Birds in the tree sing a song for me
About being young and foolish and naive
I haven't changed that much from what i see
I was only trying to make things right
Young and Foolish - Corinne Bailey Rae
"She is a thief!"
A young Ororo looked up at the dark haired woman in her tailored three piece suit. The bun was so tight on the woman's head, Ororo thought her temples were going to explode. She reminded Ororo of a vulture the way her large nose seemed to hang over her thin lips. The crow's feet around the woman's eyes told Ororo that either the woman had to be in her mid-thirties to late forties or she just aged extremely horribly.
She looked from the woman to the man in the wheelchair.
Earlier she had jokingly asked to shine his head for a nickel when she wandered the shopping center. He simply smiled at her and the red haired girl pushing him stifled a small giggle as the boy in glasses kept a straight face.
Now, she was about to be sent to jail by the very same man because she had gotten caught stealing in a store that he apparently owned.
Just her luck he had come to browse the store with his two children no less when Ororo needed money.
"Sir, Mr. Xavier, please let me handle the situation. It is the holidays and you know how thieves love to lurk the mall when it's so busy like this. I will call mall security and she will back at her foster home on no time."
At least the woman had enough decency to not want to throw her in jail.
"In my opinion, she should be in jail."
Nevermind.
Fifteen years old and at the peak of her career of crime, Ororo had been on top of her game. She had known she could get away with most things because of her looks. It had nothing to do with her being pretty, it was just the simple fact that she looked so damned odd. A black girl with sapphire blue eyes and hair whiter than the snow that fell from the sky. People would stare so often, she had taken the habit of taking advantage of their ignorance by getting money, jewelry or anything that she could use to feed herself.
Of course, now she was going to starve because Miss Prissy here had decided to catch her and show her off to the owner of the store. She really wasn't surprised that the woman made a fuss and declared she be sent off immediately. She just...
"I hate it there," she spoke up, looking down and pushed stray hair from her face.
"Obviously you don't hate it enough if you decide to follow this path." The woman motioned her hand out dramatically to the store.
"Well, I gotta' eat and there ain't nobody else feeding me!" She retorted, jerking her arm out of the woman's grasp.
Perfect.
Ororo took off in a sprint, her dirty sneakers kicking up behind her and hands like blades. She laughed and looked over her shoulder. Every time she made a run for it, she thought about the Gingerbread Man. That was the story they read to the "children" at her foster home every Christmas. Of all the stories to read to children who had now become teenagers, those two idiots chose the god damned Gingerbread Man story.
Linda and Neil Peacock. God, she hated the names. She hated the people. It was damn near four years and she was still living with these people. Linda was so neurotic, the kids were afraid to walk in front of her without her snapping or bringing a hand to their face. And Neil... well, Neil was quite fond of Ororo and that reason alone made her never want to come back.
The night she ran away she had to fight Neil off her as if she were the adult. All the while, Neil, putting his erect penis on Ororo's thigh and gyrating, telling her that she was a woman now and she would do the things Linda no longer did.
Before Ororo had kneed him in the groin she screamed that she wasn't his "fucking wife" and had jumped out of the window fully dressed before any of the other children or Linda had made it to the room.
"Come back here!" The woman yelled after Ororo but they couldn't catch her. Didn't they read the fucking Gingerbread Man story?
Her hair fell from her messy ponytail she had donned and she turned back around, running into a large uniform clad chest and fell back with an "oomph".
One monstrously large hand reached down and pulled her up gruffly by the arm.
"Ow," she winced as his blunt fingernails dug into her skin. "That hurts. Come on, I gave it back. It's not like I kept it. I gave it right back!" She tussled and fought with the police officer but successfully failed at a second escape. It looked as if she were going back to that blasted foster home tonight. What a wonderful Holiday she was having.
"You can let her go," an accent that sounded vaguely like her mother's made her stop her ridiculous fighting with the officer and she turned to look at the man. He was from England, too?
Ororo remembered the story of her father finding his mother sitting at a cafe in England, taking polite little sips of tea and reading a newspaper, humming to herself all the while.
"Release her arm," he said once more and Ororo was shocked to find the bald man she had so eagerly teased earlier. He was probably going to turn her in himself. "Only if she promises not to run," he added hastily.
They locked eyes with one another and his warm blue eyes told her that she could trust him. He was not another Neil or any other man she had come across since the death of her parents for that matter. The bald man, who she suddenly remembered was called Mister Xavier, slowly nodded. The tight hold on her arm released and she turned to look up at the police officer and nodded her head.
"Yeah, that's right. You let me go. Don't make me have to hurt you." She rubbed her aching arm tenderly and turned to look at the man. Holding out two wrists together, she looked down. "Take me back. I'll go back with no arguing."
His gentle laugh made her want to laugh with him. She looked up and the boy in glasses was looking at her intently. His brown eyes piercing into hers. Why so serious? She wanted to ask him but opted not to and turned to face the pretty red haired girl. Her green eyes were lovely, she noted.
"My name is Charles Xavier," he extended a hand to her. Ororo looked down at the hand for a moment and looked up at him. She slapped him five and smiled. "Ororo Munroe, pleased to make your acquaintance."
Charles Xavier chuckled and sat his hand back in his lap. "It seems, Miss Munroe, that you have been in quite a bit of trouble." Ororo looked down at her sneakers and frowned. She really wished she had better sneakers or even clothes. She felt ridiculously out of place standing across from Mister Xavier in his crisp expensive blue suit and shining leather shoes. The red haired girl wore an oliver sweater that really brought out the color in her eyes, a black skirt, and beautiful black shoes. "This is my niece, Jean Grey."
"Nice to meet you, Jean." Ororo moved her hand behind her back, hiding the tear in her dirty sweater and blushed. Though Jean didn't seem to notice very much.
"This is her friend Scott Summers," the boy in glasses, Ororo nodded her head at him. He was dressed so nicely in his black vest and white dress shirt underneath. A pair of khaki pants and black dress shoes to match. He was rather attractive. He gave Ororo a small nod and both of them looked down at Charles Xavier. He didn't bother looking up at them, he kept his eyes on Ororo.
"So, you don't like your current living quarters?" He inquired, crossing his hands over his lap.
Shyly, she shook her head and slowly looked up at him.
"Ororo," he said her name so beautifully, "would you come with me? We shall have a talk about your current living conditions.
Ororo stood outside on the stoop, facing the brownstone she once lived in. If she listened closely enough, she could still hear her and Jean singing some popular eighties song while Charles would simply laugh or occasionally join in with them.
She looked down and let out a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry," she began to repeat. Her stomach flipped nervously and she looked back up at the home. "Charles, I'm so sorry." She hadn't bothered with the wig this time. Her platinum tresses hung about her shoulders and she was dressed in what would be her nicest clothes. A simple long sleeve white top and a flowing white skirt. Charles had told her that white always did look lovely on her.
He often called her and Jean his angels. If only he had known.
She was no angel.
This was not going to work. She looked up at the house, with its flowers sitting neatly in their pots around the door. She spotted an umbrella resting against the side of the top of the stairs. A nice black umbrella. She couldn't help but laugh at the simplicity of it all. This was a home. Ororo had proven time and again that she did not belong in a home. After countless times of running away from her former foster parents, she had done the same thing to dear Charles. It was at her own immaturity that she had done it and though she regretted it greatly, she had learned from it.
It had taken four years and broken ribs, but she had learned.
Turning to go, Ororo bit her bottom lip and clutched her purse tightly in her arm.
"Ororo?"
Jean's soft voice made her turn around and she looked up to find her old friend standing there. Jean had grown into a beautiful woman as Ororo had always known she would. Still clad in green to bring out the color in her eyes, she ran down the steps two at a time and wrapped Ororo in a warm embrace. The hug was so inviting and reminded her so badly of old times that she couldn't help but burst into tears.
Jean's hands caressed the small of Ororo's back and she began to guide her up the steps and they were suddenly inside the house.
"You stay right here," she told Ororo, gripping her forearms and then walked away, leaving the living room.
Ororo looked around at the living room and smiled through her tears. Her vision was blurred slightly but from what she could see, most of everything was still the same. The piano still sat directly across from the fireplace. The antique furniture lined so perfectly with the entertainment set. Frames of Ororo, Scott, and Jean covered the wall and she was honestly surprised to find her photographs still anywhere in the house.
On the fireplace were photos of Charles in his younger days with his late wife, Moira. They heard many stories about her.
A photograph of Jean and Ororo, both the ripe age of eighteen, in their cut off jeans and arms linked around one another's necks. They had been so happy. Why had she left this all in the first place?
Jean had come back with a box of tissue and handed a small handful to Ororo.
She took the tissue and wiped her eyes. Jean laughed a little, her own eyes red rimmed.
"You're still so regal. Even when you cry." Both of them laughed and hugged once more.
Looking around once more, Ororo turned to Jean and her smile grew. "Jean, where is Charles?" She hoped she wasn't too rude when she had asked, but she could no longer keep herself from it.
Jean laughed and shook her head. "Not here! Scott and I took this as our own home and well, Uncle Charles now lives in Westchester. He owns a foster home, more like a mansion really." She had to chuckle again. "He takes in children from all over the country, all over the world - would you like to visit him?"
"I - well, I'm busy today."
That made Jean frown and she would have argued the point but the sound of a baby's cry from upstairs made her hold up one finger. "I'll be right back, Ororo." She smiled at her friend, her sister and trotted upstairs.
So Jean had a child now? Ororo watched her with that familiar twinge of envy as she made her way upstairs. How nice it must have been to have a child... and a husband. She and Scott had finally married one another and started on that family she knew the both of them so longingly dreamed of.
Visiting Charles would not be a good thing for her. Ororo knew this. She had left on such bad terms...
"Ororo, I would you like to meet my daughter, Rachel." Jean came down with a small bundle in her arms but her smile turned to a frown.
Ororo had run again.
