Summary: Sarah (aka Marrow) ruminates on Charles' arrival in the future and his inclusion into her makeshift mutant family. Set after/spoilers for episode 1x09 of "Wolverine & the X-Men."
Crazy Old Man
She watches him ease his leg braces off, presumably to make small adjustments to them and to give his swollen limbs and joints a quick rest, and wonders what to say. 'Haven't exactly made a good first impression,' she thinks wryly; but the fact remains that, in spite of their rocky start, Charles had saved her from certain doom at the hands of the Sentinels earlier in the day. Perhaps, then, the importance of a first impression was overrated.
When he looks up at her - expectantly, as though he knows exactly what she's thinking (because, most likely, he does) - Sarah has the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, Charlie," she mumbles, and then blinks and adds quickly, "I mean, Professor." It's odd, she thinks, watching the older man's easy-going smile reach his eyes, idly recognizing that it's relaxing, just being in his presence: She's never cared for authority or formality too much. Titles seem like a trumped-up, overwrought way to demand respect, and in her experience, few people really deserved it. However, when Charles had told her which moniker he preferred, she had felt momentarily chagrined. Perhaps, she thought, it was the way he'd said it: Like he was willing to wait for her to use it; like he actually cared about earning her trust first.
That was another thing about Charles Xavier that puzzled her: He really did seem to care. She'd been irritated at how easily Bishop had let the old man into their little circle - at first, she'd even suspected it was one of his mind tricks; she'd seen how easily he'd manipulated the Sentinel into not activating his telepathy-inhibiting collar, after all - but now, she thought she understood. There was something about him that made people want to follow in his wake, made them want to hear his words of wisdom.
As if on cue, Charles tilts his head, giving her a sidelong glance. "Is something the matter, Sarah?" he asks her kindly. He pats the seat next to him; she hesitates for a moment, and then, letting her guard down just a little more, takes the proffered spot on the bench. Charles smiles at her, and then fiddles anew with his left leg brace. "Are you injured?" he continues, and Sarah shakes her head.
"Thanks to you," she offers ruefully. Suddenly, everything swirling around in her head comes out in a rush: "So you saved me, and I know I was kind of a shit to you before, and I'm sorry," she says hurriedly. 'Like I still think you're kind of a crazy old man, because you kind of have to be, but I'm sorry I said you made things worse by coming here, or something." It's not particularly eloquent, but she suspects that Charles is probably good at reading between the lines. He's supposed to be a teacher or something, after all.
Sure enough, he nods peaceably in response. "You were not wrong to be protective of yourself or your family," he tells her. She feels the innocuous hand on her shoulder, and leans into the touch, rather than recoiling, for once. It strikes her, then, that Charles managed, in the course of a day, to make her feel like the world wouldn't always be like this. He'd brought hope with him, however faint; more than that, though, when he'd gasped out her name and flung himself bodily into her to knock her out of the way of the Sentinel's path, he'd made her feel like her life was worth something.
She must be emoting pretty hard at this point, because Charles' next utterance is quite pointed: "Your life is worth a great deal, Sarah," he murmurs, and she looks at him, startled. Telepaths are a rare thing in this world, and she's still not used to how easily Charles absorbs her thoughts. It's a good thing he's so damned likeable, she thinks begrudgingly, and the notion earns her a full-fledged grin this time.
"If it helps," Charles intones, his eyes kind of unnervingly friendly, "it's much easier to transfer your thoughts when there is physical touch involved." His and Sarah's eyes both go to his hand, still resting on her shoulder. "If it's uncomfortable for you, then of course ..."
"No. It's fine," she says, surprising herself. Then, figuring she's in for a pound anyways, she allows Charles to wrap his arm around her, tucking her head underneath his chin. It's a fatherly embrace, warm and safe, and it makes her feel surprisingly emotional in its rarity. "Sorry," she whispers again, sniffing once and then vacillating harshly.
"No need to apologize." A hand rests, palm flat, against the small of her back. "Do you have a family outside of these walls, Sarah?" Charles asks her. She hesitates a bit, and then forges ahead, letting him see everything. When the most recent memories ebb gradually away, Charles speaks again, his voice hoarse. "You are a very brave young woman, Sarah," he tells her, and she coughs uncomfortably and straightens into a sitting position, wiping briefly at her eyes.
"So what about you?" she asks finally, forcing a casual lilt into her voice. "D'you have a lucky lady back home?"
"Ah-ah." Charles wags a finger at her. "That is something I prefer not to discuss with my students," he admonishes her lightly, but she can see the sadness that comes into his face with the words. From what she's heard from Bishop about the X-Men of yore, the good professor ran the group as something of an extended family. Perhaps, then, she thinks, she's not the only one missing loved ones these days.
"They're your children, aren't they?" she whispers. His face still laced with sadness, the corners of Charles' mouth nonetheless turn up: In remembrance; in hopes that someday, all of this fighting will have a greater purpose than simply survival.
"Every one of them," he admits softly, and Sarah bows her head.