Sorry about the late update, school's been crazy lately. I hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter 2: Signs and Promises

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

In the end, Scott's right. I don't have any place to go, anyone to go to. I can't go anywhere without passport or visa and without a degree for that matter. And it's not that I don't appreciate what the Professor's doing for me, it's just that no matter how many kids I help how many drawings I make, pictures I take, nothing will ever bring my sister back to me. Not even the all-seeing Professor can seem to understand this.

"What were you studying at school?" the Professor asks the next day in his office. He caught me just as I was about to sneak off to the garden.

"Art. Drawing, some photography," I reply. "Nothing useful, considering I dropped out without finishing."

He leans forward, pressing his hand against his mouth. "Personally, I've always found art to be very educational. It tells a great deal about both the artist and the true nature of humanity."

"Well, I'm not exactly human, am I?" I retort.

"Is that what you really believe?" he wonders aloud.

"You tell me…" I challenge.

"Emma," he sighs with the impatience of a question asked far too many times. "You should know that I don't try not to read other peoples' minds unless asked."

I nod.

"I know you're taking your sister's death hard and it's understandable with no other family to turn to, but," he smiles. "Know that this is a place of safety and acceptance. You've among friends here."

But I know that having friends is a two way street and I honestly don't know it it's possible to do what it takes to keep them.

"I'll give you a few days to think it over…." He offers and I take it. I get up and make it to the door when I hear him say: "She loved you very much Emma. And didn't leave lightly."

I grip the door for support. "She…?"

He nods gravely. "She was so worried that you'd be alone after…I promised that you'd be taken care of…"

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I always keep my promises, Emma."

There's a lump the size of a pair of rolled up socks in my throat. I can only give him a small smile and close the door behind me.

I take the couple of days and explore every option. I hardly stay in one place for more than a few minutes; I explore every niche and learn the layout like the back of my hand. I could see myself here, like a ghost me walking just a few feet in front of me, laughing and enjoying herself.

But beside my ghost-self who does all the things I can't (or won't), I knew I couldn't keep the art student self suppressed for very much longer. I find myself making little doodles of everyone. I draw Hank at the breakfast table before he's had his coffee. I draw Scott as he struggles with the Professor's daily dose of physics. I draw Oro when she's fast asleep in the late afternoon sun.

I never show them to anyone, I squirrel them away in my pockets and then into my desk drawer. None of them are formal or even on a respectable piece of paper. Half are on napkins, bits of ruled paper, done in marker or crayon. But once I've put them in the drawer, I don't look at them again. They wait in the dark. For what, I'm not entirely sure.

I've found the greatest sketching spot too, a little alcove off the main upstairs hall way near my bedroom. It has a huge bay window and seat where I can curl up for hours. No one bother-

"Who be that?" Ororo wonders, pointing to the sketch in my hand.

I flip it over to hide the subject and turn slightly. "Jeez, Oro!" I yelp. "I thought I told you not to sneak up on me!"

She cocks her head to one side. "Who that be?" Oro's an insistent little bugger.

"No one," I mumble.

"Who?" Oro puts her hands on her hips like she's seen Jean do. I can't help but chuckle; she's such a strange creature, so alien sometimes. It's not really surprising, what with her growing up on her own in Cairo. Her English improves every day, with constant lessons with the professor, but she still sings songs in Swahili and Farsi. Sometimes, she's off in her own little world.

"Oro?" Eric's calling her. "Oro? There you are," he catches the small girl by the shoulders. "Charles is looking for you."

"Okay! I be seeing you!" She calls her new favorite phrase over her shoulder as she disappears from view.

"I don't suppose you'll show me?" He glances over to the face down sketch.

"They're doodles, nothing special," I tell him.

"Nonsense," Eric smiles. "I assure you any of your 'doodles'," he air-quotes "are masterpieces compared to anything I draw." Something about the combination of his smile and his voice, which is compelling, makes my hand reach over and hand him the sketch.

"My, my…" Eric murmurs as he flips it over, taking in my sister's half finished beauty. Every night this week, I've had the most horrible nightmares starring Kayla's corpse. I've been trying to remember how she looked in life. That's the Kayla I want to see when I close my eyes, not the Jane Doe empty shell on the coroner's metal table. "She was beautiful," Eric compliments as he hands it back to me. "Simply stunning."

"She was," I breathe. "She was a teacher, you know."

"She was, was she?" Eric leans back against the window. "We could have used a teacher." He glances at me. "Would she have helped?"

I nod slowly. "She was a mutant, too. She could influence people when she touched them."

"A useful gift," Eric muses.

"She hated to use it," I reply. "She was always worried that people only loved her because she told them to, not because they really did."
"The curse of those with silver tongues," Eric grins. "I think she and Charles would have gotten on famously."

I agree and suddenly the light is just right. "Don't move," I caution him and begin a new sketch on another sheet of paper.

Everything is fine until I get to his left arm and the tiny number tattoos wink at me, daring me. "Do…"

"Yes?" He prompts.

"Do you want me to include…..those?" I point with my pencil at them.

Eric looks down at his arm, a shadow passing over his features for a moment. "They're a part of who I am now." He looks me in the eye. "I t can't be forgotten. I can't."

"Do you hate them?" I wonder as I go back to sketching. "The ones who did it, I mean…"

"They say that: 'To err is human, to forgive divine'." He quotes.

"I didn't ask if you forgave them…I asked if you hated them…"

There's a grim smile playing on his features that I need to capture. "I think it's a perfectly natural response."

"Does it ever go away?" I wonder aloud. "Does it ever stop or let you think about anything else?"

"If you let it." Eric reasons. "You can let it go, forgive and forget or" he chuckles a little. "you can hold on to it and let it turn into a bitter old man."

"I don't think hate, however strong, will ever turn me into a man," I grimace as I finish.

"Nor do I." Eric laughs. "May I see it?"

I hand this one to him.

"Emma…" he grins. "This is extraordinary."

"It's a doodle," I insist.

"It's…." He shakes his head, lost for words. Eric lifts his eyes from the page and looks straight at me. "This is a gift, Emma. A gift that is meant to be shared."

"It's not that good. I can think of five other people from University who were better than me." I insist.

"But can they do this?" He points. "Capture someone's essence in nothing more than paper and pencil? My dear, I think you have found your place."

The finality in Eric's voice saps it of its warmth and sends a shiver down my spine. "I should go," I whisper. "Thanks for the advice," I get up and leave Eric sitting on the window seat.

"You won't find any place better. I can promise you that." He tells me as I slip into my room. As soon as I shut the door I lean back against it feeling those bars closing in on me again. Still the question remains, can I stand to stay?

I need advice, I need Kayla….I sit by the window, waiting. For the first few days, nothing happens. And then on the morning of the third day of waiting; a small grey fox emerges from the bushes.

It sniffs at the dew drenched grass a few times and glances around warily before it stops directly beneath my window. It sits, curling its fluffy tail around its paws and looks up at me. It seems that the choice is made.

So....what do you guys think? I wouldn't expect another chapter update until late next week. It's a nutty time for me.