Letters to Loved Ones

[maxwell]

My Darling Danielle,________________
_________________________
I was so happy to find a letter from you in the mail today. I miss you too much, my little darling. America is just not as exciting without you. _________
_________________________
It pleases me to hear that you are doing well in school. I expect nothing less from my little girl. You can tell Laura that I say hi back. I hope you have a lot of fun at her sleepover. _________________
_________________________
Now, about our little secret... ___________
_________________________

The fountain pen hovered just over the paper, the words not coming as easily as he would have liked. Several more papers lay scattered about the small cafe table, crumpled up and smudged with fine ink. He had been at this for an hour now, trying to draft the perfect letter to his angel of a daughter. His cappuccino had long since gone cold, the half full cup pushed to one side. But try as he might, Maxwell could not pen down the words he wanted to say most.

Letter writing was one of the few habits of his that signified he was not completely from this time. He could use a computer well enough, and his cell phone had an international plan, but there was something about snail mail that he simply cherished. And the fact that his daughter was willing to indulge his silly passion was one of the few joys he still felt. The divorce from his wife was still fresh, something that some odd three thousand miles and the Atlantic Ocean could not heal. It had left him depressed and closed off to the world; there was little that could get him excited.

Unfortunately, Danielle's most recent letter had brought with it some troubling news. It seemed the girl was manifesting some powers of her own. Max knew her mother wouldn't approve of it, refused to understand the natural gifts some people had. The question was, how would he be able to convince Samantha to send their daughter to the States, to boarding school no less? He still spent more time talking to her lawyer than he did his ex-wife herself. Trying to get custody of his twelve year old little girl was a battle he couldn't risk losing.

And thus he sat, head in one hand as he leaned over the table, fingers running through dark, thick hair. He had taken to tapping the pen against the table, staining his most recent draft with a number of miserable black spots. Finally he gave up, crinkling up the last sheet of paper and leaning back in his chair. A signal to the waiter and a raise of his cup meant a fresh cappuccino would be on its way. Now if only writing letters was that easy...

[Revan Ashkevron]

Spark wandered into the café, a folded piece of paper in her hand and a torn envelope in her pocket. The paper was the monthly letter from her parents, and once she had finished reading it, she had come down here to the town to get some coffee and to avoid the other students. She was afraid that she might project if she was around those she knew well. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to be away from the main school and the town café was a good place to do that. Why can't they ever come and visit? she wondered silently. The letter had told her, as she had expected it would, that her parents would not be coming during spring break. And she couldn't go home to see them. Even though she had expected the answer, it still hurt that her mom and dad couldn't do more than send a monthly letter.

Spark was about to go find a seat when the sound of crackling paper reached her ears. Blinking in surprise, she looked down to see that she had stepped on a crumpled ball f paper. She stooped and picked it up before looking around. As her attention focused on the occupant of the seat at the table nearest her, a sharp spike of negative emotion shot through her. At the same time, Dr. Goddard crumpled another piece of paper and dropped it. Spark looked down at the paper she held, then walked closer. "Professor?" she called softly to get his attention. She didn't bother asking if he was alright, because she already knew that he wasn't. "What's wrong?"

[maxwell]

The waiter (one of the local boys from Willowbrook) set down his cappuccino amid the mess of papers. A half smile and nod of his head was Max's way of a thank you, and as he picked up his wide, white, foam topped cup he watched the young man head back behind the counter. He took another sip before setting the cup back down, both hands wrapped around it. For a long while he just stared into the foam, turning thoughts over in his head. Danielle had been rather vague with what exactly it was she discovered she could do. Until he knew more, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.

Fortunately or not, distractions always seemed abundant. Today's came in the form of one of his students. Revan Ashkevron, a bookish girl with unique eyes, was coming towards him, her voice causing him to look up from his coffee. The same half smile he'd given the waiter was back on his face, the expression polite but guarded. The history professor was not fond of people prying into his personal business, especially when it was a family matter. The divorce had left him cold and closed off; trying to force him to discuss it made him bitter.

"Ah, Miss Ashkevron," his lilting British accent was soft, his expression somewhat vacant as he nodded in her direction. He picked up his cup again, taking a sip. This time he did not place it back on the table, instead holding it in his hands as he tried to dismiss any inquiries. His fingers gripped it slightly tighter, a sign of the stress he felt from trying to keep up a casual, happy appearance. "Nothing you should concern yourself with. Are you enjoying your day in town?"

[Revan Ashkevron]

Spark tried not to flinch as more negative feelings slammed into her. She tightened her shields, sighed inwardly, and sat down in the seat across from Dr. Goddard. She set the crumpled paper on the table and flagged down the waiter. "Iced peppermint mocha latte, light whipped cream please," she told the boy. He nodded, smiling at her. "Right away, miss," he said. Spark sighed as she could the boy's fleeting admiration for her. The hormones of a fourteen-year-old boy, she thought. Though the fact that someone could find me pretty, what with my physical... differences, is kind of nice. Ah well...

Spark shook her head a little, pondering the professor's question. Finally, she just shrugged, smiling a little sadly. "Somewhat. I came down here to get away from the other students," she confessed. She pulled the letter out of her pocket and stared moodily at it for a moment. "It's the monthly letter from my parents. They - Oh, thank you," she broke off and thanked the waiter. He smiled again and scampered off. "Anyway," she continued, sipping her drink, "I didn't really want the others asking questions. I was afraid I might project around them. Family...." she sighed.

Talking to Dr. Goddard was easy for her; even when the history professor was upset, he was almost always calm enough so that Spark rarely ever got more than usual surface emotions from him. Unlike most of the students and many of the other teachers. But right now he was very upset about something, that much was clear. For all that he was smiling at her, the emotions he was projecting told a very different story. They were also very deep and personal, but Spark couldn't help but be drawn to them. She sighed inwardly again. While most of her projecting was conscious, the reception was different. She had to consciously shield herself from the emotions of others, and she wasn't very good at it. Oh, she could keep herself from being affected most of the time, but she couldn't keep from feeling them.

[maxwell]

The man was a bit taken aback with how forward the girl was being. He hadn't invited her to sit down. And unlike himself she had opened right up. He couldn't recall her being so talkative during classes, at least not when it came to non-class related material. Whatever it was that was eating at her must have been pretty bad. Because the conversation had just gone from polite to personal in zero to sixty, and he wasn't quite sure how to handle it. A personal discussion was exactly what he'd been trying avoid.

So he reached across the table and swept his crumpled papers onto the floor, loafered feet organizing them into a small pile beneath the table. He would pick them up later when it was time to leave. Then he took another set of his cappuccino before setting it back down. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table and hands folded, chin touched to his knuckles. It was the same pose he took whenever Danielle came running to him, often in tears, with one problem or another. He would sit and listen, and she would have his undivided attention, and by the time she'd finished talking she would simply feel so much better because she would look up and he would be right there, smiling at her in such a way that reaffirmed that no matter what went wrong in her life he would always be there for her.

For a moment he felt like he was staring at his little girl, and he finally felt right inside. He missed his daughter so much, too much, to the point that slipping into a paternal role for someone that was practically a stranger outside of the classroom was something that happened subconsciously. It took some of his edge off; he almost relaxed. But the delivery of Revan's coffee brought him back to his surroundings and he stiffened up a little. He knew he couldn't very well turn the girl away, but getting too familiar with his students also was not on his agenda. Conflicted, he decided that talking about whatever her problem was was at least better than having to discuss his own. And he missed feeling like a dad.

"Project?" Okay, so maybe he was trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of families. Because he did not want to have to share any sort of information about his own if he could help it. As much as he loved his daughter and despite all the strife he ex-wife was causing him, they were subjects he did not like discussing. Because they were his most sensitive spots, and most of his time was spent trying to fill in the holes they'd left in his heart. So he'd leaped at the chance to talk about something other than family. Powers was a much safer line of discussion, one that wasn't so personal. "What ability do you, exactly? From what I've seen in the short time I've been here, most of the students like to show off."

[Revan Ashkevron]

Revan coughed a little. "I'm an Projective/Receptive Empath," she said, looking down into her cup and swallowing hard. "I feel the emotions of others as if they are my own, and I can project my own emotions onto others. I know that using powers is forbidden here, but I can't turn the reception part off. It's always there, I can't keep them out. It's worse when I'm near people I know well." She suppressed a shiver, hoping that Dr. Goddard wouldn't be one of those who thought that their privacy was invaded. Some of those who learned about Spark's abilities immediately thought that she was reading them deliberately, and that she took pleasure in doing so. They had no idea how wrong they were. She hated the fact that she was rarely alone inside her own mind. For all her meditations, the only time she could keep others out was when she was alone and far from other people. "I couldn't help but pick up on your distress."

[maxwell]

So the girl was an Empath. Max's expression was turbulent as he turned this new information over in his mind. There was little doubt that she knew things he didn't want her to know. His depression couldn't be easily hidden from someone hardwired to pick up on such things. Most people just wrote him off as a British snob, which was fine with him because it meant that he wouldn't have to explain. Explaining was the last thing he wanted to do.

So he set his hands on the table and leaned back in his chair, expression guarded. Anger didn't pass through him; he knew better than that. To accuse the girl of interfering with something she couldn't fully control was unfair to her. But he was displeased by the last thing she had said, and decided to give her a lesson in etiquette. Maybe it was a cultural difference, or a time difference, or some other extraneous factor that had drawn the girl to his table, but where he was from a person didn't just sit herself down and start trying to pry into someone else's personal affairs.

"Miss Ashkevron, if I could give you a word of advice?" He paused for a moment, but not long enough to let her give a response. His voice was cold as he spoke, detached, and he was back to gripping the cappuccino mug a little too tightly. "Just because you can feel someone's emotions does not mean you have an automatic invitation to chat. Where I'm from, people like their privacy. Unless you have a concern about class that you would like to discuss, I would appreciate it if you did not try to pry into my personal life." He ran a hand through his hair, hoping she would get the message that he would talk about anything but what it was that was troubling him.

[Revan Ashkevron]

Spark couldn't suppress her flinch this time. She stared down into her nearly empty cup again as more negative emotion washed over her. The professor's voice was cold, and displeasure radiated from him in waves. But at least there wasn't any anger. If there had been, she wouldn't have been able to keep her reaction down to a flinch, not with her own emotions so destabilized. She sighed inwardly. I probably should have known better, she thought, hiding her own sadness behind heavy shielding and keeping her face relatively blank of expression. Any time I try to respond to my insights, I get rebuffed. Is it really a wonder that I don't have any close friends? No one wants to be close to someone who can pick out their deepest feelings without some much as a minute of concentration. And I can't lie to them. Well, I suppose I could, but then it wouldn't be much of a friendship, would it?

Swallowing the last of her drink, Spark got up with the same silent unconscious grace with which she almost always moved. "I did not mean to pry, Professor," she said softly, truth clear in her words. "I never mean to pry." With that somewhat cryptic statement, Spark walked to the counter, paid for her drink, then left the small café, the late-afternoon sun casting interesting shadows as the door opened and closed behind her. The torn envelope and letter from Spark's parents had been left on the table next to her empty cup.

[maxwell]

Bitterness crept over him, effectively extinguishing any light remaining in his eyes. Perfect. He'd just upset her, run her off. This wasn't the sort of relationship he wanted to build with one of his students. But at the same time he wasn't about to let a near stranger into his personal life - especially a student. Maxwell had strong thoughts on what sorts of things were considered professional and which plain crossed a line. He was from another country, another time period, and the details of his personal life were things he would never share with a student. To do so was absolutely inappropriate in his book; he did not like the idea of blurring the line between teacher and student.

A dark, humorless chuckle left his lips as she left. He'd really done it this time. If she hadn't meant to pry then she shouldn't have asked him what was wrong. Because truthfully, everything was long. His life was falling apart around him and it seemed like every little thing he did only managed to make matters worse. His daughter was three thousand miles away manifesting powers her mother would never understand, and he had yet to make one decent acquaintance (let alone a friend) since he'd started at Silas. Now he'd gone and made one of his students unintentionally hate him (okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration).

Running a hand through his hair, the man finished off his cappuccino and proceeded to clean up his mess. Gathering the crumpled papers, he promptly disposed of them in the trash, fished his wallet from his pocket, and paid his tab. Then he returned to his table to pick up his briefcase and make his way back to the school. That was when he noticed the abandoned letter. His hand managed to find his hair again before deciding on a course of action. Carefully folding the letter and stuffing it back in its envelope, he placed it in his pocket and left the cafe. Not once did he check the letter's contents, sticking to his beliefs on privacy. He simply headed back to Silas, intending to stop by the school's mail room before returning to his house.

end thread.