So, having missed her chance to go pop inside, the girl walked to the front door instead. When she got there, she knocked on the huge wooden door, wondering how anybody could manage to open that. Her whole body shook. But maybe not just from the bitter cold.

"Come on, come on," she whispered. Huge puffs of white frost floated up from her mouth. She crossed her arms, and the bag she had lugged all this way was digging into her skin, even through all the layers of clothing. Finally, the door creaked open. Inwardly, thankfully. And a naturally tanned guy her own age was standing there. She didn't know why she was confused. What was she expecting? This was a school. But she knew why she was both confused and disappointed. This guy wasn't her father. Which wasn't to say that her wasn't near, but after all she had endured, it would have been nice that for once, just once, things went how she dreamed they would. How was anybody supposed to survive on hope when there was never any reason given to do so? Snap back to reality. The guy raised his eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. She suddenly felt very self-conscious, standing there with wind blown hair, red cheeks from the cold and blue lips for the same reason. She couldn't even stand straight; her body was shivering so fiercely. Finally, coming all this way, given this faint disappointment, but knowing not all hope was lost, she wanted to just sit somewhere, and cry for herself. She'd walked, through a snowstorm. To find a runaway father. Instead of collapsing like she was literally dying to do, she forced herself to keep upright. Throw in a few words even. Just don't collapse.

"Hi. I, um. Can I come in?" she asked quietly. The guy looked mildly shocked, but for the most part, looked pretty casual. He slid his arm up and stepped back, allowing her just enough room to get past, but forcing her to walk under his arm. Just as she was past, she felt the weight of her bag lifted. Instinctively, she spun, expecting an attack. The door guy was holding the strap of her bag above her arm, so the weight wouldn't be resting on it. He was looking at her, eyebrows raised, as if asking if it was ok. She shook her head. Not in the negative, but to clear her head. He seemed to understand and his mouth twitched up again.

"Sorry, to surprise you," she looked at him, not having anticipated the accent. She tried to place it but couldn't. She smiled, crossed her arms again and nodded. She felt completely overwhelmed. They were standing in a huge foyer; curved stairs hugged the wall on one side. On the other, a huge corridor led to what looked liked another waiting area, and a games room. The polished wood and rich carpers threw her off. This was a school. It seemed too exclusive to be a school. Many decorative items lined the hallway, and plush chairs were strategically scattered around the room. She breathed in deeply, and then exhaled. It seemed as if ice was lining her throat, because suddenly it hurt so much to breath warm air, she started to choke. The guy swore, and ran off to a side room, dropping her bag as he went. He came running back, a glass of warm water in his hand. He managed to force it down her throat. The burning in her throat stopped, and though she was relieved she couldn't help but cough up some water. The guy was patting her back, which wasn't really helping, but the gesture was comforting. Just once, she thought, it would be nice if things went right. When she stood up, the guy was chuckling softly. She flushed. I couldn't help it, she thought. It must have shown on her face because he stopped laughing, and kept a straight face.

"Sorry, " he said, sounding it too. Then seriously he said, "Look, you showed up on the doorstep and I let you in and saved your life," she opened her mouth to protest. Her life hadn't needed saving. He continued.

"There was ice lining you throat. With out the warm water to dissolve it, the ice would drip down into your lungs and-" she held up a hand. Way too vivid.

"Yeah, yeah, ok. Ew." He smiled at that. Then he picked up her bag and led her down a hallway.

"So, don't you think you own me an explanation?" he asked. Only he had no idea what he was asking of her. She hadn't told anybody about her "mission." To tell a perfect stranger? No way. So she told a half-truth, like she always did automatically now.

"I'm looking for some-one…" she trailed off, gazing around st her surroundings. She was being led through a series of corridors, hallways; past glass rooms into lifts and finally, stopped outside a door. He knocked. A crisp voice replied.

"Come in miss, Gambit." The door guy smiled at her puzzled expression, bordering on panic. The voice came from inside her head.

"Who's…" she started to asked as the guy opened the door. An old man sitting in a wheelchair, answered her question, though she had only thought it.

"I," he said, "am Professor Charles Xavier. This young man is Gambit. And I see you have already met Kurt-night crawler. I assure you, as he will, that his appearance was an offering of help. He is sorry to cause offence…" He trailed off, leaving he room to apologize as she knew she should. As far as she could tell, this man, sounding rather regal, was genuinely nice. She frowned. Nobody's nice, she reminded her self, not when it matters anyway.

"Sorry, I didn't realize." Her guards were high up. Nobody had ever thrown her this much. Not in such a short amount of time, she thought bitterly.