Chapters:

Chapter 1

The last thing Alex wants to do when he gets back to the mansion is talk, but he has a lot of practice making himself do things he doesn’t want to do. He slams the door from the garage because he can, it’s deep enough that no one will hear it from the residential wing, and he takes the long way around to Hank’s lab. The foyer is lit up but empty, and there’s no one in the professor’s study.

He’s on his way back toward the stairs when he hears Hank call, “In here,” from the direction of the classrooms instead. Alex sighs, but whatever. It saves him a trip downstairs.

“Hey,” he says, skipping Hank’s darkened classroom for the A/V room next door. Hank’s folded into the swivel chair in front of the main monitors, but he’s leaning back, bracing a mug against the armrest. He pushes off, kicking his foot against the wheels to stop when Alex looks in.

“Scott went to bed around ten,” Hank tells him. “We had some excitement with the CIA after you left. Plus a couple of new students. Oh, and the professor has a telepathic son. So.”

Alex stares at him for a long moment, then shakes his head. “Of course he does,” he mutters. “Thanks for watching Scott.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Everyone else okay?”

“Yeah, they’re great,” Alex says. “All of them. Just great. What are you doing?”

Hank makes that face, the one that says he knows Alex has a problem and he doesn’t care what it is. It’s Alex’s second favorite thing about him. “Nominally, Logan’s helping me test the video surveillance,” he says. “Mostly I’m watching Planet of the Apes and waiting for him to break something. Have a seat if you want.”

Alex takes the recliner without a word. Hank’s mug smells like chocolate, and maybe cocoa sounds good but it’s too much work to get his own. He doesn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t feel like being alone either, and Hank’s good for that.

They sit in silence for almost half an hour. Three of Hank’s screens are showing dark blurs that Alex eventually recognizes as outside angles on the mansion, and two are running news from Europe. Planet of the Apes is more creepy with Erik’s words in the back of his mind, so he stares at the blurry screens instead and tries to guess where Logan is.

It’s easy enough when one of the cameras moves, and Hank makes an annoyed sound. “Hide it,” he mutters. “Don’t touch it.”

“Does that count as breaking it?” Alex asks idly.

“If we lose the picture, it’s broken,” Hank says.

The camera goes completely dark.

“Like that?” Alex asks.

Hank leans forward and does something to mysterious bank of controls under the monitors, and the picture comes back. It takes Alex some time to realize they’re still looking at Logan, just from behind and farther away. He raises his eyebrows. “How many cameras are there?”

“Depends on how many he breaks,” Hank says. “More than three. So far.”

They watch while Logan moves in and out of the shadows. It’s boring, but Alex still can’t bring himself to enjoy Planet of the Apes. He glances at the BBC stations, but it’s hard to know what they’re covering without sound. He wonders why Hank has them on at all.

“I posted the schedule you were working on this morning,” Hank says abruptly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back in time to ask, so. It’s up in the teachers’ room.

Alex frowns at BBC One, which is running footage from the Paris Peace Accords. “That’s fine,” he says. “It was done.”

“Darwin isn’t on it,” Hank says.

Now Alex is staring at the television because he doesn’t want to look at Hank. “Darwin isn't coming back.”

“Okay,” Hank says.

That’s all he says, and Alex is watching him on TV, tearing through iron restraints on a recording of the confrontation with Erik. It’s weird that the CIA can’t put Hank and Beast together. He doesn’t look that different, really.

“Raven says hi,” Alex tells the TV. “She saw an autopsy report on Angel, so she went looking for her. Turns out Angel got broken out of TI Seattle by Erik’s corpse-making friend. New street name, new alias. She goes by Tempest now.”

“Tempest,” Hank echoes. Then, unexpectedly, he says, “Well, it’s not Havok or Beast. But it’s not bad, I guess.”

The surprise of it makes Alex smile. “I guess.”

“Darwin and Eva decided to stay with her?” Hank asks.

His smile fades. “Yeah.”

“What about Raven?” Hank wants to know. “You think they’ll stick together? They’re all better off with someone to watch their backs in a political climate like this.”

“Looked like it,” Alex says. The TV is showing empty streets, now. Architecture or something. At night. “They had one of the kids we met at Roanoke with them too. Rahne. Another shapeshifter.”

“Oh, really?” Now Hank sounds very interested. “Raven must be pleased.”

“Yeah,” Alex says. That’s the fountain Hank and Erik destroyed, right? Only it looks normal now. And maybe those neat rows of barricades are what the old pile of twisted metal was supposed to look like. “Wait, is this a tour of how Paris fixed itself up after the Peace Accords? At night?”

“No,” Hank says with a sigh. He follows Alex’s gaze, and suddenly Planet of the Apes is muted and they have sound on BBC One. “That’s Erik, repairing the things he broke because the professor asked him to.”

“Erik’s in Paris?” Alex wonders how he explained that to Azazel. “My gay lover and sometimes mortal enemy wants me to symbolically fix up stuff that’s probably part of a criminal investigation. Pick me up at eight,” maybe.

“They’re both in Paris,” Hank says. “Trying to get media attention.”

Alex stares at the monitor a moment longer before turning to look at Hank. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Hank looks embarrassed, though it’s hard to tell with him sometimes. “But letting them go was probably the best of a bad situation. The other option being that they tear each other apart, and the school along with them.”

“And when they get arrested?” Alex demands. “Or killed? What if someone tries to off Erik and the professor gets in the way, what are we gonna do then?”

“For what it’s worth, Charles has a will,” Hank offers. “The house and grounds go to me in the event of his death.”

It’s more comforting than it should be, given the conversation. “At least he made one good decision,” Alex mutters. He immediately feels guilty for saying it, but Hank just gives him a sympathetic look and says nothing, like he knows they’re not really talking about the professor at all.

“What about arrested?” Alex says, when he’s sure nothing worse will come out when he opens his mouth. “He looked for Erik for years. How are we supposed to find them without him?”

“I don’t think Charles will be as easy to contain as Erik was,” Hank says. “I’ve… well, I’ve put some effort into it myself.”

It makes Alex want to smile again, which probably means there’s something wrong with him, but that’s nothing new. “You know, you’re weirdly reassuring.”

“It’s the lab coat,” Hank says. He isn’t wearing one. “It makes me look scientific and trustworthy.”

“I think it’s the blue fur,” Alex says. He isn’t wearing that either. “Makes you seem friendly and reliable.”

Hank scoffs, but Alex isn’t laughing.

“You okay to cover the phone in the morning?” Hank asks at last. “While Sean and I are teaching? The new kids are David and Jean and Sara. If anyone calls about them, obviously, we don’t discuss students, but Jean and Sara’s mother is here too. Elaine Grey. Her husband might call, and she’s been talking to Warren’s dad.”

“David, Jean, Sara, Elaine,” Alex repeats. “Got it. David’s the telepath?”

“Jean too,” Hank says. He shrugs at Alex’s expression. “I know. Erik’s old helmet is in the study if you need it, but so far they seem more like Emma than the professor.”

“Even his kid?” Alex asks skeptically.

“Well, no,” Hank admits. “David definitely controls people. But he doesn’t--he’s not good at it.”

“Oh, well,” Alex says. “Great. I don’t know why I was worried. Sure, he can make me do whatever he wants, but he's not good at it.”

“You can cut people in half,” Hank reminds him.

“How old?” Alex wants to know.

“I don’t know,” Hank admits. “Ten? Maybe?”

Alex does the math and raises his eyebrows at Hank.

Hank holds up his hands. “He’s looking for his mom,” he says. “Charles told him they might be able to find her together. That’s all I know.”

Alex shakes his head. His life is messed up, but at least he’s sure there aren’t any children or wives lurking in the wings. He isn’t ruling out an evil twin or alien parents, but really. No one can be sure of everything.

“I think Logan’s on his way back,” Hank says.

Alex sits forward, stretching his shoulders out of the chair before he swings his legs over the side. “I’m gonna go check on Scott,” he says. “Thanks for the update.”

“I didn’t mean you should go,” Hank tells him. “You could--watch the rest of the movie, at least.”

“Too weird,” Alex says. “Let me know if the professor needs anything.” Other than a sanity check, he thinks. “Or you,” he adds.

“Yes,” Hank says. Sometimes he’s as easily flustered as he always was. “I mean, I will. Thank you.”

Alex pauses in the doorway. He’s not even sure what makes him say it, except that he’s tired of not knowing where he stands. “Hey, Beast?”

Hank spins again, kicking his chair around so he’s looking at the TV monitor closest to Alex. “Yeah?”

“You know I’m a fag, right?”

It doesn’t sound the way it did in the barracks, where it was just one more insult, another word they threw around to remind themselves that they knew each other. Here it sounds important. He and Hank aren’t back-to-back in a kill zone, they’re just… friends.

Hank could walk away.

“Gay, you mean?” Hank glances at him and then he doesn’t, maybe watching the monitor for real this time. “Yeah. I know.”

It’s mostly a relief. “Okay,” Alex hears himself say. “Good.”

Then, because he can’t leave it alone, he says, “Wait. Since when?”

Hank makes a face like he’s stupid, and that’s as familiar as the idea isn’t. “I have enhanced senses,” he says. “I can tell who does it for you and who doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Alex says. That’s… probably really distracting, actually. “Okay.”

“It isn’t just you,” Hank adds. “But you might be the only one who says fag. The professor says queer, sometimes. Logan and I say gay.”

Wow. He didn’t see that one coming. “Are you and Logan…?”

“No,” Hank says. “But. I don’t really see the difference, between, uh. Men and women, so. We talked about it once.”

Alex is pretty sure Logan has superpowered senses, too. He wonders if that was an easy conversation, or a really awkward one. “You didn’t mention Erik,” he says.

Hank gives him another one of those looks. “Erik doesn’t talk about it,” he says. “At least not with me.”

Alex doesn’t give it much thought before he says, “We said fag in the barracks.”

Hank doesn’t sound… anything at all, really. He’s just neutral when he replies, “Good thing you’re not in the barracks anymore.”

Kind of, Alex thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Mostly.

“Yeah,” he says instead. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Hank says.

Alex waves, heading back toward the foyer and the stairs. Sure enough, he passes Logan going the other way. He tries not to act weird, but he lives with telepaths. He knows a lost cause when he sees one.

Still, Logan nods at him, and Alex wonders if people with super senses have some kind of moral code. Or maybe, like Charles said, they get bored with knowing how everyone reacts to things. Maybe they stop paying attention after a while, or they just stop caring.

Darwin and Eva shared a room in the teachers’ wing over the weekend. It's empty now, littered with Eva’s borrowed clothes and Darwin’s empty grocery bags. Alex only stops long enough to turn their light off before he keeps walking.

Chapter 2

Hank tries not to worry about Alex, as a general rule.  Alex survived his entire childhood, an unusually destructive mutant power, and two tours in Vietnam.  He has a pretty good track record when it comes to getting through things.  

On top of that, most of Hank’s daily allotment of concern is taken up by worrying about Charles, so there’s not much left over for more capable members of the household.  Sean, for example, with his shadowy CIA involvement and unwillingness to leave Moira’s side.  Or Peter, with his obvious disregard for legal or moral limitations.  

Even Logan, with more enemies than holes in his memory and a disturbing tendency to smoke, drink, and punch his way into oblivion for as long as it lasts, is better able to take care of himself than Charles is.  Hank sometimes wonders if looking at Logan is a vision of Charles’ future: a single do-gooder on the run, his past and his motivation buried under layers of power and guilt.  They’re both flickers of hope in the darkness: desperately trying to catch the kindling, and afraid of what will happen when they do.

Alex, though.  Perfectly self-aware Alex, responsible and competent and carrying a torch for Darwin the size of the sun.  Darwin is more oblivious than Hank, and Hank wishes he could make a phone call or pass him a note or something.

“Hank, it’s going to snow.”  Selene steps in front of him before he can walk into the dining room.  Charles’ groundskeeper hired her when the school opened, and she stayed on after it closed.  They work well together because she knows how to get her point across quickly.  “Do you want the runway kept clear?  Because if you do I need a temporary crew or two more permanent staff.”

The dining room doesn’t look like a disaster this morning, and Hank stares over her shoulder for several seconds before doing the staffing calculations in his head.  “Will two people cover pool and athletic maintenance in the spring?”

She doesn’t hesitate.  “Yes.  As long as you don’t want to increase garden coverage.  Is the school really going to reopen, then?”

“I don’t know,” Hank tells her honestly.  “Charles wants it to.  But we’re a long way from ready, and you know how he is.”  Sometimes Hank thinks Charles would be a flash in the pan if it weren’t for insane amounts of money and the people he inspires along the way.  

Other times he thinks they were lucky to have the flash at all.

Selene only nods, so Hank adds, “Give me salary recommendations and your two best candidates when you have them.  No one new gets paid before next Friday.”  Cam’s new hires will get paid this Friday, but that’s because she re-hired former crew.  And also because Hank had more time yesterday than he’ll have today.

There’s a dog in the dining room, but it looks like it’s behaving as well as anyone else so Hank ignores it.  He finds Maria hovering next to the table that’s been transformed into a buffet, and he picks up a plate while he looks around the room.  “Well, no one’s throwing anything,” Hank offers.

“Your Logan was here earlier,” she tells him, lifting the coffee pot in his direction.  “His glare was very effective.”

“It would be,” Hank agrees.  He flips a mug over and holds it out, and she fills it for him.  “We should make him an official hall monitor or something.”

“I’m sure he would do very well in that position.  Danielle was also useful, here at the table, keeping the children in line.  She volunteered to help in the kitchen, but I said you must want her in a classroom.  Someone with her skills?”

Hank looks around the room.  The long table has been turned sideways to provide easier access to the impromptu buffet, with two of the smaller tables tucked up against the wall.  Emma and Elaine are at one of them, with the dog, but all of the children are at the long table with Alex and Sean and Dani.

“If she’s willing to stay,” Hank says, moving on to the cereal and eggs, “we certainly need her.  Everyone’s going to do kitchen duty, though.  How’s Cam this morning?”

“Oh, happy and frantic,” Maria says.  “In equal measure.  She enjoys having many people to boss around, and we all like to see the children, of course.”

“Of course,” Hank says, finding milk next to the orange juice.  He won’t lie; it’s nice to have an entire meal ready.  “Tell her to come up with a schedule for teenage helpers when she has time.  Same rules as the school semester, half an hour before and after meals.”

“Surely there aren’t enough children for that,” Maria says, handing him the maple syrup.

“At the rate we’re going,” Hank says, “they could outnumber us by next week.  Thank you,” he adds, pouring the syrup on his eggs.

“Are you looking for more students?” Maria asks.

“We weren’t looking for these students,” Hank says.  “And if the professor starts advertising… well, it’s difficult to predict what will happen.”

The dining room looks like a relatively peaceful haven of classmates and teachers, but most of the people in this room didn’t even know each other two weeks ago.  Charles is the single common thread.  All it would take is a few words from Erik to destroy it all.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Moira says, and Hank hoped she was here to talk to Sean.  Sean is waving at them, and it’s not like Hank doesn’t want to go sit down, but Moira looks like she’s about to run away and possibly drag him with her.  “Do you have a gate procedure?  I mean, is there something written up somewhere or does everyone just know?”

“A… gate procedure?”  Hank grabs a fork and shovels eggs into his mouth, because if this is going where he thinks it is then he doesn’t have much time.

“For when people show up at the gate,” Moira says impatiently.  “People we don’t know.  I mean, people you don’t know.  Not that I know who you know, but--you know.”

Unfortunately, he does.  “There are strangers at the gate?  Official-looking strangers, or more… everyday people-off-the-street strangers?”

“Not official, I don’t think,” Moira says.  “Two young women, girls really.  Sweatshirts and colored hair.  They want to talk to Charles.”

Hank looks up quickly from his cereal.  He has to swallow before he asks, “Charles?  What do they know about Charles?”

Moira gives him an exasperated look.  “I don’t know,” she says.  “I have no idea who they are or what they’re doing here.”

“Right.”  He looks at his eggs, then over at the table.  “Let me talk to Sean and then I’ll go out and let them in.”

Sean is already clearing space for him when Hank sets his dishes down, shaking his head even as he tries to clean up the last of the eggs.  “I can’t stay,” he mumbles, swallowing as quickly as he can.  “Someone’s at the gate, wants to talk to the professor.”

“Haven’t seen him,” Sean says.  “You’d tell us if they got arrested, right?”

“They’re back,” Hank says, swallowing again and reaching for his spoon.  “Not up yet.  Can you start class on your own if you have to?”

“Yeah, of course.”  Sean doesn’t look offended that he asked, just puzzled when he adds, “I thought Erik was a morning person.”

Hank glances at Alex, who rolls his eyes.  “Great,” Hank says, because the only other answer is, Erik doesn’t care as much about getting out of bed when there’s someone in it with him.  “Thanks.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Don’t forget your coffee,” Sean says.  He’s already got it, but it’s a nice thought and Hank lifts the mug in his direction.  It’s a thank-you gesture, and Sean waves back.

Hank wonders how long they’ll wait for Sean to figure it out before someone just tells him.

He skips the phone and grabs his coat, because they’ve clearly gotten all they can from the intercom.  He’s finished his coffee by the time he gets there, and Moira’s observations about the girls at the gate are entirely accurate.  Unmistakably youthful, with sweatshirts layered against the cold, one has bright pink hair and the other green.

They’re willing to give Hank their first names when he lets them in.  They claim their mother knows the professor, and she probably does.  Everyone seems to.  He sits them down in the TV room and tells them to wait, that he’ll see what he can do.  They seem grateful enough to huddle together in the warmth, so he asks the first kitchen staffer he sees to offer them something hot to drink.

The part he isn’t looking forward to comes when he knocks on Charles’ bedroom door and gets no answer.  The best case scenario here is that Charles is asleep.  And alone, unlikely though that may be.  Hank concentrates on a mental knock, just in case, but there’s no sense of extra awareness in his head.  

The door unlatches itself.  It settles just out of the frame without opening, and he sighs.  Not alone.  Of course.

He pushes the door open and peers around it before stepping through.  Erik doesn’t look up from his book.  “I thought you weren’t supposed to come in,” he tells the page.

“Only as long as you stayed out of the lab,” Hank retorts.

“I didn’t--”  Erik does look up then, and the obvious exasperation is welcome.  “I was being mind-controlled at the time.”

“By Charles,” Hank says, sidling over to the bureau.  One of them.  The original, he’s pretty sure.  “And he’s who I made the agreement with in the first place, so.”

Erik is glaring at him.  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you want and leave.”

“Only if Charles comes with me,” Hank says.  “He's supposed to be out of bed by ten.”

Erik continues to stare at him.  “It’s 7:54.”

“Well, we have company,” Hank says, pulling open the middle drawer.  It’s filled with sweaters have been unfolded and pushed around a dozen times, so Hank doesn’t feel bad about shoving them aside again.

Charles keeps a list of mutant names: people he’s met, either in person or through Cerebro, and people he’s been told about.  First names only.  He knows the government’s watching him, and no matter the show he puts on for the others he doesn’t fool himself that the house is safe.

It’s more a talisman than a reference.  Or something to bring him back when he loses his mind.  Hank doesn’t ask, but he does check the list occasionally.  To see if there’s anyone he should be looking for.

“You must have handled company before,” Erik says.  He sounds irritated, which Hank thinks is hilarious given that everyone who’s knocking on their door these days is doing it because of Erik.  It’s like 1964 all over again.

Charles, Hank thinks, finally locating the list under a patterned sweater.  Raven’s name is the first one on it, and Erik’s is the second.  Hank is third.  Wake up.

The list has lengthened again after years of being unchanged: Logan and Peter are on it now, along with Eva and Warren.  All of Alex’s unit, the TI prisoners, and Emma’s students.  Even David and Jean, which means Charles has been looking at the list recently.

The only name Hank doesn’t recognize is Anya, and she’s probably someone Charles saw in Cerebro.  There’s no Annie or Lorna anywhere.  So maybe Charles only knows their mother, or they gave him fake names.  Or they’re not mutants, but the chance of that seems vanishingly small these days.

Wake up, Hank thinks, as sharply as he can.  Wake up, Charles.  Wake up.  He thinks of bright sun and roosters and shaking Charles’ shoulder, which is what he would do if Erik wasn't unbalanced enough to strangle him for it.

Yes, what, Charles replies without moving.  I’m awake.

There’s a couple of girls downstairs.  Annie and Lorna.  Hank thinks of them huddled together in the TV room, hopefully drinking cocoa and eating breakfast.  They look like they could use it.  They’re not on your list, but they say you know their mom.  Who’s Anya?

“I can hear you, you know,” Erik says stiffly.

“Feel free to leave if we’re bothering you,” Hank tells him.

The blankets Charles is hiding under shift, and a moment later he’s pushing them at Erik as he drags himself into a sitting position.  He’s wearing the same clothes he had on the night before.  “Who’s their mom,” he mumbles, shoving his hair out of his face.

“I don’t know,” Hank says.  “They want to talk to you.  They look like they’ve been traveling.”

“They’d have to, wouldn’t they,” Charles says with a sigh.  “There’s no one out here for miles.”

Charles is frequently obnoxious, only sometimes without realizing it.  Hank ignores it in return for the freedom to be distracted and impatient himself.  “Someone has to talk to them,” he says.  “I have a class to teach.  Are you getting up, or should I give them to Emma?”

“Surely Alex can do a threat assessment,” Erik says.  “He seems competent enough.”

The implication being that Hank is not, but it mobilizes Charles so he lets it go.  “There’s no reason to think they’re a threat,” Charles says, pulling his legs toward the side of the bed.  “They’re probably mutants, looking for shelter.  We see it every time you make headlines.”

“Every time you’re sober enough to notice, you mean?” Erik counters sharply.

“It wasn't my intention to be cruel.”  Charles’ voice is steady even as he braces his arms for the transfer to his chair.  “I only meant that mutants rarely feature positively in the news media.  Every time something goes wrong, people get scared, and mutants wind up here.”

They used to, Hank thinks.  When there was a “here.”  He doesn't say it, and for once Erik manages to keep his mouth shut too.  Charles must know what they're thinking, but he doesn't call them on it.

Hank supposes, like the rest of them, he's just trying to pretend they have a future that isn't so horrible they have to send someone back in time to prevent it.

Chapter 3

He’s so tired.  It can’t be ten yet or Hank wouldn’t have been so kind about waking him, but even ten would be too early after Paris.  The massive power burnout caused by David’s attack left him with a horrific headache that makes him feel hungover as well as exhausted, and having Hank and Erik in the same room is only making it worse.

“And how do you defend the mutants who come seeking shelter?” Erik wants to know.  “By pretending they’re human to the world?”

“Erik, stop it.”  He tries to keep his voice calm, but he can’t deal with Erik’s misdirected self-hatred right now.  They spent too much time inside each other’s heads yesterday.  If Erik wants to fight about it, all Charles wants to do is ignore it.  “This is a school for mutants, and we’ll call it what it is.”

It should appease Erik, but he won’t stop.  He doesn’t like having Hank in the bedroom, Charles realizes muzzily.  Bloody hell.  “It has a lot of humans for a school for mutants,” Erik says.

“Hank,” Charles says with a sigh.  “If there’s nothing else I can do for you, could you get me a glass of water, please?”

Hank hesitates only long enough to see Charles pull the painkillers from the drawer in the nightstand.  They’re the same ones that helped on the plane to Virginia, and he’s more than ready to try them again.  “Of course,” Hank says.

“Erik,” Charles says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.  “Would you put together the statement we promised Ms. Tilby, please.  If she’s back in New York this evening, I’d like to have it waiting for her.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Erik’s surprise is perfectly clear through the pain in his head.  “You want me to write an address to the public,” he says flatly.

Charles puts the bottle in his lap and wheels toward his dresser, listening to the water shut off in the bathroom.  “That is what you’re good at, isn’t it?  I’m sure I’d just bore them.”  Whatever else can be said of Erik, he does know how to speak to an audience.

“Just,” Charles adds.  “Try not to make them want to kill us, this time.”

“Here you go,” Hank says.  He’s reappeared with the requested glass of water, and Charles takes it gratefully.  It makes the pills go down easier.  If there’s anything he can do to dull this headache, he’s doing it.

“Thank you,” he tells Hank.  “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Hank makes the look he gives Erik very obvious.  “I’ll tell them you’re on your way,” he says.  At least they’re not waiting in the cold, he thinks, and Charles is just as happy to ignore that.  It worked out well, after all.  Probably.  He can still feel Dani’s presence in the house, so that’s something.

Once Hank has closed the door behind him, Charles strips off his shirt and retrieves a fresh one.  He isn’t in the mood for buttons today, even if he could force his fingers to cooperate through the fatigue.  It’s clean and inoffensive, and that will have to do.

He wants to look back at Erik, which is why he tries very hard not to.  “You haven’t decided on a class,” he says over his shoulder as he rolls into the bathroom.  “Will you help me with student training this afternoon instead?”

The surprise he gets from Erik for this is no less than it was for his first question, and Charles is glad he’s out of sight when he puts his head in his hands and tries to push the feeling of Erik out of his mind.  Erik is vulnerable and raw and still lashing out at everything Charles says.  He’s afraid every time Charles opens his mouth it will be to order him away, and he seems determined to bring it on himself.

So he can stride off with his cloak billowing righteously in the breeze, Charles supposes.  

“You want me training people to use their powers,” Erik says from the other room.  Still on the bed, most likely.  Charles tries to systematically block as much of that part of the room from his perception as he can.

“Yes,” he says.  He gives a last futile push before lowering his hands, which he needs in order to accomplish anything other than hiding.  “You’re very good at it.  You can help them.”

Erik says nothing for so long that Charles thinks maybe he was more successful with the perception-blocking than he expected.  It isn’t until he comes out of the bathroom that he realizes Erik is just sitting there.  Still on the bed.  Staring back at him.  

Of course it's exactly what Charles wants to see.  It shouldn’t hit him so hard, but he can feel tears prickle at his eyelids as he looks quickly away.  They’re both an awful mess this morning, aren’t they.  Maybe Erik’s right; maybe he isn’t any good at lengthy stays in someone else’s mind.  

Maybe he doesn’t practice enough after all.

“Charles,” Erik says quietly.

“Please don’t,” Charles tells the door.  “I can’t--I just--I need you.  I can’t do this without you.  I have to… please let me pretend.”

The door is right there, and he needs to be somewhere else.  Anywhere else.  The moment before Erik responds is too short.  “I was going to say,” he remarks evenly, “that you look exhausted.  Is there anything I can do?”

“Other than writing that statement for CBNC?”  Charles still doesn’t look away from the door.  He thinks, one, that’s enough of a task for anyone, and two, there are so many things Erik could do that it’s not even worth the question.  And Charles would know, since he asks it of himself every night.

“I’m so tired,” Charles whispers.  He doesn’t even mean to say it, but it brings Erik off the bed and swiftly around to look him in the eye.

“Let me talk to them,” Erik says.  “Your mutant refugees.  I'll go and talk to them while you rest.  When you get up later you can fix whatever I’ve said wrong.”

Charles tries to glare at him.  Anger is Erik’s language, after all.  “Tell me, do you even need sleep, or is it just an interesting hobby that you occasionally engage in?”

Erik doesn’t smile.  “I’m not the one whose mind David almost destroyed last night,” he says.

David, Charles thinks.  Who’s watching David?  “I’m all right,” he says, reaching tentatively for Emma.  David? he thinks at her, as politely and unobtrusively as he can.

“I don’t mean to imply you’re not,” Erik is saying.  “I only meant you’re not alone.  Let us help.”

It’s a good thing Emma replies immediately, because Erik is doing it again.  Probably on purpose.  He’s mimicking the message Charles tries to send to other mutants, in an effort to reach through their isolation and fear to give them hope.

Playing games, Emma replies.  Harmless so far.

“You are helping,” Charles murmurs, sending a wordless message of gratitude to Emma that seems to take her by surprise.  “All of you.”

“Then don’t shut us out,” Erik says.  “This isn’t your burden alone.  It’s one we all carry.  Surely doing it together can lessen the strain.”

Charles stares at him.  There’s no fear in Erik’s mind now, no desperation or grief.  Worry, yes, but it’s concern for Charles and the school that makes him want to help.  And he does.  He genuinely wants to help.

Erik’s no longer simply waiting for him to give up, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Choose a class,” Charles says at last.  “When they ask me what you’re doing here, I’d much rather say ‘teaching languages’ than ‘plotting to overthrow the human race.’”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Erik says.

He shouldn’t smile, but the fact that he even wants to is a vast improvement over how he felt when he woke up.  “Well, I don’t have to lead with that.”

“Fine,” Erik says.  “I’ll tell Alex to put me on the schedule.”

“Thank you,” Charles says.

Erik doesn’t move, which means he’s easy to look at but difficult to maneuver around.  It isn’t that Charles wants to leave, but at some point Hank will wonder where he is.  “I should go,” he says at last.  “I mean, not that I don’t enjoy staring at you, but I don’t know that it’s accomplishing very much.”

“So you weren’t reading my mind just then?” Erik asks, reaching out to stroke his cheek.  “Because I think it’s accomplishing a great deal.”

Charles opens his mouth with no idea what he’s going to say.  It doesn’t matter because Erik leans in and kisses him.  Or rather, it matters quite a lot, but not because of the words.  It’s warm and lingering, and he closes his eyes against the flood of Erik’s awareness in his mind.

He barely feels Erik’s thumb on his jaw, the hand sliding down his neck to press warm fingers into his skin.  It’s hot and distant and unimportant next to Erik’s thoughts of teaching and residence.  His thoughts of permanence.  

The future that wasn’t, Charles thinks.  Him and Erik, together at the beginning of the end.  Could such a small thing make any difference in the eventual fate of the world?

There was a time when he didn’t have to ask.  When Charles, in all his arrogance, assumed that he could do anything with Erik by his side.  He knew even then that Erik thought the same.  What they probably should have discussed was what the “anything” would turn out to be.

You’re a very preoccupied kisser, Erik thinks.  But I’ll give you a pass, considering how little sleep you got and how bad your headache is.  Raincheck?

God, Charles thinks, before he can stop himself.  Yes please.

He feels Erik’s thoughts shifting before he notices him pulling away.  “Thank you,” Charles whispers into the suddenly empty space between them.

“Come back to me,” Erik murmurs.

Charles doesn’t open his eyes, afraid of what he’ll see if he does.  “I never left,” he tells the darkness.

He feels Erik’s other hand on his shoulder.  It slides up to cup the back of his head, and Charles holds very still.  After a long, impenetrable moment, Erik’s touch falls away.  “Neither did I,” he says, very quietly.

Charles opens his eyes.

Erik is crouched in front of him, his gaze heavy on Charles’ legs.  Charles rolls back and Erik looks up, standing smoothly with Charles’ sudden movement.  “I’m going,” Charles says, awkwardly.  Perhaps unnecessarily.  “I’ll--see you at lunch, yeah?”

Erik nods once.  “At lunch, then.”

Charles turns--too obvious in his departure, since Erik steps entirely out of the way.  Or maybe just obvious enough.  He’s careful to avoid any brush with Erik’s powers as he leaves.  The day is terrible already; no need to invite more trouble on top of what they have.

He does catch Kenneth in the hallway, and his mind has cleared enough to ask for a meeting with Adele.  When, Kenneth asks?  Quite reasonably, but Charles still doesn’t know what time it is now.  Whenever she has a free minute, he says.  It won’t take long.

It might take a long time, but only if she objects.  On the other hand, if she objects she’ll likely quit, and that shouldn’t take long either.  She’s the loudest of the household’s heads of staff, making her the one most likely to get her message across in a moment of crisis.  It makes her his first choice to implement evacuation or emergency surrender when things go wrong.

Charles finds Adele in the parlour instead, sitting and talking with the girls Hank pictured for him.  “Ah,” he says, as genially as he can.  The painkillers haven’t quite kicked in, and it’s not as friendly as he would have liked.  “Hello.  Sorry to interrupt.”

“And this is Mr. Xavier,” Adele says, getting to her feet.  “I’m sure he’ll be able to help.  He’s good at finding people.”

“Yes,” Charles says, even though he doesn’t like the sound of that.  “Adele, I was just looking for you.  Do you have a moment to meet later, to review some, um… old procedures?”

“Name your time,” she replies.

He steels himself to look at his watch, and he’s exactly as horrified as he expected to be.  “Nine-thirty?” he offers, trying not to wince.  “In my study.”

“I have a staff meeting from nine to nine-thirty,” she says.  “Nine forty-five would be better.”

“Nine forty-five it is,” he agrees.  “Thank you for entertaining our visitors.”

“They needed a hot meal,” Adele says, like it was obvious.  It probably was obvious.  “Anytime.”

“Thank you,” Charles says again, then adds, “Hello,” because it’s always good to emphasize the basics.  “I’m Professor Charles Xavier.  I understand you’re looking for me?”

The young woman with the bright pink hair stares at him.  “We’re looking for Magda Maximoff,” she says.  “We know she’s been here.  We thought you might know something.”

It’s all true, and Charles only just manages to rein in the observation that we’re having a bit of a run on absent mothers.  He supposes sharing it with Erik would only lead to biting commentary about fathers, so he holds back on all fronts.

“She told us she was going back to Virginia for the night,” he says instead, which is mostly true.  “That was yesterday evening.  Would you like to make a call to her residence?”

“We just came from Virginia,” the pink-haired girl says.  “She isn’t there.”

“I see,” Charles says, studying her carefully.  She came from her home, which is where she expected to find Magda, to here, where she only hoped to find Magda.  She’s been disappointed both times, and she was already worried.  Now she’s angry.

Magda is her mother, he realizes.  Magda is missing.  And this young woman believes she’s in trouble.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, reaching for Erik after all and finding the equivalent of a “do not disturb” sign.  Erik is hyperfocused on physical tasks, half-buried thoughts of mansion security overlaid with leave me alone, Charles.  “Would you mind introducing yourselves?”

“I’m Annie.”  There’s a flicker of correction behind the words that makes Charles blink, but she repeats, “Annie Maximoff.  This is my sister, Lorna.”

He glances at Lorna, who thinks so strongly about not being a mutant that she’s clearly a mutant.  The hair, apparently; she pretends to dye it the way Annie does but hers is naturally green.  Annie was paired with her through Big Sisters International, and she regularly “liberates” her little sister from foster homes to give her cover and shelter.

This is what we’ve come to, Charles thinks.  Children hiding children over the color of their hair.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lorna,” he says, as calmly as he can.  Maybe he can dispel the illusion behind Annie’s name with repetition.  “And Annie, you said?”

Even as she nods, Annie’s full name flashes through her mind again.  Not an illusion.  It’s no trick of his memory that undermines the name.  She answers to “Annie,” but that isn’t how she thinks of herself.

When Charles stares, it’s Anya Eisenhardt who glares back at him with familiar stormy eyes.

Chapter 4

Erik waits for two minutes after Charles leaves.  He breathes as quietly as he can, holding perfectly still, trying to track Charles’ movement through the halls.  He can do it, but only by the magnetic fields bending around the wheelchair and the watch on Charles’ wrist.  He can’t follow the feeling of Charles’ mind.

He shouldn’t be able to, of course.  That’s hardly his power.  But he was waiting to feel the room lighten when Charles struggled out of sleep, and Hank’s interruption ruined it.  He was slightly mollified to hear Charles’ voice in his head afterward, but inadvertent eavesdropping seems to be as far as it goes this morning.  He’s getting Charles’ conversations and nothing else.

The overlap of powers is new, but the strength of it has waned before.  It comes and goes without either of them knowing why.  He should be grateful for the reprieve.

Instead, he wonders if David’s attack broke something between them.  Temporarily or otherwise.  He wonders if Charles changed his mind in Paris, if he saw how hard it would be and decided to cut his losses.  He wonders if his own mind is too weak to hold Charles’ power indefinitely.

He wonders if Charles taught Hank to get inside his head and force everyone else out, the way he did with Erik.

Erik steps into an empty hallway and turns toward the center of the house.  Most of the residents are in the dining room.  The human staff are unimportant, and presumably loyal to Charles.  None of them have raised a fuss over his presence.

The mutants so far have been equally quiet, fleeing their own persecution as they are.  But the human visitors who accompany them--the Greys in particular, though he has his eye on Moonstar--have no reason to overlook his presence.  He’ll avoid them until he has reason to do otherwise.

“You want something?”

The time traveler he tried to drown is sitting in Hank’s recliner, eyes closed and the screens around him on mute.  Erik takes a moment to place each picture, and the morning news is grim.  He’s alive again; the world has seen him and worse, they’ve seen him with Charles.  It’s only a matter of time now.

“We’ll need to defend this estate,” he says.

Logan doesn’t open his eyes.  “Can’t be done,” he says.  “No perimeter we can hold past the garden walls.  We don’t even have enough people to secure the building.”

“I’m not talking long term,” Erik says.  “We need to be able to protect the children in the event of an armed assault.”

Logan’s amused grunt is not unexpected.  Erik could anticipate any number of responses: what does he care about them, any of them, it’s a little late to be worrying about this now, doesn’t he trust Charles?  Of all of them, why does he think Logan will help?

What Logan actually says is, “Doc.  Your friend wants in.”

Erik frowns, but Logan isn’t looking at him and the morning news is showing Charles again.  An old image from his Oxford days.  It shouldn’t hurt the way it does.  It’s just a picture.

He feels Charles brush against his mind, and he pushes it away hard.

“What are you doing here?” Hank’s voice asks.

Logan answers before Erik can.  “He's gonna help defend the mansion.”

Help, Erik thinks?

“Great,” Hank says.  “When things go to hell, you get Charles and David.  Cover them, keep them safe, get them to the hangar if you can.  Ideally, we evac with the Blackbird, but you’ll be able to find the tunnels if the flight option’s compromised.”

Erik stares at him.  He wastes precious seconds trying to decide whether or not the man is serious, and Hank starts to turn away.  He clearly thinks they’re done here.

“What?” Erik manages at last.

“Me, Logan, Alex and Sean,” Hank says.  “And you, now.  We’re the school’s emergency backup plan.  We’re the ones with the greatest offensive capability, and we know the mansion.  If it’s catastrophically compromised, you get your people and you get downstairs.  Scattering only makes us easier to pick off.  Someone will come for you if you can’t get to the plane.”

“And where does the plane go?” Erik wants to know.  The military grade, VTOL-capable, heavily shielded and recently invisible plane.  Of course that’s their escape plan.

“We have multiple safehouse options depending on which part of the government turns on us first,” Hank says.  “Charles knows about two of them.  He doesn’t know about the, uh, division of labor in the event of a full-scale armed invasion.  I’m pretty sure his backup plan is a lot darker than ours, so we need to keep it from coming to that.”

“Charles has a plan?” Erik repeats.  Charles can’t plan breakfast lately, let alone a tactical response.

“Well, insofar as killing every threat in range is a plan,” Hank says.  “Sure.  He has a great, fully workable, airtight plan.  One that will ensure both his destruction and our permanent place on the Most Wanted list.”

“Covers a lot of bases,” Logan offers.  He’s opened his eyes, but he’s watching one of the television screens when he adds, “It’s effective, I’ll give him that.”

“That isn’t his plan,” Erik says.  It’s absurd.  It’s so far from the Charles he knows that it hardly exists in the same sentence with his name.  And it’s chillingly reminiscent of Charles’ confession last night: One life or a hundred, a thousand, a million.  What’s the difference?

“Oh, you’re right,” Hank says.  “I forgot, you’re the one who’s been here for the last ten years while I’ve had nothing to do with him.  You’d obviously know what he’s capable of.  Tell us his plan.”

Erik thought the plan was for everyone to get along so that none of this is necessary.  Charles does tend to build his plans on dreams--or he used to.  Hank’s point is well-taken, if condescendingly delivered.  Erik doesn’t know Charles anymore.  Perhaps he never really did.

“That’s what I thought,” Hank says.  “Cover him when they start shooting.  He’ll make it easier for you than for the rest of us, at least.”

Erik knows he shouldn’t ask, but he ignores the feeling of foreboding.  “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want to protect you,” Hank says.

The reasoning is fair, if painful, and Erik gives him a tight nod.  “Understood,” he says.  “I assume you’ve considered enlisting Peter in your contingency plan.”

This provokes another grunt from Logan, followed by the cryptic reply, “It’s come up.”

Hank doesn’t look at him.  “The professor had strict rules about conscripting children.”

“He’s hardly a child,” Erik says.

At the same time, Logan adds, “He’d have a choice.”

“You used him to break into the Pentagon,” Erik points out.  “Now emergency messenger duty is too much?”

“He’ll do it anyway,” Logan says.

It’s an argument they’ve had before, then.  He doesn’t get to see how it ends, because this time Charles has come to the door in person to stare pointedly at Erik.  “Excuse me,” he says.  “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but Erik, there’s someone you should meet.”

Another new student, Erik thinks.  Or two.  His guess that they’re mutants must have been correct.  “Who?” he says, stepping around Hank.  “Friends of yours?”

“No,” Charles says oddly.  “Yours.”  He rolls back from the door and turns, adding silently, It’s your daughter, Erik.

Erik’s first thought is for Wanda.  “Is she all right?” he demands.  “What’s wrong?”

“Not Wanda,” Charles says softly.  Anya’s here.  She arrived in Virginia five years ago and she’s been staying with the Maximoffs ever since.  She and Magda decided not to tell you.

“That isn’t funny,” Erik snarls.

It isn’t a joke, Charles tells him.  I’ll not lie; she doesn’t want to see you.  But Magda’s gone missing and she’s worried.

If Charles isn’t lying, then he’s been tricked.  If he hasn’t been tricked, Magda’s been tricked.  The only reason someone would pretend to be Erik’s first-born daughter is to get to him, and the chance that such a person would confront him here, in a fortified mansion surrounded by mutants who mostly don’t wish him dead, is vanishingly small.

If it isn’t a trick, then Anya is alive and it’s Erik’s job to keep her that way.  

“Missing since when,” Erik says, pacing Charles’ wheelchair through the foyer.  “Did she make it to Virginia last night?”

There’s only the briefest hesitation before Charles says, “They think so.  The door was unlocked when they got home, but Magda wasn’t there.”

“They?” Erik repeats.

“Ah, yes,” Charles says, leading him into the TV room.  Two young women have dishes on the couch between them, but they’re staring at the door.  “This is… these are our guests,” he says.  “They came straight here--hitchhiking, which I can’t really approve, though it got the job done.”

“What time did you get home?” Erik wants to know.  “Is the door normally locked?  What makes you think Magda had been there?”

“Uh, sorry,” Charles says, frowning at him.  “This is--”

“Erik,” Erik says, before Charles can say “Max” or some other stupid thing.  “Lehnsherr.”

“Annie,” one of the women replies, narrowing her eyes at him.  “Maximoff.  This is Lorna.  What do you care what happened to my mom?”

“She’s my wife,” Erik snaps.

“Yeah, and?”  Annie glares at him, but there’s no rattle of metal.  Either she’s better at controlling it than he was or that’s not her power.

“Look,” Charles says, raising a hand and gesturing awkwardly between them.  “Erik is… very good at--well, finding people.  If you tell him what you know, I’m sure he’ll… do his best.”

“If Mom’s gone, it’s because of him,” Annie says.  “Getting him involved now isn’t going to help anything.”

“You think someone took her,” Erik says.

“Well, I would assume she left to get away from you,” Annie retorts.  “But she wouldn’t do that to us.  So yeah, someone took her.”

“She couldn’t have simply gotten… lost?” Charles asks.  “Or--stopped somewhere?  To see someone, maybe stayed overnight?”

“She told us she’d be home last night,” Annie says.  “She was going to be home by ten; we’d catch up on the twins and figure out what to do about Lorna’s school.  That was the plan.  She wasn’t there.  She isn’t here, and she didn’t call, so something’s wrong.”

“Wait,” Erik says.  Lorna’s green hair might not be dyed.  If she’s a mutant too, and Annie’s been helping her...  “What about Lorna’s school?”

Annie gives him a dismissive look.  “None of your business.  We always lock the house when we’re not there, so either someone broke in and didn’t steal anything, or Mom was there and someone made her leave without locking the door.”

“Or maybe she forgot,” Charles suggested.  “What if she went out to get something and got stuck somewhere?  How long did you wait for her?”

“She would have left a note,” Annie said.  “We’re not stupid, Professor Xavier.  We know how many people are watching us since Peter broke into the Pentagon.”

Well.  Charles is in his head without warning, and Erik tries not to look at him.  They are well-informed, I’ll give them that.

“The CIA took her,” Erik says aloud.  “It was a mistake to get involved with them.  Then and now.”

“They had the resources,” Charles says.  It sounds half-hearted at best.  “And we certainly haven’t sought them out since.”

“You’re harboring multiple government agents,” Erik reminds him.  “They shouldn’t be here.”

Charles gives him a wounded look.  “You can’t think Moira had anything to do with this.  Really, Erik.  No one is here because they have better choices.”

“She has other options,” Erik says.  “Having humans here compromises us all.  It was a mistake to let them in, and it’s a mistake to reveal our strength to them before we must.”

Charles frowns.  “What does that mean?”

“We shouldn’t have gone to Paris,” Erik says bluntly.  Charles must realize this by now.  He can’t afford to be seen with Erik, no matter where they are.  “It’s put the government onto you as well, and everyone here suffers by association.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Charles says.  “I’m not convinced Magda’s disappearance is the work of the government, in any case.  Perhaps we might make a… polite inquiry.  Of local enforcement.  Or even the FBI.”

Erik stares, peripherally aware that Annie and Lorna have no qualms about eating while they argue.  Practical of them.  “I hope you’re joking,” he tells Charles.

Charles only shrugs.  “They seemed very intent on rendering assistance yesterday.”

“For difficulties they caused!”  He doesn’t know why he bothers; Charles will refuse to see the danger even as the waters close over his head.  “The government is already involved; there’s no need to tip our hand.  Does she ever remove her ring?”

He directs the question at the couch, and Annie ignores him.  Lorna looks from her to Erik, and he raises his eyebrows impatiently.  Magda hasn’t taken it off since she’s been at the house, but apparently a lot of things are different at home.  “Well?  It’s a simple question.”

“No?” Lorna squeaks, looking at Annie again.  “I mean, I don’t think so?  I’ve never seen her without it?”

Only borderline useful, Erik thinks.  “Fine,” he says aloud.  “I’ll go to Virginia and I’ll bring her back.  Charles, I’ll need one of your cars.”  Blending in is harder than it used to be, and public transit increases the chance of being recognized exponentially.

“Yes, of course,” Charles says, with the kind of absent approval that should infuriate anyone with less wealth.  That being most of the world.  “But how do you plan to find her?”

“That ring is unique,” Erik says.  “And I know it very well.  I’ll feel it when I’m close.  Find the ring, find her.  It’s a simple as that.”

It isn’t as simple as that, but Charles doesn’t ask what happens when he finds her.  Nor does he ask how close is close, or where exactly Erik plans to search.  He’s so silent on the matter, in fact, that Erik assumes Charles means to set a tail on him the moment he leaves the mansion.

He’s three hours gone before he accepts that he’s alone, and he supposes Hank is right: Because he doesn’t want to protect you.

It should make him more cautious.  Charles’ protection is not insignificant, and Erik doesn’t delude himself into thinking he could have broken out of the Pentagon unassisted.  He certainly wouldn’t have lived as well as he has these past few weeks on his own.

The world has deteriorated in his absence.  People look at each other more suspiciously now.  Jew, commie, homo, mutant, hippie, freak.  The tone remains the same even as the litany grows longer.  He doesn’t belong to the time he’s in now, but he never has.  He’s lost nothing.

Time to start building a wall, Erik thinks, idling the engine while he stares at the house across the street.  The ring he made for Magda isn’t inside.  They’re going to need a mutant country if this futile insanity keeps up--he tried the sanctuary idea once, and it didn’t work out.  Besides, they’ll need their own laws, and independent recognition from world governments, if they’re going to have anything to offer their mutant brothers and sisters.

He should have seen the bullet coming.  He should have felt it, anticipated the trap, been prepared for it to spring.  He isn’t wearing armor.  He has no helmet, no schematics for plastic projectile weapons, and most of all, no telepath to watch his back.

He thinks Charles will be insufferably smug at this last.  Then devastated.  Then secretly relieved.  

In a moment that stretches into agony with fire burning through his veins, Erik knows they won’t try to hold him this time.  It isn’t worth the resources or the risk.  He’s already been convicted, and the world has irrevocable evidence that he’s still a threat.  It’s far more efficient to simply put him down.  

No one mourned him the first time he “died.”  This time will be no different.

Chapter 5

Alex has seen it before: soldiers faltering when their friends fall.  It’s not as common as he would have guessed, before the war and the front lines and everything they had to do to survive.  Most soldiers are great at prioritizing.  They save themselves now so they can save their friends later.

He figures that doesn’t account for telepathy, for the actual feeling of being in someone’s head when they’re hit.  Or maybe having a couple of Sentinels on the lawn just isn’t as terrifying as being under fire in the jungle.  It won’t be long now, with the cannons rattling as they power up and armed CIA agents pushing past Logan into the house.

Charles was keeping them back when Erik--well.  Something happened to Erik, and it’s obviously bad.  Alex didn’t know the professor could feel someone that far away without Cerebro, but Erik is always the exception.

“Hey!” Logan snaps.  He’s not talking to the agents.

“They have a warrant,” Alex says.  “There’s nothing we can do.”

“All right if I take pictures of the robots?” Michael the photographer asks, and Alex waves him toward the window.  The guy showed up without warning at lunch, but the professor said he’s telling the truth about CBNC sending him to get some establishing shots of the school.

“There’s plenty we can do,” Logan growls.  “What’s wrong with him?”

“You guys know there are Sentinels outside, right?”  Peter’s suddenly in the foyer with them, ignoring the dispersing agents as he frowns down at Charles.  “Are you okay?  You don’t look so great.  Hank says you were talking to him and then you stopped.  He’s evacuating everyone to the lower levels, which I’m pretty sure is part of his backup plan for not dying in the event of emergency, so I came to see what the emergency is.”

“Go back downstairs,” Charles mutters.  It's the first thing he's said since he put his hands to his head and gasped Erik’s name.  “Don't launch; Peter’s here with me.  Hang on.  I know, I see him.”

Alex looks at Logan, who's giving him a what the hell look.  Alex shrugs.  “I can take a Sentinel before it does much damage,” he says.  “But two will take longer, and they have a lot of weaponry.  Can you give them something to shoot at if they start firing?”

“Don't worry, Jean,” Charles says under his breath.  “We're going to be all right.  Hang on.  Discourage the children from using their powers.  Come back.”

“I can avoid a Sentinel,” Peter says.  “I mean, if you need a diversion.  They're big but they're not any faster than anyone else.”

“Stay out of the way, kid,” Logan growls.  He nods at Alex.  “Take out the cannons first, would you?  There’s gotta be enough of me left to stitch back together.”

“Uh, hey,” Michael calls from the window.  “Hey, problem!  There's a kid out there.  Is anyone else seeing this?”

“Come back,” Charles says, and the CIA agents start marching back into the foyer.

Shit, Alex thinks.  Charles is narrating what he’s doing in his head.  He isn’t just talking to people, either.  No way did the CIA stop what they were doing because he asked them to.

“David’s on the lawn,” Logan says tersely.  He’s standing next to Michael, but he’s looking back at Alex.  “I’m gonna go get him.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Alex says.  “I’ll get him.”

“No.”  The professor’s voice is louder now, and he’s definitely talking to them.  “Alex.  You’re a level 5.  The Sentinels will see you as a threat and respond accordingly.  Jean, darling, would you do me a tremendous favor?”

Alex assumes he’s thinking out loud again until he sees Jean step guiltily out of the professor’s study.  He has no idea how she got there.  “Yes,” she says, though her voice shakes.  “I’ll go.”

“You’re not going anywhere except back downstairs,” Logan tells her.  “Professor, tell her--”

“Stop talking, please,” Charles says quietly.  “Jean, go calmly and carefully.  I have control of the Sentinels; they won’t hurt you.”

“Can’t you just tell David to come back inside?” Alex demands.  “What’s he doing out there, anyway?”

“You can’t control Sentinels without the override code,” one of the CIA agents says.  Alex wasn’t paying attention when they introduced themselves, mostly because there were giant mutant-seeking robots landing on the lawn behind them.  “If anything happens to us, they’ll do what they were designed to do.”

“Ominous,” Charles murmurs.  “Tell me, what were they designed to do?  Hang on.  Tell her Jean’s with us; she’s fine.  Sean should stay where he is.”

Alex isn’t sure who he’s talking to, but he thinks “fine” is pretty generous.  Peter could pick up David a lot faster than Jean can, unless the professor thinks the Sentinels will register him as a threat too.  Don’t Sentinels think every mutant is a threat?  And how does the professor know his military classification?

“Peter,” Charles says.  “Go help Emma, please.  Wanda needs you.  Erik, hang on.”

Alex looks at Logan, who’s frozen in place.  Actually frozen, he realizes when Logan doesn’t move.  He looks around the foyer: Peter’s already gone, but the CIA agents are equally and unnaturally still.  Only he and Michael are still moving as Charles says softly, “Perhaps you should photograph this.”

Michael doesn’t answer, but he goes to the door and opens it, stepping confidently out and turning his camera on the Sentinels.

Not the Sentinels, Alex realizes. David and Jean, on the lawn in front of the Sentinels.  David is just standing there, staring straight up into a rotary cannon, while Jean puts a hand on his shoulder and tries to urge him away.  David doesn’t move.  The Sentinel doesn’t disarm.  

And in the doorway, a photographer for CBNC records it all.

“That’ll do,” Charles whispers.  “Come inside, please.  Hang on.  Listen to your brother; he’ll be fine.  I’ll make sure he’s fine.”

Professor, Alex thinks.  He’s not even sure he wants Charles to hear.  What are you doing?

When Charles turns that unblinking gaze on him, the chill he feels has nothing to do with the Sentinels outside.  “What’s necessary,” Charles says quietly.  “Go out to meet them, if you would.”

It’s the first rational thing he’s said, so Alex does it, reaching up to fix his dog tags as he goes.  Michael turns the camera on him too, but he doesn’t think anything of it.  He’s probably blocking the view of children Charles deliberately put in harm’s way for the sake of a photo op.

“You all right?” he asks Jean, glancing back at the Sentinels.  They still aren’t moving.  The professor shouldn’t be able to control a robot--that’s more Erik’s thing--but somehow he must be doing it.

“We’re fine,” Jean says.  “He gave me the code, but I didn’t need it.  They’re not supposed to fire without orders from one of the agents.”

David doesn’t answer but he isn’t crying and he is a telepath, so Alex figures he can communicate if he needs to.  Jean’s words don’t register until they’re back inside and everyone is talking at once.  Most of the agents are agreeing that they should leave, while Logan is bracing the door so he can watch the lawn and the foyer at the same time.

“You okay?” he mutters as Alex shepherds them through the door.  Michael is trailing behind, but Logan watches him no less carefully.

“I think so,” Alex says, staring at the agents talking over each other in the foyer.  Peter’s back, standing behind the professor with his arms folded.  “You?”

“I don’t like it,” Logan says bluntly.  “But he ain’t himself, and I know how it feels to lose control.”

Alex hears one of the agents say that David’s already been reunited with his parent.  Another says he’s where he belongs.  It’s not clear whether that's supposed to be good or bad, but when Charles opens his mouth there’s total silence.

“I’m afraid you’ve made a terrible mistake,” he says.  “Your senior agent may stay, of course.  To address the situation.  The rest of you will go.”

They all seem to agree on this: casual, a little sheepish, and very inevitable.  When Alex thinks about it, it’s more creepy than the stillness was.  He tries not to think about it.  

“Did you say he gave you the code?” Logan asks Jean.  

Alex turns to her in surprise.

“Yes,” she says.  “The agents can’t stop thinking about it.”

None of the agents seem to hear her, or pay any attention to her as they pass.  Alex guesses the professor kept them from ordering the Sentinels around the same way he’s making her invisible.  It seems like a pretty indirect kind of “control” to Alex, but hopefully the robots will leave as decisively as they came.

They don’t leave.  From what he hears Charles muttering, probably to Hank, he’s planning to keep the Sentinels themselves indefinitely.  Alex thinks that’s a terrible idea, but there are so many bad ideas floating around right now that it’s hard to keep track: the senior agent is getting a tour guide, Peter has been sent to sound the all clear, and the photographer wants to put the pictures he took on the air.

“I know you said no students,” he’s telling Charles.  “But this is exactly what you want: proof that the school is full of children, not fugitives.  They need to see who they’re attacking with these  Sentinels.  There’s no Magneto here.”

Alex winces, but Charles is steady and calm when he replies, “We’ll need to see the pictures first, but I can sign for David.  You’ll have to ask Jean yourself.  If she agrees, I’ll ask her mother to allow it.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”  Logan sounds skeptical.  “Going public is one thing.  Showing people what the kids look like is another.”

“We’ve hidden long enough,” Charles says, but he’s far away and distracted.  No one will get anywhere with him right now, and Alex doesn’t know why they’re trying.

Oh, right, he thinks.  Because the world doesn’t stop just because Erik Lehnsherr does something stupid.  Not that anyone would know it with the way things are going lately.

“Hey.”  Hank’s voice is low and unexpectedly welcome in his ear.  “You, uh.  You all right?”

Alex twists, almost reaching out to clasp his hand, slap him on the shoulder, maybe pull him into a hug before he remembers where he is.  It’s just Hank, and no one was shooting.  Everything’s fine.  They’re all fine.

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly, clenching his fingers into a fist instead.  “You?”

“The kids are pretty freaked out,” Hank says.  “On the other hand, we all sheltered in one place for an extended period of time without anyone incapacitating anyone else.  I mean, Wanda came close, and Moira is remarkably proficient in aikido, but overall it could have been worse.”

“Aikido, huh?”  Alex doesn’t remember starting to smile, but he’s definitely doing it.  “I think you had more fun than we did.”

“Yeah.”  Hank is staring at the professor now.  “How is he?”

“He’s… broadcasting?” Alex says.  “I mean, he’s saying the stuff he’s thinking.  To you and--and everyone, I guess.  He keeps telling Erik to hang on.”

Hank looks at him sharply.  “He’s talking to Erik?”

It sucks to disappoint him, but Alex shakes his head no.  “He says the same thing over and over again.  Not the way he was talking to you or Jean or whatever.  I don’t think Erik’s talking back.”

Hank lowers his voice when he asks, “Any idea what happened?”

Alex just shakes his head again.

Hank leans in like he’s passing by, but otherwise he hardly moves when he whispers, “God help us if he’s dead.”

Alex watches Charles grimace, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple while he ignores the rest of the room, and he thinks, No fucking kidding.

Chapter 6

If he’s dead, Charles thinks, and he can’t push past it.  God help us if he’s dead.  It sticks in his mind and he’s not even sure it’s his thought.  For a moment that stretches out into nothing, he can’t find Hank.  He can’t hear Moira or Wanda or even Emma.  

All he knows is the all-consuming fear that Erik will never answer him again.

Xavier.  Emma’s mind is sharp enough to stop the sudden spin, and he opens his eyes with a gasp.  What am I supposed to do with a brainwashed CIA agent?

“Keep him occupied,” Charles says.  “Don’t let him think about the Sentinels.”

What if he’s dead? Wanda’s asking.  If he’s dead you won’t be able to find him.  They won’t kill Mom but they’ll kill him.  You think they’ll kill him.

“They won’t,” Charles tells her.  “I’d know.  I’d be very angry.  David, you don’t mind having your picture in the news, do you?”

I want my mum to see me.  It's not as though David was on the lawn by accident.  He knows as well as any telepath what adults see when a child stands in front of a weapon.  Make sure they say where the school is.

“Hang on,” Charles murmurs.  He has to get to Erik.

“Professor,” Hank’s voice says.  The word comes from too far away, but it’s gentle and close when he adds, “Charles, hey.  Are you with us?”

“I need to use Cerebro.”  He tries to look at the room and he can’t; he can only see the school, all of it, with everyone talking at once.  “I can’t take you away from this.”

He has to if he wants to come back.  He has no ability to anchor himself lately; he won’t be able to use Cerebro without either Hank or Alex.  It won’t stop him from trying.

“It’s fine,” Hank says, and there’s an echo of the fear again: What if he’s dead?  What do we do if he’s dead?  “Alex, can you--”

You can’t take Hank, Emma says sharply.  They need at least one of you.

“Sure, yeah,” Alex is saying.  “Uh, Peter.  Can you get Sean for me?  Jean, can you give us that Sentinel code you were going to use?”

“Tango two four alpha niner,” she replies immediately.  “It transfers command to whoever's talking.”

“Jean!”  Elaine’s voice makes Charles hesitate--she's relieved and worried and angry all at once--but Moira is snapping at him for stealing Emma and Peter has already gotten to Sean.  He can’t feel Erik anywhere.

“Can you keep Warren and Peter out of trouble long enough to scout the grounds?” Alex is asking Logan.  “Sean and I will give everyone else a crash course in Sentinel mechanics.  Mrs. Grey--”

“You said it would be safe!” she accuses him, accuses them all as she squeezes Jean tight in her arms.  “There are robots on the lawn!”

“Yeah,” Alex says.  He’s calm and firm and he knows what it means to be under fire.  “Our lawn, where we can shut them down and turn them back while the kids stay out of sight.  Not your lawn.  Not somewhere they can bully you into doing whatever they want.”

“They’re still out there,” Elaine protests, but she loosens her grip on Jean when she squirms.

“They’ve been deactivated,” Alex tells her, and then Sara and Sean and Scott are clustering around them while Moira and Dani follow the rest of the children into the foyer.  So close and so confusing all at once.  So alarmed when they see what’s behind Logan on the lawn.

Charles, Hank thinks.  His mind is familiar and warm in the whirl of an oncoming attack.  His steady hand covering Charles’ fingers makes the fire of future Sentinels retreat, becoming less substantive in front of his eyes.  Come back.

Come back to me, Erik said.

“Hang on,” Charles whispers.

“You think you can find Erik with Cerebro?” Hank asks, just as quietly.

He’s thinking out loud.  He didn’t realize until Hank whispered back at him, but things that are supposed to be in his head clearly aren’t staying there.  I have to, he thinks, careful not to open his mouth.  There’s no way to get there in time.

What happened? Hank wants to know.

He hates that he doesn’t know himself, that he wasn’t paying attention, that he didn’t insist Erik take someone with him on his hasty and poorly planned rescue mission.  Erik can’t go to the grocery store alone, much less to the family home outside Washington, D.C.  He’s a wanted man, traveling now without Azazel, without protection or escape.  Without Charles.

If only he hadn’t had such a sulk over that ring, Charles thinks bitterly.  Of course Erik cares about it.  Of course it means something to him.  It’s a symbol of his promise to a childhood friend, fellow survivor, and one-time love of his life.

Charles is so afraid to be another one-time love that he let Erik go, unaccompanied and unprepared, straight into an obvious trap.

Someone was waiting for him, he says.  He got that much from the combination of shock and resignation.  I think he made it as far as the Maximoff house.  His mind touched mine, like--like it was dying, like he thought he was dying.  And now it's gone.  I can’t find any sign of him.

That isn't what Hank wanted to hear.  Can you usually hear him from so far away?

“No,” Charles mutters.  Wouldn't that be a handy trick, to be able to follow Erik’s mind anywhere in the world.  “He's entirely gone.”

He feels Hank squeeze his shoulder this time.  “Then let's go find him,” he says quietly.  “Alex has things under control.”

Alex won't know to talk to Adele, Charles thinks, but Logan has found Selene and Cam’s staff is going on as though nothing is wrong.  Alex is talking to Michael while Sean and Moira urge the children toward Hank’s classroom.  It's Dani who’s comforting Elaine, and he thinks, not for the first time, that the school should have a better parent-teacher program.

“Remind me to talk to you about contingency planning,” he murmurs.

“Okay,” Hank agrees.  “Can you move?”

“Yes,” Charles says, but he can't.  “No.  I--”

Hank’s focus shifts, sliding easy like water just under his perception.  It’s disconcerting but gentle, the way Hank has always believed he isn’t.  The foyer strengthens around them: solid structure and bright light, the chill from the door and a drop in pressure before the weather changes for the worse.  Charles can see the room now, can sense it the way Hank does, more real than the rest of the school.

He draws in a breath, hands clenching on the arms of his chair.  Yes, he thinks.  Releasing his grip carefully, he fumbles for the wheel rims.  They’re smooth at his fingertips, and the chair responds the way he expects it to.  Thank you, yes.  I don’t know what came over me.

Hank felt his momentary panic the same way he knows the underlying horror of Erik’s absence.  He doesn’t take his hand off of Charles’ shoulder until he asks, “Okay?”

Charles nods.  “Thank you,” he murmurs.  Emma has given the senior CIA agent a textbook on genetics to read, which should be funnier than it is.  He can feel Warren in the air outside, and glimpses of Peter’s interest when he slows down long enough to make an impression.  Illyana is distracting Wanda, which is a blessing, but Jean is paying far too much attention to him and Hank.  Mind your teachers, Jean.

I am, she replies without hesitation.

Your other teachers, he says.  She’s watching him, and David is watching her.  If having Eva and Wanda around was a challenge, Jean and David are downright terrifying.  How much of what they learn about telepathy will come from him?  He’s no good role model for anything these days, least of all a power he can barely control himself.

Her attention is diverted by Alex, then Dani and her mother, and finally split between the Sentinel lecture and David’s interest in Wanda’s mostly contained power.  She’s transmuting things by accident, Charles thinks.  Small things that change back as soon as she notices, but it’s amusing her classmates more than alarming them.  Alex and Sean are ignoring it, so it’s probably fine.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Hank asks, when they stand outside a door that only opens for the two of them, Alex, and Logan.  They should add Sean again, Charles thinks.  If he’s going to stay on.

No, he says aloud.  Maybe aloud.  Things are still a bit muddled, but Erik is on the other side of this door.  You’ll need to stay here so I can find my way back.

When the door opens for them, he rolls forward without waiting for Hank.  His wheels glide smoothly over the torn walkway, the imperfect repair only a visible scar on a structurally perfect surface.  Cerebro calls to him.

Professor, Hank thinks.  Loudly.  Louder still as the machine powers up.  Erik will lash out.  No matter what’s happened.  You need to be the one who steps back, who thinks.  Who plans.

“Yes, of course,” Charles says.  Of course he will.  Not least because Hank is talking as though Erik is still alive, so Charles will agree with whatever he says.  Getting to Erik is everything.

He feels his thoughts expand, bursting outward as Cerebro reaches in, and for a fraction of a second the thought Hank doesn’t mean him to hear echoes interminably in his brain.  God help us.

Then he’s gone.  The dizzying swirl of minds is bright and vibrant and cacophonous, but he knows where he's going.  He knows who he's looking for.  He reaches as far and as fast as he can--

He knows something's wrong before he opens his eyes.  Cerebro doesn't feel like this.  It's never quiet, never static.  

He can't open his eyes.  Hank, he thinks.  Then, Erik.  He's frozen, poised on the edge of darkness, and he hears nothing.

Professor.  Charles!

Hank’s voice comes from a great distance, and Charles grasps desperately for his thoughts.  The crush of minds around him is weird and distorted, like looking through ancient glass.  It’s an untranslatable roar that rejects every effort to match words to minds, or minds to people.

And then it’s gone again.  He’s alone in the dark and stillness.  Trapped.

Breathing, he realizes.  He can feel his heart pounding, a silent flood of reassurance.  He isn’t lost.  He isn’t found, either, but at least there’s something to find.  He’s not a mind adrift in the abyss, somehow gone into the cracks between souls.

He still can’t open his eyes.  He can’t move, either, but he can breathe, so he concentrates on that.  He tries to slow the erratic rush of air into something tidal, and he thinks it might be working.  It hurts.  It hurts his chest and his bones and throat and his skin, but he can feel that.  He can feel the flow of air.

Then he can feel the warm blossom of someone else’s breath, and he goes rigid because he can’t--there’s someone there and he can’t--he’s stiff, that’s his body, he’s a real person and there’s another real person next to him but he can’t hear their thoughts.

“Max,” the breath whispers.  “Please don’t try to move, don’t break anything, the straitjacket is supposed to interfere with your powers and there’s something strange about this room.  It isn’t you.  There’s nothing wrong with you.  I’ll get you out of here, just don’t crush me, okay?”

It’s German, Charles thinks.  She’s speaking in German.

He doesn’t know German.  He should, of course; he should have learned it, but why bother when he can understand everything Erik says?  He’s actually terrible at languages, not that anyone would guess.  They’re bloody hard to learn, given that anyone he might practice with already knows them.

There are fingers on his skin, and he’s so grateful to feel his face that he doesn’t question it.  He’s breathing faster.  He can feel his own fingers, now, but they’re sluggish and numb and every bit as painful as everything else.

“Professor?”

Charles sits up with a gasp.  Jean is staring at him.  He’s on a bench, a table, the room is blindingly white and he’s sitting on someone.  He scrambles off of the body under his, almost falling into David, and there’s Magda on the other side of the table with her hand on Erik’s cheek and her forehead pressed against his.

He reaches out, desperate to touch, to feel Erik with his own senses.

His hand goes right through Erik’s body.

Of course it does.  He’s not really here.  He glances at David, then Jean, torn between relief and confusion.  “What are you--why are you… here, exactly?”

“We heard Dr. McCoy scream,” Jean says matter-of-factly.  “David made him let us in.”

“I thought Cerebro just found people,” David says.  “I didn’t know it let you be them.”

“No, it--”  David will know if he lies, and Charles doesn’t have time.  Magda is undoing Erik’s restraints, and she’s going to need help.  He still has no idea what’s on the other side of that door.  

“The scope of Cerebro is partially dependent on the person inside,” Charles says instead.  “It works differently depending on who’s using it.  Can you hear what’s happening outside this room?”

“Yes,” Jean says, and David echoes her.  

“Splendid,” Charles says, only it’s not.  He should be able to do this.  He shouldn’t have to use children who followed him into a machine they know nothing about for sheer curiosity.  “What happens if they make a run for it?”

“They’re not being guarded,” Jean offers.  “There aren’t any people for three floors in either direction.  Not even cameras.”

“This would be a really good time to wake up,” Magda is murmuring to Erik.  “I mean, not if you go crazy and start destroying things, but we’ll be easier to catch if I’m pushing you on a stretcher.”

“I can understand that,” Charles says aloud.  He can understand Magda, which means his powers aren’t completely offline.  Even from inside Erik’s body, he should be able to see Jean and David.  “Are either of you in danger?  Can you talk to Hank?  Dr. McCoy?”

“He’s not very happy with us,” David says.

“I imagine not,” Charles agrees.  “You can hear him, then?”

“Sure,” Jean says.  “He's telling you we’re in Cerebro with you.  Which is pretty obvious, really.”

It's the least respectful thing he's heard Jean say, and he might smile if the situation were different.  “He doesn't know that,” Charles says.  “Would you let him know we’re all right, and that we plan to help Magda get Erik out?”

“Is that Magda?” David asks.  “Is she his wife?  Are you friends?”

“I told him,” Jean reports.  “He wants to know, how’s Erik, and can you get back?”

“Yes, she’s his wife,” Charles says.  “And Erik’s… unconscious, it seems.  I’ll see if I can--wake him up.”

“How are you going to do that?”  David is watching when he closes his eyes, but Charles doesn’t have any answers for him.  He can’t wake Erik up, of course.  Whatever they’ve done to him, he’s too far gone for mental suggestion to reach.

He tries to settle into Erik’s body instead, to make it his.  He’s done it more with Erik than anyone else.  He's rarely done it with a body so compromised.  They’ve clearly done more to Erik than knock him out and restrain him, but Charles can’t assess him from the outside.

When he drags his eyes open, scratchy and painfully slow, Magda is staring down at him.

Chapter 7

He’s falling.

He jerks violently and finds himself restrained, which is worse than the vertigo and he lashes out instinctively: furious and helpless and still falling.  There’s no ground beneath him, nothing to hold onto but he tries, he tries desperately to pull something, anything into reach.  They’ll have drugged him again, but if he’s being moved there might be metal nearby--

Erik.  The voice in his head is searingly familiar.  It presses down on his thoughts and his mind like the judgment of divinity.  Please, calm yourself.  We’re trying to rescue you.

Charles, he thinks.  He strains after that voice, those words, the dream of something long shattered.  Charles!

Oh, my friend.  With the phrase comes a frightening flash of something apocalyptic and horrifying, and for a moment the delusion threatens to destroy him.  How long has it been?  How far gone is he that he hides in the faded daydreams of younger days?

Darling, Charles’ voice says.  He’s firm and forceful and… holding onto one of Erik’s arms?  It isn’t a dream.  You’re not in prison; you’ve been staying at the house and you went looking for Magda.  Do you remember?

There’s someone under each arm, and they’re moving--he’s moving, he’s staggering along with no idea which way is up or down.  Down should be under his feet, but all he can feel is pain and dizziness.  He can’t possibly be standing.  He definitely isn’t still.

Sorry, Charles says.  We haven’t got much time; we couldn’t wait for you to wake up.  I’m helping move you along.  Very sorry for the imposition.

Erik clenches his fists, feeling hands and shoulders under his.  His feet are hitting something--the floor?--and he doesn’t remember lifting them but they’re falling, again and again.  “The hell,” he says, or tries to.  Even to his ears, it sounds like an indecipherable rasp.

“Stop pulling,” another voice hisses.  It’s almost as familiar as Charles’, and he’s certainly dreaming, he’s manufactured this to counter the burning horror he sees whenever the vision slips.

That’s me too, I’m afraid.  Charles sounds worried, but he would, wouldn’t he?  Erik’s mind would be able to rationalize any flaws.  Cerebro is fighting me.  That’s Logan’s future, not ours.  Try to ignore it; I do.

“Charles!”  It’s Raven’s voice again, and Charles doesn’t even seem surprised.

She thinks I should be better at walking in your body, he says.  If you could tell her that you’re partially paralyzed right now with almost zero proprioception, I’d appreciate it.

Erik thinks his hallucinations should be able to talk to each other without his intervention.  

Charles, if it is Charles, continues on without pause.  You have no directional sense without your powers; did you know that?  Of course you knew that.  Also, before you open your eyes--

Erik opens his eyes.  This turns out to be a tremendous mistake.  Everything is bright and loud and terrifyingly unreal, much the way it is for Charles after he’s been without his telepathy.  It’s all the hindrance of sensory overload with none of the benefits, and he forces himself to take in as much as possible.

You may be able to see the children, Charles is thinking.  Don’t be alarmed, they’re not really here.  That’s Magda on your left and Raven on your right.  Or Mystique, if she prefers.  Fortunately she can’t hear me getting it wrong on purpose.

You’re a terrible person, Erik thinks.

Yes!  Charles sounds delighted.  I am!  Just awful, I’m afraid; I shouldn’t be allowed out.  But then, I’m not really out, so I suppose there’s that.

You’re scattered, Erik thinks, more deliberately this time.  It’s probably unnecessary.  Charles is clearly in his head; he knows everything Erik knows.  But the focus of it is calming.

Well, I thought you were dead.  The explanation is blunt and unapologetic, and Charles adds, I found the idea rather upsetting.  Cerebro seems to have responded by tossing me here with you and refusing to bring me back.

You’re stuck? Erik thinks.  Of course he is; Erik wouldn't create a coping mechanism that could leave him.

It’s rather sweet that you think you’ve invented me to save yourself, Charles says.  I’ll remind you of that later.  In the meantime, be a love and open this door, will you?

He can’t see anything but white and silver.  What door?

May I? Charles asks, and he can feel something moving under his hand, the world goes wild and unpredictable again and he can’t stop the fall.  He grabs for anything he can and he doesn’t move, he can’t feel himself moving.  He’s paralyzed, Charles said.

Bugger, Charles mutters in his head.  What have they done to you?

“What door,” Erik growls, and this time he thinks it at least sounds like two different words.

“Charles?”  Raven sounds… odd, and why is she even asking?  Why doesn’t Charles speak directly to her, the way he does to Erik?  He’s not still holding onto that old promise, is he?

“He says Erik can’t move on his own,” Magda’s voice says.  “He’s disoriented; there’s something interfering with his sense of direction and he still can’t use his powers intentionally.”

“Well, he’s using them plenty by accident,” Raven grumbles.  “Look, you take him for a minute.  I’ll get the door.”

“Can she shapeshift into a key?” a young voice wants to know.

I don’t know, Charles thinks.  But I’m afraid a key won’t work on that door any longer.  Mystique’s very strong, though.  She’ll get it open.

The bang and clatter that follows keeps Erik from asking who else is with them, but Charles told him, didn’t he?  The children, he said.  There are children with them.  That sounded like... David?

Someone is pulling on him again, and he hears another child’s voice say, “Hank wants to know what’s happening.”

Tell him we’re still working our way out of the building, Charles says.  Raven’s kindly cleared the lower levels, but Erik is only semi-conscious and he's convinced he’s hallucinating.

That’s Jean, Erik thinks.

Yes, very good.  Charles doesn’t sound as delighted this time, but he’s clearly pleased that Erik’s making an effort.  She and David snuck into Cerebro.

“Charles says to stop defacing government property,” Magda says.

“Charles can piss off,” Raven’s voice replies.  “Unless he wants to be implicated in Erik’s rescue, I’m writing ‘Free Magneto’ on every available surface.”

Stop talking to Magda without letting me hear you, Erik says.

Erik wants to hear what I’m saying to you, Charles thinks instantly.  The world warps around his words, around the feeling of falling and floating, around the faraway sense of another mind.

“Fine,” Magda says.  “I don’t care.”

“Hank wants to know if Raven’s getaway car has tinted windows,” Jean reports.  “He says there are reporters watching the gate, and the police can’t do anything because the street is public property.”

“Door,” Raven says shortly, and Erik can feel himself being pushed.  At Magda, presumably, given the abrupt shift and the ringing crash that follows.  Raven must be knocking down the doors as they go.

“She can kick really hard,” David remarks.

Yes, she can, Charles agrees.  Magda, it’s possible that getting back onto the grounds may pose a publicity problem.

“Can we get out of here before you start talking about publicity?” Magda says.

“What about publicity?” Raven wants to know.  “Here.  Hold this.”

Erik can see blue, suddenly, and a flash of red.  The sound of a spray can, he thinks.  Then Jean is looking him right in the eye and he jerks backwards, feeling Magda overbalance before he catches himself.  Only it isn’t him.  He’s standing, he’s holding onto her, and it’s Charles holding him up.

“You’re only destroying things that aren’t theirs,” Jean says nonsensically.

Sorry, Charles says, yet again.  Can you see yet?  You’re balancing better.  I wish I knew what was wrong with your powers.

“Okay,” Raven says.  “There should be a car outside.”  Erik thinks her blue form wavers, and then it’s a man’s voice saying, “Put your hands behind your backs.  Charles, can you walk like you’re cuffed?”

Magda, Charles thinks.  Please tell her she won’t be able to just drive up to the house.  There are news crews watching the street, and Erik may draw attention before we even get there.  If he’s--you know.

“He says you can’t just drive up to the house; people are watching,” Magda says.  She sounds impatient, though with whom it’s hard to tell.  “And if we keep melting every metal object we pass, we’ll have problems before we make it a mile down the road.”

“He’s only melting the building,” Jean says.  “The spray can is fine.  Magda’s jewelry is fine.”

“We’re only going around the corner,” the man’s voice says.  Something howls through the enclosed space--stairwell, Erik thinks--and it’s an alarm, finally, why haven’t there been any alarms?

“Door,” the man’s voice says, and there’s a crash.  “Keep your heads down, go, move!”

He’s falling again, except this time he can feel the street, he can see the blur of gray and the careening light as he’s shoved unceremoniously into the back of a car.  He can feel the seat, can feel a hand clutching his, he squeezes his eyes shut and it doesn’t help.  Gravity is completely out of control.

Hang on, Charles thinks, far off and fading, but it sounds familiar somehow.

It’s the last thing he hears until there’s Magda’s voice, incomprehensible in the darkness, but he listens to it for a long time.  He doesn’t know what she’s saying.  He doesn’t know where he is.  He can’t feel anything, but it’s a relief, really.  Not having the pain.

When he realizes that Charles is gone, he also realizes that Charles was there.  That was actually Charles in his head.  Which means that Charles knows what happened to him.  That’s good.  That will help him decide who to trust.  Erik hopes it’s no one.

“Boring road signs,” Magda is saying, and it’s the first thing he’s understood since he became aware of her talking.  Then it’s gone into incoherence again.

“I wish you’d told me about Anya,” he mumbles.  It sounds perfectly clear in his mind.

He feels her hand clench on his, hard and strong against the spinning of his head.  “I wish you’d done more than leave a note,” she says.  He can’t tell if it’s really her or just his imagination.

The next thing he knows is water.  Water and horrible, dizzying pain.  

“Jesus,” someone says in his ear.  “You think this is a good idea why?”

“It’ll get the dust off of him,” someone else says.  Not human.  Not the enemy.  

He knows that voice, he knows both voices, and he can feel the swirl of metal and resonance flooding the vacuum of his mind.  He fists his hands and makes it stop, all of it, just stop.  The disaster that would be uncontrolled magnetic field distortion is terrifying in his blindness.

“Erik?” Hank’s voice says carefully.

He tries to say yes.  He hears them, he understands.  The pain is a ringing ache in his bones but the metal is solid and true.  Above him, below him, all around him.  He can feel it again.

“Stay in the shower?” Alex’s voice asks.  “Or get him out?”

“We’ll have to take off his clothes,” Hank says.  “It’s probably all over his skin.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for Erik to understand that they mean him, and then Alex says, “If you say so.”

Erik forces his eyes open.  It’s white again, but it’s--he’s in a shower.  It’s the white of the shower.  He manages to put his hand on the wall, and he can feel that.  The tile under his hand… his feet pressing against the floor.

That’s down, he thinks, with a disproportionate amount of relief.

“Hey,” he hears Alex say.  From right next to him.  Alex is in the shower with him, holding him up, and Erik can’t even hate him for the indignity of it.  “How are you doing?”

He looks past them at the clean room Hank uses as a medical treatment facility and sees every metal object in the place hovering menacingly in the air.  He can feel the cupboards and drawers and storage bins in exactly the same state.  He takes a breath, trying to remember the feeling of Charles in his mind.

The metal objects settle, gently enough that they don’t clatter, even if the sound of them all touching down at once is alarming.  No one flinches.  Hank glances over his shoulder, curiously, and Alex squeezes Erik’s arm, which is strange.

“Where’s Charles?” Erik demands.  It shouldn’t be hard to understand.  The words sound exactly as he meant them to.

“He’s being interviewed,” Hank says.  “We’re pretending your car was part of the only news crew we let in, so the interview is your cover.”

“He’s fine,” Alex adds.

“Sure,” Hank agrees, “if you consider the combination of exhaustion, psychic burnout, and methamphetamines to be ‘fine,’ then yeah.  He’s doing great.”

Erik suspects Hank just described Charles’ entire university career.  Given that the man survived it even with copious amounts of hard liquor in him, he’s not overly worried.  

“Why am I in the shower?” he asks instead.  It must come out as clearly as he thinks it does because Alex starts to ease away from him.  Erik appreciates the confidence, but the shower wall isn’t particularly steadying.

“You’re covered with some sort of anti-magnetic dust,” Hank says.  “Magda says you were wearing a straitjacket?  I think it must have been in that; this is just the leftovers.  Charles says it made your powers go haywire.”

They’re washing it off, he realizes.  Charles is busy, so Hank and Alex are taking care of him.  He would think he was still hallucinating, except that this is too much of a stretch.  And his head won’t stop pounding.

“The professor said you were drugged, too,” Alex offers.  He’s mostly out of the shower now, water running off of him like he’s melting.  “How’s that going for you?”

The handheld showerhead is pointing away, white noise and comforting gurgle as it splashes down the drain.  Erik remembers them saying the dust is on his skin.  “I can wash the rest of it off myself,” he says.

“Great,” Alex says.  When he takes another step back Erik is on his own, his hand finding the grab bar and his powers reaching for something, anything to anchor him.

Hello, Charles says, so clearly he might as well be in the room with them.  You’re all right, then?  Did you say you got shot?  I couldn’t find any entrance or exit wound, but you were in rather a lot of pain at the time.

I was shot, Erik thinks, only just keeping himself from saying it out loud.  He remembers that.  Barely, and only now that Charles says it, but it’s there.

“We’ll leave some clothes by the door,” Hank is saying.  “Yell if you need something.  One of us will be outside until--for a while.”

You can’t feel it either, Charles thinks.  I don’t know if that’s troubling or reassuring.  I expect one of us would have noticed if you were bleeding, at least.

He isn’t letting Hank or Alex undress him, in any case.  He can stand.  He’ll find the bullet himself if there is one.  “Thank you,” Erik says aloud.  It’s perhaps less than they deserve, but it’s all they’re getting.

Pay attention to your interview, he tells Charles silently.

It’s only after all the voices have quieted that he remembers he should have asked about Magda.

Chapter 8

Sean couldn’t care less what happens to Erik.  But Moira cares what happens to Erik’s wife, and Sean really doesn’t want Erik to kill Moira in a delusional rage, so he offers to meet their car on the condition that Moira doesn’t.  Alex goes to open the gate, and Charles is being interviewed by Trish, so it's just him and Hank in the garage when the van rolls in.

It's weird to see Mystique climb out the driver’s door, but it's weirder to see her in a white sundress.  “You're wearing clothes,” Sean blurts out.  Since when does Mystique wear clothes?  Moira and Greg tracked her all over the world, and she’s been blue and nude since… well, since she was here.

“Hey,” she says, slamming the door behind her.  Her gaze skips right over him and settles on Hank.  “I’m sorry, Beast.  About what happened, last time.”

Hank just stares back at her.  “My name is Hank,” he says.  He doesn’t look like it’s open for discussion.  Sean wonders if Alex is the only one allowed to call him Beast now, or if Mystique is just the only one who isn’t.

She doesn’t look happy about it, but she doesn’t argue.  Which used to be pretty rare, actually.  “We should talk,” she tells him.

“I really don’t think we should,” Hank says.  “Thanks for driving Erik and Magda.  You probably have a lot of things to get back to.”

The back door opens, jerky as Magda shoves it and pulls back.  It looks like she has Erik leaning on her other side.  Unconscious, if they’re lucky.  Sean would be happy to make him that way if they’re not.

Magda is frowning out at them.  “I’m sure whatever you’re talking about is important,” she says.  “But I’m not going to be able to move him on my own.  Not gracefully, at least.”

Sean folds his arms.  “Don’t look at me,” he says.  “He’d leave me to die in a second. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Then why are you here?” Mystique snaps.  Apparently all of her niceness was used up on Hank, because she glares at him as she goes around to the other side of the van.

Sean shrugs.  “Checking on Magda,” he says.  “You were kidnapped first, right?  You need anything?  Meds, food, water?”

“I--”  She’s distracted by the door opening on the other side.  “What are you going to do with him?”

“Ask Hank,” Mystique says.  She pulls Erik out easily, and Magda scrambles out after him.  It’s debatable whether Mystique needs the help, but they each get an arm over their shoulders and it doesn’t look like Erik can support himself at all.  Unconscious, then.  Good.

“Hey,” Alex calls from the front of the garage.  He’s jogging toward them, but he isn’t even out of breath when he taps Magda on the shoulder and nods at Erik.  “Here, give him to me.  You must need a break.”

“We should get him to Medical,” Hank says.  “Can you carry him that far?”

“Have you met us?” Alex counters.  “Better question, you sure you want him around sharp metal objects right now?”

“Right now?” Hank echoes drily.  “Sure.  It’s when he wakes up that I’ll be worried.”

“Are you hurt?” Sean asks Magda, who’s rubbing her left hand.  “Do you want to get that looked at?”

“I want to see my children,” she says with a sigh.  “Your professor says they’re all here now.  Can you tell me where to find them?”

“I’ll take you upstairs,” Sean says, nodding at Hank.  Hank’s probably the one who has to figure out what’s wrong with Erik, so he'll go with Alex and Mystique.  “You sure you don’t want anything on the way?”

“The children first,” Magda says tiredly.  “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Sean says.  “And honestly, Moira sent me.  She would have come down herself, but I didn’t want her that close to Erik when he’s… you know.”

It makes Magda grimace.  “I know.  Believe me, I know.”

“They really don’t like each other,” Sean offers.  “She was always the one who held the professor back when Erik wanted him to do something crazy, so.  No love lost there.”

“Is that what it is?”  Magda glances back as they make their way toward the stairs.  Mystique parked as close to the elevator as she could, and Hank has the doors open for them now.  “I did wonder if there was… anyone else.  Your professor seems too fancy for someone like Erik.”

“He’s too fancy for any of us,” Sean says.  “But Mystique says he can drink a yard of ale, and I’ve heard him swear like you wouldn’t believe when he jams his fingers in the wheels.”

“Wait.”  Magda puts her hand out just as he reaches for the door.  “Can I ask you about the school?”

“Yeah, of course.”  Sean points at the door.  “Do you want to--?”

“In a minute,” she says, frowning.  “The twins need teachers.  I’m not enough, I’ve always known that.  I don’t know what they’re going through; how can I…”

“Hey,” Sean says, when she looks away.  “You’re pretty amazing.  You got out of that government building on your own, right?  I know Mystique; she didn’t stop to get you first.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve been targeted because of him,” Magda says, folding her arms.  “The twins always came for me.  I picked up some things along the way.”

“You’re amazing,” Sean repeats.  “And you got Erik out, too.  He doesn’t let just anyone rescue him, you know.”

She scoffs at that.  “He didn’t have much of a choice.”

“No,” Sean says, pointing at her.  “See, that’s what he wants us to think.  Everyone has a choice.  Even him.”

Magda shakes her head.  “Great,” she mutters.  “I still can’t teach the twins.  What if they end up like him?  Moira said to ask you about the school.”

“She probably thinks I’ll talk it up,” Sean says.  “She loves the school.

“I love the school,” he adds, when he thinks about it.  “But it hasn't reopened yet, and even when it does, everything depends on the professor.  He’s not the most reliable headmaster.”

“What about Hank?” Moira asks.  “Dr. McCoy?  He seems to know what he’s doing.”

“He does what the professor tells him to,” Sean says.  “And look, he’s brilliant.  They’re both brilliant.  But the professor’s world revolves around Erik.  As long as he's here, the school will always come second.  That’s just the way it is.”

“He wasn’t here before,” Magda says.

“Well, that’s the problem,” Sean agrees.  “If Erik isn’t here, the school might not matter at all.”

“He wants to stay,” Magda says with a sigh.  “Maybe they do depend on each other.”

“I guess,” Sean says.  “Like that Star Trek episode with the dog.  The Enemy Within, did you see that?  Erik’s the anger and the professor’s the compassion.  But you need both to make a whole person.”

“I saw it,” Magda says, surprising him.  “The dog dies.”

“Well, but the captain doesn’t,” Sean points out.  “And the dog would have died anyway, that was the whole point.  No one can live with only half their emotions.”

Magda’s expression twists.  “You’re saying they can’t live without each other.”

Sean shrugs.  “They’re not that great at it either way, really.  But since Erik’s come back we have a school again, so.  I guess we should let them try.”

“You think the school’s worth it?” Magda asks.

“I think right now there’s Sentinels on the lawn,” Sean says.  “But there’s also mutant kids showing off their powers in the TV room.  I wish I could have done that when I was a kid.”

“Do they learn anything, though,” Magda says.  “They could stay home and show off.  They do stay home and show off.”

“They’re gonna learn something no matter what,” Sean tells her.  “Me and Erik, we disagree on this, but I think you gotta teach ’em how to feel safe.  Maybe that’s learning how to control their powers, to use them or not use them when they need to.  Maybe it’s just not having to run anymore: getting to sit in a classroom and worry about math, instead of where their next meal is coming from.”

“How does the school even take them all?” she wants to know.  “It’s not free; it can’t be.  No one’s that rich.”

“It’s free for anyone who can’t pay,” Sean says.  “I dunno, Hank watches the people who do the books.  But I know some families pay tuition and some don’t.  That’s how it used to be, anyway.”

Magda lets her hand fall, finally, but Sean just waits by the door until she nods.  “Upstairs?” he asks, just to make sure.

“If it's where the children are,” she says.  “Thank you for--trying to explain.”

“Hey, whatever I can do,” he says.  “I'm surprised Peter hasn't--”

Peter’s waiting on the other side of the door, leaning against the side of the stairwell.  “Sounded like a private conversation,” he says.  “Hi Mom.”

“Peter,” she murmurs, reaching out to hug him.  He steps into it and wraps his arms around her, smiling at Sean over her shoulder.  “Are the girls all right?”

“They’re fine,” Peter says.  “What about you?  Are you all right?  Annie told us what happened.  We wanted to come after you but she said Dad went.  Not like he’s got a great track record of rescuing anyone.”

“I used your trick of confusing them so much they had to open the door,” Magda says, tipping her head against his before letting hm go.  “Professor Xavier and his sister helped get us the rest of the way.”

“No way, his sister?  Is she here?  I heard she’s blue; is she blue?  Did you see her shapeshift?”

“Yes,” Magda says.  “Yes, yes, yes.  Let’s go upstairs so I can see everyone and get something to eat.”

“Great,” Peter says.  “We had lasagna for dinner; there’s plenty left over.  Did Sean convince you to stay?  The professor wants you to teach; did he tell you that?  It’d be way cooler than that boring office job.”

Sean doesn’t mind following them up the stairs, but he can’t ignore that.  “You’re going to teach?” he asks.  “We definitely need you; Warren’s not ready to graduate yet.  No way can Hank and Alex and me teach a full college prep curriculum.  Seriously, we’ve tried.”

“My certification’s expired,” Magda says.  “And you have the professor.”

“He barely gets out of bed most days,” Sean says.  “He doesn’t count.  None of us were ever certified, anyway.  Plus you have recent experience.  Wanda’s great at everything but science.”

“She’s very smart,” Magda replies.

“Yeah, I know her parents,” Sean says.  “She gets that from you.”

“Also, there’s a news crew by the front door,” Peter interrupts.  “They’re interviewing the professor.  His study was probably too much of a disaster to use.  He says we can walk around them and talk and act normal as long as we don’t mention any fugitives who definitely don’t live here.”

All it really makes Sean want to do is yell Erik’s name as they come around the corner into the foyer.  He manages not to.  He even manages not to think about it so loudly that the professor stops what he’s doing to glare at him.  The man has a serious blind spot when it comes to Magneto.

“They’re in the TV room,” Sean says when Magda hesitates.  “At least, they were when I left.”

“Thank you,” Magda tells him.  “For everything, I mean.  The talking, and the listening, and… all of that.”

Sean’s pretty sure he didn’t do anything that useful.  Still, he isn’t going to turn down free gratitude.  “Anytime,” he says.  “I’m here for all of that.”

Wanda pokes her head out of the TV room, and Annie’s right behind her, and the Maximoff family reunion is a thing of beauty.  Sean can’t even be cynical about the news crew turning to follow it, because really.  Who wouldn’t want to see this?

Chapter 9

Emma doesn’t need to see this.  Magneto’s unexpectedly competent spawn and his not entirely useless wife are drawing the attention of a news crew she wants nothing to do with.  She has, in fact, stationed herself here in Xavier’s study for the express purpose of ensuring they have no idea she exists.

She can keep anyone walking by from noticing her.  She can’t keep a camera from recording her image if it turns in this direction accidentally.

The other problem with the family reunion happening out in the foyer is that it probably means Erik’s back, and this is the end of the line.  Xavier has gone to a not insignificant amount of trouble to secure both Erik’s release and his return.  Erik has so far kept his war from coming to the school, but he’s clearly doing it for one person and one person alone.

A month ago, Emma would have said that, barring his personal extraction of Magneto from detention, there was nothing Xavier could do to keep Erik from tearing the capitol apart once he finally escaped.  The fact that Xavier did personally extract him, for reasons still unknown, seems to have stayed his hand.  Will it be enough a second time?

Where will she go when it isn’t?

She takes another sip of Xavier’s expensive brandy while she watches the green-haired runaway join the Maximoffs in the foyer.  “Miss January” has fulfilled her obligation to her students, but the identity is irreparably compromised by her disappearance from their private school.  “Emma Frost” isn’t a name she means to use outside mutant circles for some time yet.  If ever.

That leaves her with the comfortable if dangerous choice of staying here, where she’s apparently welcome if only through benign neglect.  She gives it a week--two at the outside--before fight or flee are the school’s only options and the whole thing goes down in flames.  Then there’s the uncomfortable but safer choice of disappearing in the night, which only gets harder the longer she waits.  And finally, the inevitable probability of aligning with Magneto and Mystique again for the sake of staying alive.

Xavier is introducing Wanda to his reporter friend now: warmly, speaking of their first new student, and it’s sickening how charming and friendly they all look.  Wanda is shy despite knowing there’s not a person outside these walls who’d recognize her, and the reporter is falsely polite with both the camera and Wanda’s mother watching.  Xavier is using them all, which maybe they deserve but Emma thinks he’d be more sympathetic without the drugs in his system.

The kitchen staffer who steps quietly into the study doesn’t surprise her.  She takes another sip of brandy before she says, “Hello, Mystique.”

Fucking telepaths, Mystique thinks.  Her skin turns blue and the apron shifts into a white sundress: sleeveless and gauzy but falling well past her knees.  Certainly more modest than nothing, which is her usual attire.  Emma raises an eyebrow, but all Mystique says is, “You’re friendly today.”

“I’ve been drinking,” Emma points out.  “And you’re wearing my favorite color.”

Mystique rolls her eyes.  “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying myself,” Emma says.  “Did you have to bring Erik back?  I personally thought the school was better off without him.”

Mystique makes a face, strolling around the front of the desk and running her finger along the edge of the chessboard.  “Charles insisted.  You could come with us, you know; we’re breaking into government facilities and chasing mutant research.  We could use a telepath.”

“Most people could,” Emma agrees.  “What’s in it for me?”

“The chance to help your friends,” Mystique says, and for a second she sounds just like Xavier.

“I don’t have any friends,” Emma says.  “And don’t talk to me about the cause.  You know I don’t care.”

She feels the sudden barbed wire whip of Azazel’s consciousness close by.  He’s hard to read, so impatience is a stretch, but he doesn’t disappear instantly and Erik probably doesn’t know what time it is.  He’s in Medical, she thinks.  We’re in the study.

“You care about survival,” Mystique is saying when Azazel appears beside her.  She gives him an unimpressed look.  “Yes?”

“I care about survival,” Azazel agrees.  “Why is Magneto in the school’s medical facility?”

“He was shot outside of Washington,” Emma says, idly swirling the contents of her glass around.  “Mystique brought him back here.”

Azazel raises his eyebrows.  “Did you,” he says.

“What,” Mystique snaps.  “Charles wanted him here, and Erik wasn’t in any condition to object.”

Azazel looks equally unimpressed.  “Is he now?”

Emma sets her glass down and stands up, because this is a show she doesn’t want to miss.  “Let’s find out,” she says.  She holds out her hand to Azazel, who offers one to Mystique as well.  “Shall we?”

By all rights, Erik should be surprised by their arrival.  He isn’t, of course, even focused as he is on whatever he’s disassembling.  He’s dressed in one of the ridiculous gray track suits that everyone wears here, staring through a miniature storm of light and tiny metal pieces, and his gaze lands on them briefly before returning to it.

“I suppose this is an intervention,” he says.  “Azazel, I apologize for not meeting you.  I wasn’t aware of the time.”

“I understand you were shot,” Azazel says.  “What were you doing in Washington without me?”

“Magda went missing last night; I only found out this morning.”  Erik frowns at something in the metal cloud, the pieces glittering as the light moves to a new location.  “I couldn’t wait.”

“Well, you could have,” Mystique says.  “As it turns out, since she rescued herself.  And you, by the way.”

“Charles rescued me,” Erik tells the hovering metal.

Mystique huffs out a sound dangerously close to a snort.  “Of course he did,” she mutters.  “I remember watching him walk out of there with you all on his own.  When you’re done deluding yourself, care to tell us what you’re doing here?”

“I’m returning a favor.”  Erik is surprisingly calm, Emma thinks, for a man who’s needed someone to break him out of mutant-specific detention three times in as many weeks.  “Why?  Where would you have me be?”

“Away from Charles,” Mystique snaps.  “You said goodbye.  Make it stick this time.”

“I changed my mind,” Erik replies.  “As he’s changing his.”  He’s staring through the cloud at her again, and the look is as single-minded as if he’s not floating and aligning dozens of vectors simultaneously.  “He’s coming around.  He’ll be a powerful ally to our cause.”

“Until you’ve gotten everything you can from him,” Mystique retorts.  “Made him stronger and stronger until you decide he’s too powerful to exist anymore.  The way you did with me.”

Every tiny piece in Erik’s metal cloud condenses abruptly into a single point.  The light and magnifier settle on the counter, and when he lifts his hand the thing that remains drops onto his palm.  “The last thing you should be doing,” he says, keeping the modified bullet where they can see it, “is walking into Sentinel research facilities and talking to the people who will orchestrate our destruction.”

He closes his fingers and lets his hand fall.  “Yet you’ll leave here with nothing more than that warning.  You’ll go on… existing.  Until the humans figure out how to weaponize your power, and we all die.”

Emma doesn’t have to look at Azazel to know he has no idea what they’re talking about.  She does it anyway when he does, letting her expression return the favor.  Magneto tried to kill Mystique; they all know that.  What no one knows is why.

“You think killing me will turn Charles against your grand plan,” Mystique says.  “He’s not going to join you, Erik.  It’s not like you’ve never tried before.”

“No,” Erik says.  “I think it’s already too late.”  The chilling certainty in his tone is backlit by mental flashes of a burning world, and Emma frowns at him.  “But Charles still pretends it’s not, and I won’t disillusion him until it’s his life or theirs.”

“Killing for him won’t convince Charles of anything,” Mystique says.

“I won’t be the one doing the killing,” Erik says.  

“Excuse me,” Azazel interrupts.  “What are you talking about?”

For the first time, Erik looks surprised.  “You didn’t tell them?”

Mystique counters with a convincingly more incredulous expression.  “You didn’t tell them?”

“Tell us what?” Emma says impatiently.  She isn’t sure she wants to know, but she can’t make a decision without all of the information.  Whatever they have, at least.

“Charles and Hank received a message from the future,” Erik says.  “Trask Industries uses Mystique’s DNA to turn the Sentinels into self-directed mutant killing machines.  They start by eliminating mutants.  Then they move on to everyone else.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Mystique adds.  “That’s what Beast says.”

Erik doesn’t look worried, but he’s mentally unbalanced so Emma doesn’t put much stock in his emotions.  “We all have to die sometime,” he says.  Mystique gives him a sharp look, and peripherally Emma catches the thought that those are Xavier’s words.

“They received a message from the future,” Azazel says flatly.  “Is this a new mutation, then?  The ability to time travel?”

Erik is telling the truth, and Mystique already believes him.  Emma spares a glance for Azazel.  “You can teleport,” she points out.  “I suppose time traveling mutants had to appear eventually.”

“One would think sooner rather than later,” Azazel says.  “If they’re any good at it.”

She doesn’t bother to hide her smile.

“It’s not going to happen,” Mystique says.  “We changed the future. I’m not a prisoner of Trask Industries.”

“Yet you revisit their programs every chance you get,” Erik counters.  “Looking for what?  A chance to jumpstart the timeline?”

“I’m not going to hide,” Mystique says sharply.  “Unlike some people, I still think there's work to do.  So what if we all die?  We’re alive now, and I’m planning to stay that way as long as I can.”

“When the barricades start rising,” Erik says, two more bullet-shaped toys drawn in to circle his hand, “you’ll know where to find me.”

“With Charles?” Mystique retorts.

“With an army,” he tells her.  “You’ll all be welcome on the other side.”

“I’ll be there,” Azazel says.  He nods at Erik when their eyes meet.  “You will not stand without me.”

“I’m not waiting for the barricades,” Mystique says.  “I’m going to wipe out the threat before it gets that far.  Trask’s legacy ends with him.”

“Trask is hardly the sole architect of institutionalized oppression,” Erik says.  “It didn’t start with him, Mystique.  And it won’t end with him.”

“I know who my enemies are,” Mystique snaps.  “And if you wait for Charles to side with you against the entire human race, I can promise you, you’ll be dead long before he looks at you the way you want him to.”

The bullets stop spinning above Erik’s hand, and he sets all three of them carefully down on the counter.  “It seems you don’t know your brother as well as you think you do,” he says.

“One of us doesn’t,” Mystique replies.  “You should walk away.  I’m just trying to save you some time.”

They’re both wrong, Emma thinks.  She knows what happens when she tries to tell them, though, and at the moment they’re more entertaining than annoying.  Mostly because her safety doesn’t currently depend on either one of them.

“You haven’t seen the professor’s face when I tell him Magneto is in danger,” Azazel says unexpectedly.  He looks at Erik and adds, “Nor have you.  He won’t turn on the humans for the cause, but he will do it for you.  I think you would do well to remember his true motivation, so that in trying to strengthen his resolve, you take care not to sap his will instead.”

Erik doesn’t move.  His expression doesn’t shift in the slightest.  Inside he crumbles, and Emma wonders if anyone could tell him Xavier loves him and have the same effect, or if it there’s something different about it coming from Azazel.

“No,” Mystique says sharply.  “Charles won’t change.  Not about this.”

“I think he is not the man you knew,” Azazel tells her.

“Just because he wouldn’t do it for you, sugar,” Emma says.  “Don’t assume he won’t do it for anyone else.”

Mystique turns and walks out of the room.  It’s an improvement as far as Emma’s concerned, but it’s probably easier to leave herself than it is to get the rest of them to go too.  She has no desire to linger in Medical.  Especially if Magneto’s having some sort of breakdown.

“Call me when you have an army,” she says.  She gives metal objects a wide berth on her way out, but there’s no rattle of warning as she passes.  It’s like he isn’t even trying.

What does that say about the horrors in his mind, she wonders?  For the first time since she’s known him, Erik Lehnsherr envisions a future darker than the past he’s yet to leave behind.  A very specific future, with details that come from shared experience, and that can only mean one thing.

Xavier’s seen the future.  And Xavier, eternal optimist that he is, is terrified of it.

Chapter 10

“What are you doing?”

Alex’s voice is sharp and suspicious.  Erik assumes he doesn’t mean, why are you leaning on the counter like you’ve been punched in the gut?  He sounds more like he wants to punch Erik himself, and he’s sure he has a good reason.

“You heard all that, then.”  Erik doesn’t open his eyes, but he assumed either Alex or Hank was monitoring him.  They asked him not to leave the medical facility.  They wouldn’t have expected him to actually stay.

“Did I hear you promising to use the professor as a weapon and turn this school into your own personal recruiting ground?”  Alex counters.  “Yeah, it’s safe to say that got my attention.”

He wonders how much of it Charles heard.  If Hank is filling him in, even now.  It’s what Erik would do: broadcast potential danger as fast as possible and worry about what it means later.  Never confront someone with information no one else has.

On the other hand, it’s not like Charles needs someone to tell him.  He’s everywhere, in every thought.  He won’t stop or leave or let it go because he’s doing it for Erik, after all.

Azazel is gone, but he hasn’t taken the terror of knowing with him.

“Do you know what this is?” Erik asks, opening his eyes at last.  He sends one of the bullets toward Alex, slowly enough that he can see it coming, halting it just inside arm’s reach.  Alex’s hand comes up defensively and his fingers glow red, but he doesn’t destroy it.

“A bullet?” he says dangerously.

“No,” Erik says.  He lofts another one into the air, letting it hover over his hand.  “This is a bullet.”  The third one joins it, just above his other hand, and he adds, “This is a drug delivery system.”

He lets both of the objects he pulled out of his shoulder fall, clenching them in his fists as he nods at the one still floating in front of Alex.  “That’s a tracking device with an unknown range and a working power supply.”

Alex doesn’t drop his hand, but his fingers aren’t glowing anymore.  “They know you’re here,” he says.  His hesitation is barely perceptible, and Erik supposes he learned something in the service after all.  “It’s dark out; the cameras won’t stop them.  They’ll come in the back.  Does the professor know?”

Erik doesn’t mean to laugh.  He’s aware that it verges on hysterical, but the sound bursts out of him and there’s nothing he can do.  “How could he not know?” he demands.  “He’s in my head!  I can’t get away from him, can’t think, can’t sleep without him there to pass judgment, and you’re worried I’m using him!”

Alex eyes him warily, but Erik knows it now: the feeling of familiarity when Charles told him to hang on.  He heard it before.  He heard it over and over again, even when he couldn’t hear anything.  Charles was with him from the moment the bullets hit his shoulder to the minute Magda and Mystique shoved him into that car.

Distance clearly doesn’t limit his telepathy anymore.  And after last night, there’s no part of Erik’s mind he hasn’t picked apart.  Even when Erik can’t feel him, he’s there, and nothing can keep him out.  Erik was unconscious, powerless and imprisoned, and Charles just walked in and took him back.  Like a tool that he’d misplaced, or a toy he wasn’t done with yet.

“Is that a yes?” Alex is asking.  “Does he know or not?  If someone followed you they could already be here.”

Erik puts his fists on the counter and rests his forehead on them, trying to will the panic down.  The blood is roaring in his ears, pounding fit to burst his brain.  Everything hurts.  “I haven’t told him,” he mutters.  “If that matters.”

“Uh, yeah,” he hears Alex say.  “It matters a lot, because that’s how we communicate information.  Look, this is a bad time for a breakdown.  Are you okay, or do you want to wait here while I go find the professor?”

He can barely see the counter in front of his eyes.  Probably because it’s too close and he’s blocking the light with his head and hands.  “Is accompanying you an option?”

“You tell me,” Alex says.  “You’re obviously still messed up, but you made it look good for your friends.  Keep it together a little longer and we’ll talk about your terrible plans later.”

It’s difficult to breathe when he lifts his head, but his vision clears the way it’s supposed to and staying here won’t fix anything.  “After you,” he grits out.

Alex won’t turn his back.  It’s never more obvious than when he pauses by the door and waves Erik through first.  “What do you expect me to do,” Erik says, careful to enunciate each word, “that you’re more likely to see coming when I’m in front of you?”

Alex snorts.  “You can barely stand up.  I don’t expect you to attack me; I expect you to fall over.”

It’s insulting in its honesty.  “What do you care?”  He doesn’t know why he asks when he doesn’t want to know, except that it gives him something to focus on other than the pain in his chest.

“I don’t,” Alex says.  “But the professor does, and maybe you’re having some sort of meltdown over how he feels about you, but it’s pretty clear to the rest of us that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you around.  We need him, so.  If you’re what he wants, you’re what he’s going to get.”

Deep breaths only make his chest hurt more.  He makes it up the stairs before it occurs to him that this explanation could use a visual aid, and he walked away from it without a second thought.  But that’s the paranoia talking.  This is reality: the bullets won’t vanish just because he’s not looking at them.

This is reality.  This is the house, Charles’ estate, the place he’s come back to.  It’s different now, time has changed it.  This isn’t his memory of it.  There are new students here now, new children.  New mutants.

He knows every face and the stranger in the hallway brings him up short.  “Who are you,” he demands, reassured by the way the metal responds.  Hallucinating?  Probably.  Powerless?  Probably not.  Things like this aren’t supposed to change.

Alex’s voice jolts him back out of--into?--the dream.  “Let him go, Erik.” he says.  “He’s with Trish.  The professor says he’s okay.”

Convenient, Erik’s traitorous mind whispers.  Now any anomaly can be explained by the words, Charles says it’s okay.  His hallucinations don't have to work very hard at all.

“Come on,” Alex is saying, but it’s overridden by the swirl of a necklace and bracelets and Wanda’s arms around him before he can turn the corner.  She has no fear of throwing herself at him, he thinks distantly.

“Are you okay?” she whispers in his ear.  “We were worried.  We can rescue Mom, next time.  You don’t have to go alone.”

“Hey, look, you’re still alive.”  It’s Peter’s voice over her shoulder.  “We’re actually really good at the rescuing thing.  We’ll give you some tips next time.  Are you sure you should be walking around, because you don’t look like you’re really, you know.  With it.”

“Is that Magneto?”  The man behind him may think he’s being subtle, but Erik doubts it.  “I thought he was in Paris.  Can I have my camera back?”

“No,” Hank’s voice says.  “Alex, what are you doing?”

“She’s okay,” Wanda murmurs.  “Thanks for going after her.”  

She doesn’t pull away from him until he jerks, the floor shifting strangely under his feet before gravity resettles, and even then she keeps an arm around his waist.  He feels Peter at his other side, bumping his shoulder when he wobbles.  “You should sit down,” Wanda whispers.

“He was tracked,” Alex is saying.  “He had a tracking device on him.  Don’t you scan for those things?”

“What, in his clothes?”  Hank sounds defensive.  “I didn’t check him.  He was already in the house; it wouldn’t have done any good.”

“In one of the bullets they shot him with,” Alex says.  “They know he’s here.  They could be outside right now.”

There’s a pause, and all Erik hears is the rushing in his ears and the rustle of Wanda’s jacket.  Then the voices from the TV room: the set is on, and the foyer is so quiet that he can hear it from here.  If the children are talking, he can’t make it out.

“Logan,” Hank says, raising his voice.

“Yeah,” Logan’s voice replies from somewhere up above.  From a balcony, or the stairs, or the rafters for all Erik can tell.  “I’m on it.”

“I’ll check the cameras,” Hank says.  “Charles?”

“Not unless they’re all wearing telepathy-blocking helmets.”  Charles’ voice sounds light and easy even as he adds, “But my power is limited right now, so I wouldn’t say it’s impossible.”

“It’s spitting rain,” a woman’s voice says, and Erik only realizes he’s staring at Charles when the reporter from Paris walks between them.  Moving from a window to the door, she pushes it open.  “Freezing rain, it looks like.”

“Maybe that will slow them down,” Charles says.  “Are you all right to drive?  I know you’ve work to do, but you’re welcome to stay the night.”

“And get scooped in mutant news again?” Trish counters.  “No thank you.  I’ll try to send some copy when Mike comes back with the pictures, but I can’t promise it airs the way I cut it.  When is it too late to reach you?  How early can I call tomorrow morning?”

“I’m afraid we’ll be up all night as well,” Charles says.  He gives her a brief smile, but it’s Erik his gaze returns to.  “Call as late or as early as you like.”

“Up and walking, I see.”  Magda is in the doorway to the TV room, ignoring the flurry of news and Charles by the door.  “Sorry you got shot.”

Anya is nowhere to be seen--of course she isn’t, just knowing she’s alive is more than he deserves--but he can feel Wanda and Peter waiting for his reply.  They’re expectant, anticipating an actual answer, and a courteous one at that.  He probably owes her that, considering… everything.

“I’m sorry you were taken because of me,” Erik says at last.

She raises an eyebrow, but all she says is, “Not the first time.  Probably won’t be the last.”

“Can I have my camera now?” the man with Trish is asking.  Erik dislikes him on principle, but he memorizes the voice and the face.  Charles says he’s okay.  The pool of people Charles considers “okay” isn’t shrinking as fast as he’d like, but it still means something that this person is in it.

“No.”  When Trish and Charles say it at the same time, Erik dislikes her as well.  The New York-based reporter they met in Paris is a strange coincidence in a small world.  Erik doesn’t know that anyone’s checked her assignment or her story.  There’s just Charles to say she’s okay.

The same way he says Moira is okay, Erik reminds himself.  And Moonstar.  And the Greys, who shouldn’t even be here.  Not to mention Erik himself, who’s probably led the government right to them.

“There’s no one outside that I can see,” Hank reports, back in the foyer before Erik noticed he left.  “Logan’s doing a circuit of the grounds, but even the news crews are clearing out.  Probably because of the weather.  If it changes to snow they’ll be a plowing hazard.”

“And we’re going too,” Trish says.  “Thank you so much for your time, Hank, Wanda, all of you.  Charles, it was a pleasure, as always.”

“Certainly,” Charles says, his old charm in full force.  “The pleasure was mine, I assure you.  Hank, would you mind seeing them out?”

“I'll go,” Alex says.  “It's raining, you stay.  I'll ride out with them and open the gate.”

“Do you want to sit down?” Magda asks.  Her arms are crossed, but she’s lowered her voice and she sounds less dismissive than before.  “You don’t look so good.  They checked you for shock, right?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters.  You should evacuate.  It’s Charles he’s glaring at, because if he says this out loud he’ll be accused of frightening the children again.  You need to get them out of here while you still can.

“Wonderful,” Charles is saying.  “Thank you, Alex.  Be careful on the first turn; our end of the road always ices first.”

“Not even one picture of Magneto with your students?”  The cameraman is hesitating over his equipment like he thinks Charles might say yes, and maybe he would.  Erik has no idea what’s happening.  They only agreed that Trish would broadcast a statement on their behalf, yet here she is with cameras and lights and Charles introducing her to anyone who walks by.

“I’m afraid not,” Charles says.  “I’d appreciate it if you were unable to confirm his presence here.  Understanding that you’ll be the first interview he gives, of course, when the time comes.”

“The last we knew, he was on the other side of the Atlantic,” Trish promises.  She puts a hand over the camera and pushes it down.  “Let’s go.”

Let’s go, Erik echoes, as strongly as he can.  Charles.  They’re coming.  You won’t last the night.

“Thank you,” Charles says with a smile.  “Have a good night.”

Hank and Alex are whispering over something, a hasty scuffle that precedes Alex’s departure.  It irritates Erik all out of proportion to whatever they’re on about, because it means he’s down yet another voice of reason when it comes to Charles.  Don’t pretend you’re not listening, he thinks.  I’ll yell this across the house if I have to.

Charles catches his eye, a pleasant expression on his face even as his thoughts echo ominously in Erik’s head.  I’d rather you didn’t.

He can’t keep himself from flinching.  He feels Wanda’s arm tighten around him, and even Magda takes a step forward when he suddenly can’t breathe.  Because that’s all Charles has to say, isn’t it: I’d rather you didn’t.  He can’t do anything Charles doesn’t want him to.  None of them can.

He sees Charles frown, but all he says is, “Half an hour to lights out.  Everyone under seventeen should be in the residential wing by ten.”

It doesn’t apply to anyone in the foyer, but Warren makes it obvious that the entire TV room is listening by sticking his head out.  “Seventeen?” he repeats.

“Yes, I’m sorry to keep you up,” Charles says.  “But we’ll need you at the staff meeting.”

Sean appears behind Warren.  “There’s a staff meeting?”

“I’m calling one right now,” Charles says.  “At ten. I need to see all of you in my study.”

“Tonight,” Sean says.

“Tonight,” Charles agrees.  “I’m sure it will be terribly boring, but I’ll try not to keep you long.  Just some administrative matters to clear up.”

Just some more lies to tell, Erik thinks.  A fantasy to share before we all die.

Charles glares at him this time, and he feels a vicious satisfaction at getting even that much of a response.  Hank is joining Sean to spread the “lights out” message, and Magda is frowning after them.  Wanda and Peter look at each other the way Erik imagines telepaths would look, if they liked each other and were having a conversation they enjoyed.  He wouldn’t know.

“Erik,” Charles says calmly.  “If I could see you in the kitchen, please.”

Why not, he thinks reflexively.  It’s not like I have a choice.

Charles is already telling the twins, “I’m sorry to take him from you, but if you could spare him just a moment?  He hasn’t eaten all day, you see.”

“We’ll get out of your way,” Magda says.  It sounds like a warning, and Wanda and Peter obviously think so too.

“Come to the staff meeting,” Charles says as he glides past, clearly expecting all of them to do as they’re told.  “It’s important.  Erik, can you walk on your own or do you need assistance?”

Erik doesn’t want to freeze, but he feels his entire body stiffen in protest.  “Stay out of my head,” he growls.

Charles’ hands still on the wheels of his chair and he stops where he is.  “I meant,” he says, evenly and without turning, “do you need someone to help steady you.  I’m sure Wanda wouldn’t mind.  Clearly I’m not much use when it comes to preventing a fall.”

“I’m fine on my own,” Erik snaps.  He doesn’t mean to say it, but he thinks it and just knowing that’s enough makes it true: I meant exactly what I said.

“Very well,” Charles agrees.  “Do me the favor of explaining the tracking device, then, while I make some tea.  You’re free to go at any time.”

Erik doesn’t know what that means, but he’s sure he doesn’t like the sound of it.

Chapter 11

Erik should have let Wanda come with him.  Her presence would have made Charles retain some semblance of decorum, rather than slamming into Erik’s mind and shoving him up against the counter the second they’re alone.  He holds Erik’s body still and mute in the space between their minds.

“Is this what you’re afraid of?” Charles hisses.  His anger is an ugly thing, but Erik’s fear is raw and cruel under the layer of broken promises.  “That I’ll take you over on a whim and force you to do my bidding?”

Yes, Erik thinks.

“Well congratulations!” Charles exclaims.  “You win.  I’ll never not be able to do this, Erik.  Because I am a mutant, and my mutation is mind control.”

Erik’s bitter satisfaction is unmistakable, even motionless and voiceless as he is.  Charles is struck by the very unsporting urge to punch him in the face.  “You wanted me to admit it,” he snaps.  “Does it make you feel better to hear me say it?”

Yes.  Erik can’t lie, not here and not like this.  Please.

It gives Charles pause.  He shouldn’t ask, he won’t want to know, but he can’t help it.  There’s nothing Erik does that he isn’t curious about.  “Please what?”

Erik closes his eyes and leans his head back, and how is he doing that?  Charles didn’t let him do that.  His throat is long and sweet and he swallows hard, thoughts loud in the silent kitchen.  Please, Charles.

It isn’t fear behind those words.  Charles can feel the lust now that he’s looking, but Erik has never reacted normally to danger.  He’s compromised, physically and mentally, and Charles has no business pushing this.  It’s rude at best and nonconsensual at worst.

“You want this,” he blurts out.  He’s terrible at boundaries.  Always has been.  He expects it comes with the mutation.

Yes, Erik thinks.

Charles should hate himself for hesitating.  In the end, though, he’s so caught up in trying to keep Erik from reaching for him that he only just remembers to step back himself.  “I see,” he says.  His control wavers as Erik opens his eyes, and he adds quickly, “Well, that’s--rather a different thing, then.”

Erik just looks at him for a long moment.  Charles is almost certain he can speak now, but the only way to know for sure is to make him do it.  That’s clearly counterproductive, and Erik’s thoughts are too disordered to follow.

“Anyone would think,” Erik says at last, and Charles doesn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.  He sounds too slow to be quite right.  “That you’re not one of the most inconsiderate, arrogant, domineering men on earth after all.”

“Yes, well.”  Charles tries to smile, but he just trapped the man he loves in a mental space he can’t control and stripped all of his autonomy in a fit of pique.  “They’d be wrong, wouldn’t they.”

Erik doesn’t move, watching Charles with an expression that’s as hungry and desperate as any thought he’s let slip.  “I’d rather fuck than talk,” he says bluntly.

Charles doesn’t dare close his eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he says.  “I’ve taken advantage of you.”

“The hell you have.”  Erik steps into him and lifts his hands to either side of Charles’ face.  “I know what I want.  I’m only confused about why, sometimes.”

Charles feels fingers slide over his temples, and his hands clamp down on Erik’s wrists.  He’s not sure if he means to push him away or hold on.  The words aren’t particularly flattering, and practically the definition of “taking advantage” besides, but Erik’s mind is soft and sinuous against his and he’s starving for it.

I want you, he thinks.  Please, let me.

Come in, Erik thinks at the same time.

He presses into Erik’s thoughts greedily, all of that beautiful focus for him, bright and shining and overwhelming.  He wants to feel it everywhere, wants to sink into Erik’s mind and never come out again.  He wants to drown.

Swim, Erik’s mind says.  It twists uneasily against his, oversensitive and aching from the forced intimacy of David’s attack and Charles’ clumsy rescue, but it doesn’t push him out.  Not drown.  No one dies.  What if someone dies, what if you die?  What if you stay in my head?  Why do you want to be in my head?  I want you here so much.  I don’t know how to make it enough.

Charles thinks of leather jackets and lying in the grass.  He thinks of apples and chessboards and shoes kicked off while their feet rest carelessly on the furniture.  He thinks of winter coats and thick socks and sprawling over top of the blankets, and he feels Erik’s thoughts melting into images that welcome him just as surely.

There’s sun through the windows, warm on the pillows and bright against the sheets.  The book is less important than the fingers curled under his, and Charles revels in the glow Erik feels when he opens his eyes.  Thank you, he whispers.

He feels Erik take a shaky breath, and the kitchen trembles.  Then they’re in the bedroom again, and Erik is staring down at him.  “This is what you want,” he murmurs.

“Mmm.”  Charles hums at him, pushing him into the cushions of a particularly cozy motel sofa and closing his eyes as a night under the stars wraps the metal arms of the satellite dish all around them.  “You’re getting it.”

“Not sex,” Erik says, as Charles imagines them down by the lake in summertime and soaks in Erik’s distracted thoughts of bare feet in the sand.  “Just… thoughts.”

“Sex is good too.”  Charles is naked against him as he thinks of a dozen ways they never were: the pool, the observatory, the gardens, the back of a car--actually we did that, he thinks, and he feels Erik’s mind fall into the memory.

Clothed and covert and so ludicrously inappropriate that it makes Charles squirm with embarrassment.  They should never have touched each other, but the car was hot and Erik whispered, “Don’t move,” and Charles lets his head fall back with a gasp.  Erik is kneeling over him on the lawn, hands buried in Charles’ hair, dragging down his back, teasing his nipples and grinding into his lap all at once.

“Yes,” Charles breathes, arching up to find friction against Erik’s skin.  Without thinking, he grabs himself with Erik’s hand and pushes.  Erik groans, and when Charles thinks about their bedroom he finds Erik already under him and pulling him down.  Fuck, Charles thinks.

Please, Erik thinks, and oh god, the way it feels to give in.

You were holding back.  Erik is incredulous, his shock like stars when Charles sinks into him, like fireworks in the lazy warmth of a summer evening.  All those times you were in my head, and I thought you were everywhere, you were holding back.

Do you want to be me? Charles thinks recklessly.  There’s nothing he can’t do when they’re this close, nothing Erik can’t know.  Because you can be me.

He doesn’t even have to offer.  There’s no way to keep Erik beyond his reach, separate from the kaleidoscope of thoughts and memories that make up the waking world.  He's wanted this all along, every time, since the day they met he’s struggled to keep his mind to himself.

“Can I--”  Erik is holding on, dizzy with it but delighted by the way their minds give him whatever he wants.  Fear is so far from what he’s feeling that Charles pushes harder, filling up the dimness and the cracks and all the empty spaces he can find.  “I want--”

And Charles is a child, alone in the kitchen the night he met Raven.  The vision is dreamy and diffuse, but he can feel Erik’s own youthful longing for chocolate and safety.  “Take whatever you want,” Charles whispers.  Cain and Gabrielle and Oxford the day Moira showed up, shouting and laughter and stupid telepathic come-ons, until the scene twists and a bar full of happy drunks becomes a quiet ex-Nazi watering hole.  

Unsteady but determined, Erik is alone in the world, and Charles wraps his arms around him and holds on.

It’s like you’re here, Erik murmurs.  Like water over the stones, unstoppable and inseparable, the words are everything the two of them could be.  There, with me, everywhere I’ve been.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”  Charles beams at him across a park bench, limbs sprawled loose and easy in the morning sun.  There’s fog rising off the pond and Erik’s skin under his fingers and no one’s giving them a second look.  “It isn’t just memories, you know.  It’s anything you can imagine.”

Erik’s expression is charmingly skeptical, even as fondness and amusement ripples around him like the willow branches in the breeze.  “And it’s better than sex,” he says.

“Mmm.”  Charles slides into him and presses a kiss to his jaw.  “You mention sex rather a lot for someone who isn’t thinking about it.”

“Who says I’m not--”

“If you were thinking about it,” Charles says, swinging a leg over his lap and pressing his knees into the suddenly cushioned bench seat, “we'd be doing it.”

He kisses Erik before he can answer, slow and deep and not insistent at all.  It’s kind and tender, as reassuring as he knows how to be, filled with the promises he wishes he could make.  I’m not always holding back.

Erik’s hands are warm against his ribs, gentle and inevitable, and Charles will never not want to be held like this.  You’d always be like this, Erik thinks.  If you could.  You said you like being in people’s heads; why bother with the real word at all?

Because it has you.  Charles puts his fingers in Erik’s hair, curling where it used to be straight, and lifts his own chin to bare his neck.  Erik’s lips on his skin are hot and immediate, uncaring of their imagined audience.  I’d not have met you if I spent all my time dreaming of you.

Erik’s hands press a little harder, and he buries his face in Charles’ neck.  I can’t tell what’s real, he thinks, and the flicker of remembered panic makes Charles hold him closer.  A confession for a confession.  I can’t.  I just.

He isn’t upset.  Charles twines deeper just in case, stabilizing their idyllic park and softening it with all the certainty he has.  He makes sure the bench curves subtly back, easing the angle against Erik’s shoulders, but otherwise he lets the grass feel slippery and the air a little too cool.  People look at them as they pass, as they would, though their expressions are all neutral or indulgent.

Not this, Erik thinks, his smile curving against Charles’ collarbone.  Out there.

He can’t say it, but Charles can guess.  “You thought you were hallucinating,” he whispers.  “Today, when I--does that happen often?”  He should have noticed.  He spends more time with Erik than anyone; how could he not have noticed?”

I think I’m hallucinating all the time, Erik admits.  His fingers clench in the shirt Charles almost willed away, but when they slide under it he’s glad he didn’t.  It’s only when I’m with you that it doesn’t bother me.

“What should I do?” Charles murmurs.  He pets the hair under his fingers and cups his other hand at the back of Erik’s neck.  “Is there anything I can do?”

More kissing, Erik thinks.  Don’t hold back.  Surprise me.

“I will,” Charles promises.  If Erik can’t imagine it, it must be real.  It’s a strange standard for gauging reality, but he’s used stranger.  “Do you want to fuck now?”

Erik laughs, loud enough to hear without him lifting his head, his shoulders shaking under Charles’ arms.  “Yes,” he says, and then he does lift his head, staring up at Charles.  “Fuck yes.  But we’re standing in the kitchen right now, aren’t we.”

“One of us is,” Charles agrees.  “I’m sure no one will bother us after that scene in the front hall.”

Erik scoffs.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  Your guard dogs are lining up for the chance to check on you.”

“You want to wait until after the staff meeting?”  Charles briefly considers canceling the staff meeting, except he can’t, because they wouldn’t be holding it at ten o’clock at night if it wasn’t an emergency.

Erik shifts underneath him, and it isn’t the imagined feel of his body so much as the very real arousal of his mind that makes Charles catch his breath.  “‘Want’ is the wrong word,” Erik growls, moving again, and pleasure rolls through them as he rubs shamelessly against Charles.  “Is this a real place?  Can we come back here?”

“No,” Charles says.  He tips Erik’s head back again to lick kisses into his skin, and thinks, And yes.  He can recreate anything Erik remembers, including this pond and its path and the people who wander along it.  Erik always was something of an exhibitionist.

Takes one to know one, Erik thinks.  It’s not like Charles didn’t let him, in the car.  Or the movie theater, that one time.  Or the Division X locker room.  I don’t mind people knowing we do this.

You mean you like it, Charles thinks fondly.  He likes it too.  He wonders how much he would have to like it to surprise Erik, if doing this in the real world would appeal or appall.  He can’t bite back a gasp when the thought makes desire cascade through their intertwined bodies.

Please don’t traumatize your public for my sake, Erik tells him.  It’s half-hearted and faint and Charles can see any number of well-thought-out suggestions lingering in his mind.

Charles curls closer, pressing wordless promises into his temple as he pulls them both up, out, toward the kitchen where someone is waiting.  Untangling them from each other, he tries to protect Erik from the unsteady lurch of another mind so close.  It’s vital now, with his power vulnerable and Erik entirely dependent on him to maintain the integrity of his consciousness.

How long?  Erik’s curiosity whispers in his mind even as Charles tries to gently push him back.

I don’t know, he admits.  I only just noticed.  You’re very distracting.

When he opens his eyes, he and Erik are alone in the kitchen.  Peter is outside in the hall.  Standing guard, Charles realizes abruptly.  Peter is--

Keeping them away, Erik says at the same time.  His lips are parted, but Charles knows how wide his own eyes must be, so he has no room to make fun.  At least neither of them have embarrassing stains on their trousers.  He considers that a minor miracle in and of itself.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” Charles says aloud.  His voice sounds strange outside of his own head.  “We’re not going to evacuate.”

Erik’s expression doesn’t change.  He still looks open and hungry when he says, “If you don’t run, you’ll have to fight.”

“If we run now,” Charles says, “we’ll never stop.  But if we must fight to stand our ground, then make no mistake: we will fight.”

Erik doesn’t look as satisfied by this as he expected.  He doesn’t gloat, though, and he certainly doesn’t protest.  He just nods, and says the three words that may yet rewrite their future.

“I’m with you,” Erik tells him.

Chapter 12

“He liked you too.”  The little boy looking at Moira has solemn blue eyes and an earnest expression she knows very well.  “The way he liked my mum.”

Handing him a sweatshirt, Moira says, “Your father likes a lot of people.”  She's known him less than a day, and she's already given up on treating David like a child.  It's like talking to Charles in a smaller body.

“Why doesn't he marry any of them?” David wants to know.  

She doesn't say what she’s thinking for a whole second and a half, which is how long it takes her to remember how useless her self-control is around a telepath.  “Well, because he's in love with someone else,” she says.

“So why doesn't he marry Mr. Lehnsherr?” David asks.

He's nothing if not observant.  He knows men don't marry other men, so Moira tries to answer the question seriously.  It's not like they haven't all wondered at some point.

“Your father and Mr. Lehnsherr are very different people,” she tells him.  “They have different ideas about how to get what they want, and that makes it hard for them to cooperate.  Most people don’t want to marry someone they can’t cooperate with.”

There's a knock on the open door, and Moira glances over her shoulder.  Magda is standing there, looking about as lost as she feels.  “Hi,” she says.  “Want to walk to the staff meeting together?”

Moira tries to remember anything about a staff meeting and can't.  Probably for good reason.  “I'm not staff.”

“Neither am I,” Magda points out.  “But I was specifically invited, and I don't want to go alone.”

That's enough for Moira, who would prefer to keep an eye on Charles’ “staff” whenever possible.  “Are you okay with the rest of the bedtime stuff?” she asks David.  “Washing your face, brushing your teeth, all of that?”

He nods, and he seems as present as Charles ever does when he says, “Mr. Cassidy’s looking for you.”

“Well,” she says.  She's used to this, really.  “I guess I'm on my way, then.”

She leaves the door open when she steps out into the hallway.  Magda waits until they've moved away to say, “That was a good answer.  What you said about Erik and the professor, I mean.  I'm not sure I’d be so generous.”

It takes Moira a moment to remember what she said.  Then she needs another to decipher what Magda’s saying, and it hardly matters.  “You shouldn't have to be,” she says.  “You're his wife.”

They pass Sara in the hallway, running after Oliver, and then Illyana hanging on Scott’s open door.  Only when the children are behind them does Magda say, “Not legally.”

Moira turns to her in surprise.

Magda gives her a tired smile.  “What paperwork we had, we lost in the fire.  We came here as refugees.  It's just our word that we’re husband and wife.”

The first thing Moira thinks is, then why in the world do you still say it?  The second thing is, that can’t be true.  There must be ways to get copies of the documentation, unless it was an unofficial wedding, and if that were the case they could have been married again when they arrived.

What she actually says is, “The children seem to accept him as their father.”

Magda rolls her eyes.  “That’s more than he deserves,” she says.  “He saved my life.  He’s only endangered theirs.”

“Hey,” Sean calls from halfway down the stairs.  He’s bounding up them quickly enough that he’s beside them before he finishes.  “You coming to the meeting?”

“The meeting no one told me about?” Moira counters.

“Sorry,” Sean says.  “No one told me until a few minutes ago.  Pretty sure the professor just decided.”

“So this isn’t normal?” Moira wants to know.  “Meeting in the middle of the night?  Do you usually make decisions when everyone’s exhausted and he’s hopped up on god knows what?”

Sean looks like he’s trying to remember, and Moira sighs.  “No, don’t tell me.  It’s not like I don’t know the answer.”

“So you’re coming, right?” Sean says.  “I mean, you can both come.”

“Yeah,” Magda says.  “Your professor invited me.”

“Oh yeah?”  Sean brightens.  “Is that because you’re going to teach?  When?  Alex can put you on the schedule whenever you want.”

Moira folds her arms.  “You’re going to teach?” she repeats, amused.

“Let’s go,” Alex says from behind them.  His hair is wet, but he’s wearing dry clothes as he pushes past them on the stairs.  “Pretty sure this is gonna be worse than the Paris fight, so I’d stand near the door if I were you.”

“Or we could… not go,” Sean suggests.

Alex scoffs, pausing on the landing to look back at them.  “You don’t want warning before they tear the house apart?  Suit yourself.”

Moira exchanges glances with Magda.  “Is that a possibility?” she asks, more quietly as they follow Sean and Alex down the stairs.  “Did Charles say what this is about?”

“I think Erik was tracked coming back here,” Magda murmurs.  “Could be about that.  You’ve seen them together more than I have; do they usually destroy things?”

“Yes,” Moira admits, thinking of the White House, RFK stadium, the Hotel Majestic in Paris.  “I suppose that was a stupid question.”

They don’t look dangerous when Moira and Magda crowd into the study with the others.  Alex is leaning against the doorframe, and he doesn’t move when they step awkwardly around him.  Sean has draped himself backwards over a chair on the other side of the door, and Hank and Logan are mimicking each other’s standoffish posture by the fireplace.  They probably don't even know they’re doing it, standing with their arms crossed and their backs to the bricks.

The twins are sitting in the armchairs, while Warren is perched on the end of the couch, his wings trailing all the way to the floor.  Emma looks the most put-together of any of them, lounging with poise and precision in a chair behind Charles’ desk.  A chair she must have put there, Moira thinks.  She’s holding a glass in one hand and pushing her hair over her shoulder with the other.

Charles looks just as relaxed but far less elegant in the casual long sleeves he’s been wearing all day.  His hair is more of a mess than usual, but the bar is low.  He brightens when he sees her, lifting a glass that’s considerably less full than Emma’s.  “Moira!” he says, in the same tone someone else might say “cake!”  “Do come in, darling; can I offer you a drink?  Magda?  Emma, another?”

He didn’t start with less than Emma, Moira thinks.  That much is obvious.  Is that even safe, with whatever he’s on?  Would Hank stop him if it wasn’t?

“But she is a darling,” Charles says, looking up at Erik with a terribly earnest expression.  “Look, she’s come to our meeting.  Don’t you like having her where you can keep an eye on her?”

Oh god, Moira thinks.  This is going to be one of those conversations.  Charles is going to be loose-lipped and embarrassing and Erik is going to be possessive and angry and they’re all going to have to watch.  Sean had it right when he suggested not being here for this.

Erik looks exactly as disheveled as Charles.  He’s wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants that don’t fit, socks with no shoes, and an amused smile on his face that isn’t the least bit catty.  “Charles,” he says.  “You’re not supposed to say that out loud.

“I apologize for him,” Erik adds, glancing around at the rest of them.  “Combining alcohol and uppers is likely the least of his sins tonight.”

“Hush, you,” Charles says.  “Be a love and get them a drink; it makes these things much more bearable.”

“Charles,” Moira protests.  “There are underage students in the room.”

“There certainly are not,” Charles says indignantly.

“There certainly are,” Moira says.  “This is America, Charles.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning.  “Bugger.”

“They’re not drinking,” Erik says.  “It’s fine.  Ladies?”

Moira shakes her head, but Magda motions for a drink.  Erik pours her a generous glass and hands it over while Charles says, “I’m glad you’re here, all of you.  Long term and short term, then: I mean to reopen this school, and you’re my best chance of teaching students something useful.  I do hope you’ll consider salaried positions here in the future.”

Moira looks at him sharply, because she knows a dismissive tone when she hears one.  The school is a long way from Charles’ top priority right now.  That’s not a good sign.

“In the meantime,” he continues, “the government may try to kill us.  At least some of us, and as far as I’m concerned, a threat to one of us is a threat to all of us.  Alex thinks it could happen tonight.  Emma thinks we have a few days.  Either way, we need to be ready to defend these grounds.”

“No,” Logan says.  He doesn’t move, but it’s clear he’s said this before.  “We don’t have an army.  This place isn’t defensible without one.”

“Ah,” Charles says.  “I forgot to mention, there’s two Sentinels on our lawn.  Erik.  We’ve deactivated them, but I’m afraid they’ve had all your carefully installed metal removed.  Would you mind putting it back?”

“Great,” Logan says.  “So you have weapons.  I still can’t run round-the-clock patrols, and I don’t know how you expect machines to know friends from enemies without reliable reports.”

“There are Sentinels outside,” Erik says flatly.

“Who do you need?” Charles asks Logan.

Logan doesn’t hesitate.  “Summers and MacTaggert, minimum.”

“Sit down, sugar,” Emma tells Erik.  “They’re just machines.”

He does look a little shaky, but Moira is more concerned with Charles saying, “That won’t be enough.  Take Erik as well, and Peter and Warren if they’re willing.  Establish a proper security sweep.  Erik, can you modify the Sentinels to protect us rather than… well, attack?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Moira begins.

“I’m not working with him,” Logan interrupts.  “He’s a loose cannon, and the doc doesn’t trust him.”

“Yes, and I respect that,” Charles agrees.  “But if he’s controlling the Sentinels I think working together is your best chance of staying out of each other’s way, don’t you?”

“I have a problem with him controlling the Sentinels,” Moira says, raising her voice.  “He’s already done that, two weeks ago on the White House lawn.  It didn’t go well for anyone.”

“Admittedly, he turned them on the very mutants he promised to protect,” Charles says.  “Yes.  I found that ironic too.  I’m sure he won’t do it again.”

Moira glances at Logan and finds her own incredulity reflected back at her.  “I’m not,” she snaps.  “I’m extremely not sure of that!  I’m even less sure he has any interest in keeping me and Magda and Elaine and Sara out of the crossfire!”

“Erik?”  Charles says.  He sounds remarkably implacable for someone who’s probably drunk and strung out at the same time, Moira thinks.

“I’ll defend anyone associated with the school,” Erik says stiffly.  

It’s grudging if it’s anything and it’s a long way from convincing, but Charles nods as though that’s settled.  “Very well,” he says.  “You can remagnetize them, then?”

Erik seems to push his momentary weakness aside, which is a nice trick and disconcerting as ever.  “Of course,” he says.  “How subtle do you want me to be?”

“Well, we’re not planning to give them back,” Charles says.

“Professor,” Alex says.  “I wasn’t even in Washington and I don’t want Erik with a gun at my back.  You’re asking Beast and Logan to stand in front of Sentinels that tried to tear them apart, on Erik’s command, and act like it’s not going to happen again.”

“Yes,” Charles agrees.  “I am.  Plainly, I intend to make a stand on Erik’s behalf, and it will likely incriminate any mutant in my employ.  It will also require everyone who stays here to put their lives in each other’s hands.  Whether you stay or not is your decision, of course.”

This provokes a silence that sounds like shock.  That’s his ultimatum, Moira thinks.  What Charles has been driving toward this whole time.  Accept Erik or leave.

“Wait,” Sean says.  “That’s it, then?  Trust Magneto or get out?”

“Of course not,” Charles says.  “I don't expect you to trust him.  But he’s not going anywhere, so we’re all going to have to work together.  I’ll defend Erik with my life, as I would any of you.  None of you owe your lives in return.  But I won’t tolerate the endangerment of anyone here through your action, or inaction.”

For a long moment, no one says anything.

Moira wonders, suddenly, what Charles is getting from their minds.  Is he hearing angry thoughts and feelings of betrayal?  Is he feeling resignation?  Is he getting anything through the variety of mind-altering substances and the obvious ferocity Erik is exuding from behind him?

“I can fly a security sweep,” Warren says at last.  “If you want me to, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’m in,” Peter says, right on top of him.  “Why are we even having this conversation?  I thought we decided everyone was fine with Erik, Dad, Magneto--why do you only sometimes use your code names?  Is this because we have new people in the house?  Because they’re not here, so it’s not like they’re voting or anything.  I don’t get it.”

Sean raises his hand.  “Uh, for the record?  I was never fine with him being here.”

“There’s a difference between giving someone food and shelter,” Hank says, nominally to Peter, “and giving them a gun and telling them not to shoot you with it.  Especially when they’ve shot you before.  Repeatedly.”

“I didn’t shoot you,” Erik snaps.  “You cracked my head open and tried to drown me, and I pinned your arms and walked away.  I think I was very restrained.”

“Look,” Logan says.  “I don’t care if the two of you are fucking or picking out curtains or whatever.  Don’t make us all chess pieces in a game someone’s gotta lose.”

Moira glances at Magda and catches her staring out the window while she sips her drink.  

“You’re correct that mutant politics in this country have become a dangerous game,” Charles says.  “But I assure you, it’s one I have every intention of winning.”

Not the window, Moira realizes.  Magda’s studying the curtains.  For some reason it makes her smile, so Moira lets it go.

“Keeping people alive ain’t a game,” Logan growls.

“On the contrary,” Charles tells him.  His glass is completely empty now, and he hands it to Erik without even looking.  “I rather think it’s the only one worth playing.”

Chapter 13

Erik doesn’t like being defended.  He doesn’t like watching other people fight for him.  Charles would say it’s because he doesn’t have any experience with it, and maybe he’s right.  Charles has an uncanny ability to recognize the heart of things, and Erik is uncomfortable with a great many of the ways people relate to each other.

He doesn’t have experience with this one because no one is capable of it: even if they wanted to, Erik is indefensible.  He is the monster created by humanity’s fear of monsters.  He’s come to terms with that, and his life would be much easier if Charles would accept it as well.

Charles will never accept it, of course.  It’s his nature not to acknowledge Erik’s, no matter the evidence.  But he can’t keep other people from seeing it.

“Chuck,” Logan says, the sudden familiarity strange and grating.  “You give me the resources to protect this place, and I’ll protect it.  You ain’t done nothing but help me.”  He gives Erik a dismissive look that’s at odds with his words.  “But he ain’t done nothing but try to kill me, and I take orders from him over my dead body.”

Erik wants to sneer at him.  He wants to say, That can be arranged, and he doesn’t bother to try obscuring the thought.  Charles’ telepathy is wild and hot and out of control tonight.  It doesn’t even matter if he’s listening or not.  He knows what Erik thinks.

“Very well,” Charles says.  The capitulation comes without warning, and Erik remembers to set his empty glass down.  “Erik is perfectly capable of working alone, but you’ll need more than five.”

“Banshee,” Logan says without hesitation.  “And I want the doc controlling the Sentinels.”

“No,” Charles says.

Logan looks at Hank, who straightens.  It’s clearly his turn.

“I mean, yes,” Charles adds.  “Sean, of course.  He and Alex are an excellent team.  But the Sentinels stay with Erik.”

It’s less a choice, Erik thinks, than it is an inevitability.  Erik won’t allow the Sentinels to be out of his control, and Charles knows it.  All he’s doing by making it official is preventing Erik from covertly disobeying and forcing his hand.

“Professor,” Hank says.  Not Charles.  He’s not addressing his friend.  He’s appealing to the man he works with to keep mutant children safe.  “I don’t have a problem, in principle, with the school being used as a haven for people fleeing persecution.  I do have a problem arming people who’ve proven repeatedly that they’d as soon turn on us as look at us, let alone relying on them for our defense.”

“Dr. McCoy,” Charles echoes, raising his eyebrows in return.  “What makes you think Erik won’t simply take over the Sentinels no matter what we say?”

The room gets very quiet at that.  Hank doesn’t answer, and Moira looks nonplussed.  Logan looks like he wants to take someone apart, but since he always looks like that around Erik it’s hardly noteworthy.  Erik considers breaking the silence himself, but Charles is likely going somewhere with this and he expects to be prompted if his participation is required.

I thought you weren’t my dog, Charles thinks, very clearly inside his head.  The words are accompanied by a sense of amusement and affection that’s condescending in its very sincerity.

Erik reacts instinctively.  Stop that, he thinks.  Or doesn’t think.  Like swatting a fly, his mind and emotions are oversensitive and he flinches without thinking.

“What?” Charles says aloud.  “Stop reading your mind?  Certainly.  Perhaps you could stop sensing metal while we’re at it.  I daresay it would make everyone here feel safer.”

“I couldn’t care less how safe they feel,” Erik retorts.  And you know it.

“That’s unfortunate,” Charles replies.  “As our safety is the primary goal of this meeting, and your presence is the primary threat.”

This time, he catches the urge to strike back before he can follow through.  This is real, he reminds himself.  It matters what he says.  So he says nothing.  He holds himself very still and tries to be less aware of Charles’ wheelchair and his watch and the zipper on his trousers.

“Let me get this straight,” Alex says.  “You’re gonna give Erik control of the Sentinels because he’ll take it no matter what you do?”

“Yes,” Charles agrees.  He looks brighter at this, like they’re finally understanding his incomprehensible plan.  “There’s no point in pretending to be something we’re not.  In a crisis, Erik will reach for the largest weapon around.  We prevent him from running roughshod over other people and plans by accepting that and working around it.”

Moira lets out a huff, an involuntary laugh if her expression is anything to go by, but she straightens her shoulders when they all look at her.  “I don’t like it,” she says.  “But you have to admit, there’s a certain logic to it.”

“That’s probably the exhaustion talking,” Magda mutters.

“Emma,” Charles says.  “Would you be willing to share telepathic coverage of the house and grounds with me?”

She doesn’t so much as look at him, and Erik is overwhelmed by the memory: white walls and disorientation and Charles in his head, talking to him like he’s the only person in the world.  Magda telling Mystique what Charles just told her, in words Erik never heard.  He hates not having all of Charles’ attention.  More than that, he hates not knowing.

“Another drink,” Emma says calmly, “and I’ll consider it.”

“Erik,” Charles says, fanning the flames of jealousy into a rage.  Instead of gesturing imperiously, though, he says, “If you’re not predisposed to do me favors right now, you’ll need to step aside so I can reach the decanter.”

Erik glares at him.  He doesn’t know what to say, can’t even think clearly enough to snap back at him, and Charles just waits.  The rest of the room waits with him.

Sugar, Emma says. It takes him too long to realize she isn’t speaking aloud.  He’s taking on the entire world to keep you safe.  Including his bosom buddies and political alliances he’d rather not burn.  You have nothing to worry about.

“Get the hell out of my head,” Erik says between clenched teeth.

Charles raises an eyebrow at him.

He realizes belatedly what it sounds like, and he swings around to glare at Emma instead.  “I didn’t wear that helmet because of Charles,” he tells her.

“Yes,” she says, tilting her head to meet his gaze.  “You did.”

“Excuse me,” Charles says, and he hates Emma just long enough for Charles to ask, “What did she say?”  It’s not the conversation Erik knows will come, which begins, I trusted you with your powers and you couldn’t trust me with mine?

“You didn’t catch that?” Emma asks, swirling the remains of her drink around the bottom of her glass.  “I must be improving.”

“Do we need to be here for this?” Logan growls.  “You want me to defend this school, and I want to talk to my people before they fall asleep on their feet.  We’re no good to anyone unconscious.”

“Yes,” Charles says.  “Two more things.  We can’t rely solely on telepathic coordination, but we should avail ourselves of it when we have it.  Emma tells me her telepathic primer the other night included attention-getting strategies as well as basic evasion.  Is anyone here uncertain of their ability to call for help in the event of an emergency?”

There’s a quiet moment before Magda says, “What…  telepathically?”  Like it’s a foreign word.  Her hesitance is strange and oddly offensive when Erik looks too closely.  He tries not to, because apparently Emma is paying as much attention to him as Charles is right now.  He doesn’t want her help, and he certainly doesn’t want her sympathy.

“Yes,” Charles says again.  “You’ll be fine, my dear, we’ve spoken extensively.  But Peter, Warren?  Are you comfortable?”

Erik looks over at him in time to see him smile.  “That’ll do, Warren,” Charles says.  “I see you’re a quick study.”

“Why do I have to talk to you telepathically?” Peter wants to know.  “I can get here before you could answer.”

“Unless you’re trapped, or injured,” Charles says.  “Or with someone else who’s trapped or injured whom you don’t want to leave.  It’s not a requirement, of course, and if you’re uncomfortable because you’d rather not, then I perfectly understand.  But if you’re uncomfortable because you don’t know how and you’d like to, let’s get that sorted now.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Peter says.  His expression is blank, or too quick to see, and it’s Charles’ wince that draws Erik’s attention.  Behind him, he hears Emma’s glass clatter to the desk.

“I see,” Charles says, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his palm against his temple.  Erik reaches out without thinking, fingers brushing Charles’ hand, and the wave of cacophonous disorientation staggers him.

“He’s very much your son,” Charles murmurs.  His hand is clutching Erik’s, drawing it away from his temple, and the incomprehensible surge of electric thought eases as quickly as it came.  The study is still and warm and he and Charles are set apart, trapped in a moment no one else can see, and for once Erik understands exactly what he means.

“I suppose hurting your head runs in our genes,” Erik says quietly.

It makes Charles laugh, inexplicably, and the moment is gone but for Charles’ voice lingering in his head.  My darling, Charles says.  I wouldn’t trade anything about this world for one without you in it.

That isn’t true, Erik thinks.  That can’t be true.  That isn’t even what they were talking about.  How does Charles always turn the conversation on its head like this?  How does he know just what to say to unbalance Erik, to make him question everything he knows?

Emma is right, of course.  The helmet was no defense against Charles, but at least it lessened his impact.

“Thank you for the demonstration,” Charles is saying.  “That’s very convincing.  I’ll be available all night, unless Hank can talk or trick me into sleeping tomorrow, in which case Emma has kindly offered to cover the morning hours.  In the event of an emergency, though, please summon whomever you can think of.”

“You want us to knock on your head if there’s trouble,” Logan says.  It’s hard to tell from his expression whether he’s incredulous or impressed.

“Not literally, please.”  Charles smiles as though he’s very clever.  “But yes; Emma and I are the fastest silent alert system we have.  If you suspect an armed assault, or any kind of assault, don’t be squeamish.  Privacy is only valuable if we’re alive to enjoy it.”

“What’s the second thing?” Hank wants to know.  He’s still standing by the hearth, arms crossed, but Logan’s stance has shifted so they no longer look like mirror images of each other.  

His claws, Erik thinks.  Logan has lowered his arms so his claws can be unsheathed more readily.  He hasn’t relaxed at all.

“I was rather hoping you’d tell me,” Charles says.  “I mentioned that you and I should coordinate our contingency efforts.  If the grounds are compromised, assuming Logan and Erik can’t hold the house, I understand you have an evacuation plan?”

Hank and Logan look at each other, obviously uncaring of who sees.  “Yes,” Hank says at last.  “The Blackbird.  We--I enlisted some help in making sure everyone gets there.”

Alex raises his hand.  “He means me,” he says.

“And me,” Sean adds immediately.

Logan moves his hand enough to make it obvious, so Erik rolls his eyes and lifts his hand as well.  He doesn’t know the details of the plan, but if they’re confessing then he’ll take his fair share.  He wonders if Charles will disclose his own plans.

He wonders if Charles will tell the truth, if he does decide to share.

“Everyone has a designated group,” Hank is saying.  “People they’re responsible for in the event of emergency.  We get to the Blackbird and we go.  That’s the plan.”

“I see,” Charles says.  His gaze rakes over the boys before settling on Erik.  “And everyone is a part of one of these groups?  With or without their knowledge?”

“Without, mostly,” Hank says.  “We assigned people as they arrived based on ability and temperament.”

Charles looks at him long enough that Erik wonders if he’s being judged for not sharing the information sooner.  He only learned about it this morning.  Though to be fair, he never had any intention of telling Charles, so it’s a poor defense.

You didn’t tell us your plan, he thinks instead.

“That seems reasonable,” Charles says.  He hasn’t looked away from Erik.  “Should it come to that, I assume Erik is responsible for getting the plane out safely?”

Erik can hear Hank’s hesitation.  “Alex or I can fly the plane,” he says.

“Perhaps we should consider a flight class,” Charles says, still staring Erik down.  “But that isn’t what I meant.  Who did you trust Erik to retrieve in this plan, if you’re so unwilling to involve him in the new ones?”

Charles looks away from Erik at last, catching Hank’s eye with a deceptively mild expression.  Hank obviously recognizes it.  “You,” he says.  “And David.  You because you’re the only one we could trust him to protect, and David because you’re the only one who can contain him if he… explodes.”

Charles just nods.  “Reasonable,” he repeats.  “Would it be prudent to notify people which group they’re in?  In an emergency, they could do some of the work of getting to you--or the plane--without you having to find them first.”

Hank doesn’t hunch his shoulders, and he doesn’t look to Logan for support.  “I didn’t think we were at the point of sharing evacuation plans,” he says.

“Perhaps not,” Charles allows.  “I think we are now, though.  Don’t you?”

This time Hank nods, and Erik can’t stand it any longer.  “What of your plan, Charles?” he demands.  “You told Hank you wanted to coordinate; you must have a plan of your own.  Why don’t you share it with us?”

The charm and careless delight Charles spread around like party favors at the beginning of the meeting has vanished entirely by now.  Erik wonders if the liquor is enough to counteract the uppers, or if one or the other was an act all along.  Maybe this is the act.  Charles was difficult to decipher a decade ago, at his most transparent, and he’s a long way from that today.

“Publicity is our first line of defense,” Charles says.  “We must make our situation impossible to ignore, so that everyone is forced to condemn or be complicit in this struggle.  Where that fails--and it can not succeed completely, the government made that clear when they took you--Logan’s team will be our second line.

“He says he can’t defend these grounds indefinitely,” Charles adds, glancing at Logan, “and I agree.  This place is no fortress.  If we allow ourselves to be pushed back, relying on physical force to defend us, I fear it will only buy enough time for Hank’s planned evacuation to be an orderly one.”

“I’ve been in a lot of wars,” Logan says.  “Ain’t no such thing as an orderly evacuation.”

“This isn’t a war,” Charles says sharply.  “This is a series of tactical maneuvers meant to protect us should we fail to create necessary change in the political landscape.”

“What’s your plan,” Erik growls.

“If I’m conscious,” Charles tells him, “I can neutralize any human threat in range.  As Hank has surmised, this is the option of last resort.  I’d prefer not to do it.  But my preference isn’t greater than your life and safety.”

Erik doesn’t realize until after it’s out, until it’s hanging there in the air between them, how little he truly expected Charles to say it.

“Does it kill you?” Logan asks bluntly, and Erik’s gaze cuts to him.  “If you do it, whatever it is.  Do you survive?”

“If I do,” Charles says, as easily if they’re discussing curriculum.  “I’ll likely wish I hadn’t.”

“So we keep it from coming to that,” Hank says.  His tone brooks no discussion.  “Logan, you said you wanted to talk to your security team; you can use my classroom if you want to.  I don’t think you’ll all fit in the A/V room.  Emma, assuming the rest of the night goes to plan, what time can you take over from Charles?”

“Four would be easy,” she says.  Either she heard the question coming or she’s been thinking about it herself.  “Three, less so.  Every hour earlier than that means an increased loss of focus.”

“It’s after ten,” Charles interjects.  “You need at least four hours of sleep.”

“Yeah, and when you come down from your high, you’ll need more,” Hank retorts.

“Four o’clock,” Charles tells Emma.

“Three,” Hank says.

Emma sets her empty glass down.  “Wake me up at three,” she says, getting smoothly to her feet.  “Good night.  Play nice.  Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Summers, MacTaggart,” Logan says.  “Banshee, Pete.  Angel.  Let’s go.”

“Try to keep it short,” Hank says under his breath.

“I look stupid to you?” Logan retorts.

For some reason it makes Hank smile, even as Warren asks, “Did you just call me Angel?”

“Out,” Logan says.  “Come on, I ain’t got all night.”

He marches out after Emma, the rest of the group following in his wake.  His group, including Wanda, who got up when Peter did and passes Magda with a small smile.  Peter catches Erik’s eye and he nods, but Erik sees Magda mouth be careful in Wanda’s direction.  No one moves to stop her.

“I assume you’ll want to tear the Sentinels apart tonight,” Hank says abruptly.  “We don’t have enough metal for you to reinforce the entire frame.  You’ll have to settle for magnetizing the control interface.”

Erik raises his eyebrows at him.  “Are you planning to supervise me?”

“Yeah,” Hank says, like it’s a stupid question.  “I’m planning to supervise you.  And if there’s any sleep to be had tonight, I’d like to have some of it, so let’s get going.”

Erik glances at Charles, who waves cheerfully.  “I’ll wait up,” he promises.  “Apparently I’m on duty until three, but I hope you won’t keep Hank that long.”

“I’m not keeping Hank at all,” Erik grumbles, though he knows full well he won’t win this argument.  “Show me where the Sentinels are.”

“It’s raining,” Charles adds.  “Take a coat.”

“I can bend metal,” Erik reminds him.  “I’ll make a roof.”

“It’s cold, then,” Charles says.  “Take a coat anyway.”

“I’m not carrying anything for you,” Hank says.  “You’ll have to float it up from downstairs yourself.”

“No one asked you to help,” Erik tells him.

“Funny,” Hank says.  “That’s exactly what I said about you.”

“Don’t hurt each other, please,” Charles says.  “Magda, can I get you another drink?”

She’s taken one of the armchairs abandoned by the twins, legs loosely crossed as she leans back and stares moodily at the place where a fire would be.  She doesn’t look up when Charles speaks, though they all turn to look at her.  She’s the last to move and she doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere.

“Yes,” she tells the darkened fireplace.  “I think I’m going to need it.”

Chapter 14

It’s easier to pour Magda’s drink with no one watching.  Charles can’t keep his hands from shaking, and the glass clinks repeatedly, but she doesn’t look over and he doesn’t try to explain.  They all know he’s on something, and if it’s technically doctor-approved, well.  He wouldn’t have been stopped if it wasn’t.

He switches the glass from one hand to the other as he turns, then balances it on the arm of his chair as he wheels carefully across the floor.  For a wonder, it doesn’t fall, though he’s glad he didn’t try to manage another.  Contrary to what Hank thinks, he knows his limits.

He usually ignores them, but he does know them.

“There you are,” he says, holding the glass with one hand while he turns to maneuver alongside her with the other.  “From my chair to yours.”

She doesn’t thank him, but he doesn’t think it’s out of spite that she says, “You should get a cup holder.”

“Do you know, I have one?”  He rolls backwards until he’s positioned beside the other armchair, weighing the effort involved in the transfer against the comfort of being able to lean his head back on something when holding it up gets to be too much.  

He supposes when Magda leaves, she won’t want him to follow.  And he's already promised not to go bed until tomorrow, so.  He might as well get comfortable.

“I actually have a variety of useful accessories,” he says, partly to fill the silence and partly to cover the struggle of lifting himself from one place to the other.  It’s harder the more exhausted he gets.  Stimulants can keep him alert, but they don’t rebuild tired muscle.  “I’m quite vain, though, and I find I don’t like the way they look on the chair.  I rarely use them.”

“What happened?” she asks.  When he glances at her she’s staring at the fireplace instead of at him.  “You said it wasn’t Erik’s fault.  He says it was.”

She doesn’t go any further, but he can’t blame her for asking.  He’s been in Erik’s mind and he still feels the years like a chasm he can’t approach, let alone cross.  He knows it’s worse for her, with twice as much time gone and no shortcuts to understanding.

“It wasn’t deliberate,” Charles says.  It wasn’t an accident, but it wasn’t deliberate.  “He was careless.  I was struck by a bullet he deflected.  He pulled it out of my spine immediately, which may or may not have helped, and I’ve been mostly paralyzed ever since.”

She doesn’t reply.  He’s just as happy not to discuss it.  He pulls his legs into some semblance of a normal sitting position and rests his head against the back of the chair, wondering how long before the stimulants stop making him jittery and start making him ache.

They sit in silence for several minutes, while Magda sips her drink and Charles listens to her think about Sentinels and mutants and what happens to minorities everywhere.  He wants to interrupt.  He wants to say, not all minorities.  He wants to say, it doesn’t have to be like that.  But he’s lost that battle with Erik a hundred times over, and he’s not about to start again with Erik’s wife.

“Your teachers seem very dedicated to the school,” she says abruptly.

She’s talked to Hank, and to Sean, and he thinks she tried to talk to Alex.  Alex has his own code: no matter what he thinks of Erik, he won’t easily warm to what he considers Charles’ competition.  Charles knows it’s petty to feel flattered, but he’s a petty man.  He accepts that about himself.

“It wouldn’t exist without them,” he says truthfully.  “We’re very lucky to have them.”

The look Magda gives him is sharp and searching, and he knows what’s behind it.  “We?”

He could say, the mutant community.  He could say, everyone who walks through these doors.  He could say either of those things and mean it completely.  But she isn’t here to talk about his dreams of visibility and mutant equality.  She isn’t even here to talk about her children, though that’s the reason she’d give if he were to ask.

“I hope Erik will stay,” he tells her.  “I would very much like to see him find a place here.  Something stable, something…”

“With you,” she says.

“Yes,” Charles agrees.  “With me.”

It doesn’t upset her.  She didn’t expect him to lie outright, but she thought he might try to dissemble or evade the question entirely.  She clearly values the straight answer as much as Erik does.

“Your teachers say he’s more important to you than the school is,” Magda tells him.

And she’ll drive him to the edge just as quickly, it seems.  “Any individual is more important than an abstract ideal,” Charles says.  “That’s where Erik and I differ, I’m afraid.  I find no moral argument sufficient to sacrifice a person for principles.”

She stares at him over her glass.  “Didn’t you just offer to kill anyone who threatens your students?  Or did I misunderstand your plan of last resort?”

“No person is more important than a principle,” he says.  “There are people I value more than others.  My students, naturally, are at the top of the list.”

“With Erik,” she says.

“With my friends,” he counters, “and my family.  I expect you value your children’s lives above any others, yes?”

“Do you count Erik as your family?” she insists.

“Unquestionably,” Charles says.

This seems to be what she wanted to hear, all expectation to the contrary.  Her thoughts race ahead, swirling around the children and the school and the alternatives she’s already discarded.  Wanda can’t go home.  Peter shouldn’t.  Annie has a life in Virginia, but her attachment to Lorna is getting them into as much trouble as Lorna faced alone.

Charles wants to say, there’s a place for you here.  He wants to have a place for everyone, and he’ll make one where it doesn’t exist.  He wants to say they’re welcome, not because of Erik, but just because they need someone who doesn’t turn them away.

He wants to say, I’d count you all as family if you’d let me, but he knows she won’t accept that from him.

“What if his enemies kill you?” Magda asks at last.  “Tonight.  Or tomorrow.  Or next week.  What if they kill you, and they burn this school to the ground?”

“Then I count on Hank to see everyone else to safety,” Charles says evenly.  He’s glad he isn’t holding a drink now, because his hands are clenched on the arms of the chair and he still can’t keep them from trembling.  “I have hope that he or Erik will rebuild the school, and that they’ll take comfort in knowing I died for what I love.”

She stares at him for a long moment.  “You can imagine Erik running a school.”

He tries to smile, and it collapses into something that might be a laugh.  “I can hope,” he repeats.  “Can’t I?  He’s really very good with mutant abilities, you know.”

She doesn’t know, and it bothers her.  “What if you don’t die,” she says.  “What if we all survive… whatever comes next.  What if your school reopens, and you get your wish.”

“And Erik stays,” Charles finishes for her, when she hesitates.  “Will he have a position of authority here?  Will he be the one to decide whether or not your children can stay?  Will he succeed in excluding all humans, yourself among them?”

She lowers her glass carefully, glancing at him only briefly before glaring at the fireplace.  “Do you know every question before I ask it?”

“No,” he says honestly.  “You’ve surprised me several times tonight.  And even when I do know the questions, that doesn’t mean I have the answers.  I’m fumbling my way through this just as you are.”

It’s enough to make her meet his eye again, at least.  “I resent the fact that my husband loves you more,” she tells him.

“I’m jealous that he loved you first,” Charles replies.  “Short of altering the timeline or rewriting who he is, I don’t know that there’s anything we can do about it.”

“You’re a particularly irritating man,” Magda tells him.  “I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

“Many times,” he agrees.  From Erik, he wants to say but doesn’t.  There’s a car turning onto their road, and the driver is familiar.  This conversation is nearly over.  He can’t say he’ll be sorry to see it end.

“I’m afraid I’m likely to give Erik any position he wants,” he adds, since she at least deserves the answers he has, “but I assure you that you and your children will never be turned away.  He’s as susceptible to me as I am to him, you see.  My promise to you will bind us both.”

“We can’t pay,” she says bluntly.  “I can teach, if that means anything to you.  I heard it might.  But there’s no money for the kids’ tuition.”

“We’d be delighted to have you teach,” Charles says, only recognizing the “we” after he says it again.  “But you needn’t barter for their lessons.  Our doors are open to everyone, and everyone will make their own contribution.  Financial or otherwise.”

She gives him a skeptical look.  “Is that a talking point from the old days, or are you practicing for the future?”

He can’t help but smile, and it feels more genuine this time.  “Perhaps I always fancy myself at the head of a school, whether it exists in the moment or not.”

He’s happy to let the ensuing silence stretch.  He watches her finish her drink while their visitor pulls up to the gate, and Alex must have been watching the cameras because he’s ready for the phone the moment it rings.  He appears in the doorway of the study less than a minute later, knocking on the open door to get their attention.

“Photographer’s at the gate,” he says, when Charles catches his eye.  “Michael, says he has the proofs.  You want me to let him through?”

“Yes, thank you,” Charles says.  “Have him meet me in here, if you would.  And Alex,” he adds, because it’s only polite.  “I am sorry about the rain.”

Alex waves it off.  “We’re working on it,” he says.  “Beast’ll probably be able to remotely unlock everything on the grounds by this weekend.”

“Indeed,” Charles says, the smile tugging at his lips again.  He can see very well what Alex means by “we.”  “I look forward to it, then.”

Magda dredges up enough politeness of her own to ask if he wants her to leave, and he surprises himself by saying no.  Alex doesn’t leave either, when he comes back with Michael, and the four of them look at proofs and what text Trish was able to send.  Charles absently corrects the spelling of “Lehnsherr” and he catches Magda’s flicker of exasperation.  Not directed at him.

“Why am I in these pictures?” Alex wants to know.

“Because you confronted a giant robot and didn’t die,” Michael tells him.

Because you’re a soldier, Charles thinks.  Alex’s dog tags are unmistakable in the foreground of the photo.  He doesn’t wear them over his shirt; it was only a coincidence… a convenience of timing that made them visible at that moment.

“I didn’t confront anything,” Alex argues.  “I went out to make sure the kids came back safe.  Does Jean’s mom know she’s in these?” he asks Charles.

“Elaine is asleep,” Charles says.  She won’t approve the pictures anyway, so there’s no point in waking her.  “You’ll have to hold them until tomorrow, pending her permission.”

“Is there anyone else who could give permission?” Michael wants to know.  “Another parent?”

No one who knows the situation, but that won’t convince him.  “No,” Charles says simply.  “Keep Jean’s picture out of the news, please.  You may use David’s, and Alex?  Can he use your image?”

Alex shrugs.  “I guess.  There’s nothing interesting about it, but sure.”

“The Robot Wars,” Magda says.  “Soldiers Under Fire.  Will Robots Replace the Army?  Trust me, they’ll get so many good headlines out of that picture.”

“Yes,” Charles tells Michael.  “Those pictures will be fine.  Thank you for bringing them over.  Tell Trish thank you as well; we appreciate her sympathetic slant.”

“Sure thing,” Michael says, gathering up the folders and notes.  It’s the most organized Charles has ever seen a member of the news media, but maybe they train them differently in photographer school.  He even has paperclips.

Alex shows him out again, but Magda lingers.  She says little and she refuses another drink, but she isn’t biding her time.  There’s no pressing question on her mind that he can answer; she’s just… sitting up.  Not sleeping.

He does wonder at one point if she’s waiting for Erik to return, but he can’t detect any anticipation of his arrival in her mind.  It’s possible that she expects him to meet Charles in the bedroom, rather than the study.  Charles’ mind wanders off on a long and pleasant fantasy before coming back.

“Magda,” he says at last.  When she looks at him, he suddenly wonders if saying it aloud will make it worse.  “I realize that circumstances aren’t ideal,” he says anyway, because what choice does he have but to continue?  “I appreciate your… tolerance.”

“Nothing’s ideal,” she tells him.  “I’ve seen worse.”

That wasn’t in question, he thinks.  And it’s hardly the point.  But if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t force the issue.  He’s in no condition to be conciliatory, and she’s unlikely to be receptive to such overtures anyway.  Though it goes against his nature, there’s nothing about this that words can solve.

When Peter and Wanda return from whatever Logan considers a security briefing, or strategy meeting, or both, the two of them are sitting in a silence that’s almost companionable.

Chapter 15

“I thought you were going to keep it short,” Hank says.  He’s following Sean and Moira on the cameras as best he can, but the rain is heavy and Sean isn’t carrying a light.  Hank has CBNC on one of the monitors and the BBC on another.  It keeps him focused.

Logan drops his shoulder against the door and grunts, “That was short.  Done with the machines already?”

“Like I know,” Hank mutters.  “I can’t see what he’s doing to the damn things, but he activated them without a code and he managed to arm and aim them, so I guess he’s done.  He shut them down and skulked off to the professor’s bedroom, anyway.”

He hears Logan’s amused breath, and the faint hint of understanding when he says, “Get some sleep, doc.  I don’t want to see you high.”

Hank doesn’t look away from the monitors.  “I don’t take that stuff.”

“You take plenty,” Logan tells him.  “Balance ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Hank thinks there’s a difference between having the choice and not, even if it all comes out the same in the end.  He doesn’t say it.  Logan is quiet enough that Hank doesn’t hear him go, though he shows up on the garden camera a few minutes later.  Deliberately, no doubt.

Logan doesn’t appear again until after the Sentinel pictures have broken on CBNC and the BBC has started running new speculation on the connection between Professor Charles Xavier and the people the US government is calling “mutants.”  Hank thinks he’s splitting his attention pretty well until he realizes that someone just blocked the northwest camera three times in the last five seconds.  Logan is effectively making the screen flash in Hank’s peripheral vision.

Even as he turns his attention to the flashing camera, Charles drops into his head without warning.  There’s an unnecessary sense of breathlessness to his voice when he says, Logan saw six armed operatives crossing the stone wall on the northwestern border, road side, here.  Charles presses the location into his mind while Hank looks for Sean and Moira.

Sean’s out front, Charles says, the words expanding as they go, reaching beyond just the two of them.  There’s a funny echo that Hank’s learned to recognize when Charles pulls someone else into the conversation.  Moira’s coming back from the boathouse.  Logan thinks they left their vehicle with the last of the news vans down by the corner.

I’m on my way, Moira thinks, her thoughts clear and immediate.

Hank wants to go too but the ones they don’t see are the most dangerous.  “I have Logan on camera,” he says aloud.  He’s nowhere near as good as Moira at thinking in words; Charles understands him, but he’ll have to rephrase it for the others no matter what Hank does.  No reason to double their distraction.

“Moira too,” he adds, when he catches her flashlight on a screen.  “No one else.”

Hank says there’s nothing else on the cameras, Charles reports.  Moira, wait for Sean, please.  Logan, when you see Sean, cover your ears.

“Ask Logan if he wants backup,” Hank says.  Alex wakes up fast, and his power is a lot better controlled than it used to be.

Logan says it’s just these six, Charles says, which Hank hears as a no.  Plastic weapons and bulletproof vests.  No ear protectors.

It’s like they have no idea who they’re dealing with, Moira says.

They probably don’t, Hank thinks, locking the camera nearest Logan and increasing the cycling speed on the rest of them.  They’ve come prepared for Erik, for Magneto, but no one else.  How much can the government know about people it pretends don’t exist?

They’re splitting up, Charles says.  Sean’s in the air.  He says if you can keep them together, he’s almost there.

If they discharge their weapons, we can have them arrested, Moira adds, and Hank has no idea how she can keep her thoughts so distinct while she’s running and listening to Charles’ narration at the same time.

There’s a grim but ghostly sense of satisfaction that doesn’t come from either Moira or Charles, and Hank thinks he’d recognize Sean, so it must be Logan.  Hank has a brief moment to hope he isn’t drawing fire before Charles offers, Logan says he can do it.  Our visitors are aware of him.  Moira, turn right.  Sean, get down.  They’re shooting.  Logan, cover your ears!

Hank is standing up, but there’s nothing he can do.  He isn’t there, he can’t even see anything now and everything he knows about the situation comes from Charles’ comments.  And Moira’s increasingly entertaining complaints.

Sean, god damn it, she thinks, clearly enough for everyone to hear her.  You really can’t make that more directional?  Charles, why do you own half of New York?  I’ve run road races that were shorter than this.

“Are they okay?” Hank wants to know.  “Charles.  What's happening!”

Logan and Sean are fine, Charles says.  The sense of annoyance that follows those words must not be his, because he amends, Sean is fine.  Logan’s been shot, but it’s not serious.  All operatives are down.

Hank can imagine Logan grumbling, Easy for you to say.

Hank is worried, Charles says.  What do you want me to say, Logan, you’ve been grievously injured but will probably recover before you have time to tear open a band-aid?  Or, I have an idea: I could just say it’s not serious and you’ll be fine.

“I didn’t say I was worried,” Hank objects.

That’s true, Charles agrees.  He sounds like he's rolling his eyes, which Hank thinks is uncalled for.  Hank didn’t say he was worried.  Moira, you can turn your torch back on.  Anyone who shouldn’t see you coming is too unconscious to care.

Flashlight, Moira thinks.

Yes, Charles says, though the sense that he’s ignoring her is unmistakable.  Thank you, Sean.  Well done.

“Can I call the police now?” Hank asks.

Moira, Charles says.  Can Hank call the police now?

Yes, she says.  Someone will need to meet them at the gate.  You’ll probably have to reassure them that we’re all supposed to be here.

“I can do it,” Hank says.  “They know me.”

I’ll come down, Charles says.  Hank, I’m afraid you’ll need to improvise some sort of non-threatening method of restraint for our visitors.  I know you can knock them out again, Sean, but I don’t think that finding six men unconscious in the woods will convince the police that we’re the victims here.

It makes Hank smile, and he gives the monitors a last look.  The cameras are dark and quiet now, while David’s picture is on one news stations and Alex’s is on the other.  He isn’t sure whether it’s better or worse than seeing pictures of Charles every time he looks up.

At least the dispatcher at the police station takes him seriously when he reports trespassers and the sound of gunshots.  School security says they’re contained, Hank tells the voice at the station, but he hasn’t seen for himself.  He doesn’t think anyone is injured.  

They send an ambulance anyway.  Hank gets back from dropping nylon rope and extra flashlights with “security” in time to let it in, and the patrol cars are right behind it: sirens going, lights blazing, apparently determined to wake up as many people as possible.  Hank bites his tongue, but Charles chides them for the sirens.

“Really,” he says, “I was hoping some of the children might sleep through this.  The gunfire was bad enough.”

Mentioning children does the trick, though it probably helps that Charles has put on a very expensive jacket over his long sleeves and he manages to act not at all impaired.  It’s barely raining now, a drizzle or a blowing mist in the bright lights by the front door.  They gather there, where Logan and Moira and Sean have managed to march the now-conscious, unarmed, and very sullen secret operatives out of the woods and into the light.

“It was only two to one,” Moira tells the incredulous officers.  “And we had the element of surprise.”

“I hired Moira and Logan to provide security for the school,” Charles adds.  “This is their job.  And Sean, one of my teachers: he happened to be awake, so he offered his assistance.  You know Hank, of course.”

“Did you always have security?” one of the officers asks.  He doesn’t seem particularly concerned one way or the other, but he’s making notes.

“No,” Charles says.  “They’re new this year.  I’m afraid the world is a more dangerous place these days.”

“It’s all going to hell out there,” the other man agrees.  “You still teaching muties?”

“I prefer the term mutant,” Charles says, sounding as polite as he looks.  “Yes.  All harmless, of course, but with the news recently, I thought it best to have some people keep an eye on the grounds.”

The officer nods, writing it all down, and Hank marvels at how plausibly Charles can lie.  It can’t all be telepathic influence, or it would wear off as soon as they leave.  They must actually believe some of what he says.

If only that worked on Erik, Hank thinks fleetingly.

The operatives are close-mouthed about their affiliation, at least in front of Charles and the school.  They get taken into custody for their effort, but the charges won't stick longer than it takes them to name the government agency they’re working for.  At least it gets them off the grounds without what they came for.

He does wish he could have kept one of their weapons, though.  “The only problem with cooperating with the police,” he says under his breath.  Of course Logan hears him, so he adds, “I’d have liked to get a look at one of those plastic handguns.”

Logan glances at Moira, and when Hank follows his gaze he sees her smiling.

“Yeah,” Sean says.  “I figured.”

“We might have missed one,” Moira adds.  “Funny thing about tying people up in the dark.  It’s so hard to see what you’re doing.”

“I’ll get it,” Logan says.  “I’ll do another circuit of the grounds, lock it in your lab afterwards.”

Hank blinks.  Charles squeezes his elbow before turning away, his wheelchair strangely smooth on the rough ground.  “Jean and David are awake,” he says over his shoulder.  “I’ll see to them before handing off to Emma.”

Good work, everyone, he adds silently.  He sounds tired, even in Hank’s mind, but his pride in each of them filters through like warmth and light.

“Wait up,” Sean calls, trotting after Logan.  “I’ll get my wings, go down the road and see what happened to whatever they were driving.”

Only then does it occur to Hank that Sean is dressed normally.  He went out on patrol wearing his sonic glider--and he must have had it recently, if he caught up with Logan by flying.  Quick thinking to ditch it before the police arrived, Hank thinks.  It’s not incriminating so much as it is odd, but they don’t need any more strikes against them in that category.

“I’m going inside,” Moira announces to no one in particular.  “If anyone else wants to sneak onto campus with highly specialized weapons and tac gear, they’re going to have to get in line.”

“I’ll make hot chocolate,” Hank offers, and she smiles at him.

“You’re on,” she agrees.

The house is eerily still after the activity outside: it’s bigger and more isolated than Hank gives it credit for, sometimes.  If any of the non-telepathic students have woken up, Hank doesn’t see them, and none of the adults come downstairs.  He hopes that means Elaine and Dani and even Magda missed the excitement.  Emma will be up soon anyway, and Alex’s room is dark and quiet when Hank pauses outside his door.

He thinks about knocking for a long moment.  Alex is a light sleeper, though, and if he’s not awake already there’s no reason to get him up.  In the end, Hank goes back downstairs and huddles in the A/V room with Moira and a couple of mugs of hot chocolate.  They watch the news get progressively more ridiculous until Logan comes back and tells them both to go to bed.

It's nice to do what someone else tells him to for a change, Hank thinks.  He wonders if Moira feels the same way.

Unfortunately, the guilty pleasure doesn’t last long.  He tries not to be annoyed that Logan is also the one waking him up a few hours later, but it’s not easy.  He turned off his alarm on purpose.  People who actually slept last night should be the ones to handle breakfast, and he thought they hired staff for just this reason.

At least Logan is standing in the doorway, Hank thinks, pushing himself up on his elbows and squinting over at him.  It isn’t dark, he realizes belatedly.  “What time is it?” he mumbles.

“Nine ten,” Logan says.  There’s someone lurking in the hallway behind him.  “Sorry, doc.  The president’s on the phone.  Or they say he’s gonna be, and I’m not taking any chances.”

It’s not as early as it feels, then.  Breakfast is over by now.  With any luck, Emma’s keeping all of the kids occupied and at least moderately engaged somewhere that isn’t dangerous.  She might even be teaching them something useful, but Hank knows what happens when he assumes.

“Did you say the president’s on the phone?” he asks, fumbling for his glasses.  “Is Charles up?”

“It’s the office of the president,” Logan says.  “Supposedly.  They say the president has five minutes starting at nine forty-two, and he wants to talk to the professor.”

“Who’s not awake,” Alex adds, peering over Logan’s shoulder so Hank can see him properly.  “Which is why we’re making your day miserable instead.  You saw him last night; is he gonna be any good on the phone this morning?”

“Fuck,” Hank mutters.  He sits up the rest of the way and runs a hand through his hair, thinking a half-hearted wake up in Charles’ direction.  “That was their team here last night.  They’re calling us first thing in the morning on purpose.  This is psychological warfare.”

“Okay,” Alex says after a noticeable pause.  He sounds like he's trying not to smile, but Hank doesn't have the energy to glare at him.   “It’s probably not psychological warfare, but I’m gonna go get you some coffee.  Do you want us to get the professor or not?  And if you do, any suggestions on how to keep Erik from killing us?”

“No,” Hank grumbles, shoving the blankets back and rolling out of bed.  “I’ll do it.  I’m pretty sure he and Charles made some kind of deal where he’s not allowed to kill me.”

“You think he keeps his deals?” Logan asks.  He sounds more amused than ominous.  Well, Logan always sounds ominous, but now he sounds amused too.

“I think if he wants to keep sleeping in Charles’ bed,” Hank says, “he keeps his deals.”  He pads over to the door, but Alex is gone.  Hopefully to get something that isn’t coffee.  “Is the president’s office still on the phone?  Who answered the call, anyway?”

“Summers did,” Logan says.  “I just wanted to see him wake you up.”

Hank isn’t as good at reading Logan as he is some of the others, but he’s pretty sure that’s a lie.  He frowns at Logan and gets a shrug in return.  “Kid chickened out,” Logan says.  “Yeah, they’re still on the phone.  Keeping the line clear, they said.”

Hank looks back at the clock.  9:14.  Less than half an hour before Charles has an audience with the president of the United States, and he’s not even awake yet.  Hank definitely doesn’t have time to get dressed.

“The guy shot the professor’s sister,” Logan says abruptly.  “I don’t think he’s too worried about sleeping on the sofa.”

Hank stops next to him in the doorway, giving him a surprised look.  “What?”

Logan catches his eye.  He doesn’t step back, no matter how much he has to look up to do it.  “Watch yourself,” he says.

Hank blinks.  “I will,” he says automatically.

Logan unfolds his arms and steps away.  “Lemme know if you need anything.”

Hank frowns after him, but no one ever makes sense first thing in the morning.  It’s probably him.  He shakes it off and heads for Charles’ room, checking his watch as he goes.  9:15.  He wonders if anyone is warning people away from the phone.

He almost doesn’t pause to knock on Charles’ door, but common sense prevails.  Charles, he thinks, knocking quietly once and then louder almost immediately.  They really don’t have time for politeness.  Charles, wake up.  The president wants to talk to you.

There’s no answer from the other side of the door.  The door doesn’t unlatch, and Hank thinks annoyed thoughts at Erik for good measure.  Of course this would be the morning Erik decides not to cooperate.

The door opens.  Erik is standing there in gray sweatpants and nothing else, and he looks like he might melt the door shut if Hank takes a single step forward.  “Whatever it is,” he says, and even his whisper sounds grim.  “Deal with it.”

“The president’s on the phone,” Hank tells him.

Erik stares at him for long enough that Hank thinks he might have to provide proof.  Then, grudgingly, he opens the door the rest of the way.  Hank pushes inside without another word, jostling Erik’s shoulder as he passes.  Deal with it, he thinks irritably.

“Charles,” he says, aloud and in his head.  “Charles, hey.”  He puts a hand on Charles’ arm, ignoring the dimpled pillows and rucked up blankets on the other side of the bed.  “Charles, the president wants to talk to you.”

A sleepy warmth blossoms in Hank’s mind.  It’s grumpy and reluctant even as Charles’ body refuses to move.  Very amusing, Charles mutters inside his head.

“Not a joke,” Hank says aloud.  “Or if it is, a lot of people are in on it.  You have 24 minutes before he gives you five over the phone.  Alex says he’s getting coffee; what do you want?”

Charles rolls onto his back, his legs twisting under the blankets when they fail to follow.  “What?”

“They just woke me up,” Hank tells him.  “Logan even apologized.  Apparently Alex took a call from the office of the president that said he wants to talk to you for five minutes.  At 9:42.  Which is really soon.  And I don’t think the president is going to wait.”

One thing about talking to a telepath, Hank thinks; they get the important parts very quickly.  

“Bloody hell,” Charles says, jerking the blankets out from under him and rolling back onto his side to push himself up.  He manages to get his legs straight this time.  “Would you help me to my chair, please?”

Hank braces his hip against the side of the bed and holds out his arm, but Charles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “Just… pick me up, if you would,” he mutters.

“Sure,” Hank says, careful not to look at Erik.  He gets an arm under Charles’ knees first, and he lets Charles wrap his arms around Hank’s shoulders.  “You want to take it up here?”

“No.”  Charles’ voice is very close to his ear, but it’s only a couple of steps around the chair.  “The parlour.  You can use the upstairs phone to listen, if you want.”

“What are you going to say?” Hank asks, putting an arm on the back of Charles’ chair as he leans over it.  He lets go of Charles’ knees and waits for Charles to release him before he straightens up.

“I’ve no idea,” Charles admits.  He rearranges himself before he pushes his hair out of his face, then he pushes it back again and frowns over at Erik.  “Erik, what should I say to the president of the United States, do you think?”

Erik doesn’t move.  “I don’t imagine you’ll be given much time to speak,” he says.

Charles puts his hands on the wheels, flips the lock, and rolls his chair back and forth a couple of times.  “Hank?” he says.

“Say you’re interested in a collaboration with his mutant task force,” Hank says.  “You know he has one: an advisory group or a committee or something.  You want to talk to whoever’s taken Trask’s place, and educate them about the reality of mutants living in the country today.”

“That’s what we want,” Charles says, like he’s looking for confirmation or just trying to get it straight in his head.  “To educate them.”

“You run a school,” Hank reminds him.  “That’s what we do.”

“Yes, of course,” Charles murmurs.  He glances at Erik again.  “And what were we doing last night?”

“Making it possible,” Hank says firmly.  Charles is sometimes weird in the morning, defenses down and speaking other people's minds too easily.  They can't afford to have him channeling Erik right now.  

Charles looks back at him, and he blinks.  Hank’s pretty sure he overheard that thought.  “Maybe you should come with me,” Charles says after a moment.  “Erik can listen on the upstairs line if he wants to.”

“I’m remarkably uninterested in anything the president has to say,” Erik tells them.

“Would that he were similarly uninterested in you,” Charles replies.  “Hank, give us two minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs.  Ask Alex for some tea, if you would.  Erik, if you’d get me a glass of water and something for my head, please.”

Hank is already heading for the door, but he pauses to look over his shoulder before he leaves.  “I’ll be back in two minutes,” he warns them.

Charles is rolling toward the bathroom, but there’s a smile in his voice when he calls, “I have every confidence in you, my friend.”

Chapter 16

“Hello?”

The professor's voice over the phone sounds more interested than intimidated, and Alex wonders if he's already started drinking or if Hank added something else to his tea to wake him up.  Sean doesn’t look surprised, but Sean mostly looks sleepy and distracted.  Alex isn’t even sure who got him out of bed.

“Is this Dr. Charles Xavier?”

The other voice sounds weirdly tense, but whoever it is probably gets in trouble if the person the president wants to talk to isn’t on the phone.  Charles didn’t leave a lot of time to spare.  If the president had been early, they might have missed him altogether.

“Speaking,” Charles replies.

Alex wonders what happens if the president calls while you’re in town getting groceries.

“Hold for the President of the United States, please.”  The voice does sound less tense now, though Alex wouldn’t go so far as to call it relieved.  “He’ll be on the line momentarily.”

Alex looks at Sean again, and this time Sean is looking back.  His eyebrows are raised and he mouths, wow.  Alex feels the corner of his mouth quirk.  Right, he thinks?  What the hell.  The president is calling their school.  Can they put that in the brochure?

A noise from the door makes him glance over his shoulder.  Erik is standing there, and Alex still wants to hit him as soon as he sees him.  Every damn time.  The impulse fades now, more quickly than it did at first, but his subconscious still thinks Erik is the enemy.

Erik is holding the speaker Hank keeps downstairs in the TV room.  Hank bought it for the phone years ago, so more than one person can hear what’s being said.  Alex thinks he got it so the professor isn’t the only one who knows things about incoming students, but it’s handy no matter what.  He was just thinking it’s too bad there isn’t one for the upstairs phone.

Alex leans away from the receiver, still holding it near Sean’s ear, and holds out his other hand.  Erik enters the room silently and surrenders the device without a word.  Alex isn’t stupid.  Erik made noise on purpose, to get their attention.  Not to avoid startling them, but to keep them from saying anything that would give away their presence on the line and get Charles in trouble.

Erik’s good behavior is contingent on Charles’ affection, and they all know it.  If it didn’t go both ways, it wouldn’t be worth it.  But Hank says Charles is useless without Erik, so Erik stays.  

Alex needs both hands to attach the speaker to the phone, so he passes off the receiver to Sean and tries not to make a sound.  Erik steps back, out of arm’s reach, but Alex can’t stop being aware of him even when he doesn’t want to be here.  He doesn’t hate Erik, and he isn’t afraid of him.  But he wouldn’t mind punching him in the face sometimes, either.

“Dr. Xavier?”  The voice is back, and much louder now over the speaker.  Sean jumps a little, holding the receiver away from his ear like that will help, and Alex reaches out to adjust the volume down.

“Yes, I’m still here.”  Charles sounds very clear and not a little amused.  It’s contagious to the point where Alex smiles himself.  He wonders if Hank is sitting as close to Charles right now as Sean as sitting to him.

“The President of the United States,” the voice says.

Then there’s another voice, one he’s only heard on television.  “Dr. Xavier, hello.”

Alex doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Charles says, “Hello, Mr. President.  This is an honor.”

“Look, I’ll get right to it,” the president’s gruff voice replies.  “Mutants are getting a lot of attention right now, and I need to know more about them.  Who they are, what they can do.  That kind of thing.  I understand you’re some kind of expert.”

Charles sounds perfectly calm.  “I’ve studied the subject extensively, yes.”

“You mean you’ve studied them,” the president says.  “You’ve worked with them.  They know you.  I saw you at that disaster of a press conference, when Trask’s machines turned on the crowd.”

Yeah, Alex saw that too.  Thanks to Erik, everyone saw it.

“I’ve worked with some of them,” Charles agrees.  “You must know I was CIA for a while.  Part of the mutant division.”

“CIA claims they don’t have any record of that,” the president says.  “But that was you in Cuba, wasn’t it.  I’m told you and Lehnsherr were both there.  He work for you?”

“No,” Charles says.  “No, he didn’t.”

“Does he now?” the president demands, and for the first time, Charles hesitates.

“No,” he says.  It’s only a second too late, but it was a very long second, and Alex can feel Erik standing closer than he was before.

“You want him cleared of assassination charges,” the president says.  “Why?  What’s he got on you?”

“He’s my friend,” Charles says simply.  “And he didn’t kill President Kennedy.”

“Well, he tried to kill me,” Nixon snaps.  “I’m not gonna do him any favors, but you keep him from being my problem and I’ll keep federal agents from being his.”

“That’s quite a reversal of policy,” Charles says, “if the number of federal agents we’ve seen this week is any indication.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nixon says.  “But if I had sent anyone, I certainly wouldn’t send more.  Your retention rate is twenty percent.  CIA, FBI, even Canadian operatives, and god knows they don’t have any to spare.  You’ve got a whole collection of defectors up there.”

Alex catches Sean’s eye.  That’s actually true.  It’s kind of reassuring, especially if it worries the government, and they smile at the same moment.

“I have students,” Charles says.  “And I have teachers.  As of last night, I also have a security team to turn back trespassers.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you what I have,” Nixon says.  “I have five branches of the armed forces to defend this country.  So quit breaking into places and stealing my stuff.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charles says.  “But if I were breaking into places, it would be because people’s lives are in immediate danger.  Not because I have any interest in your… stuff.”  The pause is just long enough to be condescending.

Instead of hanging up, Nixon barks a laugh.  “Says the man with two government Sentinels on his property.”

“I’m not the one who put them there,” Charles replies.

He’s not wrong.  Alex sees Sean nod out of the corner of his eye.

“This is what you’re gonna do,” Nixon says.  “Someone’s life is in danger, you call the FBI like everyone else.  My people are gonna give you a number; it’s answered 24 hours a day.  They’ll make sure whoever you’re so worried about is kept alive until you can make your case.  In return, you’ll tell me everything I need to know about the mutant situation.”

“I do run a school,” Charles says.

Good, Alex thinks.  Don’t leave us now, professor.

“Well, I can’t have a cripple in Washington,” Nixon says, and it takes Alex a second to figure out who he’s talking about.  “There’s a committee; I’ll send the chair to you.  Educate him.”

Charles doesn’t sound impressed.  “The government letting me do what I’m going to do anyway doesn’t sound like a very beneficial deal to me.”

“It’s a great deal and you know it,” Nixon retorts.  “You’re the voice of mutant issues.  What else do you want?”

“Erik Lehnsherr,” Charles says.  “Pardoned.”

Alex rolls his eyes.

“I can’t be soft on a wanted terrorist in the middle of my term.  If neither of us is in prison at the end of it, I’ll see what I can do.  That’s the best you’re gonna get.”

“Thank you,” Charles says.  Unexpectedly, Alex thinks, but that’s the professor for you.  “When should I expect your mutant issues committee leader?”

“Soon,” Nixon says.  “Make sure whoever gets him that phone number gets him the name of the chair and an appointment.  You got that?”

He’s talking to someone else, Alex realizes.  As soon as he thinks it, though, the president is back.

“Xavier,” he says.  “Don’t kidnap my mutant issues chair.  They’ll just put someone else in his place, and the new guy won’t be any better.  I know ’em all.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Charles says.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Nixon says.  “You have a good day, Professor Xavier.”

“Good day, Mr. President,” Charles replies.

Professor, Sean mouths, and Alex frowns.  Charles prefers “Professor,” and that's what the president called him.  Except he didn't start with that, did he.  Everyone was saying “Doctor” at first.

Which one was the message, Alex wonders?  Was it a warning that they know him, or that they don't care?  Both?

Charles does get the phone number he was promised, though Alex can't guess which is less likely: that he'll ever use it, or that someone will answer.  On the other hand, it does come from the office of the president.  And this is Charles.  Maybe he'll drunk dial it one night and have a long conversation with someone’s secretary about science and education and the fickleness of men.

Charles gets transferred to someone else after that.  This person definitely is a secretary, and she definitely thinks Charles’ pretended self-deprecation and confusion are charming.  She helps him find a time when the committee chair is free and says she'll get back to him about travel arrangements so he knows who to expect and when.

Nothing about it sounds particularly strange to Alex, but when he looks up, Erik is gone.  

Sean’s holding a finger over the cradle.  When their eyes meet, Alex nods, and he's on his feet before Sean hangs up.  They bolt out of the room together.

There's no one on the stairs.  The foyer, too, is empty, but Erik stands just inside the door to the TV room and he throws out an arm to stop them as they come racing in.  

Sean actually bumps into him.  Alex thinks it’s on purpose.

“It’s fine,” Hank is saying.  He’s sitting on the couch next to Charles, who’s still in his wheelchair, clutching Hank’s hand with his eyes squeezed shut.  They’ve hung up the phone, at least.  “Best keep your distance, just for a moment.”

Alex knows what Hank sounds like, and he knows what Charles sounds like.  It only takes those two sentences for him to know what’s happening.  “Maybe if you let go of his hand,” he suggests.

“Brilliant,” Charles says with Hank’s voice.  “That’s a splendid idea; why didn’t I think of it?  Oh, that’s right.  Because if I’m not holding onto Hank, I’m holding onto nothing.  I’m not keen on being lost in nothingness, if it’s all the same to you.”

“But you can hear us,” Erik says.  “That’s not nothing.”

There’s a beat where no one says anything, and then he adds, “I know I asked you not to speak,” followed by, “Bugger,” which is kind of hilarious in Erik’s voice.  “Now you’ve done it.”

Sean takes a step back, but Alex is careful not to flinch.  He looks at Hank, who blinks.  “I think,” Hank says carefully, “it might have been the phone that did it?  Your powers didn’t have anything to latch onto, so now they’re--”

“Overcompensating,” Erik says at the same time.

“I’m really very sorry about this,” Alex says, only he didn’t mean to say that.  He’s pretty sure he didn’t say it at all.  He tries to say, I think that was Charles, and he can’t.  He can’t say anything.

“Well, you can’t say we’re not used to it by now,” Erik mutters.

Alex can feel himself frowning, and the look on Erik’s face is terrifying but he doesn’t feel the slightest push of adrenaline.  “Your disgruntlement seems a bit lopsided, given how often you expect us to overlook rattling silverware and melted doorknobs.”  

Holy shit, Alex thinks.  This is what it feels like.  This is what it’s like when your body is disconnected from your own brain.

“Oh, I thought he did that on purpose,” Sean says.  He’s folded his arms, but he’s stopped edging toward the door and the look he gives Erik is clearly meant for Erik.  

“Look,” Hank says.  “I know they’re your powers, and you can go downstairs if you need quiet, but I really don’t see how letting Erik in is going to make this any worse.”

“You know I can’t let go of him,” Alex mutters, and wow, he has no idea what’s going on in this conversation.  It’s unimaginably strange to hear himself speak without any idea what words will come out next.

“But he can let go of you.”  Hank is still holding Charles’ hand, and weirdly, Alex sees Charles nod.  What the hell.

The next thing he knows, there are warm fingers on his temple, and he wants to jerk away but he can’t.  “Sorry,” Erik says, when Alex turns to look at him involuntarily.  “For what it’s worth, I don’t like it either.”

And then the strange weight in his head is gone and he can move again.  He takes a breath, and then a step back, and Erik doesn’t move.  Erik is staring right through him.  His eyes are dark, his mouth open just enough that he’s either going to gasp or scream, and he’s frozen in place.

“Beast,” Alex warns, waving a hand in case he’s the only one who’s seeing this.  “Problem.”

“They’re probably just--”  Hank sets Charles’ hand gently on the arm of his wheelchair, withdrawing very slowly.  “They can--Charles does this… thing, where he removes them from the physical space and recreates it in their minds.  Without us.”

Alex gets it.  “He makes it so they’re alone.”

“Yeah,” Hank says.

“I thought the point of holding onto someone is that he isn’t alone,” Sean says.

Alex tries not to sigh.  “Sean,” he begins.

“Thank you,” Charles says, out of nowhere.  “All of you.  I do sincerely appreciate your tolerance.”

Since he’s using his own voice, Alex tries to shrug it off.  “I busted a lot of stuff before I got my powers under control,” he says.  “And some of the guys in my unit still swear I glow when things go sideways, so.  Maybe some things we just learn to live with.”

“It might be better if you slept,” Hank says, before Charles can answer.  “More, I mean.”

“Nonsense,” Charles says.  Even Alex can tell he doesn’t sound quite as strong on this as he wants to.  “I’m awake now, and the children will need afternoon lessons.”

“Which we can cover,” Hank says.  “Erik.”

Alex was trying not to look, but now he can’t help it.  Erik looks--

Perfectly normal.  “What do you want me to do?” he says, cold and dangerous as only Erik could be in a matching set of gray sweats with an “X” over his heart.  “Sit on him?”

Hank just stares back at him.  “If necessary.”

Alex can’t help but notice that Charles has stopped objecting.

Chapter 17

“Do you think they actually expect us to sleep?” Charles asks, when Erik escorts him upstairs and waits while he rolls easily into the bedroom.  “I suppose Sean might.  I don’t know how he lived with both of us, back in the beginning, without forming any accurate concept of our relationship.”

“You were like that with everyone back then,” Erik says, closing the door behind them.  “And they had other things on their mind.”

“I wasn’t like that with everyone,” Charles protests.  He sounds more surprised than indignant, though, and Erik almost smiles when he adds, “Was I?”

You’re still like that with everyone, Erik thinks, only it’s not entirely true.  Charles is different now: a ghost comprised of his former habits and desires.  He wonders if, of all the things Charles wants these days, even a single one of them is new.

“Well, that’s not very flattering,” Charles says.  “I expect you to think of me as something more than a tired copy of my younger self if you plan to properly seduce me.”

“I plan to see you to bed,” Erik replies.  “And do whatever it takes to keep you there until you close your eyes.  Doctor’s orders,” he adds, when Charles raises his eyebrows.

Instead of questioning Erik’s newfound willingness to listen to Hank, he only says, “I can think of several things that would be effective.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” Erik tells him.

Charles stares at him for a long moment.  “You’re serious.”

Erik didn’t feel any trace of Charles’ attention in his head, but he folds his arms anyway.  “Had to read my mind for that, did you?”

“No.”  Charles frowns at him.  “What have I done now?  You might as well tell me; I haven’t the patience to coax it out of you.”

“You’re out of control,” Erik says bluntly.  “You’ll take me over; you won’t be able to help it.  And I’ll like it.  I can’t help that.  But afterwards we’ll both be angry with ourselves, and we’ll take it out on each other, and I don’t want to fight with you right now.”

Charles lets out his breath in a disbelieving huff.  “All evidence to the contrary,” he says.

Erik doesn’t move.  “Go to bed, Charles.”

Charles stares back at him, but there’s no pressure on his mind or warmth in his thoughts.  “Would you consider joining me,” he says at last, “if I promise to keep my hands to myself?”

When Erik doesn’t answer, Charles adds, “I mean, you’re right, of course.  I’ll likely be in your head no matter what, and I’m sorry for that.  But surely you could… keep me company.  Without anything more?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Erik says quietly.

Charles just looks at him, and Erik sighs.  “I don’t control my power as well as I might,” he mutters.  “When I…”  But that’s not fair; emotion has driven him all his life.  “What emotional control I have,” he says, “is by and large attributable to you.”

“No,” Charles interrupts.  “It’s not.  Erik, you mastered your abilities on your own.”

“As you’ve mastered yours,” Erik counters.  “If they slip, sometimes, that’s no moral fault.  It’s a physical weakness like any other.  It’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Charles’ gaze slides away and he doesn’t answer.

Erik has no more patience than Charles claims right now, but he isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t want to fight.  Charles has taken as much of a stand as he could ask, and Erik won’t push him farther than he’ll go.  Not when they’re finally taking up arms together.

“Why,” Erik says, very carefully.  “Do you think this is your fault, Charles.”

“You don’t want to melt doorknobs,” Charles says.  He glances at Erik again, not quite meeting his eyes before he looks away again.  “It’s an accident.  That’s an accident.  I want to be inside your head.  You know it; I’ve told you so, over and over again.  When I can’t keep myself from invading your mind, that’s my responsibility.”

“Ridiculous,” Erik says flatly.  “That’s insulting and offensive.  We can’t help slipping up--why?  Because we’re students?  But you should be able to because you’re, what?  A professor?  The great Professor X?”

When Charles doesn’t respond, Erik adds, “May I remind you that your sister made up that name when she was drunk?  It doesn’t mean anything.  It doesn’t make you special.”

It’s enough to make Charles scoff, and this time he does meet Erik’s gaze briefly.  “That’s funny,” he says.  “Coming from you.”

“I happen to like the name Magneto,” Erik retorts.  “You think I never want to feel metal tearing out of its place and bending to my will?  You think Alex never wants to destroy anything?  Hank doesn’t want to run, Warren doesn’t want to fly?  Peter’s fast, what, by accident?  We all like using our powers, Charles.  You’re no different from anyone else.”

“All powers are controllable,” Charles says quietly.

“My legs are controllable,” Erik snaps.  “I’ve been known to trip.”

Charles looks at him, and he doesn’t know why he picked legs of all things but he isn’t going to apologize for it.  “There are times I don’t want you in my head,” he says instead.  “I won’t lie about that, and you wouldn’t believe me if I did.  But when you do it anyway, by accident, that’s not a moral failing on your part.

“And believe me,” Erik adds, “the irony of me lecturing you on morality is not lost on me.  So I hope you’re getting something out of this.”

It makes Charles laugh, relaxing unexpectedly, and Erik feels it like a shadow lifting from the room.  He can feel himself smiling in return.  It’s some sort of freedom in the face of an argument he didn’t mean to start.

“You’ll come to bed,” Charles says, still smiling at him.  “You must.  We’ll neither of us apologize, if that’s what it takes, but I won’t have you leave now.”

“I have no intention of leaving,” Erik replies.

Charles doesn’t keep his hands to himself, of course.  Erik would have been disappointed if he did.  He pulls Erik’s shirt off and Erik lets him.  They kiss and they grope and when it gets to be too much Erik pulls him in the rest of the way.  Closer, an arm locked around Charles, with his back pressed against Erik’s chest.

Stop, Erik thinks.  

And he feels what it does to Charles, somehow, in a way he’d never noticed before.  Maybe Charles had never let him notice: when he’s physically limited, his mind surges, bright and powerful and difficult to restrain.  Trying to make up the difference.

It’s the tiniest piece of a puzzle, but it makes so many parts of the picture come clear.  

Be in my head, Erik thinks, as clearly as he can.  You can.  Just not like that.

He can feel the relief like it’s his own, and for a moment it is.  Then it’s someone else’s exhaustion, his own, someone else’s… like an illusion he allows himself to be tricked by, until it settles into a warm extension of Charles at his side.  

It eases the rush of want and desire into something sweet and trusting.  Erik flounders, trying to catch himself, but he isn’t falling.  It’s the strangest feeling of safety he’s ever had.  He understands without having to ask that this is how Charles feels safe, that this is what Charles wants, and it satisfies Erik’s desire because they’re sharing awareness, somehow.

I can be more separate, he thinks.

Charles thinks.  Those are Charles’ words, Charles’ reluctant push of awareness as he pulls away from Erik’s thoughts and feelings.  Still close enough to be obvious, to override everything else, but there’s a distinct sense of someone else now.  Him and someone else.

Him and Charles, instead of just them.

You don’t want to, Erik thinks.

I’m tired.  Everything comes along with those two words: the days, the nights, the students and the police and the responsibility, yes, but also Erik, fear and love and loneliness and the strain of holding himself back when all he wants--all he wants--

You can have me, Erik thinks.  He thinks it’s him.  It might be Charles.  He knows his mind recoils when Charles pushes, that he’s uneasy with an intimacy that’s so instinctive to Charles.  That everyone is.  That maybe it would take another telepath to understand, but he doesn’t want another telepath, he just wants…

This.  It’s fine.  It’s safe. It’s peaceful enough, and it’s so easy not to resist.

It’s perfect.

The sun is bright in the kitchen by now, glowing on the counters and making the glass in the windows sparkle.  He knows Gabrielle, he’s never seen her before, she’s there and she’s familiar like breathing despite the years in between.  She’s older, now.  Aren’t they all.

“You said it was heritable,” she says with a smile.  “But X gene activation is sporadic and unpredictable. The chances that he would manifest at all were so low.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Charles tells her.  “I should have written.  We should have stayed in touch.”

“I didn’t want that any more than you did.”  She’s beautiful and kind and Erik wonders how much of it is just the way Charles remembers her.  “Besides, I wasn’t alone.  I had David.”

She’s real, Erik thinks.  This is a real person, a real woman in Charles’ life, and he’s not dreaming.  His mind is reaching for her while he sleeps, leaving Erik behind.  Leaving him here.  Charles.

He tried to say that aloud and he couldn’t.  He tries to turn around and he can’t.  The kitchen is so bright that he can’t see, he can’t look away and he thinks of closing his eyes but nothing happens.  Nothing changes.  Charles!

It might be his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears, but the thunder of the wind tugs at his clothes as he stumbles.  He’s falling, crashing into something, hitting the floor as the room goes to pieces around him.  He throws up his hand up to protect his eyes and this time he can hear himself scream.  “Charles!”

He’s older.  So much older.  So is Jean, fire-bright and menacing as the destruction swirls around her.  She lifts Charles up, and he catches Erik’s eye.  For a moment, Erik is relieved: Charles knows he’s here, Charles can see him.  Charles will get them out of this.

Then Charles flies apart, and Erik can’t stop screaming.

The roaring darkness is more familiar than anything.  He’s seen this before, seen it recently, and he knows the sound of a hole in the world where everything that mattered used to be.  If someone had asked him if it mattered, if any of it mattered, he would have said no.  But it did.  He can see it now that it’s gone.

“I thought you’d be with the plane,” Charles’ voice says from behind him.

Erik is afraid to move.  He’s never imagined this, but if any of his senses can convince him that Charles is here, no matter how briefly, he won’t jeopardize that.  He keeps his eyes on the horizon and waits.  He’s careful not to speak.

“You’re not having a psychotic break, are you?”  Charles sounds amused, which is only to be expected from one of his own hallucinations.  “I’ve warned you about that.”

There’s something inbound, a flight of birds or planes or something much worse.  They’re dark against the gray skies and there’s an alarm somewhere, blaring, over and over again.  “You’ll be the only one who remembers this world,” Charles murmurs.  “This war.  A stranger in a strange land.”

Erik turns abruptly and Charles is at his side, stained glass casting colored shadows on his skin and candles all around.  “I should write Logan a letter,” Charles says.  He’s staring at a wall of photographs.  “A series of letters, so he knows what’s changed.  If anything’s changed.”

Charles looks at him with his bloodshot eyes and messy hair, more warm and real than the place they inhabit, and he says, “I wrote you letters.”

“Charles,” Erik says.  “I don’t think this is real.”

Charles blinks.  “Of course it’s not real.  That’s the only good thing about any of this.  It hasn’t happened yet.”

“These are your visions of the future,” Erik says slowly.  But they’re not from Logan’s point of view.  He hasn’t even seen Logan since--

He can’t quite remember where they were this morning.  If they were even together.  Surely it’s presumptuous to think he’s with Charles when they’re not--when he isn’t--

“Erik?”  There are hands on his face, Charles touching him gently, close and careful enough to study his expression.  “Is that you?  Good lord.”

Without asking, without warning, Erik can feel Charles’ thoughts pressing against his own.  The disorientation is fleeting, briefly unpleasant, and overwhelmed by regret and apology.  My friend, Charles thinks.  My darling.  What have I done?

They’re asleep.  The sudden clarity is a relief, and that’s his.  That’s all his.

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispers.  His fingers are teasing Erik’s hair, thumbs running over his cheeks, and the sensation is remarkably grounding.  Erik is aware that it’s deliberate.  He can feel Charles making an effort to pull back, to solidify the experience for him in a way he never bothers to when he’s sliding through other people’s minds.

“I fell asleep,” Charles murmurs, reminding Erik of late nights, one after the other, the police and the president and the children ordering them back to bed.  Ordering him back to bed.  Because when Charles is tired and out of control, he does things like this.  “I must have taken your mind with me; I’m sorry.”

“You’re dreaming,” Erik says.  It would be more unnerving--yet another thing he didn’t know Charles could do--if it wasn’t worth every second to have Charles’ concern and attention focused solely on him.  “These are the things you dream about?”

“I’ll wake you up,” Charles says.  “I can wake us up, I think.”

He isn’t sure, and Erik knows it will be both of them if it’s either of them.  “No,” he says quietly.  He covers Charles’ hands with his own to hold them in place.  “Sleep.  If you can tolerate my presence.”

Charles stares back at him, his eyes oddly blue in the flickering light.  “Can you tolerate this?” he asks softly.

Erik doesn’t want to look away.  He’s holding on but he’s still afraid to give up any contact, lest Charles disappear with his inattention.  He lifts his chin instead, a small movement meant to indicate the crypt around them.  “I don’t suppose there’s any way to make it less dismal.”

That makes Charles smile, and the candlelight melts into dappled sun.  “I do have some control over my own mind,” he says.

They’re in a park by the pond, with fog rising off the water and willow branches swaying gently in the breeze.  The air is cool and the grass is slippery, but the bench behind them is dry and warm and easy on the knees.  The occasional morning jogger passes by on the path below.

Erik smiles.

Chapter 18

It’s strangely disorienting to wake up without Hank there to anchor his mind.  For a moment Charles doesn’t know where he is, or when.  He reaches for the nearest awareness and his eyes fly open, scrambling to confirm what his mind is telling him.

Erik is beside him.  He’s here.  It wasn’t just a dream.  

Unless Charles is still asleep, lost in his own mind somehow.  He thinks it's happened before.  Perhaps Hank is there after all and Charles just can’t reach him.

“It isn’t only other people’s minds, then,” Erik mumbles.  His voice is rough and his hair is sticking up.  Charles doesn’t get to see him like this often enough.  “You can trap people in your mind too.”

That’s probably important.  Unfortunately, all Charles can think is that Erik’s tousled and vulnerable and still trying to hold a coherent conversation.  He tries to make a noncommittal sound, but it probably just comes out sounding confused.  

They’re in bed, in his room at the house.  No one is banging on the door.  Perhaps it isn't ten yet?

“Did you do that on purpose?” Erik asks.  The words are more clear when he tilts his head, studying Charles from scant centimeters away.  He looks much more aware than Charles feels.  “To keep me from leaving?”

Past ten, Charles realizes suddenly.  Hank told him to sleep.  There was a phone call, and the police.  Erik getting shot, being taken.  Broken out.  Followed home.

“I should feel more hungover than this,” Charles says.  Or tries to say.  The words are muddled and everything is slightly dizzy when he tries to focus past the walls of the room.  “Oh, there it is,” he murmurs.

“Are you all right?”  Erik is pushing himself up on his elbows, appallingly quick to wake and respond.  “Do you need anything?  Water, aspirin?  Hank?”

Charles blinks up at him as Erik sits, careful not to pull the blankets tight when he moves.  “No,” he says.  “Well.  Food, eventually.”  He’s certain it can wait.

“I can bring you something,” Erik offers.  He doesn’t move.

Charles puts an arm over his face, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to concentrate on something, anything other than Erik right next to him.  “It’s fine,” he says into the darkness.  He wants to push closer.  He wants to hear himself speak from inside Erik’s head.  “Do you know your mind goes sharp and smooth when you’re concentrating?”

Erik is quiet for a long moment, and Charles can’t help being aware of how much he’s trying not to think about the dreams they shared.  Dreams he couldn’t leave.  Dreams he just accused Charles of trapping him in.

Charles frowns, letting his arm fall away even if Erik’s eyes aren’t enough.  “I did offer to wake you up.”

There’s a resigned huff, but Erik’s stare doesn’t waver.  “Not smooth enough, it seems.”

“Were you trying to keep me out?”  Charles doesn’t know whether to be offended or apologetic.  It’s far too early for this.  They can’t be spinning out of control so fast; they just woke up.  They’re still in bed.  They’re not supposed to fight in bed.

“No,” Erik says.  “I was thinking--well, you could tell, I suppose.  You’re very appealing, twisted up in the sheets like that.  It seems rude to say so if you’re in pain, so I was trying not to think about it.  I suppose I’m out of practice.”

Oh, Charles thinks.  

He’s more prickly than Erik is this morning.  Or this afternoon, more likely.  “I couldn’t tell,” he says.  “I thought you were upset about the…”  He waves a hand in the general direction of his head.

Maybe he should be sitting up.  It seems like a staggering amount of work for very little gain, though, so he doesn’t move.

“Surprised,” Erik says.  “Curious, yes.  Not upset.  Are you holding back to spare me, or are your powers as burned out as you look?”

Charles sighs.  “Your mind was… softer, when you first woke.”  He struggles to sit after all, digging the pillows up against the headboard so at least there’s something to lean on.  “Feeling it sharpen is… delightful, of course, but…”

“Not very welcoming?” Erik finishes for him.

Charles looks at him in surprise, and Erik actually smiles.  At his expression, most likely.

“I can’t control how my mind reacts,” Erik says.  “That’s more your field than mine.  Is it something you can teach, or must I rely on your patience forever?”

It’s so far from what Charles expected that he reaches instinctively for Erik’s mind, looking for signs of distress or disturbance.  All he gets is the same twisting sensitivity, a fading recoil in the wake of attack.  Hours of shared consciousness in Charles’ dreams hasn’t made it worse, at least.

“That’s you,” Erik says, studying him.  “Are you in my head now?”

Charles doesn’t know what to say--what’s safe, what’s the right thing?--so he just nods.

“Hank can tell,” Erik says.  “And he thought I might be able to, but I can’t.  Can I learn?  Or is his mind… different, somehow?”

Charles is too afraid to speak.  If he guesses and gets it wrong--

“I’m sorry,” Erik says, sudden and rueful and strange all at once.  “I know little enough about telepathy.  I’d say at least it’s mutual, but you seem… alarmingly competent with my powers.”

Charles has to laugh.  It’s more a release of pressure than anything else, and the words tumble out before he can think them through.  “Using your powers is quite literally part of my power; I don’t think there’s any room for comparison there.  And you know a truly terrifying amount about telepathy.  Don’t pretend you don’t defend your mind and invade my own on a daily basis.”

“Do I invade your mind?”  Erik latches onto this with startling intensity.  “I don’t want to.  I only want--”

He breaks off, and long seconds pass before Charles dares to prompt him.  “What do you want,” Charles says quietly.

“You taught us how to fight,” Erik says.  “How to fend off an attack.  How to… disguise our thoughts, or use them to get your attention.  Not how to--”

“Useful things?” Charles says carefully, when Erik pauses again.  Erik always seemed to embrace everything Charles told him about telepaths and how they worked, so he tried to make sure it was information worth having.

“Yes,” Erik says.  “Useful.  That’s exactly it.  What about--what about the other things, the things like…”

He gets it in a flash, and maybe it’s Erik thinking of his own powers that does it.  “Like making a chess piece out of a fork,” Charles says.  The things they do when they’re not fighting.

“Sex and telepathy,” Erik says bluntly.  “They’re less separate than they used to be.  Maybe they were never separate for you and I just didn’t know it.  But if you’re going to be in my mind anyway, I’d like to make it less miserable for you.”

“Darling, there’s nothing miserable about your mind,” Charles says, and Erik barely lets him finish before he’s shaking his head.

“I don’t lie to myself, Charles, and I know what it’s like in my own head.  I won’t deny that you seem to enjoy it, but I’d like to make it better.  For you.  Easier, if nothing else.  There must be something I can do.”

He seems very earnest about it, and the request stymies Charles in a way he hadn’t expected.  “I don’t--there’s nothing I would change about your mind, Erik.”

Erik just looks at him, raising his eyebrows with an amused expression.  At least it’s better than the awkward self-deprecation.  Charles knows exactly what it says about him that he’d rather have Erik mocking him than himself.

“Fine,” Charles says.  “Other than your deliberate reliance on overwrought emotion and the violent overreaction that inevitably results, causing needless carnage and frequently actual death, there’s nothing I would change about your mind.”

Erik’s expression is steady and speculative.  “It would help you if I were calmer.”

“I didn’t say that,” Charles objects.

“Feel free to rephrase,” Erik says.  He sounds completely calm now, and the undercurrent of danger makes Charles want to shout, That!  

“It would help everyone if you were calmer,” Charles says instead.  He knows it’s spiteful but just for now, he can’t help it.  “Actually calm, instead of suppressing a rage you purposefully stoke to fuel your power.”

“I don’t care about everyone,” Erik says.  “I’m not you, Charles.”

“Well, the last time you did something for me, it was a war on humanity that destroyed the entire world,” Charles says sharply.  “You’ll forgive me if I’d like you to think of someone else for a change.”

There’s a long moment where he has time to regret his words, to wish he hadn’t said it.  To wonder how he’ll apologize this time.  But Erik doesn’t move.  The danger simmers in his mind but it doesn’t boil over, and Charles catches his breath, waiting.

“It destroyed the world,” Erik repeats.  His tone is odd when he adds, “Or it will destroy the world?”

Charles stares at him, confused.

“You dream about the future,” Erik says.  “Things that haven’t happened yet.  I didn’t start a war for you, Charles.”

Charles lets out his breath.  He should let this go.  Erik’s just given him a way out and all he has to say is, no, of course not.  All he has to do is agree, and they can go have lunch and pretend everything is fine for a little longer.

“You will,” he says instead.  “You mean to; don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I mean to defend us,” Erik says evenly.  “You understand that, surely.”

Charles opens his mouth, but he’s caught off guard when Erik puts a finger over his lips.  It’s enough to keep him silent while Erik tells him, “We both know what you’re about to say.  Surprise me.”

When Erik lowers his hand, Charles says, “I want you to defend us.”

It isn’t untrue, and Erik’s expression makes the concession worth it.

“I want you to teach us,” Erik says after a moment.  “Where does that leave us, then?”

“I rather think it leaves us right where we are,” Charles says.  Pretending everything is fine for a little longer.  He should be frustrated, or afraid, or at least resigned, but all he feels is grateful.

When Erik leans in to kiss him, he remembers everything he’s willing to fight for.

Chapter 19

When Hank has a moment to look around, he’s vaguely impressed to realize that the mansion is still standing.  Not that Erik would mean to tear it down, but Charles might, in a fit of apathy or pique, and both of them together are incendiary.  They’re the spark that could launch a revolution… or a cycle of retaliation that leaves ashes in their wake.

Given those as their only options, Hank feels justified in suspending the students’ afternoon lessons and taking them on another tour of the underground facilities.  Jean and David already helped themselves to whatever they want to see, but Annie and Lorna and Sara are new to the hangar and the jets.  Since they'll probably have to shelter there again at some point, this is his chance to make it seem less frightening.

He gets Alex and Sean to present their evacuation plan at the same time, on the grounds that they're both available and Logan is too intimidating.  Sean calls it a “safety drill,” which probably evokes the more typical school experiences of fire and duck-and-cover drills.  Alex pretends he's breaking the rules by showing them all how to hit the EMP, thus ensuring every student will remember where it is and what it does.  

Hank has to play the straight man to their antics every time he turns around, but they make the kids laugh instead of worry, and for that alone he's grateful to have them.

He’s even more grateful when a woman named Gabrielle Haller turns up at the gate half an hour after Charles finally drags himself out of bed.  Erik is cooking for him, again, in the small family kitchen when Hank realizes who he’s talking to.  He sends Sean out to the gate with Moira to get her past the reporters, and he asks Alex to separate Erik and Charles.

Amazingly, both of them are successful.  Unfortunately, Hank kept the hardest job for himself.  He hears Erik sigh when Hank blocks his exit from the kitchen moments after Charles left with Alex.  “What now,” Erik says flatly.

“David’s mom is here,” Hank says.  “Leave her alone.”

Erik gives him a look like he’s never heard the names David or Gabrielle in his life.  “What possible interest could I have in a human woman Charles knew ten years ago?”

“The school is important,” Hank says.  “It depends on Charles.  He depends on you.”

The corner of Erik’s mouth curls, and it could be a sneer or it could be the beginnings of an actual smile.  “I assure you,” he says.  “If I flew into a jealous rage over every pretty face Charles makes eyes at, people would be dead by now.”

Hank just looks at him.  It’s mostly because he doesn’t know what to say, not because Erik’s morbid humor is some kind of surprise, but the pause makes Erik clarify, “More people would be dead by now.”

He doesn’t smile this time, but Hank’s pretty sure he wants to.  He doesn’t push it.  One more interaction with Erik that didn’t wind up with either of them unconscious or laid out on the floor, so he counts it as a win.

When it comes out that Gabrielle isn’t human after all, but instead a low-level telepath herself, Hank can hear Erik grinding his teeth from the other side of the room.  Charles blithely extols the virtues of telepathy, playing it up for David and Jean both, sending winning smiles at Gabrielle every other sentence.  He’s clearly trying to make them all more comfortable around mindreaders.  He’ll need to reassure them about magnetic amplification if he keeps it up.

Charles, Hank thinks sharply.  He imagines a dog barking, someone banging on the door, the ringing of metal.  Pay attention to Erik.

“It’s as impressive as any power, really,” Charles says smoothly.  “Though less showy than Hank’s intelligence, or Warren’s ability to fly.  And Erik’s complete control of magnetic fields is unparalleled.  Honestly, I’ve never seen a more versatile power than his.”

“Show us,” Annie says boldly.  It sounds like a challenge, and it looks like one too.  But the others echo her with an eagerness that surprises Hank, until he remembers that Erik spends most of his time avoiding everyone in the house except Charles.  The children probably see his power more on TV than they do in person.

To Hank’s surprise, Erik shows them.  Rather than grabbing any of the metal objects in the room, he pulls a quarter out of his pocket and flips it into the air.  There’s a stir of interest when he keeps it spinning there, and Hank sees Charles smile.

Erik floats a few more coins, all spinning, then taps each one of them gently with his finger.  The coins move in response to his touch, drifting toward the gathered children like shiny metallic soap bubbles.  Lorna holds out her hand and the coin nearest her tumbles into her grasp.  Wanda flicks a sparkle of red light at one of them and the silver disc turns into a sphere.

When Jean reaches up, a coin follows her hand, and it takes Hank several seconds to realize she’s the one controlling it now, not Erik.  

“I see you’re not the only telekinetic in the room,” Charles remarks calmly, fondly, ostensibly talking to Erik even if it’s mostly intended for Jean.

Erik calls one of the coins back to him and draws it out into a thin line, holding up his arm as it twines around his wrist.  “I’m not telekinetic,” he says.

“Well, you move things without touching them,” Charles points out.  Jean has sent her coin after Wanda’s marble, and the two objects turn into a flower when they collide.  “What would you call it?”

“Control of magnetic fields,” Erik says.  He holds his hands out to the sides and rises--unnecessarily, Hank thinks--several inches off of the floor.  “Because that’s what it is.”

“How do you do that?” Jean wants to know.  “I’ve been trying to lift myself for ages!”

“How come some powers are inherited and some aren’t?” Peter asks at the same time.  “I want to fly.”

“Flying is the best power,” Warren agrees, and Peter scoffs.

“Second best,” he says.  “Maybe third, after control of probability.  Hey, can you change the probability that you can fly?  Can you give yourself powers?  Like, other powers?  I bet you can; you can do everything else.”

“What’s your power?” Sara asks Wanda.  

Everyone in the room turns to look at her.  Not because they haven’t seen her use it, Hank thinks.  But because they still don’t know.

“I make things possible,” Wanda says.  It’s the same answer she’s given before, but her voice isn’t as quiet this time.

“Can you give someone else powers?” Sara asks.  “If they didn’t have any?  Could you give a human powers?”

“Why would you want them,” Scott mutters.

“I don’t know,” Wanda says.  She’s staring down at the flower in her hand.  “I’m not very… it’s hard to control.”

“There’s someone at the gate,” David says.

“Azazel,” Erik says.

“Warren,” Charles says at the same time, then looks at Erik.  “Warren’s father, I think.  Jean and Sara’s too.  Are you expecting Azazel?”

He sounds almost indifferent, but Erik--for once--isn’t stupid enough to fall for it.  “We’ll check on Mystique,” he says.  “Make sure she’s not in trouble.”

Maybe he is stupid, Hank thinks, when he see Charles raise an eyebrow.  “She saved your life,” Charles says, and there’s a warning note in his voice that makes the children pause.  The coins Erik is spinning drift gently down, landing in hands or carefully on end tables and chairs.

“I meant, we’ll check on her,” Erik repeats.  “I thought you’d appreciate that.  You said she’s in the city; I know where she’ll go.  I won’t… stop her.”

Charles stares at Erik for a long moment, and Hank doesn’t have to be telepathic to know what he’s saying.  Try to kill her again, and you’re no longer welcome in this house.

On the other hand, he still doesn’t know what Erik said to make Charles take him back the first time.  Maybe Logan’s right.  Maybe Erik could be forgiven for killing one of them.  It’s a disturbing thought, and Hank wants to believe it isn’t true.

He’s not sure he does.

“Wait,” Warren says.  “My dad’s here?”

“Who’s Azazel?” Jean wants to know.

“Is our dad here?” Sara asks.  “Where?  Outside?  Does Mom know?”

“No,” Charles says, still looking at Erik.  “I’m afraid she doesn’t.  Sara, perhaps you could tell her; she’s just coming back in with Oliver now.  Azazel is a friend of Erik’s; they travel together.  Warren, Logan is letting in both your father and John Grey.  Are you comfortable with that?”

There’s a brief moment where no one is sure he’s done talking.  Then Sara jumps up, and Warren says, “Yeah, I guess,” and Peter is suddenly holding all of the coins Erik dropped.

“Can you counterfeit money?” he wants to know.  “What about the one on your wrist, can you turn it back into a quarter?  Can you make any metal look like money?”

“Metal is money,” Erik says.  “No matter what it looks like.”

“Who’s Mystique?” Gabrielle asks, quietly enough that it's clear she's asking Charles but not quietly enough that they can't overhear.  “If you don't mind me asking.”

Erik definitely minds her asking, but Charles only says, “No, of course not.  Raven goes by Mystique now.”

“Oh, your sister,” Gabrielle says.

“I'm going,” Erik says.

“That's probably a good idea,” Charles tells him, but then he adds, “Will you let me know when you're back?”

Erik nods once, and it’s gentle instead of sharp, like they aren't fighting and he isn't stalking off in a jealous huff.  It isn't until Charles is introducing himself to Jean’s father that Hank realizes he wasn’t.  Erik was leaving the room before more parents who don't know him could arrive.  And probably also stalking off, but he’s been known to do two things at once.

Eventually they're going to have to admit to the public that Erik lives here.  Hank wonders how binding the president's promise to leave him alone will be, once an escaped felon turns up back in the country and on the news.  The condition that Charles keep him under control may satisfy the president, but it isn’t legal, just, or even particularly reassuring given Erik’s history.

The evening gets significantly stranger when John Grey asks about Erik himself.  Charles doesn’t lie--at least about Erik’s residence--and Warren’s father seems vaguely ambivalent on the subject.  Elaine’s reluctant agreement that she hasn’t personally seen Erik cause problems for anyone is unconvincing, and Jean’s insistence that “he’s really very nice” clearly won’t win them any points.

Instead, it’s Alex arguing that Erik gets in a lot of trouble for defending mutants that holds the attention of the parents.  John and Elaine and Warren and Gabrielle are all there when he says, “Erik isn’t the only one who served time because he was the most dangerous person around when someone else committed a crime.”

Gabrielle glances at Charles with a question on her face, but John says, “You’re the one in the pictures.”

Alex doesn’t blink, and Hank is struck by the awkward urge to… pat him on the back, or something.  “Yes, sir,” he says.

“You military, son?” John asks.

“I did two tours in Vietnam,” Alex says.  It’s stiff and precise and noncommittal all at once.  

It seems to be enough for John, who says, “I understand my daughter was out there too.  With the boy you saved.  David.”

“My son,” Gabrielle adds.  “Thank you.”

“Jean went out to help David,” Alex says.  “The professor--I mean, I was just the closest one to the door.”

“And where was Erik Lehnsherr?” John wants to know.  “Was he farthest from the door?”

“He was being ambushed,” Charles says sharply.  “By a government still determined to deny him the due process of law.”

“He gets attacked a lot,” Alex offers.  “He’s Jewish; people don’t like that.  Or being a mutant, either.  He fights back.  Maybe he shouldn’t.  But I’m proof that when people don’t like you, whether you fight or not, you still end up in prison.”

They’re listening to him, and Alex seems to get that.  He shifts a little, but he keeps going.  “The professor and Erik,” he says.  “They got me out.  They taught me.  The professor hired me.”  He glances at Charles and nods, and Charles nods in return.

“When I enlisted,” Alex adds, “the army used me to fight and then sold me to the highest bidder, along with every other mutant they could find.  The professor’s sister got me out that time, but I gotta tell you.  If Erik had shown while they were locking us up?  I wouldn’t have turned down his help just because he’s been where I’ve been.”

John looks thoughtful.  It can't hurt that Alex is still military clean to look at, Hank thinks, solid and blond and all-American.  He looks and sounds almost painfully trustworthy.

Charles looks surprised, and deservedly so.  “I wouldn't turn down his help” is the nicest thing any of them has said about Erik in ten years.  Charles included.

“Do you trust him?” Gabrielle asks Charles.

“Without reservation,” he tells her.

It's what he has to say to keep the school viable, but not for the first time, Hank hopes Charles is lying.

Chapter 20

Alex doesn’t like defending Erik.  He definitely doesn’t like the fact that the more he talks, the more he believes what he’s saying: he and Erik aren’t that different.  They both took deadly revenge on their enemies, and they both abandoned their friends for a cause that betrayed them.

On the other hand, Alex has a lot of practice hating himself, so it’s not like the similarities change how he feels about Erik.

When school was in session, they stopped officially answering the phone at five.  All the students knew the rules about passing the phone off to an adult if they picked up someone else’s call after hours, and the teachers knew how to take a message.  Even now, Logan gets that he needs someone to cover when he sends Alex out on patrol with one of the kids.

This particular evening, though, given the choice between making awkward conversation with parents and working within earshot of the phone, Alex is willing to put in an extra hour or two.  All things considered.

It means he’s the one who picks up when Darwin calls.  It’s not even weird, at first, he just stops writing and says, “Hey,” like he always does.

“Hey,” Darwin says back.  He sounds wary, and the habit fades as Alex remembers.

He doesn’t know what to say next.  Everything they usually start with is too recent or too… something he doesn't want to know.  Are you okay?  How’s Eva?  Gotten back together with Angel yet?

“I’m sorry.”  Darwin sounds as sincere and straightforward as always.  “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.  I made some bad calls.”

Alex puts his pencil down and leans back, folding his free arm across his chest.  “You okay?” he asks, even after he decided not to.  “How’s Eva?”

“She's been worse,” Darwin says.  “She doesn't want to be here.”

“She wants to be with you,” Alex says automatically.  They've had this conversation before.

“Yeah,” Darwin says.  “She doesn't want me to be here either.”

Alex reaches out and pushes the pencil with his finger, just for something to do.  It rolls a little, bumping up against the edge of the desk calendar.  “She must like having her mom around, though.”

There's a long silence, and Alex wonders if Raven and Rahne are adopting Eva as quickly and thoroughly as Darwin did.  She'd be better off with a bigger family.  Her mutation may not be dangerous, but it's unmistakable: she can't pass and she can't hide.  She needs people on her side.

“I think she misses Scott,” Darwin says at last.  “Is that weird?  She keeps talking about the other kids.”

Alex can't help it.  He smiles, and he knows it comes through in his voice.  “What, the other mutant kids who have to deal with the same shit she does and probably make her feel normal for the first time in her life?  Yeah.  That's totally weird.”

He can hear Darwin smiling back when he says, “You know, it was good being in the same room with you when we talked.”

“Sure,” Alex agrees, because he can count the number of times he's seen Darwin in the last year on two fingers.  “Something new and different for us.”

The pause is shorter this time, and Alex just has time to roll the pencil in the other direction before Darwin says, “I'm sorry I lied about Temp.  Tempest, I mean.  Angel.”

Like maybe Alex wouldn't know who he's talking about.  “You didn't lie,” he says.  “Raven just fixed it before I could, that's all.  Not exactly the first time she's beaten me to the punch.”

“I lied, Alex.”  Darwin isn't taking the out, and he'd better not, because Alex really wanted to fuck him up when he realized he'd been played.  “I wanted you to come, and I wanted you to come alone.  I didn't want Charles to stop you or send someone else.  I guess I thought I'd have a better chance of convincing you in person.”

Alex picks up the pencil and stands it on its eraser, just to watch it fall.  “Convincing me of what?”

“To come with us,” Darwin says.  “Temp and Mystique shouldn't be out here alone, and Rahne does whatever they say.  They could use a voice of reason every once in awhile.”

They, Alex thinks.  Not we.

“They?” he says aloud.

“Eva wants to come back to the mansion,” Darwin says.  “I told her I’d ask you.”

Alex picks up the pencil and considers snapping it in half before he decides it’s a waste of a good pencil.  He flings it across the room instead, careful to avoid the door.  “It’s not up to me,” he says, when he can keep his voice mostly even.

“I’d like to come with her,” Darwin tells him.

Alex pulls open a drawer and considers the merits of smaller projectiles.  It’s possible that no one actually used this desk in his absence, because everything is still arranged just the way he likes it: pencils, erasers, and scraps of paper at the front, everything else in a jumbled mess at the back.  He picks one of the cap erasers and tosses it at the door frame.

“Look, I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Darwin says at last.  “The place used to be a boarding school, right?  She could stay without me, if Charles is willing to take her in.  Seems like the kind of thing he’d do.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Alex says.  He launches another eraser in the direction of the door.  “You’re half of the only family she knows.  You can’t drop her on the doorstep and run back to Temp.”

It maybe comes out a little more hostile than he meant it to.

“I’m not staying,” Darwin says.  “Here, I mean.”  He doesn’t say exactly where here is.  “You know how they need a voice of reason?  You might be just crazy enough to get through to them, but I’m a lot more reason than they’re willing to hear.  Me and Eva, we’re out, man.  It’s just a matter of where we go next.”

Alex kicks the leg of the desk, but carefully, because he doesn’t really want to mess it up.  He tries kicking the bottom of the chair instead, then the floor.  None of it’s very satisfying.

“Did you just say you’re more reasonable than I am?” he asks at last.

Darwin sounds amused when he says, “Among other things, yeah.”

“I’m very reasonable,” Alex tells him.

“Your code name is Havok,” Darwin replies.

Alex considers this and finds it fair.  “Okay,” he says.  “I’ll give you that.”

There’s a long moment where neither of them says anything, and Alex takes out another pencil.  This one isn’t sharpened, so he doesn’t feel so bad about setting it half on, half off the edge of the desk and hitting it hard enough to send it flying across the room.  It clatters against the wall and down behind a bookcase, never to be seen again.

“Are you throwing things?” Darwin asks.

“No,” Alex lies.

“You’re still talking to me,” Darwin says.

“I haven’t yelled at you yet,” Alex says.  “I can’t come up with anything angry enough not to sound stupid when they hear me down the hall.”

“Well, take your time,” Darwin says.  “We’re not leaving until tomorrow.”

Alex taps the pointed side of an eraser against the top of the desk, twists it in his fingers, but doesn’t throw it.  “You should come here,” he says.  “I mean.  If Eva wants to.  You should come with her.”

“Yeah?”  Darwin sounds careful, like he knows there’s a catch.

“You should stay,” Alex tells him.  “The school’s gonna reopen.  You should come back and teach history, like we talked about.”

The silence that follows is so complete that Alex can hear the faint hiss of the phone line.

“You’re crazy,” Darwin says at last.  “I watch the news.  There’s cameras all over your street and there’s Sentinels in the yard.  That’s not a school; that’s a circus.”

Alex kicks the chair again.  “You’re letting Eva come back.”

“Just because it’s worse out here doesn’t make it an educational institution,” Darwin says.  “It’s a mutant halfway house where you happen to teach classes.”

“I met Warren’s dad tonight,” Alex tells him.  “And Jean’s.  Her whole family is here, and you know what’s great?  They’re proud of her.  They’re proud of the way she can hear people think and make stuff float in the air.”

Darwin doesn't answer right away, and Alex doesn't know what makes him add, “She even asked Erik to teach her to fly.”

“Oh, good,” Darwin says.  “That’s a role model you should definitely encourage.”

“What’s wrong with a halfway house, anyway?” Alex wants to know.  “Everyone’s here because they want to be.  We should take care of each other.  No one else is gonna do it.”

He hears Darwin sigh.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I know.”

Hank is in the doorway when he looks up, and Alex doesn’t know how long he’s been there.  He’s holding a couple of erasers and a pencil.  Alex makes a face at him, but Hank just rolls his eyes.

“Hey,” Alex says, when it’s clear he’s not going away.  “Beast is here.  He’s staring like he’s got something to say, but I don’t think he knows it’s you so maybe you’ll get lucky and he won’t tell you off.”

Hank raises his eyebrows at that.  “Not a student, then,” he says.

“Tell him I have something for him,” Darwin says at the same time.  “I’ll give it to him tomorrow when I bring Eva.”

“When you and Eva come back to stay,” Alex says, and Hank straightens.

“Yeah,” Darwin says, after the longest second of their entire conversation.  

“Is that Darwin?” Hank asks, which is weird since doesn’t he have super hearing?  How good is super, anyway?  How come no one knows anything about Hank’s powers?  Alex didn’t even know his intelligence was a mutation until the professor said so.

“Now he knows it’s you,” Alex tells the phone.  He’s still looking at Hank, so he doesn’t miss the second eye roll.  “Let’s see whose side he’s on.”

“It’s not about sides,” Darwin says.  Alex doesn’t believe it any more now than he did ten years ago.  “It’s about who needs you the most.”

“Obviously I’m on your side,” Hank says, like he doesn’t know why they’re even talking about this.  “Tell him he doesn’t have to lie to get you to go with him, because, no offense?  That was a dick move.  You deserve better.”

Alex stares at him.

In his ear, Darwin’s saying, “Look, Mystique went back for some of that stuff they used on Erik.  She thought you--she thought Hank might want a sample.  I said I’d bring it up.”

Hank folds his arms and rests one shoulder against the door frame.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I want it.”

“He says he’ll take it,” Alex tells the phone.  “Tell her thanks.”

“Sure,” Darwin says.

There’s a long moment where neither of them says anything, and Hank just stands in the doorway without moving.  Alex doesn’t ask what he wants.  He looks like he’s forgotten the pencil and the erasers, anyway, which is probably good because Alex doesn’t need any criticism of his temper.  He throws things, okay?  It’s better than disintegrating walls.

“We’re gonna watch Star Trek,” Hank says at last.  “The kids, I mean.  And me.  And probably Sean.”

“When does the yelling start?” Darwin asks.

The question is mostly drowned out by Hank finishing, “You’re welcome to join us,” and then looking awkward the way only Hank can look.  Like he thinks he’s saying something stupid and obvious instead of exactly what Alex wants to hear.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Alex says.  He closes the desk drawer and adds, “Got a TV date with Hank and the kids.  Tell Eva I said hi, okay?”

“Yeah,” Darwin says a second later.  “I will.”

“See you tomorrow,” Alex tells him.

“See you,” Darwin answers, and then Alex is hanging up on him and it’s not so bad.

Hank offers him the erasers when he gets to the door, but other than that he doesn’t say or do anything on the way downstairs.  Alex figures he can return the favor by not bitching, so he puts the erasers in his pocket and keeps the peace.  He doesn’t think about Darwin’s room, or the professor and Erik’s lack of subtlety, or the fact that Hank “doesn’t see a difference” between men and women.

Scott and David are hogging the couch in the TV room.  Which is pretty impressive for two little kids, Alex thinks, and he throws himself down in the middle of them.  Neither of them move, but they also don’t complain, so he waves at Hank to join them.

“It’s a small picture,” Alex tells him when Hank shakes his head.  “We can squeeze in.”

Jean isn’t there but Warren is.  He’s mostly engulfed an armchair, feet up over one arm and his wings sprawling over the other side.  Illyana and Piotr have taken over the floor in front of the couch, and Sean is sitting in the overstuffed chair on the other side of it.

“I could set up another TV,” Hank says.  “Like in the A/V room.  So we have a couple of screens when a lot of people want to watch something.”

“Sit down,” Alex says.  The twins are missing, but he’s pretty sure they’re on security with Logan right now.  He wonders where Moira is.  “Unless you’re actually going to start taking things apart tonight, just sit down.  We can shove over.”

He only speaks for himself, and Scott grumbles when Alex slides into him to make room for Hank.  David is already curled into a ball at the other end of the couch, but his voice is clear and unmistakable in Alex’s head when he says, Do you want me to move?

“No,” Hank says.  “Don’t move.  There’s no need for me to--”

“Come on, Beast,” Alex interrupts.  “We’re all family here, right?  David, you have enough room?”

Yes, David thinks, and it’s weird to hear someone do that so casually.  The professor is polite and obvious when he sends thoughts their way, but he doesn’t just say “good morning” or “good night” or absently answer questions the way David is doing.  He’s leaning on you anyway.

Alex thinks Hank is leaning back because he’s six feet tall and not totally comfortable on a couch designed for normal-sized people.  Still, K-7 just issued a priority one distress call, and anticipating Kirk’s anger is more entertaining than trying to force anyone else to have a good time.  It’s not like he’s such great company himself, anyway.

“There should be another couch,” Sean says out of nowhere.  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we should definitely have another TV.  But where’s the rest of the furniture?”

All he knows how to do right now is to watch television, and to slouch down between Scott and Hank while the Enterprise boldly goes.  But Hank says, “Adele had some of it moved into the residential wings after the school closed, so the rooms we actually use wouldn’t look so… well.  Empty.”

“Huh,” Sean says.  Then, just before the music ends, he adds, “We should move it back.”

“Yeah,” Scott mutters.  “You definitely should.”

Alex barely has to move to cuff his shoulder, and Scott punches his arm in return.  “Scott can help,” Alex says.

“Piotr’s really strong,” Illyana says.  “He can move big things.”

“We can all help,” Hank says.

“I came up with the idea,” Sean says.  “Why do I have to help?”

“Because you break things,” Alex tells the TV.

“That’s funny, coming from you,” Sean answers, and Alex smiles without meaning to.

“Everyone be quiet,” Hank says, surprising them.  “This is one of the only comedic episodes of Star Trek ever written.  It’s an important cultural experience.”

Alex can’t resist.  “Yeah, for nerds,” he says, nudging Hank with his elbow.

Hank doesn’t miss a beat.  “Takes one to know one.”

Shh, David says.  Only he doesn’t say it.  He’s shushing them mentally, and for some reason that’s funnier than it is disturbing.  We’re trying to watch the show.

Better than being the show, Alex thinks, unbidden.  He’s watching Hank stretch his long legs out under the table and kick off his shoes, and Illyana flicks her tail out of the way when Alex shifts.  He can hear Warren’s wings rustle as he gets more comfortable.

“You issued a priority one distress call,” Kirk says irritably.  “State the nature of your emergency!”

There is no emergency, Alex knows.  It’s a strange feeling in a house full of misfits and rebels and actual criminals, with the press down the road and security patrolling the grounds.  But right now, tonight, there isn’t any emergency.  Just the family they still talk to, and the one that takes them in when they have nowhere else to go.

It’s worth whatever they have to do to make sure there’s always a place like this in the world.