Friday morning arrived before Anne was ready. She rose, fixed their breakfast, brewed tea, and tried to treat it like any other day. So what that a group of college students were coming here for their lab that day? It wasn't like they were moving in, and she had plenty of rooms where she could just disappear if she got too crowded.

Charles saw how having strangers in the house affected her, and he did his best to ensure that she would be okay. Anne had nodded and gone about her business. But she couldn't stop the questions. How would the house appear? She knew first impressions were paramount to success, and her first impression of this place had been horrible. Thankfully, she was able to change that. But how much? And what would they say if they discovered that she lived here? Never mind that Charles was disabled and technically her boss. Everyone saw the relationship between them, and Charles had actually called her "love" in class the other day. It had been a moment when Anne wanted to strangle him and laugh at the startled expressions on the students' faces. Obviously they did not realize that it was a common endearment from England. Charles had looked just as startled, and Anne chose not to comment.

He had done a phenomenal job on Wednesday of tying the current media hype surrounding mutants into his lesson, using it to illustrate the science they all struggled to understand. And Anne had been unable to listen without her mind wandering back to Monday. Their conversation at lunch had been eye-opening, and she had spent hours thinking about mutants and how they related to her own past. She didn't like what she saw when she compared herself.

She had been so certain he would kiss her on Monday, and she wanted him to. But, after the emotion of the day bled off in the form of a spectacular crying jag that evening, she found herself grateful he hadn't. Charles had a way of looking at her, of admiring her without making it seem like he was mentally undressing her. She recognized the speculative gleam in his eye whenever he saw her in a new outfit, and she knew he clearly wanted to do more than simply hold her hand. But he refused to treat her as an object, and it left her wanting more.

Still, he'd been right. She had refused to let him sit around moping, and she grew angry when he threw the wheelchair into conversation as an excuse. She had spent her first weeks in this house working to make certain he knew without any shadow of a doubt that he was not less of a man because of that chair. Yet, when her own past became known, she suddenly viewed herself as a lesser woman because of what she had done. Yes, it had been horrible. Yes, it had scarred her mind and heart. But it did not define her, not the way she had allowed it. Charles calling her on that had been as powerful as the night she finally admitted to him what she had done in the past.

Changing the way she thought of herself was difficult. But Anne found strength every time Charles smirked at her or held her hand or did something that made her feel like she was the most unique woman in the world. She wanted to understand how he did so and knew that her own emotions probably played a huge role in that. But watching him out of the corner of her eye as she played the piano, seeing the trouble he went to make certain he could stand being in his wheelchair for long lengths of time, and feeling the acceptance that he somehow projected as he studied and simply listened to her music. . . .That, as much as anything else he did, soothed her rattled mind.

The doorbell echoed through the house, and Anne forced her thoughts into a box labeled "Charles" while she walked toward the door. She found the young man who had slouched in the corner of the room standing outside, looking rather uncertain. He gave her a relieved look. "Miss Conrad! I thought I had the wrong address."

She stepped back and let him in the house, not at all surprised or offended when he gawked. "Welcome to Professor Xavier's home."

"More like a mansion." He blinked and then realized that he'd been staring. "I'm James. My friends call me Jamie. I'm meeting the Prof a little early today."

"It's nice to meet you, Jamie." Anne discreetly checked the clock on the wall and realized he was at least thirty minutes ahead of the rest of the crowd. "Let me take you to the lab. Professor Xavier is already there."

Jamie nodded and followed her up the stairs, his eyes as round as hers had been the first time she started cleaning the house. It was an awe-inspiring place, and it had taken several days before she felt like she could do more than just clean. Now, she was as comfortable in this home as she had ever been in any other place. Perhaps more so.

Charles sat behind a desk he'd set up in the lab, studying his lesson plans, when Anne escorted Jamie inside. He smiled in welcome, motioning Jamie to a chair near his desk. "Good morning."

"Hey." Jamie glanced between them before turning to Charles. "Can I talk with you, Prof? Just. . . .you?"

Anne took the hint. She met Charles's eyes. "I'll wait downstairs. The rest of the students should be here within the hour."

"Thank you, Anne." Charles said it in a way that she knew he appreciated her discretion. She left the lab, closing the door and sighing deeply.

This was it. This was the day she realized that her home could be invaded by students. And, not for the first time that week, she wondered if there was a way that she and Charles could use their experiences to help other young people. If so, then surely this day was a start, though she could not figure out why she would think that. She just knew the hope that had started growing in her heart over the last several days and, in spite of her apprehension at having her secret known by more than Charles and his little family, she couldn't help wondering just how wonderful that would be.

~oOo~

Charles knew why Jamie had come to him. He had seen it the first time the young man thanked him, had been startled by the revelation, and had not mentioned anything about it. But the conversation in class about mutation created such a tension in Jamie that he hoped nothing too explosive would happen.

Looking directly at his student, he waited. When Jamie struggled to get started, he smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"You really believe in mutants?"

"I do."

"Why?"

That question had so many answers. He could have quoted statistics, spouted theory, or any number of things. Instead, Charles chose to use the one that would help Jamie the most. "Because I am one."

Jamie's mouth flopped open. He stared for a moment and then straightened, glancing over his shoulder. "Does Miss Conrad know?"

"No." Charles thought about Anne, about watching her come down the stairs that morning just before he boarded the elevator to get up to his lab. She had been so elegant, her long skirt dragging the staircase behind her, and he had been hard pressed to keep from staring. "I plan to tell her when the time is right." If the time is ever right.

Jamie shifted in his chair. "You think she'll be okay with it?"

"I don't know." Charles leaned forward. "Jamie, you are safe here."

The younger man laughed. "Yeah. I've heard that one before."

Charles touched his temple, focusing on communicating only. I understand what has been done to you. I've seen it done to too many others. But this place—this house—is meant to be a haven for others like us.

Jamie's face paled as he realized that Charles had not actually spoken. "You knew the other day!"

"I did." Charles tilted his head to one side. "But it was not my place to say anything. I've done that before, and it ended badly."

All at once, the tension in Jamie's shoulders went out of him. He hung his head and laughed, a relieved sound that coupled with a wave of vindication. "I thought it was just me! Until January. But I never really had any clue that others like me—us—could exist."

Charles remembered this same reaction in Erik and smiled. "You're not alone, Jamie."

Jamie nodded. "So, you. . .what? Read minds?"

"Among other things." Charles sat back in his chair. "I can tell you what almost every person in the classroom is thinking at any given time."

"Not everyone?"

"No. Miss Conrad wears a device designed to keep me out of her head."

"You really like her."

Was it so bloody obvious? Charles smiled at that. "Yes, I do. But, when we are in the classroom, she is my assistant." He wanted to ask what Jamie's powers were, but he waited. He suspected they were mental in nature, but he had not gone prying through Jamie's mind. It was cluttered with fear and everything a young man new to college thought about, as well as the fog of drugs. Charles understood this stage in life. He'd been there, some of it recently. But drugs and women were not the answer, not for the struggle that mutants faced.

Jamie finally slouched in his chair. "I can. . . .I don't know how to explain it. It's like I can trick people's bodies into feeling things. Pain, for instance. Or like they're on fire. An itch they can't control. It's like I just know where to apply the pressure to get them to respond the right way." He shrugged. "I call it bio-manipulation."

Charles's smile widened. He was not so removed from Oxford that he couldn't see the potential in that. "That has to be fun."

"It is." Jamie grinned. "I found out about it one day when I was partying with friends. One guy got drunk and wouldn't take no for an answer. Just before the girl slapped him, he reacted like someone had just kicked him in the. . .butt." He shrugged. "Exactly what I'd been wanting to do."

Charles appreciated Jamie changing the word he had been about to use. "And now?"

"Now, I use it when I need to." He slouched even further in his chair when someone knocked on the door. "Thanks, Prof," he said as Anne peeked into the room and then admitted several more students.

Charles nodded sagely, understanding the need for appearances. "You're welcome." He narrowed his eyes, forcing himself not to touch his forehead. And we can talk later. Call me, and we can set up some meetings to help you learn more about your abilities.

Jamie gave him a startled glance, and then nodded ever so slightly. But he sat up a little straighter, and Charles felt a tiny bit of confidence come into his mind.

Within fifteen minutes, the lab filled with students there to work on that week's assignment, and Charles saw how Anne settled into a chair in the back corner of the room. But his mind constantly returned to Jamie and his struggle to find acceptance. He had taken this job of teaching a college course because he needed to get out of the house, to interact with people, and to make Anne happy. Instead, he found what could possibly be one of the first students for his school. The excitement that caused surprised him, and he fought to keep it under control long enough to get through the lab.

~oOo~

The next two weeks passed quickly. Summer faded to autumn, and the garden began losing its vibrancy. Anne loved this time of year. Whenever she wasn't cooking, cleaning, or assisting Charles with school, she escaped to the gardens to knit or read. Charles occasionally joined her, and those days were her favorites. They walked the paved paths, made plans to visit local farmer's markets, and discussed his teaching schedule. When he didn't, she used the time to think.

She was being childish. That realization hit fairly quickly, as did her reasons for it. She hid it well, but she hated how often she actually resented Charles's students. Jamie appeared two to three times a week, and Anne did her best to let him and Charles work. He had truly become Charles's protege, and it did her heart good to see Charles so invested in another person. But she missed her time with him. More than once, she wished she could simply interrupt when he and Jamie were secluded in his study, sitting in a corner and knitting while watching Charles do what he loved. He had flourished with someone needing his time and efforts, and Anne wished he saw that she still needed him.

But she kept quiet and left the study to him. She and Charles usually worked in the library, preferring the table that sat beneath large windows, where both of them could look over the gardens. And, in the evenings, Charles either prepared for his next class or read a book. Things had changed from the times they would play a game or simply talk over her knitting. She often felt him watching her from the front of the class, and she almost asked if they could play chess. At least she'd feel a little like he hadn't forgotten her.

You're being ridiculous. Her thoughts somehow took on his voice. You're a grown woman, and you knew his teaching position would take a lot of his attention.

But I wish he'd just. . . .

Notice you? Her inner conversation made her squirm. Be like he was before, when he was so needy that he depended on you and Hank for everything? Wasn't the point of your job to get him to be independent? You're looking at the successful completion of your purpose for coming here, never mind the issues you've faced along the way. Can you not be happy for him?

Anne didn't have an answer. She truly wanted to be happy for Charles, to accept that this was the life he'd chosen. He had always been an academic, and teaching was just an extension of his innate curiosity and need to understand his world. And he had opened a school at one point, yet another sign that his life had been devoted to learning and teaching.

But what about people? What about me?

She shook the thoughts away, returning to the kitchen to finish their evening meal.

Charles was aware of her conflict, though he didn't quite understand all of it. She saw it in how he watched her slip out of a room and the few times he opened his mouth as if to ask if she would be alright. Anne wished he would, but he usually let out a sigh of irritation and let her go.

Finally, as September faded toward October, Anne had had enough. She had just finished dusting the music room and had watched Jamie bid the "Prof" a smiling farewell. The young man had flourished under Charles's attention, much like Anne once felt she had. And, while she was happy to see Jamie doing so well, she wanted to find a place to fit. All at once, she was no longer a nurse, no longer an assistant, or a housekeeper, or a cook. She was a woman who wanted to know that she was valued.

Taking a deep breath, she sat aside her dust rag and walked over to the study. Jamie had left the door open, and she saw Charles sitting behind his desk, writing notes in a small leather-bound notebook. A cup of tea sat near his right hand, and he looked completely at peace.

She knocked on the open door. "Got a minute?"

Charles glanced up from his notes. "Anne." He finished his thought and set his pen aside, marking his place in the book and closing it. "What's on your mind?"

Anne hated the sensation of walking into the principal's office. But, wasn't that what this place was? Charles had once been the headmaster of his own school, and he had obviously used this study then. She took a deep breath and headed for the Queen Anne couch he'd pulled from an upstairs bedroom. The blue and gold brocade shone in the late afternoon sun, and the dark wood of the couch fit with the rest of his study. It was regal and intimidating.

Charles watched her move, his smile of welcome fading as he did so. He backed away from his desk and rolled toward her, his face shifting to concern. "Anne?"

She took another breath and then met his eyes. "I'm sorry. I just. . . ." She shrugged. "I thought I was ready for classes to begin, but. . . ."

His concern faded slightly. "You're feeling a little crowded."

"A bit." Anne latched on to that topic. "Charles, it's more than that, though. Before, it was just us. Me, you, Hank, and Alex. Now, it feels like every moment is wrapped up in classes. You're either teaching or planning, we grade papers together, and Hank spends most of his time in his lab. The only times we see Alex are at suppertime, and even then he's on his way out the door." She shook her head. "I know school keeps all of us busy, and I know Alex works long hours. But. . . .This feels like the family you like to talk about is falling apart, and I don't like it."

Charles listened, his eyes narrowed as she spoke. It didn't portray anger, though. No, he was thinking over what she said. "It has been a while since we just played a game, hasn't it?"

Anne laughed at that. "You don't know the times I've almost asked you to play chess." He was well aware of her opinion on that game, just like she knew that he did not care for Scrabble. Her smile faded. "It's more than that, Charles."

"Okay." He leaned slightly forward in his chair, a sure indication that he wanted out of it, and waited.

She felt her face heat, and she turned to look around the study. "I feel. . . .I feel pretty childish right now." She blinked, surprised when tears started gathering in her eyes. "It's just that. . . .Never mind." She pushed to her feet. "I need to handle this on my own."

"Anne." Charles reached out and managed to snag her hand when she tried to slip away.

She stared at him, surprised at the open acceptance on his face. But she couldn't let the tension out of her shoulders. "Charles, I came here in a bit of a temper tantrum, if you must know. I'm being selfish and wishing that I could have my friend back."

"I've never left, Anne."

"No, and yes." She sat back down when he tugged on her arm and watched while he finally transferred from his wheelchair to the other end of the couch. "Charles, this is your life. You're a teacher, someone who needs to invest in others to be happy. And I can accept that. And I appreciate it. But. . . ."

"But I've forgotten you in the process." His words, though soft, finished her sentence. His expression spoke of surprise and actual regret. "You're right."

Anne stared. "That's not what I was going to say."

"No, but it's what I needed to hear." He turned to her, then. "I made you a promise, Anne. That you would always have a place here, a place to be yourself. Yet, when classes began, I allowed my own desires to take over."

"That's just it, Charles." She sighed. "I don't want to limit you at all, I just want. . . ."

He waited for her to finish, and then tilted his head. "What is it, Anne?" His question, so gently spoken, shook some things loose in her mind, and she finally saw what was bothering her.

She looked at her hands and then back to him. "I just want to be a part of it," she said. "I want to be more than an assistant who enters grades in the grade book or is there to pass out papers. You have a purpose, a reason for what you do. And, while I thought I did, I guess I don't anymore. Not since I left my last job."

He took a moment to study her. She knew that he didn't fully understand everything going on in her mind. That little trick of his had changed a while ago. Before, he had seemed to know everything she would say before she said it. Now, she could surprise him. She liked to think that it was simply the years that had passed, but something else had changed. And she couldn't figure it out.

Finally, he spoke. "You want acceptance."

Anne closed her eyes at that word. Of course he'd be able to take all of her emotions, all of her tangled thoughts, and boil them down into three words.

He leaned forward and took her hand in his, this time squeezing in that warm grip that never failed to make her heart rate jump a little higher. "You are always welcome, no matter what I am doing. And, frankly, I wish you would be there. But that is not my decision. It's not just about what I want as much as you. Granted, Jamie has asked that his tutoring be kept between us. But, other than that, you are welcome to interrupt any time you wish."

She hated this moment. He had just given her everything she hadn't said, everything she'd missed about the last few weeks, but it was not enough. It wasn't what she truly desired, no matter how she tried to make it about whether he accepted her or not. She wanted to accept herself. "That's not what I want, Charles." She held up a hand when he sat back in his chair and gave her a rather frustrated look. "Just hear me out."

His expression didn't change.

Anne buried her face in her hands. "You just so easily accept me. Jamie. Hank. Alex. I'm sure if one of those girls who thinks they can seduce you came in here, you'd accept her, as well." She grinned at the image of one particular young lady trying to seduce Charles, failing, and still finding that he wanted her to be a part of his class. "I guess it's not as much about me wanting to be accepted by you. It's about me wanting to accept myself."

The next few moments passed in absolute silence, broken only by the grandfather clock in the library. Charles watched her closely, and Anne kept her face covered. How had she missed something so vital? How had she managed to project all of her feelings of rejection onto him? For years, she had craved the knowledge that she was valuable, that she had someone's love just because she was alive. But her parents had never seen the value in a little girl, and her father only smiled when she told him she wanted to go to Oxford and become a lawyer like he was. Then came Franklin and the streets and nursing school. By the time she arrived on Charles's doorstep, she had buried this one desire so deeply that it had taken months for Charles to uncover it. And, even then, he hadn't said anything and let her work out her own thoughts in her time.

That, more than anything, showed that he valued her. That he understood how her mind worked and had patiently waited for her to make her own realizations.

Sitting back in the couch, Anne flushed and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I barged in here wanting vindication, and I never realized that my problem wasn't yours to deal with."

He smiled, genuine relief covering his face. "As thankful as I am to know I haven't done anything wrong, I'm glad I could help."

She returned the grin. "I kind of made it your fault, though."

"We all need times when we can talk through our problems." Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his legs. "But, Anne, as much as we all want to accept ourselves, sometimes we need a little help." He looked around. "You coming here helped me a great deal, but so does teaching. Through teaching, I'm able to be around others in a controlled environment, deal with their pity and the questions and know that I still have a refuge where I can retreat should it become too much." He shrugged. "Granted, a community college might not have been the best way of going about it, but it has helped me. I'm remembering who I am, and I'm actually liking this person."

"I don't have that." Anne met his eyes. "I mean, I'm happy here. More happy than I've ever been, truth being told. But all I do here is clean, cook, help you. . . .While I love it here and love helping, I can't stop the feeling that I could be doing more. Just like you chose to teach because you needed to take that next step, I have the same urge to do so. But I have no idea what to do!"

He thought that over and then turned back to her. "I can't help you with that, Anne. Unfortunately, that's going to be something you have to decide." He smiled. "But, when you do figure it out, come talk to me about it. Because I will do everything in my power to see it happen." Then, he held up a finger. "And, before you protest, that includes financial support."

Anne felt her eyes widen and knew they probably would have popped out of her head if they hadn't been attached. "Charles, that's not what I'm asking for! You don't have to finance me or my ideas! I just. . . ." She glared at him when he started laughing.

"You really have no idea the kind of money I make, do you?" The question came out somewhat arrogant, but she knew he had not intended to sound that way. In fact, when he turned to her, his expression was direct and resolute. "It's not about the money, Anne. Never was. And, frankly, I can finance a dozen schools and still live comfortably. But I would rather see those funds go into something that will affect lives you care about rather than sitting in my bank account."

Anne stared. She had known for a very long time that Charles Xavier was rich. But knowing it, seeing it, and hearing him talk about it were all three very different things. She had known in Oxford. When she began cleaning his house, she saw it. Now, he talked as if the money was simply a fact of life. And it was for him. Anne, however, had struggled for every dime she received, and she could not so easily invest in a project that might cost him thousands of dollars just to fail.

But he would have done so had she asked. And that realization startled her. "Let's hold off on talking about money," she said softly. "Because that's not the point of this conversation."

He gave her wry glance. "If it was any other person, Anne, I would have already lost track of the point of this conversation."

She rolled her eyes at him. But he was right. She had come in here angry and hurting and wanting to lash out at him. Instead, she ended up realizing a few things about herself. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He sat back in the couch, his arm stretched across the back of it. "I meant what I said. I will support you no matter what you do or don't do."

Anne nodded. "Thanks." Then, she stood and left him alone, her thoughts in a whirl. The conversation, while cathartic, had not gone how she had hoped. She had been given exactly what she wanted when she entered his study, but it felt hollow compared to what she realized. And nothing would ever take the place of accepting herself if she was never able to find a way to do that.

Just how was she supposed to accept something about herself that she hated? She made her way back to the music room, their evening meal forgotten as she began to aimlessly play a tune on the piano. For once, Charles didn't join her, and she was actually thankful. She didn't need him in the room with her while she tried to do something that very few people in her life had done.

She supposed accepting herself began with acknowledging what she had done and what had happened. And she had. But it had become a stumbling block, something that she used to keep Charles at a distance or to explain why she didn't like something. It had worked thus far, and Anne felt every lonely moment when Charles looked as if he wanted more from her. But she couldn't give it. . . .Could she? Could she push past this moment, see herself for what she had been, and realize that she was no longer that woman? Could it simply be a part of her past?

Charles thought so. But Anne had no idea how. How did she let go of the past? Was it in finding a cause and investing in it? Was it in looking at Alex and seeing how much pain he still had buried after the war? Was it in seeing Charles wheeling around his house?

Or was it nothing more than a decision?

Sometimes, belief is a choice, not an emotion. And so is hope.

It couldn't be that simple! Not when the past had so deeply hurt her that it took everything from her just to remember it! But she had remembered, and Charles had been there to pick her up. He had let her feel the pain, remember the wounds, be slightly bruised, and still saw her as a woman worth his time. And Alex. . . .In spite of everything he had gone through, he refused to ask her about her past. But he still hugged her when she needed a brother. Hank, even, with his pragmatic ways and social awkwardness, treated her as a professional. An equal. The only person in this strange little family that still held Anne accountable for her past decisions was herself.

Okay. The piano music stopped as she felt her hands fall still. That stuff happened. But who are you now? Who are you going to become?

She had so many desires for who she wanted to be. Many of them centered on the man in the study. He was more than simply an employer or a friend. But she also had desires that weren't just about Charles. She wanted to be a woman of integrity. A woman who cared for other people. A woman who saw below the mask that some put up to realize that they had hurts and wants of their own.

Suddenly, several images came to mind. She saw herself leaving her job, reporting the ethical violations, and testifying when everything in her had screamed to get back to Westchester and the patient she left there. She wanted to cry again when she pictured herself in the music room the night of Charles's relapse, grieving for what he had gone through. She pictured Rachel sitting across from her the day of their shopping trip, a genuine smile in place as she laughed at a joke without worrying about impressing anyone. More images came, times with Hank and Alex and students in the classroom. Anne couldn't tell where they came from, but they gave her an answer that she had been seeking for a very long time.

And, with them, came peace. Not a momentary thing that faded when the next crisis hit. She simply breathed for once in her life and managed to look around her. This is who I am, she thought. Not a prostitute, not a plaything to be beaten, not just a housekeeper or cook. She looked out the window, seeing the light rain that fell. And, for the first time, didn't have to walk in it to let it refresh her. Instead, she rose and watched, her mind resting and her decision made.

~oOo~

In his study, Charles watched the rain falling outside. It was cool, the draft that crept through old windows leaving a damp chill in the house that would make for a delightful evening in front of the fire.

Anne's inner desires affected him deeply. They weren't sexual in any way, primarily because her needs weren't of a physical sort. She'd had enough of fulfilling those basic physical desires to last her a lifetime, though the thought of it was not unwelcome. Anne's needs, however, were deeper, emotional, and so basic to her life that it hurt. Charles had come to realize that she had never known true acceptance. Everything in her life had taught her that she needed to be whom or what those around her wanted.

She was everything he wanted and more to him. But the task of living in today, letting the past be the past, and not worrying about the future. . .That was something only Anne was capable of doing. Just as he could not spend all his time pining for what he had lost. Instead, he could abide by his decision to keep things friendly and let her see her own worth. Maybe, if he was very lucky, she'd eventually find her way into his arms. But Anne didn't want his physical affection without his acceptance and approval, and that was one thing he could give her immediately.

An hour later, when he rolled into the kitchen where she served pizza she'd ordered, Charles saw the difference on her face. She smiled at him, a shy grin that indicated she was still embarrassed by her outburst in his study. But it was more than that. While Hank and Alex insulted one another back and forth, Anne stared out the window at the rain, peace covering her features with something more beautiful than a smile. Charles watched, a slight smile of his own in place.

This was what he lived for. This moment, when someone saw their value and accepted themselves, made life worth living.

~TBC