Stephanie Tarrington got out of the cab slowly, clamping an iron hand on the butterflies that were currently trying to escape her stomach. The slam of the drivers side door made her jump, and she scowled. She hated being nervous. It made her talk a mile a minute, sometimes so badly that no one could understand a word she was saying. She preferred to be calm, sensible, in control of her self and her emotions before she met her father, if just to keep from knocking him down when she ran over and hugged him until he couldn't breathe.
Or punched they living hell out of him, whichever happened first.
It was quiet, the humming of insects little more than a whisper, and the opening of the large front door seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. A tall man came out, too young to be her father, of that she was certain. Idly, she wondered at the red sunglasses he wore which obscured the upper half of his face. His smile, though, seemed genuine as he made his way down the stairs, pausing a step from the bottom and turning as if someone had called his name.
Stephanie's gaze followed his, and she caught sight of what appeared to be a large, yellow table being rolled out the door. At least, that was her first opinion. The 'table' took form, and she recognized a hovercraft of some sort. In the science department at Harvard one of her friends had suggested such a device as an all purpose cure-all for warehouse workers, but his small designs were unable to lift more than a few pounds or float more than an inch off the ground.
This, however, put Michael's experiments to shame. The large yellow device was acting as a wheelchair of sorts, floated more than a foot above the ground, and was capable of carrying the weight of a full grown man. Said man was staring at her as if he were memorizing every inch of her, and silently comparing her to someone or something else. When she looked into his eyes, however, all she saw was approval, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Her first impression of him, when she finally got past the idea that, if he were her, she would have changed the color from yellow to black, was of strength, both physically and of character. There was just something about him that she could feel, an inner core that would define a leader. Her second impression was that he was as bald as an Easter egg, and she briefly thanked the powers that be that she hadn't inherited that trait from him.
At least, she hoped she hadn't.
It was at that moment that he gave her a rueful grin, and Stephanie had the oddest feeling that he had known what she was thinking.
"Mr. Xavier?" she asked hesitantly. It was the only thing she could think to say, 'father' would be to personal, 'dad', seemed out of the question, at least for the moment, and she couldn't bring herself to call him Charles.
"Stephanie, I'm very pleased to meet you at last."
Even though he sounded sincere, she could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice, as if he were afraid she would react badly to this meeting. Stifling a small cringe, she did the only thing she could think to do: stepping forward so that she stood right in front of the hovercraft, she held out her hand, and breathed a small sigh of relief when he took it in a sure grip.
"I'm pleased to meet you too."
_____________________________________________________
Charles was frozen when he looked out the door and saw his daughter standing in the drive, hands folded in front of her as she watched Scott head down the stairs to meet her. It was a scene that he had hoped would occur for the past twenty years, and now that it was, he was terrified. What would she think of him? Would she hate him? Had Carla explained what happened between them? These and several other questions were spinning around his mind like a cyclone as he summoned the courage to head out the door.
'Okay, Charles, just remember to breathe and you'll be fine, that's it, in and outin and out Why aren't you breathing!!' Charles shook himself, pushing all his insecurities to the back of his mind as he let his gaze linger on his child. She was taller than he would have thought, almost 5'10, with long, curly brown hair that glinted golden in the sunlight and teased at her waist. She was willowy, like Carla, but he knew she was stronger than she looked, holding the East Coast conference championship in both martial artist weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. A brief image of her delivering a skull-shattering roundhouse kick to his head made him pale, but he pushed it aside.
And at the moment she was the most beautiful and precious thing in his world.
//Please tell me that baldness does not run in our family, please//
The thought ran through his mind like quicksilver, pulling him down from the clouds he was currently skating on. It was rudimentary and crude in its formation, but it had the earmarks of an untrained psi. Charles had believed when he was unable to trace Stephanie with Cerebro that she was a mutant of some sort, and he found himself looking forward to finding out what kinds of powers she possessed.
And dreading it.
Charles looked to Scott, //Scott, if you would, the driver?//
Nodding, Scott went to take care of the cab fare.
"That's all right, I can pay" Stephanie held up her hand, then turned to her father, quieting when she saw the look on his face. Many of her professors had given her the same look when she was about to start an argument with them. It was a look that said 'Just go with it, you don't have to challenge everything that happens,' Sighing, Stephanie leaned down and picked up the large duffel bag, almost jumping when another hand brushed against hers.
"Oh, sorry." This man was younger, with blond hair and laughing blue eyes. 'I think I've just met the practical joker,' she thought as she relinquished hold of the bag.
"Hi, I'm Bobby," he said, holding out his free hand as he slung the duffel over his shoulder. 'Definitely stronger than he looks,' she thought, taking his hand, "Stephanie Tarrington."
His smile was utterly charming, that of a high schooler who was still insecure enough to show it, and it set her at ease immediately.
"Stephanie, if you would."
Turning her gaze back to her father, she was relieved to see a look of approval in his eyes, as if he had been unaware of how she would react to these strangers on top of everything else. Well, the sign did say, Institute of Higher Learning, and she didn't want to alienate herself from the people she would be living with, at least for the moment. Though she had to admit, his students were rather old.
The house was even more beautiful on the inside, she mused, trying to take in everything she saw. The foyer itself was larger than the room she had called home in college, the ceiling towering what she guessed to be twelve feet overhead. The floors were a gleaming hardwood that seemed to extend the length of the two wings that they lead to, and she was sure it would be the same throughout. She was lead past a rec room that looked well lived in, and two large double doors that lead to what she guessed was a library.
'Wow,' she thought to herself, taking in the feel of the place. The house she and her mother lived in had always felt like a museum, with family heirlooms strategically placed throughout to be conversation pieces at the many parties at which she had been 'seen and not heard' at as a child. This place, for all its size, felt and looked lived in.
It took her a moment to realize that they had stopped walking, and that the running commentary from her father had ended as well. "I'm sorry," she said on impulse, blushing slightly.
Charles only smiled, "You have nothing to be sorry about. My students choose this room for you when they learned you were coming. It's supposed to have the best view of the grounds and lake."
Stephanie followed him into the room, which was slightly larger than her room at home. A large bay window dominated one wall, allowing light to stream into the room and reflect off the wood surfaces. Through one door she could see the ensuite bathroom glowing cheerfully in the afternoon light entering through its windows.
//Thank you,// the words drifted through Charles' mind, and he began to wonder if she were testing him. Her shields were strong than he would have imagined for someone who had lived the majority of her life with Carla, who was as human as they came. Then again, he wondered if she was aware of the fact that she wasn't speaking with her mouth at all.
"I'm glad you like it, Jean assured me that you would."
Stephanie turned slightly at 'Jean', so he clarified, "Jean is one of the students who live here, though I doubt you will see her until dinner. She lives with her husband Scott in the boathouse."
"The man with the glasses?"
Charles nodded. "They are only a two of the students here. Bobby is another." Stephanie turned to the blond man, eyebrow raised, "Aren't you a little old for school?"
She almost smiled when he absently rubbed the back of his head, "You know, you're never too old for some things. I'll leave you two alone, then. Welcome, hope you have a nice stay." With that, Bobby practically fell over himself to get away.
"Is he always that insecure?"
"Just about." Charles' expression suddenly became more sober, "Carla, I think its time I explained the exact nature of the institute to you. We can discuss it here, or in my study if you prefer."
//May as well start now// she thought, sitting on the bed.
Charles nodded. "This school is a place in which mutants can learn to control their abilities, which is why most of the students are rather old. Occasionally we have younger members, but most of them reside at our sister institute in Massachusetts."
They're mutants, people like me, the thought drifted through her mind, followed closely by her mothers voice, a memory from long ago, 'You are not one of those freaks, do you hear me?' It effectively quelled the rising hope in her, that maybe now she wouldn't have to hide.
Charles watched the expressions that passed over her face, before she settled on a studiously neutral one. Her mind was closed to him, and he took that as discomfort on her part. "I hope that this will not be a problem. Some of the people here have physical mutations, which may make them appear intimidating. There is no reason to fear, though. We are a close nit group, more like an impromptu family, for lack of a better phrase."
Stephanie shook herself, "No, it's not a problem at all, just something of a shock. I really should have expected it, you are one of the foremost voices in mutant rights." She turned inward, going over her short trip through the mansion. She could feel the emotions that seemed to permeate the very walls, the feeling of home, of family.
But she hadn't seen a single person other than her two guides.
"Do your students know who I am?"
Charles nodded, "There are very few secrets here, and I assure you they are dying to meet you. I made them promise, however, to not pounce until after dinner." He smiled with the same rueful expression. "Im afraid our den mothers will be taking over from there."
"Den mothers?"
"Jean Grey and Orroro Munroe. They have become rather competent ones over the years. From what I have seen, they make the integration into our world relatively painless."
Stephanie nodded, absorbing the information she was receiving. 'Our world', that meant they wanted her to stay, at least for more than a passing visit. The though made her giddy with relief. This place, for all its strangeness, felt right in a way that she had never known.
//I'm glad you feel that way.//
The words, spoken so clearly in her mind, made Stephanie jump. "You said that in my head." She couldn't hide the awe in her voice.
"Yes. It's called telepathy. It's my mutant gift. And as I suspect, it is yours as well."
For the barest of moments, she though about denying that accusation, then decided against it. He probably knew the truth already. //Can you hear me?//
The question was thready, but clear, as if she hadn't had much practice with consciously using her abilities. In contrast, when she didn't think about what she was doing, it came out almost perfectly.
//Loud and clear. We can work on developing your abilities, if you like. You are not under any obligation to join the Institute if you do not wish.//
Stephanie nodded slowly, fighting down the voice of her mother, which was at the moment berating her from hell to high water. "I think I think I'd like that."
Charles nodded, taking in the suddenly peeked look on his daughter's face and fighting down his worry over it. "I'm afraid I've hit you with a lot, and you've only been here for," he looked at his watch, "Twenty minutes. You must be exhausted from your trip." She gave only a listless nod, which increased his worry tenfold. "If you like, I can leave you to rest until dinner."
"Yeah, I think I need a nap or something," Stephanie answered, plucking idly at her slacks. Get a grip stupid! She shouted to herself, Mom isn't here anymore, you need to have your own life for a change!
She looks like a deer caught in headlights, Charles thought, "Well, then. There are towels in the bathroom, as well as assorted other sundries." Stephanie glanced at him and he fought the urge to blush, "I have a tendency to be something of a worry wort at times, and I'll admit that I did go slightly overboard." He was relieved when his confession brought a small smile to his daughter. "Well then, dinner is at eight, and you'll meet the rest of us then. I'll leave you to nap and get comfortable."
