Disclaimer : I own none of the X-Men nor their surroundings, however Dell Tucker is mine, along with Ilehana Xavier, should she make a brief appearance!

A/N : The date at the start of a chapter refers to the timeline in respect to the Prologue.

Chapter One : Amnesia

Six Years Ago, Somewhere in New York State

It was, she supposed later, like being in the womb. Floating not quite lifelessly in the darkness of her own mind, the only connection to the outside world being her dependency on her body to survive. A lazy feeling, like a typical Sunday afternoon - nothing to do and nowhere to go - as her consciousness dozed within the confines of her mind, while the dreams span off into wild fantasies of boys, cars and shopping………

Until someone hit her head with a giant sledgehammer. At least, that was what it felt like. Perhaps it was just her brain trying to connect itself to some form of reality……… What had happened? Still unconscious, she scrambled through her mind for some recollection, something, anything to give her some form of clue as to what her eyes would see when they opened. Nothing. Further back, something to discover where she had been, what she'd been doing……… still nothing. Terrified now, she searched for any knowledge, anything - name, age, family, friends………

"Who am I?" She managed to whisper, before plunging back into the depths of the darkness that could not answer her, the blackness that was not so discriminating as to care.

SOMETIME LATER

"There now, here she is, back with us again." His voice was soothing, so calm, so welcoming. "Come, my dear, open those lovely grey eyes of yours."

The light was more than she could bear for a few minutes. The headache, which throbbed unmercifully and made her feel as if her skull might explode any moment, was worse. She barely felt the injection from the drip that dosed her once more with painkillers, but the relief they brought was nigh on instantaneous and so very welcome. Finally, she was able to open her eyes, and though for a while the world around was fuzzy and unfocused, she could see at least. She was in a clinically well lit room with charcoal grey walls and ceiling, it was stark - big and empty other than her companion and several monitors that beeped incessantly.

"How do you feel?" The voice asked, and she turned her head to look at a man clearly getting on in years, though his grey hair and stark eyes, not to mention the strong facial structure gave him a regal look. Who was he?

"A little better, thank you." She answered hesitantly. When she instinctively tried to sit up, he restrained her. She lay back, for even trying to sit up had made her dizzy. "I'm sorry, but, who are you?"

"You don't know me?" He seemed genuinely shocked and hurt. "But Danielle, it's me…….. Eric……… your father………"

LATER

Danielle? Danielle Lencher. Was that her name? Left alone to try and sleep, she contemplated the possibility. Was that man really her father? She had tried for so long to place it that she'd given up now. Her head still pounded like a pneumatic drill, sore from falling from a horse, her 'father' had told her. Apparently the beast had given her a good kicking after throwing her from his back. Horse-riding seemed right for her. She loved horses - most animals actually, though how she knew, Danielle wasn't sure. Yes, Danielle was a good name, solid but still feminine. If it belonged to her, so much the better.

She sat up slowly, permitting the dizziness to wash through her in great waves that made her queasy but passed after a while. Looking round, she had to admit this was the weirdest hospital she'd ever seen - but then, how many had she seen? What the hell was all this fancy, hi-tech gear anyways? Peering at the monitors, she noted heartbeat, blood-pressure, body temperature, maybe brain wave activity or something? Whatever one of them was, it was ricocheting back and forth from one end of the scale to the other. Was that normal?

"Not sleepy, precious?" Eric, her father, had returned, a grey shoe-box in his hands

"Not really, sir." Unable to call him 'Dad' or 'Father', Danielle had to call him something, so 'sir' it was. It was more polite that calling him Eric anyways. And he didn't seem to object either, which was a bonus.

"Well, I've brought you some things of yours, I thought they might help you remember something."

"Thank you." She replied genuinely, and took the box he was now holding out to her with some trepidation. What would she find? What type of person was she, really?

A British passport - she was British? Huh, now there was a thing. A picture that really looked as if it had been through the wars, of herself at seven, maybe eight, chestnut hair in long shining ringlets tucked behind each pierced ear. Grey eyes looked back at her, somehow knowing, calculating. Big, cheesy grin, petite nose, ample lips that looked like they'd been attacked by a chocolate monster. But it was the adults in the picture that really caught her eye. Yes, the man might well be Eric……… and was that her mother? Danielle took after her, that was for sure. They were so similar……… except for the chocolate that is.

"Yes, that photo was taken when I came to visit once. We never lived together, your mother and I. But yes, that was her." Eric nodded when she questioned him.

"Was?"

"I'm sorry, precious, your mother died……… shortly after that photo was taken. Lung cancer."

"Oh."

Oh? Her mother had died and all she could say was "Oh"? But to her it wasn't real. Her mother was just a face, like a stranger in the street. But Eric seemed so crestfallen that she didn't have the heart to ask him what she was like. Instead, she delved onto the next thing - her American papers that had permitted her to come and live in the USA. It all fitted. The dates all matched. Her she was - a fifteen year old girl, a teenager - that could remember no more of her life than a new-born babe.

Other things - school reports, photographs of herself and friends, things she must have made when she was a kid, a small teddy that was both musty and thread bare. "Eddy." She muttered to herself, but her father sat forward eagerly. "Eddy the Teddy."

"That's right!" His tone bordered on patronising. "You remember?"

"A couple of images, sir, nothing in particular. I've had him a long time, haven't I?"

"I bought that for you, the day you were born."

Yes, she thought she remembered someone telling her that, many moons ago. Vague images of a fire, a hearth, a sheep-skin rug. A woman with her arm about Danielle's shoulders, a child's voice - her own - asking where Eddy had come from. It was all there, clear as crystal. Just that one moment, but it was a start. She grinned happily. "Oh Dad."

And his smile only grew at that.