-Las Vegas, Nevada, 1962-

A loud, tortured groan left Sawyer's mouth, head lolling back when she saw the state of the luxury presidential hotel suite. It was a complete disaster, though most of the fifteen checked-out hotel rooms she had to clean had been. It seemed that she had been given the rooms that had housed after parties and others of the sort from a long night at the Casino downstairs. From where she was standing, she spotted a pair of black lace panties hanging from the large television, unable to fathom why any sane person would leave those behind.

She was exhausted. Not only did she have the fifteen check-out rooms, but there were the ten basic room cleanups she had to do, then the extra ten from a coworker's shift she had agreed to cover. That had been a mistake, but she needed the money.

"Oh, well," she huffed, sliding on a pair of purple rubber gloves, "It's what I get for working on The Strip."

She started with picking up the trash, tossing everything into one of the opened trash bags hanging from the large beige housekeeping trolley.

By the time she was finished and was sure she had it up to management standards, she was hot, sweaty and overall felt disgusting. It had taken over an hour and a half to clean this one room from its disastrous state and she wasn't even close to clocking out, yet.

"Apparently," she said with a growl, throwing a handful of towels into the center compartment, "It's the end of the world if you clean up after yourself!" she practically tore off the gloves, throwing them on the floor, "Or have the decency to leave a nice tip, ugh!"

"Who are you talking too?"

Startling, Sawyer whipped her head around, a few pieces of jet black curly hair falling from the messy bun atop her head. She tossed her head to the side, failing to move them out of her face.

"Iris," she greeted, glaring at the other housekeeper, "What does it look like I'm doing?" she gestured wildly, "I'm cleaning up this pigsty."

"Huh…" Iris, an older woman with graying brown hair and a hunch, shuffled into the room to take a look around, "I can see that," she smirked, "That's why you never take Amy's shifts, hun. 300 hundred rooms in this whole place?" she shook her head, "There ain't enough of us."

"Yeah, yeah," Sawyer waved her off, then scrunched her nose at her chipped nails and flaking nail polish. She flipped her hand over to show Iris, "Look at that."

Iris showed Sawyer her own wrinkled hand, "We try to pamper ourselves and look what happens."

Sawyer's nose scrunched up again and she ran the back of her hand over her forehead, loosening the hair that stuck to it.

"What room are you on next?" Iris asked, picking up the gloves that Sawyer dropped.

"117," Sawyer answered, "You?"

"204," Iris replied. She looked at Sawyer with pity, "Between Francine and I, I bet we could cover your shift."

"No, no," Sawyer shook her head, giving up on trying to look presentable, "It's fine, I'll be done soon."

The gloves were handed back to her and Sawyer tossed them into the trash as she watched Iris begin to take her leave.

"Okay, hun, whatever you say," Iris called over her shoulder, "Take it easy, baby. You look a little peaky."

"Yeah, I will," Sawyer promised, though that wasn't an option, "Thank, Iris."

But the door had already swung shut, her words falling on her own ears. She could hear Iris pushing her own trolley away from the room she had been previously cleaning.

Alone, Sawyer went over to the extremely large backlit mirror above the sink, piercing nut brown eyes widening at her reflection. No wonder Iris had looked at her like that. She looked both pathetic and ridiculous. How the older woman had kept from laughing at her, Sawyer didn't know.

Her perfect cooper skin had lost some of its russet hues, the bright florescent lights making her look washed out and paler than she really was. Her glossy black curls that usually fell to her lower back in ringlets was frizzy and haphazard, most of it falling out of her bun. She winced at the tangles she could see. It was going to be a painful and long process of combing her hair.

There were bags under her eyes and she forced herself to smile with her teeth, showing off her dimples to her reflection.

"Ridiculous," she mumbled, letting the expression drop from her face. She removed her hair tie, cursing when it snapped painfully against her hand.

"You've got to be…ugh!" she yanked the broken band from her hair, taking a few strands with it. She stuffed it into the ugly light burgundy housekeeping dress she had to wear as her uniform.

"Okay," she huffed, leaving her hair alone and going back to her cart, "Back to work. Just a few more hours."

A few more hours turned into eight and it was extremely dark out when she was able to leave. It hadn't helped that in three of the rooms, management had ripped apart the beds and made Sawyer redo them while they watched. Standards, in a Casino Hotel like the one Sawyer worked at, were very, very important and very, very high.

The other work staff didn't make it any easier. Besides Iris, most of them were terrible, often fighting to clean the more expensive rooms or suites. One time, an older staff member had switched Sawyer's trolley with an older one that was lacking in the proper cleaning supplies, forcing Sawyer to run around all day. With her babyface, she looked younger than her years and some people didn't hesitate to take advantage of that.

Then, there were better times when guests would irresponsibly leave things behind, which the staff were then able to claim if a certain amount of time had passed. Sawyer was able to admit that once, she had taken someone's expensive steak dinner from the fridge. Another time, she had taken an expensive watch. She had wanted to sell it, but knew what happened to people who got caught pawning "stolen" items.

"Hey, baby!" a nicely dressed man called, clutching a beer.

Sawyer rolled her eyes, keeping her head down as she weaved through the thick crowds. Neon signs that flashed brightly lit colors illuminated her skin odd colors and the chatter that filled the streets failed to block out the catcalls and whistles.

It wasn't wise for a lady such as herself to be walking alone at night, but Sawyer managed to drag herself to her small apartment without further incident, hands shaking as she forced the silver key into the lock.

She had a headache, her feet hurt, her hands were cramped and her back ached from the constant bending over. She was tired and hungry, having worked more than sixty hours in the week and despite Sawyer's young adult age, she definitely didn't feel like she was in her prime.

She dropped her keys and purse onto the floor, walking through her small dark apartment until she reached the bathroom. She flicked on the light and prepared her bath, pouring in a generous amount of bubble bath. She looked out the door, hands clutching the frame as she wondered if she had time to make a cup of tea. It would take awhile for the bath to fill up.

Deciding that she had enough time, she hurried to the kitchen, loosening a few white buttons from her uniform as she did so while she kicked off the uncomfortable white shoes that all the maids were required to wear.

"Lavender, green, chamomile, oolong," Sawyer drawled, the cabinet creaking when she forced it to open further, "Mmm, earl gray sounds nice," she plucked the box from the shelf and grabbed a washed mug from the dish rack.

As she waited for the kettle to heat up on the stove, she returned back to the bathroom to keep an eye on the water level. The steam from the water was making her feel a little warm and the scent of the bubble bath was thick in the air. It was making her dizzy.

It had been a long an exhausting week and she took a seat on the closed toilet, pressing her cheek to the cool surface of the bathroom counter top.

"Sawyer Lakahani," Charles Xavier said to his partner as the car pulled up to the apartment. He passed a hand through his dark brown hair, removing a pair of sunglasses from his youthful face.

His partner, Erik Lehnsherr arched a dark eyebrow, but nodded, "Very well. She's the last one, correct?"

Charles exited the car, being the first to approach the door, "Correct, my friend and hopefully," he knocked, "She'll be interested."

They stood outside for a few moments, a silence between the two friends as they waited patiently.

"Well," Erik quipped in his light German lilt, hands in his pockets, "This is going splendidly."

"Mm-mm," Charles hummed, a shadow crossing his face. Two fingers made their way to his temple, "No, something's wrong. Open the door, Erik."

Without hesitation, Erik gave a simple flick of his wrist, the lock clicking in response to his metal manipulation.

The door swung open and Charles hurried inside.

"You know what this is called, my friend?" Erik drawled casually, sauntering into the apartment, "Breaking and entering."

"And since when has following the law been a concern of yours?" Charles asked, British accent thick as he looked around the room. There was a kettle whistling on the stove, "Take care of that, please," he said, venturing further into the apartment.

"Sawyer?" he called, opening a door to his left. It was a supply closet, "Saw-" he was cut off by a splashing sound and looked down to see a growing puddle of water.

He went forward, ignoring the liquid soaking into his black socks and followed the sound of running water. It didn't take long to find the bathroom and he was briefly appalled at the girl lying motionless in a puddle, the bath overflowing behind her.

"Erik!" he shouted. He shut off the water and undid the stopper.

Footsteps came thundering down the hall and Charles crouched beside Sawyer's still form, placing a gentle hand on her arm, "Sawyer, can you hear me?" he moved to brush his fingers against her cheek, his other hand probing her head to check for bleeding.

"She was attacked?" Erik asked urgently, eyes sweeping the room.

"No, simply fainted," Charles answered, pressing his lips together, "See if you can find a bedroom. Get a blanket, I'm going to bring her to the couch."

Erik snorted, looking hesitant.

"We can't very well leave her here, now can we?" Charles asked, meeting Erik's gaze for a moment, then turned back to Sawyer. He placed one arm under her knees, then his other under her shoulders, making sure her head was supported before he straightened up with a slight grunt.

Returning to the living room, Charles placed Sawyer on the tattered couch, pressing his hand to her forehead.

"No fever," he informed his friend when he came to the living room, "Probably exhaustion. We'll wait for her to come around."

Besides Sawyer, Charles and Erik had already tracked down four other mutants from all over the world: Exotic dancer Angel Salvadore; taxi driver Armando Muñoz; Army prisoner Alex Summers; and Sean Cassidy. Then, there was Hank McCoy, a young scientist and Charles' sister, Raven.

Yes, they had quite the team and adding Sawyer to their group would make it complete.

Minutes passed and right when Charles was about to get up to scourge for a cool compress, he could feel Sawyer's mind start to awaken and he pressed two fingers to his temple.

"Sh!" he hushed, just as Erik opened his mouth to say something, 'Not yet,' he projected into Erik's head, 'She's coming to.'

Charles watched as a pair of big brown eyes slowly fluttered open, the large pupils indicating her loss of consciousness. It took a moment for them to fully focus and Sawyer let her eyes roam all over the room before they closed again for a few moments.

She brought her hand up until it touched her forehead, her thumb and pointer finger on either side and when her eyes opened again, they were more focused, widening in complete panic when they landed on Charles.

"Please, please," Charles begged, holding up a hand, "Don't scream."

"We want to talk," Erik piped up.

Sawyer did let out a startled cry and she shot to her feet, swaying dangerously.

It was Charles who stood to catch her, though not for long. As soon as his hands made contact with Sawyer, she shoved him away, managing to stumble away from the couch, tripping over one of the legs in her haste. When she was steadied, she looked down at herself, checking for injuries or missing clothes.

"We did nothing to you, you have my word," Charles soothed, remaining where he stood. The girl was completely terrified and he understood why, "We ju-

"Please don't hurt me!" Sawyer interrupted, begging. She took a few steps back, holding her hands up, "I don't know who you are, but please, I don't have any money or drugs or alcohol. I don't have anything!" she looked like she was going to burst into tears, "Please."

"There's no need to be frightened," Erik said, stepping closer to Charles, "My name is Erik Lehnsherr," he gestured to Charles, "And this is Charles Xavier. We do not want to hurt you," he repeated.

"You don't want to hurt me!?" Sawyer shrieked in pure disbelief, "You just broke into my house! To do what? Fix the crack in my ceiling!?"

"We want to help," Charles interjected. His hand twitched by his side as he debated calming her, "I found you unconscious on your bathroom floor. Please, be calm. You might be ill."

"I-I'm fine," she stuttered, uncomfortable, "I just I-" she stammered, unable to find her words and unsure of what to do in this odd situation.

Charles nodded, eyes soft, "Right, that's all right," his eyes went to the stove, then back to Sawyer, "When we came in, the kettle was on," he looked at Erik, "The kettle, Erik."

"Yes, I assume that you were making tea," Erik snapped his fingers and the kettle came floating towards him, bobbing playfully in the air until it reached his hand. He flicked his eyebrows up at Sawyer, "Did you still want a cup?"

Another cry left Sawyer's lips and she clapped her hands over her mouth in shock, backing away even further until her back hit the wall. Her feet continued to move, only she could go no further.

"Charles," Erik's dark eyebrows drew together at Sawyer's reaction, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, positive," the Brit said curtly. He brought two fingers to his temple, 'Sawyer, it's all right. You know this, you know. We are not here to harm you. We are like you.'

Sawyer looked around trying to find the voice. Finally, she burrowed her hands in her face.

"Oh God," she moaned, "I fainted and now I'm in a coma!"

'Sawyer, look at me,' Charles projected, 'Please, look at me,' he waited until she did so, frantic brown eyes locking on his bright blue obs, 'It's me, Charles, it's my voice. I can assure you, you're quite conscious. I'm a telepath and Erik has his own abilities. We are like you,' he repeated, remaining patient.

Unable to turn off his gift, Charles could hear Sawyer's thoughts and the frantic note that laced them, now turned sour and defensive. He watched as she bristled before them, lifting her head and shaking it. Her eyes were hard.

"Look," she snapped firmly, "I don't know what you're talking about or what you were hoping to gain by breaking in, but you're both completely lolo!"

Charles flicked his eyebrows up at the language, "Oh?"

She glared at them, "Get out of my apartment."

Erik, growing impatient, appeared to crush the kettle in his fist, water flowing out of it as the kettle dropped to his feet with a hard clang in a ball of metal. The handle still stuck out.

"We don't have time for this!" he practically growled, "We are wasting precious time."

"And you're also wasting my money," Sawyer said hotly, "Those things are expensive and I hope you plan on replacing it!"

"Erik, please," Charles scolded, "Sawyer, we can be friends. There are others like you."

Sawyer shook her head frantically, "No, no, you don't understand," she looked off to the side, seemingly distracted by another thought, a memory that caused Charles to press his lips together as she whispered, "I-I can't."

"Well, then we'll be on our way," Erik quipped. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills, "This should cover the cost of your kettle."

"I apologize for my friend," a gentle smile flitted over Charles' face, "But why don't you let us tell you why we've come? I'm sure that will make things a bit more clear."

Sawyer bit her lip and she crossed her arms, chin jutting out, "Two minutes…" she paused, "Go."

"We're looking for recruits," Charles started, shifting his weight.

"Recruits?" Sawyer's eyes bugged, "What, like, a war!?"

Erik leaned forward, "We're not quite sure, yet," he said darkly, "But another mutant, Sebastian Shaw," his fists clenched, "We've heard word that he's working with the Soviet Union and his own mutants. Possibly hellbent on destroying all civilization."

Charles eyed Erik, but said nothing. He looked back to Sawyer just in time to see her eyes widen in horror, her hand going to rest over her heart at the same time she gazed at Erik. The sympathy and compassion that filled her eyes warmed his heart.

"Oh my God…" she breathed out, "You're not lying."

Erik tilted his head, eyes narrowed, "How can you be sure?"

"Your eyes," Sawyer said sadly. She looked at Charles, then Erik, repeating the motion before she looked down, "But I can't…I can't help you…"

"Sawyer," Charles made his voice soft and bent his head to try and look into his eyes, "We'll be taking you somewhere safe. You don't have to be afraid anymore. "

"No," Sawyer agreed. Her tone portrayed how desperately she needed him to understand, "Others need to be afraid," she paused and held a hand up, "Wait a minute. How did you even find me? Who have you been talking t—I haven't even—are you some kind of stalker?"

Charles frowned at her, the idea absurd, "I—what. No, of course not. Look, it's a long story, but this is your chance to prove yourself. I know you think that you're bad, but there is good in you, Sawyer, a lot of it. And I know…" he paused, "With you, we could save many innocent people. You are powerful."

"Not really…" Sawyer trailed off.

"And I'm sure you'd like a job where you're not scrubbing toilets," Erik added eyeing her uniform, "We're with the CIA."

Sawyer's her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. She looked at Charles who nodded at her encouragingly. He could see her resolve weakening and he was partly worried that she would fall over.

It was silent for a long time.

"…Okay," she finally whispered, "I'll-I'll come with you, I guess," she sighed, "Just to see—um, can I just have a minute to…"rambling, she jabbed a thumb behind her.

"Of course," Charles said, extending a hand, "We shall wait here."

He watched Sawyer practically flee from the room, her footsteps splashing in the water that had yet to be cleaned up. With a loud, content sigh, he relaxed, going to reclaim his seat on the couch.

"She is not plotting to leap out of a window, is she?" Erik asked.

"No," Charles said with a slight laugh, "No. Despite what just occurred, she does believe us and she is coming with us," he looked at his friend, "Thanks to you and those honest eyes of yours," he clapped him on the shoulder, "Good for you, old chap."

Erik scoffed lightly. He stared up at the ceiling and gave Charles a sidelong glance, "Are you going to tell me of her mutation?"

"No, no," Charles shook his head, "I do not believe that it is my place. I suppose her mutation really is quite simple when you say it aloud, give it a name, but there is much she can do with it—extensive. It's a very groovy mutation."

Erik crossed his legs, a hand behind his head as he leaned back on the couch.

"Let us hope, it is groovy enough not to get us all killed."

Freshly showered, Sawyer felt ten times better. Her hair hung, slightly damp but recently washed, the dirt and grime from her job having swirled down the drain and she had taken time to think over her current situation, her thoughts having turned into mush with the craziness of it all.

It was surreal and totally crazy. Two strange, but handsome men with accents breaking into her apartment and declaring that they needed her to come with them to work with the CIA. She had been terrified at first, having been paranoid of someone breaking before, but this had been something she never imagined occurring. Now, she was going to work for the government! Unbelievable!

She supposed if they really were up to no good, they wouldn't have taken their time to care for her upon finding her on the bathroom floor.

She winced as embarrassment flooded through her to settle in her cheeks. She occasionally fainted when she pushed her body beyond its limits, making herself ill when she got too stressed out. It was mortifying, but having been born premature, her body was weaker and it was a problem she had been dealing with since she was a child; among some anxiety and other issues that got a little better as she got older, but she supposed she managed—she had been forced to toughen up at an early age and it had been several weeks since her last fainting spell.

She couldn't believe she was doing this. She was hesitant to leave Nevada, as there was a specific reason that she had moved there; but she wasn't really interested in potential world domination. She thought of Iris, and while Sawyer wasn't sure if they were technically friends, she would be devastated if something ever happened to her. Iris was the only one who cared.

Shaking herself out of her depressing thoughts, she glanced briefly at the rumpled uniform on her bed. Going to the CIA, she was told she only needed the necessities and her maid uniform wouldn't be one of them.

Turning her gaze away, she came to the last item she was going to pack. It was a definite necessity; a framed black and white photograph.

She stared at it for longer than she should have, startling herself when a tear dripped onto the glass. She was further startled when there was a firm knock on her bedroom door.

"Sawyer?" it was Charles, "May I come in?"

"Sure," Sawyer quickly wiped away her tear and dropped the frame into the duffle bag, zipping it closed just as the door opened. She whirled around to face Charles and plastered a smile on her face, "Hi!"

"Hullo," Charles greeted hesitantly, surprised by the sudden enthusiasm, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Sawyer said as he came further into the room, "I'm great, all packed, actually. I only need…" she turned, her finger pointed at her bedside table, "This."

It was a sterling silver figural brooch in the shape of plumeria flower. She tried to pin it to the front of her black shirt, but failed to do so with her shaking hands.

"Here, let me," gingerly, Charles took it from her, gauging her reaction, "Do you mind?"

She shook her head and allowed the man to get close enough to pin it. When he was finished, she looked down and adjusted it slightly.

"There you are," he smiled as he stepped back from her, "Lovely. Where did you get it?"

"I took it," she said simply, returning the smile and taking one last look around her room before Charles could reply, "I suppose I'm ready, then."

"Good," he took her bag, "Are you sure that you're all right? You still look quite pale."

"Tired," she assured him, waving a careless hand. She tucked some hair behind her ear and followed him out of her bedroom. Her past and her health issues weren't anyone's business but her own, "I'm fine, really."

"You can sleep in the car," he promised, "It will be quite the drive until we reach the airport."

"Oh," Sawyer gasped, "Yeah, where exactly is this place?"

"Virginia," Erik answered, leaning against the couch with his arms crossed.

Sawyer had a great reluctance to go to the South, faltering in her steps. But there was something about the bright smile on Charles' face, the endearing expression making him look years younger that made her keep walking.

"It's wonderful, really," he promised Sawyer, a skip in his step, "We've recruited four other mutants for our little peacekeeping team and they're all brilliant. With you, that puts us at ten."

Locking the door behind herself, Sawyer stared at it and asked, "Does that put the odds in our favor?"

"We can only hope," Erik answered.

"Oh…" Sawyer mumbled absently, a hint of a frown of her face. She yawned.

"Come," Charles wrapped his arm around her shoulders when she stumbled, "Rest in the car and when you wake, we can talk further."

Sawyer couldn't even be in awe at the sleek black car that she was pushed into and she lazily slid over to the left side, propping her elbow up on the sill. She was so, so tired.

"You can sleep, Sawyer," Charles assured her from the driver's seat, "You're safe. I promise."

Sawyer was determined to stay awake, still a bit mistrusting, but that all failed her when she saw Charles delicately raise his fingers to his temple, the word "Sleep" falling from softly from his lips.

…

…

…

Sawyer was awoken by someone shaking her gently and she shot up, a loud gasp escaping.

"It's all right, it's all right," Charles held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back from her, "We've arrived at the airport."

Sawyer looked around blearily and surely they had arrived at the airport. It was busting with activity and she he accepted Charles' offer to help her out of the car, releasing him to rub her fists in her eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Erik asked, eyeing her skeptically.

"Better," Sawyer answered, her voice coming out strong. She was more perky and alert, "A lot better, thanks."

Erik nodded curtly and led the way, "Stay close."

Sawyer followed Erik completely through the airport. She kept her mouth shut, confused when they went through security. There were no ticket checks or waiting at a gate. They walked all the way to the back and outside to a plane with a pilot standing in front of it.

"No way," she looked up at it, "Is a private plane really necessary?" she couldn't help but ask.

Charles grinned at her, "CIA, remember?" he jerked his head, "Come on," he skipped off, greeting the pilot enthusiastically, "Hello!"

Sawyer smiled politely at the pilot and stepped onto the plane. It was much larger on the inside—there was even some sort of couch to sit on, but she chose one of the comfortable seats and buckled up, accepting the bag that Charles held out to her.

"Thank you," she said sincerely as Charles and Erik sat in the two seat across from her. She was still a bit sleepy, but she had so many questions. Before she could ask one of them, Erik beat her to it.

"Is there anyone you need to get in contact with?" he asked, "To inform them of your sudden absence?"

"No," she said shortly, biting her lip, "No one," a twinge of guilt shot through her and her thoughts wandered, first to Iris. She felt almost obligated to inform her coworker that she wouldn't be coming into work for some time, but had no idea how to contact the woman personally.

She flicked her eyes up, deciding to change the subject, "So, what are your powers, exactly?" she pointed at Erik, "You can move stuff."

"Metal," he corrected with an amused smirk.

"Telepath," Charles raised a hand and nodded once in her direction, "And yourself?"

"You've been inside my head, haven't you?" Sawyer asked him. She leaned forward, dropping the volume of her voice, "Don't you already know?"

"Yes, I do. However, understand that I try to only use my powers on a willing subject," Charles told her, "Even so, I have been forceful as a last resort and you are not a last resort."

"Yet," Erik said.

"Erik," Charles warned without looking away from Sawyer. He addressed her, "When we get to the base, it will be a lot more comfortable. The others are looking forward to meeting you."

Sawyer gnawed on her lower lip. Meet the others? Her eyes began darting to the windows as she debated jumping out of one of them. She wasn't sure if she would be good with people. She had no friends. She didn't even have a pet fish or anything. It was only her.

"They're people whom we hope to help," Charles said reassuring, "You can learn to use your powers safely, Sawyer. You can control them."

Sawyer settled back in her seat, and began to pick at her chipped nail polish. She was here, unable to escape as of yet and faced with people who said it: she had powers, she was a mutant. She had known that already—the powers part. That didn't mean she accepted it and again, was unsure how she could help these people…but they were so sure that they could help her.

"Mutant," she said, the word funny on her tongue. She had never said it before, but had read it in a few of her books, rarely hearing it spoke by others, "Mutant."

That signaled the end of the conversation and she pulled out a book from her duffel bag. She had yet to flip it open when Charles gasped.

"You study genetics?" he practically cried.

Sawyer shrugged, "Oh, no. No, I don't know…kind of," she glanced down at her skin, "Not really. You see, I'm multi-racial and there's all types of people in m-" she cut herself off, realizing that she was rambling, "Um, I like to study it and guess what came from whom. Sometimes, I'll apply it to other people. It's like a game."

Charles looked like a kid on Christmas, "I happen to have recently graduated from Oxford University. I earned a Ph.D in Genetics."

"No way?" Sawyer's eyes widened, something she seemed to do a lot, "Really?"

"Really," Charles laughed, his cheeks pinking, "I completed my thesis on genetic mutation, if you would like to hear it?"

"Sure," Sawyer closed her book, "It's really an occasional hobby, though. You'll probably have to dumb it down."

"As fascinating as all of this is," Erik rolled his eyes, climbing to his feet, "I think I fancy a drink. Charles?"

"Please," Charles nodded, looking through his briefcase, "One for Sawyer-

"Essie," she interrupted.

"Pardon me?" Charles frowned at her.

"My name," Sawyer pointed out, "I like Sawyer, but—it's a nickname and you said we're friends, so…you can call me Essie. If you'd like."

He smiled, "Essie, then. So…"

Sawyer listened intently as Charles began to explain his thesis and while she didn't get most of it, she could see the passion in his sparkling eyes as he talked about it. She nodded in all the right places and he didn't seem irritated when she asked him to explain certain parts—sometimes more than once.

She was so immersed in what Charles was saying, that she jumped when something was placed down in front of her and when she looked at it, the bottle of water, a deep frown marred her face.

"What?" at Erik's inquiry, she peered upwards, "Is there something wrong with it?"

Sawyer's eyes followed the drop of perspiration that slid tantalizingly down the plastic and she swallowed thickly, her hands twitching where they were folded in her lap. The drop puddled on the tray.

"Sawyer?"

She yelped when a hand landed gently on her shoulder and the water bottle exploded, causing a scream to erupt loudly from her lips.

An intense fog washed over her brain and she sagged against the seat she had been thrashing against, held down by her seat belt. She was completely calm as if it was just another average day. She looked at the two men, expecting horror or fear, but they looked the exact opposite. They looked impressed.

Unsure of what to say. She smiled sadly and did jazz hands.

"Ta-da."

A/N: I'm very excited to branch out fully in the X-Men fandom and have been enjoying an ongoing X-Men movie marathon throughout the week! A big and warm thank you to my Beta Reader, Sabrina06.

Review please,

-TTMAS