AN: This chapter it pretty slow... that's part of the reason I posted it a few days late and that it's shorter. I'm not a huge fan of it, but it's a transition to all the action and establishes a number of things that will become rather important later. Also, it explains their mutant powers a bit more, which someone was a touch confused about... if you still don't understand somethings, keep calm and carry on. All will be revealed! Suspense and all that jazz...

Anyways, thank you for all the lovely reviews! I typically reply to them but have been strapped for time as of late.

Helena's first aeroplane ride was far shorter than she would have predicted it would, not to mention far less professional.

The time-traveler hadn't truly known what to expect, but none of her imaginings as she took the brunette's, Myka's, hand in her own had included the young woman (hardly more than a child) with eccentric hair in such an odd red hue. None of them had included receiving the news that Helena was the "father" of an entire genre of literature, or that the powerful woman that sat beside her, the one with the strange name, "Myka," would be familiar with any of her stories. Truly, she'd been prepared for a cold, business-like encounter with stiff collars sporting even stiffer rules, such as that Arthur fellow, but had instead found an adoring fan in Claudia and received the news that she, Helena G Wells was a prominent figure in the literary canon. Well, sort of. Her mind was, even if Charles' face was that which was tied to it.

The sheer implausibility of it… Helena's barriers and rationale had nearly collapsed. And it wasn't until now, at the swaying of their airship as it began its descent, that her senses returned.

"And we. Are. Home," the pilot called as the hum of the engines petered out.

"Thank God," the man who supposedly controlled heat and water chimed. "Why can't we ever travel by something besides air?"

"Stop being such a girlie, Jinksy," the red-head jibed playfully.

Myka demonstrated how to undo the safety harness that held Helena in, and then they were off. On the way out the door, the Brit caught sight of their pilot; he was practically a boy, dark-haired and bright-eyed, his face endowed with only the soft hair of adolescence.

Perhaps he doesn't age, she puzzled, unbelieving that such a boy could be permitted to navigate such a machine. Or perhaps he's talented – powerful like Ms. Bering. The mere idea of there being so many people like herself, gifted people, able to congregate and survive in a single place was incredible in and of itself.

But then the young man was gone from sight. Helena was ushered down a ramp in a room of such size it could easily engulf the entire town house she and Charles had shared; it was full of what appeared to be tools and scientific equipment. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed to her the incredible machine which had brought her to…

"May I inquire as to where exactly we are?"

"South Dakota," Myka answered. "At Xavier's School for Higher Learning."

How can we… Not even ten minutes ago they'd been in Chicago, and now… "You mean South Dakota, as in the state?" the Brit verified. "How is that possible?"

Claudia, already on level ground at the foot of the ramp, looked up with a proud grin as the Brit joined her and in staring at the plane. "My baby runs off of a fusion core that works on reaction frequency of…"

"The jet is a product of much research and funding. It is the only one of its kind in the world," a voice detailed curtly, cutting the young woman short before she could get too carried away on what Helena was certain would've been a both enlightening and confusing lecture of considerable length.

Helena turned to find the voice's source. She nearly jumped at the sight of the matronly African-American woman who stood behind her. The woman emanated an air of power, of authority. The strong cut of her gray-tone suit, as well as the polished look of her black-rimmed glasses and piled hairdo promoted the feeling. Yet, Helena was quite certain that even if the woman were dressed in nothing but a nightgown the result would be little different. If she shared in the surprise that others had exhibited at Helena's gender or appearance, her face did not show it.

"Ms. Wells. May I be the first to welcome such an exalted figure to our establishment. I am Mrs. Fredric, head of this facility." Mrs. Fredric words were precise, weighed and lacking any fault or feeling; she spoke with the diction of authority. At last, someone met the Brit's expectations. "I am afraid I will not be able to give you a proper tour; business calls. Professor Bering, would you please attend to our new arrival's injuries?"

How does she know my name? And "professor?" Helena pondered, glancing at the woman who seemed far too young for such a title.

The brunette's lips were curved in a slight frown. "Injuries? I don't think she-" Her green eyes roamed Helena's body and caught sight of the blood trickling down her knuckles. "What about Vanessa?"

"Dr. Calder left on an assignment fifteen minutes ago. Your familiarity with medicine should be more than proficient."

Myka nodded and glanced at the timepiece on her wrist. "I have a lecture to give in an hour."

Mrs. Fredric seemed to anticipate the complication. "We'll send someone to find Dr. Hernandez for a full physical. Mr. Lattimer, if you would."

The brown-haired man blanched at the suggestion. "But… but Dr. Hernandez and me… we don't really…"

Mrs. Fredric looked at him expectantly, and whatever the man had intended to say fizzled out. Cowed, he turned and disappeared through an oddly large, stainless-steel doorway.

"Professor Nielsen, there has been a situation. The rest of you may return to your activities," the woman continued, gesturing towards the doorway with a commanding finality. And so it was that the small group of faces she'd only just begun to acclimate to dispersed with quick farewells, leaving Helena's surrounding feeling even more alien.

Well, nearly. Ms. Bering still remained a constant.

"This way." Myka began moving towards a hallway.

Helena felt a moment's apprehension at the realization that they were the only ones using it, but bit the feeling down immediately. If the group harbored ill intentions towards her, she suspected that Ms. Bering or the school's headmistress could've acted as much already.

They stepped into a network of pristine white tunnels, the surfaces all made of a smooth substance Helena couldn't quite place.

"Sorry about the rush. It's our first day of the semester, so everything's a little hectic," Myka explained.

The Brit smiled. "It's no problem. So, this is a school? The décor is not as…warm as one would expect. Feels a touch more like the loony-bin."

A chuckle broke from Myka's lips. "Some days I wonder… but right now we're in the lower levels, which aren't really part of the student campus. A few floors up, you'd find something far more Oxford-esque."

"Ah."

"So, is it just the hand that needs fixing, or did you sustain any other injuries while you were… well."

Helena could hear the hints of distaste in Myka's words, despite the careful restraint. "You don't approve so much as young Ms. Donovan, I take it," she inquired bluntly.

The brunette hesitated. "I… Not really, no."

"I see," Helena replied diplomatically. "I believe my hand should be all," she continued in her most nonchalant tone. The way Myka looked at her, the humor in her eyes - Helena was all but certain that the brunette knew the Brit was avoiding a confrontation. "My brother always told me that argumentative discourse of ethics was poor material for first encounters as people would then immediately realize just how hotheaded I am," Helena explained with a shrug. "I've decided to adhere to his wisdom… just this once." She knew there was no hard feelings when she heard her companion's airy laugh.

They came to circular set of large metal doors; the panels slid apart as the women neared it, the steel drawing back as if by magic. Helena couldn't help but pause and inspect the contraption as her guide lead them into what appeared to be a small clinic.

The gaps in the wall into which the door had slid left little in the way of space which might be inspected. "We're you using your powers? Or are they mechanical?"

"Hm?" Myka turned around. She eyed the Brit curiously.

"The doors," Helena repeated, feeling a little foolish but she herself feeling far too curious to give up now. "How do they work? Did you use the telekinetics you spoke of to open them?"

"Oh! No, they're mechanical."

Helena looked at her expectantly.

"They have sensors which trigger the door if someone steps near enough," the professor continued.

"Sensors," the Englishwoman repeated, wondering. "Ingenious. What sort? Heat senors? Weight? Or do they operate on a light frequency, perhaps?"

Ms. Bering regarded her strangely, but smiling. "Infrared, I think. Claudia would know. But, if you'd take a seat on the examination table, please." The tall woman moved over to a counter and washed her hands. She picked up a square, white box painted with a red-cross.

Well, at least first-aid kits haven't much changed in the past century, Helena mused, doing as was asked of her. The stainless steel table felt cool beneath her as her legs dangled over the edge.

"So you haven't… have you seen sliding doors before?"

"I daresay I haven't," the Brit admitted. "Are they common in this age?"

"'Are they common in this-'" the woman repeated, mystified, as she set the box down on the table, flipped back the latches, and began to rummaging through it.

Helena took the opportunity to examine her. Her green eyes and delicate fingers worked through the labels of various bottles with the precision of an expert. Professor of medicine, perhaps? It seemed strange, considering her youthful face, yet unmarked by anything more than the slightest hints of age. Yet, it matched.

"Yes, I suppose they are…" Myka continued, tucking a strand of curly hair which had fallen loose from her ponytail behind one ear as her other hand settled on a small glass bottle and white piece of cloth. "Hand, please."

Helena winced at the sting as what she suspected to be a disinfectant was rubbed into the open cuts on her knuckles.

"Sorry," the brunette apologized sincerely. "So, you're sure there's nothing else I need to look at?"

Helena's thoughts turned to the pain in her lower back where her most recent criminal-project had slammed her against a counter top. She was certain there'd be a motley bruise there soon, if not already.

"Nope. This should take care of it." Her gaze bounced between the linen being wrapped about her hand and the face of the woman applying

The way Myka eyed her, Helena was nearly certain the woman had been reading her mind. The thought alone made her freeze. Didn't she mention telepathy earlier?

"Are you sur-"

"Sorry I took so long!" A dark-haired woman dressed in a white lab-coat stepped through the doors just as Myka finished taping the bandage.

"No problem. Ms. Wells, meet Doctor Kelly Hernandez. Doctor, this is Helena G. Wells," Myka introduced.

"As in HG Wells. Like, the author guy… who is actually a woman. That sounded weird." Mr. Latimer stepped into the room on the doctor's heels. "Can I just call you HG?" He asked, directing a flattering grin Helena's way.

The Brit eyed him. He was cute, in a youthfully-sweet and decently-fit sort of way. Oh, why not. She smiled back, drawing on her well-practiced charm. "Certainly. Mr. Lattimer, is it not?"

"Just Pete is fine," he offered.

"Very well, Pete."

Kelly looked at the two, rolling her eyes. Helena did not know what exactly to make of the reaction. It seemed as though it ought to be read as dismissive, yet, there were tones of something almost… defensive. Perhaps I am infringing, she mused.

"Well, Kelly, I've got a lecture to get to. It has been a pleasure, Ms. Wells."

Helena tore her attention away from the newcomers as Myka finished washing her hands. "Thank you, professor. For everything," she spoke warmly. Myka ducked her head in modesty before heading for the door.

"Take Pete with you?" Kelly asked in a voice dry as dust.

"But I want to sta-"

And with a small wave farewell, Myka Bering all but drug the man back out into the hallway. Helena could hear the echoes of his dismay as they disappeared from sight, leaving her, once again, in the hands of a stranger in a strange, new world.

"What's the problem? Is it MacPherson?" Artie questioned the moment he and Mrs. Fredric were free of his team.

"No, not this time."

He hated theatrics. She knew that. That's why the two of them got along so well – neither cared to waste time. "Well?"

The look she shot him was one he didn't recognize, not on her face. "I believe it's something else… something older."

He stared at her, still puzzling over her expression, when it finally struck him like a blow to the stomach by Babe Ruth sporting a two-by-four.

It was fear.

Myka Bering sat back from her desk. The array of papers before her, each awaiting assessment, was unable to hold her wavering attention. It wasn't that they were terrible; for the most part, they were quite the opposite. Engaging the black Times-New-Roman thoughts of her students with her looping red-ink impressions was nearly always a welcome task; Xavier's School for Higher Learning was chalked full of bright youngsters who brought bright and unique perspectives to the table. And these papers, a simple writing exercise from the first day of her Advanced Creative Writing course, were sure to be interesting enough.

Sighing, she pushed away from the desk and leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head. Her gaze wandered to the window, to the autumn crimsons and fiery oranges of the oaks shedding leaves in the courtyard. The South Dakota chill always came a bit early, but she never seemed to mind the cold quite as much as everyone else. Except for Sam; that man never buttoned his jacket outside, even when the frosts came and the air grew bitter with the sting of midwinter. He always rushed everywhere, only stopping when she kissed his chilled skin and insisted buttoning it for him.

Or rather, he had.

She fought to pull herself free of the phantoms; these moments always ended with their frigid fingers grasping at her center, at her fraying edges.

Maybe she'd broken a few too many mental barriers in her pursuit of HG Wells this morning and was still off balance. Or perhaps the cold struck a little deeper these days.

It was just the time of year.

The wooden clock that hung on the wall in front of her desk read 5:37. Leena was probably making dinner. If she hurried, Myka could probably get home in time to give her a hand. Sliding the papers into a paper folio, she threw on her beige scarf and black peacoat.

"Hey Mykes! We were waiting for you. Join the part-ay!"

Myka looked up as she entered the kitchen to find the X-Men ground team already clustered around the dining table. Pete waved her over. Artie's seat sat empty, but there was another chair pulled up to the antique wooden table, one in a place that had stood empty for nearly two years. It was filled by none other than their new arrival.

"Hi everyone," she acknowledged with a tired smile. "Need a hand, Leena?"

The dark-skinned woman shook her head gently. The sympathy in her eyes left Myka with no doubt that she knew exactly what Myka was feeling. The brunette felt guilty for it, for making Leena witness her own inner-pain and knowing that it would be the better part of two weeks before it began to fade. But it was just the time of year.

Myka washed her hands at the sink and took up her seat across from that newly returned chair. She tried not to refill it with ghosts.

They polished off Leena's delicious lasagna in good cheer, passing jokes and questioning their guest – their incredibly sexy new guest, in Pete's mind – about herself.

"So, what do you think of the place?" He asked.

"It's absolutely amazing! How everything has advanced… It will take me ages to catch up scientifically alone. All of the new things I've seen today…"

"Like sliding doors?" Myka asked with a teasing smile.

"Yes, sliding doors," Helena replied with a cheeky grin. "But more so, the society you've built here, and the apparent, sheer genetic diversity between its members. Is there a limit to the varieties? If I may ask, what are all of your powers? Is that rude to ask, amongst mutants?"

Claudia shrugged. "Depends on the person. Some are embarrassed by their talents or just don't like to talk about it. I," she paused as strands of her hair began to float upwards, charged with electricity. A breeze flickered through the room. "- can manipulate the weather."

"What has Artie told you about storms in the house?" Leena piped up.

The young red-head smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Incredible! And you, Leena?" the Brit prodded.

"I read auras… life forces, moods, energy."

"So, if I felt terribly, you would know it? Or if I whether I am good or evil?" Helena inquired, keenly interested.

"I… yes. Maybe," Leena answered awkwardly. "Moods, yes. Evil, however is a strange way to put it. No one is really emotionally 'evil'; it's just some are more upset or angry or unsettled over something. But sometimes I pick up on more long-term situations, like whether someone is good-natured or sympathetic or unstable…"

Pete watched Helena's eyes dart down to the gloves on Leena's hands, the gloves she always wore, and the long-sleeves that always covered up her skin. It seemed as if the Brit had some emotion-reading skills herself; she didn't ask.

"That's fantastic," the Brit said with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you." Leena glowed at the compliment. "I'll go grab dessert, if everyone's ready?"

"Do you need a hand?" Myka offered, scooting her chair back.

Leena waved her back into her seat.

Helena reached for the wine bottle. "Who's next? Or hold on a moment. Do we have an ice bucket?" Helena queried.

Everyone looked to Steve.

"No need," he answered. Reaching out, Pete handed him the bottle. When passed back, Helena's face brightened as her hand touched the chill glass.

"Well that most certainly is handy," she mused. "And you Peter? … Peter?" The Brit glanced around, looking straight through Pete several times. He struggled not to laugh. "Where did he- oh!"

"Pretty awesome, right?" Pete prodded, basking in the gorgeous Brit's gaze as he reappeared.

"An actual Invisible Man," Myka murmured softly.

Helena looked away from Pete, her eyes gleaming as they fell upon the woman. Pete missed the attention, not really sure why it had fled so suddenly when Myka had done nothing more than state the obvious.

"So, that leaves only you, Ms. Bering," the raven-haired woman prodded. "What precisely are you capable of?"

The brunette woman frowned thoughtfully, swirling the Merlot in her glass.

"Mykes doesn't like to use her powers," Pete began to explain for his teammate, "but she is basically the juggernaut of all psychic mutants; even Mrs. Fredric doesn't know her limits: moving objects, reading minds, manipulating energy, and all with her head - anything brainy, she's got it. Once, when we were twelve, I stole her story collection of that Shakespeare guy, and she mentally took the underwear I was wearing and-"

"That's enough of that story," Myka cut-in wryly. The look of daggers she gave him made Pete feel a little guilty; he shut his mouth.

"Is that true?" HG asked, leaning in.

Pete could tell Myka was a little upset. Maybe he'd gone a little too far, but she never really enjoyed discussing her gift. In part, it was probably because of the awe some people held for someone as powerful as she actually was. But, another undeniable reason was that hers was one of the handful of talents that came with a serious danger. Pete was of the few close enough to her to know about the price of Myka's powers if she went too far. About how she could, in fact, loose herself if she didn't maintain her psychic guards.

He was one of the few who had witnessed the Phoenix.

"Well, here's dessert! I hope you all like it," Leena returned to the table, cutting through the tension.

The proclamation immediately stole Pete's attention. "What is it?"

"Blueberry cheese cake," Leena answered with a grin, handing out plates from a sliver tray.

"Yes! Gosh, I love this stuff! Leena, you're amazing," he replied.

The sentiment was agreed upon by everyone except Myka. Pete watched as she slid back her chair and took to her feet, offering Leena a quiet "no thank you," and a tired, sad smile. She looked at the last plate on the tray like it was something else, something more than just a slice of Leena's amazing cheesecake, not to mention blueberry, which they'd rarely had since…

Oh. It struck Pete about the same time it did Leena. It had been his favorite.

"Oh my gosh. Myka, I'm so sorry! I don't know how I forgot," Leena stumbled.

Myka just put a hand on Leena's shoulder. "No, no, no. Don't apologize. You guys don't have to skip out on it just because of me. And the lasagna was amazing. Thank you, Leena. Really." She drew her hand back and ran her fingers through her tangled mane of hair. "It's just that I pushed myself a little too far today and have some papers to grade. I'll see you guys in the morning. It was great to really meet you, Helena. 'Night, every one."

A smattering of "good night"s rose from the table.

She took her not even half-eaten plate of lasagna and scraped it into the trash, stowing away the dish in the dish washer and carrying her glass of red away with her into the hallway and out of sight. No one spoke.

"Was it… did I upset her?" HG finally asked, concerned.

Pete shook his head. "It wasn't you."

"It wasn't anyone," Claudia explained. "It's just the time of year."

Did that angsty-ness make sense? I hope so...

Anyways, prepare yourselves for an awesome 'Pride and Prejudice' sort of gig, as well as some kick-ass action as soon as I finish several projects due this week. Damn college classes...

Reviews are always lovely, as well as any PMs. Even if they're about things such as a spelling/grammatical error! Have a beautiful day or evening or whatever it is wherever you are :)