Disclaimer: If I owned the X-men, I would be writing actual comics instead of plunking away at my computer for absolutely no profit. Duh.
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.
I'm so sorry for the delay, guys! I didn't abandon this story, it's NOT dead, my life just intervened in a very rude way. I'm really busy, folks, and also I've been concentrating on my other X-men fic, Fur, Fangs, And Mutant Freaks. I'm sorry if this was a long time coming and is still really short, but I can't make any promises. I just hope the updates will come faster after this.
P.S. Reviewers, the amount of love I have for you all cannot be contained on this page. Feed the starving writer's ego!
Chapter 2
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.
Professor Charles Xavier stared out the window at his students playing outside, his mind a whirl with a zillion thoughts. His fingers drummed on the sill as he watched the teenagers frolicking, the pencil in his left hand tapped in time to the soft folk music playing on the radio and his mind was miles away.
Professor? Professor! Jean Grey's sharp voice pulled him out of his thoughts abruptly, and she could feel his disorientation and embarrassment at having drifted off. Your opinion on the matter?
Excuse me Jean, I am afraid I was... not paying attention. What were you saying?
Jean sighed. She was exhausted: she'd been working all day on figuring out classes and other things for the new girl, just trying to get to know her, and it was hell. The girl couldn't really communicate with anyone, she was stubborn and sullen, and freaked out if Jean tried to telepathically communicate. Whenever they would write to each other, all Clara would do was ask to see the professor, who was busy all day. Apparently she didn't feel comfortable talking to anyone else. I just told you the price to hire an interpreter for all of Clara's classes, she said. The cheapest ones charge around ten dollars an hour, plus room and board.
Xavier gave a low whistle. That would be quite the cost to the school. Still, it's something we must do--go ahead and contact whomever you think is best for the job.
Jean spluttered, not believing her ears. But, sir! The cost to the school! We're already tight on budget as it is, and you want to hire an entire teacher just for this one girl? Professor, we can easily interpret for her telepathically!
But she is not comfortable speaking telepathically just yet, Jean. We cannot rush her. She did not grow up in a mutant-friendly environment, and she is unable to separate sounds from thoughts in her head quite yet--I think it's best that we communicate through sign language for now. I know it's a cost, but we must do whatever we can to make her feel at home. He turned to leave. Also, we need to hire a sign-language teacher for the school--I think it's important that at the least all we staff learn the skill, if not the students as well, don't you think?
But sir- He was already gone. Jean scowled. Why the sudden interest in accommodating for this girl? Okay, granted sign language was a useful skill if you were a teacher--surely this wouldn't be the first deaf student they would have at the institute--but still. They were short on funds as it was.
She sighed. There wasn't really any use grouching (A/N: yes, I make up words) about it--the professor clearly had his mind made up. Grumbling to herself, she wandered off to see about the interpreter.
***
Any hopeful, calming thoughts about this place that she'd thought the day before were completely, totally gone. Clara was the most terrified she'd ever been in her life. The voices in her head... she wasn't used to hearing' things, anything at all. And now...
I can't believe he wants us to... I'm going to get you for that one, Bobby... what's the square root of.. ice cream! It's cold in here... that's my favorite movie... I can'tbarethisistoomuchtoomuchtoomuch...
Clara gasped and clapped her hands over her ears, even though she knew, logically, that those particular flaps of skin weren't responsible for the noise' in her head. Oh god, make it stop... please, I don't want this!
Feeling the vibrations of footsteps through the floor, Clara looked up. It was that lady--Ms. Jean Grey. The last person Clara wanted to see. The woman had been harassing her all day, trying to barge into her mind, bugging her about what classes she wanted to take, refusing to let her see Xavier... it never seemed to end.
But the worst part, by far, was the pity. Jean wasn't even making any attempts to hide it. Clara could feel it emanating off the teacher in nauseating tidal waves--this woman was so soundly convinced that she had things so much better than Clara, that Clara was just a poor, dumb, deaf girl who desperately needed the help of the Xavier Institute.
She wouldn't feel so annoyed towards this Jean woman if everything else was going fine. But she was having such a horrible morning: the barrage of thoughts had gotten worse since last night, almost as if spending those sessions with Charles had made her defenses weaker. There were so many more people here than at her old school! And they were scary, too--Clara knew that she was now a mutant, that she had no reason to be afraid of these children, but geez. She couldn't help but be a little frightened when children had an extra set of arms, or perhaps a set of wings. She never saw that kind of stuff where she was from, not to mention that all the telepaths in the house... dear god, it was so annoying! One would think that a telepath would naturally have quiet thoughts, or better yet, hide them altogether, but no. Not in this house: here, they all seemed to be shouting their thoughts at full volume. Something about being able to read other's thoughts made your own thoughts louder, perhaps--or maybe they just didn't care if someone overheard their deepest desires.
Jean watched the young girl scowl down at the floor, and felt annoyance surge within her. Why was Clara being so damned difficult? Jean was just trying to help her, that was all. She ought to be grateful she was getting help from her--she was a deaf mutant, for chrissake, she ought to be happy and grateful that Jean and the professor were willing to help her out. No other school would have the patience or the pity to take care of her.
Clara's head jerked up, narrowing her eyes at Jean.
Oh boy, Jean thought. She heard that last thought! Man, if looks could kill... Clara was still glaring furiously at her teacher. Jean started to say, I'm sorry, but then she remembered--poor Clara wouldn't be able to hear her. Jean felt a wave of pity go through her, and immediately felt sorry for being so hard on the girl. Poor thing, she probably can't help acting so ornery all the time...
A sound that was almost like a strangled snarl escaped from Clara's throat, and she got up abruptly, walking across the room to the window, as far away from this horrible woman as possible. Oops. Jean grimaced. I guess she heard that, too...
Jean, thank you for your services. I would like to spend some time with Clara now, if you please. Jean turned around to meet Xavier's kind, stern eyes, and she could tell immediately that he knew what had made Clara cross the room so abruptly. Guiltily, the redheaded telepath left Clara to the professor.
It had started drizzling a few minutes ago, and it was now near to pouring. Clara thought it reflected her mood perfectly as she gazed out the window. She missed everyone around her being able to Sign. She missed not having a constant headache. Most of all, she missed just being left alone, not having to put up constant barriers against others, not having to struggle to communicate with her teachers, not having to deal with all this freaking pity everywhere she turned.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and jumped, turning to face Charles. She could see in his eyes that he understood, understood her frustration, her moodiness, her anger. Almost immediately Clara felt ashamed of herself: she had acted so childishly this morning. No doubt the professor was well aware of her prejudices against mutants.
She hung her head. I am sorry,' she signed. My behavior has been extremely immature this morning. It's just--everything's so hard, and happening so fast, and I just can't-'
He silenced her by putting his hands over hers. It's all right, Clara, he said.' I'm not judging you for your behavior--I am certain that were I in your place, I would have acted the same. You are understandably frightened, you have been thrust into a strange environment with people you cannot communicate with and on top of that you are being forced to make decisions concerning your future, take in too much information, and keep up with the constant barrage of strangers' thoughts you are experiencing. He paused, and she saw a flash of guilt in his eyes. I am partly to blame, I confess--I am pushing you too hard, forcing you to deal with things you aren't accustomed too-
Clara shook her head vehemently. No sir, it's not your fault at all! I just--I'm stubborn, and I don't like being told what to do. I probably shouldn't have been so rude to Jean.
Charles chuckled, surprising Clara. I don't blame you for that at all, Clara. Jean can be... aggravating, at times. She is very self-righteous, and sometimes--well, sometimes she says and thinks things that are very insulting. Clara felt a glimpse of his memories, and looked down at his wheelchair. What was he saying? Had he experienced the same pity from Jean--from everyone-as she because he didn't have the use of his legs?
She met his eyes, and he gave her a tiny smile, nodding his head. But-that's ridiculous! Clara thought to herself. He's one of--if not the--most powerful mind on the planet! He doesn't need his legs with power like that. How can people possibly think him helpless?
She felt him lightly touch her hand, bringing her back to the moment. Do not blame them for things they don't understand, she heard him say in her mind. Most people will never know what it's like for people--people like us. Clara knew that he did not mean mutants. So how could they know that we don't need their pity? How could they know that having certain skills taken away makes the remaining ones that more powerful? How could they know how beautiful the world is when you can comprehend and appreciate the skills and elements that give you your humanity?
Clara's throat felt dry. There was such... intensity, in his eyes, such truth in his words. She had never met anyone, not even her fellow deaf friends, that... understood on such a profound level. Was it his telepathy that gave him that understanding? Suddenly she wanted to learn more about her powers, she wanted to see the world like he did, she wanted him to teach her everything.
Charles blinked and shook his head, bringing both of them out of their reverie. He smiled at her, and signed, You can do what you wish for the rest of the day--learning about your new home can wait until you have at least somewhat acclimated yourself to it. I wish I could stay and talk with you, but I'm a busy person--the rest of the school calls. I hope your day improves, Clara.'
She nodded, and signed back. Thank you, Charles. I'm sorry I took you away from the rest of your duties.'
He smiled at her, and she felt her heart stop for a moment. It was my pleasure, Clara. Take care!'
With that he was gone, leaving his newest charge with more new thoughts, ideas and feelings than she could possibly know how to deal with.
***
Charles sighed as he wheeled away. She was certainly a most... interesting student. It would certainly be a challenge to accommodate a deaf student to the school, and her telepathic abilities were more unique than she knew, but there was more to it than that. Her mind was so complex, so fiery and angry, but gentle at the same time. She seemed years older than sixteen, and yet had had almost no experience with the real world. She was terrified of her powers, more scared than he had seen any student be for a long time. And no wonder: from what he had seen of her memories, she'd had some very rough experiences when her powers first manifested.
Still, he rarely spent this much time on one student. Usually in these circumstances he would have just let Jean handle it, assured that she would find a way to calm the girl. So why had he come to visit her? Why was he so intrigued with her?
She had known immediately, without having to read his mind, about the pity he felt from others concerning his injured legs. She had known he had dealt with the same thoughts from Jean Grey concerning her idea that he was somehow crippled.' She knew what it was like to be so set apart, to be considered unhealthy,' handicapped' by society even when you proved them a thousand times over that you were far from crippled. Those with disabilities among society always seemed to be more wise than a regular human or mutant--they knew how lucky they were, how grateful they should be just to be alive. That wisdom showed in Clara's eyes, in the way she glared at Jean Grey, in the way she unconsciously considered herself to be equal to everyone here from the moment she walked through the door. She didn't really know it, but Clara wasn't insecure among those who could hear. She didn't give a damn, and that fascinated Charles to no end.
He shook his head. He really did have work to do, and he couldn't do that if he was constantly thinking about Clara. Reluctantly, he shoved his newest student to the back of his mind and returned to his office.
