“Pencils down. Time’s up.”
Groans echoed throughout the classroom as the majority of students shuffled lazily, picking up their tests and slowly maneuvering towards the front of the classroom. Marie stood, head ducked, as she slung her pack over her shoulder. Reaching down, she snagged her half-zipped pencil pouch and her test, and made her way to Mr. Hathorne’s large desk. She quietly deposited the thick packet of paper on the smooth wood, and didn’t raise her eyes to him.
“Thank you, Miss D’Ancanto.”
Her eyes barely flicked to her teacher as she nodded, and, readjusting the pack on her shoulders, began to leave the classroom. Suddenly, she collided with someone, hard. Her pencil pouch and notebook flew out of her hands and hit the ground, spilling pens and markers and papers every which way. She lifted her head, looking out from beneath platinum bangs. Max Stallworth stood before her, smug grin on his face. “Oops,” he said, and kicked the case. Deliberately bumping into her again as he passed, he whispered, “See you later, freak.”
Tears burned at the back of her eyeballs, but the past few years of taunting had given her the ability to hide them. She knelt to the floor, knapsack slipping to the ground, and began the process of picking up her scattered posessions.
A hand interrupted her direct line of vision, and she looked up. Mr. Hathorne was kneeling in front of her, four colored markers held in his extended hand as he regarded her with intense hazel eyes. “You alright there?” he murmured, and she averted her eyes quickly.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, taking the offered pens from his grasp and shoving them back into the case. “Thanks.”
He nodded, and continued to silently help her pick up her things. When she was all packed up, he helped her stand, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Miss D’Ancanto,” he began, and he felt her tense underneath his palms. “Don’t let Stallworth get to you. The boy’s got his head in the damn clouds most of the time in class.” He smiled a little at seeing her eyes widen at his cursing. “Probably just mad because you’re passing and he…” Mr. Hathorne paused, considering. “Well. I can’t actually tell you how he’s doing, but I think you get the idea.”
She nodded again, lush mouth tightening briefly before she put her pack on her back. She exited the history classroom quietly, leaving the room nearly as quiet as it had been with just the two of them.
She never noticed concerned eyes following her as she left.
* * *
Logan didn’t know what to do about his student. She was bright, exceptionally so, but seemed to have the attitude of a mouse when talked to. Her participation grade, had he kept track of one, would certainly be low. He’d gotten more words out of her in the past five minutes than he had in the past five days.
She spent most of his class period seemingly in another world, hidden beneath her startling brown and white hair. Within the few weeks leading up to his first test, he had been concerned about her abilities in the class, but was swiftly proven wrong when she managed to score a ninety-three.
She was his best student, and he’d be damned if he didn’t have a soft spot for the girl. And watching her be bullied by the “popular” kids caused him to feel a tightening in his chest, and a protective feeling wash over him.
He wished he could help the soft-spoken young girl, but her continual distance from him was making it too damned difficult.
Sitting down in his desk chair, Logan pressed a closed fist to his forehead, before gathering his messenger bag and exiting the classroom.
The Winter Parent-Teacher night was that evening, and he had a shit load of relaxing to do if he wished to retain his teacher-like composure for any amount of time.
* * *
Logan leaned against his desk later that night, legs crossed in front of him and hands resting on the edge of the wood as he spoke with his student’s parents. The classroom had been divided into two sections, and strangely enough, the parents were intermingling with groups startlingly similar to their children’s.
And that included Marie and her guardian.
Professer Charles Xavier was a renowned, ridiculously rich man. Few people knew what his true nature of business was, and Logan was one of them.
What he did know, was that Marie’s parents had died in a car crash when she was a young girl, and she had spent a few years of her childhood floating from foster home to foster home, until Xavier had gotten a hold of her. He was known for taking in children who were underprivelaged or orphaned, and it was known that those who he took under his wing spoke only good things of Charles Xavier.
But whether or not Marie knew her “father” was fighting for the unity between mutants and humans…well. Logan hadn’t bothered to ask her, and probably never would.
The old man certainly was warm enough towards the young girl, and for the first time since he had begun teaching her, Logan saw a smile light up Marie’s face. His throat tightened, and he approached them as he tried to ignore the sensation.
“Chuck,” he greeted pleasantly, extending a hand to the man. “Good to see you again.”
“Logan,” Charles greeted in return, shaking the hand offered to him. “Likewise, my boy. How are you enjoying the bustle and noise of this evening?”
Logan grimaced, and Marie’s gaze darted back and forth between her teacher and her guardian, suspecting (and not for the first time) a pre-existing connection between the two that she didn’t know about.
Mr. Hathorne turned his gaze towards her, and she fought the blush that threatened to crawl up her neck. “How are you?” he asked, and she was slightly surprised to hear that he sounded sincere.
“Fine,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “Kinda wanna go home.”
“You aren’t alone, dear,” Xavier said kindly, patting her on the arm lovingly. “We’ll be on our way soon, don’t worry.” He glanced at Logan for confirmation.
“Yeah, just a few more minutes of unneccessary mingling and we should be all set,” Logan smirked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “While ya both are here, I wanted to discuss the possibility of Marie-“ (the girl in question’s head shot up at the sound of her name falling from her teacher’s lips for the first time) “-being interested in taking an extra Advanced Placement History class next semester. It’d be like…tutoring, but with more new stuff.” He shot a glance at Marie’s surprised face. “And I know that her college apps are due pretty damn soon, so we could start before Winter Break so that it would qualify for her applications.”
Xavier looked up at his young charge, and said gently, “What do you think, Marie? Do you want to take Logan up on his offer?”
She looked down at her father, and worried her full bottom lip with her teeth. Releasing it after a few seconds of chewing on it, she looked up at her teacher with wide brown eyes.
“Yes,” she said in her quiet Southern accent. “I’d like that. Thank you very much, Mr. Hathorne.”
He blinked at her, and then said, “You can call me Logan.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Few important things to know about this story:
Logan is still a mutant, but he has had years of being a teacher under his belt, which is why he's not as gruff as he usually would be. Marie is his student, orphaned and taken in by Charles Xavier. The two have no idea about the other's mutation.
Since this is an AU story, there will be some OOC-ness.
Logan is still a mutant, but he has had years of being a teacher under his belt, which is why he's not as gruff as he usually would be. Marie is his student, orphaned and taken in by Charles Xavier. The two have no idea about the other's mutation.
Since this is an AU story, there will be some OOC-ness.