Disclaimer: I own X Men and Pyro actually less than pretty much anything else. /nods/ The shrink and spellchecker that says "Pyro" is misspelled, however, are mine.

A/N: Wow, it's been a while since I've actually done fanfiction. Eh, blame it on school and writer's block. This is also my first time doing X Men fanfiction, and I'm the first to admit that I know nothing other than what the movie say (yes, feel free to flog me later), so when there are inaccuracies in facts and whatnot, that's why. Please feel free to point any of those out and I'll do my best to fix them. On to the fic!

Confession

"So, John, what would you like to talk about today?" The soothing voice of the well-paid therapist was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. John, the one in question, shrugged indifferently.

"I dunno. Whatever."

The therapist smiled gently, almost, but not quite amused by her patient.

"Well, John, you were the one who called this meeting. I assume that you had some sort of a reason for doing so." All she received in response was silence. "All right, I'll start, then. I'm thirty four years old, and I grew up in a small town that I can guarantee you've never heard of. I attended Princeton University and then medical school, where I received my license to practice psychiatry. I'm married - for six years now - to a wonderful man who spends his time protecting our country from some of the most dangerous people in the world. I have no children, nor do I want any. My favorite color is blue, and I have a penchant for watching gymnastics on TV." There was a brief pause. "And that's me. Now, what about you?"

John ignored the question, opting instead to ask one of his own.

"Why don't you want kids? Too much trouble?"

"Yes." The answer was hardly what John had expected. "And I don't see any reason to expose anyone else to the horrors that accompany life these days."

John blinked a few times, caught completely off-guard. And yet, something about the morbidly calm way she had spoken drew him to her. He nodded in what he hoped was a knowing manner and leaned forward.

"You know what?" he asked softly, forcing her to lean in the hear him properly.

"What?" she responded at the same volume.

"I don't think you really want me to tell you all about me."

"And why is that?" The therapist leaned back, a classic non-verbal sign of being uninterested.

"Because," John replied loftily, "We don't want to work through everything on the first date, now do we?"

The therapist smiled tolerably and refrained from rolling her eyes. According to her recent sensitivity training, eye rolling was indicative of the fact that you weren't taking someone seriously, and that was not something that she could afford to do.

"Really now," she started calmly, ignoring her patient's last comment. "I hate surprises."

"Yeah?" John leaned forward again. "Then you should love this." He moved toward her as if to kiss her, then back away. The action did not have anywhere near the impact he had hoped it would. "All right, you wanna know about me? Why?"

"Besides the obvious answer that that's what I'm paid to do, you seem like you need to talk."

"And talking requires knowing?"

"Ah, no, but also yes. In my line of work, trust me when I say that knowing a person, and letting them get to know you, is crucial."

"Mm." John gazed at the woman across from him appraisingly. She wasn't stunningly good-looking, as he had hoped, but was just above average enough to pose potential. And she was older. Much older. Typically, JOhn would have enjoyed having that particular tidbit of knowledge, but this time he didn't. Knowing made her seem more... real, if that was possible. It was as if, by knowing, a wall was thrown up between them, at least in a romantic sense. Knowing had suddenly turned her into a more motherly type, one who was genuinely interested in what was bothering him, what he had to say. He wasn't sure he liked that.

"Let's start out easy, shall we?" While John had been pondering, his female counterpart had taken control of the conversation. "What's your favorite color?"

John pretended to consider the question for a moment before responding. "Red."

"Do you like sports?"

"Nah. Not really."

"Why?"

"I find them boring and pointless. I mean, why would you want to run around and exert all that effort when you could be doing other things?"

"Other things like what?" A note was jotted down on the notepad held in the therapist's lap. John shrugged.

"I dunno. Things."

"All right." She decided to let that one go. "Where's your favorite place to go and just mull things over?"

John stared at the wall for a moment while he thought. "My room," he answered finally. "Actually, no. There are too many people around there. Out."

"Anywhere in particular or just...out?"

"Just out. Somewhere I can go where it's quiet and I can hear myself think, ya know?"

"Indeed I do." Another note was scribbled down. "You said there are 'too many people around' for your room to be a good place to go and think. Why's that? Big family?"

John shook his head. "Nah. Other students. I board at school."

"Yes? Where?"

"Some... place you've never heard of."

"Mm? Try me."

"Um... Xavier's School for Gifted Children? Ever heard of it?"

"Why don't you tell me about it." It was really more of a statement than a question.

"Okay, well... there're lots of kids there. Not a lot my age, but Bobby and Rogue are there, so I guess it's all right."

"And Bobby and Rogue are...?"

"Huh? My friends."

"Mm," More notes were taken. "Why don't you tell me about them?"

"I'd rather not."

"All right. Whatever you want, John." She smiled, inviting further conversation before quickly reviewing her notes. "A school for gifted children, hmm? What are you gifted in?"

John shrugged. "Ya know. Stuff."

"Mm. What kind of stuff."

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do." She leaned forward again, indicating with her body that she was indeed interested.

"No, I really don't think you do."

"John, I've heard some pretty crazy things in my years doing this; I can practically guarantee that whatever skills you have can not be any more unbelievable than what my former patients have said."

"You don't know me too well, do you?" John cocked his head slightly, observing his counterpart's reaction to his rhetorical statement.

"I'm trying, John. I really am. But for me to get to know you, you need to give me something to work with. So, please tell me in what way or ways you are gifted."

Many minutes passed without a word being spoken. Finally, John broke the silence.

"You really want to know?"

"Yes, I do."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"All right, then, I'll tell you. I'm a mutant. I have the power to manipulate fire. Ya know, take a flame, make it bigger, smaller, shoot it at things, whatever, except create it. There. Ya happy now?" He turned his gaze back to his therapist, who was looking right back at him with a completely serious expression on her face. When she did not speak for several moments, John began to get a little nervous. "What? Don't believe me?"

"Oh no, that's not it," she replied finally. When she did speak, her voice was quiet, perfectly calm. Somehow, she knew. She knew he wasn't joking around like the others had. No, somehow, she knew what he really was, and she had accepted it. "I do not doubt that everything you just told me is the absolute truth."

"And you... don't care? Is that it?" John was by this time thoroughly perplexed.

"No, no, that's not it at all. I see no reason to make a scene, when I'm sure you've had enough of that in your life. If you don't mind me asking, how do you think being a mutant has effected your life?"

"Are you kidding me?" Every word dripped with cynicism. First she just accepted his biggest secret without batting an eyelash, and now she had the gall to ask him how it effected his life! "How do you think it's effected my life? People who were my best friends found out and called my a freak, loser, abomination! I lost everyone around me, every single person that I cared about abandoned me the minute they found out I was different. Even the ones who'd known forever, like my parents, never even tried to tell me that it didn't matter that I was different. No, they just ostracized me like all the rest. Being different... being different ruined my life!"

There was another period of silence while the therapist appraised the boy in front of her. Here was a teenager - still a child, really - who saw himself not as gifted, but as cursed. Ostracized from day one by the people who were supposed to make him feel secure, tell him everything was fine, even if he was different from all the other kids. Constantly mocked among other children, never knowing a moments peace from the pressure of it all. It was frankly a miracle that he hadn't snapped already.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe it's a good thing that you're different from everybody else? That you alone have this amazing power that no one can ever take away from you?"

"No. Why would I? There hasn't been any reason to." John paused as he attempted to regain his composure. "I didn't even like it until..."

"Until what?" came the gentle prodding.

"Until Professor X came and found me and took me in. He taught me to control my power, to be able to use it when I wanted to, not when I lost control. At his school I met other people like me. Well, not exactly like me, but close enough. They're all mutants. They've all had to deal with pretty much the same stuff."

"But not the exact same stuff."

"No. We're always being told that everyone is special, but if everyone is really special, than what's so special about it?"

The therapist nodded and closed her notebook, a hint of a content grin intruding on her otherwise stoic features.

"I think we're done for today."

Fin.