Title: Are You the Teacher of the Heart: Chapter 1: Terrible Thought

Pairing: Xavier/Wanda

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never have been, never will. Please don't sue.

Summary: Charles Xavier from Wanda's point of view, set before "The HeX Factor."

Warnings: It's not fluffy, but what do you expect from the insane character's point of view?

Notes: This was originally written for a challenge on a list I'm on.

Feedback: I'll take anything, seriously. If I don't know what was bad, it ain't ever gonna get better.

~Terrible Thought~

Are you the teacher of the heart? You try to be. Come in here, wheels oh-so-sterile, and try to teach. Once upon a time, it was control-- abandoned now for lovey-dovey lessons of the heart. You're always trying to fix me! You keep me locked up and chained up, afraid. So I snarl. And revel in your disapproving frown. Yeah, that's right-- be afraid even with my hands tied up. You're hopeless.

Say nothing so that just when-- I think you're going to leave finally. Let me have what meager peace is possible inside my head. But no. You procure an eyeliner pencil from somewhere.

Mind whammy first, always first. Of course. Docile little me.

Then, grab my chin. Make me look at you. Gentle strokes-- eyeliner. Lipstick. Pretty, pretty me with my blunt scissor haircut. Ritual complete, you lean back and look at your masterpiece. I'm not finished yet, no. I know it too; window dressing makeup for when you can show me off. Make me grateful and pliant.

...The mind whammy's starting to wear off. I smile-- think it's a smile-- with my eyes. You can't help but notice. Eyes drawn to my eyes, and it's you who traced them so thickly. Speak, I beg you. Use that reason, that compassion you're so famous for.

You do, and the smile spreads to the corners of my mouth. Maybe you're making progress? Maybe, yes, no. I'm gone-- past redemption, don't you know. Father said so; he's never wrong.

Bide my time, wait.

More gentle strokes-- in my mind now. Soothe, soothe so I don't erupt. Calm before the storm. Push away my thoughts, let my mind go slack, and you probe deeper. I leap. My hands may be tied, but my feet aren't.

You're on the ground now, out of the wheelchair, and how's it feel to be forced immobile?

Big room, but the door's straight ahead. I hear a clack-- turn-- and see the lipstick tube roll on the floor. Swoop down, it's in my hand. Even crazies have little girl dreams: dress up as a pretty, pretty princess. Mistake that, dreams. Lets you have time, and time means--

Subdued little me.

Explain it to me as you get back in your chair. It's all for my own good, oh yes. Can't trust me, can't make progress. Progress means learning to do what you want me to do though. Talk to me now. Going over your perceptions of me my situation. Can I add something? Correct something?

You know the story by now. Father, abandonment, imprisoned in an asylum. It's not that different from so many others. Crooning words reach my ears, look up and blink through tears. Gentle strokes across my cheeks. Tears gone, replaced by smudges. Can't spring for waterproof makeup, can you?

Say you care, say you know it hurts, say you understand. As always-- same routine stuck on repeat. Maybe this time it'll stick. You'd like that; it'd be progress. So I resist.

You're just like Father, you know. Love to be in control, love your minions. How many have you kicked out of your fancy team because they messed up? Won't let you get to me like that. Care, sympathy, empathy-- it's all an illusion anyway. Use the illusion, use me. Make me up so prettily. Pretty, false words fall on my ears-- deafened ears. Don't worry though.

You continue the litany, more earnesty and more treachery, and I-- Scream. Loud, long, anguished, however you want to describe it. Drowns the words, down and away. Barely, barely a squeak as you roll away. Smile now through the scream. Session's over, shorter than normal. No progress beyond the makeup, teacher.

I laugh now that you're gone. You do teach, teacher, but teacher doesn't teach what he thinks he teaches. Love, acceptance-- want me to take your lessons to heart. And I do. In my heart they go, twisty and turny till they're upside-down and inside-out. Use me and lose me, your lessons say-- echo over and over; that's the lesson of the day.

~End~