update, 1/12/2016, explained in the A/N of Chapter 8 of Prometheus: Arya, originally from Carlsbad, California, is now from Glen Island, New Rochelle, NY.

Chapter 3

Three days passed, and by then, Arya had finally convinced herself that maybe Erik had really gone quiet, and that nothing bad was going to happen—for another week, at least.

She was just finishing up a lecture for class, and afterwards, she was going to bring the group outside for some exercise, when she suddenly heard a sound that was very out of place, considering it was in the middle of spring, and they were in New York.

It was the sound of water splashing, rather wildly. Then, she heard a voice call, "Help!"

Immediately she ran out the mansion and onto the backyard, where the pond was. It was the only body of water large enough and close enough to have made such a commotion. And sure enough, Arya saw that the surface was still rippling with waves, flooding the grass.

A boy stood there. Arya quickly looked him over: surfer blond hair, sky blue eyes, tan skin. He couldn't have been more than 17. She had never seen him before, but she was certain that he was the one who had caused the pond to act up.

He was looking at her with fearful eyes. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. He said he wanted to see my powers a-and I didn't notice how close he was to the water, and he j-just—"

"Who?" Arya demanded.

"The professor. He—"

She didn't let him finish. She didn't need to hear any more. As the pieces quickly flew together in her head—the new arrival, the movement of the water, the absence of the professor—she retreated a few steps backwards before making a running start and diving into the pond.

Despite what everyone in the Institute thought, the pond was actually anything but shallow. Arya didn't know its exact depth, but even when she had fully submerged herself, it still seemed to go on for another ten feet or so.

The sun was high in the sky, penetrating the water's surface and letting Arya see the figure of Charles. He was wildly thrashing his arms about, trying to swim upwards, but his legs, paralyzed, were pulling him down. His wheelchair had sunk to the bottom already.

When Arya's parents were still alive, she had never been a good swimmer. But she became decent at it once she'd moved to New Rochelle, mostly because of Chloe's patience and enthusiasm. Her lessons greatly helped Arya as she kicked against the water, desperately swimming towards Charles, who she hoped had been able to get some air in his lungs beforehand.

Once she reached him, she grabbed his outstretched arm and heaved him up until they were evenly floating in front of one another.

His eyes were still open, and he was looking at her. Still conscious.

Wrapping her arm beneath his armpits and across his chest, she began leading them back to the surface. Her lungs were burning from the exertion and lack of air, but she managed to ignore it. You're not losing him today, she firmly told herself. Not today.

For the next few agonizing moments, seconds felt more like years, and there was nothing but the sound of her treading water. And then they broke through the surface, and it was as if the world had exploded all around her.

Charles gulped in large mouthfuls of air, his hand tightly gripping her forearm. Arya spluttered and struggled to get them closer to land. Jean was there, along with a student named Carter, both of which were holding their arms out.

Arya felt Charles being pulled away from her. She started panicking, then, an irrational part of her thinking that perhaps an enemy mutant had somehow broken into the campus and was working to capture the professor. But then she caught the look of determination and concentration on Jean's face, saw the faintest twinge of light blinking in her skull, and she calmed down.

She allowed Jean to pull Charles away, but not before giving him an extra push. He floated for a bit before Carter was finally able to reach him and lift him onto dry land. Arya felt Jean tugging her closer to shore, and she gave in completely to Jean's efforts, helping her by kicking at the water beneath.

Carter reached down and dragged her out of the water. She lay there on the grass, continuing to fill her lungs with the cool spring air until her heart stopped pounding dents into her ribcage. It was only then that she registered that Carter had asked her a question, and was waiting for a reply.

She blinked. "What?"

"The professor's wheelchair," he said. "Where is it?"

"Still at the bottom," she replied, exhaling loudly. "Tell Jean to stay a while. We'll get it out of the water in a few minutes. For now, can you please just get the professor to his study?"

"Should I let the kid in too?"

Grudgingly, she nodded her head. "I think Charles had already gotten it into his head to enroll the boy, even though he almost got him killed. Go on."

She gestured for him to leave her be. Hesitantly, he turned, and after some quick, muttered explanations, he lifted Charles off the ground and started towards the mansion. The newcomer followed behind them, head bowed as the gathered students gawked at him with judging stares.

Then, all of them flinched slightly, before turning around and walking off to God knew where. It happened so quickly and simultaneously that Arya easily figured out that it was Charles' doing. Of course it was. He never wanted any mutant to feel out of place in the Institute.

She felt a strong emotion bubbling up in her chest, then—anger, she realized. She didn't know why she felt angry. Accidents were no rarity in the campus, considering how inexperienced most of the students were. Still, Charles was safe. She had no right to feel angry.

There was the sound of crunching grass, and then a head of fiery red hair entered Arya's field of vision.

Jean was gazing down at her in both worry and curiosity. "Professor Jacobs, are you hurt?" she asked. "Should I call Stitch?"

Stitch was their resident healer. He had been one of the very first students to enroll in the school, but he had only stayed under Charles' tutelage for two or three years, considering he had already honed his healing abilities to near perfection during the war, where he had been drafted.

Arya shook her head. Apart from a few sore joints, she was fine. "Just help me up, please," she said.

Jean grabbed her outstretched hands and pulled her to her feet. The world spun for a moment, and Arya was positive that she would have fallen back down to the ground if Jean hadn't been there to keep her up.

"Are you sure you're alright, professor?" Jean insisted. "You're a bit pale."

"It's nothing that I can't handle, Jean. Don't worry about me." Arya gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and then let go so she could remove her glove.

Without question, Jean linked their fingers again, and Arya felt herself adapt to the girl's mutation. She made sure to keep her grip light, so Jean could still use her powers. Raising her other hand, she closed her eyes and searched the bottom of the pond. She grazed against something and she felt Jean squeeze her hand.

"You feel it?" Arya said.

"It's heavy."

"Just do your best. I'll help you."

In quiet concentration, they began lifting the wheelchair up from the pond floor. It caught against something, though, and it refused to budge. Arya took a peek at Jean and saw that she was having trouble with it, so she hurried to help. In no time, the wheelchair was floating up the pond in a steady ascent.

Jean's power was a lot like Erik's, but more temperamental. Charles had said that that could only be expected. While Erik's mutation enabled him to move any kind of metal, Jean's mutation enabled her to move anything dense and solid. It had a wider pool of options, and varying degrees of success, all depending on what kind of object they were moving. As it had been with Erik, the heavier the object was, the harder it would be to move it, much less lift it.

Too much strain could prove fatal, which was why Arya took it upon herself to take most of the weight. Her mind was more used to the pressure. She remembered how, back in Cuba, she and Erik had lifted a submarine out of the sea. A wheelchair was nothing compared to that.

In a few minutes, the wheelchair sat on the grass in front of them, dripping wet but no worse for wear. Jean wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead as Arya gave her an appraising glance. From the moment Charles brought the girl through the gates of the Institute, Arya had known that she was something special. There was an untouched reserve of power within her, enough to move mountains.

Jean was yet to tap into it, and that was what Charles was training her to do.

"See? No biggie," Arya said, placing her hand on Jean's shoulder as a sign of her deep regard.

Jean smiled widely. A slight blush crept up her pale neck. "Are you going to see Professor Xavier now?"

"Yeah. We have a lot to talk about."

As if sensing the underlying grimness in her words, Jean nodded, frowning slightly. "I should probably get back inside," she said. "I have class in a few minutes."

"Thank you for your help, Jean."

She offered another smile before turning around and marching back into the mansion. Arya watched her go, recalling a period when she was that young. At the time, she still hadn't been exposed to evil mutants and citywide disasters. She had been exposed to death twice over, but during her time with Chloe, she had mostly been exposed to volleyball matches and cheery adolescents.

How times had changed.

Sighing, she went to get a towel from the mansion, so as to clean Charles' wheelchair from the pond's muck. She stopped when she saw a student standing by the back entrance, his curious eyes on her. She recognized him as one of children in her most recent class, the one she was supposed to bring outside for exercise.

Considering the amount of time that had passed, half an hour exercise was entirely out of the question.

"Are the others still in the classroom?" she asked him.

He nodded his head.

"Please go tell them that class is dismissed, Tristan. We won't have that workout today after all."

He nodded again and, beaming, ran down the hall to inform his classmates. There was a slight skip in his step, and Arya knew why. No workout meant they had an hour of free time, before their next class. Lucky, she mused.

On her way to the secondary storage room, where the towels would be found, she caught a glimpse of the professor's office out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't in the mood to speak with him about the pond incident, or about the newcomer, so she walked right past.

She needed to cool down first.

After changing into some dry clothes and retrieving two towels of the right size—large enough to soak in all of the pond water, but small enough to be able to slip into the important junctions—she returned to the backyard and got to cleaning the wheelchair.

Hank had used stainless steel when he had built it, so cleaning the limbs and the wheels and such was easy. The problem lied in the seat. The upholstery was drenched; Arya pressed down on it with the heel of her palm and some of the liquid was squeezed out before soaking back into the padding.

Arya scowled in disgust. If she left it out to dry, it would acquire a stench. She had to draw the water out, or wash out the pond-water herself, but as far as she knew, Hank hadn't made it so that the seat could be removed.

She rocked on her heels, pondering on what she could do to draw the water out. Then an idea came to her, and she couldn't help but to scoff. It was a good idea, but she didn't particularly like it.

Oh don't be petty, she thought. It's not like he meant to nearly drown your boyfriend.

She squeezed the pond water out of the towels and brought them back inside, so they could be washed. When she had handed them over to the housekeeper, she set off for Charles' office with an exasperated sigh, knowing that the newcomer would still be there. Normally, the professor's orientations lasted for an hour or so. They'd still be there.

And she was right. She knocked on the door and, after hearing Charles' word of approval, opened it.

The professor sat behind his desk, in one of the swivel chairs that were there just in case he couldn't be on his wheelchair, for one reason or another. On a wooden chair placed directly across from him sat the surfer boy from before.

He looked calmer now, more composed, but Arya thought that she saw fear flicker across his eyes once he saw her.

Forcing a softer exterior, she said, "What's your name, kid?"

"D-Don Lake, miss."

She scowled. "Okay, first of all: none of that 'miss' business. And second of all: neat surname. Really fits."

Don blinked, speechless at the sudden change of tone. Charles, as expected, caught the coy look on Arya's face.

"Don, meet your physical education teacher: Professor Arya Jacobs," he said, smirking. "I assure you, she's not as cold as she makes herself out to be."

Arya ignored that obvious, though playful jab, and nodded pointedly at the new enrollee. "You think you can help me with a little water problem?"

"What is it?"

"The professor's wheelchair… from when, you know, you sort of waterlogged it." Seeing the doubtful but equally guilty look on his face, she walked into the room, making him stand up, either out of respect or alarm. She smirked. "Come on. Think of it as paying me back for your little lapse of judgment."

That seemed to have gotten the job done. The doubt faded from his face, replaced by sheer determination. "I'll do it… but I'm still not very good with controlling it… I'm sure you already know that."

"Don't worry. I'll help."

Don frowned. "How?"

"You'll see my power soon enough, kid," said Arya. "Follow me."

Charles was giving her the familiar odd look, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "You wanna come with, professor?"

"No, thank you." The corner of his lip twitched. He always found it amusing whenever she called him 'professor'. Then she felt the familiar probing of his telepathy, poking at her mind.

Be careful, Arya, he said.

Winking, she turned and left the room with Don in tow. The boy was jumpy—whether it was because he was scared of her or he was just normally as such, she didn't know. Under different circumstances, something like that would have bothered her. But she couldn't bring herself to just forget what had happened with Charles.

She could forgive him once he'd dried the wheelchair.

As they stood in front of it, Don wouldn't stop fidgeting. He was clearly nervous, and maybe even a bit upset, because when Arya raised her head to throw him an annoyed glance, she noticed that the surface of the pond was rippling again, and tiny waves were once more swamping the grass.

Arya slipped her glove off and grabbed his hand. The water calmed down and Don looked at her with wide eyes.

"You really need to calm down, Don," she told him. "You won't be able to control it if you're always on edge. Deep breaths. Come on, do it with me. In, out… In, out… In, out…" She offered a smile. "Better. Now, your mutation—describe it to me."

"M-My mutation?"

"Yes. How does it work?" When he still didn't answer, only stared at her like she'd grown a second head, she elaborated, "When you control the water, does it feel like a tangible thing? Can you feel it flowing through your fingertips?"

He nodded very slowly.

"Alright. Now, first off, in my experience, it's easier to keep your mutation focused on a certain subject when you're holding your hand out—like this." She let go of his hand and demonstrated for him, stretching her arm out with her palm pointed at the wheelchair. Hesitantly, he followed suit.

"It's easier, right?"

"Y-Yeah," he said. "I can still feel the water in the pond, but… it's like it's just in the background, you know? The water in the wheelchair, I can feel it more."

He was getting the hang of it. "That's good, Don. Do you think you can get the water out? Do you know what to do?"

His lips remained closed, but he nodded in a very resolute manner that reminded Arya of Sean. At the memory of the curly-haired mutant, she smiled wistfully, but banished the thought as soon as she saw a stream of water starting to come out of the pads of Charles' wheelchair.

After another minute, the wheelchair was completely dry, and the pond-water that Don had strained out of it was floating in the air, compressed into a sphere. Red-faced from the exertion, Don carefully guided the sphere so that it floated above the pond. He dropped it, and the water lost its shape, splashing back into the pond.

"Nice job, kid," Arya said, squeezing his shoulder and nodding in approval. He was tired but he looked pretty proud of himself. "Stick around. You'll get even better at it. For now, though, you should probably get some rest. Has Professor Xavier finished speaking with you?"

He nodded.

"Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

He was very shaky on his feet the whole trip to the dorms. Afraid that he'd fall down the stairs without guidance, she accompanied him upstairs to the boy's dorms, where she promptly handed him off to one of the resident mutants.

Once she was sure that he was safe, she retrieved Charles' wheelchair and rolled it into the house and into his office. There was a glint in his eye when she entered. She looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

"You like him," he said.

"Of course I like him," she replied. "I have to like him. I'm his teacher."

Arya moved the wheelchair closer to where Charles was. He reached across and placed his hands on the armrests, raising himself off the swivel chair. Arya lifted his legs so as to lessen the weight, and in a matter of seconds, he was seated once again on the wheelchair that many people knew him for.

Raising his eyes and looking at her in a very smug way, he said, "All is forgiven, then?"

"I'm not mad at him. I'm mad at you for being stupid enough to get too close to the water."

"Well, it's not like I knew what his mutation was." Arya raised her eyebrows, and he backtracked. "Alright, maybe I had an inkling. But I didn't think that he could make a huge bloody wave out of our fishpond!"

She laughed, then. She couldn't help it. And just like that, all manner of tension had gone away. She sat on his desk and pulled his chair closer with her feet, so that she could run her fingers through his hair, and his eyelids fluttered shut. She liked how soft the strands felt in her hands.

"We should go out tonight," he murmured, eyes still closed. "I've missed going out into town with you."

She sighed and stopped combing through his hair. "You know we can't do that, Charles. I can change my face up a bit with make-up, but I don't expect you to do the same. People know who we are. We can't just… go out anymore."

It was the depressing truth and Charles knew it. He opened his eyes. There was a troubled glaze there that made Arya's heart clench.

"That day in Washington…" He shook his head. "I knew that it had to happen. The fate of all mutants depended on it. But I just wish that…"

Arya continued running her fingers through his hair with renewed vigor. "I know," she said, understanding what he wanted to say. "I think about it too, sometimes—about what would have happened if we didn't do what we did. Maybe we'd be able to go out, but people would still think of us as monsters. And Raven would be…"

She trailed off. She didn't want to have to say it, and Charles understood that. He nodded in understanding and said nothing more of it.

The silence stretched on. Arya didn't like it.

"Tell you what," she said. "I'll go into town today and buy two full tubs of ice cream. And then tonight, I get one of Hank's many videotapes, and we watch a movie in my room. Just the two of us. What do you say?"

For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. But then a smile edged up his cheeks, and he placed a hand on her leg, rubbing her knee. "I say you make it three tubs, miss Jacobs, because it's been a while since I've had ice cream."