Well, my friend recommended I watch X-Men First Class, so I bought it for myself and fell in love with it! So, I decided to write a Havok/OC fiction. I hope you like it!

Elizabeth ran as fast as she could away from the alley.

Everything that had happened seemed to have taken less than a second.

The nineteen-year-old girl was walking home from visiting one of her friends, when a man darted out of an alley and dragged her into it, clamping his hand on her mouth before she had a chance to scream. Once inside the alley, he shoved Liz against a wall before and began trying to pull at her jeans, keeping one hand on her mouth. Liz managed to fight against him hard enough to push him away. However, just as she was about to run away, the man pulled out a gun and trained it on her head.

"What are you going to do now, girlie?" he asked her, the putrid odour of liquor fresh on his breath and his slurring gave away the fact that he was drunk. "Nowhere left to go."

"Please, just let me go," Liz pleaded, trying to keep the fear from seeping into her voice. "I haven't done anything to you."

The man let out a bitter laugh; there was no way he was letting this pretty girl go; he would have her one way or another, even if it did end up becoming necrophilia. The girl tried to run, so he lunged at her and grabbed her wrist, before throwing back against the wall, her head cracking against the brick. Annoyed with the girl, he decided in his drunkenness, that she would be much more cooperative dead.

Liz knew what was coming before it did, so she was ready for it. The crack of the gun sounded out in the alley, but once the bullet encountered her skin, it seemed to rebound harmlessly. The drunk's eyes widened as the bullet hit the floor with an almost inaudible clink, and he stared with fear at the girl before him, noticing not only that her silver eyes were glowing, but that her skin and hair had changed to a silver colour with a diamond-like texture – the form of the precious metal titanium.

"You messed with the wrong 'girlie'," Liz mocked, before looking down at the bullet, so it rose into the air, then turning to face the man and shooting into his chest.

That was when Liz ran.

She had done it again – it had been ten years since the accident happened, when she was younger and misunderstood her mutation, but now, her mutation had now become so strong, she had killed someone else.

And for some reason, she had never felt more alive.

Her bronze hair flew out behind her as she ran down the street, her flat boots hitting the concrete with every step, trying to hurry up and get to her apartment.

Liz wasn't even from America – she was just staying there on a holiday, and she was going back home to England in a few weeks, but she guessed that she'd just spend the rest of the holiday, and her life, in a jail cell.

After ten minutes of flat out sprinting, she finally reached the block of flats she lived in, and darted into the warmth of the reception. A large, open expanse of cream marble, with a set of black leather sofas in one corner, a golden marble desk and the odd painting hung up around the walls. Overall, the reception showed off the expense of the hotel well.

She shut the doors behind her and breathed a sigh of relief, before straightening out and walking across the floor to the lifts.

"Evening Miss Elizabeth," the thirty-something year old man with the thick black hair greeted her from behind the reception desk.

"Evening," Liz nodded, trying to get to her room as quickly as possible, in case the police found the body and traced her to the hotel.

Once in the elevator, she began formulating a plan in her head; she would get to her room, pack her things and leave. Once outside, she would go to the nearest cash machine and take out enough money to survive for a couple of weeks, and then take her bike and travel away under a false name, and start her life again.

After an excruciating journey – with the ear-ripping music – the elevator finally came to a stop on the eighth floor. Liz jogged down the hallway as quietly as she could, until she reached room 427, where she pulled out the hotel key, unlocked the door and slipped inside, unknowing of what lay ahead the next day.

Knock knock.

Liz jerked upright, her bronze curls crushed to the side of her head she had been sleeping on. She rubbed her cheek and frowned as she realised the desk she had been resting her head on had several magazines set atop it – which had caused slight indents to form on her cheeks.

Knock knock.

Her silver eyes flashed to the door as she heard the knocking. For a moment, fear took over her body, thinking it was the police. However, she soon realised that was not the case; if it was the police, they would be yelling at her to open the door, and these people weren't.

Knock KNOCK.

But these people were getting impatient.

After knocking over a pot of pens and a couple of books onto the floor in her haste to get up, Liz darted to the door.

Hesitating behind it, she peered into the spy hole and saw two men, one with dark brown hair wearing a suit, the other with lighter brown hair wearing a leather jacket and jeans, stood in the hallway, waiting outside her door.

Straightening her back, Liz unlocked the door and opened it, peering into the hall to look at the men.

"May I help you?" she asked them politely.

"Yes, Elizabeth Morgan?" the shorted man asked.

Liz stayed silent, but her guilty glance downwards gave the answer away.

"Excellent, my name is Charles Xavier, and this is my friend, Erik Lensherr, may we come in?"

"Sure," Liz opened the door and allowed the two men to walk into her hotel room, before closing it and turning to them with a confused expression, wondering why she let them in. "Excuse me, I hate to ask, but why are you here?"

"Well, I can tell you this over a nice cup of tea, if that's alright," Charles smiled.

Liz made to move to the kitchen area, when Erik stopped her with a wave.

"Just tell her Charles, we can't afford to waste time drinking tea," he muttered coldly.

"Very well then, Elizabeth –"

"Liz, please, just Liz though, not Lizzie or Elizabeth."

"Liz, Erik and I have come to you for one very simple reason; we are like you."

"What?" Liz nearly choked on the air, which is a very hard thing to do.

"I believe you heard him correctly," Erik drawled, lounging on the grey sofa.

You have no need to worry, Liz – Erik and I only wish to give you a safe and secure asylum with others who will accept you.

Liz jerked at the feeling of someone gently sorting through her mind, and speaking to her in her mind. She looked at Charles and saw he was holding one hand to his temple and looking at her intently.

"You can read minds?" she asked him.

"I'm a telepath," he confirmed for her.

"And what about you?" Liz turned her gaze on Erik, who appeared to be flicking through some of her magazines, despite the fact that they were aimed at women, which was probably the reason why Erik looked as if he wanted to kill himself.

Instead of answering her verbally, he glanced up at her, as everything made of metal in the room, including Liz's necklace, began floating into the air, before dropping back down.

"You can…"

"Manipulate and generate electromagnetic fields," Charles inputted.

"But," Liz shook her head slightly. "This doesn't tell me why you're here – or even if I can trust you!"

"Please," he held out his hand to her.

"How can I trust you?" she reiterated, trying to stop her fright from showing.

"By coming with us; at the base we have six other young people there, just like you, who had no one to turn to, and nowhere to go, and they have formed a family, one that will accept you without any hesitation," Charles explained, keeping his hand out. "Please."

Swallowing her fear and disbelief, Liz took a step forwards and placed her hand in Charles'.

"Excellent," he grinned, closing his hand around her slender fingers. "Erik, grab her bag and we'll go; I expect they'll be waiting for us when we get back."

With a sigh, Erik got to his feet, grabbed the suitcase from beneath the table and followed the other two out of the door.

Once in the elevator, Liz spoke up.

"Can you give me a couple of minutes; I'll need to cancel my room?" she asked the two men.

"Of course," Charles answered, quickly cutting off Erik's complaint before her could insult Liz.

The rest of the journey was silent, except, of course, for the annoying lift music. The lift doors opened, showing the vast expense of marble that was the reception area, so the trio stepped out. As they drew closer to the desk, the two other men who were stood at the desk happened to turn around, showing their police uniforms.

Liz's eyes widened as her footing stuttered, but Charles just placed one hand on her back and made her carry on walking towards the desk.

"Excuse me," one of the police officers spoke. "Were any of you out around the Bourne Square at around eleven 'o' clock last night?"

"No, sorry, my friend, cousin and I were in the pub at North Street, a mile away, may I ask why, gentlemen?" Charles answered smoothly.

"We found a body in the alley," the more rotund officer answered. "And several eye witnesses say a young woman, of about nineteen or twenty, with bronze hair and wearing jeans, boots, a tank top and a leather jacket, was running away from the alley where the body was found. We managed to trace the girl's path to here."

Both officers' eyes were boring into Liz's head, but she remained fixated on the painting above the reception desk – she knew they had found the killer, and they knew it too.

Liz, cancel your reservation; Erik and I will sort this out for you.

Charles' voice entered Liz's mind, before he lifted his left hand to his temple and looked at the officers.

"Now then, gentlemen…"

Liz stepped around the officers and leaned over the reception desk, fabricating some lie about why she was cancelling her booking, and why it needed to be done urgently.

Fortunately, the old woman on the desk didn't suspect anything and complied with Liz's wishes and, thankfully, everything was sorted out in under a minute.

Liz turned around and saw the police officers had left, and Erik and Charles were waiting just a few feet behind her.

"Right then, if we're all done, let's go," Charles smiled.

Liz grabbed her bag from the floor and followed the two men outside, and to the black Jaguar XF that was parked outside the hotel.

"Wow."

"I know – she's my favourite," Charles grinned at her.

"But, I've got my bike," Liz stopped on the pavement. "And I'm not leaving her here."

Erik sighed and turned to look back at the young woman, who stood with her arms crossed and a determined expression on her face.

"Liz, please…"

"Charles, we don't have time to deal with this."

"But I'm not leaving my Ducati!"

At the word, Erik's expression changed to one of curiosity.

"Ducati?"

"Yeah, Ducati 848 – she cost a lot, she's worth a lot and she's coming with us," Liz said stonily.

"I think I can come up with some way of transporting your bike for you," Erik said, looking at the bike in relation with amazement.

"When you said transporting my bike, I didn't think you meant fold it into a single block of metal!" Liz screeched from the back.

"Relax, it'll be fine – I'll sort it out when we get to the base," Erik replied from the front.

"Huh," Liz crossed her arms and sank back into her seat in a huff, leaning her head against the window.

"Honestly, the two of you are behaving like children," Charles grinned, watching the road ahead of him.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Liz muttered.

"Division X, a CIA base lent to us, that's where the other mutants are and that's where you'll be staying," Charles replied.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Charles smiled at her through the rear-view mirror, but saw she was looking out of the window.

Erik looked at him, signalling that he wanted to talk privately, so Charles entered his mind.

Do you know her mutation yet?

No, Erik; I have a feeling that it shares similar properties to yours, but I'm not going to make my mind up or force her until she is ready.

I know it seemed a bit awkward, but it should get better as it goes along. Thanks for reading!