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Why don’t you talk to Emma? comes Azazel’s reply.
Erik rolls his eyes. Like he hadn’t tried that option.
‘I tried, and she didn’t agree, Einstein,’ Erik responds.
That, and because Erik’s fairly certain that Emma’s only goal in life sometimes is to see Erik suffer. Erik trusts his boss with his life; just doesn’t trust her with his well-being.
I’m sure Genetics isn’t that bad, Az responds. The ‘why don’t you give it a try’ is left implied.
We’re here to find the missing mutants and the douchebag responsible for it, not to obtain degrees, Az. Just ask the Dean if I can be shifted to Mathematics, alright?
Alright. I’ll try. But Emma’s going to be pissed.
That’s nothing new. Erik locks his phone and puts it into his pocket. The GPF’s phones come with jammers, so there’s no fear of technopaths fishing for contents.
If the last hour of Professor who-so-ever’s lecture was anything to go by, another hour of any other version of Genetics will make Erik go ballistic. What he told Az is true. They’re not here to obtain degrees and bag jobs, but at least dealing with numbers comes easier to Erik than dealing with theories. Erik likes mutants. Studying them, not so much.
Moreover, Erik has never been one for academia, really. Back when he was in University, he was known more for his protests and rallies for mutant equality — and the vandalism that came in their wake — than he was for his grades. That didn’t matter anyway once he joined the police force. He was good at what he did — intimidating people and finding criminals. And soon enough, he was selected into the Mutant Crime Division of the Genoshan Police Force. At just 27, he was the youngest to earn the badge of a detective.
Az doesn’t count. He was 27 and five months when he earned his badge.
But his struggles in the GPF — or his struggles in any other mission are nothing, not in a million years — compared to his current undercover mission.
He can’t forget the glee in Emma’s eyes when she’d explained their mission to them a few days ago. She knew all too well what she was pushing them into.
‘You couldn’t continue your education due to family emergencies,’ she had said, pointing at Erik. ‘And, Az, you were in an accident right after high school, been in recovery ever since, until now,’ she says, pointing to Az.
The paperwork covering their alibis and their fake IDs — Erik’s usual identity of Max Eisenhardt and Az’s, Beliar Valkomen — are spread out on the desk in front of them.
‘The two of you have now decided to complete your education and get yourselves a degree. Understood?’
Erik’s been on several undercover missions in his career, ranging from drug busts to high-profile military operations, but none of those needed him to complete assignments, study for quizzes, and befriend people half his age — well, almost half his age — to reap information, or, God forbid, party with the idiots.
Seven mutants. Seven mutants, all gone missing within two weeks. The nature and pattern of all their kidnappings had pointed back to Genoshan University. Someone with information on the students and their routines is responsible for the kidnappings, Erik’s sure of that.
That narrows down his search to… well, the entire university. It could be anyone, from the Dean, Nathan Essex, to any of the students, or even the janitors he’s come across till now: Janos and Martha.
Erik’s profiling the pattern of the latest missing in his head when a hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts.
It’s Sean.
‘Hey, Max,’ he says, coming close to whisper in Erik’s ear. ‘We have Professor Shaw’s class after lunch. He asked us all to carry a transcript of his latest paper on evolution, and he gets really pissed when we don’t do as asked. So, here.’
He hands Erik a sheaf of papers bound by a spiral piece of plastic.
Alex noogies Sean on the head. ‘Why are you whispering, dumb-ass? There’s no professor in the class. Ms McTaggart already left.’
Erik rolls his eyes. God, kids these days.
‘Right,’ Sean agrees sheepishly, pacifying his hair ruffled by the action. Turning to Erik, he says, ‘Anyway, Betsy there made an extra copy for you since you weren’t here when Professor Shaw told us about it.’
Erik wants to tell him that he’ll already be in Mathematics by lunchtime if Az plays his part right, but he wordlessly takes the copy.
Betsy turns out to be a telekinetic with telepathic abilities. She winks at Erik, twirling a purple strand between her fingers when he turns to her.
That’s his life now, being hit on by 19-year-olds.
Shuddering, he pulls his leather jacket closer to himself and turns to face the board. Emma had placed telepathic blockers in both their heads to prevent any telepaths peeking into their minds for information on every mission. At least Betsy can’t catch his thoughts.
He’s just in time to catch a man entering the class. At first, Erik thinks he’s a student. But no student would be wearing tweed or taking the podium in front of the blackboard.
It’s the eyes that catch Erik’s attention first, bluer than the GPF’s uniforms. Surprisingly, the thick glasses that surround the said eyes somehow manage to accentuate their colour. Then there are the lips. God, they’re redder than Az’s face. Two dark freckles dot the bridge of his nose. Upon closer inspection, countless others dust the pale skin on the apples of his cheeks.
The world whirls in slow motion as the man begins to speak. Erik stares dumbly as the mild morning breeze ruffles the lush brown waves that frame his face.
The thick cardigan — that would no doubt look stifling on others — looks warm and comfortable on the man. The little pudge it hides is far more attractive than Erik expects it to be.
The man turns around towards the board, giving Erik a view of what he dubs as the ‘hottest ass that has graced the planet’.
Even the ill-fitting corduroy doesn’t hamper its form or beauty.
Suddenly, the man is walking towards him, and those red lips are moving around a neat row of white teeth.
Erik shakes his head and jerks awake.
‘Hello, I’m Dr Charles Xavier,’ the man says with a smile. ‘I take Mutations. I assume you’re new to the class?’
The man — Charles’s — voice is rich and deep. The posh British accent is like music to Erik’s ears.
Erik decides very quickly that Dr Charles Xavier is the sexiest thing on the entire planet. He should be sending Emma a fruit basket for putting him in Genetics. And just like that, Emma is his favourite person of the week.
‘I’m…’ Erik stutters, his mouth gone dry — he doesn’t understand how that’s possible, with how he was practically drooling over the man. ‘I’m Max Eisenhardt,’ he finishes awkwardly, standing up in place.
Erik thanks all the gods that Emma isn’t here. She would have had a field day with all the blackmail material she could have gotten her hands on. Or Az, for that matter, who would hand over the said material to Emma. Small mercies.
‘You’ve missed a good amount of topics which I’ve covered in the previous classes, Max,’ Charles tells him after Erik mechanically recites his cover and cooks up a story for joining late in the semester. ‘You’re free to visit my office any time you want if you have any doubts about any of the portions covered.’
Erik continues to stand even after Charles has gone back to the podium and started to say something else. A pointed cough from his left prompts him to sit down.
Angel is smirking at Erik with a twinkle in her eyes when he looks at her.
The buzz from his mobile stops him from glaring at her. It’s from Az.
Alright, I spoke to the Dean, and with great difficulty, he has agreed to move you to Physics.
No, no. I’m fine in Genetics, Erik is quick to reply. I was working on the strategy, and I think it’s best for us to spread out across the campus. Landing in Physics would put us very close to each other.
It’s a half-baked excuse at best. Erik just hopes that Az doesn’t look too closely into it.
What the fuck, man! You still owe me for this. Don’t think I’m letting this go.
Deal.
Well, maybe this mission won’t turn out so bad after all.
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