Author's Note: It's quite ironic really, I used to really dislike Moira's character in the movie and even after it. But after reading a few really realistic and good X-Men First Class fics, I've changed my view on her. I've even grown so fond of her character as to write a story from her point of view on her affection for Charles. This story is my attempt of a character study on Moira which showcases the changing nature of Charles's and Erik's relationship in First Class through her eyes.

Moira has never denied her attraction to Charles.

It did not come as a surprise to her – Charles was the perfect English gentleman with his sparkling, earnest blue eyes and sincere, charming smile, with a set of ambitious ideals to match, which she had always been in admiration of. He was, dare she say it, as pure a man as any man could be and it was only natural for anyone to be attracted to him.

Of course, her practiced eye did not miss the tint of arrogance in his sometimes sly smile, the glint of pride in his blue eyes when he was proving a point with smooth ease. Neither did she miss the way his hidden hubris brought him to the thought, to the improbable ambition of mutants being accepted in human society.

Charles's dream, would be, to others whom did not know him, merely a dream. But Moira knew better, she knew that for all his arrogance and pride, he was not someone to speak of things he would not be able to accomplish. He was a man whom never went back on his word, and it was one of the things Moira respected greatly about him when she had first gotten to know Charles Xavier.

Moira would not deny that she had fallen for Charles. She had fallen for the rich English man with his, ironically, selfless dream, his deep blue eyes and the genuineness and sincerity in every word he spoke.

She had not been as surprised as she should have been when she had learnt of Charles's telepathy. Moira had been working with the CIA for a long time and when she had first met Charles, even through the panic and fear at the memory of the recent shocking event she had witnessed, she couldn't help but notice how behind his blue eyes there was knowledge, not only scientific and intellectual knowledge but also knowledge of dark, mournful things, knowledge of things many people including her would never ever get the chance to access and fully understand. There was a kind of sadness infused with wisdom in his very gaze, and that, in Moira's eyes, gave Charles as high a standing as her superiors in the CIA, and eventually, placed him on a greater pedestal than them.

Sometimes, Moira lets herself dream. Sometimes, when she isn't rushing around making various calls, she allows herself to quietly put all other matters to the side and do the one thing her busy life has not given her much chance to do – imagine.

When there is no work to be done, Moira relaxes. She heads silently to her quarters, as far away as Charles from possible and sheds her role of a CIA agent.

Moira has never fallen in love before. Charles Xavier is her first love. And like everything else which interests her, she takes time to explore it, time to discover this new strange sensation which sends her heart thumping wildly in her chest in a way it never has in all her missions before, makes her throat feel the slightest bit dry at the sight of the telepath, makes her drown in the calming depths of his deep blue eyes.

Moira knows she is a logical woman. But she is still a woman, a woman currently in love, and when she closes her eyes she smiles as she imagines what it would feel like to have Charles by her side as her lover, to be able to wake up every morning to Charles's charming smile on that handsome face with its aristocratic features and pretty blue eyes, which she thinks with a small secret grin, are probably prettier than those belonging to any woman Charles has ever flirted with.

But she is aware it is only her imagination, only a dream. When she opens her eyes, she smiles a sad smile and brushes away the last vestiges of her indulgence, and prepares herself to head back to work.

Unlike Charles, she does not have the power to make her dream come true.

Moira has never wanted Charles to put himself in danger.

So when he yells and dives into the water, swimming frantically to a man she can barely see in the darkness of the night, it takes almost all of her willpower to stay on the ship and not follow Charles into the freezing cold.

It would be a truly illogical course of action, especially given her occupation.

Charles has always been too kind, but it is only now that Moira thinks him to be naïve as he submerges himself underwater and her heart stops for a single beat as they lose sight of him completely.

She cannot remember if she screams, screams for him to come back to them despite knowing he would not be able to hear her. But she remembers thinking, her mind a frantic flurry in which it has never been before, praying that Charles will leave the stubborn man and come back to them, which is more logical considering his telepathy.

When Charles emerges with the dark figure, Moira feels her heart involuntarily jerk. Her eyes widen in relief and she inhales, calming her mind. Charles does not need to know how frightened she was.

She gives orders like a military sergeant and it isn't long before Charles and the person- no, mutant he has seem to have rescued are on the ship. They are both soaked to the bone, and Charles is shivering and panting, clearly exhausted, but manages to ask.

"Are you alright?"

For a foolish moment she thinks he is talking to her. Her heart skips a beat at him having understood her feelings – but then the man beside Charles turns to him and breathes out.

"Yeah." There is a slight pause. "Thanks."

The hope dies out of Moira's eyes as Charles smiles at the stranger, a tinge of something in his eyes which she cannot identify. "I am glad."

"Charles," she finally speaks. She looks at him, not as a CIA agent but as a person more than concerned for his well being. Her tone is almost urgent as she speaks, as if she feels the need to clarify something, to prove it. "Charles, are you alright?"

She doesn't know why she is being so out of her element, asking such a foolish, obvious question which Charles takes no offence to with his usual smile. "I am fine, Moira. Please, there is no need to worry about me."

Moira wants to say she is glad, wants to say that yes, there is a need for her to worry about him because she has never known him to be so ridiculously reckless- but she keeps her mouth shut, making sure none of her thoughts stray to Charles. He is cold, wet and tired; the last thing he needs is her protectiveness and the first thing he needs is a towel-

"Here."

It is almost comical how Charles and her blink at the same time at the towel thrust in front of Charles's surprised face. But then he smiles at the newcomer, despite the cold night air, despite the freezing water, and says with a genuine gratefulness as he receives the towel. "Thank you, Erik."

Erik does not reply, but there is a slight quirk to his lips; Moira knows this as she has turned her gaze on him, unsure whether to be grateful to him for providing Charles with a towel or envious of him for doing so before she could.

Instead, she holds out her hand. Erik has dried himself off as much as possible and she fills the awkward silence by speaking, "Moira McTaggert, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Erik does not take her hand. He looks at her, looks at her as if he has just noticed her presence beside Charles. "Erik Lensherr."

"I see." Moira says, and drops her hand. She looks at Erik, looks and scans him with the expertise of her field as something unspoken passes between them.

Charles is still squeezing water out of his clothes and drying himself with the towel. Moira has no wish for him to catch a cold. She meets Erik's cold, hard gaze for a moment more before turning around.

"It's freezing out here. We should all get inside."