snow and ice. Surprised the heck outta me."

"Heh. Umm.. what's your power? Oh. You just answered that."

***

Todd rolled his eyes at Matt's second trek back to his supposed lunch date, and Scott cringed as he watched Bobby dive headfirst over the bar, feet up in the air. They sighed in unison and turned back to the issues at hand.

"Have you ever encountered problems because you were a mutant?"

"Oh, sure. We get hate mail and obscene phone calls just because the Institute does mutant research. And I've run into problems in trying to rent an apartment or even just with people making rude comments in restaurants, much like a lot of minorities. However, I'm not an obvious mutant, so I don't bear the brunt of anti-mutant bigotry. On the other hand, one of my close friends is one of the smartest, kindest men I know. He's a doctor, and he has a Ph.D. But he's also blue and furry, and whenever he goes out, people always act as if he's going to eat their children. It's sad." Another question he'd prepared for.

Todd took all that down dutifully. "Last question. What's the best part about being a mutant?"

Scott paused. He hadn't expected that one, and decided to answer it as honestly as he could. "Well, I think if I hadn't been a mutant, I wouldn't have met my wife."

***

"Have you ever encountered problems because you were a mutant?"

Problems. As a child I was penned away in camps, branded with the M you see on my face, and then we escaped to live on the streets where my sister and I were hunted by murderous maniacs. "Yes."

Ooookay. "What's the best part about being a mutant?"

"Being able to serve and protect others," Bishop said promptly.

***

"Je m'appel Remy."

"Huh?"

"Je m'appel Remy."

"Wow! You really are French!"

Gambit didn't bother to correct her. "Et tu es tres jolie, chere."

"Huh?"

***

"So. Have you ever had any problems because you were a mutant?"

"Well, yeah. I didn't tell anyone I was a mutant for a long time, until this bully started threatening my girlfriend. So I put him on ice, literally. But then the other kids, and even some grownups, were pretty scared of me. And sometimes when kids are scared, they can also be pretty mean. I finally, er, switched schools and the other students there were more tolerant."

"Bummer. Anyway. What's the best part of being a mutant?"

Bobby winked. "The awesome snowball fights. That and this." He leaned closer to Matt, taking him in with a conspiratorial whisper. "Watch the guy at the back table. The guy in the green suit."

That was the man who suddenly discovered his entire drink was a single ice cube that shot out and hit him in the face. Bobby and Matt choked with laughter, and the fact that Scott and Todd turned around to glare at them only sent them into more helpless convulsions.

***

"I'm sorry," Todd began, but Scott cut him off.

"No, believe me, I should be apologizing to you."

"You were saying how you had a crush on this girl in high school?"

Scott hesitated. "Right. Jean. She was - is - the most beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman I have ever met. And back then, well... I know I'm no Leonardo DiCaprio" - he mentally congratulated himself for remembering the name from Jubilee's latest letter - "In high school they used to call me 'Slim'. I was your basic study geek." Todd couldn't imagine this handsome, muscular man ever being an unremarkable geek named Slim. "And, of course, there were plenty of other, much handsomer guys flirting with Jean all the time."

"What happened?" Todd asked breathlessly.

"Well, she turned out to like quiet skinny guys," Scott said, wondering again at the miracle of it all.

Todd sighed. A true fairy tale. "Do you, um, do you have..."

"Would you like to see a picture of her?"

***

"So. " Marti picked at her food some more and finally asked the question she'd really wanted to ask all along. "What's with the thing over your eye?"

"This?" Bishop touched the M which had been a part of him since childhood. "It's a tattoo. An M. It stands for mutant."

"Huh. Wish I could get a tattoo. My brother got one and my parents were pretty torqued, but if I got one they would absolutely hit the roof."

He would never, never understand this century. "That seems foolish."

"What, that I want a tattoo?" she said, bridling at the suggestion.

"That your parents would react differently to you and your brother getting a tattoo. My sister has a tattoo identical to mine."

"Really?" Marti breathed. "Is she a mutant, too?"

"Yes. She and I both used our powers to protect civilians, although she was a commander in the... police, and I was not."

"That didn't bother you? That she outranked you?"

Bishop was genuinely surprised. "No. Not at all. She was more ambitious, she wanted it more, and, I think, she was probably better qualified for higher rank." Bishop hesitated before going on, but decided that both this little girl and Shard herself deserved the truth. "It only bothered me at times because she took more chances, more risks. And she was killed for it. It is one of the reasons I am proud to wear this M. It stands for Mutant, and I am proud to be a mutant, but I am also proud because my sister wore it, too, and it is a link to her."

Marti looked up at his impassive face and wanted to cry.

***

"Too Ay - You are - Tray - umm, wait, don't tell me, I had this one - Very! - Too Ay Tray - You are very - zoli. Zoli."

"Jolie."

"Zhoe-lee. Zhoe-lee. Zhoe-lee."

Gambit gave up and leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

"Pretty! 'You are very pretty!' Oh! How sweet!"

***

"Okay, this is another trick I learned in college. You take the pasta, and you have to start by breathing it up your nose," Bobby instructed.

"You're kidding."

"No, really. Watch closely."

***

Someone's mother, probably Todd's, appeared in the doorway to car pool the kids back to West Salem. Scott shook hands all around, and the X-Men got into their own car and drove off.

"Hey, that wasn't too bad."

"Speak for yourself, Bobby," grumbled Gambit.

***

A few days later Ms Bertinelli's eighth grade social studies class heard oral reports on Tolerance and Diversity.

"Now, what did we learn from our field interviews?"

"I learned that minorities are sometimes discriminated against when they try to rent apartments and this is bad," said a girl who'd visited the Westchester DA's office.

Jenni yawned in the back row and added a mane to the galloping horse she was drawing.

"I learned that we need to stop racism early by teaching children not to hate," said the next student.

The Take a Mutant to Lunch kids looked at each other in a panic. Their mutants hadn't given them any clever soundbites.

"Well? Todd?"

"Er... I learned that sometimes you can marry the girl you have a crush on in high school." Todd sat down, blushing bright red.

"I learned that girls should have tattoos, too."

Jenni looked up for the first time all period. Wow. That Mutant Lunch thing sounded kind of cool.

"I learned that French people are really picky about your accent when you're speaking French."

"I learned this really cool trick where you take spaghetti up your nose and it comes out your mouth. I will be demonstrating my new skills in the cafeteria at lunchtime today."

Ms. Bertinelli sighed, hushed the groans of disgust from the class, and turned to a group of students who had visited the West Salem Mayor's office where he had discussed his views on racism (bad) and education (good).

***

"Class dismissed." And the heathens dashed into the hallway, chattering away.

"You know, he was really nice. He told me it was sort of like an assignment for him, too, and he was just as nervous as me at first. Then he showed me a picture of his wife - the one he had a crush on in high school? She was gorgeous."

"He really said he didn't mind his sister outranking him? That must be a mutant thing - my brother would die first."

"Oh, he was so cute! Well, maybe not as cute as Dawson, but, like, way sexier. And he said I was pretty!"

"Yeah, I laughed so hard milk came out my nose. That's my new rule. Only trust people who've had milk shoot out their nose."

Back in the classroom, Ms. Bertinelli checked off the assignment in her ledger book, hesitating before putting ticks by the Take a Mutant to Lunch kids. They'd obviously done the assignment. It was just too bad they hadn't learned anything. She mentally crossed off the program for next year, and walked out into the corridor, not hearing a word the kids were saying.

 

END

 

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