A/N: The X-Men are not mine. They belong to Marvel Comics, I think, and probably others whose names I don't know.
'The mansion...it's too big.' It was the first thought that crossed his mind as they landed in the courtyard. Storm was fetching his wheelchair and had left him in the arms of the newest member of their team—the one they called Kurt, one whom he might have been eager to welcome, once...now he accepted the addition to their group with little comment. He looked around; just because she was gone, it didn't mean he was absolved of responsibility towards the rest of them. Rogue seemed to be taken care of; Bobby was crestfallen, but he was bearing up and helping her well enough. Logan, strangely (but perhaps not so strangely, after all) was clinging to Scott, afraid now, now that he knew what loving such a woman meant. Xavier looked away; it was nothing he could share in. What Jean was...had been...to him was nothing he could share with anyone. He knew that when Logan and Scott entered the mansion, it would close in around them; both of them would feel suffocated, feel the need to get out, anywhere to escape everything around them and inside them. But to him it looked and felt empty. Jean had been the first child to step over its threshold in many, many years, and the house had immediately felt the difference, like a change in the wind. The austere façade of a Victorian mansion had fallen away, and in its place rose up a bottomless well of light and restless energy, as if it knew how to offer the young girl a home of her own and replace her confusion with comfort. The change in him had been no less immediate. Jean had been strange to him at first; uncomfortable with herself, but strong-willed; stubborn, but eager to please; affectionate, but withdrawn. He had always thought that his greatest achievement in a long career of philanthropy was earning Jean's trust. He had felt like Sisyphus fighting an uphill battle all the way, with Jean's wariness sitting like a great load of stone on his shoulders. But from the moment his eyes locked with her frightened ones, he knew that he would stop at nothing to erase that fear. In that moment, everything he had became hers. Many other children came; students, wards—refugees from the outside world. His home became a school, and a sanctuary. And he became the staunchest support of people, rather than populations. Yes, many others came; but she was first, always.
He saw little of the X-Men for the rest of the day. Storm was talking to Kurt in the library; it seemed she was in great need of the one thing he had in endless supply: faith. He could hear them both—he was in no mood to keep up his usual tight rein on the shields around his mind. And a subconscious piece kept whispering that if he kept his mind open, if he let all the voices invade, maybe one of them might be hers. He swiveled his attention away from the pair by the windows; that was where Jean used to sit when she had questions for him and didn't want the necessity of eye contact. She had discovered very quickly that it made the mental communication that was so essential a part of her training very strong and very painful, and it was too direct at first for their stilted, professional conversations. He smiled as he remembered the day, months later, when she had finally believed that he hadn't been spending all their time together reading every thought in her head.
"Jean, only five minutes more. You're doing well; just try to hold to one thought. Pack it down like ice. Don't let me through." The red ponytail tossed angrily as Jean threw herself down on the library floor in a sulk.
"I don't see why I have to keep doing this. You always get through."
"Not always. One day you'll be strong enough to keep me out and control your power, and I won't be able to help you then. You need to practice now, while— "
"While you can control me," she snapped. Xavier sighed.
"Jean, we've been through this. I'm teaching you to master your power, to control it so that it can no longer control you, even harm you."
"You mean other people. Like you, or humans. You want me to be under control because you're afraid of me." Xavier did catch her eyes then.
"I'm afraid of many things, Jean, but you are not one of them." Her eyes widened for a moment, then she lifted her chin.
"Prove it." She wilted a little under his stare as he scrutinized her, minute after minute until she felt as if they were a couple of statues posed opposite each other in a museum.
"Very well." He lifted a hand in her direction. "Come here." She stood before him, like a naughty child waiting for punishment, so the shock when his mind crashed over hers almost bowled her off her feet.
'Get out,' she hissed. 'Get out of my head.' The answering voice was calm, although not quite as steady as it usually was.
'I will not hurt you, Jean. Focus on one thought, and whatever it is, don't let me hear it. Focus; stay in your own mind. And listen.' It was a strange word to use, Jean thought, as his thoughts and emotions washed over her. It was not really like listening to sound, and yet it was a kind of perception, like seeing a mirage or hearing an echo, far off in the distance but almost close enough to grasp. The only difference was the undeniable truth of this...experience. She felt his frustration at being met at every turn with her hostility or petulance. She felt his need to break down her wildly firing telepathy, amazingly, not for his own interest in control or power, but for her own safety and sanity. And she felt his affection, even devotion, and his fear—not of her, but of failure. She knew that he occasionally helped mutants who were in trouble, and she had held it against him. Shame overcame her mental control, and in the few seconds left before their link would become too strong to sustain, she sent: 'I'm sorry. I just didn't want to be your science experiment.'
When they had each pulled back, there was silence in the library for a few moments. Xavier gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand lightly. "Lessons are ended for today," he said quietly. "You're free to go." Jean hesitated for a moment. Normally she would have raced outside, eager to taste the wind and the sunlight for the few hours of the day she could call her own. But she didn't leave.
She turned towards the bookcases. Jean knew, as very few did, that Xavier's library, unlike those gathering dust in the mansions of many wealthy families, was not for show; every book in that room was a dear favorite, thumb-worn and, in many cases, crinkled with age. She had initiated a minor exploration on her first day in the mansion but had not returned since except for lessons, and for discussions with the professor that greatly resembled lessons. But now she was determined to discover what it was about all these books that he loved so much. She picked one at random and slid it into his hands, climbing onto the window seat and saying softly: "Read to me."
He nodded, opening the book carefully, and began to read aloud. 'Captains Courageous, by Rudyard Kipling' wasprinted on the title page. He wondered briefly if she knew the story of the rich, spoiled young man who, by an accident of fate, landed on a fishing boat and, after being brought down a peg or two by the captain, spent his time there learning the difference between boy and man. After a while Xavier discovered she had no idea which book she had chosen, as all the particularly applicable passages invariably caused a roll of her eyes and a slight smirk. After a while, though, she grew very still, and he thought he knew what was coming. "I'm not that horrible, am I?" she whispered.
"Children learn," he said simply. "More easily than adults, and better. You're young, Jean, and you've already come so far. Time, and I, will help you the rest of the way."
"But what if..." She seemed unable to finish.
"But what?" he asked gently.
"What if you spend all that time training me, and it isn't worth it? What if I can't be this strong, in-control person you want me to be, and I end up really hurting someone, or myself, or you? What if...what if I just can't do it?"
He looked straight at her again, without touching her mind, merely gaining her attention. "I'm here," he said firmly.
She smiled and turned to look out the window. "Guess I'll be ok, then," she murmured.
She was not ok. But he knew that she would be, if the choice had been his to make. And that was some comfort.