Welcome to Generation X, Teacher
Chapter 1
By Yasmin M.

This story is rated PG-13 for language.

Disclaimer: Generation X and pretty much everything except Fauziah (Faez) Khalil belongs to Marvel. The rest belongs to me. Please don't sue, I'm not making any money off this beastie.

Note: I've had to change some things about Faez to make her fit into the X-Universe, but her personality (sarcasm et al) and thoughts are pure, unadulterated me. I want this to be a light-hearted story, so kindly hit me with a dead otter if it looks as if I'm about to angst. Italics indicate thoughts or emphasis. This is my first Gen-X fanfic, and comments/constructive criticisms are very much welcome. Flames will be shot into a black hole where they belong. Much chocolates/blame goes to Indigo, whose comment in OTL-L inspired this story.

Kota Kinabalu,
Sabah, Malaysia

No, it was not a dark and stormy day. In fact, it was rather sunny, untouched by the haze that plagued the town for the past few months. Unfortunately for the residents of Kota Kinabalu, it was scorching hot, roasting trees and people without mercy. The weather frayed tempers of the hot-headed (no pun intended) and brought perfectly normal homemakers to a screaming fit after finding that the taps are dry just when they're about to clean the fish. It was in this state of irritation that a certain young woman was found, talking to an old friend in America.

"Why me? For goodness' sake, Sean, can't you rope in someone from X-Men, X-Factor, Excalibur, or whatever spandex-wearing mutant superheroes you have now?" The speaker was an Asian in her late twenties, cradling a white-and-orange cat on her lap. She was vaguely pretty, with a fine pair of dark brown eyes and features that bespoke of a mixed racial heritage. But her skin was unusually pale and her body almost painfully thin.[1] Occasionally her eyes would glow behind wire-rimmed spectacles, as if emitting moonlight.

The voice on the other side was deep, male, and almost stereotypically Irish. "Now lass, ye know we haven’t much choice--"

"Thank you so much for the vote of confidence," she interrupted acerbically.

"Be reasonable, Faez. Emma and I cannae shoulder the teaching ourselves, and the others are too busy. Yuir the best candidate faer the job. Ye have a Master’s degree in English Literature, from the University of Kent nae less, and yuir a trained teacher.[2] Ye did spend a few months at Xavier’s, after all, and so yuir familiar with the X-Men."

"Always it leads to them. Look, I was young and foolish back then, okay? I actually believed in all that ‘peaceful co-existence’ crap. Real life just doesn’t work that way. I never had any desire to go jaunting around the world doing the superhero thang, and now I don’t even think that it’s the best solution to the "mutant problem". My God, Sean. From what you told me about the Academy, it sounds as if you’re training the next batch of mutant soldiers. You claimed that they were just supposed to get a good education, and training on how to control their powers. Feh."

She was on a roll now, ignoring the faint choking noises coming through the line. "Those kids are too isolated. How the hell are they going to survive in the future if their interaction with the outside world is limited to shopping trips and the battlefield? With only you and that Emma person to teach them. Did you have any idea what running a school is like, or did someone suddenly came up with the idea after a night of drinking? "Hey! Wouldn’t it be cool to have a school for young mutants?" Irresponsible twit. You don’t even have any qualified teachers! Why, I should just..."[3] she trailed off.

A long pause ensued before she finally regained her voice. "Sean?"

"Yes?"

"I’m going to kill you and hang your head on my wall."

"Regressing back tae our headhunter ancestors[4], are we now?" He laughed, a pleasant booming laugh that nevertheless made her wince. "Sae are ye taking t’offer?" he asked.

"Did you have any doubts? Yes, I’ll take it," she sighed. "And to think I was so enthusiastic about teaching at my old high school too. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were psychic."

"’Twas Kitty who told me that ye hate the new principal, lass."

"Really. I’ll have to thank her later. And Sean?"

"Yes?"

"Will I be able to bring my cat?"

Three months later

Massachusetts was cold. I shivered slightly at the airport, wishing that I had worn thicker socks. A lot of people about, but none seemed to be laser gun-toting members of the Friends of Humanity. Of course, appearances can be deceiving when it comes to the FOH. Sheesh, I really must tone down my paranoia. Thank goodness Malaysians are loyal to Malaysia first, and not to these blasted bigots with their call to murder their own countrymen. For once I’m glad of that particular Malaysian quirk: a deep-seated suspicion against foreigners in general.

My precognitive power proved to be useful, giving me a flash of Sean’s red-headed visage a few minutes before he came into view. He looked disgustingly chirpy, dressed in a rather well-worn Celtics jacket. Grinning widely, he shook my hand with vigor and enquired cheerfully, "How are ye, lass? Had a good flight?"

"Stuff it, leprechaun. The movies were boring and the so-called omelette made me sick.[5]" I was immediately sorry for my snappishness when I saw his crestfallen look. "Sorry, Sean. Could you please help me with my bags? I have to go and check on Panjang."

"Yuir cat?" He did not look in the slightest bit strained as he lifted my heavy suitcase. Growing old well, I thought rather maliciously. I envy him, to tell the truth. I'm not exactly a poster child for active living.

"Yes. He has to be quarantined for a few weeks. Hey, did you know that you have really rude Immigration officers in this country? So surly. Not even a smile and a nice greeting. Not at all like Malaysia. Efficient, but hardly pleasant for a traveller just arriving after a 16-hour flight."

Formalities done, he led me to a white limo that looked as if it belonged in Beverly Hills or a bad spoof. A liveried driver opened the door for us, and I found that the inside was every bit, if not more, as luxurious as the outside. Once comfortably seated, I tried to extend my precognition forward in time...

//flash//

blondewomanwhite. colddon’ttouchpower...

//flash//

smellofchalk. brightfirefireworks?celebration...

//flash//

blackblackblackmournburn. redspikesapplesblue...

//flash//

I was jerked back to the present by Sean’s hand shaking my shoulders softly. His green eyes were concerned and just a little disconcerted. I almost laughed. From my visions, I’d have thought that he would be used to the strange and bizarre by now.

"I’m all right. Just trying to get a handle on the school. Advanced warning, so to speak. Here, I brought you a gift from back home," I said, trying to stave off his questions. To my relief, he did not comment on my abrupt change of subject.

"I hope ‘tis nae more of yuir -- what d’ye call it? -- batik ties," he said warily.

I laughed, remembering the brightly-coloured monstrosities I bought the X-Men. "They were a joke, Irishman. As if I have that bad a taste," I chided as I handed him a wrapped package.

"Yes, but Bobby actually wore his," he grumbled. "We had tae make him burn it... what’s this?" he exclaimed. After much haphazard pulling and tearing, he finally exposed my gift. From his wide-eyed look, obviously he hadn’t been expecting that.

"It’s a letter opener. You know, the sharp thing you use to open envelopes? Looks a bit like a dagger, but slightly blunter and--"

He rolled his eyes at my sarcasm. "I know that, lass. This," he held up the silver blade, "doesnae look like an ordinary letter opener."

"You are quite right. It’s a replica of a kris.[6] Not as deadly as the real thing, of course."

"’Tis a pretty thing. Thank ye." He tested it carefully, then put it away as our talk turned to more mundane matters: the school, the various X-Teams, and Jean’s multiple lives. Except for the odd Christmas cards and e-mails, I rarely heard from them. I met Kitty a while back when I was in Kent, and often talked to Sean for the last three months, but that was it. Amazing what these people went through in the space of only a few years.

The driver coughed discreetly. "Sir, ma’am, we will arrive at the Academy in a few minutes."

"Please fasten your seatbelts. We will be landing shortly. Thank you for flying with Spandex Airlines," I murmured under my breath. Sean shot me an exasperated look, but said nothing. Good for him. As I rolled down the window, the school came into view, and I caught my breath.

"Oh my... is that the school? Sean, you should have sent pictures!" The Academy was impressive, perhaps even more than Xavier’s. Very beautiful, and expensive as hell. I noted the well-kept grounds, and the bloated greenhouse that must be the Biosphere.

"That would spoil t’surprise, wouldn't it now?" he laughed. I narrowed my eyes. The letter opener was beginning to look very tempting. I resisted its call and adjusted my black-and-green headscarf[7] instead. I wouldn’t want to look untidy on my first meeting with Generation X.

The car came to a sedate stop and Sean opened the door, probably too impatient to wait for the driver. He greeted the blonde woman I saw in my vision, and once he moved out of my line of sight I could see that the students were assembled at the front door.

We stared at each other.

Well.

[1] Except for the thinness, these pretty much describe me to a T. There’s a good reason for that slight parting of reality (weight-wise), which I’ll explain later.
[2] My mother was one.
[3] A fault of mine, I’m afraid. I tend to get too verbose at times.
[4] My father was descended from headhunters.
[5] Yes, I’m always this irritable after a long flight.
[6] Malay dagger/short sword. It has a very distinctive wavy blade. I have one in my bedroom.
[7] Yes, I wear one. I am a Muslim woman, afterall. And it’s nothing like a purdah, BTW. We call it "tudung" here.