The clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation filled the air as Ryan pushed open the heavy wooden door to the campus bar near Oxford. The same dim lighting, the same low hum of jazz, the same haze of cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. But tonight felt different. Charged. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
Raven walked beside him, her hand tucked possessively into the crook of his arm. She had chosen her appearance carefully—a soft blonde with subtle waves, a fitted green dress that hugged her curves without screaming for attention. Her blue eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and nerves, but the confident tilt of her chin told Ryan everything he needed to know. She was ready. No more hiding in Charles' shadow.
They spotted him immediately. Charles Xavier sat at the same booth from the night before, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was dressed in his usual academic chic—a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up, dark trousers, and that effortless charm that made people lean in when he spoke. But tonight, there was an undercurrent of tension in the way he scanned the room. Protective. Watching for his sister.
As they approached, Charles' gaze locked onto Ryan first. His eyebrows rose slightly, taking in the tall, confident American with his arm around Raven. Then his expression softened into that familiar older-brother smile, though Ryan could sense the mental probe—subtle, polite, but there. Charles was reading the room. Reading him.
"Raven," Charles said warmly, standing to embrace her. "You look... happy." His voice held genuine surprise, and something else. Relief?
She hugged him back, then pulled away with a grin. "I am. Charles, this is Ryan. Ryan, my... brother. Sort of."
Charles extended a hand, his grip firm but assessing. "Charles Xavier. Pleasure to meet the man who finally got Raven to smile like that." His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp behind his glasses. "Sit. Drink?"
Ryan shook his hand, matching the pressure exactly—enough to show strength without challenging. "Scotch, neat. And pleasure's mine. Heard a lot about you."
They slid into the booth, Raven pressed close to Ryan's side, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his thigh under the table. Charles signaled the bartender, and soon three glasses arrived—Scotch for the men, red wine for Raven. The professor raised his glass first.
"To family," Charles said, his eyes flicking between them. "And whatever brings my sister dragging handsome strangers into pubs at midnight."
Raven laughed, clinking her glass. "To better company."
Ryan drank deeply, savoring the burn. "She's not dragging. I'm the one who couldn't stay away."
Charles leaned back, studying Ryan over the rim of his glass. "So, Ryan. What do you do? Raven mentioned something about business consulting. Passing through Oxford on some corporate conquest?"
Ryan smiled easily. "Ryan Technologies. We're expanding into Europe—medical research, transportation, that sort of thing. Oxford's got the talent. Figured I'd scout while enjoying the local... attractions." His hand squeezed Raven's knee, drawing a soft smile from her.
Charles nodded approvingly. "Impressive. And you met my sister how, exactly?"
"The bar," Raven jumped in, her voice light but firm. "Last night. He saw me. Not the blonde girl playing pretend. Me."
Charles' expression shifted—protective instinct flaring. He set his glass down a bit harder than necessary. "Raven, you know how important—"
"I know," she cut him off, her tone sharpening. "But Ryan's different. He gets it."
The air thickened. Charles' eyes narrowed slightly, and Ryan felt the mental brush again—stronger this time, probing deeper. Testing loyalties. Reading emotions. Ryan let him peek—just enough to sense unwavering devotion from Raven, power from himself. No threat. Just truth.
Charles pulled back mentally, surprise flickering across his face. "You're... shielding. Telepath?"
Ryan nodded calmly. "Among other things. And yeah, I know about you too. Brilliant mind. Thesis on genetic mutation tomorrow, right? The whole 'next stage of evolution' bit?"
Charles blinked, caught off-guard. "You know about that?"
"He knows everything," Raven said proudly, leaning into Ryan. "Show him."
Ryan glanced at the whiskey glasses on the table. Without touching them, the liquid inside swirled, forming perfect miniature spirals before settling flat again. Telekinesis. Clean. Controlled.
Charles stared, then laughed—a genuine, delighted sound. "Well. That's... impressive." He raised his glass again. "To mutants, then. Brothers in hiding."
They drank. The tension eased, replaced by curiosity. Charles leaned forward. "How long have you known about your abilities?"
"Long enough," Ryan replied. "Raven's the first person I've met who gets it completely. No judgment. No hiding."
Raven squeezed his hand under the table. "He's the first person who's ever wanted the real me."
Charles watched them for a long moment, his protective facade cracking. He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Raven... if he makes you happy, truly happy, then I'm happy for you. Just... be careful. The world's not kind to our kind."
She beamed. "I know. But with Ryan, I feel safe."
The conversation flowed more easily after that. Charles grilled Ryan on his company—"Medical research? Anything on genetics?"—and Ryan fed him just enough bait: "We're funding scholarships for evolutionary biology. Know any promising students?"
Raven steered the mood lighter, her hand never leaving Ryan's. "Speaking of which, your thesis presentation is tomorrow. Nervous?"
Charles grinned. "Not at all. I'm ready. A crowd of academics, dignitaries. If I nail it, doors open. Funding. Connections."
"You'll crush it," Ryan said. "Mind like yours? They'll be begging to back you."
Charles flushed modestly. "High praise. You should come. Tomorrow. Two PM, main hall. Get to know the family if you're sticking around."
Raven's eyes sparkled mischievously. "He's not going anywhere."
Ryan nodded. "Wouldn't miss it."
Charles finished his drink, standing. "Good. Don't be late." He hugged Raven tightly. "Be happy, sis. Call if you need me."
As he walked away, Raven turned to Ryan, eyes shining. "He accepted us."
Ryan kissed her temple. "Step one."
Thesis Triumph
The lecture hall buzzed with anticipation the next afternoon. Rows of velvet seats filled with Oxford's elite—professors in tweed, dignitaries in suits, students scribbling notes. Gas lamps flickered along the walls, casting dramatic shadows across the wooden stage where Charles Xavier stood, notes in hand, projector humming behind him.
Ryan and Raven sat front row, her hand in his, disguised as the perfect blonde couple. She squeezed his fingers as Charles began.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Charles said, voice steady and commanding, "mutation. It is the key to our evolution. Within the DNA of every human lies the potential for transcendence—the X-gene, waiting to awaken."
Slides clicked—diagrams of double helices, charts of genetic drift, hypothetical mutant physiologies. Charles paced, gesturing passionately. "Imagine a world where humanity doesn't just survive disease, but adapts to it. Where the next generation carries traits perfectly suited to their environment. This is not science
fiction. This is the future."
The crowd leaned in. Whispers turned to nods. A government official in the back row scribbled furiously.
Charles built to his climax. "We stand on the precipice. Fear the unknown, and we stagnate. Embrace it, and we evolve."
Applause erupted—thunderous, sustained. Standing ovation. Charles bowed modestly, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes finding Ryan and Raven in the crowd. Gratitude. Triumph.
Backstage, professors swarmed him. "Funding! Grants! Publish this!"
Charles extricated himself, finding Ryan and Raven waiting. "You came."
"Wouldn't miss history," Ryan said, clapping his shoulder.
Raven hugged him fiercely. "Proud of you."
Charles grinned, boyish. "Bar? Celebrate properly?"
Celebration and Interception
The same bar pulsed with life now—students packed shoulder-to-shoulder, jazz replaced by lively swing. Charles led them to a prime booth, already the center of attention. Drinks flowed: whiskey for Charles and Ryan, Coke for Raven ("No alcohol tonight, sis—big day").
Raven rolled her eyes but sipped obediently, her foot teasing Ryan's calf under the table.
Charles raised his glass. "To the future!"
They drank, bonded instantly. Charles and Ryan delved deep—genetics, philosophy, mutation, and ethics. "Fear drives policy," Charles said. "Governments will hunt us before they understand."
Ryan nodded. "Which is why power matters. Protection first."
Raven watched them, content, fingers laced with Ryan's.
The crowd roared suddenly. Students dragged Charles onstage—"Professor! Drink! Celebrate!"
Charles laughed, grabbing the oversized glass—two liters of amber liquid. "To evolution!"
He downed it in gulps, face reddening, crowd chanting. Slammed empty, applause deafening. Charles staggered down, triumphant but woozy.
His eyes caught a stunning blonde across the room—red dress, confident smile. He started toward her, weaving through the crowd.
But he was intercepted first.
Moira MacTaggert—casual outfit, sharper eyes. CIA badge hidden, but Ryan sensed it. "Congratulations, Professor Xavier!"
Charles blinked, charmed. "Thank you very much. It's much harder than it looks, actually." He flipped the long tubular empty glass in his hand.
Moira corrected smoothly, "No, on your presentation."
"You knew my presentation? How nice of you. Thank you very much." He tapped her arm flirtatiously.
"Moira MacTaggert."
"Charles Xavier."
They shook hands.
"Do you have a minute?" Moira asked.
"For a pretty little bean with a mutated MCR-1 gene? I have five." He touched her hair playfully.
He guided her to a two-person empty table. "I say MCR-1, you would say golden hair. It's a mutation. It's a very groovy mutation. Mutation took us from single-celled organisms to the dominant form of life on Earth."
Moira cut him off. "You know what, this routine may go over great with the co-eds, but I'm here on business."
Charles sobered. "What?"
"I really need your help."
"Alright."
"The kind of mutations you were talking about in your thesis. I need to know if they may have already happened."
"In people alive today."
Charles raised a hand to his temple, eyes glazing as he dove into her memories—Sebastian Shaw, Hellfire Club, mutant conspirators, Soviet missiles. Fascination and conflict warred on his face.
"Professor?" Moira prompted. "I think we should talk when you're sober. Do you have time tomorrow?"
Charles leaned forward. "Something tells me you already know the answer to your question. This is very important to me. If I can help you, I will do my utmost."
Moira smiled, pleased. "Thank you."
Ryan watched from the booth, Raven excited beside him. Canon plot unfolding precisely.
Ryan smiled. "The game's on."
Raven squeezed his hand. "Your move."
The board was set.