A scream had started it all.

The screaming started early on, once they'd all left for school. Everyone but her, that was, because she was too wild to be let out. The screams started as soon as Logan went out on his motorcycle and Ororo was out of earshot, leaving only the two of them on the first floor. At first he'd rushed over to her end of the house, convinced something horrible was happening. Instead he found he ripping apart the affectionately named junk room of the mansion. Screaming incoherently, some words and some growls, crying sometimes and glaring fit to kill the rest of the time, she was ruining the place.

But it was okay, because it was just junk. Charles watched her silently, and the screams became words more and more with time. Why me, why me, she screamed at first. I did everything they said, every last fucking thing, every mission PERFECTLY! And she begins to tear things apart, screaming perfect, perfect, perfect. Trashing things, ripping them apart, smashing them, out of control. I was always who you wanted me to be, always – and a lamp went hurtling past him at a wall. She wasn't aiming for him. She wasn't aiming at all, because she wasn't all here right now, X-23. She roared and grips a discarded piece of wood so hard it splintered in one of her hands.

Tears began to form in her eyes, then. Why did they hit me, why did they beat me, she screamed, and then flew into such a rage Charles is actually fearful, not for his life but for her sanity. She began to claw and rip at boxes, smash into chairs, throw herself into this destruction so full heartedly that she couldn't stop. Bruises and cuts that would have formed on her heal instantly as she began to growl, howl, shriek. How long can this go on? Tears were streaming down her face. She wasn't sad, however, he realized, she's just hurt.

And eventually, he learned everything he ever needed to know about her through her wailing. They beat her even when she did everything right. They threw her into all white rooms for days on end. They fed her poison randomly to see how strong she was. There's so much anger built up within her that she beats up the walls and the floor and turns broken objects into ceramic confetti. She wanted to kill them, all of them. An hour passed before she finally, hoarse and tired of screaming, collapsed.

Only then did she begin to cry, really cry, the tears of a defeated and downtrodden soul. She fell to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed like he's never seen anyone sob before in his life. Her body shook with it, the sound echoing in the now hollow room. She was only a child, not a weapon, he thinks to himself. His heart goes out to her, because the poor girl hardly had a choice in the matter–

Her claws came out, and rip across her arms in seconds, only to find she was suddenly unable to move them. Her head turned to stare at him, green eyes meeting his dark ones angrily. She hadn't known he could do that. "Let me go."

"No," he replied, with equal firmness. "I've let you have your tantrum, as all children must, but I cannot allow you to hurt yourself." He gestured around the room. "These are – were – things, replaceable objects. You aren't."

She stood then, on shaking legs, and walked over to him. Her eyes locked onto his, and her expression was utterly hollow. Defeated, she began to speak, slowly at first, then faster, rambling, a whirlwind of deeply pent up emotions tumbling out of her.

"I thought that if I stopped making mistakes, everyone would like me. But I stopped having flaws, I stopped screwing up. I was perfect and no one ever stopped hating me. I don't know what to do anymore – everything gets so mixed up in my head and it all comes back to me and I just want someone to not hate me. I want to be under control without being like I was at Hydra. I don't know, I guess I just want to be normal and pretty and talk about what Kitty and Jean talk about and go to dances and school and all of that other stuff, but…" And now she finally slowed down from the ramble she'd worked up to, "I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be able to do anything other than this," she gestured to the demolished room, "and this," she gestured to her arm, which had completely healed in the past ten seconds.

Charles gently reached up to push her hair behind her ears, an affectionate gesture he'd seen Ororo do a hundred times. Her hand caught his, and she held it there mid-air, dumbly, like a child starved of affection to the point where she no longer knew what to do. Her eyes were locked onto his, searching, desperate for some glimmer of understanding. She was standing closer than ever before now. He could see faint scars crossing her caramel colored arms, but he wasn't repulsed and he didn't move back from her, merely taking both her hands in his. X-23 blinked at him, the gesture truly lost on her after so many years of abuse.

"Listen to me. You are not perfect," he squeezed her hands slightly when her face fell, "None of us are. We are all flawed, with problems and insecurities. Everyone feels angry and hurt, you see. It makes us human. It's part of being human to hurt, and it's part of being in a family to heal. And while I know you may feel hopeless, you need to understand something: You have a family here. Logan is your father; he's said as much to me in private. Ororo loves every person in this Institute like a son or daughter. The others? They are your siblings. We're here to help you, and we will. You'll get better, I promise."

She looked around the room and cringed self consciously, years of military training kicking back in. "I lost control. Completely."

"Yes," he agreed, "You did. You're not the first to do so and you shall not be the last. These things happen. One mistake is not the end of the world, especially not here. Not with me."

Her eyes well up then, and her hands grasp his – a little too tight for his liking, but that was fine given that it was her – and she buried her head in his shoulder, crying. If Kitty or Jean were to do something similar, he would have backed away instantly. But they had childhoods where they could cry, and they had parents who would care. Not her, not X-23. So he awkwardly allowed her to engage in yet another bout of uncontrollable emotions. Personally he'd rather have a sobbing X-23 than a lethally controlled and angry one any day of the week. Even as he lost feeling in his shoulder and realized with mild embarrassment that she was now half sitting in his lap, he tried to remain dignified and calm. She'd had enough instability for one lifetime.

"Are girls supposed to cry like this?" she blurted out finally, "Or this a side effect of how I was raised?"

"All girls cry. Usually into their pillows at your age, but I believe that you destroyed those before I entered the room," he smiled at her, to show her there was no hard feelings, and ruffled her hair. "It's fine."

"I need a name," she mused. "You keep almost ending sentences, but then you stop because I just have a codename."

"We'll work on that," he promised firmly, letting go of her hands at last. "And we'll work on getting you normal things, clothes and like, as well. You'll be fine, you'll see."

In response, she smiled – a very un-X-23 thing to do – and pressed her lips to his forehead, a gesture she didn't know the name of just yet. It was just something she'd seen on TV, and it seemed to please him, as the Professor smiled at her. Apparently that was a normal, or at least an alright response. Pleased with herself, she calmly left the room, to stalk the mansion in a very Wolverine like manner and bask in the morning sunlight. That had gone much better than anything in, well, her entire life actually. But something was off. Was she supposed to feel that butterfly feeling in her stomach when she did that… whatever the word for it was? She frowned to herself, debating whether or not to ask someone. Finally she just went back to her room, deciding it was nothing important.

And with that, X-23's first crush began, like most of her life, in quiet confusion.