10/8/18: Hi everyone. I've been gone for a long time due to seeing a very close family member through terminal cancer. I am very happy to be back and it's going to be exciting and healing to put my full attention on this story again. I'm going to be going through the story in its entirety, updating some things and making more improvements to grammar and pacing. The core of the story and the characters will always remain the same. As always, your feedback and reviews mean a great deal to me...I read every one and take them all very seriously. Please consider leaving me a review!

7/29/14: I've edited and updated the story. I split Chapter 1 into two separate chapters based on feedback from you lovely readers. All of the other changes were minor and mostly grammatical.

This story takes place in an alternate universe following the events of X-Men: First Class, and before the events of Days of Future Past. In this story, everything up to the beach divorce took place; Charles was shot but was able to recover the use of his legs.

All Chapter Titles are taken from the song "Demons" by Imagine Dragons.


Professor Xavier always felt a sense of anticipation when a new mutant arrived at the school. For most of them, this was the first place where they would feel truly accepted. It would be a place where they would expand their skills and grow into their powers. However, today was different. The mutant who would be arriving was not a child, or even a teenager. She was a woman. Unlike most of the mutants who crossed the threshold into his school, she was, as far as Charles could tell, unaware of her powers.

It was really quite fascinating, he mused as he walked along the corridor. Most mutants became aware of their differences in adolescence-usually when the powers escaped their control for the first time. But there had been no such experience for Miss Zara Reilly. Charles wondered if he was doing the right thing by bringing her here. There were reasons why things had stayed hidden for her. He smiled quietly. The children needed a new experience, and she was one of the most qualified available to teach them this. If other things happened as a result, he would do his best to help it be positive.

She was standing with her back to the door as he entered, watching a group of children on the lawn playing soccer. He could see the curve of her smile as she watched.

Charles cleared his throat. "Miss Reilly?"

She turned quickly. "Yes? Yes! Hello how are you? You must be Professor Xavier. It's very nice to finally meet you."

He returned her smile and extended his hand. "The pleasure is truly mine, Miss Reilly. It's going to be a privilege to have you with us." She stepped forward and shook his hand.

Pain...

It sliced through his head briefly and was gone. Charles had put his normal shields in place as he did each day, but just barely kept his expression pleasant as the feeling shot through him. Her face hadn't changed at all. She was still smiling. She was genuinely pleased to meet him. Where that feeling had come from, he couldn't say, but he would not open his mind further to try and touch hers. He focused on what she was saying.

"I must admit, Professor, I'm very excited to be here. This will be the first time your students have performed Shakespeare?"

He laughed.

"Yes indeed. Please—". He indicated that she should sit. " I'm sure you'll think it criminally negligent of me as a teacher, but so many things seem to have taken precedence up until now. The children have studied some plays, of course, and read them aloud in class, but this will be their first time actually performing."

Zara Reilly's eyes lit up. "How wonderful. It's wonderful of you to even consider it. A lot of schools don't, these days."

"Well, I spent quite a while in the UK, so I suppose I do have a bit of a bias."

She smiled back at him. "Whatever it takes, Professor."


Zara was very grateful at the end of that first day. It meant she could go home, wherever that was, close the door, and let the mask drop. She could walk slowly if she needed to, move in the way that caused her the least pain. Plus, as antisocial as it was, there was something that soothed her about being shut inside.

Her new rooms could not have been more comfortable. She had her own bathroom and windows that looked over rolling green hills and a tiny sliver of lake in the distance. The furnishings were luxurious. Zara sighed with pleasure. The children were bright, and the location was ideal. It would be a wonderful job. Maybe the Professor would have her back next year, if things went well.

Don't get ahead of yourself, lady. Boy, could she dream. It was the end of the first day and she was already planning for next year.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Zara went to open it-she was still in her work clothes, although her shoes were off. The Professor was on the other side.

"Miss Reilly."

"Hello, Professor."

"I came to tell you that dinner is served for the faculty every night in the small dining room. Won't you join us?"

Oh, no. Yes, she was hungry but if she put her shoes back on and started walking again, she wouldn't be able to hide her stiff joints. Not recommended, displaying your weaknesses in front of the boss on the first day. She could live without dinner.

"Thank you so much, Professor," Zara smiled, "but actually, I planned to do some text work on the play and go to bed early. I want the children to start trying parts tomorrow."

Instead of a polite goodnight, his eyes lit up and he smiled. "Text work already? Which edition will you be using?

He knew Shakespeare, he knew books. Of course he does, you idiot, Zara muttered to herself. He's THE Professor, for God's sake. She returned his smile. "Riverside, for text work. I'll use the Arden series for the actual script."

"How marvelous. What will you do if they disagree?"

She had to laugh at that, but she was proud to have an answer. "The Norton edition will be the tiebreaker."

"You have two different editions of Shakespeare's complete works?"

"Yes, but two really isn't that many. Some of my colleagues have five or six, and of course there's always a new one coming out."

"This is wonderful. We must continue this conversation over dinner. I'll show you to the dining room—" and he began to turn towards the hall.

"No-"

Xavier turned back to face her. "No?"

"Please forgive me, I would love to continue the conversation, just...not tonight. I really want to get this done and early bed, prep for tomorrow".

"But, Miss Reilly, I really want you to eat. I noticed that you didn't have lunch today because you were talking with some of the children."

He noticed that, did he? Well, it didn't change anything. "I'm truly not hungry tonight. First day jitters and everything. Tomorrow will be different. Could we continue then?"

He smiled. "Of course. But, I'll have a dinner tray sent to your room." He held up one finger to stop her protest. "Fling the tray out the window if you'd rather, but I will send it."

She had to laugh at that. "I guess that's fair. And I appreciate your checking in."

"Of course. You did quite well today. Ororo is especially excited." He turned and began walking down the hall. "I will see you at breakfast in the morning," he called back, half-friendly and half-commanding.


Charles made sure to be there, involved in conversation with other teachers, when Zara did arrive for breakfast in the morning. He watched her get her bearings and then serve herself eggs and fruit. He caught her eye and smiled a greeting, then went right back into his discussion, keeping a small corner of his mind alert.

He didn't want to read her thoughts. He tried to keep that off the table, always, until and unless someone gave him permission. What people didn't realize was that doing that constantly was like trying to not hear a radio that someone else turned on. It wasn't his fault that he could hear it, and it wasn't their fault that they didn't want him to hear it. There were plenty of reasons to read her, read anyone: he was in charge, responsible etc. Reasons against: once he read her, he would know more, and that knowledge might compel him to act, to help her or protect someone else, and just when he might need her trust would be when she discovered that he had already betrayed it. Perhaps a compromise, then, he considered as he sipped his tea. He sent his energy outward, stopping just short of the boundaries of Zara's mind.

Pain. Like a nail gun through the wrist; an ache in the neck. Careful, don't lift that with just one hand-

Charles placed his teacup a little too firmly in the saucer. "Sorry," he said absently as people glanced his way.


It was normal for Charles to check in with all the faculty regularly, and usually informally. Zara was new, so he had called her to his office before dinner one evening.

"So tell me, how have you been getting along?"

Zara smiled. "Very well, thank you, Professor."

"What's your impression so far of the students?"

"They're excellent. We're in the phase now where it seems all analysis and wordy-words to them, but they're giving it a good try. I'm really enjoying working with them."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"But I have a question for you."

"I hope it's not about Shakespeare, Miss Reilly, as my knowledge nowhere near equals yours."

"I was wondering how you might feel about having an evening of monologues and scenes, instead of an entire play."

"Interesting. Is a full play a little too ambitious for their level of experience?"

"No, not at all. It's just they're all so different, I don't want to confine them all inside one play, at least not yet. I can already see Hank as the Old Shepherd, and Scott as Hotspur, and Ororo as Imogen. I think they'd have more fun this way."

"I'm sorry...Hank as the Old Shepherd?"

"From The Winter's Tale. 'I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest, for there is nothing in the interim but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting-'"

He couldn't help but laugh. "I've never heard that one before...but it actually sounds like Hank."

"You know, because he's so precise and grown up already. When the kids run around him and joke, all he can think of is that they might jostle one of his projects."

"That's wonderful. And true. But, technically he's not a student. What if he says no?"

"Then he says no. But I think he might, if I give him time."

"Then I shall not stand in your way. I think the idea of scenes and monologues will be excellent. Go ahead in whatever way you think best." She smiled in response. "Now tell me, how are you personally getting along?"

"Very well. This is a beautiful school. I'm enjoying every minute."

Fair or not, Charles again extended his energy to just outside Zara's boundaries. This was more difficult with her than some others, as her edges of her mind felt a bit more...fluid...than others'. He couldn't feel a sharp delineation. But as he hovered outside, there it was again: Pain. It aches to be upright. Soon I can sit still...

"And, have you been feeling well? Some of the teachers have told me the house can get a bit damp; it's quite old. If you feel a cold, or any aches coming on, will you tell me?"

She looked back at him without the smallest change of expression. "That's very kind of you. Of course I will."

And there was nothing for it but to dismiss her. "Then I won't keep you from your dinner."

"Thank you." She smiled and as she rose he felt her teeth grit and the pain shudder. Whatever it was, she felt it was worth lying about. She walked to the door—was there something odd about her gait?—and let herself out quietly.

Charles had been debating whether or not to take this step without her permission, but his need for answers finally outweighed his efforts to remain at a respectful distance. She was always smiling and friendly. The children liked her. He liked her. They had enjoyed several fascinating conversations about Shakespeare and theatre. Zara was very intelligent and didn't mind debating with him, which was refreshing. For someone who was supposedly entirely human, she had not expressed so much as a flicker of surprise at the children's powers. The children assumed she was one of them, and Charles was pleased that his lessons on manners seemed to be taking hold—none of the students had cheerfully asked her to "show them hers," at least not yet. She was enthusiastic and truly enjoyed her work.

And yet, every time he came near, he felt the waves of pain radiating from her. They were muted, definitely, but if that much was getting through while she smiled and encouraged the children in class, there must be much more underneath. He tried to convince himself that he was acting solely for the good of the school and the students, but he knew that part of it was, he wanted to understand her. He wanted to know where such pain was coming from. And, he wanted to help her. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and reached out.

Tendrils of pain snaked through his mind. She was physically hurting. Charles went a little deeper and the pain was infused with sadness and hopelessness. He felt her emotions begin to catch hold of him and so he backed away slightly, standing a bit removed so that he would not become overwhelmed. Understanding began to flicker in his mind.

Her mutation was attacking her.

Charles always tried to speak of mutation as a gift, a demonstration of the power of Nature, to keep the children positive, even for those who suffered with a gift that was very "extreme", as he called it. Zara's gift was extreme, and it was locked away behind shields that seemed to be as strong and as well constructed as those he had spent years in creating for himself. Yet, something was odd. With shields that strong, he should have faced significant resistance when entering her mind. These shields hadn't been created to keep him, or anyone else, out. They had been created to keep her in.

Charles pulled back and opened his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Zara was in significant physical pain. It saddened him, but didn't surprise him. Mutations exacted a price from their hosts. Those like Raven...he closed his eyes as her face flashed in his mind...and Hank wore the price on their skin for all to see. For others, it was more hidden, but no less painful. However, what really intrigued Charles was that he hadn't yet gotten a picture of what Zara's gift was. Her gift was hidden from him—and from her—behind those shields. And the price was that her body was protesting with pain every time she moved.

He reached out again, and easily sank a little further into her mind. Zara was putting so much effort into keeping herself inside those shields, where the pain (and her gift) were somewhat at bay, that she had nothing extra with which to feel what he was doing—his mental energy simply became another part of the white noise she was hiding from. Still, he had to be careful. Removing those blocks before she was ready would be traumatic in the extreme. They first had to understand why she had constructed them in the first place. For now, Charles moved carefully around the shields and allowed images from her mind to speak to him.

Pain. Pain when she walked, pain when she sat down, pain when she stayed still. She was limping a bit now, because it was the end of the day. Charles dissolved his energy into smaller and smaller components until he could see the heightened immune responses attacking the molecules in her joints. Her body was in a constant state of emergency, though she hid it brilliantly. Something was trying to make itself known to her and she wouldn't listen, so it had resorted to gaining her attention through pain and distress, like a child inviting punishment.

Compassion flooded through him.