Disclaimer: if you honestly think that the X-men belong to me, you are a sad, sad little person. Ditto goes for any song that appears in here; Don't stand so close t me is property of Sting and the Police.

A/N: I use several different forms of communication in this fic, so here's something of a guide: equals normal speech, of course, Italics equals mental thoughtspeech, and ...' equals sign language. I'm sorry if it gets kind of confusing sometimes, deciphering whether the characters are speaking out loud or in their heads or through their hands or whatever, but I'm doing the best I can.

As always, reviews are good for the soul, folks! Enjoy and then tell me about it!

Chapter 1


Young teacher, the subject
Of schoolgirl fantasy
She wants him so badly
Knows what she wants to be
Inside her there's longing
This girl's an open page
Book marking - she's so close now
This girl is half his age

Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me

Her friends are so jealous
You know how bad girls get
Sometimes it's not so easy
To be the teacher's pet
Temptation, frustration
So bad it makes him cry
Wet bus stop, she's waiting
His car is warm and dry

Loose talk in the classroom
To hurt they try and try
Strong words in the staffroom
The accusations fly
It's no use, he sees her
He starts to shake and cough
Just like the old man in
That book by Nabakov

Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me.


It was a beautiful day. A perfect New England Autumn day, complete with brisk-but-not-too-cold temperatures, bright orange leaves slowly fluttering to the ground, and a blue sky bright enough to give a dog color vision. The classic, elegant mansion set off the Autumn day perfectly, giving off a warm, friendly, welcoming atmosphere to anyone who was passing by.

A girl was standing on the porch of this mansion, absolutely petrified with fear. She was about 16, with tall, slim legs and a sweet face framed by soft, long brown hair. Large, brown doe eyes peeked out from underneath the strands of hair that blocked her face as she tried to summon the courage to ring the doorbell.

Clara took several deep breaths, telling herself again that this was where she belonged; this was where she could find people to help her with her... problem.

But there was no interpreter here. No mother or father or teacher to explain to strangers what she was saying... hell, as far as she knew there wasn't even anyone here who knew sign language at all.

It was possible that she wouldn't be able to communicate with anybody.

Clara shook her head, attempting to clear the thoughts that smothered it. The professor had promised her and her family that there would be people here who would be able to understand her, able to communicate with her. She should believe him. But still--this was the real world! This wasn't home, this wasn't the special school her parents sent her to. She was so incredibly, unbelievably scared to do this.

But she needed help. Desperately. The voices.... what was happening to her was far more terrifying than the thought of finally facing the real world. Inhaling deeply, Clara raised her small hand to press the doorbell.

She could feel vibrations through the door and floor, several thudding footsteps. She imagined some grumbling and maybe a few swear words were being said behind the door.

A man more than half a foot shorter than her opened the door, a scowl on his face. Clara gulped: despite his height, he was quite intimidating, with a scruffy beard, very impressive muscles, and hair that stuck out from the side of his head like two giant blades.

Logan studied the scared girl in front of him, trying to think.... oh yeah! Charlie did say that a new student was coming today. Breaking into a grin, he said, You must be the new girl. What'cha go by, darlin?

Clara bit her lip. She'd never been able to read lips, unlike most of her friends. Thanks to her newfound abilities, though, she could hopefully tell from this man's mind what he wanted... he realized she was the new girl Charlie' had told him about... was curious....wanted--her name? Yes, her name.

Fishing in her pocket for a scrap of paper and a pen, she scribbled Clara Senecal. Smiling, she handed the paper to the man in front of her, who took it, his brow furrowing with uncertainty.

Uh... okay, Clara. Um, why don't you come in?

Clara hesitated. He was still curious about her, and whatever his question had been didn't translate to what he'd been thinking. She had no idea what he'd just asked. Sighing in frustration, she tapped the side of her head, by her ear.

Oh... there's something wrong with your head.

She could feel his disappointed thoughts, and Clara realized: he thought she was retarded! Shaking her head in dismay, she tapped her ear again.

You--have a headache?

Now he was just confused. Clara stomped her foot in frustration. Those who could hear were so dumb sometimes!

Oh well. Time to really play Charades. She pointed to herself, then shook her head and crossed her arms to signal can't', and then grabbed her ear, shaking it visibly for him.

Oh! You're... deaf.

She didn't need to read his mind to know what he'd said. Deaf' was one of the only words she'd learned to lip read.

And it didn't take a psychic to feel the dismaying waves of pity emanate from him, either.

realizing that talking was pointless, Logan beckoned to her and walked inside, hoping that she would follow. Footsteps padded behind him as Clara shyly entered the mansion.

Clara tasted acid on her tongue as she felt the waves of pity from this stranger wash over her. She wished she could curl up in a ball and hide, away from the strange thoughts, away from everyone feeling so damn sorry for her.

She'd always been able to sense the pity from strangers when they learned of her condition, even before her mutant powers had manifested. It was in their eyes, their smiles, the way they constantly patted her shoulder or her head or her back, as if she was a little child in need of comforting.

Then, when she began to hear' the thoughts of others, she realized that it wasn't just strangers. Her parents, her teachers, her friends once they realized she was a mutant... they all felt sorry for her. It was the most degrading, humiliating thing in the world, realizing that even her parents pictured her as this poor creature, estranged from the world, unable to hear music or laughter or birds' calls ever in her life.

She wasn't pitiful. She wasn't weak. She didn't make a habit of feeling sorry for herself, and to her reasoning, therefore other people shouldn't.

Her thoughts were interrupted when her guide stopped in front of what looked like the main office of the school. Opening the door, he leaned in and spoke something to the person inside. Stepping out, he smiled at Clara and signaled for her to enter the room.

So this was it--the moment of truth. She was about to meet the head honcho of this place, Charles Savior or something like that. She tried to think happy, reassuring thoughts: Don't be nervous, Clara... he just wants to help you... don't be nervous... yeah, right. Nervous was out of the question: Clara was practically shaking in her boots she was so terrified.

She could feel the muscles in her neck tense involuntarily, and beads of sweat threatened to appear on her forehead. Thoughts raced through her head, and it took her a while to realize that most of them weren't hers: Where the hell is my book? ...I'm gonna be late! .....Experimenting doesn't mean I'm gay, right? .....My god, that bastard ....You know, blue fur could be quite a turn on.... He can't like me... where's the jello?....

Uh, miss? Miss? Wolverine snapped his fingers in front of the girl's face--she was in some kinda trance or something--and cursed when he remembered that sounds were useless. He took hold of her shoulders (which were a good five inches above his) and shook her gently.

The girl came to with a strangled noise, and put her head in her hands, panting. Looking up, Clara shook her head, clearing it of the unwanted thoughts she'd overheard. I have to get a grip on myself-- I can't go crazy now! she thought as she entered the room.

A bald, white man sat behind the desk, his hands flitting about with a thousand forms, student papers, books and other unfortunate items. His gaze lifted when Clara walked in, and his austere face dissolved into a welcoming smile. His hands came to life, and Clara's heart leapt at the sight of the first sign language she'd seen since leaving home: Welcome,' his hands said. You must be Clara--my name is Professor Charles Xavier.'

The professor laughed at the joyous expression that suddenly appeared on her face as she signed back so fast even he could barely understand what she was saying. Calm down, child!' he said. Please have a seat and we'll discuss your schooling.' Clara's relief was almost tangible. Finally, someone who could sign! She wouldn't be so alone here! I'm so glad you know sign language, professor! I was so scared that I'd get here and not be able to talk to anyone!'

Xavier smiled at her. Unfortunately, I believe I am the only one at the mansion who is familiar with American Sign Language; you will have to communicate with the others in different ways.' He hesitated. I hope you don't think I'm being rude, but with both of us being telepaths, it might be easier to talk like...'

This. Clara gasped and pushed away from the desk as she heard' the voice in her head. Ohmygodohymygodohmygod... okay, calm down, you didn't hear' him, you just... okay, okay, I can handle this, he says I'm a telepath, I can handle it, that's why I'm here...

The professor could sense the paranoia and panic he'd put her through when he reached out with his mind. Frowning, he reached out, gently taking her hand in his. She blinked, snapping out of her train of terrified thoughts.

Charles switched back to sign language. I am sorry that I frightened you. I did not think of the consequences; however, you are a telepath, and you need to learn how to communicate mind to mind.' He hesitated, biting his lip. However, if you have objections to starting now, I will understand.'

Clara took a deep, shuddering breath. It had been three months since she'd first started hearing voices' in her head, and it still scared her shitless. No,' she signed, you're right. I need to learn this.'

He nodded. All right, then. Clara forced herself not to scream bloody murder at his voice in her head. It might be hard for you, at first, to project your thoughts in verbal sentences--in other words, to initiate mind-to-mind contact--but, seeing as I am a fellow telepath, I will see your thoughts if you direct them at' me. Does that make sense?

Clara blinked. That didn't sound so hard. Okay. She hesitated. Did you hear that?

The professor smiled. Yes. You did that perfectly. Now, I want to talk about your schooling here...

Some time later, Clara stood, stretching and yawning. They'd been talking' for over an hour, and her brain felt like it had just been forced to take an A.P. Calculus test. This psychic shit took some getting used to.

Professor Xavier switched back to sign language. Well, that's enough talk for now, Clara. I've called someone to take you to your room now. and show you around tomorrow morning.' He wheeled out from behind the desk. I hope you'll be at home here.'

Clara gasped as the wheelchair came into view. She hadn't realized... she met his eyes, and blushed as she realized he could tell what she was thinking. He didn't seem angry, though--he smiled, and lifted his shoulder a little, as if to say, I get that all the time.

Clara felt another person's presence in the room, and turned around to see a redheaded woman standing in the doorway. This must be her guide.

Professor X smiled. Well, I'll let you get to your bed. It was a pleasure meeting you, Clara.'

You as well, Professor.' She turned to go, but then stopped, turning back towards him. Professor?'

Please call me Charles, Clara.

She gulped. Charles.' Her hands wavered for a second, as if unsure what she was going to say next. I... thank you.'

Charles smiled. Any time, Clara.'

***

Clara Senecal through herself down onto the bed, sighing blissfully. Finally, there was hope! The professor had already taught her new ways to communicate, at least with him. He'd told her that he could also teach her how to talk that way with other people, how to form mental blocks so she didn't have to deal with the constant barrage of thoughts from others, and even how to control others' minds, eventually. That last option made her shiver, though with fear or anticipation, she didn't know.

She rolled over onto her stomach, contemplating her pillow. The professor--Charles--seemed like a very nice man. He'd been able to answer almost every question she'd had, and never seemed mad or even embarrassed if she said something rude or less than tactful. And something else...

He didn't pity her. Oh, maybe he'd just been able to hide it, being a telepath and all... but no. In his words, in his expressions, in his thoughts--there wasn't a trace of pity. He regarded her like he would any other person, even maybe respected her more than other people because of her lack of hearing. She'd never encountered that before, not even in the prestigious teachers at the expensive School for the Deaf her parents sent her to.

Maybe this school wouldn't be so bad after all.