"I wonder if you would mind waiting a minute, Zara."

He had never used her first name before. She was surprised, but tried to mask it. "Of course, Professor."

He smiled. "You've been here for weeks. Surely you can call me Charles by now?"

"Certainly, if you'd prefer it. I haven't wanted to appear-"

"Unprofessional, I know." He cut her off gently. "But, Zara, I would appreciate it if you would call me Charles, because I have some things to say to you that are of a personal nature." He smiled to put her at ease. "Please, sit."

She sat. Only someone who was watching carefully would see that her movements were not entirely fluid. Her pain always increased at the end of the day. Zara looked at him expectantly.

"Prof...Charles. I hope you'll feel comfortable telling me anything you think I need to know." No doubt she thought he would be speaking of his own personal issues, not hers.

"Thank you for that, Zara. To begin, I simply have an observation—you've been here for a while now, and we've discussed the children's progress almost every day. In all that time, you've never thought to mention to me their particular...gifts?"

She tried to evade. "Well, I'm one of those annoying teachers that think all children have gifts, I suppose-"

"That's not what I mean, Zara, and I think you know that."

She paused. "This is a school for the gifted. You are their primary teacher. You know them better than I ever could. You never mentioned it, so I didn't think you needed me to specifically mention that the children here are all mutants. Ultimately, it doesn't matter to my work what kind of extra—gifts—they have."

"But you have noticed?"

Zara smiled quietly. "Of course. They're children; they like to show off. And they obviously feel comfortable doing that here." Her brow furrowed. "Is there a problem?"

"Not in the way you might think. Of course, I wish to keep them protected. The least of my concerns is those who might mock them, and unfortunately there are far greater things to worry about than that. That's why we're so...isolated, if you will. In fact, as you might also have noticed, there are very few teachers or staff here that do not have "gifts" of their own. I simply won't risk having someone here that can't be trusted. Plus, the best role models for the students are those who have dealt with their own mutations."

"I'm honored by your trust, but if that's the case—"

"Why did I bring you here? For that exact reason. The best role models for the students are those who have dealt—or are dealing with—their own mutations."

"I'm sorry; I don't follow you."

Here was the opportunity.

"Zara, I hired you for this job because you are very qualified, you are an excellent teacher, and you are dealing with a mutation."

She froze. There was a pause. "I assume you're referring to the arthritis."

Charles met her gaze evenly. "What arthritis? You never mentioned any kind of illness when you interviewed for the job."

Zara stared at him, feeling the heat rush into her face. Damn it, he had caught her in the lie, easy as that. She closed her eyes for a minute to regroup. "All right, yes. I do have arthritis; I've had it for years. Of course I didn't disclose it in the interview. I needed and wanted this job. And, I might add, it does not affect my ability to do the job." She tried to keep the edge out of her voice. "But I know the last thing any employer wants is to worry about the health of an employee."

"I think we can perhaps agree that you might be unfamiliar with what I want," he replied, keeping the eye contact.

Well, that stung.

"I apologize. I just meant that...in my experience...the knowledge affects people, no matter how much they try to ignore it."

"Oh, you're correct on that front. Knowledge always changes us. We have to try and make sure the changes are for the better."

Zara took a breath. "Professor. Now that you know...are you asking me to leave the job?"

Charles noticed that they were back to "Professor," already. Not a good sign. "Absolutely not," he said. "I'm asking you to be receptive to some new knowledge."

"I...um—" She wildly considered what would happen if she said no. "All right."

"There are all kinds of mutations, large and small, noticeable and invisible. Most people are walking around with at least a few mutations and never know about them. In fact, it's more "normal" to have some mutations, somewhere, than to not have any at all. I have blue eyes, and that's one mutation. You have red hair, and that's another one. These mutations are called "neutral; they don't harm us, or help us really. They simply differentiate us." He looked at Zara to gauge her reaction. She didn't yet have that "get-to-the-POINT" look that the students got when he was getting wordy.

"Then, there are beneficial mutations. All of the students here have some kind of beneficial mutation, something that can help them, whether it's increased strength, sight, agility, or thought. It may not always seem beneficial, especially to the students themselves. We won't know for a long time if these mutations will be passed on and increase the strength of the overall population. And then, the harmful mutations, which I have a feeling you know all about."

"So what you're saying, Professor, is that even though my mutation is harmful to me, it's a mutation, so I qualify to teach at your school?"

"Hardly." He pushed away the pain that wanted to flare up in his chest. God, he missed Erik. Nobody told you that when you lost someone, it wasn't ever really over and done with. You kept on losing them, every time you wished they were there, just to ask one question, just to share one thing they would appreciate better than anyone else. Erik, Raven, Moira... How would Erik handle this? Bluntly. He would tell Zara she was a mutant, tell her to make a choice, and walk away. If she followed, fine.

Perhaps it would be easier that way, for him and Zara both. Charles would never know.

"I'm not talking about the pain, Zara."

Her eyes locked on his. "Then what are you talking about?"

"Yes, the pain is caused by a mutation, but that's not the mutation I'm interested in, other than it hurts you, and I want that to stop."

"Well, I appreciate that, but I want it to stop too, and it never has." Now she couldn't keep the edge from her voice.

"Will you at least listen to me?"

"I am listening. It has to be the arthritis. There's nothing else."

"Zara. There is."

Confusion mixed with fear began to scratch at the corners of his mind. "I don't know what you mean, Professor."

"You do. Perhaps it doesn't seem like anything special, just something that's always been there."

"Most mutants manifest their powers in or before adolescence, correct? I've never had any kind of manifestation. No powers." She smiled limply. "Sorry."

"The key word there is "most", Zara. I believe you've suppressed your abilities."

"What makes you think that?"

"As irritating as it might sound, I have very good intuition."

"If you don't know what abilities they might be, how can you be so sure that I have any at all?"

"Again, intuition."

"I'm telling you the truth, even though it sounds like I might lose my job for it."

"I promise, your job isn't in danger, Zara."

Zara stood. A whine of pain raced through his mind. "I'm not a mutant. I actually wish that wasn't the case. I'd like to have a gift that would make something easier for me." She was heading for the door, her limp obvious as her control eroded. "But you are mistaken, Professor."

Zara. Stop.

Charles' voice, somehow amplified, echoed around her and inside her. She stopped dead, still facing the door. In what seemed like the next instant, she was sitting again and Charles was across from her, so close they could have touched, his blue eyes holding hers.

"I've frightened you, Zara, and I wish I didn't have to. Believe me, I tried to think of another way. But, not dealing with this would cause you more pain in the long run, though, and I don't want that."

"But...why?"

"Do you want to have a guess as to what my mutation is?"

Her eyes got wider. Something else she hadn't considered. "I'm a telepath, Zara. I know you have a mutation because I've been feeling it since you arrived here."

"You're a telepath...?" Her voice trailed off.

"Yes. Your symptoms began when you were thirteen. In adolescence," he said pointedly. "Since then, it's gotten worse. You take five medicines each morning and four each evening. You had heart surgery at nineteen and almost died from an unexplained pulmonary embolism when you were twenty-three." Charles leaned forward. "You believe things will never get better."

Zara slumped backwards. Fear, stronger than she had felt in a long time, surged in her. She tried to hold it together. "All right, Professor, you're a telepath. You have students to protect. Either way, knowing those facts about me proves you either did research or you pulled those facts from my mind. And, unless you and I have very different ideas about what a "gift" is, nothing you've said changes anything. " She placed her hand on the arm of the couch and shoved herself upward. She had to get out of here before she started to cry.

Zara, please.

The voice resonated inside her again.

Don't be afraid.

A feeling of calm started to seep into her. She pushed against it, but it amplified, and she felt herself take a deep breath, the fear retreating to the back of her mind. It was...less important. It was a relief.

Zara. I want to help you. I want to try and stop the pain.

Sobs suddenly flowed out of her, tears hot as they slid down her cheeks, and she collapsed back on to the couch. It took a few tries to get the words out.

"You c-an't. There's n-othing to be done. I just...have to live with it."

Charles touched her then, gently on her wrist. "That's where you're wrong. And if you'll let me, I'll prove it to you."

"No...no," she said quietly, not even sure why she was protesting any longer.

"All right, no," Charles said calmly, keeping his hand on her wrist and his touch on her mind. He gently pressed again on the tiny area that had begun to glow fitfully when he relaxed her. He would never force the choice on her, on anyone. She could continue to refuse, but the refusal would not be because she was afraid. "You've said no. I've heard you." He skimmed across her mind, touching synapses that pulsed and fired in response. "You're tired, Zara. I'm going to take you to your room, and you're going to go to bed. A good sleep, no dreams, no pain. You'll remember all this, but we won't talk about it again until you want to."

And then, she was in her room, going through the motions of getting ready for bed. She felt...better. Like someone was right behind her, she could almost feel their warmth, all she had to do was lean back and she would be supported, protected. Somewhere, a soft protest rose up in her mind, but she brushed it aside, it melted, and she fell asleep.

Charles, standing just outside her door, felt Zara's mind relax into sleep and he sighed as the stress dissolved in the back of his mind. He stretched out a delicate strand of thought, let it flow until it curved around the edge of one of her mind's shields. He focused it into a point, saw it glow like metal in a fire—Erik—and allowed the point to touch her outermost shield.

He expanded it slightly, held it there, until it burned a tiny hole and a pinpoint of light shone in, where light had not been for a long time. More importantly, a breath of a glow came back the other way, and Charles smiled as it appeared.