Chapter 1: Amy

Xavier sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

He had been immersed in paperwork for most of the day. A quick glance at the clock showed it was almost five. The sun was setting over the western side of the property, and the bookshelf against the east wall of his study was painted a bright orange.

Something seemed odd, out of place, and he stopped for a moment to consider what it could be. It hit him. The mansion was quiet. He leaned back in his chair, using his telepathy to check on his X-Men.

Logan and Remy were playing pool downstairs in the rec room; Ororo was up in her attic taking a nap; Jean and Scott were in their room, doing…Xavier turned his attention elsewhere before Jean noticed anything and before he got more information than he wanted. Except for them, the mansion was empty, and therefore quiet. It was a rare occurrence in a building where so many people lived together.

Then the peace was shattered by the sound of slamming doors, and Rogue, Betsy, Warren, Bishop, and Nathan came in. Xavier sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, where he could feel a tiny bit of a headache starting. Quiet. He just wanted a little peace and quiet.

He turned, looked out the window. The lake, on the edges of his property, wasn't being used. He remembered how he used to like sitting at the edge of the water there. Maybe he should do so again.

He went to his room, shed the pressed shirt and tie he always wore in favor of a well-worn, comfortable green sweater. It was October, and the breeze was bound to be cooler coming in over the water. That done, he went to the wardrobe, opening the doors and getting into the regular wheelchair. The antigrav personal transport he usually sat in wouldn't do well over the uneven ground. The Shi'ar technology was wonderful, but it did have its limits. And he could use the arm exercise.

He got across the green lawns with a bit of effort, and he thought vaguely that he really was getting too old for this kind of exertion. He paused finally, some yards still from the lake, and stared in surprise.

There was a girl there, sitting on the big, flat stone by the lake. About fourteen, he guessed, with thick waist-length black hair, gold wire-rimmed glasses, and a gray pleated skirt with a white button-up blouse. White ankle socks and black loafers completed the ensemble. Some kind of uniform, he guessed. She was speaking softly while looking down at something in her lap, and he edged closer, the better to hear what she was saying.

"Fairest Cordelia," She was reading softly, "that art most rich, being poor/ Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!/ Thee and thy virtues I here seize upon/ Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away./ Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect/ My love should kindle to inflam'd respect./ Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,/ Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:/ Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy/ Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me./ Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:/Thou losest here, a better where to find."

Xavier remembered that passage. Shakespeare's King Lear, act one, scene one. He quoted the next lines with her. "Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we/ Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see/ That face of hers again. Therefore be gone/ Without our grace, our love, our benison./ Come, noble Burgundy."

She had turned, wide-eyed and startled, at the sound of his voice, and as he stopped speaking, she closed her book and looked ready to run. Xavier held out a hand to her. "Wait," he said. She stopped, stood still, looked at him warily. He brought his wheelchair up beside the flat rock she had been sitting on, and chose his words carefully, because she looked like she was going to start running at any moment. "Do you like Shakespeare?"

She nodded, relaxing just the tiniest bit. "Yes." Then, as if the dam broke, her next words came tumbling out in a rush. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be trespassing, I didn't see any property markers, please don't be mad, I promise I won't do it again if you tell me where your property ends and the orphanage's grounds begin…"

Ah. So that was it. The large, rambling building on the parcel of land adjacent to Xavier's was finally occupied, then. Now that he thought back, he remembered reading something in the papers about the house having been purchased. The purchasers were apparently turning the house into an orphanage. It was a good use for the building; though the land around it wasn't as extensive as his, it would easily be large enough for playing fields for children.

"This side of the lake belongs to me," he said. Raising an arm to point to a large oak tree roughly a hundred yards away, he continued, "From the oak, there, to the red maple there." He indicated a small maple sapling almost three quarters of the way around the lake from the oak. "But I don't mind if you want to come here. It's a nice, quiet spot for reading. Just so long as you don't damage anything, or destroy anything, you're welcome to come here as often as you like."

She smiled. While she could never be called pretty, the smile lit up her face and made her attractive. "Thank you," she said. "The orphanage is never as quiet as I like for reading, and King Lear is one of my favorites. I like to read it aloud. Some of the boys say I'm weird."

"Dear, all boys that age think girls are weird." Xavier chuckled, thinking of himself at that age. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Amy," she said, holding out her hand. "Amy McCarly."

He took the proffered hand. "Charles Xavier." She had a firm, strong grip for someone so young.

A sudden breeze riffled the lake's surface, and Xavier shivered in the chill. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and the chill October night air was creeping in. "I really must be getting back, Amy," he said. "Shouldn't you be going in soon?"

She checked her watch, smiled. "I have until dinner, and that's at six. I've got probably fifteen minutes. I'd like to finish the first act."

"Feel free," he gestured to the rock. "I guess I'll see you again sometime, then?"

"If you're sure you don't mind," she said shyly. She settled herself back on the rock, opened her book, and Xavier turned his wheelchair around and headed toward the mansion.

A few yards away one of the wheels caught on a rock and stalled, dumping him unceremoniously to the ground. He hit the grass with a thump that jarred him, and he gritted his teeth as the ever-present pain in his spine flared. Before he could get up, a pair of small, strong hands was lifting his shoulders, helping him sit up. "There you go," she said gently, "Now wait while I get the chair." She got the chair upright, and helped him over to it. He got a good grip on the arms, unsure of how much weight she could handle and determined to help her as much as she could. To his surprise, she lifted him into his chair in one swift, easy movement, and then settled the slim volume of Shakespeare in his lap as she took the handles of the chair. "That's your home, up there?" she nodded toward the roof of the mansion, poking up above the trees. He nodded, still breathless from the spike of pain from his back. She stopped. "Lean forward," she said gently. Surprised, he did, and she placed a hand at the small of his back, where the pain was worst, and ran her finger lightly, in circles, around the area. To Xavier's surprise, the pain lessened.

"Where did you learn that?" he said curiously.

"My grandfather was a paraplegic," she said quietly as she started to push his wheelchair toward the mansion. "I lived with him after my parents died in a plane crash. He would have me do that each evening, or whenever the pain got bad. It helped, or so he always said." She was quiet for a moment. "He was a construction worker. One day an unsecured beam fell from a crane from thirty feet up, and crushed his spine. They couldn't fix it."

She gave a short, bitter laugh. "He wasn't much pleased when his son and daughter in law died and left him with a seven-year-old granddaughter. There weren't a whole lot of things I could do to help him, at first, but then I got used to him, and he taught me all sorts of things I could do to ease his pain. Then one evening when I was ten we were coming back from my ballet recital with my best friend, and a drunk driver crashed into the van. My friend, her mother, and my grandfather were killed instantly; I almost died too, but the firemen pulled me out of the burning car."

Xavier was silent. She had seen so much tragedy, for one so young. No wonder she had such a haunted look in her wide brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he said finally, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't be," she said, her tone forcibly cheerful. "I'm still alive."

The back door opened as they were coming up to it, and Jean came out. She smiled at the girl, but addressed her words to Xavier. "Charles, we were worried! We couldn't find you! Where were you!"

He gave her a 'later' look and said firmly, "Amy, meet Jean. She's one of my students here at the school."

Amy shook hands with the gorgeous redhead, rather tongue-tied. "Hello," she finally got out. "Amy McCarly. I'm one of the orphans from the new orphanage on the other side of the lake. I was trespassing unknowingly, and I met Mr. Xavier down at the lake." She turned to Xavier. "School?"

"Yes, I run a school for mutants here," he said. "My students learn to control their powers and use them. This is the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning."

She nodded, a light dawning over her face. "I remember seeing the sign on your front gate," she said. "It didn't hit me until just now. Well, we should get along then; I'm a mutant too. Some of the kids at the orphanage are, though not many, and I'm the only girl."

"What can you do?" Xavier asked.

Amy held out her hand, palm out. In seconds, a tiny ball of flame was dancing on her palm. She tossed it from one hand to the other, then juggled it for a moment before it disappeared. "It's useful for reading under the covers after curfew, but not for much else," she said with a shrug.

Xavier could think of a lot of things that could be done with a power like that, but at just that moment, the sound of a far-off whistle reached their ears as they stood by the back door. Amy jerked. "That's the come-in whistle," she said, alarmed. "I have to go if I don't want to be late for dinner. Good night, Mr. Xavier: it was nice to meet you, Miss Jean!" And she took off running.

Jean watched with some amusement as the long coltish legs took their owner swiftly off into the twilight. "She's quite a child," she said. "Charles, how did you find her?"

"She was down by the lake, sitting on the star-gazing rock and reading King Lear," Xavier said as Jean pushed his wheelchair into the warm kitchen. He felt something hard under his hands, and looked down in surprise, to see he was still holding Amy's slim little volume.

He went up to his room, dropped off the book and the sweater, and dressed in his usual attire for dinner. He got back into his hoverchair, putting the one he had so lately fallen out of into the closet, and went down to dinner.

Betsy teased him as he came back into the dining room, "We heard you met quite the friend today." He looked up at the tall Asian woman and grimaced. There was something about women, news traveled with them faster than light.

Over dinner he told them about Amy. "She's one of the orphans from the orphanage next door. Apparently someone has bought the building and restored it. I've seen it once; it probably looks better now than it did, but it's perfect for an orphanage. It's mostly normal children, from what she said, but there are a few mutant children there as well. She's apparently the only girl." He looked at his X-Men, sitting around the table. "I gave her permission to use the lake as her reading spot. If you see her, just say hi, and keep going."

Scott spoke. "There can't be a lot of quiet time in the orphanage to read," he said, his voice laden with empathy. He understood what it was like, having grown up in an orphanage himself, until Xavier had rescued him and brought him here. "But Charles…just her, or are they all allowed by the lake?"

Xavier frowned. "It wouldn't be fair if they weren't all allowed to come."

Scott objected. "Charles, some of the others won't be as considerate of the property as she is," he said. "Speaking from experience, if it's anyone else, especially some of the older boys, we'll be seeing spray painted graffiti all over the trees in a short time."

"Okay," Xavier said after some reflection. "I agree with you. If we catch any of the children destroying anything or harming anything, inform me, and I'll talk to the headmaster of the orphanage and have them kept away from the lake."

He was getting into bed later when the book caught his eye. He'd go down to the lake tomorrow evening and wait for her, to give her the book back.

He picked it up, idly, and was surprised to see a yellowed, well-worn envelope fall out of it. As he picked it up, he saw, written across the back, "My very dear Amy." The writing was a strong, masculine hand.

He knew he shouldn't read it, but curiosity was too much. Handling the yellowed sheet of paper carefully, he opened it and read.

My dear Amy, the letter began. You've always loved Shakespeare, and when other children wanted to be read fairy tales before going to bed, you wanted me to read Shakespeare. Your mother and I thought, then, that an appropriate gift for your sixth birthday would be a copy of your favorite play. Your very first 'grown-up' book. Read it, and love it, and think of us when you do. We love you, Amy.

It was signed, Daddy and Mommy.

Xavier felt tears sting his eyes. She loved this book because it was her first, because she had gotten it from her parents, now dead. Poor child, to have lost her parents at such a young age. He folded the paper carefully, tucking it back into the envelope, and set the book by his bed. He would return it to her tomorrow. If she wasn't at the lake, then he would visit the school.

Amy arrived back at the orphanage late and out of breath. The Headmaster wasn't pleased. "You're late, McCarly," he said to her. "You will go to bed early tonight, and tomorrow you'll be in the front halls with the inside crew."

She stared down at the toe of her shoe. Early to bed wasn't a problem, but the front halls were murder. It wasn't fair that they had to clean the place up themselves, she thought rebelliously.

The house had been abandoned for years. Windows had broken in the front halls, letting in rain, wind, leaves, and other detritus all over the floors. As a result, what once was gleaming hardwood floors were now rough, warped boards that had to be pulled up and replaced. The orphans had been hard at work for days now, sweeping, cleaning, and scrubbing. The walls were decent, finally, but tomorrow they would be pulling up the rough boards. She could already feel the splinters digging into her fingers.

She had been on outside duty today, sweeping and clearing the front walk, clearing out the garage for the staff's cars, and trimming the hedges. Two of the older boys had taken the lawnmowers to the overgrown grass of the lawn and the back, so at least that was done. Hannah, Sarah, and Vanessa, three of the other orphans, were planting flowers and shrubs around the grounds.

She sat down to a silent dinner, and stared horrified at the mess on her plate. Cold, half-cooked burgers again, canned beans again! The staff told everyone that the poor meal was due to the kitchen group's inability to clean everything adequately. There were angry stares all around the table, directed at the three girls and two boys who were supposed to have cleaned, but Amy didn't look up. She was sure they had done the best they could. She did her best to eat the cold canned beans, but when she bit into the burger, the taste of blood filled her mouth and she couldn't eat. She put her share down and waited silently for everyone else to finish eating, not even caring when Dave, one of the biggest bullies, stole her burger. Then she climbed the stairs with the other girls to the rooms designated as theirs, all silent because everyone was too tired to talk.

There were fifteen girls here, and twenty-six boys. Seven of the boys were mutants; she was the only mutant girl. Drew could levitate things; Stefan could walk through walls; and Matthew could create illusions out of thin air. Lucas did this weird mass-shifting thing where he could lighten the weight of anything he touched (it had come in handy when they'd had to move the furniture into the house). Greg could read minds; Shawn could make any object lying around into a flying projectile (he had already been put to use driving nails into boards.) Chris could run faster than the eye could follow.

She suddenly realized she'd left her precious book back with Mr. Xavier. She mentally cursed herself for it. If he tried to come here tomorrow he would see her on her hands and knees pulling boards around like a common servant; what would he think of her then? Well, she'd have to find some time tomorrow to slip away. Maybe the free hour they were given just before lunch; she could run up there and ask for her book back. She was too tired to do any extra reading tonight; she could barely keep her eyes open as she did her homework. Really, the staff did give them a lot of homework, though she supposed that they did have to keep up with whatever the educational requirements mandated by the state.

She finally fell into bed with a sigh as the lights went out, and closing her eyes, she let her mind drift. The rock by the lake was a lovely place to sit and read, and she was so glad that Mr. Xavier had told her she could come back. She wouldn't tell anyone else; for one, the Headmaster and the rest of the staff of teachers wouldn't like it, and two, if she did, someone would find a way to ruin it for her. The last place they'd been in, the Blackstone Orphanage's first location, had been condemned after a water pipe had burst and rendered the whole building soaked and unstable. She knew why the pipe had burst; Stefan had found her reading nook, a tiny cubby under the attic stairs, and tried to walk through the wall into it holding a can of spray paint. The knowledge hadn't done her any good; Stefan threatened to hurt her if she told anyone. He'd beaten her up once before; she wasn't going to repeat the experience

So she kept the knowledge to herself, and didn't tell anyone anything. Just as she would here. She would keep her head down, keep her nose clean, get good grades, and take the entrance exams for the local community college as soon as she could. When she was eighteen, she could leave here, and college seemed a good place to start out on her own.

Amy sighed, and drifted off into sleep.