Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Winter is approaching quickly, but the house is warm thanks to the lit stove and the steam from the pot cooking on one of the back eyes.

It would be warmer if the door wasn't being opened quite so often, but as it's only late fall it isn't awful. Charles doesn't bother to scold the children as they run in and out. Bobby and Kitty are only six, and it wouldn't do much good to say anything anyway. They're playing with Marie, the girl their age from across the lane who wears gloves, and together the three of them are more than a little imaginative.

Then again, Charles supposes it's his fault. He tells them all so many stories about what he remembers the world being like before—before the war that ended wars and left the planet devastated.

Ororo is trying desperately to keep track of the smaller children, and Charles tells her it isn't necessary. "I'm watching them from here and I'm certain Marie's mother is watching from across the way. They'll be fine. Don't you have a test coming up to be studying for? Go on back upstairs."

"Okay, okay…" She's sixteen, and smart, and nearly finished with the admittedly meager school curriculum. He knows she's quite bored with it all now, wondering what the point is anyway when the only purpose this society has ever taught her that she will have is to marry, have children, and feed the slowly re-growing population.

Charles has always done his best to give his children, at least, more hope than that.

His and Erik's children.

Ororo reluctantly retreats up the bare wooden stairs of the small house, and not a moment later there are harder footsteps pounding down them and Charles is interrupted yet again. He's never going to get the seasoning in the soup right if the distractions don't stop.

"Jean? Where are you going?"

She stops halfway to the door, shawl pulled around her shoulders, and looks back and shakes her bright red hair over her shoulders. Jean is seventeen, a year older than her younger sister almost to the day.

They're both growing so fast. All of the children. Only Bobby and Kitty, really, are even children anymore at all, and sometimes Charles can't believe he's only thirty-nine.

Well, forty in a few short weeks, but there's no need to bother thinking about that.

"I'm meeting Scott at the library," Jean tells him.

"Have you done your homework?"

"What passes for it," she sighs. She should be finished with school, but though she is just as bright as Ororo she isn't as dedicated to her schooling. Jean is a dreamer, and Erik has mentioned to Charles more than once that she takes after him in quite a few ways.

"I know it isn't as challenging as it should be, but you should still do it, Jean. You would have graduated by now—"

"I know, Mom, okay? I did do it this time. I promise."

She isn't lying. He would sense it if she were, and he nods her on. "All right, but you had better stop on the way and let Sean come with you. You know he won't be happy if you don't."

"Fine," Jean sighs, before she leaves.

Sean and Alex are their older set of twins, and at twenty-two they should both be married but with the recent disputes the assignment department has fallen behind. They live in the young men's apartments now, sharing a room because everyone there is by now. They moved there when they were eighteen, and will be there until they're assigned mates and given houses.

Sean is the protective one. He takes after his father, though with his shaggy hair a red milder than Jean's he looks nothing like Erik.

The small library is on the other side of the town, too close to the wall that surrounds it for the liking of many, and Sean prefers the girls to fetch him when they want to go. Though Charles knows, too, that the mandate is also an excuse for him to be there, to visit the library's young human librarian.

Sean certainly doesn't like the fact that Moira lives there on her own. Neither does Charles, but there is nowhere else for her to go in a city of mutants, and she prefers to stay in her small apartment in the back of the library rather than return to anyone's charity.

She's a strong-headed one, that one, and Sean is in love with her.

But marrying or reproducing with humans is forbidden now. Humans are so few and far between, considered a weak and dying species, most of them killed by the bombs or later by the nuclear radiation that covered most of the globe. And the goal of the assignment system has been, from the beginning, to pair mutants whose powers and physical characteristics will produce the healthiest, most powerful offspring. To bolster the population, improve it, grow it as quickly as possible and avoid extinction. Humans, according to the leadership, have no place in those plans.

It breaks Charles's heart, to think about it. Unless things change Sean and Moira will never be together, and the same will be true for so many other young people that care about each other. Jean and Scott, too, if they aren't assigned to each other.

Couples assigned to each other aren't required to marry—only to reproduce—but with marriage outside of assignment forbidden most of them marry anyway.

He and Erik did.

Twenty-Five Years Ago

The war began when Charles was five years old, and it changed everything. Charles's parents are dead and he would be alone if it weren't for the small blue mutant girl he found abandoned in a shelter years ago. Her name is Raven, it's what he named her because she didn't remember her name when he found her, and she is his sister now.

Calling her anything other than sister would be too strange. He raised her, in a sense, but he was only eleven when he found her. She was three then, he guessed.

Raven is seven now, and Charles is fifteen.

Humans are all but gone now, and groups of mutants slowly migrated together, forming small settlements in areas less damaged by fire and radiation. The decent, living patches of land are few and far between, but at least they do exist. There are only two such settlements in all of what once was England, that Charles knows of, and they are close enough to keep in contact with each other.

Any farther out than that, and no one knows much about the rest of the world or how it is reordering itself. But it's been ten years since the war began, seven since it ended, and the leaders of the two settlements came to a decision last year—to work together to form the assignment system and to help rebuild the planet's decimated population with individuals more likely to survive the new, harsher conditions that exist everywhere else, outside of the settlements.

Not that life in the towns is easy. It isn't awful, small bits of technology are being recovered, scientific procedures are preserved, and books are saved wherever they can be found. Society still exists, but it will be trapped in an older way of life for a time. Gas and wood burning stoves and growing food to live on and making everything else they need, too. Building small houses of wood and city walls of stone.

But it's a life. Charles and Raven have been here for two years. They like it well enough.

It's the beginning of the assignment system, and not everyone is happy about it but most see the logic. The population is still dropping, not growing, and that needs to be remedied. They don't have the luxury of allowing young people to wait to be sixteen or eighteen or more, the way things were before the war. Everyone thirteen or older—anyone sexually mature—was asked to give a sample of blood a year ago, for testing, so that matching could begin.

Nine months ago the pairings began, the older ones first, some being sent to the neighboring settlement because they were matched better with someone there, and those being paired now are younger and Charles knows it will be his turn soon. He's a little scared, and he wonders if he's met the girl they'll pair him with.

Raven tells him everything will be all right.

When he's summoned to the town's central meeting building, though, the news isn't quite what he expected at all. Raven comes with him, but they make her wait outside the office while one of the scientists explains what they've found.

Charles has a secondary mutation, they've discovered from his genes. He can have children, and he's young and strong and they've determined that he would be much more valuable having them than fathering them.

They're going to pair him with a man. They've already paired him. With a man in their sister town.

Charles doesn't know how he feels about that. He's shocked and frightened and he isn't quite sure it's real when he curls into a corner of the wagon taking the next group to the other settlement a week later. Raven is with him, they let her come with him, but it's only a small comfort when he's the only male in the group. The girls are staring at him, whispering, some of them even younger than he is.

But they're all nervous, he reminds himself, and he knows it for sure because he can hear the thoughts whispering through their minds. He can't be too hard on them. They're all being carted to a town a they've never seen, to be married to men they've never met.

Or given to, if not married to. But they've been promised that they will have a place to live if the men they've been partnered with don't want to marry them; don't want to attach themselves to them more permanently. Both towns have already built boarding houses for such cases. They're going to happen.

Charles doesn't know which outcome he would prefer more.

But he has a choice, too. So do these girls. They can also say no. As long as they reproduce with their partners they also have the choice to decide not to marry. To live in the boarding house instead. Some of them are making their decisions as the wagon rolls toward its destination.

"My mother says this is heinous. Arranged marriages don't happen anymore. Not in civilized circles. Maybe we don't have what we used to have before the war, but we're still civilized, aren't we? I know we don't want to be extinct, and I'll have the damn man's baby, but I refuse to marry him. I don't care what he's like."

"I don't mind getting married, as long as he's nice…" another girl trails.

"I wanted to fall in love!" yet another wails. She's one of the oldest in this group.

One of the youngest girls frowns. "What do you mean?" She's thirteen, the youngest of those being paired, Charles gathers from her mind. Her parents died early, as his did. Others found and took care of her.

She doesn't remember the world before. She doesn't understand, really, what love is.

Not that Charles does. Not really. He wasn't much older than she when the bombs fell. He remembers the way his parents were with each other…in the world before. They fawned over each other. They were always together. They did things for each other. They laughed. They must have been in love, he thinks.

But this isn't about love. This is about saving their race. It isn't fair, but Charles supposes he sees, too, why this has to be done, even if he doesn't quite agree with the method.

"My dad said we'd learn to love each other…" another girls says softly—one who hasn't spoke yet. "Or at least to, you know, like each other. Be fond of each other, I guess. I guess I could live with that."

Charles exchanges a glance with her, gives her a smile.

He hopes she's right. He can't bear the thought of having children with someone who doesn't care about him at all.

Chapter Text

Twenty-Five Years Ago

When they arrive in the other settlement they're taken directly to the central building, lead inside to a room and asked to wait. One by one their names are called and they're led from the room, presumably being taken to meet the men they've been paired with. Charles stands against the wall, clutching Raven's hand and holding the one bag that contains everything they both own in his other.

In the town that was home for two years they lived with others like themselves—those with no family, no parents. They had no need of much. They shared everything.

Eventually Charles and Raven are alone in the room. His last name is Xavier; of course he would be the last to be called, he thinks, though it doesn't occur to him until now that they had gone in alphabetical order.

There are chairs free now but he doesn't feel much like sitting. There is no way for him not to know that that he will be next. There's no one else here.

It seems like an eternity before a matronly woman opens the door, calls his name, and beckons him not unkindly to follow her. He skims the surface of her minds and knows now that he is, in fact, being taken to meet his partner.

He doesn't mean to intrude, but when he sees the information on the clipboard she's holding he can't help but use her eyes a bit to get a better look. He's anxious, and he wants to know.

He's been matched, apparently, with someone not much older than himself. Erik Lehnsherr is seventeen, and he has lived here for four years. His mutation is metal manipulation.

That's all the clipboard says, and he won't go into her mind farther, won't intrude to see if she knows more about him herself. It takes Charles a moment, too, to realize that she's been telling him what's on the clipboard anyway, as they've walked.

"He's been given the same basic information about you, but we don't want to impede the two of you getting to know each other by telling you more. You'll meet him in a moment. It's just up here…"

The room is small and bare, but then again most places are relatively bare these days, compared to before the war. It isn't much different from the room Charles and Raven were just in, but that it's smaller.

That, and the fact that the young man Charles is expected to procreate with is there, sitting straight in one of the few chairs around the edge of the room. He stands as soon the door opens, stand silently and stares, and Charles is more than a little self-conscious as the woman who brought him here nudges him gently into the room.

"Go on. He won't bite." She's closer to his ear for a moment, and she whispers, out of the other man's earshot. "I know Erik. He's a nice young man; he just has to warm up to you."

Charles lets out a breath, and the woman—Pamela, he corrects himself, drawing that much from her mind—takes Raven's other hand and pulls her back.

"Why don't you wait with me for a bit, dear?" she's saying, and Charles realizes that is probably the best idea he has heard all day.

"Charles?" Raven asks anxiously.

He nods her on and releases the small hand he's holding. "It's all right."

"Okay…" She looks across the room at the other man standing there, waiting silently. I don't know if I like him…she thinks, and Charles shushes her mentally.

I haven't even spoken to him yet. Let's save judgment, shall we?

Raven just rolls her eyes at him, still not understanding his tendency for vocabulary and more proper sentence structure when many people don't bother much with it anymore—no one but those older, like Pamela.

When Raven and the woman are gone the door shuts behind him, and Charles realizes he's still clutching their bag in his hands. Hastily he sets it down in a chair near the door and takes a tentative step forward.

"I uhm…"

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what comes next.

The other man, Erik, comes closer slowly, stopping perhaps halfway through the small room. "You're Charles?" he asks.

"Yes. Charles Xavier. And…you're Erik Lehnsherr. Though Pamela there just told me that."

"If you're a telepath I don't imagine you would have needed her to know that."

"Well, no." Charles licks his lips nervously. "I ah…listen, I know that this must be a bit much for you. It is for everyone, but I'm…well, obviously I'm not—"

"A woman?"

Charles winces. "No. I mean, yes, that's right, I'm not. I mean…to be quite honest I'm still not certain I believe what they've told me…what they say that my DNA shows…but either way, I'll understand if you don't want to marry me. It's all right—"

"We'll be married," Erik says quickly, and Charles just blinks at him in surprise so he continues. "I won't have children with anyone to whom I'm not married. I wasn't raised that way. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

"No…" Charles says weakly. He doesn't really think he would want children without being married, either—without being sure they would have two present parents, certainly—but he doesn't understand why it's so important to this man, and he's searching before he realizes it. "You're Jewish," he surfaces almost immediately.

This time it is Erik who's surprised, but he quickly covers it and frowns. "Yes." But he quickly adds, "And I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my head."

"I'm sorry."

He really is. He doesn't want to offend this man on the first day they know each other.

For the first time Erik's expression softens, and Charles sees a bit of the person Pamela must know through the façade. "It's all right…just don't do it again."

And Charles realizes that the way this has been going so far he should still feel anxious, he should be unsure…but despite the walls Erik has pulled so tightly around him Charles isn't afraid of him. He's worried, perhaps, that he won't be able to break those walls…but somehow he already knows that this man would never hurt him by choice.

"Of course," he says quietly.

Erik nods curtly in thanks, and then they are both quiet. "You're right," Erik says after a bit.

"About what?" Charles asks. This time he makes himself move closer, until they're within normal conversational range, and Erik looks up again and studies him curiously.

"This is a bit much for me. All of it."

Charles manages a small smile. "Then I suppose we have that in common, at least." And Erik doesn't smile back, but he does raise an eyebrow.

It's somewhere to start.

They're married before the day is out, as are most of the girls Charles and Raven came here with. It's done simply—a short, functional ritual—and Charles doesn't see Raven again until it's over. Pamela finds them, brings Raven to them as they're coming from the office where the marriages are being officiated.

"Congratulations, my dears," she smiles, and lets Raven's hand loose so the young girl can all but tackle her brother.

"Charles! Are you okay?" she asks, as if Erik or being married might have hurt him. Charles gives her flashes, only brief images—speaking with Erik, the simple ritual—to assure her that everything is fine.

"I'm all right," he chuckles.

"Who is this?" Erik asks, clearly dumbfounded, and Charles picks up from him without really reading anything that he didn't know about this at all.

"My sister, Raven," he says, straightening. "We have no parents; there's no one else to care for her."

"She'll be living with us?"

"Yes," Charles says, and it isn't a question.

Thankfully, Erik doesn't protest. He only motions down the corridor. "The street exit is this way. Thank you, Mrs. Warren." Pamela. That's her last name. Erik nods to her and moves down the hallway, carrying Charles and Raven's bag now. He leads them from the building and halfway across the town, which Charles realizes is bigger then the one they've come from. It still isn't so terribly large, though, and the reasons for going to such lengths to preserve the population are still apparent.

Erik leads them to a small wooden house in a crowded neighborhood of other wooden houses that have obviously been recently built and all look nearly the same, and indeed Erik checks a number over the door before bringing them inside.

It's small…a kitchen/dining area inside on the main floor, with two doors off to the left, and to the right stairs that lead up.

Erik motions to the doors. "Those are a bathroom and a bedroom, and the upstairs is open, though there is one bed up there already. No one questioned you about your sister so I assume they knew and didn't mention it to me, or forgot to…the bed upstairs must be for her. I wondered why it was there."

"Ah..." Charles trails. Bedroom. There's only one real bedroom. But of course there's only one bedroom. They're married now. They're expected to have children as soon as they can manage it. Of course they'll share a bedroom. A bed.

Strange that these small details hadn't occurred to him before.

Not that they're so small though, really.

Charles swallows and nods to the stairs. "Raven, why don't we see what the upstairs looks like? If you're going to be sleeping there we ought to bring your things up anyway." He glances back at Erik, who hands him the bag, and Charles nods in thanks and follows Raven as she agrees happily and bounds up the stairs.

"Is she always like that?" Erik asks.

Charles's smile is easier now. "She is nothing if not enthusiastic. And…I suppose it helps that she doesn't remember anything better. She can be happy quite easily, and sometimes I envy her." He doesn't remember much himself, but he remembers enough. It's enough to for the sense of loss to be there—the sense he feels even more strongly in Erik. Even if not by much, Erik was older than he was when the war began. His memories are more clear.

Charles follows Raven up the stairs, and Erik stays behind. The stairs turn against the wall and lead to an upper floor of which the roof is the ceiling—slanted down from the middle. The upper floor is one large space, and it seems so empty now, but there is plenty enough space for several more beds and shelves, where now there is only one of each.

This, he realizes, is meant to be the children's room, when they arrive. He'd wondered how the small house could accommodate a family. And he supposes, when the children are older they could build partitions to give some privacy…

Why is he thinking about this now? He has yet to quite accept the fact that he's going to have children at all.

Raven is on the edge of the bed, bouncing up and down a bit and smiling at him, but when he looks at her, her smile fades.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

Charles shakes himself out of it and crosses to her to sit by her on the bed. "Yes, I'm all right." He puts the bag between them, opens it and pulls out what belongs to her. "There's even a shelf, see? You can put your things on it."

"Wow…I've never had my own shelf before," she grins. She looks around. "Or my own room. But I guess it won't always be just mine, huh?" Raven looks at him again, curiously. "Are you and that man down there really going to have kids? Like the moms and dads back in our town have kids?"

"Well, that is the general idea…"

"Then who's gonna be the mom?"

Charles winces. "I suppose that would be me."

Raven climbs into his lap, and he holds her. "That's kinda weird," she says.

"Yes. Yes, it is," he sighs. "But it will be all right," he adds quickly. "We'll be fine here."

"How do you know? Do you like Erik? That's his name right…"

"Yes, that's his name. And I don't dislike him."

"He doesn't smile."

"We've known him for three hours, Raven. Give him a chance." And despite the feeling he had before, that he still has—that if nothing else, they are safe with Erik—Charles is still trying to convince himself more than he's convincing Raven, that everything will be all right.

He's still scared. Scared of the unknown. He can't help thinking over everything the girls talked about on the way here, again and again.

Would they learn to care about each other? Or would Erik always be like this? Not unkind, but quiet and stoic and not quite completely approachable.

"Okay, okay…" Raven is saying. "But if he hurts you, you find me and I'll kick his ass."

Those words from a seven-year-old's mouth are more than funny, though completely Raven, and Charles laughs and hugs her tightly. He needed that.

What's even funnier is that Raven is a shapeshifter. She could easily transform into someone bigger than anyone who might hurt him. She really could protect him if she wanted to. It had never been necessary, but it was possible.

Charles leaves Raven to fold her clothes and put them with her other things on the shelf by her new bed, and he goes back downstairs with the bag in hand that only holds his things now.

When he makes it downstairs Erik is pulling a pot from a cupboard and various ingredients from the shelves, and he sees that the pantry is somewhat stocked already.

"I'm afraid I can't cook," he comments quietly, wondering if, as he is taking the place of a bride, Erik had been expecting him to.

"I can," Erik says instead. "Even if you could I wouldn't make you do it your first night here."

Such a small statement, and it probably means nothing to Erik but it tells Charles quite a bit about him—what he's like beneath the surface that he keeps so immaculately kept up.

"How did you learn?" he asks, just to start any conversation at all.

"My mother taught me some of it, before the war."

Charles blinks. "And you remember? You were only Raven's age, weren't you? When it started?"

"How old is Raven?"

"Seven."

"I was eight."

Charles stares at him in confusion. "How…?"

"I won't be seventeen much longer," he explains. "A few weeks." He's several months older than Charles really thought. "How long have you been fifteen?" he's asking now.

"Oh, uhm…not long, actually. Only since last month," he admits.

So much closer to three years of difference than two, then. It shouldn't matter, not in the situation they find themselves in, not in this world, and Charles tries not to let it.

"So…your mother could cook well?"

"Quite well," Erik says, and it's the first time Charles really hears emotion in his voice. It's well hidden, but its there, though Charles supposes he's sensing it more than hearing it. "What about yours?" Still reciprocating questions, and Charles supposes Erik is trying to make an effort at this, too—at becoming more comfortable with one another.

But Charles hesitates before answering that question. As little as everyone has now, most aren't very happy with him when they discover how he spent the first years of his life. "Well we were…my parents never cooked, precisely…" He sighs. "But I would like to learn."

Erik pauses in what he's doing and looks back at him, finally. "I suppose I could teach you." Then one of those eyebrows went up. "But you could just pull it all from my memories, couldn't you?"

"I could. But you asked me to stay out of you head." Charles shrugs a bit. "I would rather you taught me, anyhow." Anything to make this easier. To help them build some sort of companionship, even if nothing else ever presents itself.

Erik nods, and though he still doesn't smile Charles feels a sense of warmth from him. "You can watch me now, if you want to." Charles glances at the bag still in his hands, and Erik does too. When he looks up again he casts his gaze awkwardly to the door he'd said before leads to the bedroom. "I guess you should put that in there…I left half of the shelf for you."

Charles nods, and Erik goes back to what he's doing as he crosses slowly to the door and tentatively nudges it open. He steps inside and closes it behind him, so that Erik won't be watching him take it in. He doesn't know why that matters, but this is the room he's going to be sharing with Erik—with his husband, and god, it's still strange—for the foreseeable future, and he'd rather see it for the first time on his own.

There isn't much more in here than there is upstairs. There is a shelf and a desk with a chair on either side of a window against the far wall, and a bed—one bed, quite a bit bigger than the child's bed upstairs. There is no questioning why this house is even here.

Charles sets his bag on the ground inside the door and looks at it all. It isn't much, but it's theirs.

That's the catch, though. Theirs. Not his. Theirs. He's let himself be tied to this man, and even though his turn to be paired has been coming for months—for months he knew that he would be forced on someone who didn't know him—it still seems as if its happened too fast. There was no way around it…he couldn't have said no entirely to the matching or he and Raven would have been put out of the town. That is the way the law works now, and he has to keep Raven safe.

But Erik is certainly not the worst he could have been assigned to. Perhaps this won't be so awful at all. It's gone well enough so far.

But what of the future? Not even the far future. What of tonight?

Charles flees from the room before he's even bothered to unpack his meager belongings, doing his best to make certain it doesn't appear as fleeing, and he watches Erik make a light dinner. Not that there is any other kind, really. Food is rationed.

Raven comes down to eat, and they all sit at the table, Raven praising Erik on his cooking skills and telling Charles silently that all right, maybe she likes him a little better now.

Charles just smiles to himself.

But all too soon night has fallen, Charles has put Raven to bed upstairs, and he and Erik are alone in the room that is now theirs. Charles has put his things on the shelf, and he sees now that Erik doesn't have much more than he and Raven do. They're starting this life in the same place.

Somehow that makes him feel a bit better.

But they're still sitting silently, awkwardly, on the same edge of the bed but at opposite ends.

Erik is the one to break the silence.

"We don't have to do this now," he says finally. "We have time…"

Charles frowns and looks away. "They expect new pairs to conceive within six months at the most. Preferably less. They expect us to have two children within the first three years. Did they not give all of you the same briefing we were given?"

He doesn't see it but he senses Erik wincing. "We got the same information, Charles."

"Then you should understand that we can't wait," Charles sighs. "What they're expecting…it will be difficult enough as it is. But I suppose since we're all mutants that they feel they can expect more from us than was usual in human statistics…"

"How do you know all of that?" Erik asks, confused, and Charles taps a temple with two fingertips.

"I know more than I could know on my own—I've learned about the world before from those who were there for much more of it. I know that what they're hoping for is certainly possible enough, but not necessarily easy."

He's still just as anxious as he was hours ago, still scared, but Charles also knows he's right.

They can't wait.

Erik looks at him for a long moment. "But we could wait a few days, at least. We don't have to do this right now."

Charles lets out a breath. Erik is also right, but…

"My friend, I'm afraid that if we wait it will be harder later," he whispers.

He's scared, yes, but there is also quite a large part of him that would rather have it over with. He knows it won't only be once—far from it—but he also knows that, hopefully, he won't have to be so anxious after the first time. He'll know what to expect.

Charles is fully prepared to let Erik have his way if he persists with the idea of waiting a bit, but Erik doesn't persist. Not exactly. Charles lets himself read a bit of Erik's feelings, surface thoughts, and he realizes that Erik is actually just as nervous as he is.

But beside that, he's concerned. For Charles.

And Charles decides that if Erik can feel that way for him already, then he doesn't mind the idea of being with this man at all.

"You're sure?" Erik asks at length.

"I'm as sure as I am going to be, I suppose." And Charles is able to smile, and he means it.

Chapter Text

Thirteen Years Ago

"Charles…"

Charles is washing dishes when he hears his sister's voice behind him, and at the distress in her voice and in her mind he turns quickly and find her in the open front doorway of the house.

She hadn't knocked. She doesn't need to. This was her home until last year, when she turned eighteen and moved to the young women's boarding house.

"Raven!" Charles drops everything, dries his hands on his trousers and goes to her quickly. She is trying not to lean on the doorknob, and he pulls her gently away from the door and shuts it behind her before pulling her into his arms. "Are you all right? What happened? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Raven is nineteen now. The population has grown enough that the elders feel comfortable allowing the pairing system to wait until the young people are seventeen or eighteen now, before matching them, and she should have been matched a year or more ago. But as a shapeshifter her DNA is different even from that of most other mutants, and there was trouble finding a suitable partner for her.

There were two or three young men in town who would have been suitable enough, genetically, but they weren't happy enough with that. They didn't pair her with any of them.

"No…" Raven is saying against his shoulder. "I'm fine, I just…he's gone. And I couldn't stay in that godawful boarding house one more second…" Not that the conditions are awful. They're fine. He's seen the boarding houses and apartments for the young people, and they're comfortable enough, as anything can be these days. But he can feel that she simply wanted to be home.

The children are playing upstairs, all five of them, and Charles glances up and hears their footsteps pounding overhead. They could come down here at any time.

"Come here," he says gently, and leads her into the bedroom and shuts the door behind them. Raven sinks onto the edge of the bed and wraps her arms around herself.

"Why won't he just…I don't care if he's never here. He could still marry me. Then at least I would be married and I wouldn't feel like…like some sort of cast-off. I know I'm not the only one, but…" She looks up at him dejectedly, and Charles swallows and sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"I grew up here," she says quietly. "I watched you and Erik…I mean, if nothing else you two get along. He wanted to marry you and he cares enough that he's not sorry he did, and he cares about the kids. He's taking just as much responsibility raising them…I wanted that."

There was one possibility that was better, genetically, than the two or three other possible matches for her that there were. A teleporter that had first come here a few years ago, bringing them what little information they did have about the rest of the world and how it was coping and recovering. He was here sometimes, and sometimes he was here for a while, but often he was not here at all. He was not officially part of the town. He was not subject to the pairing system.

But it had been discovered that his genetic makeup was much more compatible with Raven's than anyone else, and without consulting her at all, of course, the leaders of the assignment department had asked him to pair with her.

Not to marry her. Not to stay. Just to mate with her.

And he had agreed to that, just to that, and reluctantly. Charles was furious. He is still furious. But he won't show it in front of her. Not now. That isn't what she needs now.

Charles blinks back tears and pulls her closer, kissing the side of her head. "I know. I know…I'm so sorry."

This has to stop. They can't keep doing this to them. To people like his sister. Maybe they need a larger population. Maybe they need stronger individuals to help avoid extinction with the radiation that's still present outside the cities. Maybe this is, to some extent, necessary.

But that doesn't mean that emotions no longer exist. That doesn't mean that the young people being rejected by their partners are not hurt by it. Even many of those who are married are not content.

"Mom? Mom?" Footsteps on the stairs, out in the main part of the house, and in a moment the bedroom door opens and a curious head pokes inside. "Mom, where are y—oh. Sorry."

"What is it, Hank?" Henry is the oldest, nearly eleven now.

Charles's arm had fallen from her shoulder and Raven has straightened. She smiles at the boy in the doorway. "Hey, you."

Hank smiles brightly. "Hi, Raven." He has a ridiculously obvious crush on the older girl, nursed for years while they grew up as friends under the same roof. He has always admired her, looked up to her. Raven is fond of him, too, if not in the same way. Not now, anyway. Hank is still too young. They are not related by blood, so it isn't so strange either way, but it doesn't matter now.

Raven's been paired.

Hank looks at Charles then, and shrugs a little, sheepishly. "Ororo got mad again. There's a cloud in the corner. We need the mop…"

Ororo is three and prone to temper tantrums. Her emerging powers can be a bit of a nuisance, but he isn't worried about her. He can tell already that she's going to be bright. She'll learn to control her powers soon enough.

Charles's eyebrows knit together. "I'll be up in a moment."

"Okay." Hank glances at Raven again, smiles once more, and is gone.

When they're alone again, Raven lets out a heavy breath. "Can I stay here for a while?" she asks weakly.

Charles looks at her again, and squeezes her hand. "Of course. Your bed is still upstairs, and you will always be welcome here anyhow."

He and Erik and those like them are lucky, and he knows it.

Twenty-Five Years Ago

They only explained some of it to him, before he and Raven came here. Enough that he would know what to do. It's going to be different for him and Erik, than for the other couples.

They told Charles that besides having everything a normal male would, he has everything else inside that a female would need, to conceive and carry a child. But nothing on the outside. Of course, because he would have noticed by now if that were so. From his DNA they determined that the mutation has allowed for him be designed different, on the inside, besides the extra organs that are there. There should be a way, they told him, for fertilization to take place if he has intercourse with a male the only way two men can. A passageway that isn't there in normal males, to the womb other men don't, of course, have.

Of course, before that they had to explain how things work normally. Just trying to survive for the ten years since the war began, he'd had no time for physical relations. No one had ever explained them to him. Only vague comments from those older had given him any idea at all about any of it before the scientists and doctors back in the other town explained it to him before he left. And explained how it was different for him.

The mutation isn't perfect. It's secondary, and not all secondary mutations are. With none of the outward characteristics a female would have he cannot give birth in the usual way, and they're relatively certain he will not have milk for the children, either. If he conceives the children will have to be taken surgically to be born at all, and the department will arrange for a wet nurse.

Charles has wondered, since then, what the point of it all is. Why they paired him with a man when having children is going to be more trouble for him than for the girls. He is still perfectly capable of fathering children; why can't he do that? They told him he would be more valuable this way, but he doesn't understand how.

But many of the doubts and fears melt into the background as Erik takes him. He doesn't know how much of the specifics Erik knows, but they must have told him enough. He knows what to do, and how to prepare Charles to make it easier, and he does it as gently as he can. As respectfully as he can.

Charles is grateful for that, knows that he'll be all right if Erik is really as concerned about it as he senses from him, but it still hurts. They told him it would, at least in the beginning. Until he's more used it. Until they're both better at it. Right now it's clumsy and awkward, neither of them entirely sure they're doing this right even though they're doing exactly what they were told to do.

Erik has never been with anyone either.

Erik asks him more than once if he's all right. Charles clutches at the sheets and nods, telling himself it doesn't hurt so much as it's strange. But he can sense that Erik doesn't believe him, and finally he has to put it into words.

"It's all right. It's…it will get better. I'm all right."

But it hurts. It really does. Once he cries out before he can stop himself and they both freeze, Charles's fingers going quickly to his temple. Raven is still asleep. She didn't hear anything. If she had he would have erased it.

"Raven…?" Erik asks.

"Asleep," he confirms quietly. It makes him indescribably happy that this man who has just met them is also concerned for his sister. He doesn't think he could be with anyone who would treat her with any less care.

"Charles…" Erik says, a bit unevenly. "Are you sure…? Maybe we shouldn't…we can try again later." Erik doesn't want to be hurting him. But he was close before the interruption and his eyes are dark with need, and everything they discussed before this began is still relevant.

"I doubt it would be any different later," Charles answers.

Erik begins again, and as it goes on it does, finally, become a bit easier to handle. He can tell that they were right; at some point it won't hurt so much. He's still not certain he believes he'll ever get any pleasure from it, but only time will tell.

Erik finishes, clutching at him tightly to ride it out, and Charles lets out a breath and is finally able to relax. Erik rolls off of him and Charles rolls onto his back, both of them catching their breath.

"Are you all right?" Erik asks yet again.

Moving told him how sore he is, and Charles winces. "I will be. It's all right." Erik is looking at him regretfully, and Charles wishes he wouldn't. It isn't his fault. He did everything he could to make this easier.

When Erik reaches out Charles isn't sure, at first, what he's doing. "Here, let me…" He looks at Charles questioningly, and Charles doesn't understand at first, but then he realizes that he's hard. Between the ache in his muscles and trying to keep Erik from feeling so guilty all this time, he'd hardly noticed. Or he had, but he'd pushed it to the back of his mind.

"You don't have to…" Charles frowns. But he isn't saying no.

"It should help," Erik murmurs, and he slides closer again. He takes Charles in his hands, strokes him rhythmically. This, too, is something he isn't completely familiar with, though this, at least, he knew of before—pleasure, discovered by accident, as he supposes it probably happens for most. But there was never time for this, either. He hasn't experienced it often, and when Erik brings him to climax it's more intense than anything he's ever achieved on his own. Much better. He has to clench his jaw tightly shut to keep quiet, and his hands fist in the sheets again.

Charles is still trembling a little, catching his breath again when Erik moves away for a moment and comes back with a towel from under the bed and cleans them both off.

"Do you feel better?" he asks hopefully.

"Yes, actually," he whispers, calming himself to stillness and sighing, more easily now. The ache is receding, much more manageable now. "Thank you." It wasn't necessary. It was only necessary that Erik come inside him, but Erik did it anyway. For him. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do…I shouldn't be the only one getting anything out of this," Erik says quietly. "Especially not when…when it hurts you…" There's so much pain, not in his voice, but in his mind, that Charles looks at him quickly.

"It didn't hurt so much in the end. It really was getting better. I'm sure it will improve more in the future. And I'm all right, Erik, really." The name feels right, somehow, rolling off his tongue.

"You're sure?"

"I have a feeling I may grow tired of hearing that…"

And the older man still doesn't smile, not exactly. He won't let his walls down quite that much. Not yet. But one corner of his mouth twitches, just for a second, before he sits up to pull the blankets from the foot of the bed over them.

And Erik is quiet again, and they sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Charles tries to push down the small part of him that feels hurt by that, because he expected it. They've just met each other. They've done what is expected of them, and he shouldn't expect anything more. Not now, at least. Not until they know each other better. And it seems as if Erik isn't the particularly affectionate sort as it is.

But he's kind. He has a good heart. That should be enough for Charles to be content enough, tied to him. Certainly in this world, where he might not have had even that.

Charles hopes it will be enough.

The next morning when he wakes there is quite a bit of light streaming through the curtains of the one window in the room, and he isn't sure how late it is but he's certain he should have been awake by now.

But Erik hasn't disturbed him. Erik, actually, is near the window, looking at Charles's things on the shelf curiously.

He pushes himself up on his elbows. "Erik?"

Erik glances at him. "You have books of your own." Not mentioning last night, which is all right, though Charles can still sense the concern beneath the surface.

"Yes…I do." There are only a few—only what he could carry in the bag, before he and Raven settled in the other town and they were wandering with others, trying to find a place to call home. He found the books in various places—took the ones that were less damaged that he found interesting.

Maybe he was only five when the war began, but he was beginning to read then, and since then he has gathered the rest of the skills he needs to do it from others' minds. He has always felt a bit guilty about that, but when just trying to survive no one was going to take the time to finish teaching him.

And Charles wanted to know how. That, and he's discovered that reading is an escape—fiction, especially—from the world they live in now.

"I like reading," Charles fills in. "I know it's important, too. I've been trying to teach Raven. She's bright, and she's learning, but she doesn't like to sit still."

Erik raises his eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth twitches like it did last night. "So you're smart."

"I don't know if I would say that."

"I would. Most people don't care about books anymore. It's the older survivors trying to collect them. It's good that you care, too. It means you understand, like you said, that we can't let things like that be lost completely. That's intelligent." Erik sighs. "We need more intelligence around here."

Charles smiles at him, even more sure now that, somehow, they can make this work.

Now

Not long after Jean leaves the front door swings open again. Charles glances back briefly, expecting to see Bobby and Kitty and Marie flying inside and up the stairs, but instead it's Raven and Hank.

"Hey," she says, smiling a little.

"Hello." Charles's eyebrows go up, and he lets the ladle on the counter and goes to them. "Is everything all right?"

She shrugs, and Hank is already dropping into a chair at the table. "Just waiting for test results again."

In recent years the teleporter has rarely showed himself here at all, and never agreed to be with Raven again once he discovered he had given her one child already. He only agreed to one. The assignment department finally allowed her to be paired again after hoping for a time that the teleporter would change his mind, and Raven and Hank have been married for two years now. Hank is twenty-three now, and the only child of Charles and Erik's to be married so far.

It was not easy to make it happen. But Erik has a minor position on the city council now, and with leverage he was able to make certain that they were placed together. But he won't be able to do it for all of them, and Charles knows it.

Certainly not for Sean and Moira. The council would never agree to that, though Charles and Erik and the few that agree with them have been working to change the minds of the people here for years—about the ridiculousness of the continuing of the assignment system, about humans…

Erik didn't always agree, though—about humans, anyhow. He still doesn't quite agree, but he supports Charles nonetheless.

Raven moves to sit beside her husband, and Charles sits across the corner at the end of the table. "I'm sure you're right this time…" he trails uncertainly.

They have no children yet, despite the fact that Hank, when he was tested, was revealed as another possible match for Raven's genetics. Suitable enough of a match, anyway, if not as perfect a match as the teleporter.

But it shouldn't matter. Raven and Hank are happy together, and that should be all that matters, but the assignment officials are not happy that they have not conceived yet. And tests have to be run to know whether or not Raven is pregnant, if they want to know more quickly. Her first pregnancy went more smoothly than most; the teleporter had been gone for more than four months before she knew she was pregnant at all.

"I hope so," Raven sighs. "They finally agreed to give us one more year, but I'd rather it would just happen so we wouldn't have to worry about it." Hank takes her hand on the table and squeezes it.

The assignment officials have threatened to separate and re-match them. Not that they really see it is a threat—just as a fact. They don't understand that Raven and Hank love each other. As spectacular the mutation is that her first child has—he is a teleporter, like his father, but colored more like his mother, though a darker blue—the leadership of the system wants more children from her. But Raven is thirty-two now, her prime years all but gone, and if she is going to have children again it needs to be soon.

Erik used what little influence he had to have them placed together in the first place. It's unlikely he'll be able to stop it if it's decided that they should be re-assigned.

Charles doesn't know what to say anymore, and Raven lets out a breath and acts as if she is going to change the subject. Her mouth opens again, but then she frowns and glances around her.

"Wait. Hank, where's Kurt? Wasn't he right behind us?"

"I'm right here!" A puff of sulfur behind them and he is, grinning impishly as only a twelve-year-old boy can. "Hi, Uncle Charles."

"Hello, Kurt," Charles chuckles.

Raven only rolls her eyes good-naturedly, quite used to her son's antics. "Come here, you." She grabs him around the waist and pulls him into her lap, tickling him, and he laughs and then disappears and rematerializes by the stairs.

"Hey, no cheating!" Raven calls.

"Where's Dad?" Hank asks.

"Still at work. I'm not entirely certain what he was supposed to be up to today." Erik's powers made his place in the community clear from the start. Working with metal.

"Who else is here?" Kurt asks.

"Bobby and Kitty are about with Marie somewhere, and Ororo is upstairs studying. You've just missed Jean; she went to find Sean. They were going to the library."

Kurt looks to his mother pleadingly.

"No. You are not going over there by yourself; Jean and Sean probably aren't there yet."

"But Moira's always there," he protests.

"Go upstairs and say hi to Ororo; we can go to the library later."

"Okay…" Kurt mumbles, and disappears.

"You had better be up there!" Raven calls.

"I am, Mom!"

Raven shakes her head. "I think sometimes he thinks he should get special treatment because he could teleport anywhere he wants to go. Do the other mothers let their twelve-year-olds cross town on their own? I don't think so. I'm not letting him do it, either."

"I agree," Charles shrugs. "And he'll mature soon enough. He isn't overall difficult."

"No," she smiles. "He's a good kid." She looks over at her husband lovingly. "And I think it's helping him having a father around."

Hank smiles sheepishly. He loves the boy like his own, Charles knows, and even if something were to happen…even if he and Raven were separated, he would still treat the boy as such.

But Charles intends to be certain they stay together, if there is anything at all he can do about it, and he knows Hank will not let anything separate them quietly.

Raven needs someone there for her, someone to fight for her, the way Erik has always been there for Charles.

Twenty-Four Years Ago

It took a bit longer than the requested six months for Charles to conceive, but he and Erik have been together for a year now, and he is four months pregnant and just starting to show.

He has been violently sick for nearly three of those four months.

"I know morning sickness is usual," Erik says, helping him from the bathroom yet again, "but this is becoming ridiculous. Most days you can't function. That cannot be normal."

Erik helps him to a chair at the table, and Charles lets his head drop into his arms on its surface. "Well my situation is rather different," he offers weakly.

"I know, but…" He lowers himself into the next chair and frowns. Too young. You're so young. Before the war you would have been considered much too young to be doing this. That can't be helping.

Charles doesn't know if he was supposed to hear those thoughts, but he's tired and when he's tired he can't control it as easily. He hears a bit more than he should. And he knows Erik is right, too. Erik remembers more than he does and he knows from others, from their memories, like he knows other things. Charles knows that even though he's sixteen now he's still young for this, or he would have been in the world before.

"We're going in to the infirmary tomorrow. We'll ask. We'll have someone take a look at you," Erik says suddenly.

"Do we have to?" He doesn't really feel like going anywhere. He would rather curl up in bed and stay there.

"We need to make sure you're all right," Erik insists.

So they go the next morning, leaving Raven with trusted neighbors, Charles bundled against the fall chill and Erik with an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady.

Erik still isn't overly affectionate. Not really. In bed is the only time they touch very much at all, except at time like now, when Charles needs a steadying hand, and of course they haven't been together since finding out for sure that Charles was pregnant.

It did get better.

Erik still doesn't smile much, and when he does one has to be looking to really see them—they're nothing more than a quirk of his mouth. But Erik did teach him to cook, and Charles is getting better at it. They talk, quite often, actually—about anything and everything, and they've developed something that way. But one thing Erik will not talk about is his past, and Charles will not intrude into his mind to find out on his own. The walls are still up, but Charles knows Erik cares.

If he didn't care they wouldn't be here now, Erik herding him carefully but urgently through the streets to the center of town, where the council building and the assignment department and the infirmary are.

The doctor that sees them—the lead doctor on Charles's case—examines him thoroughly, but seems to find nothing wrong.

"There's nothing overtly out of sorts," he says. "I'm afraid the sickness is simply part of it. I'm sorry; we were afraid this would happen…that it would be worse for you."

"But why is it worse?" Charles questions, and Erik is standing near the examination table and Charles can sense that he's rather tightly wound.

"You have what's needed to carry a child, and most of the extra hormones you need to make is easier, but it's likely that you don't have quite enough of them. You know the mutation isn't perfect, and…well, to be honest it's probably a bit unstable…"

"Unstable?" Erik echoes angrily. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"We didn't know for sure. There was just as much possibility that a pregnancy would go smoothly if it occurred."

"If? You can't be saying you weren't even sure of that."

"He's predominantly male, and the mutation is…as I said, imperfect. In the wild, if he weren't part of an intelligent species that could work around its difficulties, it wouldn't work at all. And since he has no way to give birth if he had become pregnant it would have killed him. Of course we weren't sure; our medical knowledge and technology are really the only things making the mutation functional. He would never have even known about it without them—it would have been a simple case of someone born with extra, useless organs, which was relatively common even in humans."

"Uhm, I'm right here…" Charles protests.

Neither of them are listening. They're too busy glaring each other down.

"How the hell could you consider putting him through this if you weren't even sure it was going to work and you weren't even sure it was safe!" Erik shouts. He's livid now, and Charles wonders if this is part of what Erik's walls are hiding from him—this part of him that is anger and rage.

"You don't understand the potential there is, between your genes, the two of you together. It had to be attempted. If he hadn't conceived he always could have been reassigned to a women and fathered children normally, and he would have been fine. He's fine now. We can give him hormone injections that will make it easier on him—so he won't be so sick. He'll be fine."

And Erik should be focusing on that part, that they can help Charles—Charles is—but Erik is pale now, and he only has one thought, and it's so loud that Charles hears it clearly.

You would have taken him AWAY from me?

"Erik," Charles says quickly. At first there is no response. "Erik!" Finally his husband—his husband, and he's smiling inwardly—glances at him, and Charles continues. "Erik, I want to go home. We're done here."

Erik blinks, coming out of whatever state he'd been in, calming down and listening to him. "Don't you want the injection?"

Charles nods a bit. "Yes…but as soon as that's done we should go home. Let's just go home," he says quietly.

And finally Erik nods. "All right…"

The doctor gives him the injection, tells him it may take a while to work, and tells him to come back at certain intervals. As soon as it's done Erik whisks him from the infirmary building.

"I can't believe them…" he's seething.

"I know. Neither can I, but I'm all right. I'll be fine. It happened, I'm pregnant, and as long as the hormones help and I'm not so violently ill anymore there should be nothing to worry about."

"That's no excuse for what they did to you."

"Perhaps not, but being angry isn't going to change anything…" Charles trails off and moans at a sudden wave of nausea, and Erik's arm tightens around his shoulder but he has to push it away to dart into the alley they're near so that he can be sick. It happens quickly, and by the time Erik recovers enough to realize what's happened and follows him Charles is on his knees and nearly finished retching.

"Charles?"

He coughs one last time and wipes his mouth. "'m…all right…" But now he's dizzy, and when he tries to stand, even with Erik's help, he sways so badly Erik simply scoops him up in his arms.

"Erik…"

"I've got you." It's all he says, but it's enough. Charles knows he doesn't mind doing this. Which is probably a good thing. He's not so certain he could get back to the house just now.

Erik carries him back, and the front door opens of its own accord, pushed by the metal handle. The same happens with the bedroom door, and Erik gently sets him down in their bed.

"Get some rest," he murmurs, and Charles barely has time to nod before he's drifted off.

He wakes up hours later, in the late afternoon if he's judging the waning sunlight correctly. He no longer feels sick, just a bit weak, and he takes a book and goes out into the main room to the table. There's a large lamp in the center of it, and it's easier to read there than with the smaller one on the desk in the bedroom.

Only the more important public buildings have what little electricity they're able to generate.

Erik is there, making dinner. Raven is nowhere to be seen, but Charles senses her upstairs.

"Are you feeling better?" Erik asks him.

Charles nods sincerely. "Quite a bit, thank you." He sits, lights the lamp to augment the dying sunlight, and opens his book. After a bit he realizes that Erik is finished with whatever he is cooking and that he's just watching Charles read.

"You know where my books are, if you'd like to get one of for yourself."

It's strange. Despite Erik's initial appreciation of the books, in an entire year Charles hasn't seen him pick one of them up for any longer than to flip through it.

Erik looks at him for a long moment, as if contemplating something quite important, and Charles frowns when he senses the discomfort there.

"What is it?" he asks finally.

Erik looks away. "I can't," he says finally.

"Can't what?"

"Read," he admits stiffly. "Not well."

Charles blinks, confused. "I don't understand…you were older when the war began…"

"We were poor. I wasn't in school because I had to work with my father. My mother was teaching me, but it was coming along slowly. There wasn't much time for it. And I've forgotten much of what I did know. I do know it's important, but…I suppose I just never got around to learning again."

"Oh…do you still want to learn?" Erik looks at him steadily now, questioningly, and Charles continues. He feels warm now, more than the stove or the lamp could make him feel, because Erik told him something—something about his past. It's a step. "If you were patient enough to teach me to cook, I'm sure I could help you improve your reading. Especially since you already have a basis for it."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not. I ought to repay you, anyhow." Charles motions to the chair beside him.

"Dinner's ready."

"After dinner then."

And Erik smiles just a little more than usual, before turning to pull out the plates and to call Raven down to eat.

Charles can't help smiling to himself, remembering Erik's panicked thought from back at the infirmary. You would have taken him AWAY from me? As if it would have been a bad thing.

Even if it doesn't really mean anything else in particular, Erik wants him here.

Chapter Text

Now

Before any of them can say anything else they're interrupted by a commotion outside the house, and Charles raises his eyebrows and Raven and Hank look over the backs of their chairs at the door. None of them move because they know what it is, and it's nothing to be alarmed about.

In a moment the front door is pushed open and Erik stumbles inside, Bobby on his back and Kitty and Marie hanging from each leg. The girls are giggling and Bobby is apparently some sort of monster, trying not giggle himself while he growls and pretends to claw at his father's shoulders. Erik is grinning, and over the years he's grown to be not the least bit hesitant about it.

Fatherhood has suited him well.

"I've been ambushed," Erik smirks.

"We got him, Mom!" Kitty giggles.

Charles chuckles. "A good thing, too. I was afraid he was going to be late for dinner."

Raven is smiling in amusement, but stands suddenly and it falls. "Oh! What time is it?"

Hank squints across the table at the clock on a shelf by the wall. "It's just after…oh, it's almost five." And he stands, too. "We should go."

"Sorry to say hi and run, but that was kind of the plan. We were killing time. They said the results should be in by five," Raven explains. "That, and we wanted to ask if Kurt could stay here for a few hours…"

"Of course," Erik says, lowering Bobby from his shoulders.

"Go on," Charles nods, standing now as well. He smiles at his sister reassuringly, and she squeezes his hand and follows her husband out.

"When is dinner?" Bobby asks then. "Can we play some more?"

"You have a bit. I'll call you. Make sure you ask Marie's mother the same; let's not get her into trouble," Charles tells him.

"Okay!"

And the girls release Erik's legs and the three of them shoot back outside.

Erik watches them go and shakes his head. "Those three are almost more rowdy than Sean and Alex were."

"Almost. But not quite, thank goodness." Charles goes back to the stove to check the soup, stirs it a bit, and it's nearly cooked enough. "Despite the comment about dinner, you're actually home much earlier than had been usual lately, as I assume you've noticed. I'm beginning to worry about how late they're keeping you."

Erik sighs. "What can I say? We're finally having more metal to work with, we're processing it again, we're still preparing to expand the city walls, and now the rest of the council is saying they want to rebuild the public buildings, too. I mean, I agree with them—they were built so quickly; they need replacing—but there's a lot to do, and they want it done quickly."

The city is finally crowded, after twenty-five years of growth, and it's becoming a more and more serious situation by the year. The city is confined within the stone walls built at the beginning, and needs room to grow. More and more technology is being recovered, travel and trade outside the walls is a bit more common—there are now five settlements in what was England, rather than two—and there is more metal to work with now. The city officials want to build the new walls in metal, if it's to be done, but preparing to do it is taking time, and Charles knows Erik is right about the central buildings needing a good remodeling.

The whole city needs remodeling, really, if they're going to move forward…try to recapture society the way it was before the war.

Though it will be different, of course, with most of the surviving population being mutants.

"I know all of that, but you're gone later and later, and it becomes particularly frustrating when they ask for you nearly every weekend, as well."

Erik leans against the counter that stretches over the cabinets. "I'm the only one who can do what I can do, Charles. What do you want me to tell them?"

"You've been on the council for more than two years now; can't you…put your foot down? Tell them you can't work so often?"

He scowls into the distance. "I don't have as much influence as I'd like. I'm beginning to think it's all a joke."

"You were able to do what you did for Raven and Hank…"

"And that's about all I've done, really. I want to do more—this place is still so damn backwards in so many ways—but I don't know how to make it happen. They don't listen to me. To either of us." Erik pauses, winces. "I really think they only gave me the position to placate me. They know my powers are useful, and they don't want to lose that." He scoffs now. "Without me they couldn't continue their precious projects at the rate we're going now. It would take them years to rebuild everything."

It isn't prideful at all, the way he says it. It's only truth and discouragement.

Charles lets out a breath and reaches to touch Erik's arm in sympathy. "Is there nothing you can do?" he asks gently. "Jean and Ororo will be out of the house soon enough, and Bobby and Kitty ask after you so often…"

Erik nods a bit in understanding, but then he looks up slowly and cocks his head a bit at Charles. "Are the children the only reason you don't like it?"

Charles blinks at him. "What?"

Erik looks at him for a long moment, something unreadable on his face, and Charles tries not to intrude but he gets a sense of curiosityhopefear from his husband's mind, and he doesn't understand it. He doesn't quite know what the stirring in his own chest is that grows in response.

But he knows it certainly is not the first time he's felt it.

Twenty-Three and a Half Years Ago

Charles is a week shy of nine months pregnant, and the hormone injections have, indeed, made the rest of pregnancy easier to deal with. The doctors, however, are not sure if he will go into anything resembling labor or not. They don't think he will. But a date has been set for the C-section.

There are five days to go, and Charles is nervous. He knows he won't have to give birth in the usual fashion, but it hardly matters. Something could still go wrong.

And once the procedure is over, he'll be a parent.

He and Erik will be parents.

Charles is still sixteen, and Erik is nineteen now. Others are younger, he knows, but he still doesn't know if they're ready for this. Erik is the picture of calm outwardly, as he always is anyhow, but Charles can sense what he feels. He knows Erik is just as nervous as he is, just as he knew it the day they married. He's grateful for Erik's composure—it helps—but at the same time he's glad he knows the truth, too. It also helps, but in a completely different way.

Erik has been gone most of the day, working he said, before he left. It's warm—as warm as it ever gets, with the seasons struggling to recover from the devastation, though it's better here than in the badly irradiated areas, of course—and Charles and Raven have spent the day downstairs in the main room with the front door open to let in the breeze.

They haven't done much. Erik has refused to let Charles do much in the last several weeks, despite the fact that the pregnancy is progressing safely and normally—or as normally as it can, considering the circumstances. When it isn't frustrating it's rather endearing, and Charles wishes, still, that Erik would open up to him more.

Either way, he's rebelled before, but today he's obeyed Erik's something-of-an-order not to bother trying to cook or see to any of the housework. Charles is at the table in one chair with his feet propped in another and a book propped on his stomach, and Raven was practicing her reading. But now the other book is abandoned on the table, and she is playing in the floor—games of imagination with the few dolls and toys she's gathered over the years made of anything she could find.

There is a reason Charles hasn't tried, at least, to do something today. He feels more than a little uncomfortable, and he isn't sure when or how it started. He's thinking about moving into the bedroom to rest on the bed, but he would rather not do that until Erik is home to watch Raven.

But then the discomfort is worse and is, quite clearly, pain.

Charles lets out a surprised breath and groans a bit, pushing the book onto the table and gripping the edges of the chair instead.

"Charles?" Raven is on her feet now. "What's wrong?"

"I uhm…" He grimaces, and after a moment it stops. The discomfort hasn't let up all day—has gotten worse—but still he thought, perhaps, he'd simply slept wrong, until now. This isn't muscle soreness or back pain. This is—

Charles swallows and slowly gets to his feet, leaning on the table.

"Charles? Are you okay?" Raven rushes to his side and grabs his arm, and he holds onto hers.

"It's all right. I'll be all right. I just…" A hand presses over his swollen abdomen, and he can feel the soothing background noise of the small mind inside him. "I think whoever is in here may need to come out now."

Erik? Where are you? Please come home; something is happening.

"Are you calling Erik?"

Charles nods and focuses more closely, calls out again with the same message, and quickly enough there is a response.

What? What do you mean? Is something wrong? Worry.

I wouldn't say wrong, but— Charles pulls in a sharp breath when the pain starts again, a little worse this time, and he's not sure it's supposed to be like that—get worse so abruptly. Then again, I don't know. But they were wrong when they assumed I wouldn't go into labor. That must be what this is. It hurts. Please come home. Please hurry…

He sensed it when Erik began moving, when he began to head back here. Erik began moving the moment Charles asked him to, the first time. But he redoubled his speed when Charles told him it hurt. Charles can feel the concern and anxiousness radiating from him now, even from wherever he is in town.

I'm coming, Erik says.

Erik hurries home, and as he nears the house there is another burst of thought in his mind, more urgent this time.

Erik, hurry! It's—oh god it shouldn't be happening this fast, should it?

I'm almost there!

The front door is open, and Erik hurries in to find Charles on the floor against one of the table legs, Raven at his side.

"What's wrong with him!" she cries.

Charles is nearly doubled over gasping, one arm clutched around his round middle and his other hand clamped on the edge of the table above his head.

"Erik—" he gasps.

Erik quickly crouches to one knee at his husband's side, grips his shoulder. "What happened? When did this start?"

Charles relaxes a bit, and the pain, contraction, whatever the proper name for it is seems to have stopped. Erik really can't remember now. The doctors didn't go over it extensively. They didn't think it would happen at all.

"When I called you…I suppose it's been coming all day, but it's only been…I can't explain it. We have to go. To the infirmary. Now…"

"Charles—" Raven is asking.

"I'll be fine," he tells her. "It's all right. Erik, the neighbors..."

Erik nods, and reaches for Raven's hand, but she doesn't want to take it.

"I want to stay with Charles!"

"He'll be fine, Raven. We just have to go to the infirmary to get the baby out. It's just telling us it needs to be born. It's okay."

"But—"

Charles is doubled over again now, as much as he can be in his current state anyhow, and his eyes are half clenched shut. "Raven, please go with him," he says tightly. He manages to smile a bit, and Raven finally nods, and reluctantly takes Erik's hand.

"But come get me as soon as you can!" she says.

She and Erik hurry two houses down, to the Summers home—a young couple who were married shortly after he and Charles were. Only the wife, who is pregnant herself but not as far along, is home, but she quickly agrees to watch Raven.

"Take care of him," Raven insists, and Erik promises before he rushes back home.

Charles is gasping again when he makes it there, and reaches up immediately, getting his arms out of the way so it's easier for Erik to pick him up. When he stands with Charles in his arms Charles's own arms settle around his neck, holding on tightly, and Charles buries his face in Erik's shirt.

It's clear it's getting worse already, and Erik swallows and hurries out into the lanes, the front door of the house closing and locking behind them thanks to his powers.

Charles is groaning.

"Hang on. Hang on…" Erik murmurs, over and over, and he doesn't know if it helps at all. "I'm sorry. I should have been at home—"

"Erik, its all right; please just get us there," Charles gasps.

He does, and soon enough they're bursting through the front doors into the lobby, Erik shoving the doors by their metal handles. The nurse at the shoddy excuse for a front desk takes ones look at them and jumps to her feet.

"Bring him in here. I'll get the doctor."

There's a sense of urgency, but not of alarm, in the way she says it, and Erik relaxes a bit. She shows them to the first exam room and disappears, and he doesn't think she would leave them alone if something was really wrong. She would at least say something. No, nothing is wrong. This is just different than they thought it would go. That's all. They didn't think this would happen at all—that the mutation allowed for it—but it's happening and even though it's still a bit different than the usual that doesn't mean anything is wrong.

Charles seems to sense it too, that there is nothing to be overtly alarmed about, and Erik feels some of the tension in the body in his arms release. Charles had probably read the woman's mind; if there were anything to be worried about, really, he would know.

Erik lets out a breath and lowers Charles to the exam table. It isn't as comfortable as a bed, but at least it's padded. Charles seems grateful to be more stable again, but he won't let Erik let go, and Erik slides onto the table behind him to let his young husband lean back into his shoulder.

"It'll be all right; we're here. It's all right," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Charles is sweating by now, the fingers of one hand digging into one of Erik's legs, and he pushes out a sharp breath. "You feel this, and then tell me it's all right!" he all but growls. It ends in a frustrated groan. "Actually, I could probably make that happen but I'm not that cruel even though I do hate you rather implicitly at the moment."

Moving quickly from worry to this then. Well.

"I've heard that's normal," Erik deadpans.

"This is not funny," he grates out.

"Am I laughing?"

"You never laugh. You're thinking it."

Maybe. One small part of him. The sudden shift in atmosphere and Charles's comment had done that. The rest of him is not enjoying this at all. Charles is in pain and Erik doesn't like it any more than he liked it when Charles was so ill in the beginning. It caused an odd, painful tugging in his chest then and the feeling is there now, and worse.

"I think your powers are a little off right now, Charles."

Charles is quieter for a few moments, and he doesn't answer. But then he's tense again, and this time he shouts.

"Is there anything I can do?" Erik asks anxiously.

Charles responds by reaching up to grasp the hand holding him steady against Erik's shoulder. He squeezes, and Erik abandons holding the shoulder to squeeze back.

"I'm here…" he says tentatively, after a moment.

Charles can't answer, because he's groaning loudly, but the answer comes in Erik's mind. Yes. Just that. You can do that. Please do that…

And when the answer comes Erik can feel that at least some of the fear is still there. It makes him feel a bit better about his own.

I'm not going anywhere, he thinks back.

The doctor comes in soon after, telling them that the operating room is being prepped, and asks Charles questions about when the pain began and how it's behaved and other things.

"It's acting like a normal labor, mostly, but you're right; it's progressing faster than usual. I don't know that there's any way to know why—it must have something to do with your mutation—but as long as you're not in danger that isn't important. We'll deliver the baby, and everything is going to be fine. I promise."

"You're sure?" Erik asks insistently, and he realizes that Charles asked the same thing at the same time.

"I'm sure," the doctor says. "However, we'll have to put you under, Charles, and Erik is going to have to wait out here.

Charles protests. "But—"

"I'm sorry, but we don't have time to do it any other way. We weren't prepared, and labor is too far along to wait. We'll plan better next time."

Charles's hand squeezes his more tightly. You're not getting out of this next time. Next time you aren't leaving me.

I'm not leaving you. I'll be right out here.

When Charles wakes he isn't sure where he is at first, but he is aware of his middle feeling sore and—

He remembers where he is, and his eyes open quickly, but when he tries to move he grimaces, grunts a little. Sore. Right. He imagines one would be, after being cut open and sewed back together.

Charles forces himself to relax into the pillows, and only then does he realize that there are two more minds in the room—both familiar, both content. When he blinks to clear his vision he sees the figure across the small infirmary room, at the window. It's dark outside, though. There isn't much to see.

Erik is already turning; he must have heard it when Charles woke. He turns around slowly, eyebrows raised, and the corners of his mouth twitch up.

"Look, Mom's awake."

He's speaking to the bundle in his arms.

Charles pulls in a breath and tries to sit up, but Erik shakes his head quickly, though he doesn't move anything else—not wanting to wake the sleeping infant. But Charles understands, and stays where he is propped against the pillows, not quite lying down. Erik comes to the side of the bed, and Charles huffs quietly and shakes his head.

"'Mom?' Did we really never think of anything better?" he asks.

"Biologically you are his mother."

But they've already had this conversation, and Charles doesn't protest any further. "Fine, but when Raven has children they are not calling me aunt. They can have two uncles."

That bit of a smile again. "Fair enough." Erik lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed at Charles's side, the baby still asleep in his arms, and Charles watches them for a moment.

"Him," he says quietly. "Henry, then." They'd had to be prepared for both. There were no sonograms, that technology still lost for now.

Erik nods, and when he moves Charles's knows what he's doing and opens his arms to let his husband place their child in them. Erik stays by him, to make certain he's steady, but Charles is holding him now—the little boy named Henry that they've decided they'll probably call Hank. It would have been Jean were it a girl.

But Hank it is, and Charles smiles as the infant yawns a bit. He chuckles softly, surprised by the overwhelming feeling that hits him as he takes in the small face. He thought he'd already bonded with the child quite thoroughly, being able to feel the little mind inside him and—if not quite communicate, really—send feelings of warmth and safety and caring. The child had bonded to him that way, but this is different. This is more than the deep telepathic connection forged of nine months together and sharing blood and genetics.

This is love, he decides. A form of it. It has to be. It is. It's every bit as powerful as what he feels for Raven, for his sister, and then some.

"Charles?" Erik asks.

"Hmm?" He looks up, and there is concern on Erik's face, and Charles realizes that his eyes are quite damp. "Oh, I'm uhm...fine. I'm fine," he chuckles. He looks down again, and the next time his eyes come up Erik is still watching him. "What?"

Erik shakes his head a bit. "Nothing." But after a brief pause he leans forward and places a tentative kiss to Charles's forehead, before moving into the chair beside the bed that Charles hadn't noticed there before.

Charles's cheeks flush, and he covers it by looking down at the bundle in his arms again. He wonders at the reaction from such a small gesture. Then again it isn't so small for Erik, is it? And if he knows he loves this child, why then, he wonders, can't he understand the feeling in his chest right now, when he looks at his husband?

Now

"Nothing," Erik says, and the moment is over and Charles isn't certain what just happened. But before he can say anything there's a burst of emotion in his mind—relief and joy and relief and elation—and he remembers that he'd kept tabs on his sister when she and Hank left.

"Oh dear lord, thank you," Charles breathes, looking into the distance now, and he senses Erik stand from where he'd leaned on the counter and move closer to his side.

"Raven?"

He nods, and Erik sighs. "Thank god."

They're both quiet for a moment, until Charles speaks up softly.

"This doesn't change anything. Raven and Hank may not need to fear it now, but the system is still there; it's still wrong."

"I know."

"We have to do something."

"I know."

Chapter Text

Now

Mom? What was that? I felt that from here.

Jean, still at the library, calling him, and Charles lets out a breath and tells her what's happened. It's all right. Good news. Raven is pregnant.

Oh thank god, really? About damn time.

Language, Jean, he scolds.

Sorry…anyway, can I ask you something?

Of course. What is it?

It's Sean and Moira. Can I ask them to come for dinner? They keep doing that googly-eyed thing and then stopping and getting all sad and then they're googly-eyed again and then they're sad and it's depressing the hell out of me.

Jean!

What? Anyway, it's depressing. They need some cheering up, and there's nothing your soup doesn't fix.

Charles shakes his head to himself, glancing at the pot and supposing there's enough there for company. It's getting colder and when it's colder he tends to make more, hoping it will last a while. Soup is good for cold weather, for keeping health up and keeping warm, and he's been feeling a bit under the weather anyway. He has to admit that may be part of the reason he made it. Company will deplete the batch more quickly, but he can always make more.

Erik is looking at him quizzically, and he motions to his head in a familiar gesture to indicate he's speaking with someone telepathically.

"Do you have any aversion to the idea of company tonight?"

Erik's eyebrows go up. "What kind of company?"

"Sean and Moira. Jean is asking. And I suppose we ought to have Raven and Hank come as well. We have something to celebrate, after all, and Kurt is still here anyhow."

His husband shrugs. "Why not? Tell Jean to grab Alex on the way home, too. And she might as well bring that boy along if he's still with her."

Charles chuckles to himself. "That boy" has been a close neighbor since he was born, and Erik certainly knows his name, but since he's shown interest in Jean Scott has been "that boy." Perhaps it has something to do with said interest, and the fact that it's in Erik's oldest daughter.

Erik has nothing against Scott, of course, but Erik has always been protective of his children.

Bring them along, Charles tells Jean. Scott as well. And pick up Alex on the way here. I'll be asking Raven and Hank and Kurt to stay for dinner as well.

Really? Thanks, Mom! Making a party out of it, huh?

With only soup and bread it will be a meager one, but those too young to remember the world before the war know nothing else.

I don't see why not.

Any excuse to be happy, rather than discouraged.

Great. We'll all be there.

"They're coming?" Erik asks.

"Yes. Just let me see that Raven and Hank know."

He reaches out to his sister, and when she feels him she reaches back quickly and is glad that he's there.

I guess you know already?

Of course. You and Hank should come back here for dinner. There's enough, and everyone else is coming anyhow.

I'd already put something on the stove…

Well get it and bring it along. It can finish cooking here if it isn't ready, and we'll have more than way.

The equivalent of a smile in his mind, from his sister, and she agrees. We'll be there in an hour or so. I guess the kids won't be there until then anyway?

Likely not.

"That's taken care of, then. They'll all be here," Charles says aloud then, letting Erik know, and he nods.

Charles turns back to the pot on the stove, and the sudden reintroduction to the steam and the scent sets him coughing for a moment and he has to turn away again to avoid contaminating the food. There's some looseness in the back of his throat, and Erik gives him that look that has become so frustratingly familiar.

"The beginnings of a cold, I suspect. Nothing more," he says quickly. It isn't uncommon this time of year, but Erik is still thinking what he always thinks, whether or not Charles is supposed to be hearing it.

Could still be dangerous…

Anything could be dangerous in the world they live in now—the lingering radiation that both strengthens mutants and causes problems all at once, beyond killing humans—but that isn't what Erik means. That isn't why he thinks it, or why he still has that concerned expression on his face that's become so tiresome after more than six years. Charles's immune system has been weak ever since there were awful complications with Bobby and Kitty's birth, and with the pregnancy itself. Erik never misses a chance to ask him if he's feeling all right.

"I'm fine," he insists, and Erik relaxes a bit.

"Just make sure you eat plenty of this yourself," he says, nodding to the soup. "And stay inside for a few days."

"That was the general idea."

"Good." Erik's hand rests tentatively at his back for a moment before he moves off, and the soft shiver it sends up Charles's spine isn't at all unpleasant.

Sixteen Years, Seven Months Ago

"Hank, are you coming with us?" Charles calls up the stairs. He hopes the boy says yes, because as well-behaved as he is if he stays here it's still one more child Raven has to keep and eye on while he and Erik are in town. Raven is quite competent, but five-year-old twin boys and an eight-month-old girl are enough for any teenager, and he still hopes they won't be gone long. Sean and Alex alone are a handful, but it would be harder to bring them along.

It's the dead of winter anyway. They don't need to be out. Hank, however, is older, nearly seven, and has been begging to come for days.

"You could just stay here," Erik tells him. "It's the market. I can go on my own."

"Nonsense. It's the only place we go in winter, really. I need to get out of this house for an hour or two."

"You can get out of the house when we go for your next appointment."

Charles pulls on his winter coat and buttons it over the bump. He's barely five months along, but it feels like forever already. It's been rather rough this time, even with the hormone injections.

It's been harder every time.

"That isn't for weeks yet," Charles protests, and then has to pull in a deep breath because he pulled on the rather heavy coat too quickly, and needs the air.

Erik frowns and steadies him. "We may go in quite a bit sooner than that, if nothing improves. You're exhausted. Why do you want to go out, anyhow?"

Charles sighs a bit, and makes a face. "Because I'm afraid it will only get worse and soon I may not want to go anywhere."

"That isn't encouraging."

"I am fully aware of that."

Erik isn't happy, but he doesn't protest any further. Hank comes down already bundled up, and Raven comes down as far as the platform where the stairs turn to see them off. Jean is on her hip, fingers stuck in her mouth.

"Stay warm," she tells them, and then looks at Erik. "And you, keep an eye on him." She nods to Charles, and Erik's eyebrows go up.

"As stubborn as he is, that seems to be about all I can do," Erik complains good-naturedly.

"Really, are you combining forces against me again?" Charles protests.

"Only when you need it," Raven answers, smiling brightly.

She's fifteen—the same age Charles was when he and Erik married, he remembers abruptly—and thank god the pairing system has changed a bit. It will be another two or three years before she's considered for matching.

She still seems to so young. God, were he and Erik really that young?

They must have been. They are twenty-three and twenty-six now, respectively, and they have four children with a fifth on the way.

It's the weekend and the market is busy—or as busy as it gets in winter when one has to dress so warmly to go outside at all. Hank runs into several friends and they run about playing together. Charles makes him promise to meet them in the center of the market at a certain time so that they can go home.

Charles and Erik have nearly everything they need when they notice the crowds shifting away, drifting toward the city gates. There's some sort of commotion there. There's a gathering around the barely-working monitor that shows the feed from the old camera that is trained on the outside of the wood and metal gates.

"Does she know who's in here?"

"What the hell…?"

"How is she even alive out there?"

Charles catches the snippets of conversation as well as the thoughts that go with them, and looks up at the monitor quickly.

Over the noise of the crowd he can't hear it from here as he probably could otherwise, but on the monitor is a young girl in ragged clothes that can't be keeping her warm, banging the wood of the gates and kicking and shouting. He reaches out with his mind and brushes a panicked, terrified consciousness.

"What in god's name are you all standing about for? Let her inside!" Charles says urgently.

The young woman in the booth by the gates, watching the camera and monitor, looks until she finds him through the crowd and narrows her eyes. "She's human." The young woman is dark-skinned and can move at inhuman speed as well as sense other mutants and their powers. Or lack of powers. Even from a distance. It's why she has the job that she has, at the gates.

Charles pushes closer to the booth, and Erik follows him, helping to make way. "It shouldn't matter," Charles insists.

"You know the rules. Everybody does."

"That law isn't written, and if it was it would be wrong," Charles seethes. "Perhaps we are not allowed to mate with humans, but that does not means we cannot save this girl's life. If she's left out there she will die."

The young women just shrugs and turns away from him. Charles starts to protest again, but Erik drags him back gently, to the back from the crowd and away from the commotion.

"You're not going to get through to her."

"We can't leave that girl out there."

Erik hesitates. "Charles, we don't have room here to take in every stray human that comes along. I know you don't like it—"

"How can you!"

He scowls. "I don't like it. I wish we could save everyone, but humans…if we have to save room for anyone, it should be our own kind," he says carefully. "Humans usually die anyway. We found that out the hard way in the first years after the settlements were established. It was a problem; they were sick, and it made others sick when we took them in…I don't even think you were here then. It's why we stopped."

"Erik, she'll freeze to death for certain if we do nothing!"

He can still feel the girl's panic. He knows how cold and alone she is—how certain she is that she'll die if she stays outside those gates for one more moment. She stops pounding and shouting, no energy to do it anymore, and sinks into a ball in the snow against the wood.

Charles pales. "Erik, please!" He's nearly doubled over now, from the girl's pain and sorrow, and Erik catches him. Inside him the baby shifts and kicks, agitated along with him, and that only makes it worse.

Erik panics when he cries out.

"Charles!"

"Erik, she's dying," he gasps. "Oh god, please do something. Please! You have to do something!"

Erik pulls him to a bench at the edge of the market where he can sit, and drops the bags at the foot of the bench and sits with him, arm still around his shoulders to keep him steady. "Charles—"

"I'll be fine! Help the girl!"

Erik looks at him for a long moment, Charles gasping harshly and willing his husband to trust him. To be with him on this.

"Erik, please," he whispers.

Finally Erik nods slowly and stands again. "Do you know her name?"

He pushes his fingers to his temple for a moment, his other hand still splayed over his stomach as if that might calm the baby. It isn't really.

"Moira. She's ten years old, and her name is Moira…and hurry."

Erik goes, pushing through the crowd and growling at anyone in his way. When he reaches the gates he brushes past the booth and opens one of the heavy gates on his own, pushing it by its nail and metal hinges. It's easy for him.

The monitor is too far away now to see clearly, but Charles can see everyone staring at it in shock. He knows what they're seeing because he's stayed with Erik, using his eyes and ears to know what's happening.

Erik finds the girl crumpled on the ground against the other gate, and bends to gently scoop her up. At first she struggles a bit, but he uses her name.

"Moira? That's your name, isn't it? It's all right; I'm here to help you…" And despite his protests before he's gentle and caring now—of course, because it's Erik, Charles thinks. He smiles to himself as the small human girl calms in Erik's arms and lets him carry her inside. The gate closes again behind them, latching just as it was, and everyone is glaring at them or simply stunned but no one makes a move to stop Erik as he brings the girl back to where Charles is.

The baby has calmed now, because Charles has calmed. The girl is no longer panicking; no longer sure she's going to die. He lets out a breath and gets to his feet. He's a bit unsteady, but not enough to need help to pick up the bags.

"I'll tell Hank to meet us now, instead of later. We should get her home," Charles says. Erik nods, and Charles does what he says he would do and heads for the center of the market, in the direction of home. Hank is obedient and is there when they get there. He stares at the girl in his father's arms, wide-eyed.

"Who's that?"

"She's going to be staying with us for a while," Charles says.

There isn't an extra bed in the house, but though they have their own beds Sean and Alex usually sleep in the same one anyway. They'll simply have to continue to do that until they can get another bed. The boys are still small enough; it won't be a problem.

Once home Charles ushers all of the children downstairs and then follows Erik back up, where he pulls the covers down on the last bed so that his husband can tuck the girl into it. They both pull the covers back up, and then Charles sits on the edge of the bed, watching her. She's asleep now, and warm. She can be fed when she wakes. She needs it.

"How did she end up out there?" Erik asks quietly, perching on the other side.

Charles grimaces, going back over what he'd gathered from her mind.

"Her family has survived out there for years. Near here. There were never many of them, and the last of them are gone now." He reaches to smooth her straight auburn hair from her forehead. "Her mother died three days ago. She knew the mutant settlements didn't usually take humans in, but she had nowhere else to go. This was the nearest city."

Erik makes a face now. "God…"

Charles looks at him, and reaches across the girl to close his fingers over his husband's hand. "Thank you," he says quietly. And Erik does something that isn't so usual; he turns his hand over so their fingers intertwine, and he smiles back some.

"You'll make a good man of me yet," he chuckles quietly.

"You are a good man."

Erik blinks at him, the smile gone in confusion a moment before it returns sheepishly. Over the years he's learned to really do it—smile—even if it still isn't quite a common thing for him. Usually when he does it it's directed at the children. They make him so happy, which in turn makes Charles happy.

When Erik does smile it's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

Even if there are perhaps a few too many teeth involved.

When they leave the girl to sleep Charles stops halfway down the stairs, dizzy, and Erik's hand is at his elbow when he leans into the wall.

"Are you all right?"

The dizziness passes quickly, but he still feels as if something is weighing him down all over. He's felt like that quite a lot recently.

But he nods. "Just tired...all the excitement, I suppose."

"Maybe you should lie down yourself." Erik is quiet for a moment, and neither of them moves. "I've noticed, you know. How it gets harder for you each time, no matter what they do. Have the doctors said anything to you that I don't know about?"

Charles shrugs a bit, twisting so his back is against the wall and it offers more support. "I uhm…it's hard to say. They've always been afraid that perhaps the mutation is a bit unstable, but the children have always been born all right…"

"What if that changes?" Erik asks worriedly.

"I don't know…I hope that doesn't happen."

"They told you to rest more toward the end with Jean; if they tell you that this time you actually should listen."

"I know, I know…" He sighs and rubs at his eyes, where he's beginning to get a headache. "I don't think I'll have a choice."

More uncomfortable silence, before Erik speaks again. "Maybe we should see if the Summers or someone else we know will take the girl in. The last thing you need is more stress right now—"

"Having her here isn't stress. I want to help her."

"But she's another mouth to feed, and another child to look after."

"She's older than the boys; I imagine she could help Raven watch them, and I don't suppose she would mind helping around here in other ways once she feels better—if she wants to; I wouldn't make her, of course."

Erik shakes his head. "Of course you wouldn't. You're you." He looks away for a moment, and grimaces. "I'm sorry…it's not helping you that we didn't really wait long enough this time. You didn't have much chance to recover beyond what they suggested before we…"

Charles chuckles quietly. "That is hardly your fault alone."

Erik colors a bit, which isn't something that happens often, and Charles finds it incredibly endearing.

"Oh…" Charles blinks and reaches for Erik's hand, to hold it to his growing middle. "There. Can you feel that? It's only in the last couple of weeks that I have really been able to feel it; I'm not sure if you can…"

The baby kicks again, not as violently as in the market but just a normal movement, and Erik really relaxes now, smiling more brightly than he has in a while.

"I take it you can," Charles smiles.

"I can." And he squeezes Charles's hand. "Can you make it down there now?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Charles continues down the stairs, and when he makes it there the boys are playing on the floor and Raven is at the table with Jean in her lap. When Jean sees him she holds out her arms. She hasn't quite begun to say anything yet, but a small, emphatic telepathic feeling that has always seemed to mean Mom pushes into his mind.

He would take her immediately, but right now he's afraid he might drop her. He looks at Erik, nudges the feeling at him along with his own concern, and Erik goes to Jean instead and plucks her from Raven's lap.

"Not now, mein Schatz. Mom needs to rest," he says gently. And it's all right, because she's just as happy with her father.

Charles takes the chair next to Raven, who looks at him with concern. "Charles?"

"I'm all right."

"How's the girl?"

"Sleeping. I believe she'll be fine as well."

Raven nods, glad, but suddenly gets to her feet. "Sean come back here!" When Charles looks he sees the boy clambering up the stairs. Raven goes after him, and both of them disappear for a moment or two before she carries him back down.

"She's pretty," Sean is saying, looking back up the stairs.

Charles, Erik, and Raven can't help but laugh.

Now

Moira hugs him enthusiastically when she arrives with Jean, Scott, Sean, and Alex. "Charles, I never see you anymore," she complains, arms around his neck.

"That would be my fault," Erik admits.

Charles rolls his eyes as she finally releases him. "You know he hardly lets me out of the house anymore."

"I'm only concerned for your health, and you could ignore me if you really wanted to, you know. You do it often enough," Erik chuckles.

Charles ignores him now, and turns back to Moira. "You could always come to see us here more often."

"When I come here you feel like you have to cook something."

"Do you not like my cooking? After four years living in this house you might have said something." She was fourteen when the council grudgingly offered her the position at the new library, because none of the other young people really wanted to take it. None of them cared enough. Charles begged her to wait a year or two, until she was a bit older, but though she loved them all she was always fiercely independent, too. She took the position then.

She laughs. "You know that's not what I mean; I don't like to put you out, that's all."

"You could never do that," he says, and kisses her cheek. "We still miss you here." It's been twelve years since she left, but it's still true.

"You can say that again," Sean says, coming up beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders.

Raven and Hank return soon, Raven carrying a pot of her own, and by then it's getting later and everyone is more than ready to eat. The first floor of the small house is somewhat crowded with twelve people, and the table only has room for half of them or so, but Jean and Ororo don't mind sitting on the floor with Bobby and Kitty and Kurt, and it works out well enough.

It's the first time they've all been together in months. There was once in the summer and Christmas before that, but strangely enough though they all live in the same city it's hard to get them all in one place like this, in recent years—since Hank and Sean and Alex moved out, certainly. They're adults now, they have their own lives to live, and Charles misses them. He knows Erik does too. The thought of Jean and Ororo leaving the house soon too hurts just as much.

It's natural. He knows that. Children grow up, and they move on.

That doesn't make it much easier.

It doesn't help, not knowing if they'll be happy. At dinner he watches Sean and Moira sitting far too close, and he knows Jean and Scott are holding hands under the table. Part of him is happy that they've found love the way it should be, and the rest of him is in pieces worrying that they won't be able to keep it.

He doesn't know if it's the emotions warring in his chest or the cold he's coming down with or the fact that the house has grown stuffy with so many people in it, or a combination of it all, but by the time dinner is over and the others are trickling away and the children are retreating upstairs Charles is horribly nauseous. He excuses himself and retreats to the bathroom.

The bathroom isn't large, and with the limited resources the only fixture with running water is the toilet and even that harkens back to older designs. There is a chain to pull to flush it. The tub has a hand pump, and the sink is merely a washbasin with a mirror over it that is a broken piece of what was once a much larger one.

Charles leans over the washbasin and squints at himself in the mirror, realizing he looks tired. He wishes he knew exactly why that was, why he feels sick, but then again it hasn't been uncommon since Bobby and Kitty were born.

There is at least one thing it can't be: he and Erik haven't been together recently enough.

In truth, they haven't been together at all since Bobby and Kitty's birth, and he wishes he knew why that was, too.

It's only a moment later that there is a quiet knock on the bathroom door. Charles knows it's Erik, and he sends a brief thought that tells his husband it's all right to come in. Erik does, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

Charles lets out a breath, and it comes out a bit unsteady. "I…I don't know. Just nauseous…tired. It's probably just the cold."

Erik's hands goes to his back again, like earlier, a gentle pressure between his shoulder blades, and he feels the same shiver. "We should take you to the infirmary tomorrow."

"I thought you wanted me to stay inside," Charles retorts good-naturedly.

Erik raises an eyebrow. "That was when it just a little phlegm. This is something else. It may not be just a cold."

"Erik, I'm all right…"

"You always say that. What if you're wrong?"

"You worry too much."

"I have every right to worry! How many times do I have to remind you that we almost lost you six years ago?" Erik is already close—the small bathroom doesn't allow for much distance anyway—but he presses closer now, his lips hovering over Charles's forehead, brushing it gently after a moment. "I don't want anything to happen to you," he whispers.

Charles's body is reacting to the proximity. It's a sensation he's familiar with and he's never connected it to feelings—always considered it completely biological, and the only reason they were, occasionally, together at all in the years between Ororo's birth and being asked to try to for one more child. But right now he can feel Erik's concern for him, thrown together with other pleasant things that he isn't as familiar with, and he isn't certain but he thinks the physical response is happening more quickly because of it all.

Does that mean something?

Part of him wants to believe it does, but they've never spoken of such things.

They turn into each other without a word, and Erik is breathing against his mouth now, rather than his forehead. They're both breathing more heavily and Charles is growing hard, and against his hip he can feel that the same is true for Erik.

"If I'm sick…" he protests weakly. "You don't need a cold. You know it throws off your powers. If the work schedule falls behind they won't be happy…"

Erik growls a bit against his cheek. "Let them be unhappy. Who the hell do they want to keep out with metal walls, anyhow?"

God, they need this. Even if it's only physical. Even if it doesn't mean anything. It's all right. Charles is growing tired of keeping himself satisfied, and having to do it in the bath because it's the only place he can. He's relatively sure Erik feels the same.

Erik is breathing in the scent of his hair now, gripping his shoulders, holding him closer. They press together and Charles bites back a gasp.

"Bedroom," he manages.

And that seems to snap Erik out of it rather than help.

He pulls back suddenly, still holding Charles's shoulders but looking at the floor now and trying to calm his breathing.

"Erik?" Charles asks anxiously. He tries to get close again, automatically, but Erik holds him off gently, though firmly.

Erik shakes his head quickly. "Sorry…I'm sorry…" And he pulls away as if he's going to leave. The feelings are all still there, but they're dampened by something else now—something like pain, or regret—and Charles doesn't understand. Why the hell is he leaving? They both want this.

Or they did. But Erik is upset now, rather than hard, and he goes quickly and shuts the door again, leaving Charles alone and hurt.

It shouldn't matter. Erik, for some reason, doesn't seem to want him anymore, despite the other things Charles senses from him, but it shouldn't matter. It's only physical. It isn't important. The physical doesn't matter anymore. They're not being asked to have any more children; certainly not after what happened six years ago. Their relationship is just fine otherwise. So it doesn't matter…

He has to satisfy himself yet again, before he's able to emerge from the bathroom, but it leaves him disappointed. By the time he goes upstairs to be sure the twins are in bed and makes it to the bedroom for the night Erik is already asleep—or feigning sleep, but Charles knows he's awake—and he changes and climbs silently under the covers on his side of the bed and faces the wall, cursing himself for the lump in his throat.

The next day they act as if nothing happened, but they only speak to each other when they have to.

Chapter Text

Six Years, Four Months Ago

Erik finds Charles in the garden behind the house. It's small, but it's there, with a short wooden fence to separate it from the other back yards and gardens in the small space between the rows of houses.

He's been at work most of the day, but came home early at Jean's request to find the bedroom empty when Charles should have been in it. In bed.

"I tried to keep him in bed, but he wouldn't listen to me. He won't even listen to Jean, and Mom always listens to Jean…" Hank told him, as soon as he stepped into the house. Erik didn't say a word in response then, because he didn't want to snap at the boy. Hank is seventeen now, more than responsible, and Erik knows he really did try.

Jean is just outside the back door when Erik goes out, when he finds Charles. She's watching him, but not approaching, and the eleven-year-old glances up at Erik once he's beside her.

"Mom is worried…and sad. He's not gonna listen to anybody but you."

Jean had called him telepathically, not long ago, and Erik had hurried home. He sees why it was necessary now; it's bad enough that Charles isn't in bed where he's supposed to be—where his doctors told him to stay beginning more than a week ago—but Erik can read how upset he is from here without any need for telepathy.

Erik nods a bit, and pushes the back door open again a bit behind him. "Thank you…go on back inside now."

Jean hesitates, worried about her mother, but Erik glances at her sharply and she obeys. Erik shuts the door after her and focuses on Charles again.

At least it's the middle of summer. It isn't cold, and he isn't in any danger that way, but he really should be in bed. He looks awful, standing there at the edge of the garden, skin pale and dark circles under his eyes even though it's warm.

The pregnancy is draining him so completely this time, and it's scared the hell out of Erik from nearly day one. Six months or so now…at least two more to go, ideally…and the doctors are still holding to their optimism but Erik can see the doubt in their eyes and he knows Charles can feel it.

The mutation that allows Charles to carry children is destabilizing. They're sure of it now. But what exactly that means, they don't know. All they seem to be relatively sure of is that if Charles doesn't stay rested they could lose the babies. Both of them. There are two this time. That hasn't happened since Sean and Alex, and it can't be helping, but more than anything all they want is to deliver them safely.

Erik approaches slowly, and Charles doesn't look up. He doesn't need to look down to know what his husband is looking at, either. The small wooden cross in the ground at the back of the garden has been there for two years now. He's found Charles out here often enough since then, but right now he shouldn't be out here.

"You need to get back inside," he says gently, slipping an arm around Charles's shoulders when he reaches him.

Charles leans into him, eyes never leaving the small unmarked cross. "What if it happens again?" he whispers.

Erik holds him closer. "It won't. They'll be fine." He pauses for a moment. "You should really be in bed."

"I know, I just…I'm sorry. A nightmare…"

It isn't hard to know which one. Likely the same nightmare he's had too often in the past two years. Erik has had that nightmare too…remembering from his own point of view. It's never any easier, having that dream—remembering Charles's terrified face and the panic and sorrow in his voice when he woke that night in pain.

Erik, I can't feel the baby anymore! I can't FEEL it!

A miscarriage, early on but far enough along that Charles had begun to sense the beginnings of the small mind inside him. He'd felt it, begun to form a bond with it, and he'd felt it when it was extinguished.

I-I can't feel it, I can't—oh god, Erik the baby is GONE…!

Charles had been inconsolable for weeks—crying at night and barely holding himself together to keep up appearances for the children during the day. It broke Erik's heart to watch it all, unable to do anything but be there. It was the only point during their marriage that they had regularly slept on the same side of the bed…Charles curled in Erik's arms because he never would have slept otherwise.

Erik swallows and starts to tug him gently toward the house. "It's all right. Come on. Back to bed." But there's a quiet sob, and when he looks down again he sees his husband's red-rimmed eyes this time. "Charles…Charles, it'll be all right."

Charles is silent for a long moment, but finally he nods slowly. He doesn't say anything, but he turns to take a step toward the house. When he does he stumbles a bit, and though it isn't far inside Erik shakes his head and scoops him up anyway.

"Erik, I'm—"

"Not fine," Erik replies firmly. He carries him back inside, into the bedroom, and to the bed, where he deposits him gently, tugs his shoes off and pulls the blankets over him. "Now stay there, all right?" Charles nods weakly. "Do you need anything?" Charles shakes his head this time, until Erik starts to move off and he catches his hand.

"Wait…I lied. I'm sorry…"

Erik glances back in confusion, and Charles swallows and continues.

"I need…I want you to…please stay…" he manages quietly.

Erik's eyebrows go up, and he lets out a breath and nods slowly. At that Charles releases his hand, and he goes around the bed and kicks off his own shoes before lying down atop the covers on the other side. He's on his side facing Charles, and Charles shifts to his side as well, reaching for Erik's hand again. Erik lets him have it, squeezing gently when Charles takes it.

"Tell me again," Charles whispers. "Tell me everything will be all right."

"Everything is going to be fine. They'll be fine."

Charles nods again, seeming to believe it at least a bit more this time, and he falls asleep with his fingers still entwined with Erik's. Erik sleeps not long after that, forgetting even to change to or move under the covers because he doesn't want to wake Charles and doesn't want to leave him alone.

Six Years, Two Months Ago

Everything isn't fine. Charles is in more danger by the week, and by the seventh month they've moved him to the infirmary and told him he won't be leaving until the twins are born.

Not that he could. He couldn't really get up if he wanted to. He's too tired.

Raven brings Kurt and stays at the house with the other children so that Erik can stay with Charles, but they trade places for a day once or twice a week so that Raven can see her brother. Erik is glad to do it, because he knows seeing her cheers Charles up—makes it easier to deal with the fact that he can't get out of bed. He's stubborn, and it frustrates him.

It frustrates Erik, too. It isn't encouraging, seeing Charles lying there, and it doesn't help in keeping the gnawing worry away.

But the worry is justified. By the end Charles is unresponsive, and Erik doesn't understand the medical terms but he knows it's killing him. It was never entirely clear before—even to the doctors, if he gathers that correctly—but it's clear now that something is horribly wrong.

The emergency C-section goes badly. Too much bleeding, or something like that, and they don't have time to remove the uterus or anything else as they'd planned weeks ago when they were sure, at least, that it would be too dangerous for Charles to ever attempt pregnancy again—if indeed he could conceive again in the first place. They planned to make it impossible, but that proves to be impossible when the surgery goes to hell.

The twins, a boy and a girl, are fine, healthy enough, if small at nearly three weeks premature, but Charles falls into a coma. He's too drained, and he's lost so much blood. The doctors are sorry, of course, always sorry, but they tell Erik the truth anyway. Like it is.

They've done everything they can, they say, but they can't promise that Charles is going to live.

Erik doesn't leave his husband's bedside after that. Long days become more than two weeks, and they come so close to losing him more than once…

Raven comes when she can. Hank is certainly old enough to watch the younger children for a while, at least, and sometimes they all come.

The infants remain in the nursery at the infirmary, and no one asks Erik to make other arrangements. Not now. He goes to see Bobby and Kitty every day, and he's glad that he and Charles decided on possible names beforehand, so that they have names, and names that were agreed upon. He's glad he knows what to call them when he holds them, when he talks to them and tells them about their mother.

They're both beautiful. Beautiful like Charles. Erik's heart aches to think that they may never meet him, and Erik fights himself daily, not wanting to give in to tears but wanting to cry so badly at times he thinks he might die.

If anything happened to Charles Raven would help him with the children. Erik knows that. He wouldn't be alone. He would have help raising them, and they would get through it together—losing Charles.

But oh god, he doesn't want it to happen. He sits at his husband's bedside day in and day out, and there is so much he feels but he isn't sure what it all is himself. Even if he did he wouldn't know how to put it into words no matter how badly he wants to.

He supposes it doesn't matter now. Charles can't hear him.

When Charles wakes he doesn't remember what happened, at first. When he does remember it's incomplete, because the last thing he can remember at all is being in the infirmary, waiting for it to be time to take the twins, and he remembers being so tired…

He's tired now. Still so tired, but…he isn't pregnant anymore. What happened? Oh god, what happened? Are the babies all right? They have to be all right; he can't bear the thought that anything happened to them. He doesn't think he could survive that again. Feeling that small new mind go out inside him…it was worse than the war, worse than losing his parents, worse than anything.

He doesn't have the energy to move much, but he takes in the room—finds Erik asleep in a chair by the bed.

Erik looks awful; exhausted and unshaven and haggard, and Charles wonders frantically how much time he's missing.

Erik…Erik? Erik! Erik, wake up!

It's easier to call to him that way. Speaking aloud would take more work.

It takes a moment, but Erik's eyes blink open, and he rubs at them groggily, not seeming to realize at first why he woke.

Erik?

Erik's gaze snaps to him, and when blue-grey eyes find him Erik lets out a shocked breath. "Charles…"

The twins. Are they all right? Please tell me—

"They're fine. A boy and a girl. They're fine."

Charles swallows hard, sighs heavily in relief. Thank god. But then he frowns uneasily at another thought. How long was I gone? How much did I miss?

"A couple of weeks…" Erik sobs quietly and shifts quickly from his chair to the edge of the bed, taking Charles's hand. "Oh god, Charles, they didn't know if you were going to make it. We thought we were going to lose you. I—" He cuts off, and there are tears on his cheeks now.

Erik never cries. Charles can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Erik cry in the nearly twenty years they've been married. That surprises him enough, but what surprises him more is when his husband stretches out on the infirmary bed beside him and holds him without a word.

But he isn't complaining. He can feel from Erik how close it all came…how badly it went. Soon enough he's trembling, and Erik holds him tighter and Charles is still sore from surgery but he doesn't mind. Charles returns the embrace, burying his face in Erik's shoulder.

"Never go anywhere," Erik says finally, and his voice doesn't break but it comes close. There are so many emotions there, so many fragmented thoughts that Charles could try to decipher and part of him thinks he knows what he would find, but he's too tired now to figure it out.

Finally Charles uses his voice. "I won't," he says softly.

And this time he doesn't have to ask Erik to stay.

Now

It's been more than four months since the day that Raven's pregnancy was discovered, and she's nearly seven months along now. Spring will come soon but it is still rather chilly out, and everyone is still wary of letting Charles outside. He's been sick all winter—not awfully, but persistently—though that isn't unusual now. Still, they worry. Erik especially, just as he always has.

For weeks after Bobby and Kitty's birth Charles was still confined to bed, though the doctors let Erik take him and the twins home, and for those weeks Raven and Kurt stayed with them. With the children in school Erik couldn't care for Charles and two infants on his own. It was nearly a year before Charles returned to anything resembling the good health he'd kept up for much of his life, and it has never returned entirely.

Charles has never let that stop him, and no one but Raven seems to understand how much he wishes they would let him be.

Raven. Bless her. She doesn't bother him about how he's feeling unless it really is necessary. By the time she ever sees fit to actually mention it he knows already that he should be saying something anyway. Or going to the infirmary. At any other time she would rather come for a visit, sit him down and make tea, and insist that he not help her. That he can handle.

Erik's ever-present concern Charles is able to handle less and less now. It would be easier if his husband weren't so distant otherwise, but he is, and that only makes it worse. Erik is no less kind than he's always been, no less attentive, and he's just as wonderful a father as he's been from the beginning, but they've argued more in the last four months than in their entire marriage before now. Charles hates it, but he doesn't know how to fix it.

Raven is here now. It's afternoon and there's a warm cup of tea in his hands and outside Erik is playing with Bobby and Kitty in the last of the snow. Charles is at the window, watching them, and he's watching Erik laugh and his chest aches.

Erik hasn't smiled at him like that in months.

He pulls away from the window and trudges back to the table to drop into a chair opposite his sister.

"You look like you lost your best friend," she says gently.

Charles blinks up at her, and wonders if she knows how accurate that statement is. "What do you mean?" he asks innocently.

She gives him one of those no-nonsense looks. "You know damn well what I mean. Something's wrong between you and Erik, and it has been for a while. I was waiting for you to tell me yourself, without forcing it out of you, but apparently that's not in the cards."

He winces. "Raven, you know that I love you, but it really isn't any of your business."

"The hell it isn't. You're my brother, and it's making you miserable. It's every bit my business."

"There is hardly anything you could do…"

Her expression softens, and she lets out a breath and shakes her head. "Maybe not, but there's something you could do, and I don't understand why you don't do it. Twenty-five years, and you've never done it, have you? You've never told him. Why don't you just tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

She looks at him as if that was the most ridiculous question he could have asked. "That you love him. God, do I have to do all the thinking around here?"

Charles's mouth hangs open for a bit, until he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and takes a sip of tea before clearing his throat and trying to say anything to that. "I-I…I…Raven, I don't even know if that is what it is," he says softly. "I care for him, certainly, quite a lot, and I know he cares about me or he wouldn't worry so much, and he wouldn't still be here after all these years, but…"

He's holding the tea in front of him as if to protect himself from things he doesn't want to think too hard about just now, and Raven reaches to take it from him, set it down on the table, and then take his hands.

"Charles, trust me. You love him. He loves you. You're both just too damn stubborn to figure it out on your own."

He swallows and looks away. "Raven, we married the day we met and we were barely more than children at the time. The system isn't designed around love. It still isn't. You and Hank are lucky. Erik and I—"

"Are lucky too."

"I know that. I've always known that. It could have turned out much worse…"

"That's true. But I don't think it could have turned out better. You two belong together. It didn't take me long to figure that out."

If we belong together, why doesn't he want me? he wonders to himself.

Charles's health has never been quite improved enough for the doctors to be comfortable putting him through surgery again, to remove the womb the way they'd planned. There is still the danger of becoming pregnant, but they could be careful. Or…the Council doesn't allow contraceptives in any form to be manufactured regularly, not in this society, but the doctors could give him something. That much would be allowed; Charles knows because they've told him.

But Erik has never asked him to request anything. In more than six years he's never asked. They haven't talked about it at all. Charles thought they would be closer, after what happened…but after nursing him back to what health he was able to regain, it was as if Erik was afraid to touch him. The distance began.

But then Sean and Moira fell in love. Jean and Scott Summers became more than best friends. Erik's carefully built shell had finally begun to crack again.

Until the night of the party. That night in the bathroom when they came so close. Erik hasn't touched him at all since then—hasn't gotten too close in any sense of the word.

Damnit. There's a lump in his throat now, and he gulps it back convulsively and hopes Raven doesn't notice. If she does he can blame the extra female hormones still floating about inside him. Since they've never been able to remove anything they're still there, to some extent.

"Charles?" Raven asks anxiously.

"I-I'm fine."

"For a telepath you're an awful liar."

He chuckles weakly at that. "I know."

"What is it? What's going on?"

Charles shakes his head. "I wish I knew."

Erik catches a glimpse through the window, of Raven taking Charles's hands. He can't quite see Charles's face, but after twenty-five years of marriage he knows his husband is upset somehow, no matter how much he might not want to show it. It's in the set of his shoulders…the way he holds his head and the tentative way he's squeezing back at his sister's hands and the way he looks off after a moment. When he looks away from her Erik can see his profile—see the way his jaw is set, too.

He wishes he didn't have a feeling in his gut…wishes he didn't think he knows what they're talking about.

He saw Charles at the window earlier.

He hates the way they've been recently as much as he can tell Charles does, but he's at a loss for how to make it better.

He won't put Charles in any danger. It should be as simple as that, but it isn't, and he doesn't know how to have the conversation needed to explain. Erik is afraid of it. He's afraid of what it could lead to…what he might discover that way. He thought they could go on the way they've always been, and they've been fine that way in the past, they've always been comfortable with each other, but now everything is only getting worse by the day, and…

And he's tired of it.

The next morning Erik leaves for work at the same time he always does, but he isn't there long. He informs them that he won't be able to work today—maybe fibbing a little, claiming a cold and slightly fault control—and he turns around and goes home. Ororo is at school and Jean is finished now but today she's babysitting for neighbors. Bobby and Kitty are across the street with Marie.

Charles is alone when Erik makes it back to the house. He turns around in surprise when the door opens, a broom in his hands.

"Erik…what are you doing home? You only just left."

The broom is in front of him like a shield.

"I took the day off."

Charles blinks at him. "You…what?"

Erik crosses to him and takes the broom, not meeting any resistance because his husband is still too surprised. "Let me do that. You sit down." He starts to sweep, and when he looks up again Charles's face is suddenly rather stormy and he tries to snatch the broom back.

"Damnit, Erik, if this is about my bloody health—"

Erik keeps the broom away from him and chuckles. "You're being English. You're always more English when you're angry. I've always liked that accent, you know."

That freezes Charles in his tracks again. "What?"

This used to be England. Most of the mutants here were from here. Most of the residents here their age or older have an accent, of course, but to Erik Charles's has always been the most attractive.

He's never told him that.

Erik only shrugs, and Charles quickly recovers.

"You're trying to distract me; really, why are you here?"

"Do I need a reason to want to be at home once in a while?"

Charles's expression softens again, though he's studying Erik closely as if trying to decide if he's quite serious. "I suppose not…"

"Would you feel better if I gave you the broom back?"

"Yes, actually."

Erik nods and concedes, handing it over without a fight. Charles looks at him warily for a moment, but then takes it back and begins to sweep again.

They're both quiet for a long time after that, Charles cleaning and Erik trying to decide what he should do, but the silence isn't as uncomfortable as everything has been for the past four months.

The question is out of his mouth before he can tell himself it's a bad idea.

"Charles…do you love me?"

Chapter Text

Now

"Charles…do you love me?"

Charles's hands tighten around the broom as he fights hard to resist the urge to freeze again. He isn't sure he heard what he heard, and he doesn't turn around. "Do I what?"

He senses Erik hesitating, realizing that yes he just said that out loud but then there is resolve, and he says it again, not nearly so hesitant this time.

"Do you love me?"

This time Charles turns around, mouth open a little. "Do I love you?"

"It's a question, Charles."

He knows that. He isn't stupid. But it isn't a question he ever thought he would hear from Erik, and it doesn't help that he isn't even entirely sure of the answer. He thinks he knows, but what if he's wrong?

And what if it's only a question? What if Erik doesn't…

He couldn't handle that. He would break.

Charles swallows and turns back to the broom, shaking his head quickly. "Everything that's happened with Raven and Hank and the other children has you just as bothered about the system as I am. You're upset; you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying," Erik answers. He steps closer and Charles reacts by taking a few steps away under the guise of continuing with the sweeping. In truth, he's only swiping pointlessly at the floor.

"Erik, I'm your husband."

"I know. But do you love me?"

Charles glances at him briefly, but the sincere look on Erik's face is too much right now and he looks away. The broom isn't helping anymore and he crosses to the wall to put it away in the corner. "What sort of question is that?"

"One I'm hoping to get an answer to."

The answer is a bit cheeky and Charles tosses him a glare before he goes to the cabinets to search for something to make for dinner—for lack of anything else to do to avoid Erik's gaze. "Why?"

"Why?" Erik echoes.

"Yes, why?"

"Because I want to know."

"Why? You've never asked me that before."

"Charles…"

Charles isn't finding what he's looking for, and he closes the cabinet he's looking in rather loudly before opening another. "No, Erik. Why now? Twenty-five years, seven children, we're both starting to go gray at the temples, and you ask me this now?"

He isn't sure why he's suddenly so angry, but then again it could have something to do with Erik asking him this now, after the way things have been between them for the last few months. After Erik abandoned him the last time they were almost close.

"A little late, I know…"

"A little?" Charles scoffs a bit and turns away completely, rifling deeper into the cabinet and pulling things from it. He to tries to force himself to calm down, but he can't quite do it. His heart is in his throat and he wishes it weren't. He wishes Erik would drop it, so they can go on without going into it. They'll be fine soon enough. They'll work out their differences another way; they always have.

It's safer that way.

"It isn't important…" he mutters after a moment. "It's never been important. We're still here, aren't we?"

"Maybe that's why I want to know," Erik says to that. "So many of the others who were married as young as we were can't stand each other anymore. They've split up, or they're miserable…and we've never had that problem. There has to be a reason."

"We work well together. We get along. We're…compatible. It doesn't have to mean anything else."

"But what if it does?"

Charles wants to believe it does. Part of him, anyway. There's an ache deep inside him that wants to tell Erik everything, right now, but the rest of him is afraid. He straightens, sets a few things on the counter, but his back is still turned to his husband. "Erik—" Not now not now not now…

"Well?"

Charles frowns and turns on him. "Well if I'm to answer the question then you should have to," he snaps. "Do you love me?" He's suddenly more terrified than before, unable to believe he said that, and he's afraid of the answer, but he tells himself that it doesn't matter. Erik won't answer. He thinks Erik will let it go at that. He thinks that will put a stop to it. But Erik just looks at him; he doesn't retreat.

It's become a standoff.

Charles watches him warily, and the conflict on Erik's face makes him want to know what's behind it. He lets his guard down enough to sense a fear that rivals his own, only a moment before Erik speaks.

"Yes. I do. I think I always did."

It comes out a bit uneven, but somehow it still sounds sure.

And it isn't at all what Charles expected to hear.

The breath goes out of him, and Charles swallows hard and backs away, a scowl growing on his face. "Erik…damn you, Erik; you can't do this to me."

Erik looks like he doesn't understand, but it's a sham. It has to be. "What are you talking about?" He seems more alarmed than anything now.

"What am I talking about? How can you tell me that you love me after the way you've acted recently! How can you lie to me! After all the years we've been married shouldn't I at least deserve the truth?" Why is he saying this? Why can't he accept it? He wants to. But the last four months have hurt, and…he can't risk being hurt any worse.

"You do deserve the truth, Charles; I told you the truth. Finally." Erik's voice is almost pleading, and Charles wants to give in, wants to tell Erik he feels the same, but he can't. Not until the doubts are gone, and they aren't.

He blinks back tears, cursing them for being there, and sets his jaw. "If you love me then why in god's name has it been more than seven years since we were together? I'm not quite an idiot; I understand that isn't what it's about, but it stands to reason that if you loved me you would want me—" His voice breaks, and he curses that too, and turns away again. "Damnit…"

"You were never able to go back for the surgery. It's still too dangerous for us to be together that way, and I couldn't do that to you. I thought you would understand that. I—"

"We could have…been careful, or asked for something to make it safer. We could have—"

He tries to turn around again, but can't, and only manages a brief glance over his shoulder and Erik is shaking his head. "I couldn't risk it. I didn't want to lose you."

Charles looks away again and swallows back a sob before it escapes, laughing harshly instead. "This is about my health."

But then there's a hand on his arms, turning him around gently but firmly, and Charles opens his mouth to protest but that only makes it easier for Erik's lips to press against his.

It only lasts a moment, but the time doesn't matter. The fact that Erik is kissing him matters.

Erik has never kissed him before. Not this way. He's been chastely affectionate, kissed his forehead, his cheek, the top of his head, yes, but he's never kissed him this way. Not the way it's supposed to be done when one is in love.

When Erik releases his lips one of his hands rests against Charles's face, the other on his shoulder now, and Erik looks him in the eyes. "Let me rephrase that: I couldn't lose you. I refused to lose you. I loved you too much to let you go, and I'm just sorry it took me this long to realize that was what it was all this time. I love you, Charles."

Charles stares back at him for a long time, trying to process the fact that what happened just happened and that Erik just said what he said. Before he'll trust himself to speak again he presses forward to reclaim Erik's lips, just to be sure what happened can be repeated.

Erik responds easily, and it feels more right to be kissing him than anything has in a long, long time. He isn't sure how long it goes on, but by the time Erik pushes him back enough for them to breathe they're both gasping. Erik's thumbs stroke Charles's cheek where he's holding his face in his hands, and it tickles. It feels good.

"Do you love me?" Erik asks again between breaths.

This time Charles isn't afraid, and this time he knows the answer. "Oh god, yes. I love you. I'm sorry—"

He wants to apologize for being so hostile, but Erik kisses him soundly, effectively shutting him up before he can continue that route. And apparently Erik has heard everything he needs to hear; he turns him around, tugging him a few steps, and presses him into the nearest wall, never releasing his lips. Charles strains to be closer, trying to tell Erik to come closer, and he does. Erik is against him now, and just that is relief—relief from being so far apart for so long. When Erik was afraid, when Erik wouldn't touch him…

God, he's so glad it's over. He wouldn't have to sense it from his husband's mind to know that Erik feels the same, either. He can feel Erik hard against him, and Charles is becoming that way himself quickly enough.

"I always wanted you," Erik breathes.

Erik's hips move against his and Charles doesn't hold back the gasp it pulls from him. He wraps his arms around his husband's neck to hold himself as close as he can be, and his hips move in response. They're grinding into each other, and Charles notes faintly that neither of them seems to care that they're fully clothed. But it's too late to worry about it now; they need this too badly to stop just for that.

Charles isn't sure when it happens but at some point Erik has pushed him up and reached down to hook Charles's legs around his waist, pushing into the wall harder now to keep him up because neither of them is focusing much on the holding on—just on the motion of their hips and the waves of pleasure and even though it's frantic and needy and not at all the most efficient way to get it done it's so much better than anything else either of them has had for the last seven years. Charles is sure of that.

Erik thrusts forward particularly hard and Charles's head falls back. He lets out a cry and Erik is kissing his throat now that it's exposed—another gesture more intimate than he's used to, but it's good. He wants it. He wants Erik.

Whoever explained everything to him all those years ago was right; the physical requirements of the relationship had become easier to deal with, and then better, and then pleasurable, and along the way Erik did everything in his power to be sure that Charles got as much out of it as he did. In time Charles needed it too, just as much as Erik did, and he's needed it for so long now.

They both have. Erik is gasping against his neck, the fingers of one hand digging into one of Charles's hips while the other is at his back, and Charles's fingers are tangled in Erik's hair.

"You…I wanted you too," Charles moans. "I wanted you…for so long. I was afraid—" He cuts off because he's close, and his jaw clenches and his thighs squeeze tighter around Erik's waist as he forces his erection harder against Erik's through their clothes. Erik senses the change, is close himself, more than likely, and holds him tighter and picks up the rhythm to help.

Not that it's much of a rhythm. Fast and desperate, yes. Working? God yes.

Erik is already keening quietly in his ear when Charles comes, muffling his shout into his husband's shoulder, and when Charles comes Erik lets go with a rumbling groan. They hold each other tightly, riding it out, and when it's over there's dampness between them but Charles ignores it and presses his lips to Erik's again. The kiss is brief, but they both need air.

"I love you," Erik says quietly, plainly and simply and just truth and Charles feels it in his bones.

That could also be because he's all of a sudden sore, but he smiles to himself because it's the good sort of sore and he's missed it.

"I know." Both of them still catching their breath, Charles kisses Erik's cheek, up the side of his face to his hairline, and kisses the hair there at the temple that really is dusted in gray.

That's all Erik has, but Charles's mention of it earlier was understated in regards to himself. On his own head there are gray strands hiding everywhere, tucked into his full head of dark brown hair that's a little less full than it used to be.

It bothers him, but Erik doesn't seem to care—especially now, with his nose buried in it.

"I love you," Charles chuckles.

In another moment Erik lets him down gently, and they look back and forth at themselves and smile like the sheepish teenagers they were in the beginning. Charles has to admit he feels a bit as if they've gone back in time, and he doesn't mind the feeling at all.

"I'm going to have to wash clothes early this week," he says in mock complaint.

"You'll get over it," Erik smirks, wrapping his arms around Charles's waist.

Charles raises an eyebrow at him. "It's your fault. You ought to help me."

"Later." And Erik ducks forward and kisses him again. Charles indulges at first, losing his breath once more, and then pulls back a bit.

"Might we do this properly now?" he manages.

Erik freezes.

"Erik…"

He makes a face. "You know we can't."

"Of course we can. Just don't come inside me—"

"I don't want to risk it; that hasn't changed. I can't lose you—" He stops abruptly and swallows, looking away, and Charles reaches to take his husband's face between his hands the way and turn it back to him, holding it the way Erik held his earlier.

"You won't. It's all right. We can do this…"

"It's…that's…if I screw it up…"

"You worry far too much. You heard them; it's likely that I wouldn't be able to conceive at all anymore anyhow."

"But what if you can?"

"That's why we'll be careful."

"Charles…" Erik groans.

They've pressed together again, somewhat involuntarily, already in the beginnings of arousal once more, and Charles knows Erik can't resist forever. It's a bit unfair, but—

"Erik, please," he whispers near his husband's ear. "I need you. I need to know this is real. I need you inside me. I need you…" He's trembling a bit, everything catching up with him, and Erik wraps his arms around him and holds him against his chest. "Please, Erik, please…" Charles gasps, and part of him is ashamed to hear himself begging but suddenly he's fifteen again and he just needs to know he's loved. He needs to feel it every way he can feel it.

Erik is quiet for a long time before he says anything. "Promise you'll help me," he says softly. "Promise you won't let me screw it up. Don't let me put you in any danger…"

He nods quickly, relatively sure he can do that.

"How long do we have?" Erik asks, pulling back to look at him.

Charles blinks. "Before anyone comes home? Hours."

And Erik grins. "Then we really can do this properly."

Chapter Text

Now

Charles is spread beneath him, gasping and keening in time with Erik's thrusts, moaning in pleasure, and today is the first time in years and it feels more right than it ever did before. They've been in this bed for hours, alternately resting and claiming each other, never out of each other's grasp, and it still isn't enough.

Nothing will ever make up for twenty-five years of being oblivious, but they sure as hell can try.

"Erik, ah! God…Erik, harder. Please…" Charles trails off and cries out again, fingers buried in the sheets. Today is the first time he's asked for it that way. Or let himself do it, anyhow.

Today is different, so different, almost like it's the first time they've made love at all. Before it was all for a purpose. Only functional, even though it was still pleasure—for Charles too, because Erik did everything he could to get them to that point—and it wasn't like this. They'd needed it, physically, but never had they needed each other like this. Never had they needed it because they needed each other. Or at least they'd never thought of it that way. Not until today.

Not until they knew that they couldn't live without each other.

That they were in love.

God, are they in love. The feeling in Erik's chest is like nothing he's ever felt before. He never knew he could feel so warm, so content. Loving and being loved and knowing it all for certain…he's sure now that nothing can compare. Nothing else could make the world fall away so completely.

Charles begged him for this, before Erik relented, before Erik picked him up and carried him here, into the bedroom, and gave it to him. Re-claimed him. Charles begged him; Charles told him he needed him, and Erik gave in because, in truth, he needed Charles too. As much as Charles needed Erik inside him Erik needed to be there, to know that he wasn't dreaming and Charles loved him and that this was the way things were going to be from now on.

They've always been there for each other. Always. But now, Erik knows, they are finally truly one.

Always…

The beautiful voice is in his mind, confirming everything, and Erik grins to himself and answers his husband's request, thrusting harder, as hard as he can, and Charles groans loudly in response, in pleasure. His hands shoot up, gripping Erik's shoulders tightly because he's found the spot inside that makes Charles tremble.

(The first time around was for being gentle, going slowly, memorizing each other anew and building pleasure in slow and loving gestures and doing everything as right as they could manage it, whispering to each other, just loving. They needed that. But after that, after they'd rested briefly the first time, all bets were off.)

"Erik!"

Charles calls his name again, fingers in his skin now, and Erik knows he's close but Erik is close too. He can't let himself lose track of that. He can't come inside Charles.

"God, yes, Erik! Almost, I—"

Oh god, he's on the edge. Picking up the pace for Charles sent him there more quickly than he thought it would. It's too much.

"Sorry," Erik gasps. He pulls out, coming over his husband's stomach, groaning. But when he has his wits about him again he reaches quickly to take Charles's cock in his hand, to bring him the rest of the way that way before too much disappointment spreads over his face.

It doesn't take long. Quick stroking for a moment or two and Charles comes in his hand, gasping, and finally letting out a satisfied breath as he relaxes. Erik lets himself tip over, rolling onto his back at his husband's side and reaching down beside the bed to find the towel he'd had to run to fetch after the first time because they forgot about it before they began. Because they were so eager.

Erik cleans them off in silence, drops the towel to the floor again, and settles back into the pillows. Charles slides closer, nestles into the crook of his shoulder and lies against him.

Erik doesn't look at him at first, embarrassed now. "I'm sorry, I…"

"Nonsense," Charles says. "It's all right."

He'd done what had to be done. To keep Charles from any danger.

"We could try this the other way around, you know," he says after a moment, thoughtful, and looks at him.

Charles blinks back, the quick movement of his eyelashes almost dizzying because their faces are so close. "You wouldn't mind that? You know it would hurt for you, at first."

"There's no functional purpose anymore anyway, so it doesn't matter how we do it. This is for us. And of course I would do it. Anything to keep you safe."

Charles smiles some, a bit sheepish. "I certainly would not be adverse to the idea. We can do that, but we did this the same way for twenty years and I wouldn't want to give it up entirely. I would miss having you inside me. I need that."

Erik would miss it too, he knows. He needs it too. He growls quietly. "I wish we didn't have to worry about it."

"Perhaps we won't have to, soon enough," Charles says. "I can ask about the surgery again, and if they would still rather not perhaps there is something they can give me. I'll go to the infirmary tomorrow."

Erik raises an eyebrow at him, and then smiles mischievously. "Alone? Because I was thinking I might not show up for work tomorrow either."

Charles smiles. "As much as I would like that, you should go. Goodness knows how long it will take at the infirmary anyhow. And the weekend is after that…"

"Not soon enough," Erik sighs. He holds Charles even closer, kissing the top of his head and breathing in the scent of his hair, letting the softness brush his face.

Charles chuckles. "Have you always liked my hair so much?" Erik makes a deep sound of affirmation. "Would you still love me if I lost it all?"

"Of course; don't be silly," Erik murmurs. He kisses Charles's head again, his forehead, his temple, and pushes a hand gently through the mostly dark brown hair and Charles suddenly looks uncomfortable. Erik knows what his husband is thinking without the need of telepathy. "What? Are you worried about the gray?"

"I'm only forty," Charles mutters, disgruntled.

"Some people are all gray even before then."

"Yes, well…"

Erik shakes his head and runs his fingers through Charles's hair again, kisses his scalp again. "Don't worry about it. God, do you have any idea how sexy it is?"

"'Sexy?'" Charles echoes incredulously.

He isn't lying at all. It is. "God, yes. It didn't start until after Bobby and Kitty were born, and it's made it that much harder not to tear your clothes off until now," Erik admits in amusement. He nudges Charles's chin up, and finally Charles smiles again. "You know I'm not just saying that."

"Yes. I know," Charles grins. He claims Erik's lips, and for long minutes there is just each other. Erik's arms are around his husband's shoulders at first, but one hand makes its way down and around to cup Charles's ass, then to tease at the warm edges of the hole that has probably been abused enough for one day.

Charles groans against his mouth in something between discomfort and want, and breaks away. "Erik, we can't. Not again. The children will be home soon." It comes out a bit breathless.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," he says more firmly, pushing away farther and into a sitting position. "We need to get out of this bed now, or we never will," he sighs.

Erik lets out a breath and sits up with him, and Charles is already climbing quickly from under the covers before he can surrender. He stumbles as he gets to his feet, a hand going to his head, and Erik frowns.

"Charles?"

"Stood up too quickly, that's all…" he answers, wincing. He steadies himself and plucks fresh clothes from the shelf by the wall. "We need a bath," Charles says, making another face as he pulls the clothes on. "I suppose that will have to wait for tonight." Momentary concern forgotten, Erik lights up at the idea, and Charles looks at him quickly and shakes his head. "Tonight, Erik." He rifles through Erik's clothes next, and tosses him some. "Clothes. Now."

He catches them, and looks at them as if they were foreign objects. "Clothes? What are clothes?"

Charles laughs, and Erik relishes the sound because he hasn't heard it enough in recent months. He gets out of bed and he dresses, because they still have to be parents, and he doesn't mind that at all. It's the reason they're here, really.

And Erik loves his children. He and Charles both love them, more than anything. The children are the only thing that make the past twenty-five years not seem like a waste now. Erik knows now that he couldn't live without Charles but he couldn't live without them, either.

They emerge from the bedroom together, and as soon as Erik sees that no one is there yet he tugs Charles against him by the hand and kisses him soundly. Charles responds for a moment, but then pushes away.

"Damnit, Erik, I swear, if I have to move laundry all the way up to tomorrow…"

Erik chuckles. "You'll what?"

"I'm a telepath. I'm sure I could think of something." But then Charles is the one kissing him. It lasts much longer this time, and this time Charles falls away more than breaking away purposely. He gasps in air and makes a small strangled sound, and Erik has to hold onto him tightly to keep his legs from going out from under him completely.

"Charles?" he asks, more urgently this this time.

Charles leans into his chest, and his fingers are pressed to his temples. He tries to chuckle. "Sorry, I uhm…I didn't mean to scare you. I suppose I wasn't thinking enough about air. Just dizzy. I—ah…"

Erik grips his shoulders tighter, keeping him steady. "What's wrong? Your head?"

"It's just a headache, Erik. Perfectly common for me."

The telepathy, he means. Thanks to that he has always been more susceptible to headaches, and Erik knows it. So it isn't unusual for Charles to have one, but is it just him or have they been more frequent recently? Maybe worse, even. Maybe he'd been largely avoiding Charles, trying not to give in to what he wanted, but that doesn't mean he didn't notice.

He voices his concern, and Charles looks up at him through eyes that are squinted now and sighs. "No, you're right. It has been worse. I've already asked my doctor about it, actually. Last month. I was told that if it persisted I should go back, and there were tests that could be run. I suppose it's fortunate I plan to go tomorrow anyhow."

"Good. Make sure you mention it." He pauses. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay home? Go with you?"

"No, no, I'll be all right. I'm hardly a child, Erik. I can visit the doctor on my own." He smiles in amusement, and Erik relaxes a little.

"All right. But I want a full report as soon as I'm home."

Charles's raises his eyebrows. "Yes sir." He chuckles a bit and squeezes Erik's hand before he moves away. "Anyhow, I ought get something on for dinner, though it will have to be a much quicker fix than what I'd planned to make."

Erik follows him, but before he can open his mouth Charles turns on him again. "And don't you dare say a word about it; I am perfectly capable of cooking with or without a headache."

"I wasn't—"

"Of course you were. And I appreciate the sentiment, but—"

"I can do it. I taught you, in case you didn't remember."

"I remember perfectly well, but I'm all right."

"You always say that."

"And?"

Erik lets out a breath and moves in close again, pushing a clump of hair out of his husband's face. He smiles fondly. "And this…" He motions to the two of them. "This isn't going to change your level of stubbornness in the slightest, is it?"

Charles smiles back. "No more than it's going to affect yours."

"Just as long as we're clear."

Erik kisses him again, and Charles lets him. It's Erik who pulls back this time, and Charles groans.

"We're going to need ground rules," Charles sighs.

"Like what?"

"I honestly haven't any idea, but I'm afraid that if we don't have them nothing will ever get done."

"Dinner's in danger, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Headaches don't slow you down much, do they?"

"I try not to let them."

Erik laughs against his husband's neck, already nosing into his hair again, planting soft kisses across his neck and ear. Charles is simply holding onto him, though one hand is slipping under the turtleneck he thought he'd tucked in.

"Maybe I should cook tonight."

They both startle at the voice, Charles yelping and jumping back against the counter and Erik pulling in sharp breath and twisting into the edge of the table and jarring it. Only a quick snatch of the lamp with his powers keeps it from crashing to the ground.

Jean is in the doorway, lips twitching up into a smile.

And WHY didn't you sense her coming? Erik asks silently.

I was a bit preoccupied…

"Jean!" Charles says aloud. "We, uhm, that…"

She closes the door behind her, shrugging. "Don't worry about it." She raises an eyebrow at him. "So you want me to cook?"

Erik clears his throat and tucks his shirt back in, and Charles shakes his head quickly and tugs his own sweater down in front to straighten it.

"No, thank you, I uhm…I was just about to start dinner, actually, though you're welcome to help me."

"You're sure you don't want me to do it?"

"Yes. Quite sure."

"Okay. Just checking. I'll be upstairs." Jean retreats, grinning to herself, and Charles lets out a breath when she's gone.

"Well. I suppose it was foolish to think we could keep anything from that one for long," he says.

"How much does she know?"

"I don't think you really want me to answer that…"

It takes more than a little effort to convince Erik that they should actually get a bit of sleep that night, and in the morning it's still difficult to get him out of bed. But he goes to work as he's supposed to, and once Ororo is off to school and Charles is sure that Jean can watch Bobby and Kitty while he's gone, he heads into the center of town himself.

"This was the worst winter yet, Charles; no, I don't think surgery is the best option. I'd rather try medication first," the doctor tells him.

Charles mentions that the headaches are still worse and more frequent, and the doctor asks for more details—when they happen and how often and how long they usually last. He's frowning a bit more after that, but what he says isn't overly alarming.

"It could be any number of things. Let's try medication for that too, to start with. If there's still no change in in a month or two I want to see you again."

Charles tries not to read the man's mind, but he catches snippets of things—things he doesn't like. He tells himself the doctor is only going over every possible option inwardly and not necessarily thinking about what is mostly likely.

When the doctor tells him before he leaves to thoroughly report any other symptoms the next time they meet, Charles tells himself again that the man is just covering bases.

Still, rather than spend the entire walk home lost in thought, he runs into a friend instead. The taller, larger man isn't hunched over as he walks by—he never hunches—but something in his face makes it seems as if he is.

"Logan?" Charles calls. He pivots to catch up to the other mutant and Logan slows and stops, looking at him silently when he makes it to him. "Logan? How are you?"

Logan only shrugs at Charles's question.

"We haven't seen you in weeks. You are still welcome in our home at any time," Charles tells him gently.

"Yeah, I remember," Logan nods. "Just been busy. Look, thanks, but I gotta get to the market. Running low on everything. Don't know why I always wait 'til the last minute to restock, but there it is."

"Right. Well…"

"See ya around."

Then Logan is gone, and Charles watches his retreating back for a moment before turning around again to make his way back to the house.

Eight Months Ago

It is mid summer and the weather is as nice as it ever is, but the happy blue of the sky is deceptive. All it offers now is dry weather for the small funeral being held at the edge of the city.

James Logan, who prefers to be called Logan, is the survivor of the deceased. He is a relatively recent addition to the settlement and the newest friend of the Lehnsherr family.

He and his partner, Kayla, came to the city gates nearly a year before. They had been content on their own before that, but they sought the nearest settlement and help when it became clear that Kayla was ill. After extensive testing with what medical technology there is now, recovered since the war—barely enough to be sufficient, in Kayla's case—it was determined that she had developed an aggressive form of brain cancer from prolonged exposure to the remaining nuclear radiation. It had taken much longer than it would have in a human, but it had happened anyway.

It's disconcerting, knowing that not even mutants are entirely safe from the radiation. Granted, it has caused other medical problems already, and they knew that to some extent, but here, at least, there has been nothing so dire. Not as far as Charles knows. He stands close to Erik through the short and simple ritual, taking comfort just from his husband being there.

At some point Erik's arm slips around his shoulders, almost protectively, and maybe it's only in reaction to what's happened but he lets himself be warmed by the small gesture anyway.

"Logan…"

He speaks to their friend when it's over. Logan won't move from the graveside.

"I was the loner," Logan says quietly. "Not her. She stayed out there because 'a me. She could have found one of these places a long time ago—lived a normal life, gotten away from the worst of the radiation. It's my fault."

"No…it most certainly is not. You mustn't think that. I may not have known her for long, but I do know that she wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

"Think so?" he asks gruffly.

Charles nods. "I'm sure of it." He swallows. "You did it for her. Not coming here before. Staying away you were able to be together, and I'm sure she wanted that more than any longer, lonely life she could have lived here."

Or any life tied to a stranger she might have been miserable with, which would have been more likely here.

Charles wonders, achingly, if such a choice as Logan and Kayla made long ago—to stay away from the settlements and remain free of the pairing system—might be the only opportunity for his children to be happy with those they want to be with.

Logan nods at what he says, seeming to understand, and Charles hopes he does. For a while Logan comes for dinner once every week or two, but then he just doesn't anymore.

Now

Charles makes it home feeling more down than when he left, even though he has what he went to the infirmary hoping to obtain. He cooks, and then he washes clothes early anyway, just to keep himself busy. Jean doesn't say anything. When the afternoon grows later she offers to take the twins to visit Sean and Alex, and he lets her and asks her to intercept Ororo leaving school and bring her along as well.

Jean nods in understanding and promises to do just that. Charles helps her get Bobby and Kitty's coats on, and then she takes their hands and they're off and Charles is alone.

He isn't alone for long.

The moment Erik is through the door Charles goes to him, latches onto him, and Erik returns the embrace tightly.

"Charles? What is it?"

"Nothing. I uhm…nothing."

He fills Erik in on what his doctor told him, on both counts.

"Apparently we'll still need to be careful for a bit, until it takes effect, but after that…" he finishes.

"Good," Erik grins down at him, and Charles is beginning to feel better already. He pulls himself closer again, breathing in his husband's warmth. Then he takes Erik's hands and backs up once more, smiling a little now, and it doesn't take much tugging for him to understand and follow Charles to the bedroom.

Chapter Text

Now (Six Weeks Later)

Charles is at the table, reading in the light of what's left of the bright part of the afternoon—now that the day's headache has subsided at least enough that he can. Or he's trying to, but he's having to squint and he wonders when his vision began to blur. It isn't awful, but it's enough to be frustrating while trying to make out the small words on the page.

Now that he thinks about it, that's happened more than once lately. It's worse today, and he's near to giving up for the afternoon but he isn't certain what else he would do if he did. There isn't much to be done, for once; clothes are washed, the house is mostly clean, and there are more than enough leftovers for dinner. He's glad of it today. He hates to admit it to himself, but he hasn't felt well at all and it isn't only his head and eyes.

Not that it's unusual, but he wishes it wasn't.

When Erik comes in from work he takes the chair next to him, pulling it closer and looping his arms around Charles from beside him.

"I'm all right," Charles says, before he can ask.

"Your head isn't hurting you today?"

"Well…"

Erik lets out a breath and holds him closer, nearly making him lean out of the chair. Charles puts the book down and turns to surrender into the embrace. He won't be reading anymore today. But he's used to that by now. Sometimes it still seems strange, how different things are, but at the same time things are just the same as they've always been.

After all, they always felt this way. It just took them far too long to realize it.

"When are you going back?" Erik asks.

"Next week. There's an appointment scheduled already."

"Whatever it is he gave you hasn't helped at all. Maybe you shouldn't wait for the appointment. I'm worried about you."

Charles shakes his head a bit. "There isn't any reason not to simply wait; it won't make much of a difference. How many times have we had this conversation?"

Erik kisses his cheek. "More than I'd like."

Charles knows he's going to continue, and he turns his head to catch his husband's lips to silence him.

He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to be pressed; he doesn't want to speculate on what might be wrong. It's clear by now that it isn't only telepathy headaches, and the doctor's thoughts are still in the back of his mind.

But for now, if he can get away with not worrying about it for just this one more week…if things can just be as normal as they can be for just a little while longer…

Maybe if he pretends there isn't a problem there won't be one.

Charles pushes the kiss deeper, and maybe he's a bit too aggressive because Erik is with him for a moment but then he pulls back and it's confusion Charles is sensing from him.

"Charles? What is it?"

"Nothing."

He wants it to sound natural, and he wants it to be true. Still Erik looks at him for a few seconds longer than usual, before kissing him again as if to assure himself that it really is nothing.

It could still be nothing. God, he hopes it's nothing.

There's giggling from the stairs, and they look up to find Bobby and Kitty watching them. Erik rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but there isn't any reason to hide or anything of the sort. The children seem used this new level of their relationship. In truth, it's as if they'd expected it. It hasn't seemed to surprise them much at all.

Go on. I'll warm up dinner, Charles thinks to his smiles and gets to his feet to chase the twins back up the stairs, and Charles hears the heavy footfalls of their play over his head as he puts the remains of yesterday's dinner back on the stove.

Perfect. It's almost perfect. If not for blasted health uncertainties, and the system that threatens to ruin their children's futures…it would be perfect.

Erik wakes the next morning with empty arms, and panics for a moment before he realizes that Charles is mere inches away. That should have calmed him completely, but he's worried when he sees that his husband is curled in on himself, back to him. When he pushes up on his elbows Erik sees that Charles's hands are clenching his head.

He quickly closes the bit of distance between them, sliding to Charles and holding him from behind.

"Charles, what's wrong? Is it that bad?" he asks anxiously, near Charles's ear.

The only answer he receives is a whimper of pain.

Erik swallows and tugs at him gently, trying not to let the panic return. "Come on. Can you get up? We need to get you into town."

"N-no, I—"

"I'll carry you if I have to, but we're going. This is ridiculous."

Charles opens his mouth as if he's going to say something to that, but all that comes out is a soft groan.

Erik squeezes his shoulder and climbs quickly from the bed, going around it to find clothes from the shelf and dress. Once he's ready Charles still hasn't moved, and Erik helps him sit up and pulls clothes onto him, too. That's when Charles protests, trying to squirm away at first and insisting he isn't a child, but then he doubles over again and has no choice but to let Erik help him.

Erik bites his lip, trying to swallow back the lump in his throat at the pain on husband's face. Once Charles is dressed he picks him up, carefully, and Charles buries his face in Erik's neck.

They've barely made it from the bedroom, though, before Charles tenses and all but falls from Erik's arms. He pitches out and Erik has to catch him to keep him from hitting the floor too hard. Charles scrambles into the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet and retching violently into it. Erik follows him automatically, finding a cloth from the small cupboard under the washbasin. He dampens it in the relatively cool water there in the basin and kneels at his husband's side to support him and hold the folded cloth to his forehead.

There isn't much in his stomach, but it takes so long, before Charles finally can finally stop dry-heaving. By the time he's able to stop he's trembling, tears of exhaustion and pain on his face, and it doesn't take much tugging for him to willingly drop back against Erik's chest. Erik holds him there, keeping the cool cloth to his forehead, and there almost isn't room for the both of them to be on the floor in here.

"Charles…"

His throat has nearly closed, as his brain catches up and part of him begins to understand what just happened, and what it could mean.

Charles gulps noisily, still shivering in his arms. "Oh god."

There's pounding overhead, and down the stairs. In another moment the bathroom door burst open, slamming into his shin, and Erik grunts but says nothing. It's Jean, in the doorway, with Ororo crowding in beside her.

"Mom?" Jean questions urgently.

"What's going on?" Ororo wails. It's apparent that her sister, if her telepathy has clued her in to anything more than what they can see, hasn't said anything to her younger sibling.

Charles tries to push out of Erik's arms and sit up, tries to keep the girls from worrying too much, but there's a quickly strangled-off cry and he drops back again, holding his head. "I'm, uhm…I'm just not feeling my best…at the moment…" he manages anyway.

Erik resists the urge to make a face and looks up at the girls. "Can you two keep an eye on the twins today?"

The wait is agonizing. With Jean and Ororo watching Bobby and Kitty they needn't leave the infirmary, but having nothing to do but sit here is almost worse. It would certainly be worse if they weren't together.

But they are. Charles's doctor understands the possible seriousness of the situation, and he let them remain in the examination room to wait rather then sending them back out into the waiting room after taking the samples to test.

They don't say anything. Erik just holds him, massaging his temples because his head is still pulsing mercilessly, and Charles is grateful for all of it.

He tries to tell himself it's nothing. He could have been sick from the pain; that's all. But that wouldn't explain the nausea and dizziness he's felt on and off for months, or the fact that it's been worse recently.

It takes what seems like forever. When the doctor returns—an older man who had just begun practicing even before the war—Erik slips off the edge of the exam table they've been sitting on to stand, but his arms never let Charles go.

Charles's chest clenches, but he doesn't search the man's mind, and what he says isn't at all expected.

It's welcome, but unexpected.

"You aren't pregnant, Charles. That isn't what's going on here. In fact, thanks to both what I think was a natural shift that was occurring already and the medication I gave you, your levels of female hormones have dropped significantly. You're as close to what would be called normal as you've ever been."

Charles allows himself a breath of relief, and he feels Erik's tight grip around his shoulders loosen just a little.

The doctor, meanwhile, continues. "That may be partly why you've been so sick so often. We already know your immune system hasn't been what it could be since the last pregnancy, and that's still part of it, too, but I believe what you've been going through in the last few months is the final breakdown of the secondary mutation. I wasn't sure until I saw today's results, but now I'm certain it's the only explanation."

"He's been sick because of…what? The changes? Is that what you're saying?" Erik asks.

"Essentially, yes—the upset in the balance of hormones he's had his entire life. They're moving toward what's normal for males on their own, and the medication I gave him seems to have sped that process. I'm sorry, Charles; if you've felt even worse since you began taking it that's why."

Charles straightens more on the edge of the exam table. "So…you're saying these levels will be normal soon? Does that mean I won't be capable at all of conceiving?"

"I doubt you would be capable of it now. But yes. That's what I'm saying. If you don't mind I'd like to keep you on the medication for a few more months to help it along and to be sure. Don't worry; it shouldn't keep you so sick for much longer. And once the levels are normal, of course, the nausea and other related symptoms should stop completely."

And you'll be safe, Erik adds silently. Erik is almost more relieved than he is, and Charles leans into him a bit from the weight of his own.

But also because he's afraid of what he has to ask next.

"But what about the headaches? And the blurred vision?" Charles asks after a long minute or two.

"That's what we need to find out."

"It couldn't simply be related…?"

The doctor shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. It might cause some of that, but not as much pain as you seem to be having, and not the blurred vision. And you're saying the medication I gave you for the headaches hasn't helped?"

"Not one wit, I'm afraid," Charles grimaces.

"I assume that was going to be the subject of the appointment you made for next week…" Charles nods, and the man moves on. "Is it simply not helping, or has it gotten worse?"

"Worse," Erik answers immediately.

Charles lets out a breath, wishing Erik wouldn't do that, answer for him, but it is the truth. "Yes. It's gotten worse."

Erik scowls worriedly. "We were on our way here anyway when he got sick; he was in too much pain to get up on his own."

The doctor doesn't like that bit of information, though Charles doesn't let Erik know that. The man doesn't say much else, offering noncommittally that there are tests that can be run. He orders more bloodwork, and performs vision tests and other tests after asking if Charles is up for it today.

Charles says he is, even though he's exhausted; he would rather know what's wrong than go on wondering, even if it means he has to force himself to stay awake for a few more hours.

And Erik doesn't leave him. That helps.

After everything else, the doctor asks for X-Rays, and Charles catches him grumbling inwardly about the fact that since the war they haven't recovered enough technology for more sophisticated imaging than that.

He doesn't mean to intrude into the man's mind, but it's harder not to catch others' thoughts when his head is bothering him so. The ache is subsiding as the day goes on, as it always does, and he used to have better control even through it, but he's so tired…

He's exhausted enough that with anxiousness besides he is dozing on the exam table soon after the X-Rays are taken, head in his arms. Charles is just aware of Erik sitting beside him, rubbing soothing circles in his back. His thoughts, however, are not comforting, and they are likely the only thing keeping Charles from real sleep.

It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay…Erik is repeating on the surface. Over and over and over and over, more to himself than anything, but Charles can hear it. But that isn't what bothers him. What bothers him are the thoughts beneath the surface—the worry and speculations that aren't quite even thoughts, really, and it doesn't help that they're echoed in the back of his own mind.

Finally he has to say something, just because he can't stand the silence anymore.

"What if it's—"

"It isn't."

Erik's answer is quick, unwavering, and Charles wishes he were that sure.

Mom? What's going on over there? You've been gone all day…

Jean.

Charles lets out a breath and closes his eyes again. We don't know yet.

How can you not know yet? Worry there too, and Charles swallows.

We may know something soon, I think. All he's really told her so far is what they discovered earlier in the morning—the good news. Jean retreats now, reluctantly, understanding that there's nothing more really to know.

Charles turns onto his back, grimacing when the jostling sends dull spikes of fresh pain through his head, and tugs at the bottom of Erik's shirt. His husband glances down at him, and after the smallest mental nudging he understands what Charles wants. He obliges, shifting back on the padded exam table, and lets Charles rest his head in his lap.

Charles is well and truly asleep when the doctor comes in with the printed X-Rays, and Erik nudges him awake and helps him sit up.

They don't have the resources for proper viewing boxes in every exam room, and the doctor leads them to another small room where there is a desk, two or three chairs, and the light box for viewing the X-Rays. The prints themselves are in a paper envelope, and the man doesn't pull them out immediately. He motions to the chairs and props himself on the corner of the desk, instead.

He's holding onto one of Charles's arms—he'd held onto it on the way here to be sure he was steady—and Erik feels in tense under his fingers now. He can see Charles's entire body growing taut, though he tries to hide it, and Erik slides his hand down the arm to twist Charles's fingers with his own.

What? What are you sensing from him?

Charles doesn't answer—just squeezes back in response.

"I need to explain this first," the doctor is saying. "The fact is that we found something much like what I was expecting."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Erik asks tightly.

The man doesn't answer that question directly. Instead he looks at his patient. "Charles, there's a tumor on the surface of your brain," he says slowly. "It's large enough that it's beginning to cause pressure within your skull, and that's what's caused the other symptoms—the headaches and the blurred vision, at least, and it may be contributing to the recurring nausea and exhaustion."

Charles is silent at his side, and Erik opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"However, just because it's a tumor doesn't mean it's cancerous," the doctor says quickly, and Erik swallows because that would have been his first question.

The doctor stands, and pulls two X-Rays from the envelope to clip them up in the light box. He points to the blatant mass that is toward the front and to the right side of Charles's head, on the surface of Charles's brain just as he said it was, and Erik's mouth is suddenly dry. Charles just stares, and Erik wishes abruptly that he shared his husband's gift and he could know what Charles is thinking.

I'm right here, he thinks, because he doesn't know what else is appropriate to say right now.

"We won't know anything more for certain until we can get a sample for a biopsy, but with the tumor here on the surface that won't be difficult. We won't need to do surgery for that; we'll just need several more X-Rays to get a better lock on the position. And perhaps X-Rays are limited in what they can show, especially in situations like this, but from the position and general shape I can tell you that cancer isn't the most likely answer here. I can't promise you that isn't what it is, but…"

"Then what?" Charles speaks up finally, though softly, and Erik feels badly that he can't push words past his throat yet.

A tumor. In Charles's brain. What…what the hell? Things like this happen to other people. Things like this happen to humans, or those who stay out in the radiation too long like Logan and Kayla did. (Not that he blames Logan any more than anyone else does. He doesn't. He understands the choice they made.)

But this isn't supposed to happen to them. To Charles.

God, if anyone deserves it it isn't Charles.

Not that anyone deserves it.

"We won't know until we can examine a sample from the tumor. If it's benign we should be able to operate and remove at least most of it. If it's cancerous we can do that, but you'll still need treatment. Though with no better imaging systems we won't know until we're in how much we really can remove, but if the tumor is benign removing enough to relieve the pressure may be all that's needed."

And if it isn't benign…

That is what the man isn't saying.

It could come back then. Charles could die.

Charles is nodding slowly, mechanically, and Erik would have slipped his arm around his husband's shoulders but Charles is squeezing the hand he would have to move so tightly Erik is afraid someone's fingers might crack. He settles for reaching across himself with his free hand to grip Charles's shoulder, and when he does Charles blinks and speaks again.

"When?" he asks shortly. "When do we…uhm…the sample…"

The doctor's expression had been as gentle as it could be, but it softens more now. "Not today. Thanks to the position of the tumor we should be able to take the sample in the least invasive way possible—with a needle. It isn't an awful procedure, and we will numb the area, but it's been a long day, and I'm not going to put you through that now. All I need from you now is to let us take the extra X-Rays so we'll be ready tomorrow, which shouldn't take long at all, and you can go home."

Charles starts to shake his head. "But…if you can take the sample today, that's all right. We should do it. We'll know sooner—"

"It's going to take several days to analyze everything thoroughly, especially with what limited resources we have here, unfortunately. Waiting until morning won't make much difference, and you need to go home. You should rest."

He's right. Charles, by now, looks awful even though he'd been resting just before this. And now, at that, Charles finally, finally looks at him, looking for guidance when usually he is perfectly happy to stand on his own two feet, and Erik has to fight the urge to swallow when his throat closes. He nods a bit, and Charles looks back to the doctor.

"All right…"

The doctor takes down the X-Rays, puts them back in the envelope and goes to the door. "I'll have a nurse outside waiting to take you back for the other X-Rays," he says quietly.

He's leaving them alone, to give them time to process everything they've just been told. Erik is thankful for that, but Charles pushes to his feet immediately. "No, it's all right. We'll come now." He tugs on Erik's hand, urging him up with him, but Erik doesn't budge at first.

Charles…

If this is all we've left to have done today, then we ought to have it over with.

Are you sure…? He asks again because Charles's voice, even inwardly, is strained. His expression is tight. And that besides the fact that he looks awful already.

If he isn't going to take the sample today anyhow I would rather be out of here sooner rather than later. I want to go home.

That, Erik cannot argue with. They've been here all day. The afternoon is growing long, and here is not the place to deal with this anyway.

The doctor is looking at them questioningly. "Are you sure?" he asks, echoing Erik's silent question.

"We're sure," Erik says, finally using his voice. Charles nods, and they follow the man from the small room.

He leads them back to where they'd been before, when they took the first X-Rays, and Erik is forced to wait again while they take the rest of the X-Rays that are needed. Charles is reluctant to release his hand when they take him back, and when he comes out Erik offers it again and he quickly takes it. Erik is relatively certain his hand will be bruised tomorrow, but he doesn't care.

The doctor is ready to let them be on their way, but before he turns to go Erik finally manages to speak.

"How?" he asks. "How did this happen?"

The man turns back to them, opens his mouth and closes it again, and pulls them farther away from anyone else in the lobby. "I must admit that this is not the sort of thing that we've seen much of since the war, with most of us remaining being of the mutant sort…"

"That's why I'm asking," Erik presses, bordering on anger.

The doctor looks at them for a long moment, and lets out a breath. "The two of you knew Kayla Silverfox, yes?"

"Yes," Charles says quietly.

"Were you aware of her particular gift?"

Charles is the one to answer this time, too, because Erik isn't following beyond the fact that Kayla is the only other case of anything like this that he can remember since the war.

And he knows how that ended.

"Persuasion…" Charles trails when he answers, and the look on his face is not comforting. It's as if he knows the rest of the conversation already, and because he's Charles he might. He looks sick to his stomach.

"I don't understand," Erik says desperately. And now he does put an arm around Charles, because it seems it really might be needed just to hold him up.

"Her power was very mentally-centered. She had to be touching whomever she was attempting to influence, but that was the only physical aspect of it. Other than that it was entirely mental, and the only real theory we ever had as to why she'd contracted such an aggressive brain cancer even though she was a mutant was that her power, being centered mentally, had directed most of the radiation she absorbed to her brain. No one else that we know of has developed anything like that, or like this, and…"

"My powers are even more mentally centered," Charles whispers. "God…"

"But this is an entirely different situation, Charles. You haven't been overtly exposed to any of the remaining radiation since you were very young. That bodes well. And not even growths triggered by radiation are always cancerous."

"But if it's been that long since he was exposed how could it have been caused by radiation in any way in the first place?" Erik questions.

"Sometimes reactions like this can be delayed by years, or decades—or not be discovered until then. And if the tumor is benign it could have been there for years, or decades, and it's only now large enough to cause symptoms. Some of them can grow quite slowly." The man looks thoughtful for a moment. "That may be the most likely scenario, in fact. It might help to explain why you had such difficulties with pregnancy even in the beginning."

"It could have been there that long?" Charles asks weakly.

"It's possible, if it was growing slowly enough."

"But how would that have affected anything so early on?" Erik asks then.

"I misspoke. It isn't that the tumor would have affected the pregnancies, really; it's more that the pregnancies may have affected the tumor, and then in turn the symptoms from the growing tumor may have made pregnancy more difficult. Before the war research was beginning to suggest that hormones involved with pregnancy can speed the growth of tumors and cancer—particularly those centered in the brain, because it's the brain that releases these hormones."

Charles is quiet again. "What does all that mean?" Erik presses.

The doctor lets out a breath. "I'm sorry if I've confused you. I'm afraid all it really means is that at this point it's hard to say how much of Charles's problems over the years have been due to the destabilization of his secondary mutation, and how much has been due to the tumor. It's even possible that perhaps the presence of the tumor was one of the causes of the breakdown of the secondary mutation. We just don't know."

"Then what the hell do we know?" he all but growls.

"We know that we're going to do everything we can to help him," the doctor says firmly. "You can be sure of that."

His head is spinning when Charles speaks up again, more loudly this time, and the hand that isn't entwined with Erik's reaches up to tug gently at Erik's arm. "Thank you. We'll be back in the morning, " he says, and then he's pulling Erik toward the door more forcefully.

Charles quickly pulls Erik from the infirmary building, just wanting to be out of there himself but sensing, too, the anger building in his husband and the need to remove him from the situation. By the time he has Erik out of the building and into the narrow alley Charles can see that his eyes are damp and wild, and he isn't breathing evenly anymore.

"We've been killing you," Erik gasps. "From the beginning, we—"

"What? 'We' who?"

"Me! Them. Oh god." He leans heavily into the side of the building. "Oh god, Charles, I'm so sorry. They decided it was all right to let you die the moment they decided to pair you with me and I just went along with it. I—"

He grips Erik's arms and shakes him a bit. "Stop it, Erik! You couldn't have known, and neither could they. No one knew. No one could have. And you heard the things he said, didn't you? This doesn't mean anything. This doesn't mean that—that I'm going to die, and it certainly does not mean that it is anyone's fault even if I do."

His voice is thick, but he refuses to give in to panic. There is nothing to panic about. Not yet. Not if they can fix it. Not if whatever this is can removed and stay away after that. Everything could still be just fine.

As long as it isn't cancer.

But it could be.

Oh god don't lose it, don't lose it, don't lose it…

Erik shakes his head stubbornly and refuses to look up. "No. It's my fault. I could have protested; I could have protected you…but I just did what they asked. I married you, I—I got you pregnant. Half a dozen times. It's my fault, Charles! I've been doing this to you! If he's right I've only been making it worse."

"No, if it was anything it was hormones from the pregnancies. You heard him."

"But I caused those pregnancies."

"God, Erik, you were hardly alone in that venture."

"I didn't say no when they didn't stop asking! Maybe if you hadn't had so many children, or…I don't know. I—"

"Erik, stop!" Charles all but shouts, and really shakes him now. He can't listen to any more of this. It isn't helping his effort to not-panic. "Those pregnancies brought us seven beautiful, wonderful children, and I would not have it any other way. Who would we have left out? Sean and Alex? Ororo? Hank? Well?"

Erik is silent now, but there are tears on his cheeks, and they're both quiet for a long time. Erik looks at him finally, and reaches to pull Charles into his arms and hold him close and tightly. Charles relaxes into the embrace, face buried in his husband's shoulder, and though it's really only been maybe an hour since the doctor brought them into that little room and turned everything in their world on its head it seems like forever since he's relaxed at all. Still, when he feels tears of his own welling to the surface he squeezes his eyes shut and forces them back.

Now isn't the time. They have to go home.

"I don't want to lose you," Erik whispers at length. "I just found you."

"I feel rather the same," Charles answers quietly.

There's more silence, but it doesn't matter. They're here, together, in each other's arms right now, and that's enough for this moment. It has to be, because apparently now is all that's certain anymore.

Chapter Text

Now

"What are we going to tell the children?"

They are walking slowly towards home, but Erik's sudden question slows him even more, almost to a standstill.

"I don't know," he admits. "Part of me would rather not say anything until we know for sure what…well…"

Erik nods a bit, frowning, and his arm around Charles's waist tightens minutely. "But you're not sure if that's…right."

"Essentially."

"I wish I knew how to answer that."

"I know," Charles sighs. He shakes his head. "I just don't want them to worry too much until we do know, and certainly if it turns out to be the lesser of two evils and they needn't have worried anyhow."

"Maybe. But you know we won't have to tell Jean. She'll know. She probably already knows."

Charles frowns. "She knows she isn't supposed to intrude—"

"She does it anyway, even if it's not on purpose. And she's so connected to you, Charles; you're her mother. You haven't been able to hide anything from her since she was eight."

He huffs, but he knows Erik is right. And now the house is looming closer—not that it can loom much, as small as it is—and he can feel Jean sense them coming. He can sense, too, how upset she is, and he knows Erik was right in his first assertion, as well.

They won't have to tell Jean. She knows.

They're closer now, and Charles exchanges a glance with his husband, letting him know so before the front door bursts open. At his silent request Erik lets him go, and there is a blur of red hair and freckled skin and then Charles's own arms are full of his oldest daughter, who is taller than he is now.

"Mom!"

It's almost a sob, and Jean's arms are tight around him and the impact left his head ringing in pain but that part doesn't matter right now.

"Oh! Oh, Jean…" He holds her tightly and swallows. "What have I told you?"

"I didn't mean to! But you were both so upset and I couldn't just not—I had to know what was wrong, I—"

"Shh, it's all right. It will be all right."

Or he hopes so. God, he hopes so.

Over Jean's shoulder he sees Ororo in the doorway, Bobby and Kitty peaking around her legs. Ororo looks lost, and the twins are clearly frightened. Erik doesn't need anyone to tell him to go to them. He responds to Kitty's outstretched arms and picks her up, and wraps his other arm around Ororo's shoulders. Bobby clutches at his leg and Erik gently pulls them all back into the house and shuts the door to leave Charles and Jean alone.

"I didn't say anything," Jean mumbles against his shoulder. "I didn't know what you wanted to do…"

"I know. Thank you. Though I suppose it's only right and fair to tell the others the truth now, but for Bobby and Kitty. They're too young to understand…" She's quiet, and he pulls her away just enough that she'll look at him. "Jean?"

She lets go with one hand to swipe at her face stubbornly, making a frustrated sound when more tears slip free, and her thoughts are loud and clear even if she doesn't want them to be. No no no it'll be fine nothing to cry about right now we don't know for sure it'll be fine it will it will Mom will be fine, damnit!

Charles smiles as reassuringly as he can, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses her forehead.

He doesn't say it'll be all right again. He shouldn't have said that. Despite her thoughts, she knows he can't promise that. He can feel it—knows it's why the tears are there.

Jean tugs herself close again, hunching to bury her face in his chest the way she hasn't been able to do properly in years, since her growth spurt. Charles just holds her.

I love you, he tells her.

I love you, too, Mom.

Erik brings the other children inside and sits at the table with Kitty in his lap, and once he's sitting down Bobby climbs onto his other knee. Ororo is standing stiffly by the table, arms crossed, looking anxiously toward the closed front door.

"What's going on? Something's wrong; I know something's wrong," she insists. "Jean's been all quiet since this morning and she wouldn't tell me anything, and she completely freaked out about an hour ago. What—"

"Wait until they come inside," Erik says apologetically. He tries to make it as reassuring as he's able, but he's not sure how well he succeeds.

It isn't long, before the door opens again. Jean comes in first and goes to her sister's side, and Charles is already speaking to Erik.

We have to be honest with them. It's the only thing that's fair to them. Besides the twins, they're all quite old enough for the truth, and they deserve it. He certainly does not sound thrilled about it, and neither is Erik, but he's also knows it's true.

You're right.

I'll have to call the others…but Ororo is here, and she's frightened enough already. If you'll take Kitty and Bobby upstairs, I…

I can tell her. You can take them.

Charles pauses by the girls, his eyes narrowing a bit in concern. Are you sure?

He nods a bit. Go on.

And there is relief on Charles's face, though he probably doesn't mean for it to show. He covers it by looking down at the twins, by holding his hands out to them and drawing them from Erik's lap to their feet.

"Mommy?" Kitty asks.

Bobby is just staring.

"It's all right," Charles says. "Lets go upstairs. I'll play with you."

Thank you, Charles thinks, as he follows them up.

It's the least Erik can do. When the others are here later Charles will not be able to hide, and they both know it.

"Dad?" Ororo questions. "What?"

There are only four beds upstairs now, just the ones that are needed. The others have long since been removed to make more room for the twins to play, but Charles can remember a time when there were seven. In the two or three years after Ororo was born, and before Raven and Moira left the house, it was the two of them and the five older children. All seven of them, with barely enough room for the beds in two facing rows and all of the shelves moved to the end of the single large room to make enough space.

It was crowded, the most crowded this house had ever been, but, Charles thinks, those were the best years of his life. The happiest. Except for the last six weeks. In those years there was always someone to take care of, someone to teach, someone to make him laugh. He couldn't turn around without a child underfoot, and though it was annoying at the time he misses it now.

Bobby and Kitty are a blessing, in that regard. Perhaps Jean and Ororo will not be living here for much longer, but it will be another decade before the twins even think about going anywhere.

Charles used to wonder what life would be like after that. When all of the children were grown. Now, he knows, he will have Erik.

If he lives that long.

Bobby asks him why he stopped playing, and Charles shakes his head and smiles. "I'm sorry. Just thinking."

"Bout what?"

Kitty is across the room sifting through her toys, but Bobby is close enough to be grabbed and Charles snatches him playful and pulls the boy into his lap, under the guise of tickling him but really just because he wants him closer.

"About how much I love you."

He has to live that long.

There is pounding on the stairs a moment later, and Charles doesn't have time to look back before there are thin arms around his neck and shoulders from behind. Soft white hair brushes his cheek. Bobby is still in his lap, and Kitty doesn't know what's going on—she doesn't see that Ororo is upset. All the six year old sees when she looks back is a group hug, and she runs to them and joins in enthusiastically, giggling and latching onto her mother and older sister both from one side.

Charles reaches up to close a hand around one of Ororo's, and he knows he isn't going anywhere without a fight.

Twenty-Five Years Ago

It has been a little more than five months since Charles and Raven came here, to this new city. Since they made their home here, with Erik.

Since Charles married Erik.

It still scares him sometimes, this concept of being married. But Erik is kind, as always, if still rather aloof, and that makes it easier not to…well…panic, thinking of the future and worrying over whether or not he'll conceive, whether or not they'll make good parents, all of it.

They've fallen into something of a rhythm. Today, however, it is rather clear that the usual order of things—Erik off to work and Charles and Raven here, cleaning when it's needed; cooking dinner together later so that Charles can continue to learn; together before sleep at night, if it's one of the two or three nights a week they've settle on—is going to be disrupted today. Charles wakes sensing quite a bit of discomfort from Erik, and it isn't hard to pinpoint what it is. He has a fever, is coughing and more, and Charles refuses to allow him to set foot outside the house; the early spring isn't warm enough to risk it, yet.

"You don't want to make it worse, do you?" he questions. He gently pushes Erik back against the pillows when he moves, and he must feel awful because he goes—not quite willingly, but he does lie down again. And he is the first of them to be ill since they were married, so he can't know for certain, but Charles is rather sure that Erik does not seem the type to let something like a horrid cold stop him.

"I'm not supposed to be sick at all," Erik grumbles. "I don't get sick."

"Everyone gets sick at times."

"We're mutants."

"Yes, and we also live on a post-apocalyptic, mostly-irradiated planet. I think 'anything can happen' is a bit of an understatement."

Erik opens his mouth as if to answer, but coughs instead, for a good twenty seconds or so. He grimaces, and rubs at his throat.

"Sore?"

He nods reluctantly.

"All right…well…stay there. Don't get out of bed. I'm sure you've taught me enough by now that I can make soup that is at least edible. Do you need anything else now? Water, perhaps?"

Erik just looks at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide if he's serious.

"What?" Charles asks.

Erik clears his throat a bit, winces again, and says, "Water would be appreciated…"

Charles smiles. "Right." He goes and comes back with a glass, and Erik takes it with a silent nod of thanks. Later in the morning Charles has cooked a pot of soup. By then Erik is worse anyway, despite having stayed in bed to rest, and Charles supposes it will just have to run its course.

He's a bit concerned, though; by now Erik's sneezes are shaking every piece of metal in the house. It frightened Raven enough that he brought Raven down to the Summers's house and asked them to keep her for the day. Perhaps, he hopes, the soup will help.

Erik has managed to sleep on and off—Charles knows because he's kept tabs on him, telepathically, just to know how he's doing—but he's awake now, and Charles bring a bowl of the soup in and perches lightly on the edge of the bed.

"Erik?"

Charles can sense that he is awake, but he curled on his side, facing the other direction at the moment.

"Erik, do you want to try this? The soup is done. As long as it doesn't taste too incredibly awful it may help…"

Erik rolls over sluggishly and pulls himself up to a sitting position against the headboard, and he looks even more awful now than he did this morning, but he raises an eyebrow in amusement. "I'm sure it tastes fine," he drawls tiredly. His voice is rough from coughing.

"How are you feeling? Not any better then?"

Charles holds out the bowl, and Erik takes it and shrugs. He looks as if he's about to pick up the spoon, but then he pauses and just stares at the soup for a moment.

"What is it? Is there something wrong with it?"

Erik shakes his head, not looking up. "No…like I said, I'm sure it's fine."

"Then…what?"

It takes a few more long seconds before he looks up. "You don't have to be doing this, you know."

"Doing what?"

Erik shifts uncomfortably, eyes falling away again, and it's really one of very few times that Charles has seen him seem anything less than confident. "Taking care of me," he says.

"Don't I? 'In sickness and in health,' yes? That was still in there, wasn't it?"

Erik lets out a breath. "I know…we have to be here. There are things we have to do, but…if you don't want to—"

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't mind at all. And I'm already here anyhow, and if I didn't take care of you, who would?"

Erik shrugs. "I always took care of myself before."

Charles blinks, and then smiles softly. "Then I'm glad I'm here to do it now. I suppose you're due for a bit of care." He stands. "Besides that, I think you would do the same for me."

He goes, leaving Erik in bed with the soup, and a moment later there's a quiet thought in his mind—the first time Erik has ever thought something to him purposely; has ever chosen specifically to use that more intimate form of communication.

It is good. The soup. Thank you.

Charles stops in the kitchen and smiles to himself. You're welcome.

All is quiet for a while, until another thought comes from the bedroom intended for Charles to hear it.

And I would…do the same for you.

I know.

Now

It's late, and Charles contacts everyone and asks them all to come the next afternoon, instead. They still plan to tell the rest of their family the truth, but one night doesn't seem like too much to ask. Erik and Charles are exhausted, and when the twins are asleep and Jean and Ororo have retreated upstairs for the night as well they drop into bed, barely remembering to change clothes.

Charles curls into Erik's arms the way he has every night since that day six weeks ago when everything changed. They don't say anything; they just sleep.

Erik wakes halfway through the night though, startling himself out of a nightmare. His arms tighten instinctively, but just like the morning before there is nothing in them. He sits up quickly, afraid that Charles is in pain again, but though his husband is facing away from him he isn't holding his head.

He isn't asleep, either.

"Charles?"

Charles glances briefly over his shoulder. "I'm all right…just can't stay asleep. You can't, either?"

Erik shakes his head, and shifts over, and Charles pushes back until they meet in the middle and Erik has his arms around his husband again. They stay that way, quiet, for what seems like quite a long time, but with Charles's shoulder under his chin Erik isn't complaining. Charles's back is warm, pressed against him, and it's a reminder that, right now, he's still here.

Charles holds the arms that are around him, fingers absently tracing circles over Erik's skin. It isn't something new. What concerns Erik is when he slowly stops and tightens his hold.

"Charles?" he whispers again.

Charles's voice is thick when he answers.

"Is this what we get?" he asks weakly. "Is this…are we being punished? For being so damned oblivious all of these years? God, and I was worse than you. I—"

"What? No…that's ridiculous." Erik aims a soft kiss under his ear. "If it can't be my fault then you can't make it your fault either."

Charles turns over in his arms and presses close again, and Erik sees the tears now—the ones he held back all day. They aren't easy to see, in the darkness, but he can feel them, too, now, warm and damp as they soak into his thin sleep shirt. Erik holds him, and Charles doesn't make a sound but he's shuddering now.

"Charles, god…Charles…I'm right here," Erik says helplessly. "I'm right here." He doesn't know what else he can say. He doesn't know what he can do but keep Charles as close as he can be without the two of them sharing the same skin.

It takes time before Charles can say anything, and when he can he chokes it out, face still pressed into Erik's chest.

"Erik, I'm—I'm scared," he admits brokenly. "Oh god, I'm so afraid…"

Erik sobs quietly and presses his lips to his husband's hair. "Charles…"

"I-I don't—I don't want to leave. I can't leave. The children—I can't leave. I have to know they'll be happy; I have to—to be here for them. I don't want to leave them. I don't want to leave you. I have to—"

"Shhh…stop it. Don't—don't think like that. You'll be fine." Gently he brings a hand up from holding on to tilt Charles's face up, to look at him.

"You can't promise me that," Charles whispers.

Erik swallows hard and lets out an unsteady breath. "Fine…but I can promise you that I'm not letting you go that easy. I'm going to be here. I'm going to take care of you…" He aches, thinking of Charles not here with him.

"I know you will," Charles answers quietly.

He's still shivering a little, from the aftershocks of the sobs he kept silent. Erik rubs his arms to warm him, hoping it will help with that, too. It seems to, and when he's calmed more Erik dries his cheeks and kisses him. Charles responds eagerly, needy, and after a moment their lips part and Charles smiles a bit. It looks a bit pathetic, with red rings still round his eyes, but it only makes Erik want to pull him closer again.

"You want me," Charles says.

Erik blinks in confusion. "You've known that for weeks."

"I mean right now," he corrects, eyebrow up.

Erik colors a bit, because it's true, because right now he would feel much better if he cold have any even more tangible proof that Charles is still with him.

"I…it doesn't matter. You need rest."

Charles presses up to flutter kisses over his jaw. "It's all right."

"No, I—" But he's arching his neck, wanting Charles's lips, wanting more. Part of him needs this so badly. Right now. After the day they had, after the news they had, he needs something to be good. He needs Charles. He felt it before they slept, but he wasn't selfish enough to ask.

"It's not selfish," Charles murmurs. "It's all right. You can have what you want..."

"But..."

Charles is nuzzling his ear now, his neck so close. Erik gives in to kissing his husband's throat, at least, and up to his cheek and then he claims his mouth again.

"Are you sure about this?" Erik asks breathlessly. "I mean, now? I don't want to be—"

"Taking advantage? You aren't. It isn't only you…I think we're rather of the same mind at the moment." I need you. "I" need to know I'm here.

Erik groans at the thought sent to him, at what Charles is telling him, and pulls Charles closer until their bodies crush together and he gasps. There isn't any denying anymore that they both want this now, and Charles makes a low needy sound until Erik rocks against him again and kisses him.

It's several minutes until they realize that they're near to having it over with, just like that, and Charles puts a stop to it with a sharp thought and sudden inches of distance. No, Erik I NEED you. And he rolls back and tugs Erik on top of him.

Chapter Text

Now

Charles is the first one awake the next morning—even the children are all still asleep, he knows—and at first he doesn't move. He and Erik are still naked, wrapped in each others' arms, and he lets his head rest against his husband's chest and listens to Erik's heartbeat. Though there isn't any logical reason for it to, considering that Erik is not the one whose life is in danger, it still calms him.

Last night was quite enough to let him know he is still here right now, but the steady beating and the warmth by his ear reinforces everything that last night assured him of.

When Charles gets up he does it reluctantly, but he needs a bath and once the children are up there won't be time for it.

And then, of course, the rest of the family will be here later, once they've come back from the infirmary again.

Erik is awake by the time he's pumped enough water for a bath, and there is barely enough room in the tub for the both of them, but in the past six weeks they've learned to make it work. They climb in together, and they said what needed to be said last night and they don't speak much now. Charles's head is paining him more by then, and he closes his eyes and lets Erik do most of the work of washing the both of them. Erik's hands on him are gentle and soothing, but something about the touch is somehow possessive and urgent at the same time. Afraid.

Charles understands that completely.

The rest of the morning is something of a blur—the trip to the infirmary included, because he doesn't particularly want to remember the simple but uncomfortable procedure of taking the sample for the biopsy. It wasn't precisely painful, thanks to the local anesthetic, but having a needle inserted through his skull was disconcerting and not quite his idea of a good time.

But Erik was there. Funny, how that makes everything better now. Though now that he thinks about it, it always did before, too. He just lets himself admit it now, that things are the way they should be between them.

Charles is glad that they didn't run into Hank at the infirmary, and more glad that they didn't yesterday. He wouldn't have been ready to face anyone else; Jean and Ororo knowing is hard enough, and he is more than anxious about this afternoon.

Hank works at the infirmary now, training with one of the other doctors because there are, of course, no medical schools anymore. Quite a lot of that goes on in the settlements. It isn't quite a reversion to apprenticeship; it's simply the only way the young people can be trained now. There isn't a large enough population to re-establish universities just yet, and travel between settlements is scarce enough to make that idea even more impractical.

But they didn't see Hank yesterday, and they didn't today, and Charles is just beginning to think they'll have a few hours of peace before the other children arrive later in the evening. But as they near the house he knows Raven is waiting for them, having been too concerned to wait until Hank was home to come.

Ororo and Kurt are at school and Jean is upstairs with the twins; Raven is alone at the table when Charles and Erik come in. She stands up immediately, though slowly, looking at Charles in the way he knows by now to mean that she knows something is wrong.

"Where have you two been? What's going on?"

You didn't warn me, Erik tells him silently.

I'm sorry…I was trying to figure out how to tell her. It would be a bit cruel to make her wait now that she's here.

Erik squeezes his hand briefly, before Charles goes to her and brings her into the bedroom where he can speak with her alone.

It isn't easy, explaining it himself for the first time—certainly since he can't offer any more assurances than the doctor gave them. And Raven just looks at him, and he wonders if she's heard anything he's said at all but then her arms are around him so tightly he can't move.

It's awkward and half from the side, because at nearly eight months along her belly would come between them otherwise, but Charles doesn't mind. Raven just holds onto him, not knowing what to say, and that's all right too because he doesn't know, either.

"You'll be fine," she says finally, muffled a bit in his shoulder. "You have to be."

"I appreciate the sentiment," he answers weakly.

It's a little longer before she pulls back and looks at him. "How are you doing? I mean…"

"All right under the circumstances, I suppose. Other than that it's rather hard to say."

"Is there anything I can do…?"

He shakes his head. "No…" She looks a little unsteady and he nudges her back toward the edge of the bed. "Sit down…"

Raven listens to him for once, holding onto his arms tightly as she lowers herself to sit, and for several long seconds she doesn't seem quite able to breath. A delayed reaction, Charles supposes, but it worries him, and he calls her name until she looks at him again.

She gives the arm she was holding onto a squeeze. "Sorry…I just…god, are you trying to send me into labor early?"

"That wasn't the goal, no," he says, raising an eyebrow as he sits beside her.

She does her best to smile, and then looks down at her belly and lets her free hand rest there. "You do have stick around, you know," she says quietly. "This is your first grandkid in here, after all."

"Don't remind me," he chuckles softly. "And how is Hank doing? I've meant to check up on him, but I must admit I've been rather…distracted, lately."

Raven's smile is less forced this time, because she knows what he means. "He's fine. Though the fact that I've done this before and I'm not freaking out is probably helping."

Charles remembers, then, to explain the rest—the one bit of good news they got yesterday—and Raven is nodding in understanding.

"I guess it's good you won't have to worry about that anymore." She sits back and sighs. "It's kind of sad though; we never got to be pregnant together."

The laugh this time more easily, and Charles shakes his head at her. "You sometimes have the strangest thoughts."

"It's what I do."

Charles hugs her again, him the one to hold on for quite a while this round, and she doesn't protest.

It gets him through the rest of the day, having Raven there too, and having her at his other side when the others gather in the house later. They know this is serious, even if they know nothing else yet, and it shows on their faces even though most of them try to hide it. Erik is beside him, too, when they tell them. He doesn't leave it to his husband entirely, but he does let Erik do the bulk of the talking. Not because it's easier, but because Erik has always been better at sounding strong, and that is what they need right now.

All of them are upset. Of course they are. Hank wants to know why they didn't find him when they were in the infirmary anyway. They all want to know how long it will take to know what the tumor is for certain. Charles and Erik don't know that; not even Hank is sure.

Hank and Sean are quiet. Alex looks like he wants to punch something. Moira is somewhere in the middle. Kurt holds his mother's hand—an oddity for the rambunctious preteen—and stands wide-eyed. Ororo is upstairs with the twins. Jean, after watching the two younger children all day, finally has a break. She is downstairs with the rest of them, hugging her arms around her chest while her parents explain the new situation, but soon after hugs Charles and goes out to find Scott. Charles understands; she is still young, still learning to fully control the telepathy that is only a secondary mutation for her, and the charged emotions in the house are too much right now.

It's almost too much for Charles. Too many arms around him, so much worry at once, and concern, and anger and frustration too. Soon enough his head is pounding more fiercely then normal and they notice. They realize he's in pain and then they're too careful—handling him more gently, speaking more softly—and the emotions only double over on themselves and rather than help it makes it worse.

He doesn't want to ask them to leave. He wants them to be here. He wants to see them, and outwardly they're doing a wonderful job of handling this, but it's what's in their minds that presses at him—that he can't get away from.

"Charles?" Erik, at his elbow, an arm around his waist to steady him because he's bent over almost completely and he didn't realize it.

"I'm…" He wants to say 'all right' but he isn't. He tries to straighten again but he's too dizzy to do it.

"You're not okay." It's Hank's voice, and there's another hand on one of his arms now. "You should lie down."

It's the last thing Charles remembers before he wakes up on the floor in Erik's arms, with Raven hold one of his hands and Hank trying to keep everyone else from crowding.

"Is there anything else we can do?" Erik is asking worriedly.

"Not really," Hank answers. "Tumors in the brain can cause things like this sometimes, I think, like seizures and blackouts, or it may be his powers are more sensitive right now. It could be us…"

"Should we leave for now…?" Moira asks.
"No…" Charles clears his throat and tries again, a bit louder. "No."

They all look at him, finally realizing he's awake. A chorus of voices, asking if he's all right, but Hank once again takes the initiative to wave them into silence.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to frighten all of you."

Erik smooths his rumpled hair back and holds on a little tighter. "You couldn't help it."

Hank frowns. "It was probably all of us anyway, wasn't it?"

"Not all of it…" But they aren't buying that, and Charles lets out a breath. "It's better now."

"It would still be best of you got into bed though."

Erik nods in agreement with their son, and Charles wants to protest.

"But—" He still doesn't want them to leave.

"You need to rest, Charles," Erik says, firmly now.

"They're right," Raven adds.

"We'll be back tomorrow," Alex says quickly, seeming to be the first to pick up on the reason for his mother's protesting. But there's something else there, too, that Charles senses, and he isn't certain what it is but he knows that Alex needs to talk to him.

"Not all at once," Hank says in response to that.

Charles frowns. "No, it's all right, it was just the initial…I'm all right now. They can all be here whenever they please; it's fine."

"You're sure?"

Charles nods a bit, forgetting not to wince, and Hank looks skeptical but he doesn't counter, and he sighs.

"All right…"

Erik moves as if to pick him up, but Charles resists. "I can stand up; just help me," he grumbles. Raven releases his hand, and Hank helps her back to her feet before turning back to help Erik get Charles up. When he's up he leans toward the table instead of the bedroom door, and he knows Erik, Raven, and Hank, at the least, are going to complain when he takes an unsteady step for the nearest chair. "I'll lie down once everyone's gone home," he tells them stubbornly.

He knows that Erik and Hank are exchanging frustrated glances over his head, but they help him to the table anyway. They know he won't take no for an answer. Once he's sitting down everyone moves in to say good night for the evening, and he smiles at them because he loves them and because he doesn't want them to worry any more than they will anyway.

Sean and Moira leave together, Hank leaves with Raven and Kurt, and Alex is last but Charles doesn't let him leave.

"Alex, wait…what's wrong?" He can still feel it—something else pressuring the back of his son's mind—and Charles knows he won't sleep at all if he doesn't know what's bothering him.

Erik…would you mind going upstairs for now, perhaps? There is hesitation. I'm fine now. And I need to speak to Alex. I promise that I will go directly to bed afterwards.

A bit of an uncertain chuckle in his mind, and Erik silently agrees and retreats upstairs. Alex is hovering near the table.

"Alex?" Charles asks again.

The young man shrugs. "I uh…I mean, it's nothing. Or not…nothing, but I mean compared to this…" He lets out a breath, rubbing at the back of his neck anxiously. "Nevermind. I'll figure it out. You have enough to deal with right now…"

Charles's eyebrows go up. "Perhaps that's true, but it doesn't mean I don't have time for you, Alex. I will always have time for you. Any of you. Now are you going to tell me what's the matter, or do I need to find out for myself? Sit down."

Alex still hesitates, but he takes the chair across the corner of the table, the closest one, and stares at the floor.

"You ought to know by now that you can tell me anything," Charles tells him gently. He's squinting a bit; his head still hurts, though it truly isn't as bad as it was before. He didn't lie to anyone. Compared to before he passed out, he's fine.

It's still several long moments before Alex says anything, and when he does it isn't what Charles expected at all. He doesn't know what he did expect, but it wasn't anything like this.

"They paired me." It's barely audible.

Charles blinks. "They…what?" He isn't sure he heard that correctly. With the system a bit backed up it's been long overdue, for both Sean and Alex, but Charles had hoped they would have a solution before it happened.

"I found out yesterday. They paired me. Not Sean yet…just me."

At first Charles can only look at him, because he knows now that there isn't anything wrong with his ears. "Who?" he asks quietly, because the irrationally hopeful part of him hopes it's someone Alex can care about, but the look on his son's face doesn't give him much cause for that hope.

Alex makes a face. "That's the problem. It's Angel. She's hated me since we were in school. I mean, okay, sure, I sat behind her and I pulled her hair a lot and picked at her wings when she couldn't kept them in, but I was like eight years old! I apologized later. I grew up; she didn't." He shakes his head. "I talked to her after they told us…she kind of made it clear in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of ever marrying me. Not that I was surprised."

"Oh, Alex…"

This is what he's feared from the beginning. This is what he has never wanted for any of his children—trapped in the sort of toxic marriage he's seen too much of here, or forced to produce children with someone they can't stand. Anything of the like.

"What am I supposed to do?" Alex questions, almost desperately.

Though they both know there isn't really an answer to that. He'll do what he's required to do, because the punishment otherwise is expulsion from the cities. None of the settlements that participate in the pairing system will take in anyone who is exiled for non-cooperation, and every settlement on their island of what used to be a country is part of it. No one knows much of what lies beyond, and it isn't plausible to get there anyhow.

After being matched, couples now have three months to come to a decision between themselves—to marry or not to, and other arrangements—before they're required to begin attempting to conceive. Alex has 89 days.

They trade this part of their freedom for protection, for somewhere to live and belong in this otherwise barren world.

Charles has long since wondered how worth it it really is.

He takes a deep breath, trying to give himself a moment more to figure out what on earth to say when he is just as upset.

"Beyond what you must…I suppose all you can do, really, is be kind to her, Alex. It's how your father won me over, after all. And it didn't take long. Granted, I didn't have any predisposition against him and we were married and living under the same roof, but…who's to say it can't still work? It may take longer, but you always have the option of marrying later." He shakes his head helplessly. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I wish there were more I could say."

Alex shrugs dejectedly. "I know there really isn't anything else to it. And maybe I should be talking to Dad—I'll have to talk to him anyway, eventually—but after I found out I kind of just wanted to talk to you."

If Charles knows anything, he knows that hearing such an admission from a young man Alex's age is something indeed.

"Why didn't you come sooner?"

"I wanted to come yesterday, but then you contacted us all and told us to come here this afternoon, and it sounded pretty serious, and I didn't want to bother you…and now this…"

Charles reaches across the corner of table between them and closes a hand over Alex's arm. "Maybe this is serious—what's happening just now, with me—but I never want you to feel like you can't talk me. Even if—" He falters momentarily, over what he means to say. "Even if this doesn't go the way we want it to…" He swallows. "I plan to be here for all of you in any way I can, until I can't anymore. You understand?"

Alex looks at him for a moment, a bit wide-eyed, before he looks down again and nods. "Yeah…" he says roughly.

And besides being here as long as he can manage, Charles doesn't plan to sit by quietly anymore.

Certainly if fixing this is the last thing he'll ever do.

He tells his husband as much, once Alex has left and Erik has come back downstairs they've both crawled into bed for the night. Erik is livid, of course, over what they've done to Alex, though it's happened to so many others over the years since the system began. He's angry, too, that they had no warning.

"Usually with what position I do have I hear about things like that one way or another beforehand—that's how I was able to help in Hank and Raven's case—but I never heard a word about Alex or the girl. It's almost like they made sure I didn't know, which I would believe," Erik growls.

"You think someone doesn't want you meddling in the assignment department's affairs again," Charles assesses flatly.

"That's exactly what I think."

But as touchy as the subject is, it's easier than talking about the next week of their lives, and what will happen after. It's easier than remembering that tomorrow begins the waiting, and that after the waiting comes the answer they're not sure they want to know.

"We have to find out who really makes the decisions," Charles muses. "Not the Council."

The Council that Erik is a small part of makes decisions within the city—schools, security, economy, building decisions, and anything else. The assignment department pairs, and makes adjustments to the rules by which matched pairs must operate, which the Council also votes on. Erik, as a minor, or junior member of the Council, but not an elder, can vote, but for him and the other junior members their votes only carry half as much weight as the votes of the elders. Erik has a bit more influence in general than most other junior members, because his powers are so valuable to the city, but that doesn't affect the strength of his vote.

But what no one knows is whose idea the pairing system was born of. No one knows who dictated its existence, or possibly continues to. Supposedly the Council could vote it down here, but that would not help the other cities that have their own Councils. And attempting to influence the Council here in that way has not done much good as of yet.

They need a larger movement—more people to stand up to protest. Or they need to find out if there is another power. Some person or group over all of the settlements. There must be, but if that information exists only the elders know it.

"You're right," Erik sighs. "Trying to do anything here…we could still try, but I don't know if we'd get anywhere. Everyone is too afraid of being tossed outside the walls for good. If there is anything higher, I guess that's where we have to go."

Charles nods in agreement against his husband's chest. Nothing else is going to happen tonight, but Erik is holding him closely.

"I don't plan to go anywhere until we've solved this, you know," he says quietly.

"You'd better not."

"But if something happens…"

"Don't. Not tonight, Charles. Please—"

Charles bites his lip at the pain in Erik's voice, but he pushes up to look him in the eyes. "No, I'm sorry; I need you to listen to me. I need you to promise me that if this goes badly…" He makes a vague motion toward his head. "If I'm not here I need to know you'll see this through. Do anything you can. Don't let them take our children's futures from them. Don't let them do it to anyone else. Promise me."

Erik's hand brushes across his cheek, lingering there. "I promise." And Charles doesn't have to read any part of his mind to know that he means it.

When Erik tugs him back for a kiss before stealing him close again, Charles goes willingly. "Get some sleep now," he says into Charles's hair.

And in Erik's arms, he's able to.

Chapter Text

Now

Erik isn't expected at work all week, but two days later a trip to the market is necessary and he goes. Charles takes the opportunity to actually do something; he doesn't mind the attention, and Erik's constant closeness, but his husband won't let him lift a finger. It's worse than any of the pregnancies, but in this situation he doesn't have the heart to say anything or to worry Erik unnecessarily, so he's acquiesced.

But what Erik doesn't know won't hurt him.

His head doesn't bother him too awfully much, and Erik is gone long enough that Charles is able to wash clothes. He's hanging them on the lines in the garden at the back of the house when Jean comes home. She is well past the point of needing to tell them exactly where she goes at all times, so he isn't sure whether she's been watching someone's children or seeing Scott.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demands, hands on hips.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "And language, please."

She could protest more—he can see it on the tip of her tongue—but she doesn't. Instead Jean just shakes her head and comes to help him.

"Have you found someone to room with when you move into town this summer?" he asks after too long a stretch of silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, and he'd been enjoying it, but Charles is all too aware now that his time with his children might be limited.

Jean shrugs. "Not really. There really aren't any girls in my year I'd care to live with…"

"You'll have to find someone you can get along with, or they'll choose for you. You know the boarding houses and apartments are too crowded for private rooms now," he reminds her.

"I know, but…I mean, do I have to leave home now? Pretty much everybody does it when they're eighteen, but there's no rule or anything…"

Charles pauses and looks at her, but she won't look at him. "Jean, you've been looking forward to moving for months." She's certainly mentioned it often enough. She has no problem with home but that it's a bit crowded.

She shrugs, still not looking at him, hanging another piece of clothing. "I know that too. I have been. I mean I was. But it's really not that big of a deal, and there's no one I want to room with anyway. I figure I can just wait until next year, and then Ororo and I can get a room together like Sean and Alex did and then, you know…I'll be here…"

He suspected that was where this was going, and he's sure now. He sighs. "I know what you're doing. You don't need to do that."

"Well I want to, okay?" She looks at him now, eyes stubbornly damp, but she blinks away the moisture and swallows, and goes back to hanging clothes. It doesn't mean anything, she thinks, because she's afraid now that she won't be able to speak without crying. It doesn't mean I think anything is going to…to happen to you. You'll be fine. It'll be fine. They're going to get that stupid thing out of you, and you'll need someone to help around here after your surgery, while Dad's at work, cause he can't stay home forever…

Every instinct Charles has wants him to pull his daughter into his arms, but he knows that would be too much for her right now. She really would cry. Instead he catches her hand for a moment and squeezes, and she gives him a weak smile.

Thank you, he tells her silently. He doesn't want her to do anything she doesn't want to do, but the idea that she'll be at home longer really does makes him feel better.

If all else fails, at least she'll be here to keep Erik together.

If anything happens.

But Charles quickly shuts that thought away.

They're quiet after that, hanging the clothes, Bobby and Kitty running in and out of the house and around them before disappearing upstairs again, and at some point Ororo arrives home from school and joins them. Charles stops eventually, and lets them finish, watching them.

They're both so grown now—beautiful, intelligent, confident young women. They've both turned out so wonderfully, and sometimes he can't quite figure out how that happened. He certainly doesn't credit himself.

"Mom?"

Jean senses something from him. He scolds himself inwardly for not shielding better, but then again that would be something like lying. "Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..."

But both of them are looking at him now.

Rather than her usual annoyed or cocky yeah-uh-huh-you-know-you-can't-hide-things-from-me face, the look Jean gives him now is soft. "What is it?" she asks gently. Though it's still insistent enough that he knows she sensed enough that he won't get out of this one.

"Are you okay?" Ororo asks.

Charles shrugs helplessly, and he doesn't know how to put it into words. Or he does, but he doesn't want to say them.

Insecurities held for two decades don't wish to reveal themselves easily.

"I uhm…" He clears his throat, and he blinks, but he can't stall forever. "It's just…sometimes I wonder if you feel cheated."

"Cheated?" Ororo echoes in confusion. Jean only frowns.

"Because you never had a real mother."

For a moment they just stare at him, and suddenly he's afraid that the things he's feared at times over the years are all true.

Then Jean lets out a heavy breath. "Are you kidding me? Is that all? God, Mom, don't scare me like that. For a minute there I thought there was a real issue."

"I'm serious."

"And so am I. Why would we feel cheated? We have a real mother."

"A better one than a lot of people we know," Ororo points out. "Why would you ever think—?"

"But I'm not—I'm not a woman."

"So?" Jean questions.

"There have been so many things I've never been able to help you with—things I couldn't understand because I'm not…"

"We had Raven for that stuff, and really the things we absolutely had to go to her for have been pretty small. Next argument?"

Charles lets out a breath of his own and looks at them through narrowed eyes. "Do you plan to continue to make me feel ridiculous for asking at all?"

"That's not an argument."

His jaw works a bit. "No, it's a question."

Jean drops the attitude immediately and hugs him. "Sorry…" You know I have to do that. It's my best defense mechanism.

Charles laughs weakly and returns the embrace, shifting an arm around Ororo as well when she moves in with them.

"We love you, Mom," Ororo says quietly.

And don't you ever think we think any differently of you just because you're not like the other moms. We kinda feel special, actually, if you must know.

It IS good to know…he thinks back.

Maybe we should have told you that before.

"I love you, too," he says aloud. Now if he could just blink away the rest of the tears, damnit. But success is not complete, and when Erik appears at the back door of the house soon after that his eyebrows go up.

"Did I miss something?"

Charles and the girls separate, all three of them clearing their throats.

"Nothing at all, Dad," Jean says brightly. Ororo escapes back into the house, and her sister follows her.

Erik watches them retreat in bewilderment, then shakes his head. He comes to Charles and takes his shoulders, massaging with his thumbs. "How are you feeling?"

"Not horrible today, actually."

The corner of Erik's mouth quirks up, and his eyes shift every so briefly to the clotheslines. "I'm not going to say anything about the laundry."

"You just did."

Erik snorts and tugs him in close, and Charles doesn't resist, willingly burying his face in Erik's shirt. The amiable mood isn't broken until Erik begins to squeeze a little too tight.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm quite serious," Charles tells him that night.

Erik just stares for a moment before clarifying. "You want to just ask the Council who's behind the entire thing?"

"They won't tell us, of course, but the truth will be at the front of their minds then. I hate to invade anyone's mind without permission, but if it's what must be done it's what must be done. And reading surface thoughts is must less intrusive than digging into memories. There is less chance of being noticed that way, as well."

"You're forgetting that they know you're a telepath. They'll make sure not think about it."

"Ah, but when someone doesn't want to think about something is precisely when they do. Most of them, at least, won't be able to hide it."

Erik shakes his head and sits up all the way, his arm getting tired of propping him up. Charles follows suit, sitting up beside him.

"No." Erik says. "That's too dangerous. Even if they think they're not thinking about it or…whatever, if you ask them someone will figure out that you've probably learned the truth. And if they're really trying to hide it—if they even know—then it could put you in danger. Maybe all of us."

Charles looks at him for a moment, and then scowls and looks away. "I suppose I didn't think of it like that…"

"Because you try to think the best of everyone; it didn't occur to you that if they're trying to hide something they might have no qualms about hurting people to keep the secret."

"All right, all right, but…somehow I still don't think it would be the Council anyone would be in any danger from. I still don't believe they're quite like that. Just…misguided, perhaps. Or threatened."

"Who or what they might be covering for, then?"

"Perhaps…"

Charles is quiet after that, thinking maybe, and Erik thinks too, trying to reconcile the risks there might be with the problems they both know need to be addressed. He wishes it were easy to decide which risks would and would not be acceptable.

It doesn't help that he's hopelessly biased, when it comes to Charles's safety and the rest of their family.

"Look…maybe there's a way your idea can still work," he says at length.

"How?"

"I bring it up. Without you there. You won't be anywhere near there. Even if you were, say, here at home, if you stayed with me it would be easy enough to move to their thoughts, wouldn't it?"

"Of course," Charles says, brightening a bit. "And that wouldn't raise nearly as many suspicions as if I barged in on them…"

"It wouldn't raise any at all. I've complained in meetings before. It wouldn't be anything new to them. Just a new question. They would never suspect you would be picking anything up at all. Most people here know you're a telepath, but I don't think anyone outside the family really understands how wide your range is."

"Wonderful. There's a meeting tomorrow, isn't there?"

But now Erik frowns again. "There is, but I'm not going."

"Why on earth not?"

"I didn't want to go into town today; I'm not leaving the house again. Not this week," Erik says shortly. Firmly. If he hadn't said it that way it would have come out weak and afraid, and that isn't what Charles needs from him. "We have a plan now; that's enough. We can carry it out once you're well again."

For several long seconds there's silence, and then Charles says the one thing Erik didn't want him to say.

"And what if I'm not? Ever?"

Erik makes a face as if physically struck. "Don't say that."

"We've been over this, Erik. You've made me promises—"

"And if I have to, I'll keep them," Erik bites out painfully.

Charles looks him in the eyes, and he wants to duck away from the gaze but he can't. "It will be hard to, if you don't even know what it is you're up against. If I can provide at least that now, while I can, I want to do it. In case I can't later. In case that's all I can do."

"But isn't it dangerous to attempt something like that before the tumor is out?" he questions desperately.

"I wouldn't think so."

"But he said it's your powers that may have directed the radiation to your brain. If you use them at that level—"

"Whatever radiation I absorbed as a child is already there if that's the case. It's had its effect. There isn't anything left to direct. And if—"

"Charles…"

But he continues, if not quite steadily. "If it's cancer, it will only get worse, and eventually it will affect my abilities. We need to do this now. You need to go to that meeting tomorrow night."

Erik groans in frustration and scrubs a hand over his face, wishing he had the strength to be so brave in front of what Charles might be facing. What they might be facing. Charles has already admitted how frightened he is, and still he insists on telling everything as it is…

Erik can't help but admire his husband for it, but it doesn't quell his own fear any at all.

Though either way, as much as he hates to admit it, Charles isn't wrong.

"All right," he huffs finally. "All right…"

But the next morning, despite how relatively well he seemed to have felt the day before, Charles is in too much pain to get out of bed.

He doesn't say anything; he just doesn't get up. And Erik can see it on his face even if no one else would be able to tell.

"Charles?" Erik is up and dressed now. He didn't see it until he he'd groggily changed and turned around again. He thought Charles was still asleep before, but he isn't. He's on his side squinting at nothing, clutching the blankets to his chest, and someone else might think he was thinking, but Erik knows he's hurting.

"Charles?" He crouches by the bed, putting himself in his husband's line of sight. Charles blinks and focuses on him, but the smile can't hide the grimace.

"Good morning, Erik."

Erik reaches to push the hair from his face, but just the bit that motion nudges Charles's head pulls a sudden unsteady breath from his throat. His eyes clench shut. "Mmmm! Don't—" He grimaces openly, knowing he's caught now anyway.

Erik quickly pulls his hand away and swallows. "Maybe this isn't the best day for this."

"Erik, they…only have meetings every two weeks. Two weeks from now I could be recovering from surgery, and not be able to do anything at all." His voice is quiet, and he doesn't open his eyes.

"I don't think you could do anything now."

"Not now, but it's only morning. I'll be fine by tonight. There's plenty of time, and it's usual for it to be worse in the morning anyhow…"

"Is it usual for it to be this bad?" Erik challenges.

Charles lets his eyes crack open a bit. "Well…no, but—"

Erik's fingers curl over his husband's hands. "Do we need to get you to the infirmary?"

"No…there isn't anything they can do anyway…"

"Or are you just afraid they might keep you there?" Charles doesn't answer. "That would be a better alibi, actually, than simply not being at the Council building."

"Then you agree with me; this needs to be done today—"

"Only if you're feeling better by tonight. I don't want you trying anything at all if you're still hurting too much."

Charles scowls. "I don't want to go to the infirmary," he insists quietly. "I want to be here."

Erik knows it isn't any use trying to persuade him, and though his stomach is in knots he doesn't mention the infirmary again. "Then at least stay in bed today."

Charles almost smiles. "I don't believe that will be a problem for now…"

"No, I mean even if it gets better later. Just stay. Rest. Until tonight. Can you promise me you'll do that?"

"I suppose…" And for once there isn't any grudging behind the concession. That doesn't bode well for the amount of pain Charles must be in right now, and when Erik nods thankfully he does it slowly.

"I uhm…good." Charles's eyes are already closed again, and there isn't any use in Erik saying anything else before he gets back to his feet and goes to find breakfast for Bobby and Kitty and Ororo and ask Ororo to bring the twins to Raven for the day on her way to school.

Jean comes downstairs just as they're leaving, and realizes that Erik is there but Charles isn't up. "How's Mom?" she asks, but warily, as if she already knows the answer. She probably does.

Erik closes the cupboards he'd been pulling things from to make the younger children's lunches, and answers unwillingly. "Not good right now."

She makes immediately for the bedroom door, and Erik hurries to catch her arm. "No, Jean, wait. We should just let him rest; there's nothing else you can do."

"Or maybe there is," she counters.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been working on something, okay? Maybe I can help." She waits, but he doesn't release her.

"Explain," he says instead.

"I can't. You aren't a telepath; you wouldn't understand. Come on, Dad, do you want him in there hurting? I think I can help!"

He lets her go, reluctantly, hoping she can help but worrying that she won't be able to do whatever she thinks she'll be able to. He follows her into the bedroom and they find Charles on his back now, head pressed desperately into the pillows as if that might do something, but he's quiet. His left arm is spasming; that hasn't happened before.

Erik all but launches himself past his daughter, making it to the bed first and climbing onto it to reach for his husband's face with one hand and hold the trembling limb in the other. "Charles? Can you hear me? Charles!"

He opens his eyes, but he doesn't say anything. Maybe he can't, and that thought is frightening enough, but Erik shuts it away and maintains eye contact until the trembling fingers twisted with his and held against his chest go still, and Charles lets out a breath and allows his neck to relax too. Instead of pressing his head into the pillow now he turns it ever so slightly into Erik's other hand that is resting there at his cheek.

"'Mm all right…"

"No you're not." Erik knows his voice is tight when he says it.

But Charles's attention is elsewhere now. "Jean…"

Erik had almost forgotten she was there. He looks back and she is on the edge of the bed, clearly trying to hide how upset she is. "Mom, I think I can help. Let me try. Please."

"I don't know what you can…" Charles trails off and he looks at her for a moment, frowning. "Are you sure?" She must have shown him, unable to really explain it to him any more than she could have explained it to Erik.

"I can do it," Jean insists. "You know you couldn't do it yourself. Let me try."

"But that's…a bit complicated. I don't want you to strain yourself." His voice is still weak, and Erik doesn't like it. It's too much like the way he sounded when he was carrying Bobby and Kitty.

"Who the hell cares if I strain myself a little? You're hurting, and it needs to stop," Jean huffs.

"You know it won't make any real difference."

"I know that. It won't fix anything, but at least you won't be in as much pain."

Charles looks at her for a long time, and Erik can't tell if they're saying anything silently or not, but when Charles looks at him instead he knows he needs to move. He shifts back on the bed for Jean to come in closer, and lets his hand slip away from his husband's face so his daughter can rest hers there instead. He has to release Charles's hand, too, to move back far enough for Jean to be where she indicates she needs to be, beside her mother. Unhappy, Erik settles for resting a hand on Charles's knee to let him know he isn't going anywhere.

Jean doesn't focus the same way Charles does. Rather than pressing any fingers to her own head she rests her other hand on Charles's head, and the first remains on his cheek. Charles wraps his own fingers around that wrist and looks at her seriously. "Stop if anything hurts you…"

"It's not going to hurt me."

"It may. Trying more difficult things can be painful at first."

"Then I should keep going so it won't hurt me later."

"Not if it's bad enough. If you don't do this correctly everything I'm feeling could double back onto you, and I don't want that."

Jean scowls a little. "I'm going to do it right."

"I'm just making sure you understand me…"

"I understand you. Be quiet so I can focus."

Charles actually listens to her—lets his eyes close wearily and falls silent without any more argument—and the twist in Erik's stomach turns a little farther, enough that he actually hunches over now.

Why can't he breathe?

Jean's eyes close too, and at first it doesn't look like anything is happening at all, but then again he wouldn't know anyway, would he?

A bit longer, and Charles's brow furrows, and Jean's head ducks more than she'd already bowed it to focus.

"Jean, be careful," Erik says, before he remembers he shouldn't distract her.

"Be quiet, Dad," she all but growls. She makes a sound then that might be pain, and Erik's parental instincts kick in and he reaches for her but she shakes his hand from her shoulder.

"Jean—" Charles gasps. His hand tightens on her wrist.

"I've got it!" she hisses.

Charles groans, eyes still closed, and Erik doesn't think twice about speaking aloud this time. "If you don't, stop. Don't hurt yourself. Or your mother."

"I'm not—There. Mom, see? I can…" She trails off, concentrating, and Charles quiets with her. Erik watches, wishing he knew what was really going on in there, and after another minute or two the crease in Charles's brow eases away, and he relaxes more than he has all morning. Erik can feel the knot in his stomach untwisting as both Charles and Jean open their eyes. Jean pulls her arms back, and Charles takes a deep breath.

"I told you I could do it," Jean says. Charles looks at her, eyebrows up, and she smiles. "Are you okay? Can you sit up?" Charles nods and takes her offered hand to help. Erik would move to help, too, but he supposes he's still a bit shocked. He watches Jean help her mother sit up against the headboard, and Charles is still looking at her in amazement. He blinks every so often, still squinting just a little, but he is obviously in much less pain than before.

"Mom?" Jean asks.

Charles reaches to brush her cheek, and finally he smiles. "I am so proud of you," he says softly. "Thank you."

"I don't know how long it'll last…"

"That's all right."

Jean hugs him, and she holds on for a long time and Charles doesn't seem to mind. When she pulls back she kisses his cheek and starts to stand. "You should still rest though. And I've got to go; I'm late meeting Scott…he'll think I abandoned him," she says in amusement.

"Go on then."

She goes, looking back more than once, and Erik gets up to follow her. I'll be right back, he tells his husband. Charles, knowing what he's up to, doesn't really reply; there's only a feeling of understanding in response.

"Jean."

He closes the bedroom door behind him and catches her out in the main room, just before she can get out the front door, and she turns back. "Huh?"

Erik can't decide exactly what to say at first, but he knows he has to say something. "You know it's not that I don't trust you..."

Jean relaxes and nods back easily. "I know. It's fine. You were just worried about Mom."

"And you."

She flashes him a smile in answer. "Just take care of Mom. I'll be back as soon as I can," she says. Then she's gone, and Erik retreats back into the bedroom.

Charles is still sitting up, looking much better than he did a few minutes ago.

Erik lowers himself onto the bed and sighs, studying his husband. "You're really all right?"

"I am," Charles nods honestly, actually moving his head normally, and that tells Erik that whatever Jean did, it really did make a difference.

"Okay…you're better at explaining these things to the uninitiated; why don't you tell me what the hell she did?"

Charles rubs at a temple, frowning at he tries to figure that one out. "As I said, it's rather complicated…"

"Try."

"Well…I suppose the easiest way to put it is that she…hid it. The pain. She helped me to mask it. It's still there, of course, and I know it's still there, but I don't…really feel much of it. It's difficult to explain. But I can function now."

"Charles, you're more powerful than she is. Why couldn't you do it yourself?"

"Because it isn't something I could have done for myself. She mentioned that, if you'll remember. I couldn't have because it doesn't work that way. She was able to do it for me, and I could do it for someone else—anyone, even someone who wasn't a telepath; it has nothing to do with that—but I couldn't have done it for myself. Maybe that makes some sort of sense, at least."

"Only some," Erik admits skeptically.

Charles shrugs and his gaze shifts to the closed bedroom door. "I had no idea she had come far enough to do something like that. Sometimes even elements of simple control still escape her, but...I suppose she was determined enough…" He shakes his head. "I don't know. But it worked. I'm all right. Mostly."

"She was right though; you should still rest." Charles nods in reluctant agreement, this time wincing a just a bit. But then he smiles, and it comes much more easily than the one he tried to fake just after Erik caught him awake. He reaches for Erik's hand.

"Stay with me?"

That Erik doesn't have any trouble agreeing to. He moves back against the headboard beside his husband, letting Charles lean into his chest and wrapping his arms around him.

"If we're still going to do this tonight, I want someone here with you," Erik tells him after a moment. "In case something goes wrong. And I would prefer if it were Hank; he's more likely to know what to do."

"I suppose after worrying you that badly it's the least I can agree to in return," Charles sighs.

Erik kisses the side of his head. "Thank you." Then he's quiet, letting Charles rest. Soon enough Charles is asleep again, but Erik doesn't move.

Charles wakes in the early afternoon feeling much better than he did before. The blocks Jean put in place are still holding, but not very needed. Telling Erik that is enough to ease him mind about carrying out their plan of action, but he still insists on asking Hank to stay at the house while he's gone. Hank comes, bringing the twins back from spending the day with Raven.

They choose not to tell their son what they're up to; Erik simply tells him that Charles had some problems with the pain that morning, and he would feel better if Hank were there while he isn't. Hank believes that easily, because it's true. Charles knows Erik is still worried about him, and he knows Hank sees that easily enough when he's asked.

Charles remains in bed the rest of the day as requested, and only ventures out to the kitchen table with a book just before Hank arrives and Erik leaves.

"Don't put yourself in any danger," Erik reminds him.

"It will be all right; I'll get what we need, and no one will be the wiser. Trust me," Charles answers.

Erik reports to the regular Council meeting, Charles following the thread of his thoughts and what he sees from the beginning. He knows when Erik arrives, and when he finds his seat in the wide room of tables semi-circled around the front of the low platform at the head of the room. There are tables on the platform for the elders, and the tables on the floor are for the junior members.

Most of the meeting is dull—unfortunately much duller than the book Charles is only pretending to read—but Erik finds his opening eventually, under the right category of issue, and Charles can't help but feel a certain sense of pride as his husband berates and questions the other leading members of their city.

It really is something, apparently, that Erik has done before. Many of the junior members Charles can sense agreeing with him, but he can sense the elders' annoyance and near boredom as Erik goes on, and at first he worries that they won't even notice when Erik asks the question they need answered.

Do any of you really think about what we're really doing to people? To our children? I KNOW enough of you think about it. I'm not the only one to have ever said anything; I'm only the only one who continues to. We all know someone who has been hurt or disappointed by this system. The population HAS grown…why do we need it anymore? If we're all that unhappy with it, why don't we do anything about it? We could get rid of it if we wanted to. Why don't we? Erik pauses. What's stopping us? Whose creation was it anyway?

They notice. Charles focuses quickly, hoping they'll think enough to give him what he needs.

He gets much more than he hoped for.

They ignore him again, of course. Or rather, the elders ignore him and the others of his level don't protest, even though he can tell that many of them want to.

They're all used to routine by now. To the unspoken rules.

The pairing system is one thing you don't mess with.

Well, to hell with that.

Erik goes home trying to keep his nervous energy in check, not wanting to raise any suspicion after the trouble they went to to refine the plan to avoid such a thing. Do you have anything? He asks, and directs the thought to Charles's presence that he can feel in the back of his mind.

I have quite enough, actually…come home. Charles sounds a bit distant, but only in the thoughtful sense, and Erik supposes he's already attempting to sort out everything he gathered and doesn't worry. When he makes it home Charles is still at the kitchen table, though he's frowning deeply into his book now.

Erik thanks Hank for staying with him, and Charles finally looks up distractedly and thanks him, too. Hank leaves, maybe a little confused, and then Erik and Charles are alone.

Erik goes quickly to the table and pulls a chair beside his husband's. "Well?"

Charles turns to face him slowly, their knees bumping each other between them. Charles doesn't seem to notice.

"Charles?"

"It's worse than we thought," he says at length. "Or perhaps exactly as bad as we feared, depending on how one looks at it."

"There's someone behind all of this?"

Charles nods. "A man. Just one. An extremely powerful mutant. He had the technology and the idea for the genetic pairing system, and the power to show to force the settlements to agree to implement it." He scowls. "It seems he could easily have destroyed the cities if they had not done as he asked. As far as the elders here know, he went to each one…spoke to their leadership…formed a Council if they didn't have one…made sure they would never let anyone outside their circle know why they were maintaining the system, no matter how long it lasted. What they don't know is how far his influence spreads or why he did what he did."

"And is this man still alive? Still a threat?"

"Very much so. And they are all terrified of him. Every one of them had a face to go with the background, and there wasn't any variation. What was strange was that the man seemed almost too young to have been behind this from the beginning, but I suppose they could have been remembering the way he was then…though it is odd that all of them would do that. It's strange, but he must be older by now. Though, another strange thing was that while they all pictured the same face, not all of them associated it with the same name. There were two names."

None of it makes any more sense to Erik than it seems to make sense to Charles, but it's certainly somewhere to start.

"What names?"

"Sebastian Shaw and Klaus Schmidt."

Erik blinks, and his mouth is suddenly dry. He can't have heard that right. "What did you say?"

"Sebastian—"

"No, the other name," he says quickly.

Charles raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Klaus Schmidt?"

He heard right.

And now he can't breathe, and his ears are buzzing, and he can't see straight, as for the second time within a week Erik's world turns on its head.

It's only faintly in the background that he can still hear Charles's worried voice. "Erik? Erik, what's wrong? Erik…?"

Chapter Text

Now

"Erik? Erik, what's wrong? Erik…?"

Erik seems abruptly out of breath, maybe even dizzy, and he is staring off into nothing now; Charles doesn't intrude into his thoughts, but his emotions are broadcasting themselves. They're a jumbled, confused mass, fear and dread and hate and anger and pain and guilt and more, all negative and all worrisome.

"Erik? Erik."

He casts a quick telepathic glimpse upstairs and finds the twins asleep already, thank god, and now he remembers Hank going upstairs to put them to bed. And Ororo and Jean aren't here; they went across town to the library to visit with Moira. Doubtlessly Sean is with them and they won't be back until late, and it's only just now dark. He's glad for all of it at the moment, because the look on Erik's face scares him.

"Erik, what is it?" he asks urgently. His husband's hands are hanging over his knees between them and Charles takes them and grips them tightly. "Erik!"

Finally Erik startles out of his trance and looks at him sharply, but the expression there is haunted.

"Erik…? What is it?" he repeats. "Do you know that name?"

"More than the name…" Erik's answer is barely there, and once it's out he pushes unsteadily to his feet, pulling his hands free and staggering toward the bedroom door. It's proof of how affected he is when it doesn't open seemingly of its own accord; he fumbles with the knob instead, all but falling inside the room. Charles follows him quickly, a hand at his back to steady him.

"Erik, be careful—!" He knows more than the name? He knows the man, then? But how is that possible? Charles's chest is clenching, almost not wanting to know what could cause this reaction but needing to know, because he can't help if he doesn't know and right now he wants nothing more than to help. He knows something is wrong and he wants to make it better.

Erik goes to the windowsill at the far wall, a hand braced on the desk beside it. With the other hand over the flat wood of the sill he shakily pulls a nail from its place and lets it rolls away and clatter to the floor, more interested in whatever is under the thin plank of wood that came up a bit with the extracted nail. At his back Charles watches anxiously, and in another moment several small objects have been pulled up into his hand. He stares at them as if they might not be real, and he is still ignoring Charles.

The lamp in the bedroom isn't on, and Charles squints, and it's only thanks to the moonlight filtering through the window glinting off of the objects in Erik's palm that he's able to tell what they are.

Bullets. Most of them mangled from being fired.

"Erik…?" he asks again. His voice rises in worry and he can't help it, and finally his husband answers him again. But his voice is dead.

"They hit other things—not me," he explains briefly. "Most of them, anyway…" And his free hand rubs absently at his left forearm. Charles blinks, suddenly remembering the small scar there, but it had never occurred to him before to ask what had caused it.

Many who were alive during the war have scars; some more than others. Besides the C-section scar he's procured since then, he has one or two more of his own. No one asks about them, because there isn't any need. Erik is one of those who has more than others, but Charles has never thought there was anything in particular to that. The idea that there might be makes breathing harder.

And Erik is still talking, softly, almost automatically. "I didn't mean to take them with me. They fired but only one hit me and when I was out they were just there, in my hand."

Charles has to swallow hard before he can speak. "Out? Out of where?" He still refuses to intrude into his husband's thoughts without permission, but the emotions bombarding him are still sharp and biting. He isn't pleased by how out of breath he sounds, as he tries to process all of it. "What are you…? What happened? Do you really know this man? This…Schmidt? Shaw?"

Erik drops the ruined bullets onto the desk and lets himself fall heavily into the chair there. When Charles crouches by the chair Erik's eyes are all but vacant again.

"Erik, what is it? Show me," he ventures carefully. Erik ignores the request, but his hands grasp unsteadily for Charles's and hold them. Charles squeezes back. "Show me," he says again.

Erik shakes his head stubbornly. "No," he says firmly, though he sounds out of breath again himself. "Y-you shouldn't have to see that. I can't—"

What could be so awful? Charles's stomach twists along with everything else. "Then tell me," he pleads. And Erik's mouth opens, but nothing else comes out. He shakes his head again, this time in apology. Charles doesn't know what else to do; he moves up into Erik's lap on the desk chair and folds his arms around him. "It's all right," he whispers. "You can tell me. It's all right."

"It's not," Erik croaks out after a moment, but he's returned the embrace. He's holding on as if Charles might be snatched away. "I kept you out for a reason," he admits softly. "When we met. I asked you to stay out of my head. I had reasons. It was that I didn't trust you, or I didn't want to…I just didn't want you to see. I was so afraid you'd…god, when they told me you were a telepath…I was terrified…"

Charles sits back just enough to see Erik's face, but Erik won't look up at him. "Why? What on earth happened to you?" he asks anxiously. "Erik, please. I want to help—"

"You can't help…" Erik looks up at him now, wearily. "What happened, happened. You can't change it."

"But whatever it is, maybe I can help you to put it behind you," he offers.

"I thought it was!" The quiet exclamation is vehement, and what moonlight there is glints off the few tears that fall. Erik has focused away from him again, braced on the edge of the desk and the chair's back and trying to hold Charles all at once, and Charles gently dries the tears with his thumb.

Erik is trembling now.

Charles is trying not to panic.

"Erik, if you can't tell me what happened then please let me see. Please. You're scaring me."

"Seeing it would scare you more," Erik counters weakly.

"But it would help me to understand."

"You don't need to understand more than the fact that we're in over our heads, if Schmidt is really the one who's orchestrated all of this."

"I'm not going to give up. You know I won't. It's our children, Erik. I am not to going to stop fighting for their futures until I can't any longer. I might as well know what it is I'm up against."

Erik is shaking his head again, much more quickly this time. "No. No…Charles, please…I don't want to hurt you…"

"Hurt me?" The implication that whatever Erik is remembering could be so horrible clogs his throat.

He's known Erik since his husband was seventeen. He knows Erik has lived here, in this settlement, since he was thirteen or fourteen. Whatever he's remembering must have happened before then, and god, that would have made him so young…

"Erik, what happened?" Charles asks shakily. "What don't I know?" He kisses Erik's cheeks, kissing away new tears. "Please. You won't hurt me. I can—I can shield myself." He had to learn that quickly, when he was young—to keep others' memories and tragedies of the war from overwhelming him.

"Even right now?" Erik asks finally.

Charles nods wordlessly, and he isn't lying. His head is not hurting him too much right now, and Jean's blocks are keeping back what's there. He suspects they may also dampen other things if he tries, but not enough that shielding himself won't work at all. He'll be able to do enough.

That is, if Erik will just agree. "Please," he says again. "Unless you can tell me."

Erik swallows loudly. "I can't," he whispers. "I just—I can't. I'm sorry…"

"Then you'll let me see?"

I don't want to…I wish there were another way.

Charles pushes a hand through his husband's hair and presses a kiss to his forehead. It's all right.

I'm sorry. Erik apologizes again anyway.

Charles counters with, I love you. Whatever it is, we'll face it together. That's what we agreed seven weeks ago anyhow, isn't it? We're in this together now. All of it. Everything.

I never wanted it to include this…I hoped it would never have to. And Charles kisses him before he presses two fingers to his own temple. Be careful, Erik thinks then. God, please be careful. Charles's insides ache more fiercely at that, and his free hand settles splayed on the side of Erik's face, and Erik is holding onto him.

Show me where I need to go.

Erik, if with a healthy amount of dread, shows him, and he's there.

He sees the city in Poland, thirty-five years ago. He sees the bombs falling. He sees the wreckage that nearly crushes Erik and his family, and how Erik stops it, tossing it away just in time and his parents stare at him and he stares at his hands.

Erik is eight years old. He didn't know he could do that.

They run with everyone else. They seek shelter. They don't find much of it. Charles sees the man that appears later, almost out of nowhere, who offers them a place where they will be safe; he sees the face that matches the one in the elders' minds. Shaw. Schmidt. Whoever he is. And now another moniker from Erik's mind. The doctor. An outstretched hand, and there is so much distrust, Erik's father protests, but Erik's mother takes the hand, to save her child.

A flash of red, the smell of sulfur, and they are somewhere else.

Not just somewhere else. Somewhere cold, and dark—a room of stone. Air and minimal light filter through thin grated shafts to the surface, but nothing more. There isn't even a door—no, there it is. But it's been walled up by stone. It's safer this way, the man says. It's a bunker. They're far underground. The bombs can't touch them. Not even the worse ones they've heard about—the ones that vaporize. That make people sick.

But why did he save them? Why just them? Will he bring others? Save other children? Erik's mother asks, but the man doesn't answer. There is something like a toilet on one end of the room and a thin mattress on the ground in the other, and some small amount of food in one corner. The man points them out, and then he takes the arm of the man in the cloak—the one whose face they can't see—and both of them disappear.

There must be something different about the man in the cloak. Just like, Erik thinks, there must be something different about him. He moved that metal wreckage. He saved his parents and himself. He doesn't know how he did that, but now there is nothing metal here to try again.

He sits on the poor mattress with his mother and father, and waits for the war to end.

But his father was right, not to want to come here. He was right not to trust the man who offered them shelter. He was right not to trust Schmidt.

Days later, when the planet's war ends, theirs begins.

Thirty-Four Years, One Month Ago

Erik has been nine for six or seven months now, maybe more. He's lost count. His mother sang to him on his birthday. Trapped here in this dim stone room, she had nothing to give him but that. She held him close and sang to him and told him that it would all be over soon—that they would find a way out and she would never let the doctor hurt him again—but it never happened.

They're still here. Father is still gone. He was gone then.

The doctor killed him. Erik knows that. It looked like he got sick, but he knows the doctor did it. They weren't anywhere near the bombs. They never heard rumbling overhead here. It was the kind of sick they'd heard about, from the bad bombs, the…nuclear ones? Isn't that what people called them? But there were none of those here and Schmidt had said from the beginning they would be safe from those here. From anything.

But then he had wanted to know how Erik had moved the wreckage. How he had saved his parents. Erik didn't know how the doctor knew that, but he'd known. He wanted to know how Erik had done it. Just a few days after they were brought here the doctor tried to make Erik do it again—move metal. But he couldn't. And then the doctor grabbed Father, and touched him, burned him just by touching him, and Father got sick after that. Really sick.

Sometimes the doctor brought a girl with him after that, when he tried to make Erik do things—a blonde girl only a few years older than Erik. Schmidt told Erik that if he moved the metal, the coin or nail or button that the doctor brought with him too, that the girl could help Father.

The girl looked just as scared as he was.

Sometimes Erik moved something, just a little. When something moved the doctor let the girl help Father. She made him better, a little. Not all the way. She looked sad that she couldn't, but she only did what the doctor told her to do.

And Erik tried, tried hard, but he couldn't do enough.

Father died.

And Erik knows it's his fault. Schmidt reminds him of that all the time. He blames the doctor too, and Mama tells him it isn't his fault, that it's all the bad man's fault, but he still knows it is his fault.

Now Mama is sick. She's been sick for a long time, but the girl helps her, and Erik is still scared, and he can do more now, when the doctor wants him too, because he's scared.

He doesn't want his mother to die too. He doesn't want it to be his fault.

So he tries, so, so hard, and for a while he was making progress. For a while mother was almost okay again. Almost. Not really, but almost. For a while she was almost okay and the doctor didn't have the red man bring him away, to the lab. The doctor didn't hurt him.

But then he stopped improving. In the last few weeks he's been at a standstill, and the doctor takes him away so often now, and he doesn't tell Mama what happens when he's away. He's never told her what happens when he's away. Sometimes she can see, and she holds him, and she cries, but he never tells her. That would make it worse.

Now she's too sick to hold him. Or cry. Or anything. She can still sing to him at night, a little, but that's all. It's almost like she does it without thinking about it. He curls close to her and she sings, and he can barely hear it. But she hasn't really talked to him in days. The girl hasn't been here. It's been too long and right now Erik wishes the doctor would come back, so he could do something good, so Doctor Schmidt would let the girl come and help Mama.

"Mama…Mama, wake up," Erik whispers. He's lying beside her, using the rags of the useless blanket to wipe the blood from her nose and mouth. That happens a lot. Her hair is gone, too. It has been for a while now. It didn't come back when she was better for a little while, either. "Mama, please," he cries.

He doesn't want to cry—doesn't want to worry her if somehow she can hear him—but he can't help it. He doesn't want her to go. If she's going to leave he wants to go with her, and he wishes he would get sick, but he never has. She's been sick for so long, on and off, and he's been so close to her, so why has he never gotten sick? Is it because he's different?

The doctor tells him he's special. That all of this is only for his own good. But if he's so special why couldn't he save Father? Why can't he save Mama? Why does the doctor hurt him?

He hurts right now. He was with the doctor yesterday. His head hurts and his body aches and two of his fingernails are gone and he can't feel one of his toes. "Mama, please wake up. Mama…!" He wants her to wake up. He wants her to hold him so he can feel safe, even if he isn't.

Erik squeezes her hand and waits and tries not to cry, and it isn't until night is almost there that she finally opens her eyes.

"Mama…?"

He scrubs away what is left of the tears and tries to smile at her. And for the first time in a while she smiles back. "…love you…" It's all he catches of what she whispers. Then her eyes close again.

When Erik wakes up on her shoulder the next morning, she isn't breathing, and he doesn't bother to stop himself from crying.

Later the red man comes and takes her away, and then Erik is alone.

Now

Charles sees all of it—the years in that stone room even after Erik's parents were gone and the progress he made and how, eventually, he used it to escape.

Erik escaped at thirteen. He wandered for days and finally ran into a small group of mutants looking for the nearest new settlement, and together they found this place. Erik found out he wasn't alone. He wasn't different by himself. He found out, too, that he was in what had been England, and not Poland. He had never known the doctor and the red man had taken him and his parents so far.

The red man. The teleporter. The teleporter who impregnated Raven and left and Charles can see in Erik's mind that he never made the connection and he isn't angry at Erik but he's angry, but just for a moment. The anger is swept away by the pain and the sorrow and everything else, the deaths of Erik's parents and guilt and nearly five years of torment, torture, months and months of pain and loneliness and it isn't until Charles's fingers slip away from his temple, trembling, that he realizes he's sobbing.

"Erik…oh Erik…" He can scarcely breathe for the sobs shaking him, and Erik clutches him close. "I'm so sorry…I'm s-sorry…I'm—I'm sorry…" He wants to say more than that but he doesn't know what, and all he can do is bury his face in his husband's shoulder and cry brokenly, for the childhood tainted and the pain he can't erase.

They all have painful memories. Everyone who lived through the war. But not this. This is different.

"I'm sorry," Erik chokes, near his ear. "I shouldn't have let you see it. I should have just—oh god, Charles, I'm sorry—"

He wants to tell Erik it' all right. He wants to tell him it's good that he knows, that he saw, that he can understand now, but he can't stop crying. He's disconnected from Erik's mind but all of it is still with him, and he's never felt anything of this magnitude and especially now, when he's weak, he is having trouble putting all of it in its place and into perspective. He can't separate himself enough. He knows that he's here, and that he's himself, but part of him doesn't feel it. Part of him still feels everything Erik felt then.

The sobs are violent and he can't breathe much, and he can't stop, and his chest hurts now, and his throat, and his head feels as if it might split open. All he can do is cling to Erik and wait for it to pass. He knows it will—he hopes it will—but Erik isn't so certain.

"Charles? Charles?" Erik pushes him away enough to look at him, and he can only hang in Erik's grip and shake, because he can't stop the tears. He can't see anything for the blur. But he can feel the hands on his face when they leave his waist and grab his head and shake it. "Charles!" He cries out and the movement stops but the hands stay, one on his face and combing soothingly through his hair. "Charles…god, Charles, calm down, please. Charles…!"

Finally he manages to say something telepathically, at least. I-I'm trying.

"I'm so sorry," Erik cries softly. His forehead settles against Charles's and it takes more time but finally he calms, his body still shuddering with aftershocks.

"It isn't your fault," Charles whispers at length, and his hands trace back up from where they'd fallen to clutch at Erik's shoulders. "None of it. What happened, or its effect on me. It is not your fault…"

"You can't—"

"I can say that. I saw everything, Erik. I might as well have been there."

"Thank god you weren't there," Erik swallows.

Their foreheads are still together, and now Charles pulls back a bit to look at Erik more clearly. "And that's why you shut me out so quickly…"

"I was trying to protect you. You were fifteen, Charles." Erik looks him in the eyes. "For so many years I tried to keep my distance…but I fell in love with you."

Charles smiles a bit and traces the back of a finger over his husband's face. "I'm glad you did."

"Still?" The question is posed wryly, even if the sarcasm is weak and there is only barely a quirk of his lips on his damp face, but Charles knows he really wants to know.

"Of course," Charles says quite seriously, and at that Erik takes in a breath and when he lets it out it shudders in relief and his head drops and his shoulders slump. Charles nudges his chin back up and kisses him, and slowly the rest of him straightens and he holds Charles closer again. I told you…we'll do this together. We'll find him. We'll stop all of this. There will be justice for what he's done. He tells Erik this silently, because it's hard to speak with their lips crushed together.

But he has to break away after another few moments, because the sobbing stopped and his chest and throat don't ache so much now but the pain in his head did not stop. It aches sharply even through the blocks, and he doesn't want Erik to know but it's clear when he can't stop a groan and his head drops back to Erik's shoulder. Then there's another groan.

"Charles?" Erik's hold is more urgent then, one hand shifting up to the back of his head. The worries from the rest of the week return that quickly, and Erik's voice is tight, his heart heavy all over again.

I'm all right. Charles bites back a sob. "I won't leave you alone again," he manages against his husband's neck. "I…I won't. I promise. Not if I can help it."

He knows Erik wouldn't be truly alone if he were gone, he would have Raven and the children and their friends…but he is still so terrified of losing anyone else, and Charles can feel it now. He understands. In the beginning Erik was kind but distant on purpose, to avoid being hurt or hurting anyone else. But now that they've both given in to the love that has probably been there, really, from the beginning...

Now Charles wishes more than ever that this damned tumor weren't there; that they didn't have this to add to everything else.

"I love you," is all Erik says in return. Charles nods wordlessly against his shoulder, telling him he knows, that he loves him too, that they'll get through this, all of it, and Erik's lips on his neck are his answer.

Chapter Text

Now

Charles is still draped over Erik in the desk chair when he realizes they aren't the only ones awake in the house anymore. Jean has come back, and only Jean, and she's come back because she knows something is wrong. He realizes, abruptly, that much more of what just happened—the emotions involved, at least—leaked through to their daughter than he ever would have liked.

He sits up quickly, before remembering that isn't a good idea, and hisses.

"Charles?"

Erik, still concerned. Of course he is. Charles holds his head with one hand and squeezes his husband's arm with the other. "I'm all right. I uhm…" Still coming out of the haze of delving into Erik's past, it takes a moment before the present and his perception of the minds around him becomes more solid again. He is just realizing how upset Jean really is when the pounding on the bedroom door begins.

"Mom! Dad! What's going on? Mom!"

Charles flinches, moaning quietly in the back of his throat from the pain of the sudden movement, and Erik is still holding him steady to keep him upright. He almost doesn't notice, eyes widening as he registers just how much Jean got. Nothing of what happened, the images, nothing she doesn't need to know…but the feelings…

"Oh god," he breathes. He pushes up, clumsy and uncoordinated, and he knows Erik wants to keep him from moving but Erik can hear their daughter shouting at the door as well as Charles can. Charles can feel how upset she is, but Erik can hear it. Erik helps him up, rather than hindering him.

"Mom! Let me in! Are you okay? Dad? Dad! Mooom!" She isn't trying to get through to him telepathically; it isn't even crossing her mind, as close as she is to panic. Erik is holding Charles up and even in only the moonlight Charles can tell how pale he is now.

"How much did she—?"

"Nothing specific," Charles answers quickly. The pain certainly isn't as awful as this morning—thanks to Jean—and he shoves what is there to the corner of his mind as best he can and forces himself to respond more quickly. It won't work forever, but for a while it will do. He braces himself against his husband's body and reaches up to dry Erik's face again, furiously swiping at his own, too. "But she needs to see both of us. She needs to know we're all right. I know we're…not, precisely, but…"

Erik only nods in understanding, still holding Charles's arms, taking deep breaths and trying to complete the burdensome task of making certain he is under control. He still shudders some—Charles would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't, as well—but its much better than before, when he couldn't stop shaking. Charles pushes up enough to kiss him briefly, and that seems to steady him more.

Charles breaks away for the door then, enough of the pain shoved back that he doesn't stumble. He doesn't have to open the door for himself; the lock clicks open the door swings wide seemingly on its own, thanks to Erik.

Jean is on the other side, fist raised to knock again, and sobbing. "Mom, w-what's…what's going on?" she gasps.

"God…" Charles steps out of the bedroom and wraps his arms around her in one quick movement. "It's all right, Jean. It's all right…" She cries more freely into his shoulder than she had been before, and then strong, warm arms encircle them both. Erik's forehead is against his daughter's hair, and when Charles glances up, still holding her, he sees that if Erik isn't careful having dried his face will have done no good in the end.

My fault…

The thought pounds through Erik's mind, and Charles halts it.

Not yours. Mine, if anyone's. I wasn't shielding well enough when I went into your mind.

"Jean…" Charles says again. "Jean, it's all right…"

She pulls in a sharp breath between sobs, trying to calm herself. "But…but you were…what happened?" She'd felt how upset he was, after seeing Erik's past. She felt it, but had no knowledge of anything that was happening to tie it to. It panicked her enough that she came home immediately, and here she is and she seems to be having the same problem Charles had after coming out of his husband's mind. Separating herself from the emotions. She can't.

"Nothing happened. We're all right. See? We're right here. We're all right."

"But I felt it. I felt you. Both of you were so—what was that…?"

Charles strokes her hair and doesn't let her go. "It doesn't matter. It was nothing you should be concerned about. We're all right, and that's what's important, isn't it?" he says gently. Erik coordinates then, kissing the top of her head.

Jean calms slowly, still shivering from the aftereffects of her sobs.

"What's wrong?" Charles asks eventually. "I thought you would have been able to shield yourself better than that. Are you feeling all right?" Knowing what someone is feeling—especially someone one is so closely tied to, such as a parent—is one thing, but being so unintentionally caught up in the projected emotions is another. It happened to him, but his defenses were largely down due to the weakness brought on by his medical situation. They still are.

"I'm s—I'm s-sorry, I just…I-I'm having trouble keeping anything out today—I just—I'm sorry…I don't know what—I don't know…"

It clicks. Charles pulls her back enough to see her face, and frowns. He brushes a hand over her cheek. "You let what you did this morning wear on you. Your defenses are low. I told you not to let it hurt you…"

"It didn't hurt me…I'm just tired…it's nothing…"

"Not quite. You need to rest."

"Beyond that, it's late," Erik adds quietly. He loves her, but right now he wants her to be all right, and he wants her to go, and he doesn't want her to ever know anything of what Charles saw mere minutes ago.

Jean, however, argues. Of course. "But something was wrong. I know it was. I felt it. What's wrong?" She's gripping an arm of each of them, tightly, and she isn't letting go. Charles reaches up to cup her face in his hands, beckoning her to look at him, and after another moment or two she finally does.

"Jean…Jean, listen…you trust me, yes?"

She nods wordlessly—tearfully, but wordlessly.

"Then trust me now: we're all right. There is nothing that you need be worried about. All right? If there were we would tell you."

Jean nods again, reluctantly, but she understands. Charles kisses her forehead and pulls her close again, and Erik's arms tighten around the both of them.

"Go on upstairs. Get some sleep," Charles tells Jean when Erik lets them go. She nods reluctantly but then her eyes sharpen.

"You too. You need it more than I do. And just say something if you need my help again, okay? You don't have to suffer; that's what I'm here for."

It takes more coaxing to get her to retreat upstairs, and by then Ororo has come back too, and follows her. By the time Charles and Erik are able to draw back into the bedroom Charles is losing his ability to ignore what of the pain there is, and when the door closes behind them he has no choice but to let it go.

He tries to lean more into the wall when he slumps, to keep Erik from needing to hold him up again, but Erik catches him anyway. Charles feels no need to protest that, and for a while they cling to each other in silence.

"Will she be all right?" Erik asks at length.

Charles nods against his shoulder, arms around his husband's neck now. "I did what I could to minimize the effects of the emotions that she picked up…I'll do more as soon as I'm able. She'll be all right."

"Good…"

They're quiet again, and Charles holds on, and he doesn't mean to but he begins to cry again, softly this time, and Erik's arms tighten around him a bit.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you see it…I'm sorry," he says wearily.

Charles lets out a heavy breath and swallows back the tears. "I needed to know. It was the easiest way, and the best one, really. I wouldn't have completely understood if you'd only told me."

"That's the way the rest of us do things, Charles. It would have been enough. I should have—"

"Stop," Charles grumbles. He is exhausted, and his head hurts, and his chest and throat still ache dully from sobbing so violently before, and he doesn't want to worry that Erik is still feeling guilt for any of it. It's one more thing to handle on top of everything else he's learned that his tired mind is trying to process.

Some of that, at least, must have made it through to Erik, because he stops talking. They stay where they are and Erik continues to just hold him. Charles dries his face again, on his husband's shirt, and they stay that way until he realizes he's having trouble staying on his feet even with Erik and the wall for support. He slumps farther before he can say anything, and Erik scoops him up in his arms.

"You're more worn out than Jean is," Erik scolds softly. "Are you still hurting?"

"Only some…" He's back in the dark, in the quiet, and distancing himself more in time from the effort it took to delve so deeply in Erik's mind. The pain is beginning to subside again, sinking behind Jean's barriers once more. There is still enough left now to be frustrating, but with any luck it won't remain for long. Though he doubts he'll be that lucky.

Erik moves him to the bed and sets him down. There isn't any need to help him change, as he never got out of his pajamas today, at Erik's insistence. He merely pulled a sweater over them before venturing out to the kitchen earlier in the evening. Erik pulls the navy blue sweater off now and lets it fall to the floor before laying Charles back against his pillows. He expects the blankets to come next, but they don't. Erik kisses his forehead, but then instead of covering him up he's tugging Charles's pants and underwear down his thighs.

"Erik, what are you—?" He stops when he tries to push up on his elbows and a bright lance of pain stabs through his skull. He falls back carefully and swallows the groan.

Erik is touching him then, after spitting in his hands, lifting his limp shaft and pumping, and the first small waves of pleasure send a shiver up his back. "I don't know. Maybe this will do some good," Erik says. His tone is gentle, but restrained—apologetic. He's still sorry for how much what Charles saw upset him, and Jean, and for the pain Charles is in. He doesn't know how to make it better and this is the only other thing he can think to do.

"It's all right, Erik. Usual headaches, it would, but I uhm…I don't know if it will help this. I—" He trails off abruptly, arching involuntarily into Erik's skilled touch, and he's growing hard now.

"It can't hurt to try."

Y-you don't have to. After all…all of that, Charles stutters silently. Everything you—god, you shouldn't be seeing to ME right now. Not after—

"Charles, what happened to me is in the past," Erik whispers. "What's happening to you isn't. You're the one in pain now." He leans up to kiss Charles, slow and sweet, but Charles has to break the contact to let out a shuddering breath of pleasured surprise from his husband's ministrations. Erik smiles a little. "Just let me take care of you."

Charles relents. "All right…all right." Erik certainly knows what he's doing by now, and it isn't hard to give in. Soon enough it really is working, endorphins chasing the pain back.

Erik draws it out long enough to completely relax him, but not long enough to frustrate. After twenty-five years—even with the ones missing, when they never did anything like this—they can read each other, and Erik knows when to let him come and does. Charles is left tired and satisfied and mostly free of pain, drifting comfortably near sleep as he lies bonelessly on the bed.

He is just aware of Erik brushing his hair back, and then leaving for a moment—of Erik coming back, and cleaning him off, and tugging his clothes back into place. Then the blankets are over them and Erik is beside him and holding him and he's warm and Charles thinks, vaguely, that Erik was right after all. It helped. He thinks, certainly not for the first time, how lucky he is to have someone like Erik; someone who loves him so much and would do anything for him, as he knows by now that Erik is willing to.

He drifts off contentedly, and though it seems incongruous after the stress of the rest of the evening before now, for the first time since the news from the doctors Charles sleeps easily through the night.

Erik wakes first the next morning, but it isn't long before Charles is with him, lying in his arms and content not to move. It's barely dawn anyhow, and not quite time to be getting up.

They lie there, absorbing the fact that last night was not a dream.

God, he never wanted Charles to know anything of that—the darkness in his past—but there it is, and now he knows, and…as much as he's still anxious about it, it feels as if a weight has been lifted, too.

Anything is easier to carry with help, Charles tells him silently.

Erik manages a small smile, and when he looks down into his husband's face and sees no traces of pain there he lets himself give in to the urge to ruffle Charles's hair a bit. He receives a low chuckle in return, and it makes him feel better, to know Charles isn't hurting.

What are we going to do? Erik wonders, more to himself than anything.

But Charles answers him. "Do you think Schmidt would be in the same place now? The facility you escaped from?"

"I don't see why not. Certainly if he has as much influence as it appears he does. He would have no reason to hide if everyone is so afraid of him."

"Do you remember where it is?"

Erik shakes his head. "Not well enough…it was thirty years ago when I got out. I could give us a general direction, maybe, but..."

Charles looks thoughtful. "It's all right. I can help you to draw the memories out. We can reconstruct the route you took in finding the group you came here with, the route you took after that with them, and trace it back.

"Assuming we have any idea of what to do when we find it. You've seen my memories, Charles. You know how powerful he is. With just the two of us…we need more help." It isn't that he's afraid—he is, but that's irrelevant—it's just that it's the truth. They can't do this alone.

"Maybe…"

"Not maybe, Charles. You know we do." If they're going to have any chance of stopping Schmidt and getting out alive, that is. Before he had a family Erik would have been perfectly happy finding the man and killing him on his own, even if he died in the process, but…now he isn't alone. He hasn't been alone since he was seventeen. Now there are eight other people he is directly responsible for. More, if Raven and Kurt or Moira are included beyond his husband and children. Soon they'll have a grandchild.

He can't afford to be rash. He wants to be here for them, and he wants Charles to be here, too—more than anything.

Charles is studying him, frowning, and then his expression softens and it seems he listened to all of that. "You're right…" he trails then.

Erik nods and kisses his temple. "But it doesn't matter now. Not until you're well again. This as far as this goes for now. I know how important it is, I know someone needs to act, but it's waited twenty-five years and it will wait a few more weeks." Charles says nothing, and the silence is heavy. "What?"

"Eighty-five days," he says quietly. "We have eighty-five days."

"What are you talking—?" He stops when it registers. "Alex."

"Alex," Charles nods. "And Angel. If we can stall them in making any sort of decision for now…I know it may seem unrealistic, but I don't want them to have to. I want this to be over before they have to."

Erik swallows. "Charles…I don't know if that's…"

"I know. I said I realized it might not be possible, didn't I? That doesn't mean we can't try."

Erik lets out an uncertain breath and nods, absently threading fingers through his husband's hair. "Fine…but can we get through the rest of this week first?" Charles knows what he means. They don't even know the results of the tests yet. They don't know what Charles is facing.

Charles looks at him for a long few moments, and Erik can see that he's trying to keep his eyes from filling. He probably isn't succeeding as well as he'd like.

But he nods, and Erik kisses him, and they have another half hour just to be there, together, before they need to get up.

The morning is largely normal, which is nice. Ororo gets off to school on time and Jean comes down and is glad to see her mother feeling better. The twins are hyper as always, but they stay home rather than crossing the street to play with Marie or their other friends when they see Charles up and about. They drag him upstairs to play, and he doesn't seem to mind. Jean joins them, rather than going off to find Scott or something else, and Erik is left downstairs to do whatever needs doing, but that's all right. Charles seems to be having a better day than he has all week, and that much Erik is grateful for.

Things are undisturbed, until the urgent knocking on the front door.

Charles comes down alone, probably having asked Jean to keep Bobby and Kitty upstairs, and he's on the last step when Erik answers the door and finds Hank on the other side, flushed and out of breath.

"They finished a day or two earlier than they thought. They have the results," he says quickly. "I-I don't know what they are—I haven't seen Mom's doctor; one of the nurses found me and asked me to come get you—but they have them."

Just like that, no more pretending the answer won't come or can't possibly be the wrong one. It could be. A hand slips into his and squeezes almost painfully, and when Erik glances down Charles doesn't look any less frightened than he is.

"Even if it's cancerous, he said they could treat it, didn't he?"

Erik's voice is tight. They're sitting on the edge of the exam table in one of the infirmary's rooms again, waiting, and Charles is as close to his husband as he can be without being in his lap. It's because he wants to be, but also a little bit because Erik won't let him go any farther.

"He said they could treat it. He said nothing of whether it would be curable or not, and I'm sure he would have said so if he had any realistic hopes that it would be," Charles says evenly. If he doesn't keep his voice even it will break, because he's afraid. He's kept as much of that at bay as he could, this week, and now he very nearly can't anymore.

Erik holds onto him more tightly after his answer, and Charles doesn't blame him at all. Their fingers twist together between them and Charles leans into his shoulder. But they both straighten when the door opens.

Nothing seems real after that. It almost doesn't seem possible that the doctor comes in with a smile on his face, or that he says what he says.

"No cancerous cells," he tells them. "We still won't know exactly how much we'll be able to remove until we go in, of course, but as long as we can remove most of it I doubt you'll have anymore problems with it. Granted, you'll have to give us another week or two to be certain we're ready for the procedure, but as long as it goes well you're going to be fine, Charles."

Charles stares at first, scarcely able to process good news after all they've worried over in the last week. Then it registers, and he slumps back into Erik's shoulder again with a heavy breath of shock. This time he's the one who can't remember how to speak, but it's all right because Erik says something immediately.

"Why do we have to wait before you can operate?"

"We haven't done anything like this here, and we may have surgeons, but none that had experience with brain surgery before the war. We've sent for the best we know of—the only man we know of who survived the war that has such experience. He's lived in the next city since it was built. He's been training surgeons there. It will be a few days before he can be here—an older man, of course; he doesn't travel quickly—and we have to be certain we're fully prepared."

Erik hesitates before saying what he says next. "If he's that elderly, should he be operating?"

"His best students are coming with him, I would assume."

"I see…"

Erik still doesn't seem entirely satisfied, and spends several more minutes asking questions about the surgery until Charles finally asks him, silently, to stop.

The doctor asks how Charles has been since he last saw them, and again Erik does the talking—conveying the level of pain he's been in at times, and the way his arm seized yesterday morning. Charles is only able to nod to confirm, because he can't stop thinking. They're sent home with more medications—things to help with the pain and prevent seizures—and by then Charles is nauseous. He doesn't know if it's only the usual symptoms or if nerves helped. Likely they did. The butterflies are gone but his stomach aches, even though they know the answer now and they've left the infirmary and…

Erik pulls him off the path several lanes short of the house, and cups his face and makes him look up at him. "Why are you so quiet? You heard him; you're going to be fine." There is so much relief in his voice, and his eyes are damp and he's smiling. He wants so much to be happy, and Charles is ruining it with the melancholy act.

He laughs, and it isn't that it's insincere, but it is weak. "I'm sorry…I suppose I have to over-analyze everything…"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" It isn't over yet. There are still so many things that could go wrong before it's over.

But he shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. Never mind. You're right." He smiles and brushes Erik's cheek with a thumb. "This should be a good moment." They kiss, and Erik won't let him pull back; not that he really wants to. They hold onto each other and both of them laugh now, quietly—exhausted relief and disbelief and thankfulness.

But Erik must know or at least suspect some of what he almost said, because he still clings too tightly.

Jean knows, of course, before they've even made it back. This time, though, she actually waits until they're inside before latching onto him. Bobby and Kitty follow suit even though they don't know, precisely, what for.

The children come and go all day, after hearing the news. Raven comes with Kurt and they stay. Moira comes, too, but even though she doesn't have Sean with her today—he and Alex have already come and had to go back to work—she doesn't come alone.

"Look who I found," she says, looking back to the door after hugging Charles to see who it is that followed her here come tentatively inside.

"Logan," Charles smiles. "It's been so long since we've seen you. How are you?" The larger man only shrugs, and for a moment Charles doesn't know what to say next. Erik doesn't seem to, either, or Raven. "Well you uhm…you should stay for supper. I haven't started anything yet, but I will. We don't have much of a choice today; I'm afraid there aren't even any leftovers at the moment. I haven't…uhm…haven't cooked this week…"

He trails off uncertainly, finishing with half of an explanation because he hasn't looked and he doesn't know what Logan knows, if anything, and suddenly it seems wrong to be feeling what relief he's allowing himself to feel when the woman Logan loved never had any chance at all.

He doesn't want to be the one to tell their friend that they've been given a chance at a miracle Kayla never had.

"You don't gotta beat around the bush, Charles. She told me," Logan says then—gruff as always, but kind.

"Oh…"

"Look, I'm glad you're gonna be okay. I hope everything goes the way it's supposed to."

Charles swallows. "Thank you…"

There is silence for a while, and then Logan shrugs. "Hey, if uh…if you're cooking anyway…I might as well stay." He's attempting to dispel the awkwardness, and Charles is grateful because after the day they've had—the week they've had—he isn't sure he or Erik or any of the rest of them could think far enough to do it themselves.

"Yes," Erik says then. "You should. Though I'll be the one cooking."

"Erik, I am perfectly capable of—"

"I'm cooking. Be quiet." But he's smiling when he says it. "You have company to entertain, anyway," he says, nodding to Logan and Moira.

Charles chuckles a bit, and now Logan, finally, is smiling just a little. Raven moves in to welcome him as well, and for a while after that the evening is an easy one—friends, family, without the burden of the last week hanging entirely over their heads. It isn't quite gone but it isn't quite as threatening anymore.

Then, of course, there's something else. He senses something else, as the evening goes on, from Logan. But Logan, unlike Alex, doesn't try to hide it. Instead he waits until most of the others have gone home, and retreats into the Lehnsherrs' back yard. Charles follows and Erik nearly does, but Kitty is hanging on his legs.

It's all right. I'll talk to him, Charles says silently. I'll call you if you need to be out here; I don't know what's wrong just yet.

"Logan?"

The other mutant lets out a breath. "Look…thanks for everything, but…I was coming here anyway, before Moira even told about any of this. I had to tell you I don't think I'll be staying here much longer."

Charles blinks. Of everything it could have been, that isn't what he expected. "What? I don't understand. Why?"

"I may be older than anybody here, but I'm not aging. You know that, and they know that. They're saying they'll give me another few months—maybe a year—and then they expect me to let them pair me if I want to stay here." His eyes flash. "I ain't lettin' that happen; I won't be with anyone else."

"You can't be serious…they didn't—"

"Serious as hell, and they did."

"Oh god, Logan, I'm sorry…"

He shrugs. "There's nothing you can do about it. But I can't stay here. I gotta get out before they really think too seriously about doing something stupid."

Charles is shaking his head now. "No. Wait. Listen to me…" They weren't going to tell anyone, what they were up to, and Charles doesn't plan to tell Logan everything but he has to say something.

"Listen to what?"

"Don't leave. Not yet. You may not have to."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's hard to explain…it will have to suffice to say that that this system may not last much longer."

Logan's eyes narrow then. "What are you up to?"

Charles sighs. "I wish I knew. What I do know is that we can't allow this to continue. It has to stop."

"That much I agree with." Logan shakes his head. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay? And if I can do anything, tell me. I'd be more than glad to help anyone take these bastards down."

"That's just it…it isn't exactly…them, precisely…" Logan raises an eyebrow. "Never mind." He pauses. "We'll tell you, if there is anything you can do. Thank you."

Logan nods again, and looks back toward the house. "I should go; it's getting late," he says.

He goes, and Charles doesn't realize how long he's lingered I the garden until Jean calls to him. Mom? You gonna sleep out there, or what? He goes inside, almost mechanically, and by then Erik is upstairs putting the twins to bed. Raven claims another hug, and she and Kurt head for home. Charles watches them go, realizing abruptly that Raven's due date is little more than two weeks away.

If only they didn't have to worry about the tumor first. If only he didn't have to wonder if he would be alive in two weeks. If only he and Erik's first grandchild could be born into a world where everyone is free to love who they wish to…

But two weeks isn't enough time. Likely it wouldn't be if he were healthy, and as it is, he isn't.

But maybe eighty-four days is enough time.

It has to be. He won't let Alex be pushed into a choice he doesn't want to make. He won't let Sean or Jean or Ororo or Scott or anyone else have to do it either. He won't allow Sean and Moira or Scott and Jean to be separated. He won't let anyone tell Logan or others like him that the memory of those they loved isn't as important as the assignment department's agenda. It can't happen. Any of it.

So eighty-four days will have to be enough.

"Mom?" Jean tries to coax his worries from him, but he sends her up to bed, too, and paces until Erik comes back down.

"Charles, you should have been getting ready for bed…you should be in bed. Have you taken your medicine?"

He hasn't. He does then, and allows Erik to guide him to the bedroom. Once they're inside, however, he can't help but pace again.

"Charles, what is it?" Erik asks anxiously.

He tells his husband what Logan said. "It doesn't make any sense. None of it does. I don't understand why Schmidt would want this—what he's forcing on the settlements." Charles scowls. "And I don't think I mentioned everything, either. I don't think I told you that the elders suspect he was somehow responsible for the war in the first place."

"They think he…?" Erik trails off and shakes his head wearily. "The thought never even crossed my mind before, but I can't say it surprises me." He let out a breath and tries to steer Charles back toward the bed. "But we'll have time to talk about this later. You need to rest."

"If I listened to you, I would never get out of bed," Charles grumbled quietly. "No, Erik, we need to talk about it, and we need to press forward with this. We cannot allow any more lives to be ruined."

Erik frowns. "I thought we agreed it could wait."

"Until we knew the results of the tests. We know them now."

"And you're going to be fine, so why can't this wait until you've recovered?"

"There isn't any way to know how long it will take me to recover from that invasive of a surgery. Not as far as my powers are concerned. And that's if—" he stops and looks away, but Erik's hands close around his arms.

"If what? What now?"

"You know they can't guarantee anything," Charles reminds him weakly. "Something could always go wrong during surgery. Or the tumor could be larger than they think and something could happen and before they even get a chance to operate I—I could…" He only sees the pained look on his husband's face from the corners of his eyes, but it's enough to hurt. "None of us is guaranteed tomorrow, Erik."

A heavy sound, from Erik's chest, and then Charles is all but crushed against it. "Erik…"

"Stop it," Erik whispers harshly. "You'll be fine…he said so."

"Yes, but he did bother to add that the procedure would need to go well…"

"It will."

"But what if it doesn't?"

"Damnit, Charles!" Erik shoves him back, holding his arms again and keeping him at arms' length to glare at him. "Why do you do that? It made sense before, when we didn't know. You were trying to be prepared, and I understood that, but now we have good news and you—"

"It is still for the same reasons!"

Erik lets go of him to find a wall to brace against, and Charles follows him to stay close as if his body can't bear to be apart from his husband's. That might be true, really. "Erik..." he trails again. Erik is fighting for composure, and Charles's throat clogs.

Erik isn't looking at him. He's facing away, pulling in sharp breaths, and Charles reaches out but he is almost afraid to touch him. When he does, Erik's legs go out from under him and he crumples to his knees.

"Erik—!" He can sense all of it; the dredging up of his past is still affecting him more greatly than Charles thought before, on top of everything else. He kneels by his husband to hold him and Erik responds immediately, tugging him around until he's in Erik's lap on the floor.

"He said you should be fine…can't we just believe that?" he asks hoarsely. "I can't—I can't think anything else. I know what could happen; you don't have to tell me. God knows I've thought about it…worried about it…because I don't want any of it to happen. I can't lose you. I can't." Then Erik is crying, and Charles tightens his arms around his neck.

I'm sorry…god I'm just so tired. I…it's like I'm not in control anymore.

"I know," Charles whispers. "I know. I'm sorry. It's all right…you don't have to be in control with me. It's why we have each other, isn't it?"

It's why I can't lose you.

Charles kisses him, and holds him until he's calmed. "You aren't wrong," he relents finally. "If everything is as they say, in all likelihood the surgery will go smoothly and I will be fine. But that doesn't mean we should put everything on hold until then. That was all I was trying to say," he explains gently.

"I know that," Erik sighs. "I panicked…like an idiot."

"You are not an idiot."

"Yes, I am."

Charles chuckles softly. "Sometimes." Erik steals a kiss, and he can't help but smile into it. "Just let me help you find where we'll need to go. Where Schmidt was when he held you," he says after that. "That we can do now, and it will be better to have it done. Once we've constructed the way to get there, I can make certain that we'll both be able to remember it easily. We'll know, if we need to know."

Erik still does not look entirely happy, but, "I don't suppose that could hurt, as long as you don't strain yourself," he says.

"I'll be entirely careful. I promise." He makes it to his feet and offers a hand to Erik, who takes it. Charles smiles and squeezes, as he helps his husband to his feet. "Thank you." He leads Erik to the edge of the bed, where they can both sit.

"Now?" Erik asks.

"It doesn't all have to be done at once. We have several days. I will stop if I'm too tired, all right? Will that satisfy you?"

Erik sits beside him, concern on his face, but after a moment of uncertain silence between them he picks up one of Charles's hands and folds back all of the fingers but two—the ones he then presses to his temple to focus.

They get to work, with Charles's free hand clasped between both of Erik's.

Chapter Text

Now

"Charles? Can you hear me? Charles…"

Charles's eyes flicker open groggily, and he blinks up in confusion at his husband as Erik brushes his hair from his forehead. Erik is leaning over him rather closely. "What…? Of course I can hear you. Am I awake, you mean? Quite, at the moment." The bedroom seems bright for morning and he lets his gaze shift to the window briefly. If he's correct, it seems to be early afternoon light. "Why is it so late? You should have woken me."

It's been several days since the visit to the infirmary that told them the tumor isn't cancer and can be operated on. They've waited for word since then. Charles knows he's been tiring easily—and that it's been getting worse—but letting him sleep more than half of the day away seems a bit excessive.

Erik is frowning at him now and Charles is prepared to argue, but then he realizes he's fully clothed and wonders just before Erik speaks.

"Charles…you've been awake all morning," he scowls worriedly.

Charles blinks. "I…what?" He feels the rest of it then—the barely suppressed panic and worry and everything with it from Erik. Recent feelings. From something that's just happened. Other things he can't quite put a finger on. He wants to sit up but he can't quite coordinate himself to do it.

Erik looks at him for a moment, and when he speaks he does it slowly, his fingers shifting down to rub over Charles's cheek instead. "You…you had a seizure, Charles. You don't remember anything? You were up all morning before that." His voice comes close to wavering, and Charles knows he isn't making this up. Erik is shaken, and he sees it now.

"I don't…I don't remember. What happened?"

"It was an hour or two ago…Jean called Hank, but he said there wouldn't be anything they could really do for you at the infirmary anyway; it's just one of the effects. So we just kept you here. Apparently whatever they gave you to prevent this isn't working went enough…"

Erik scowls again, and Charles swallows, trying to process what he's being told. "I uhm…well…nothing is perfect, I suppose…though I imagine it would have happened before now without the medicine."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Erik pushes out a sharp breath. "Are you all right?"

Charles tests the moving bit again, and it works this time. He starts to sit up and Erik pulls him gently the rest of the way, arranging pillows behind him for him to lean back into. He does, settling back but still a little uncoordinated. His left arm, the one that's spasmed before, seems especially uncooperative, and he makes a face. "I'm here," he says noncommittally.

Erik falls uncomfortably silent, just looking at him for a long moment. "You really don't remember anything?" he asks. "Not from this morning?"

"No…why?"

"You were up…but you were acting strangely all morning, before the seizure. I already wanted to take you to the infirmary anyway before it happened. I uhm…" He looks away.

"Erik? What happened?" Charles anxiously.

"Nothing…"

"There's something you aren't telling me." He would know it from the look on his husband's face, even if he couldn't feel Erik's mind.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. What did I do? I know they told us the pressure on my brain might affect behavior at times. I—"

"I know," Erik says firmly. "It was tumor making you act differently; it wasn't you. It doesn't matter."

Charles's tongue sticks in his mouth for a moment, because he knows that can't be a good sign, that Erik won't tell him anything. "Erik, what did I do?"

Erik takes his hand and squeezes it. "Nothing. You were just…irritable—woke up on the wrong side of the bed and stayed there, that's all." Erik kisses his forehead. "It wasn't you. I know you're not like that."

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Not usually, but if you don't tell me why you're upset I may become rather irritable."

"I'm upset because you had a seizure and it scared the hell out of me."

"I know, I know that…but that isn't it. Is it?"

"Charles…" Erik shifts closer, trying to distract him, but the door opens then and Kitty pokes her head in.

"Mommy? Is Mommy okay now?"

"Kitty, what are you—" Erik stops and sighs. "Yes, Mom is okay now."

Erik is the one who answers because Charles is staring at the bandage off to one side of her forehead.

"Kitty," Erik says, "Mom is okay now but he needs to rest. Why don't you go back and play."

"Okay…"

She goes, and by the time the door shuts again Charles can't get a breath. "E-Erik, what…oh god, Erik, what happened? Did I do that? Did I do that?"

"Charles, it's not—"

"Don't you dare lie to me!" His head hurts now, and he can get air but only in short gasps, and his eyes are full. "I did, didn't I? What did I do! What did I—oh god. God…!" He feels the tears on his cheeks and Erik takes his shoulders, though by now he knows not to shake.

"Charles, stop it! It's not like that! It was an accident. You didn't see her, all right? You didn't see her. It was an accident. That's all it was.

"But how…?"

"I told you not to try to do anything today and you wouldn't listen to me. You were…I don't know. I don't even know what you were complaining about anymore. You were just…banging around in the kitchen. That's all. You had a pan in your hand and you didn't see her. I promise you it was an accident. And she's fine. Kitty is fine. Just calm down..."

Charles knows Erik isn't lying, but he's already upset. He cries anyway, and Erik pulls him close and holds onto him. He loses some of his control and for a moment he sees some of it, in Erik's mind without meaning to—himself yelling and agitated and throwing things about in the kitchen—and he knows it all happened even though he can't remember.

"Shh…Charles, it's okay. It's all right. It wasn't your fault."

Charles clings to his husband tighter and chokes back a sob. "I want this thing out of me," he gasps.

"I know. Me too," Erik says unevenly. "Just a few more days."

"I don't want to wait a few more days," Charles mutters. He's tired. Panicking himself, apparently, takes energy. Energy he doesn't have much of right now. But he doesn't want to go back to sleep.

He doesn't want to wake up and be someone else again.

Erik doesn't let go of him until there's a knock on the door. Charles pushes away to sit up, drying his face quickly because he knows who it is. "You can come in, Kitty." Erik gives him a look, but he ignores it.

The girl comes in and smiles sheepishly at him. "You rested 'nough yet? You feel better?"

"Yes, I…Kitty, come here. Please." He holds out his arms and she climbs quickly up onto the bed and into them. Erik backs up on the edge of the bed to give her room to get there, understanding on his face now and he doesn't say anything to stop her. "I'm so sorry, Kitty," Charles tells her quietly. It takes everything in him to keep his voice steady for her. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's okay. You didn't mean it. Daddy said so." She sits back on her haunches on his legs and points at her head. "An' I'm okay. It doesn't hurt real bad."

"Good…that's good." Damn the tears. They're in his eyes again. He kisses the bandage gently and pulls her back to him. "I'm glad." She stays still for a minute or two, but then she's squirming back again.

"Mommy? You wanna play Go Fish?"

It isn't quite what he was expecting, but Charles clears his throat and answers. "Well I don't see that I have much else to do at the moment…but you'll have to bring it here. I doubt your father will let me out of bed."

Kitty looks back at Erik, who nods. "Mom needs to stay in bed. But you can play in here if you want." He reaches to ruffle her hair. "I'll play too if you want," he says, smiling now.

"Yay!" Kitty jumps down and disappears.

When she's gone Charles slumps again, and Erik climbs up farther on the bed to be beside him and encircles him in his arms. Charles knows they don't have long before Kitty is back, but his chest hurts from the lump in his throat.

"I can't believe I—" But Erik shushes him again, not taking any of that, and kisses him. That, as usual, helps some. This will all be over soon. They both know the risks aren't over, the danger isn't quite past, but for right now Charles doesn't protest the assertion. He wants to believe it, too.

Kitty comes back with Bobby and a deck of cards in her hand, and both of them scrambling up into the middle of the bed. "We're ready!" Kitty singsongs.

"Hey, what about us?" It's Jean, grinning in the doorway with Ororo behind her, and Charles realizes it must actually be just late enough in the afternoon that Ororo has gotten home from school.

Kitty glares at Jean. "You peeked! I didn't tell you we were playing!"

"So?"

Bobby pokes Kitty in the side of the head as Jean and Ororo come in and make themselves comfortable on the edge of the bed. "Be nice." Kitty sticks her tongue out at her twin, and Charles chuckles softly.

"I suppose we'll all play then," he says. Erik's arm is comfortable around his shoulder, making it easier to stay sitting up even though he's worn out, and he smiles easily now.

And he supposes that—besides the first part he can't remember anyway—even if this were to be one of his last days here, it would be okay at least in the sense that it was a nice one.

But he hopes it isn't one of the last. He still has a lifetime of moments like this ahead of him to fight for.

It's only two more days before the surgeon and his team arrive, and it's good that it's only that because they aren't good days. Charles is tired so easily he's hardly out of bed, and he's in pain, though it's almost good that because of those things he sleeps so much because when he's asleep he doesn't have the chance for the tumor to affect how he acts too awfully. There isn't another incident quite like that—nothing that severe—but there are seizures. The first of the two days they bring him to the infirmary anyway, and they keep him there to monitor him.

Charles is awake long enough the day the surgeon arrives to meet him—a kind older man who shakes their hands and smiles quite a lot and tells them everything is going to be fine if he can help it.

"I'm only sorry I won't be able to do more of the actual surgery myself—bit old for it now. But my students are good surgeons—it's only that they have no direct experience with brain surgery. Only what I've taught them. But that's why I'm here; to make sure nothing goes wrong."

Charles takes to the man immediately, and it's one of the only things that keeps Erik calm.

"It's going to be fine, Erik. He knows what he's doing," Charles tells him when they're alone.

Everyone crowds into Charles's infirmary room that afternoon, there to be there, because they need to be, but they leave Erik and his husband alone again for the night. The operation will be in the morning. Erik sleeps with Charles, holding him to his chest and whispering to him until they both fall asleep.

The next morning they're both trying to be strong for each other, and Erik knows it. While they wait Charles is sitting quietly on the edge of the infirmary bed in his hospital gown, but his jaw is clenched. Erik gives up his short pacing laps and goes abruptly back to his husband's side and tugs him into his arms.

His throat clogs when he hears Charles sob dryly into his shoulder as he clings back. "Charles…"

Charles pulls in heavy breaths and swallows. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm all right. It'll be all right. I'm all right…"

Erik makes a face. "I'm scared too, you know."

Charles laughs weakly, once, and holds on tighter. "I know."

The others aren't here now. They came yesterday afternoon, and they'll be in the waiting room, but last night and right now is for them. Erik shifts up on the edge of the bed beside his husband and they don't need to say anything else. They stay there, tangled in each other's arms, until the nurses come for Charles.

Remember your promises, Charles tells him. Before his symptoms became too deterring in recent days, they were slowly able to reconstruct Erik's memories the way they wanted to. Erik has the route to Schmidt's last-known location stamped in his mind now, tied to the front where it won't be forgotten.

I will. I love you. Always…andhe kisses Charles one more time before he's urged onto the gurney and wheeled away.

I love you, too.

Charles holds onto him in their minds even as they take him away, until, in the waiting room, Erik feels it when the anesthesia pulls him under.

The surgery takes hours. Through it all Jean is at one shoulder and Raven is at the other—when he's sitting down, anyway. When he isn't crumpled into a waiting room chair Erik is pacing again. Once or twice Raven tugs him back down.

"Come on…he'll be fine." He knows she's worried, too, but she's trying to help. Erik relents, sitting again, and Raven settles back in her own chair and lets her hands rest on her belly. "And as soon as he's fine this kid has got to come out. He's overstayed his welcome."

"Unless it's a girl," Erik offers, managing to smile a bit.

Kurt, on the floor nearby thanks to the lack of enough chairs, crosses his arms and huffs. "It better not be a girl. I want a brother."

His mother raises an eyebrow at him. "You'll take what you get, kid."

Erik shifts his attention to Jean. "How is it going?"

She's looking toward the doors, and she shrugs uncertainly, frowning. "Fine so far, I think. I mean, I can hear what they're thinking but I'm no doctor…I have no idea what they're saying. But no one's in a bad mood. That's got to be good, right?" Erik nods hopefully, trusting that she's right because he can't think anything else.

But moments later she sits forward quickly, and her eyes are wide.

Charles sees it all happen exactly the way he didn't want it to—exactly the way they were afraid of.

From somewhere outside his body he sees everything go downhill. He sees Erik inconsolable. His sister, too, upset, going into labor. Raven giving birth is tainted by the funeral two days later. He sees his family trying to move on, and they have each other but it isn't the same because Erik is never the same. He tries. But he isn't. He doesn't do what Charles asked him to do, because he can't do anything.

No. This isn't right. Erik is stronger than that. And when he makes a promise he keeps it.

Charles tries to scream but he can't. He's dead.

No…his eyes are opening. Slowly. Far too slowly, but there it is. The infirmary ceiling. He's back in his room, back in the infirmary bed and out of the operating room, and he isn't dead. It was a dream.

It's over. It worked. It must have. He can feel the bandages around his head—the patch of hair shaved away at the front on one side where the incision was, and the tug of fresh stitches. His body's responses are sluggish, but they're there, and Charles wonders why no one is leaning over him yet. Erik would be…

He shifts his gaze to the side of the bed, and there he is. There they are.

Charles smiles. The window tells him it's night, and beside his bed Erik is asleep in his chair and Jean is in another beside him, asleep against her father's shoulder with her legs curled under her.

He isn't sure how much he should move just yet, but with his eyes he sweeps the rest of the room. On the other side of the bed is Hank in another chair, and behind him on the room's other bed are Raven and Kurt. In chairs by the wall are Sean, Moira, Alex, and Ororo. The Summers must be keeping the twins for the night. Everyone else is here, and all of them are asleep.

He doesn't wake them. Instead Charles smiles to himself again, and goes back to sleep.

"For a few minutes there it was a little…but whatever it was, they got back on track. They're saying they got it all; you're going to be fine."

Erik is grinning softly, holding him close on the infirmary bed, and Charles isn't sure he's been getting enough air because his husband won't stop kissing him. He's a bit dizzy, but that might just be a usual post-surgery symptom, considering there was rummaging around in his head going on less than twenty-four hours ago. Either way, he isn't complaining.

It's early morning now, and the others haven't quite begun to stir yet but when Charles woke again he couldn't resist waking Erik this time.

It's hardly the first time he's woken up in the infirmary with Erik waiting for him, but it's the first time since after the coma after Bobby and Kitty were born. It's the first time he's woken this way and known what response he would get. But it wasn't that different, really, from before—Erik's face flooded with relief in the same way, Charles felt the same things from him—but this time he knew what everything meant, and this time Erik promptly kissed him and climbed into the bed with him without hesitation.

Everything else was the same, and Charles really understands, now, how long they were in love without even realizing it.

"I know…I almost can't believe it," Charles says softly.

He doesn't stay awake for long, and as he's drifting off again Erik tells him it's all right—that the doctor told them he will continue to tire easily for a while, while he recovers. Quite possibly for several weeks or more, along with other symptoms. But eventually he will be fine.

When he finally drifts into sleep again, he rests easy knowing Erik and the rest of his family will be there when he wakes.

Charles is still in the infirmary when Raven goes into labor three days later, but they bring a wheelchair to his room and let Erik bring him to the delivery room. He isn't necessarily needed, like he was last time, but Raven wants him there. He was there last time. When Kurt was born he was the only one there with her, holding her hand, the only one there at all because the children were too young and he left them with the Summers and Erik was at work.

Raven had no one else then. She does now, and Charles is more than grateful for it, but he wants to be there this time too. Erik wants to be there. It's their first grandchild and…a few weeks ago they weren't even entirely sure Charles would be here for this.

It's a girl, and Erik laughs, and when Charles looks at him strangely his husband tells him what Kurt said in the waiting room during his surgery. It's funny, and Raven is laughing a little too as she holds the newborn and Hank is sitting beside her. The girl's tufts of green hair don't surprise anyone. Nothing really would; her aunt Ororo has had white hair from birth and her mother is blue with hair of bright orange.

Erik claps Hank on the back, startling him but then he laughs too. Charles braces himself against the bed and stands long enough to kiss Raven's forehead. "I'm glad you were here," she whispers, and her voice nearly breaks when she says it but she smiles.

"So am I," Charles answers softly. He looks up and catches his husband's eyes across the bed, and Erik's eyes are damp and they're telling him the same thing Raven just voiced.

Charles is still here. They're grandparents now. Both are good things; things they've wanted.

But they want one more thing. They still have a mission.

Chapter Text

Now (Four Weeks Later)

"How are you feeling?"

Charles raises an eyebrow as he climbs into bed. "You're beginning to test my tolerance of that sentence again. I am recovering, you know."

And he has improved quite a bit in the month since. Though he's still easily worn out, he's been up and about for more than half that time. Bouts of dizziness came more often at first, but it doesn't happen nearly as much anymore. According to the doctors Charles's recovery from the procedure is actually coming along quite well.

What hasn't stopped is the vomiting, but that isn't related only to the tumor and its removal.

"Were you sick today?" Erik asks.

"Only once…"

He huffs. "How the hell long is it going to take for your hormones to stabilize, anyway?"

Charles rolls his eyes and settles beside him. "It's been in the works for years, Erik; I hardly think it is going to be abruptly finished because you wish it to be."

"I just hate it when you're sick; you've been sick, too often, for too long…"

Since Bobby and Kitty were born. Since his immune system was shot to hell. Erik knows it hasn't been nearly as awful at it could have been, and Charles says so, but Erik only shrugs helplessly because that isn't going to change his mind. He still doesn't like it.

"Once everything does stabilize, will it be better?"

"I'm not sure. I would hope so. There's been speculation, but there aren't any guarantees of course." Charles makes Erik look at him, because he wasn't quite doing it. He turns Erik's face down to look him in the eyes and massages the side of his face with his thumb. "It doesn't matter. Either way I'm much better off already with this damned thing out of my head. I feel much better now than I have in quite a while, and there's still room enough for improvement. I'm content with that."

Erik snorts and smiles at his husband, shaking his head a bit. "Of course you are. You're you."

Charles rolls up on his side, pressing himself into Erik with a mischievous smile of his own. "Come now, I certainly have reason enough to be in a good mood at the moment."

They went for a check-in with Charles's doctor at the infirmary today, and Erik doesn't have to ask to know which bit of news the man gave them his husband is referring to. "Do you now?"

Charles is abruptly very to the point. "I'm not in the mood for coy, thank you very much; it's been nearly six weeks and—"

"Little eager, aren't you?" Erik interrupts, grinning because he can already feel the beginnings of Charles's erection against his thigh.

"Well excuse me; as I've said, I feel much better now than I have in a long time, you do happen to be my husband, and now that we've been given the go-ahead I would rather not waste any time."

"So why weren't we in here all afternoon?"

"We do still have responsibilities. God, I'm talking to a child—" Charles starts to push away petulantly, but Erik pulls him back and kisses him. Charles laughs against his lips and begins to tug at his clothes.

They don't get much sleep and Charles has to sleep in the next morning, but it's well worth it. He wakes satisfied and happy, almost able to forget the deadline that is only some fifty days or so away.

Now that he's well on the way to getting back to normal, he and Erik can resume their plans. They've been talking in the past weeks, but there hasn't been much Charles could do and they already had the route and coordinates to where Schmidt likely is before he went for the surgery.

Erik woke him before he left for work, which he resumed two weeks or so ago once Charles was steady enough on his feet. Jean is here, too, of course, so it gave him confidence enough to go back and leave Charles at home sure he would be fine. A few more weeks and Ororo will be home more often too, through with school.

Today Jean and the twins are in the kitchen when Charles emerges from the bedroom, but Raven is there too.

"There he is! Long night?" She smiles at him knowingly and Charles glares at her, but the scowl is quickly erased when the infant she's cradling looks up at him. Annoyance forgotten, he takes the seat at the table beside Raven and eagerly takes Lorna into his own arms.

"Well hello there…" The grin is instantaneous, and he doesn't particularly care if it looks a bit ridiculous.

Raven laughs. "And she's staying with you tonight, remember?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course."

"Thought I'd come early and visit some myself. Kurt's supposed to come home from school with Ororo."

Today is Hank's birthday, and Kurt and Lorna are staying here tonight to give Raven and her husband time to themselves.

"Right. I'll have to actually cook something tonight…"

"Or let Erik do it."

Charles makes a face at her again, but he can't keep it for long while holding his granddaughter. "What am I going to do with you? The lot of you," he sighs instead. He looks down at the girl in his arms. "We should just run away—you and me. We may be the only sane ones left. We have to save ourselves."

Lorna just gurgles.

"She agrees with me," Charles nods approvingly.

Jean comes over and kisses his cheek. "I hate to break it to you, Mom, but you're related to the rest of us. If we're crazy you're doomed to it."

"Thank you," Raven says emphatically.

Charles laughs.

Charles continues to improve in every other way, but over the next few days the vomiting begins to get worse rather than better or remaining the same.

"It might be wise to go back to the infirmary in the morning…" Charles says this while clutching the edge of the toilet in the middle of night, and Erik is at his back to keep him steady.

"Oh my god, you actually figured that out yourself this time."

Charles coughs something else out and drops back on his heels. Erik moves closer to give him a shoulder to rest on. "Doctor did say if it became excessive that could mean there was…some complication, or something. I uhm…I don't remember. My head doesn't hurt, though. It may only be hormones imbalances betting severely out of hand…those do come from the brain, and they were rummaging about in mine a few weeks ago. Something could be off, I suppose…"

Erik frowns. It shouldn't be anything dangerous, but Charles is right; they should still take him in tomorrow.

"All right…in the morning. Let's get you back to bed now. Or are you still nauseous?"

Charles makes a face. "I am, but I don't believe anything else is going to happen at the moment. I might as well at least attempt sleep."

Erik kisses his temple and picks him up to bring him back to the bedroom.

He wakes first in the morning and gets up to dress, moving out into the bathroom to wash up.

Erik?

The groggy voice is in his head, and he smiles. But he's brushing his teeth, and he can't answer through the wall. I'm getting ready. I'll be back in in a minute. Do you need any help?

No, no, I'm getting up, Charles grumbles. I can dress myself, thank you.

I love you too, Erik answers in amusement. His husband's gentle laughter in his mind at that is something he savors, knowing how lucky he is that Charles is still with him.

Soon enough he's dressed and ready and going back to the bedroom to check on Charles. He pushes the door open almost without thinking, not needing to touch it of course, and as it moves he just misses most of what looks like the sort of puff of smoke Kurt makes when he teleports. But what would Kurt be doing here at this time of morning?

"ERIK!"

This goes through his mind in a fraction of a second, ground to a halt by the scream both aloud and in his mind, and then the door is open and Erik sees Charles is up and dressed but he isn't alone in their bedroom.

Erik has just enough time lock panicked eyes with his husband before the red teleporter disappears and takes Charles with him.

Charles doesn't have time to react in any other form than to scream for Erik, but even that does him no good. His powers are recovering more slowly than anything else—which was expected, but damnable now—and he can communicate but he can't influence. At least not quickly enough to stop the teleporter from taking him. For the fraction of a second that Erik is in the doorway before his home vanishes around him Charles finds his husband's eyes, and it's the only thing he can take with him.

He doesn't know where it is he's taken. He doesn't have time to see it, really, as he feels a needle in his arm and everything goes black.

"CHARLES!" Erik screams and lunges forward, but he's grasping at empty air as the two forms vanish. He loses his balance and drops onto the bed and scrambles up again, turning in place and panicked. "Charles! No! Damnit…!"

He knows who the teleporter is now. He knows now that the red man he remembers in Schmidt's employ and the teleporter Raven was first paired with are one and the same. He knows it's the same mutant who has now violated their home and taken his husband.

He knows this must be Schmidt's doing.

"Oh god…!" Erik loses his footing and drops uncoordinated to his knees, slumping against the side of the bed. "No…oh god no, Charles…!" Nothing the doctor can want Charles for can be good.

This can't be happening, can it? This is the sort of thing he's had nightmares about. Charles in the doctor's hands has been a subject of nightmares since before Erik knew he was in love. No. He's asleep. It's another dream. He'll wake up and they'll be fine, Charles will be here, and they'll get ready and go to the infirmary and get Charles more medicine or something and everything will be fine—

"Dad, what's going on!"

His ears are ringing. Erik almost doesn't hear Jean through the racket in his head, and he gasps when he looks up. He realizes he's holding his head and that his face is streaked with tears. He has to force his arms down—has to force himself not to hyperventilate, too.

"Dad!" Jean is at his side now, taking his arm firmly, trying to haul him to his feet. She's only able to get him as far as up onto the edge of the bed. "Dad, what happened! Where's Mom? Where's Mom!"

She's panicking because he can't curb his own panic. Erik knows that, too, and it takes everything he has to push it back enough to keep her from taking on too much of it. "I…he…they took…oh god—!" It isn't working as well as he'd like.

He still isn't entirely sure this is happening.

"Dad, look at me!" Jean grabs his face and make him look at her. She knows something is wrong and that Charles isn't here and that whatever has happened is bad but he knows she doesn't understand.

But for her to understand it all she would have to know everything, and she can't know all of it. He can't show her any of it.

He has to be able to tell her. He can't do to her what he did to Charles.

This is real. Erik takes her arms to steady himself, slows his breathing further, and she's looking at him. She's waiting, but she's worried and impatient and he feels her at the edges of his mind ready in push in. After twenty-five years with Charles he knows that feeling, even if most would never catch such a thing.

"Don't," he says roughly. "I'll…just listen."

Jean swallows and nods at him, and Erik takes a deep breath. It's another few moments before he can stop running through everything he's afraid will happen to Charles in his head and tell her what she needs to know.

But he does it. He tells her what he and Charles have been planning, and what they know about the pairing system and the war and who is behind everything and he mentions, only briefly, that he knew the mutant in question. He tells her what happened only moments ago and he tells her that it must be Shaw—he gives her the name Shaw, because Charles mentioned it's the one more widely used now—who had Charles taken.

Erik is on his feet by then, digging under the bed for something. "I have to go. Now. Your mother helped me reconstruct my memories of the way to Shaw's last-known location, and that must be where he is. He would have no reason to move; no one travels very much very far anymore. I-I have to find him. I—here!" He finally finds a bag under the bed large and sturdy enough to pack supplies in. From what he and Charles were able to determine, the trip will take several days on foot.

He falls silent and stares at the bag when he realizes it's the one Charles and Raven brought with them when they came here.

Erik swallows hard and gets to his feet, face dry by now and blinking back the fresh tears that threaten it. He hurries around the bed and is trying to decide what to stuff into the bag when Jean touches his arm.

"What are you talking about? You can't go by yourself! Not if this guy is as dangerous as you're saying."

"I'm not going to put anyone else is danger."

"That's crap. This is Mom we're talking about." He looks at her and her eyes are still wide, but she isn't wrong. Still…

"No, Jean. Please just…Raven. Get her here."

"What about the others?"

"Not the others. They'll want to come with me, and I can't allow that. Shaw is too dangerous."

Jean is exasperated now. "That's why you need help! I should come with you. I could sense Mom from farther away. It'll be easier to find him—not to mention to avoid anybody else. I—"

"NO!" Shaw already has Charles. The last thing in the world Erik wants is for the man to get his hands on any of their children. "I need you here, Jean. I need you safe. Do you understand me?"

"If he has a teleporter none of us are safe anywhere," she says evenly. She's much more collected than he is, suddenly, and Erik scowls and begins pushing things into the bag. Not wanting to pack too much to carry easily, only one change of clothes goes into it before he moves out in the kitchen to raid the pantry.

"Dad—"

"I told you no," he says firmly. "You're staying here. All of you are staying here." After that there's more silence for a while, Erik taking things from the cabinets that are easy to carry and eat without preparation, that will last long enough. The house is silent around them, with Ororo off to school and the twins still asleep upstairs. Then Jean speaks up again.

"What about Logan?"

Erik blinks, and he thinks about that for a moment. He's about to open his mouth when there's a puff of sulfur behind them, and Jean screams in surprise. Erik reacts immediately, spinning, and pulling her behind him.

Shaw and the teleporter are on the other side of the kitchen table.

"Now, now, don't worry; I don't want the girl. Not right now, anyway."

Erik can't breathe. He knew it was Shaw behind all of this, but somehow he doesn't think he'd really reconciled the man he and Charles have been discussing with the doctor—the man who tormented him as a child. Somehow the images never became one until now, with the man standing only a few feet away. His face is unchanged, the smirk the same. The only difference is the helmet on his head.

"Already packing, I see," Shaw continues. "Good. Just make sure you come alone." He's straightening the cuffs on his shirt as if this is any other conversation.

"Where is Charles?" Erik seethes, finally able to get anything out at all. "What the hell do you want?"

"You know exactly where Charles is, Erik. And he'll be fine as long as you come now, and you come alone." Shaw smiles as if he's delivered some sort of good news, and then he nods to the teleporter and both of them are gone.

"Oh god," Jean gasps. She comes out from behind him, staring at the place where they were.

Erik is having trouble keeping his eyes clear again. "Did you uhm…did you get anything from him? Do you know what he wants, or…?"

She looks at him, wide-eyed again, and shakes her head slowly. "No…I…I don't know what happened. I couldn't sense him at all."

Erik doesn't understand. If Shaw wants him to come now, and come alone, why didn't he offer to let Erik go with him and the teleporter?

All he can think is that the doctor wants some time before Erik arrives there, and again…none of the reasons for that can be good.

Charles's eyes open on a stone ceiling that he knows just as well as Erik does by now. He knows where he is before he looks around at all, and when he does it's only confirmed, and he knows for sure who had him taken.

He's lying on the mattress in the dim stone room Erik spent five years in as a child, and Shaw must be behind this.

What he doesn't know is why.

Charles tries to move, tries to sit up, but he gasps and stops immediately with only his elbows under him when his middle twinges with pain and soreness and the pull of stitches.

"Wh…?" He pulls up his t-shirt and finds the old scar across his abdomen newly re-closed. That explains why someone decided to exchange the trousers he'd changed into just before he was taken for pajama pants. They aren't his, but the t-shirt is and he would assume his socks are his own; he can't see them, with the thin blanket that's pulled up to his waist covering them. "What?" Another cursory glance around him and he sees his trousers and sweater folded on the edge of the mattress above his head.

Dizzy, Charles falls back against the mattress and the thin pillows. The mattress itself is not the same one from Erik's memories. The same size, but a bit better, thicker, though he can still feel a hint of the flat surface under it. It isn't the stone. The mattress is on some sort of low platform that makes it more even. That is the only change the stone prison has garnered in thirty years.

The door is still walled up. He can't leave any more than Erik could.

And what have they done to him?

"Erik…" Charles whispers to the emptiness, but he knows no one will hear him.

He reaches out, trying to find any mind near him, but the only ones he can sense seem far away and it doesn't help that's he's still groggy from whatever they put him under with. He doesn't get anything of use.

A hand goes to his stomach, fingers tracing the stitches, and he can't help the pit of fear that settles in his stomach. What did they do? He feels…empty. He doesn't know if the feeling is physical or mental but it's there, and he feels it, and he feels different. He doesn't understand why.

The sound of the teleporter's arrival startles him, and he flinches. That hurts, but he swallows back the grunt and manages to only make a face instead.

When he sees whom the teleporter has brought with him, he's glad he didn't cry out. It's Schmidt. Shaw. Of course it's Shaw. The teleporter leaves again, and it's only the two of them. Charles reaches for the other mutant's mind instinctively, wanting to know why he's here…but he runs into the mental equivalent of a brick wall. There's nothing there.

That is when he really sees the helmet, and he must be frowning because Shaw smirks a bit and motions to it. "No, you won't be getting inside my head. I do plan carefully, after all."

Charles swallows and forces himself up on his elbows again. "What have you done to me?" he demands.

"Well, with all the hormone rearranging going on in there we had to save the rest of those eggs before they were rendered useless, didn't we? You're far too valuable for your genetic material to go to waste just because you can't reproduce on your own any longer."

"What are you talking about?"

"I keep the best scientists here, Charles. Technology and medical procedures have come actually come quite far since the world you remember before the war. Granted, the rest of the world doesn't know anything of it, but that's the way I like it," Shaw shrugs.

Charles is trying to process that. Shaw doesn't only have his own powers. He has everything. Everything he needs to keep the world under his thumb.

"Anyhow, freezing eggs and such is old news by now. Here, anyway. They're quite safe. They'll be useful. The other things you don't need anymore have been removed as well. That might help with the rebalancing your body's been attempting to do—with none of those pesky female organs in the way anymore."

Charles is beginning to understand what the man is saying. The implications of it. He's glaring now. "You can't do that. You can't just—just take—"

"I already have." Shaw smiles and takes a few steps closer, nearly leaning over him when he reaches the edge of the mattress. "You should thank me. We had remarkable timing. There were two embryos in your uterus, fraternal twins—just a few days old and very tenuously attached. In the state you're in, a few days more and your body would have aborted them and you never would have known they were there. Either that or it would have caused serious problems for you. We saved all three of you."

"Wh…what?" Charles's blood runs cold, and suddenly he can't breathe. "Th-that's impossible…"

"Not entirely. Whatever they've been giving you as a contraceptive apparently doesn't work as well as they were hoping. Either that, or missing doses when you had the other surgery a few weeks ago disrupted effectiveness. Either way, you were pregnant, Charles."

His arms slips out from under him again. The room is spinning. "But…but how can they be safe…what will you—"

"They've been frozen as well. They'll be just fine for quite a while that way, until I need them. Then we'll find someone else to carry them. It isn't as simple as it sounds, but it works."

Charles can't control the tears anymore. He knows what the emptiness is now. Maybe part of it is the missing organs but the rest of it is something he's felt before. Something he never wanted to feel again. At just a few days…there wouldn't have been minds yet for him to sense, but somehow he knew something. He had to have known they were there, somehow, or the emptiness panging in his chest wouldn't be there.

"No," he gasps. "You can't. You can't take them. They're not yours…"

Shaw scowls at him now. "No? You can't carry them yourself. I'm the only one who can keep them safe. And who do you think made sure you and Erik were assigned to each other? Who's responsible for the fact that you were ever together at all? If I hadn't taken such an interest in the both of you, you never would have had him and those embryos wouldn't exist. None of your children would exist."

The tears still fall but Charles swallows back the sobs and stares at him in horror. Shaw is much too close now, in his face and threatening.

"That's right, Charles. I've always known exactly where Erik went. It merely suited my purposes to let him remain free this long—to let him raise that family of yours. All of those children are exactly the sort of mutants I need. They'll all be useful, when it's time to make myself known and take my place as the leader of this planet."

"NO!"

Shaw looks like he might want to hit him, but he doesn't. He smiles coldly and straightens. "It won't be long. Everything is nearly in place. And before you complain any further you would do well to keep in mind that I am in control here. Now, if you'll excuse me…" The teleporter appears at his side and whisks him away.

Charles lets himself sob then, when he's alone. He curls on his side as much as he can as sore as he is, and he cries.

Erik help…

Chapter Text

Now

"I have to go alone. If he said to come alone I have to. You don't know what he's capable of; if I don't he could hurt Charles."

Explaining everything a second time, to Raven, was harder. It wasn't easier. She's braced on the edge of the table now, staring at him, and Erik is holding Lorna because he didn't think it was safe to let Raven keep her while he was explaining this. He was right. Raven is shaky now, with that look on her face that means she would be pale if she weren't blue.

"I don't understand. What does he want?"

Erik shakes his head slowly. "I don't know. If I had to guess?" He pauses uncomfortably. "Me." Jean isn't here—she took Bobby and Kitty out of the house when they woke so they wouldn't hear what Erik had to tell Raven—and he was able to tell Raven a bit more of the truth. He sits before it becomes dangerous for him to hold the baby. "But I have to do this the way he wants me to. I can't risk giving him the chance to do anything to Charles."

He isn't sure Shaw won't do anything before he even gets there, without any provocation at all, but he doesn't say that.

Raven is gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles are changing color—not white, but something else, of course—and Erik can tell that she's trying not to cry. "God…oh god…"

Erik swallows hard. "I'll get him home. I promise you that. If Shaw wants me he can have me."

"Don't say that either!" Raven scolds him immediately. "Charles needs you. The kids need you. You're going there and you're getting both of you out."

"I'll try."

"Don't try! Do it!" She's upset. She sounds like this when she's upset, but she has a point. Erik stares at her for a long moment, and she's glaring back but not really glaring at him. Just glaring. At nothing. At the universe for doing this to them. Erik stands up and nods as firmly as he can.

He has to do it. He has to bring Charles back. He's willing to sacrifice himself to do it, but his goal has to be higher.

He eases Raven into a chair and kisses Lorna's forehead before handing the baby back over to her mother. He hugs Raven, though she can't return the embrace with the child in her arms. But she leans into him, and then he straightens and nods once more.

"I'll bring him back," he tells her.

"Erik…"

He should wait until Jean and the twins come back. Even though he hugged all three of them before they were out the door, Jean expects him to be here when they return. She expects to have the chance to try again to convince him to not go alone. And it isn't that he wants to go alone.

But he doesn't want to contemplate what Shaw might do to his husband if he doesn't follow instructions.

I'm sorry, Jean.

Erik picks the bag up from the table to sling it over his shoulder, and he wonders if Raven remembers it, too. They way she's looking at him now makes him think she does.

"Take care of them for us until we get back," Erik says. He wishes it had come out with more strength once it's out. But Raven nods and bites her lip, and she doesn't protest when he walks out the door.

He makes it as far as the gates before he hears shouting behind him. He's already pulled out of them open with ease, and the gate keepers are looking at him strangely but he's trying to go out and not in so he isn't a concern.

He knows it's Jean behind him. He can feel her in his mind, trying to ask him to stop, to wait, to bring more help. Erik doesn't look back. If he looks back he might listen to her.

Instead, he closes the gates behind him and holds them closed until the first few hills hide the town from view.

Jean pounds and pulls on the gates until it's clear that they aren't going to open, and in her mind Dad still isn't answering her, either. She can still feel him moving away—she'll be able to keep tabs on him for a while, at least—but he isn't listening to her.

She leaves the gate keepers to puzzle over the gate and breaks off and hurries back to the house, where she left Bobby and Kitty with Raven. Raven is up and pacing when Jean makes it back, trying to soothe Lorna because the baby is crying.

"She can't be hungry again yet, and she doesn't need to be changed…I think she knows we're upset," Raven says quietly.

"Damn right we're upset—why didn't you stop him before he even left the house!" Yelling at Raven isn't going to fix anything, but she's angry, and worried, and maybe a little panicked too. She has to force some if it back because everything in the kitchen begins to rattle.

Mom has always said the only thing worse than Dad's colds were hers. Dad's powers can only mess with the metal in the house; hers can move anything.

And Raven glares at her, stopping her pacing to face her. "How was I supposed to stop him? You don't stop your father from doing anything—it doesn't work like that. Not with Erik. If I'd tried to stop him he would have stopped me, and he would have gone anyway. You know that."

Bobby and Kitty come back downstairs at the noise from the shouting, and Kitty comes to Jean and tugs on her pants leg. "Jean, where are Mommy and Daddy?"

Jean swallows and ruffles the girl's hair a bit, trying to smile. "They had to go for a while. But they'll be back. Me and the other older kids might have to go get them back, but they'll be back soon. I promise." Kitty nods and hugs her leg then, and Bobby runs up and makes it a group hug.

"What are you talking about?" Raven says evenly.

In her mind Jean is already calling to the others—Hank, Sean, Alex, Ororo, Moira, Kurt and even Scott and Logan for good measure—giving them the memory of what happened and Shaw's appearance and everything Dad told her because that's easier than explaining and they don't have time for explanations.

I don't care what you're doing: All of you. The house. Now. From the reactions she feels, she doesn't think she'll get any argument.

"Exactly what I said," Jean answers firmly. "We're going after them."

Charles's chest hurts when he wakes, and he wonders how long he cried before falling asleep. He's still incredibly sore as well, of course, and besides that his stomach aches. He's nauseous.

He knows this cannot be good. He knows from Erik's memory what Shaw is capable of, and he has to admit to himself that he's afraid.

Beyond what's already been taken, he doesn't know what Shaw wants. He doesn't know what the man will do to get it.

Charles realizes he's shivering, and he pulls the blanket up around his neck. Everything fades out again for a while, until his eyes blink open again when he feels a hand on his forehead.

Erik…?

"No…I'm sorry. Just a friend."

Charles frowns and tries to focus. In the blurry background is a reddish puff of smoke, and he realizes that the teleporter brought someone else here. As the world asserts itself again he can make out the woman leaning over him. The dark blonde hair, her age—a few years older than Erik and himself—and the vaguely familiar face…

"I know you…I've seen you in Erik's memories. You're…Nicole, isn't it?"

She nods, then sigh as she draws her hand back. "I should have been sent down here sooner; you're burning up, poor thing. Shaw's surgeons may know what they're doing, but that's almost useless when he won't let them use enough medication…the incision's probably becoming infected. Though I suppose that's what I'm here for, isn't?"

This is the girl from Erik's memories. The one with healing powers. The girl who looked just as scared as Erik was in the sharp remembrances of those first few days here.

"Have you been here this whole time?" Charles's asks.

The woman nods again, shrugging and looking away. "I don't have much choice, do I? He has my family. He has anyone that means anything to anyone here. Why else would we do a damn thing for him?" Bitterness tinges her voice, but not enough to temper the kindness Charles sees in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. If only they had known…they could have done something about all of this so much sooner.

Nicole shakes her head. "No…I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're here." She lets out a breath and is back to business, pulling the blanket down. "Anyway…I can take care of this. Just hold on a minute and you'll feel fine." Charles doesn't protest when she carefully pulls his shirt up and rests a hand over the stitched-up incision. It is red after all, but that begins to go away immediately.

It isn't only the incision that begins to heal; the soreness through his middle and the aches in his stomach and chest begin to ease, as well. Soon enough nothing hurts, and the scar is only that again.

"I could get rid of it for you completely, if you wanted me to," she offers.

"No…thank you," Charles answers quietly.

Nicole nods in understanding, but she runs a finger over it again. Nothing changes visibly, but he thinks he feels something and frowns in confusion.

"Reinforcing the tissue around the area," she explains. "That's always the trouble with these sorts of scars, especially if they've been opened as many times as this one."

He thanks her again, a little bewildered, and when she sits back Charles pulls his shirt back down and sits up. It isn't hard; she really has fixed anything that was wrong. He feels fine, but for a slight headache that remains.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Nicole says quickly. She reaches for his head—the right side of it, too; the one that hurts—and in seconds the headache is gone. Her hand lingers, finding the scar from that surgery at his hairline. "What about this one?"

That one he would rather forget. "I uhm…I suppose. I mean, if it isn't any trouble…"

"Not at all."

That takes a bit longer, but then she pulls away again and Charles reaches up to feel it. There isn't anything there. The first few locks of hair on that side are still shorter than the others, growing back from surgery, but the scar is gone.

And it isn't only helping him he has to thank her for. This girl took care of Erik for so long, all those years he was here. Even when Shaw wouldn't allow her to use her powers she was here when he would let her come, tending to Erik when she couldn't fix him.

Charles's eyes are suddenly damp, and he has to gulp past a lump in his throat before he can speak. "Thank you…" he says unevenly. "Not just…just this…everything you did for Erik…I don't know how to thank you."

"Don't. I don't deserve it. I'm not strong enough to stand up to Shaw. Thirty-five years I've done everything he's asked of me just because I'm afraid. No, I don't deserve any thanks."

He takes one of her hands in both of his, and she'd looked away again but she looks back now. "Of course you do. He threatens your family; you can hardly be faulted for protecting them. God knows I would likely do the same. But you do what you can. You care. I know you do, from what I've seen in my husband's memories. Thank you for that."

Nicole nods wordlessly, not sure what to say to that, but it's all right. Charles releases her hand and straightens against the stone wall behind him at the head of the mattress.

"I've heard about you," she says finally. "I always wondered what you were like." She smiles a bit. "I think you're just what Erik needed. I should thank you, for keeping him happy all of these years."

Charles blinks, because he's picking up something he should have gathered by now. "You cared about him, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. How could I not? He was quiet, but there was always something about him…but it never mattered. I was never anything more than a piece of the nightmare, for him," she says almost dismissively.

"You were the part that made it a bit better," Charles tells her gently.

She swallows. "It was a long time ago." Then she shakes her head. "I'm just sorry this is happening. We all knew Shaw would want Erik back eventually, but…"

Charles makes a face. "Is that why I'm still here?"

"It must be."

He pulls in a slow breath, and the lump in his throat is still there and coming back in full force now. "I'm bait, aren't I?" Nicole says nothing, but it answers his question. "Does Erik know? Or do you know that?"

"I think he does."

"What has Shaw told him?"

"I don't know. But whatever it is, Erik probably believes that Shaw will let you go if he comes here."

Charles hesitates. "But…he won't, will he?"

"No…he'll keep you here to keep Erik in line," she tells him apologetically. "It's exactly what he does to the rest of us. I'm sorry."

The breath comes out in a rush, and he has to fight to keep a sob from coming out with it. "God…"

What about the children? What about everything?

"Look, I'll take the guys, but the rest of you should stay here. The rest of you are just kids."

Jean glares at Logan, resenting him for trying to take over her operation. She knows who's in charge shouldn't be important, and really it isn't, but she won't have anyone telling her what she can't do right now. "I am not a child. I'll be eighteen in a few weeks, in case you've forgotten, and I'm the only one who can track Dad without getting close enough for him to see us."

"And I am most certainly not a child," Moira protest from behind him. In her mid twenties by now, she's right.

Logan turns on her. "No, but you're human. I don't have anything against you for that, but we don't know how much radiation is out there between here and where we're going. You're not coming."

"This is not your decision, Logan," Jean reiterates.

"Excuse me, but I happen to be a hell of a lot older than the rest of you even if I don't look it."

"This is our parents!"

"I understand that! I want to bring them back as much as you do, but I'm the one who fought a few wars here. If you want my help you're gonna listen to me."

Hank shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "He has a point."

"Whose side are you on?" Moira grumbles, arms crossed.

"HEY!"

The shout is Raven, getting everyone's attention. Soon enough they're all staring at her. "This is not the time for argument," she says. "If anyone is going, you need to get going. Stop fighting over it." She won't be going herself, because someone has to take care of Lorna and Bobby and Kitty.

"I'm coming," Moira says immediately. Logan looks at her, and she stares right back. "I was out there until I was ten. I was born out there, and I'm fine. If anything was going to happen to me I think it would have happened by now."

"Not necessarily," Logan says quietly.

Her expression softens. "I know. But I'm making a choice. Charles and Erik took me in, and if I can help I want to."

That seems to get Logan's attention more than the yelling and demanding. He looks at her for a long moment, and finally nods without a word.

Jean lets out a breath. "Okay. So we're all going, then?"

"Me too?" Kurt asks.

"No, Kurt. You and I aren't going. We have to watch the little kids," Raven reminds him.

"You have to watch the little kids. I want to help. You know I could."

"You're too young."

"I'll be thirteen soon! Why do you keep saying I'm too young for everything!"

In the end Kurt is left behind with his mother and the three younger children.

Only Jean knows he'll be following them later anyway.

"Thank you, Nicole. You may go now."

The teleporter's return was, of course unannounced, and this time he's brought Shaw with him. Charles is on guard immediately, and Nicole quickly stands.

"Why are you here?" she questions worriedly. "You're not—what are you doing?"

"It's not your place to ask questions. Go back to the surface with Azazel."

Charles still can't read the man's thoughts. He's still wearing the helmet. But he can hear Nicole's worries loud and clear, though she's trying to keep the in check. His stomach knots again, and he slowly begins to swing his legs off the mattress to lower them to the floor. He doesn't know what he plans to do—if anything—but he isn't going to just sit here and let Shaw taunt him again.

Or whatever else he plans to do.

Don't. Don't make him angry. If you make him angry it will be worse if he does anything to you. Nicole, trying to warn him. Charles shudders inwardly, and it's worse when Azazel takes the woman's arm and disappears, and he's alone with Shaw.

"What?" he demands. "What do you want from me? Why am I still here?" He wants to hear it from Shaw himself.

The other mutant shrugs. "I want Erik, of course. I spent so much time working with him, he should really be here. There are others, of course, but none of them have his talent. He's the one I want with me when I take the world."

Charles glowers. "You seem to have already done that." The idea that Shaw has always had control…always known where they were…been manipulating their lives from the start….

It makes him sick.

"Not the way I want to. Not quite. But starting out quietly was the only way to do it—the only way to ensure everything came out the right way. It needed to, of course. I can't very well start another nuclear war. It was such a big project the first time around."

Confirmation. Of course it was Shaw.

"He'll never do anything for you."

"He will if your life is in the balance. And it is, by the way."

Charles swallows, but he won't let his gaze waver.

"Erik will need to know that. I plan to make it quite clear." Before Charles is even entirely aware the other mutant has moved Shaw is on him, one hand slamming him back down onto the mattress and holding him down effortlessly. Charles struggles, trying to catch a breath because the impact knocked the air out of his lungs, but though he's able to get air—barely—he can't move. Shaw's powers make the hand pressing on his chest unmovable.

"Get off of me!" Charles shouts. He doesn't know what the man plans to do—and it's terrifying, not knowing.

Shaw smirks as his other hand pushes under Charles's shirt to take the place of the first, but against his skin. "I can't do that, Charles. Erik will need a good reason to do what I want him to do, after all, won't he? And he's already on his way."

There's heat from the hand on his chest now. Or it feels like heat, but from the way Shaw is talking he knows it must be something more than just that. "No!" He fights, grabbing at the other mutant's arms and trying to kick out, but Shaw just brings a knee up to pin over his legs and hold him still.

His chest is burning. It hurts. Quite a lot. Charles tries to shout in protest again and it comes out as a cry of pain.

No. No no no…

He knows what this is. It won't just be a reason for Erik to do what Shaw wants. Erik will be scared, and devastated, and think he doesn't have a choice. "Nooo…" he moans. His breath catches in his throat when the pain spikes and then he cries out again.

Then Shaw is done. He lets Charles go and backs away with a satisfied look on his face.

Charles immediately rolls to his side to wretch on the floor off the bed.

"Good. That was enough then," is all Shaw says. He works at straightening the arms of his jacket, not looking at Charles anymore. "Don't worry; we'll make sure you live long enough for Erik to get here. If he makes the right choice, I'll allow Nicole to heal you. It's as simple as that. If you've seen Erik's memories you know how this works."

The teleporter appears again, but this time Shaw isn't quite through talking.

"I'm sorry you have to suffer, but it isn't personal."

Right. As if Shaw cares. Charles knows he doesn't and he isn't even looking at the man. His head is still hanging off the edge of the bed in case he isn't through throwing up, and he can't catch his breath. The nausea is back, and through the roof.

He knows why, of course. He knows what Shaw's done to him this time.

Shaw and the teleporter disappear, and Charles pushes himself back onto him back on the mattress and weakly wrestles his t-shirt off. It hurts too much to have it on now. The burn on his chest is making thinking increasingly difficult, and his eyes are blurred with tears.

No. Damnit. Oh god. Erik…

Shaw poisoned him—enough radiation to immediately affect even a mutant—and Charles sobs.

A dose that strong will kill him within days. He'll be close, when Erik makes it here. Shaw planned everything perfectly—to make Erik relive the horror of what happened to his parents, to force him to agree to stay to save Charles's life the way he couldn't save his mother and father.

There are tears on Charles's face, he's crying again, and this time it's just as much from pain as from his thoughts. His chest is on fire and the skin is bright red in some places and blackened and charred in others. He can't move. Everything is starting to fade out once more.

"What'd I miss?"

Kurt appears at her side shortly after they finally stop for the night—with only half of it left—and Jean, the only one still awake and on watch, snorts. "What took you so long?"

"Mom's worried just like everybody else; it took her forever to get to sleep. I had to wait. Then I had to find you guys."

"I gave you the route I pulled from Dad's head before we left."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Kurt drops onto a rock large enough to sit on and sighs. "She's been pretty upset all afternoon. I know even though she tried to hide it. She probably wants to be out here too. She's gonna kill me."

"I'll kill you if you get yourself hurt. You really shouldn't be here, but I knew I couldn't stop you," Jean says, shaking her head.

Kurt shrugs. "So…any luck getting in touch with Uncle Charles yet?"

She grimaces. "No…I mean, I feel what I always feel. He's there, somewhere, and thanks to the map he helped Dad put together we know where. But I try to raise him, and nothing. It's like right after surgery all over again. Like his powers are dampened, or…I don't know. He doesn't answer me and I can't sense anything specific. It's driving me insane."

"You think something's wrong?" Kurt asks worriedly.

Jean swallows. "I don't know…I hope not. Anyway, just get some sleep."

The next thing Charles is aware of is Nicole's tearful voice, telling him she's sorry and she didn't know that Shaw was going to do this. She tends the burn and lessens some of the pain, but he doesn't think she was supposed to do the latter. So he doesn't say anything about it. She can't do anything else for him.

Sometimes she's there and sometimes she isn't. Mostly Charles is alone, hurting and miserably sick, and as many times as he's been sick and been pregnant nothing has ever been like this.

Pregnant. He was pregnant. In the fuzzy places between sleeping and wakefulness he dreams—nightmares. About the growing children Shaw took from him and the one he and Erik lost eight or more years ago. He cries.

He doesn't know how much time passes. A day? Two? Three? He can't stay awake when he isn't being ill. A bucket appeared from somewhere, by the bed. He can't make it across the stone prison to the toilet. Not as often as he vomits, anyhow. Not that there's much to throw up. Sometimes Nicole tries to feed him but he can't keep anything down.

He wants Erik. Charles knows it wouldn't be good if he was here, but he wants him. He wants Erik to be here and hold him and tell him everything is going to be all right.

But it isn't. He won't let Erik do what Shaw wants.

And if Erik doesn't do what Shaw wants Charles will die.

He's going to die. When he accepts it its easier. He's still miserable, body and soul, but it's easier, better to know what is going to happen to him.

Erik won't do what Shaw wants. Charles will die because there won't be a way to stop Shaw soon enough to save him. That's all right. Erik will find a way to take Shaw down, easier without the threat of Shaw harming his husband over him.

Everyone will be free. Charles won't be there to see it, but he tells himself it's going to happen and that it's all right if he isn't there as long as he knows it's going to happen. As long as he knows Erik will be alive, and the children will be free to love whom they wish to.

It's harshly ironic, that they went through fearing so much that we would die because of the tumor only for him to die like this, from a direct dose of the radiation that caused it in the first place.

But he doesn't regret the extra month with Erik and the children and their grandchild that surviving gave him.

What he regrets is that his death happening this way will hurt Erik worse than dying back in the city from the tumor ever would have.

But maybe he can keep Erik from having to see it.

It isn't until he's worked through all of this—in the moments of lucidity he has—that he reaches out for his husband. He was too sick and disoriented before, and that hasn't gotten better, but at least now he knows what he has to do.

It's nearly three days into the walk when Erik feels it—Charles's mind, searching weakly for him.

He stops in his tracks and latches onto the tendril of consciousness, drawing Charles to him and holding on and before either of them has said anything there are tears of relief on Erik's face.

But the first thing Charles says isn't anything he expects at all.

Erik, turn around. Go home. You can't come here.

Erik blinks quite a few times, fingers tight around the strap of the bag on his shoulder. What are you saying?

You know Shaw wants you to return here to stay. Why else would he want you to come here for me? You can't do that, Erik. You can't help him.

But...he'll let you go. You can go home. I can find a way out after that…

He won't let me go. We'll both be trapped here, and you won't be able to do anything against Shaw for fear that he'll harm me. Coming here will have been for nothing. That can't happen.

Erik shakes his head at nothing, scowling. If I don't come he'll only send the teleporter for me. And if he has to do that, he WILL hurt you. Don't worry; I'll come, and we'll find a way out together if we have to—

You know there's no guarantee we would. It took you more than five years last time. Shaw will be much more careful now. What if we don't? The children will lose both of us. Please, Erik, just go home…stay with them…

It wouldn't do any good. I told you; if I do that Shaw will just have me brought there.

Likely he will, but when he does, don't help him. Don't agree. Do something. Stop him. Stop all of this. But don't come now. That's exactly what he wants, Erik, please…

He sounds so distant, tired. Erik knows Charles's powers haven't recovered completely from surgery, but he shouldn't sound this weak. At least not to him. Their bond is stronger, and he's more than halfway to where Charles is. It shouldn't sound as if this is difficult for him.

Charles, what is it? Are you all right? he asks suddenly. It's the question Charles didn't give him the chance to ask at the beginning.

A wave of something—emotions that Charles tries to rein back in, but Erik gets some of it anyway. Erik, please go home…please don't try to save me…

Erik makes a strangled sound. You're asking me to say goodbye to you…you know what he'll do if I don't come on my own. He'll kill you—

And when you don't have to worry about me you'll be able to take care of him. And the teleporter. You can make sure the future will be better for our children. For everyone. Charles's voice breaks in a sob. God, Erik, please. You know it's the only way. You know you'll never risk anything while he has me.

"No," Erik cries quietly. "Charles, no."

Go home…be with the children…tell them I love them…

NO! I won't let you die! We fought too hard to keep you here!

Another sob, and now Charles is really crying, as well, and what he says next it's clear he didn't want to say. I'm already dead, Erik. You can't save me. Even if you came here, I…Shaw says if you agreed to stay he would fix it, but he won't…not all of it…he wouldn't risk that. We would never be able to escape. If we did I would die anyway.

It takes a moment, for that to sink in. To realize what Shaw's done.

"Oh god," Erik chokes aloud. His knees give out, and he's on the ground, and he's sobbing. "Oh god…Charles…no…no…"

Charles is suffering. The same way his parents did. And no matter what he says now Shaw will never let it stop entirely as long as he can use Charles to keep Erik with him. But if he doesn't come, Shaw won't stop it. Charles will die.

There is no way to save me, Erik—not to save me and do what needs to be done, as well. We can only have one or the other. We know what the choice has to be.

"I'm sorry," Erik cries. "I'm sorry. I didn't protect you…"

It's hardly your fault, Charles answers weakly.

He was so sure he could do this. He could figure it out. He could save Charles, they could take care of Shaw somehow, and everything would be fine. They would be together. They had the rest of their lives, didn't they? They're not young, but they're not old, either. Not really.

But Charles is right. Shaw has played his hand well, and the day can still be won—the world can—but the victory will not be perfect. Not for them.

For a long time neither of them says anything. Erik is still on the ground and Charles is…he doesn't want to think. But they're both quiet, just with each other the only way they can be for now.

Then Erik knows what he's going to do. He gets shakily to his feet, numbly telling his husband what he's decided.

If I come, but I don't agree…it would be the same as if I hadn't come on my own. But the same as if he had me brought I could do something, from the inside. I can find a way to take care of him. Even if it takes some time, as long as I'm there he'll be happier than if I wasn't, even if I haven't agreed yet. He'll hold out hope I will, because he can always threaten the children. But as long as I'm actually there he won't hurt them.

It isn't far from Charles's plan, and it will keep the children safe for now.

And this way he'll be able to see Charles again. One last time, at least. The breath goes out of him at the thought, and he probably hasn't really accepted it at all.

He never will.

Erik, you don't have to do that…don't do that. It could backfire. Badly. The best thing for you to do is go home and—

No. I'm not leaving you alone. To die alone. That's what it means, but he can't think that part.

It's a moment before Charles answers, pained. I don't want you to go through this again. You don't have to.

I know. But I can't abandon you. You're my husband, Charles. I'm coming. Another day or two and I'll be there.

There's silence, and Charles must be trying to find an argument but he doesn't find one. I love you, he says instead. And the words are tearful.

Before he walks again Erik closes his eyes for a few seconds. I'll always love you.

Jean keeps in tentative contact with her father through the trip, enough to know where he is and follow him but not enough for him to notice her.

When Mom finds him, she hears everything.

The others gathered around her and questioning, she's still on her knees in tears long after Erik has gotten up and gone on.

Chapter Text

Now

Erik didn't remember the valley well until Charles worked with him before his surgery. He certainly didn't remember the village. But as they put his memories back together he did—remembered the shape and size of the valley and the flashes of the small walled village he saw as he ran. The village is larger now, but certainly still much smaller than any of the other settlements. And it isn't one of the five that are officially known of now.

What Erik remembers most—what he remembered even before Charles helped him—was the entrance in the side of the hill. It's a hill, because maybe it isn't small but it certainly is not a mountain. It isn't large enough to house what Erik knows that entrance leads to, but he supposes most of what he saw in his escape is underground.

The hillside is merely a convenient place to hide an entrance in the rocks. Anyone who happened upon this place would likely believe it to be a newer village not reported yet, or one that had decided not to officially join with the network of settlements. They wouldn't know the walled village is there as a home for the families of the mutants and other people Shaw forces to do his bidding. They wouldn't know the people in that village are virtually prisoners. They wouldn't about Shaw's headquarters and the labs underground.

But Erik knows where the entrance is. It's the one he made it out of thirty years ago.

He doesn't see much reason to observe for long before cresting the opposite hill and making his way down into the valley. There isn't any reason to hide as he crosses the small valley to the entrance.

He wants Shaw to know he's here. He isn't trying to pull anything just yet, after all. He's here because Charles needs him.

The metal door in the hillside creaks open before he reaches it.

Shaw and the teleporter and another mutant man Erik doesn't know are on the other side.

"You actually followed instructions, Erik. I'm impressed."

"Where is Charles?" he demands immediately.

"There will be time for that; there are a few things we need to discuss first."

"I have nothing to say to you. I know what you did to him, you bastard, now take me to him."

Shaw's eyebrows go up, disappearing under the helmet that really doesn't look any good on him at all. "Managed to reach you, did he?"

"Take me to him," Erik repeats firmly.

"I assume you also know what I'm asking of you, then."

Erik's eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches. "You know I won't do that. I won't help you. You've done enough to this world."

"Well…maybe you'll change your mind. Azazel, take him to his husband. If Nicole is there, bring her back up for now."

Nicole? Nicole is still here?

Erik doesn't have time to be upset over that before the teleporter takes the short few steps to him, takes his arm, and they've gone. The hillside disappears and the all-too-familiar dim walls of his old stone prison materialize around him. It hasn't changed at all save for the wooden platform under the slightly better mattress boosting it a foot or two from the ground and keeping it level.

The vents to the surface help some, but the stench of blood and sickness makes Erik's stomach turn before he's even focused on the makeshift bed. He can't entirely see the prone figure there because a blonde woman of maybe middle age is sitting on the edge of it at the head.

When she turns and stands Erik knows it's Nicole, but that doesn't matter anymore as he lets the bag drop from his shoulder and quickly takes the few strides to the bedside and drops onto the edge himself.

"Charles…"

He isn't conscious, but he's still here. He looks…awful isn't a good beginning. He's lost weight just in the four and half days it's taken Erik to get here. He is pale as a sheet but for the flush of fever, his hair is thinning already, hints of dried blood are around his nose and mouth, and the burn on his chest is terrifying.

"I'm sorry," Nicole whispers from behind him.

Erik wraps one of Charles's hands in both of his as he glances back at her. She is much older now, of course—she was only seventeen or eighteen the last time he saw her—but he recognizes her easily. "I'm sure you've done everything you can."

She doesn't seem to know what else to say before the teleporter disappears with her, and Erik is left alone with his husband.

When they're gone he takes in the rest of the small room. It isn't empty. There is a bucket by the bed, and beyond that a pile of rags and a basin of water and a small pile of containers of medical ointments. He notices now that the burn has been treated.

So Shaw is perhaps a bit more generous these days. That doesn't change anything. Erik still plans to kill him if he ever gets the chance.

"Charles, I'm here," he says. His voice catches in his throat.

He can't move but to rub gentle circles with a thumb over the back of the hand held between his. It's hard, too, not to just weep. He doesn't want to be crying when Charles wakes up. He doesn't want that to be the first thing he sees or the first thing he hears.

Finally the fingers between his twitch, and Charles coughs roughly and opens his eyes part of the way. Erik keeps up the circular motion over his husband's hand, squeezing a little now, and he doesn't know what to say as Charles blinks up at him.

Are you real this time?

Erik swallows back a lump in his throat, not want to know what sort of dreams Charles has had in this state. "I'm real. I promise."

"You're so…stubborn. Should have gone home…"

"I told you I wasn't going to leave you." His throat is tight and his voice is wavering already. He's not going to make it. Half a dry sob escapes and he chokes it back with an angry frustrated sound. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Stop…"

Charles tugs only a little with the hand Erik is grasping, but he understands. He bends to kiss his husband's clammy forehead and then lets his own rest against it, careful not to press too close or let their entwined hands brush the burn. They're quiet until Charles coughs again suddenly, turning his face away, and Erik pulls back enough to help him onto his side when he begins to wretch. He snatches the bucket from the ground to bring it closer, but not much comes out beyond stomach fluid and blood.

Charles is exhausted and moaning when he finally stops heaving, grimacing likely because the movement hurt thanks to the burned skin. Erik finds the rag Nicole left at the corner of the mattress and wipes the blood from around his mouth, but now his nose is bleeding. He's trembling. Erik keeps the rag pressed to his nose and realizes that one of Charles's hands is gripping his arm, fingers spasming. Quiet sounds escape his lips between not-quite-even gulps of air.

He's in pain. Erik knows that, but it wasn't quite so clear until now.

"Charles, I'm so sorry," he cries. It was never supposed to be like this. This was never supposed to be Charles.

It takes several moments for Charles to relax again and for Erik to be able to remove the rag from under his nose, but when Charles is otherwise more still he's shaking his head weakly. "I told you not to do that…"

"Do what?" Erik asks dully. He's cried. He's done now. His cheeks are still damp, but he hasn't bothered to dry them yet.

"Blame yourself."

Erik cups his husband's cheek and swallows. "You're suffering because of me. He's doing this to you because he knows watching you go through this will hurt me. He knows how strong the memories are of what happened last time I was here. He…it's all because of me."

"That doesn't make it your fault."

His eyes fill again even though he didn't think they would. "There has to be a way around this. I can't let you die like this—not here. Not now. Not…ever. It's not right. You don't deserve this."

Charles swallows thickly and lets out a small breath. "Erik…you're here. Please just…just be here," he whispers.

Erik hesitates. It takes a moment but he nods unevenly and stretches out at Charles's side. He keeps his hand and presses kisses to the side of his head, and otherwise tries not to jostle him for fear of causing any more pain. He has to move, when the nausea forces him to wretch, but Erik does everything he can to cushion the impact of movement.

He tends to Charles until sleep drags him under again, and it seems like forever but really it isn't long. When he's asleep Erik watches his face, reassuring himself that the pain does not seep too much into his rest. He can't know, really, but he seems more peaceful at least. Erik smooths his hair and kisses his forehead again.

It takes him a moment or two to realize quite a few strands came away with his fingers.

A puff of sulfur, and Shaw is watching him.

"Nicole could fix this."

Erik snorts. "But at what cost would you let her?"

"You know the answer to that: You stay here. You do what I ask of you. It wouldn't be so awful, really. We'd be ruling the world, after all."

"Would you let him go?" Erik asks.

Shaw actually looks almost apologetic. "I'm afraid not. I could allow him to be more healthy, but…well, there would need to be some incentive for you to stay, after all—since world domination is obviously not enough for you." He says it as if there is something wrong with Erik and he isn't the insane one.

Charles was right, then.

"Then no," Erik answers. Charles has already made it clear that he would rather die than live as a prisoner to be used against Erik.

"Charles will be dead within two or three days if something isn't done."

"I'm aware of that," Erik snaps roughly.

"I was simply making certain. I'll leave you to think more about it then." He nods, and the teleporter takes him away again.

Erik doesn't have to think about it. He can't agree.

But maybe he can think of another way to fix this.

He stretches out beside Charles again and watches his husband's damaged chest rise and fall, willing it to keep doing so for long enough.

"We don't have much time," Jean says. She tries to keep her voice neutral and she isn't sure how well she succeeds. They're hidden by the ridge at the top on the side of the valley they approached from, crouched behind rocks to be sure they're not seen by anyone in the village or from the compound underground. At her side, Scott squeezes her hand.

"We'll figure it out," he tells her.

"How much of a crunch are we talking about?" Logan asks.

"Two or three days, at the most."

They all know what she means. It wasn't easy, telling them what she heard after she collapsed. But she had to. Right now they're all nodding grimly, and it doesn't help her mood.

"We can work with that," Logan says. "Nobody's dying here if I have anything to say about it."

Jean doesn't have to be able to read his mind to know what he's thinking, when he says that so adamantly. She knows he'll do anything he can to keep Erik from having to go through what he went through, losing Kayla.

Thank you, she tells him silently. He nods at her.

"So what's the plan? How are we getting in there?" Hank questions.

Logan answers with another question. "Where are your parents?"

Jean isn't sure how to explain that. "The best way I can describe it is a cave, but the entrance is walled up. The only way in or out is by teleportation, but since we don't know exactly where it is that doesn't help us. Kurt can't get in there. We'll have to get into the compound somehow and find the entrance to where they are. There has to be a way there; we'll just have to blast through when we find it. Alex or Scott could do that easy."

"Yeah, but like you said we have to get in there first," Alex echoes.

"Is there another entrance?" Logan asks.

Jean makes a face. "Not that I know of. I could try looking through a few minds in there, as long as I'm not noticed."

"You're telling me Mom hasn't noticed you yet? Any of us?" Hank asks skeptically.

"No…he's not looking for us. He doesn't expect us to be here, and he's…kind of distracted right now anyway. And okay maybe I'm using some shielding. Anyway, no. Don't worry about it."

"I'm not. I want to know why you don't want Mom and Dad to know we're here," he presses.

"Because if your parents know we're here they won't want us here—they'll want you kids safe—and Charles still might be able to make us go home," Logan answers bluntly.

He's right, that's it exactly, but Jean is glad he said it and she didn't have to.

Hank winces. "I didn't think about it that way…"

Jean lets out a breath. "Anyway. It's getting dark. The rest of you settle down for the night, and I'll take first watch and see what I can find in there."

Logan nods. "She's right. Whenever and however we go in, we should do it at night, and we don't have time to get a plan of action together and go now. So we can't do anything until tomorrow night anyway."

Erik isn't sure what time it is, but it must be late because he's drifting off. Careful thinking has yielded nothing yet, and he tries to keep himself awake because he hates the thought of sleeping with no idea yet what to do. But the journey here was long and he didn't allow himself any more rest at night than he absolutely needed. He's exhausted, and soon enough sleep wins out.

It doesn't last long. Quiet moaning wakes him, and when he opens his eyes Charles is curled away from him and clutching his stomach.

"Charles? What is it?" He pushes a hand gently behind his husband's neck to support his head when he rolls back to look at him. Erik's other hand moves to cover the ones clutched over Charles's middle, as if that will do any good in soothing whatever pain he's in.

Charles shakes his head weakly, trying to gulp back the moans. "Don't know…some sort of infection…or perhaps just the fact that…haven't been able to keep anything down in days…just hurts."

Erik makes a face. "Is there anything I can do?" Charles shakes his head again, looking away when he groans more loudly. When Erik next gets a glimpse of his face in the dimness, there are tears in the corners of his eyes. More than that, it seems there's something he isn't saying.

Erik swallows. "Charles?"

"There's nothing," he answers, almost too quickly. More moaning, punctuated by higher frustrated sounds that tell Erik he's trying to keep himself quiet.

"It's all right," Erik tells him. His throat is threatening to close again, but he repeats it. "It's all right." He kisses Charles's cheek and temple. "Anything? Water?" Charles shakes his head and tugs Erik back down at his side. Erik goes, wrapping a gentle arm around his husband's waist low enough to avoid the burn and settling his chin over Charles's shoulder. "Okay…okay…"

"I'm…being selfish," Charles whispers at length.

"Why would you say that?"

"This isn't like before. Shaw…he had to dose me with enough…radiation to affect a mutant…like this. There could be enough left on me to make you sick if you stay so close…"

Erik kisses his bare shoulder. "I know…it doesn't matter. I don't care."

"Of course you don't…because you're so stubborn," Charles huffs quietly.

"I know. I'm stubborn. We covered that." And he manages to smile.

Erik holds onto him, wishing he could do more to help with the pain, and it's a while before Charles can stop squirming and moaning. Really he doesn't entirely before he's out again simply from exhaustion—from lack of any real energy in the first place. Erik is only against his side, not his chest or his back, but still he can tell that his husband's breathing isn't even just from the way the arm against his chest and the shoulder under his chin are moving.

They may have less time than they want to think.

Charles doesn't want Erik to hurt anymore than he already is. He doesn't want to make it all worse. But lying isn't something he wants to do, either, and a sin of omission is just as much a sin.

He tells himself he doesn't have to say anything immediately, and by now the effects of the radiation poisoning have progressed far enough that exhaustion and pain drag him under more than once and he almost forgets. Half of the night passes. The first time he wakes up and everything hurts more and Erik is there…his stomach is the enemy and when he clutches at it he feels the scar and he thinks about it. He knows he should say something but his eyes fill and he can't.

Erik thinks the tears are only from the pain. Charles lets him think that. He knows it isn't right, but it hurts too much to think about trying to tell him. Erik holds him, and they both, eventually, fall asleep again.

But he dreams. It's what he always dreams about, now.

Eight Years, Six Months Ago

"We didn't need to open the entire incision for this. He doesn't need to stay here if he doesn't want to. As long as long as he stays in bed for at least a couple of days and you keep an eye on the stitches you can take him home now. That might be better, really," the doctor tells him.

Erik only nods numbly.

When he pushes back through the door and into the room Charles is facing away from him on the infirmary bed, still in the thin gown from the minor surgery that was needed to remove the dead fetal tissue he couldn't expel like a women could have. He's quiet, and Erik swallows and goes around the bed so his husband can see him.

He crouches by the bed and waits for Charles to focus on him. It seems to take a minute or two for him to realize Erik is even there.

"They said I can take you home…do you want to go home?" Erik asks gently.

Charles nods wordlessly, and Erik finds his clothes—pajamas he'd gone back to the house to get while Charles was in surgery.

The ones he was wearing last night are ruined, blood-stained from the bleeding the miscarriage caused. That could happen, because of the small passage that is there for fertilization to take place, but there was no way for him to expel anything other than the blood just like he can't give birth in the usual way. The doctors told them that's likely why it was hurting him so much—before they quickly carted Charles off into the back to put him under and do what needed to be done.

The fall air is chilly, and Erik wraps him in his coat once he's helped him change clothes and scoops him up in his arms. Charles is still silent, until they make it home. Raven is there. She came to stay with the children the rest of the night and get them sent off to school this morning. It's mid-morning now, and the house is empty once she's left. She offers to stay, but once Erik has set him down in the bed and she's kisses her brother's forehead Charles thanks her but tells her to go home and get some sleep. Then it's just the two of them.

As soon as they're alone Charles cries, and Erik doesn't know what to do but hold him. "I'm sorry," he says, over and over. What else is he supposed to say?

Charles is despondent for days. Weeks. He has enough presence of mind to hold himself together in the evenings and during the day on weekends—whenever the children are not asleep or at school. When they're watching him. He speaks when he needs to, but not when he doesn't. They notice. Erik has to talk to them—spend time with them because Charles is trying, he really is, but he doesn't seem able to focus on much for long.

Erik questions the doctors. They can't help. It's different for everyone, they say. Everyone takes it differently. Just be there for him. It's probably worse for him because he's such a strong telepath. He could feel the developing child's mind—the pregnancy was nine or ten weeks along when it happened, enough for there to be brain waves. Charles had the opportunity to attach to much more than other mothers. The doctors don't know what else to do.

Charles cries at night. Every night. Sometimes during the day when the children have gone to school he sits at the table and cries a little or locks himself in the bathroom, but it's worst at night. He won't say anything. He's curled on his side, usually, arms around his middle. He sobs and Erik holds him, wrapping around him from behind and just being there because it's all he can do. Saying anything doesn't help. All he can do is hold Charles until he manages to sleep.

It isn't something they usually do, sleeping spooned like this when they haven't just been together—even then, they usually separate at least a bit, just out of habit, unless they're too tired to and they fall asleep tangled that way—but Erik doesn't mind it now. He'll do anything, as long as it helps Charles. As long as it lets him know he isn't lone and they'll get through this.

Nothing changes much, until the night Charles turns over and presses his face into Erik's chest instead. "Did I do something wrong?" he sobs. "Could I have prevented this? I—"

"No…stop, Charles. It's not your fault."

It's a few more minutes, but he calms some, still clinging to Erik. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I kn-know this happens…I know it's not uncommon…especially now. The radiation left over from the war…other conditions…technology we haven't regained yet…" He swallows hard. "Maybe I've been silly…letting this go on like this…"

"You're not being silly," Erik says quietly. This is hurting him, too. It's not silly to be upset. He's just afraid it's been going on too long.

"I've worried you…I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Erik holds on a little tighter.

Charles sobs again. "It's just…I could feel it, Erik. There was a mind. It was a baby, it was our baby, and I let it down. I let it die—"

"I told you to stop that," Erik whispers. "It is not your fault. You're right; these things happen…"

"But it's different with me…the secondary mutation is more unstable then before…it's my body's fault…it couldn't…I couldn't…it is my fault…"

"No…it's not. Your body and you are not the same thing, Charles." He nudges his husband's chin up and looks him in the eyes—those piercing blue eyes that always seem to see right through him. Except for now. Now they can't even see through Charles's own grief and guilt, and it breaks Erik's heart. It shouldn't be that way. He makes Charles look at him and runs a hand through his hair gently, ruffling it a bit and trying to smile.

"It may be beautiful, but you are so much more than just this shell. It doesn't define you. What it does against your will doesn't either." And through the now-silent tears Charles is flushing furiously now, as Erik kisses his forehead.

"You never told me that before…" Charles murmurs.

"Told you what?"

Charles hesitates, the tears slowing to a stop now. His face is still damp, but he's too busy looking up at Erik to dry them and so Erik does it for him. That makes him shy away from answering for another minute or two, until Erik is done and his face is dry.

"That you think I'm beautiful…" he says finally, not quite looking up anymore. His face is still flushed. "Not when we weren't having sex, anyhow, and that hardly counts."

Erik blinks, trying to think back and wondering how that's possible. He knows he isn't the most affectionate person in the world, or the most articulate, and…well, as much as they care for each other after all this time it's still true that they were only ever married in the first place because they had no choice. It's why they're here. It's probably why so many things go unsaid, but…

"I'm sorry," Erik says quietly. "I should have." He presses another gentle kiss into his husband's hair. There's something else he could say. Maybe. But it scares him and he ignores it.

Charles knows he's here. Charles knows he cares. That's always been enough. Charles rests in his arms now, and maybe that's a bit of a smile on his lips.

Now

Charles wakes crying, the dream not just of then but of now and of what could have been but wasn't and what won't be, now. Erik is still asleep at his side and his husband's arm is still around his waist—low and over the scar, over the incision Shaw's doctors used to take what they took from him.

"Erik…"

It comes out choked and barely audible the first time. He has to try again. Luckily Erik wakes up in time to help him turn over when he starts to wretch again. It takes his energy, and everything hurts, and his fever is awful and he knows it and he wants nothing more than to sleep in Erik's arms and ignore it all, but he can't back down this time.

Erik deserves the truth.

He's crying again, softly. Erik thinks it's the pain like he did last time and he's trying to settle him down, kissing his forehead and his cheeks and trying to soothe him, and won't let him speak.

Erik, stop. Listen to me. You have to listen to me…please…

"What is it?" he asks softly.

Charles swallows back tears and takes a careful breath. "It's not nothing…" he says. "Before. It wasn't nothing. There's something else…"

He doesn't realize he's trembling again until he tries to wrap his arms around his stomach. He doesn't know if it's cold or pain or lack of nutrition or just how much this upsets him, but he can't stop it. Then Erik is rubbing his arms and that helps some, and he tries to go on.

"When I was first brought here…Erik, it's not just you…you can't think that…he wanted something from me, too…"

The motion of Erik's hands on his arms stops, and Charles can feel the fear rolling off him. "What do you mean?" he asks anxiously.

"The surgery the doctors at home wouldn't do, before we found out about the tumor. When they were concerned for my health." Charles snorts at the irony. "Shaw had his own doctors do it…I didn't know he planned to until I woke up."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"The rest of my eggs. He wanted them. He has more technology than anyone else here—more than anyone had even before the war. He has a way to use them. He…oh god, I only know what he told me. I don't know exactly what he plans to do. I…he didn't have Nicole heal the incision until I woke up so I would believe him when he told me what he'd done. He has that helmet. I can't hear his thoughts…"

Erik's mouth is in a thin, angry line "I know. Jean couldn't hear him, either."

"What?" Charles questions immediately. Erik looks away as if he's said too much. "When was Shaw ever close enough for Jean to try?" Charles demands. The idea of Shaw anywhere near her makes him sick. Well, more sick.

Erik grimaces. "Right after they took you—he showed up to make his demands that I come alone. It was just for a minute. He didn't try anything. He was there and he was gone; Jean is fine. Everyone is fine."

But Charles is already breathing too hard—everything Shaw's said to him and what Shaw's done and the control he's had, ever since the beginning. Maybe the children are fine but they aren't safe…

"Not everyone," Charles gasps. "Not everyone is fine. Erik…he took everything. Everything they would have taken out if they'd done the surgery at home. But the uterus wasn't empty. I was pregnant," he cries. "I was pregnant…there were two of them, and he took them…"

He meant to tell Erik gently. He didn't want to make all of this worse. But it comes out in a panicked rush and everything hurts, outside and inside, and he doesn't mean to but it comes out anyway.

Erik seems to have trouble processing. "You were what? But I thought—"

"I don't know! I don't know how it happened, but it did. The last time we—the embryos were only a few days old. I never could have carried them to term; I might never have known they were there. He saved them. I know that. But it doesn't change the fact that Shaw has them. He has our children…"

Erik makes a strangled sound. "Oh god. Oh god, you're serious. He really—"

Charles has enough to calm them both down, but Erik's eyes are still wide. Charles can feel the shock and the anger roiling in him.

"Erik," he whispers painfully. "You have to get them out of here. You can't let Shaw have them. You have to get them back. Or if you can't or you can't find out how to…a way for them to be born away from Shaw, or at all, then…" He swallows noisily. "Just don't let Shaw have them. You can't let him raise them, or let them stay the way they are, never born. You can't let either of those things happen. They don't deserve that." He's had time to think this through. He knows what he's saying, and he waits for Erik to understand him.

Erik's eyes are red-rimmed now. He understands. "Charles…"

Charles nods a bit, telling him he's understanding correctly, and Erik sobs quietly and holds onto him.

"That is the right thing to do, isn't it?" he asks softly. Erik nods against his shoulder.

"If they're ours Shaw shouldn't have them…if they can't be born and grow up with us…or one of us…or anyone else we trust, then…"

"Then if I'm not here…if you can't save them, will you promise me? Promise you'll—"

Another pained sound. "I promise. Shaw won't have them. If I can't save them I'll…I'll send them to their mother. " Erik's voice breaks and there are more kisses—his shoulder and his neck and his head and cheek and temple. Gentle kisses. Loving ones that tell him he has nothing to fear, even if he never leaves this place.

"I'll tell them all about you," he murmurs weakly. "And their brothers and sisters….oh…all three of them. There's the one already waiting for us…there'll be four of us waiting for the rest of you…though…I hope to need to wait a while…"

"Shh…" Erik tells him.

"But try to find a way to save them. Most here don't like Shaw, actually. If you defeat him, they may help you. Then if someone will carry them…I'll be all right without them. I'll still have the one with me…we'll be all right." He finds a tired smile somewhere, and he means to stop talking but he's drifting off again and it's coming out groggily the same as if he were heavily medicated. "We'll watch over you all until you join us. And our parents are there. Or I know my mother is there. I'm sure my father is too, but actually he was away when the war started. Giving a presentation. I don't think I ever told you that…I don't actually know what happened to him. He was a nuclear scientist, you know. Did I ever tell you he was a scientist? When I was a child I used to think I wanted to be a scientist too…"

He coughs. It rips through his chest and he's faintly aware of the fire—of something warm and liquid coming from the side of his mouth and Erik wiping it away. He thinks he hears more quiet sobs but he's too far away.

It's all right. Erik knows the truth now. He'll do the right thing, however the rest of this plays out.

Is he still talking? He's still talking. But his eyes are closed now. "Anyhow, 'm sure there are plenty of stories your parents could tell me about you…that will be interesting…and I'm sure they've all been taking care of the grandchild that's already with them...the one we lost before…do you ever think about it? What he or she would have been like? I do…I can't wait to meet them…so this isn't all bad, really…"

Charles knows he feels Erik's breath on his neck now, but he thinks he feels tears there, too.

I'm sorry, he thinks.

Then there's darkness again.

"Jean?"

It isn't her watch anymore. Logan is at the other end of their small camp, and he's the one on watch, but she hasn't been able to sleep. Not much. Scott is awake now, looking at her and concerned, and Jean realizes she whimpered. That she's shivering from the secondhand emotions in the back of her mind.

"Sorry…" she whispers as he shifts closer. "I've been trying not to directly eavesdrop on Mom and Dad anymore, but I can still feel them. I have to keep at least that much connection so I know they're okay." Not that they're okay, really. But so she knows they're alive. Especially Mom. She swallows and blinks back tears, and Scott takes her hand and squeezes it. She can't quite see his eyes through the red-tinted glasses, but she knows what they would look like if she could. She knows he's listening, and that he cares.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently.

"It's just bad," she swallows. "I don't…know exactly. I'm not intruding, but I know what they're feeling. Mom is miserable…he's so sick…still convinced he's not going to make it…and Dad is just…god, Scott, it hurts. It's worse than when we didn't know what was going to happen with the tumor."

She doesn't want to cry. She's not supposed to do that. She may not be the oldest, and maybe she's not even technically in charge here—that would be Logan, with the experience he has—but she's the one who started this. Who got them all out here. She's supposed to be the strong one.

But Scott, of course, doesn't care about any of that. He doesn't care if she cries, and she knows it. He pulls her into his arms and she doesn't cry but it helps to be held.

"Did you find anything?" he asks eventually. He knows she would rather get back to business, or be talking about something important, rather than dwelling on what's upsetting her.

"Another entrance, a couple of miles on the other side of the valley—a bigger one. A cargo entrance, for vehicles and things."

"They have vehicles?"

"Apparently. Lots of them."

Cars aren't unknown, but the streets in the settlements aren't made for anything larger than wagons. The cars that have been recovered and fixed that still run are kept by the Council and used for transportation between the cities.

"Huh," Scott huffs. He sits back, letting her go as she keeps talking.

"Yeah. Anyway…we should be able to find a way to slip in there. It's open more often, and it's a lot bigger. More activity around it to blend into. Or if I need to cloak us or cause enough confusion to keep us from being seen I think I can manage it. And I know where the tunnel is. I can get us to Mom and Dad. I don't know what we're going to do about Shaw though. If he can absorb any sort of energy…I have no idea how to hurt him. And he has that helmet to protect him from telepathy, too."

"If we can get your parents out of there…that other woman too, and her family…she could help your mom and then maybe he and your dad will have some idea of how to take care of him."

Jean sighs. "Yeah…we'd have to get her family out too, or she won't be able to do anything…she won't put them in danger from Shaw…damn. We're going to have to split up. Her family would be in the village. And I'll have to find out who her family is. I'll have to do that without her noticing…if I talk to her Mom will know. And even if Mom couldn't make us go home, Shaw might notice they know something. It's better if no one knows we're coming until we go in..."

"You can find whatever else you need to find in the morning. You should sleep," Scott tells her.

"But we should be ready to go in the morning. Those of us hitting the entrance will have to work around the valley tomorrow—"

"You can't rummage through people's minds and walk at the same time?" he asks, smirking a bit.

"Not all the time," she answers dryly.

He chuckles quietly. "Don't worry; I'll make sure you don't run into anything."

They're quiet then, and she looks at him, and he's smiling at her and because it's Scott she can smile back—no matter what else is going on around them. And suddenly the full force of what they're doing hits her. Of what it could mean if they succeed.

Scott clearly doesn't see it coming when she surges forward to kiss him. He makes a surprised sound, but then he's responding. "What was that?" he breathes when she finally breaks off. Kissing isn't something they let themselves do. Not usually. Hardly ever. They've been too afraid of becoming used it, when they know they'll probably be separated when they're old enough to be paired.

"Don't you get it?" she asks. "If we take Shaw down, it's over. It may take a little time to convince the Councils it's really over, but no more Shaw and soon enough the system will break down. They'll let it go. We can be together. Sean and Moira can be together. Alex won't have to go anywhere near Angel if he doesn't want to…we'll all be free."

Scott tugs her close again, and she can hear him gulping in her ear. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves…" He's being cautious, like he always is, but she can feel the sudden thrill

"I can hope, can't I?" she asks quietly. There's a pressure in her chest—or in the back of her mind, really, and she lets out a quiet sob. "I'm just afraid it'll happen but we'll be too late to save Mom…that the rest of us will get what we want but he won't be here to see it…that Dad will be alone."

Scott's arms tighten around her. "Don't think like that."

"I'm trying…"

He urges her back down onto the blankets they're all sleeping on—using bags for pillows—and this time she doesn't resist. He's right. They need to sleep.

But this time she falls asleep in his arms, and she's not afraid to do it.

One way or another, this is all going to end tomorrow night.

Chapter Text

Now

Erik knows it the moment Charles is truly asleep again, because the weak pressure of calm over his mind lifts and he is left to deal with his emotions on his own. He's left to sob openly without worrying over whether he'll distress his husband any further, and he can't decide whether that is a good thing or a bad thing.

What he knows now is that it isn't only Charles he's failed to protect.

They're up early, packing what little they brought and trying to organize into two parties once Jean tells them what she discovered. Because the majority of them are siblings, it devolves into another argument, and it doesn't help that all of them are on edge and worried about their parents. Jean knows that, and is relieved when Logan steps in again.

"Look, Kurt will be going back and forth and we need fire power on both ends just in case, which means Alex and Scott are in separate groups. I'm leading the team into the compound, and we need Jean to lead us to them and Hank with the medical knowledge. If we're splitting evenly save Kurt, we only need one more." He looks at Alex and Scott pointedly, and Alex starts to say something because he's already made the argument that he should go in. It's his parents.

He makes the argument again and Logan only nods.

"Yeah. It's your parents. That's why you should stay out here and Glasses here should come in. It's gonna be tricky in there, and I need people level-headed. I wouldn't take ANY of you kids in there if Jean and Hank weren't necessary, but the situation makes it that way. It'll be better if there aren't any more of you down there. The more of you down there, the more everybody's gonna be on edge once we get to your parents. Especially them, once they know you're here."

"What difference does that make? We all care," Moira points out.

"I'm just trying to go on logic here—and I have been on a few rescue missions in my day, thanks."

She scowls. "I wasn't saying—never mind." She lets out a breath and looks around at the rest of them. "For the record, he's not wrong. We all know them; we know that. The fewer of their own they have to worry about being in immediate danger down there, the smoother the rest will go once you get to them. Charles may not be able to help you getting out, but Erik will, and he'll need to concentrate."

Alex huffs loudly, but the expression on his face admits defeat. "Fine."

So it's decided that Logan, Jean, Hank, and Scott will go in. Alex, Sean, Moira, and Ororo will stay on this side of the valley to move down into the village to find Nicole's family.

"What about everyone else down there? Aren't they all prisoners?" Ororo asks. "Shouldn't we do something?"

"We will," Jean tells her. "As soon as Shaw is taken care of they'll all be free. But we can't do that until we get Mom and Dad out of there, and we can't get Mom out safely unless Nicole will heal him. She'll want to, but she won't do it unless her family is safe. We pull them out first, we get Mom well again, and we figure out where to go from there."

She glances at Logan for approval, telling herself she doesn't need it but quietly satisfied when he nods at her anyway.

"It's solid," he agrees.

"And I'm following you guys around the valley so I know where you are, and I can keep up with everybody, right?" Kurt questions.

"Yeah, but if anything gets too hairy you're going straight home, understood?" Jean says.

"Hey, you may be Lorna's aunt but you're only my cousin, remember?"

"I'm serious!"

"I know, I know! I go home, we stash the kids with the neighbors, and I bring Mom. Then I get out again. I got it. Geez…"

There isn't anything else to go over, really. They wish each other luck.

"I'll find out who you're looking for; I'll let you know soon," Jean tells the others. Then they're on the move, and the sun has barely brightened the sky.

Erik remembers crying himself to sleep, but at least Charles wasn't awake to be upset by it. That is one of the few things that keeps him from being so upset again when he wakes. That lets him keep himself under control. There is still a rock in his gut, but there isn't a thing he can do about it.

Charles isn't moving beside him, but he can hear the uneven, pained breathing that tells him his husband is already awake himself. Erik sits up slowly, so as not to jar him, and when he glances down again Charles is looking at him from beneath heavy eyelids.

Erik rests the back of a hand against his forehead for a moment and feels the fever that is still there. Not that it would have gone anywhere.

"I'll get you some water," he says quietly. Charles hasn't said anything, but he can't remember getting any since well before they fell asleep the first time last night. Charles doesn't say anything, so he climbs off the makeshift bed and fills the cup sitting by the basin of water.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, a hand under his husband's head to help him drink, he notices that more of Charles's hair has abandoned him overnight. It's spread on the pillow and mattress.

Not much to look at anymore, am I?

The voice in his head is stronger and more amused than how Charles looks, but a corner of his mouth does turn up for a moment before he starts coughing. Thankfully, it doesn't lead to throwing up the water—he needs it—but it hurts him. Erik can tell that, and he finds a hand and squeezes it until it stops. Charles squeezes back.

I never cared what you looked like. It was always you I loved.

The coughing stops and Charles's eyes open again, and now they're damp. I love you so much, Charles tells him, meeting his gaze. I'm sorry…I'm not making this any easier, am I? All of that talk last night…I should have shut my mouth. I didn't. I don't know what came over me…

His throat clogs again, almost immediately. He could say it doesn't matter. Nothing is going to make this any easier anyway. But how would that make Charles feel? He doesn't say it. He doesn't say anything. He bends to kiss Charles's forehead, but he's barely done that when his husband's arms push up clumsily around his neck and draw him down for a real kiss.

You said you didn't mind my being selfish, didn't you?

Erik braces himself on the mattress on either side of Charles to keep off his chest and huffs softly against his husband's lips. I don't mind. I don't care. And he presses the next kiss deeper to prove it.

"Sweet, but hardly advisable at the moment."

They didn't notice the noise of the teleport. Erik sits up quickly, spinning and pushing to his feet, and barely avoids becoming dangerously dizzy.

But Shaw is there, and it forces focus rather quickly.

"Bastard…" Erik seethes. He took their children. He did this to Charles.

"Maybe, but you aren't in a position to judge, are you?"

Erik…

Charles can feel the boiling anger and helplessness and frustration, Erik is sure. But he doesn't listen. He listens to the emotions and he lunges before he's thought anything through.

Of course Shaw deflects him easily. He shouldn't be surprised when he finds himself flung into the rock wall and his breath soundly knocked out of him, but he's dazed anyway. And it hurts. He was thirteen the last time he was hit that hard. His head is spinning and everything aches and he can't breath and he isn't even entirely aware of in what position he's landed in at first.

Erik! Erik…!

Charles. In his head. Worried. Because it probably looks like he may well be seriously injured.

He isn't. He forces his eyes open and pulls air into his stubborn lungs and that hurts too, but he'll be fine. He was always fine before.

I'm fine…

"Honestly, Erik, I would have though you'd learned by now." Shaw is glaring down at him condescendingly. "I don't suppose you've changed your mind."

Erik just glares—hoping he's glaring at the right Shaw. He sees three.

He must not be. The other mutant smirks and turns back to the teleporter, and they're gone in an instant.

"Erik…?"

His vision is slowly righting itself, breathing is becoming easier, and he makes himself straighten where he's slumped against the wall at the foot of the bed. "I'm fine," he repeats aloud.

But it's harder than it ever was in the past, to get up after that, and he quickly realizes that he isn't as young as he used to be…and that it matters.

"No you're not…Erik?"

He stumbles to the bedside, never making it quite to his feet, and just makes it to the bucket in time to drop to his knees and empty what little is left in his stomach into it. He's about to chalk that up to vertigo and possible concussion from the impact until he realizes he's shivering a bit. He's beginning to get a fever himself.

"You're getting sick," Charles says, and his hoarse voice still clearly conveys the dismay. Maybe they almost expected it, but not this soon.

Erik picks up a fresh rag from the pile to wipe his mouth and shrugs as he shakes his head. "It doesn't matter…"

"But—"

Erik ignores him—climbs back into the bed right beside him anyway and kisses his temple. "I'm not going anywhere." If Charles has to go through all of this, he can deal with a little nausea and a fever.

Then there's the fact that his entire body aches now and his head is pounding, but that's unrelated.

"You shouldn't have done that," Charles mumbles after a few minutes. "You know it isn't a good idea to provoke him."

Erik silences him with a kiss.

Jean finds the woman she's looking for—Nicole, the mutant who can heal, who has been kind to Mom while he's been in Shaw's clutches—and she finds what she needs easily enough. The woman doesn't notice her careful intrusion. She'll have to be contacted later, once they're inside and the others have gotten her family out, but now isn't the time.

She finds images of an older women, a middle-aged man, and two young women, one still a teenager, really. Nicole's mother, husband, and children, then, she assumes. But those are the faces that rise in Nicole's mind when it is gently prodded with the word family, and those are the images she sends to the others back on the other side of the valley as she, Scott, Hank, and Logan work their way around.

She wonders why the village is in a valley—it isn't a very defensible position, after all. But she supposes maybe that is the point. If the people Shaw is keeping there rebelled he could easily have them surrounded by the more loyal and stomp out the rebellion before it really started. They would have nowhere to go.

And she knows that the sense of security not having more of their own children in the compound coming after them may give Mom and Dad will be false, because the mission down into the village the others will be undertaking is no less dangerous. Logan and Moira were both still right, but…

Be careful, she says, as soon as she's sent Alex and the others the images, and where to find who they're looking for.

YOU be careful, her brother shoots back. All of you get out of there alive. I will personally bring back and kill again any of you that don't.

Gee. Nice thought.

You know what I mean.

I hear you, Alex.

Erik waits until the headache has subsided enough that he can be upright again, and by the then the nausea is a bit less pronounced. He finds one of the containers on the floor and puts fresh ointment over the burn on Charles's chest, and it's tricky business. That hurts him. Quite a lot seems to hurt him.

Erik talks to him, keeps him close, but Charles is awake less and less as the day drags on, the pallor of his skin worsens and the rest of his hair falls to the pillow, and Erik is afraid he's losing him already.

Not now. Not yet. I'm not ready.

He'll never be ready.

It doesn't matter how much supposed control Shaw has had over their lives. How they came to be together doesn't matter. They're meant for each other, and they always were. Shaw didn't implant in them the parts of themselves that need each other; they were there before Shaw knew either of them existed. They were always there. Erik fully understands why Logan would rather leave the city system again entirely than be forced to be with someone else.

He's older than Logan appears, and aging, so they wouldn't make that demand of him, but it doesn't matter now, does it? If he can't find a way to take care of Shaw he's never going to leave here, is he? Shaw will threaten the children. Erik will have to stay until something can be done.

But why does Charles have to die? Isn't there another way?

Charles doesn't want him to agree. Not even to pretend to. It wouldn't matter; the moment Shaw realized he wasn't sincere Charles would be dead anyway. Everyone he cares about would be dead.

But he can't do this. He couldn't bear the thought of Charles dying before, when they were afraid he might, and he can't watch his husband die now.

Maybe he could pretend. Maybe he can buy enough time to figure out how to kill Shaw. Even if he won't allow Nicole to heal Charles entirely, it's all right. As soon is Shaw is out of them there will be no danger to her family and she'll make him well again. Charles is right that in that situation escaping with Shaw still at large would not give them that option and it wouldn't be worth it—he would die—but if he pretends and then he can take care of Shaw, rather than just getting them out…

But the children. If Shaw discovers that he isn't sincere before he can do something…they'll all be dead. It won't just be Charles.

There really isn't a way out of this, is there?

"I'm so sorry," he whispers against his husband's cheek.

Charles isn't awake. He doesn't hear.

Erik can't cry anymore. The tears just won't come, and he finds he's grateful for that. If Charles woke up, or Shaw appeared…

He's glad he can't cry anymore now. He imagines he'll have plenty of time for that later, anyway.

"Jean? What's wrong? Jean?"

Scott is the only thing keeping her from falling over entirely. As it is she's bent over, and it's like she can't breathe.

Sorry…it's just…just have to get everyone under control…

Mom isn't even awake—through the tentative hidden connection she can feel the background patterns of uneasy sleep—but Dad's emotions alone are so strong now it's as if they might smother her.

Other hands holding her up. Logan and Hank have stopped, come back to help. But it still isn't easy. Everything is so heavy, weighing on her, and she can't throw it off. Finally she has no choice but send as much calming effect through the link as she can without Dad knowing she's there. That she's doing it. Only then is she able to put everything back in its place in the back of mind and straighten and breathe again.

"Are you all right?" Scott asks anxiously.

She nods, but she doesn't feel all right.

By the time Shaw shows his face in the stone room again Erik has circled back to considering pretending to agree to Shaw's terms. Anything to keep Charles alive even a little longer. By then, by what must be evening or later, it's so clear that he's close to the end—a day or more earlier than they thought, even—that Erik is very near to panic.

Shaw has brought Nicole with him this time, as if he were anticipating the change of heart. Erik gets to his feet and looks at them, trying to make himself say something. I'lldowhatyouwantjustsavehim…

But Shaw is looking past him at Charles, pale and unmoving on the bed, and he speaks up before Erik has to.

"Hmm. I was afraid of that. It wasn't supposed to progress quite this quickly. Well…" He doesn't-quite-look to Nicole, who is clearly trying not to appear hopeful. "Go ahead and heal the surface burn, and whatever else you need to do to give him another couple of days. We can't have Erik rushed into a decision, now can we?"

Or rather, Shaw can't have Charles dying before having his fill of watching Erik go mad being forced to see his husband suffer. He's known the other mutant long enough to know something of how he thinks.

But Nicole nods quickly and moves to the bed, and Erik doesn't stop her. There isn't anything else. He knows that now. There isn't a satisfactory other option here, not in the corner they're backed into. He knows that Nicole backing up the progress of the radiation poisoning will do nothing but extend Charles's suffering.

But he has long since known that Charles is his weakness. He should say something. He should tell Shaw now that he'll never do anything for him. Shaw and Nicole and the teleporter would go and Charles would more than likely die before the night is out. It would be over. He wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

But Erik doesn't say anything. He can't. The selfish part of him wants more time, and it wins. His mouth opens more than once but nothing comes out.

He ends up focused on the floor, instead, and he isn't able to look up until the pop and the smell of sulfur that tell him they're gone. His knees give out and he finds himself on the edge of the mattress, and beside him Charles is stirring.

Erik looks at him, and indeed the burn is gone, but other than that he looks no better. Still, his eyes open and he seems to be breathing a bit more easily. His eyes drift groggily to his chest and he frowns, fingers coming up to trace over the clammy but smooth skin there.

"What…?" Then his eyes snap up, and he finds Erik looking at him. "You didn't—"

"No," Erik chokes out quietly. "I didn't. Shaw just…" He trails off. He can't finish, and Charles relaxes but he's looking at him in that way that tells him he's looking elsewhere for the rest of the answer. Erik feels the gentle presence in his mind, and he doesn't resist.

"Oh, Erik…" After a minute or two of silence Charles reaches up to him, and Erik takes the hint and carefully pulls his husband up against him. With the burn gone it's safe to do it now, to hold Charles close like this, and maybe his grip is a little too tight in response but Charles doesn't complain.

For a little while it's fine. Charles's head is nestled at his neck and Erik holds him and Charles's arms are around him. His grip is weak, but it's there. Charles is here. But then he's curled more in Erik's arms and he's clutching at his stomach instead and he's moaning and coughing.

There is nothing Erik can do. "I'm sorry," he gasps. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" This is his doing. Charles is going to suffer more because he was selfish. How could he be so selfish?

"Stop," Charles grates out. "Damnit, Erik, I would have done the same. Stop…" That's all he says, before he doubles over until the pain fades again, but once it seems to have done so he hooks his arms around Erik's neck again and drags himself back up to kiss him. "It's all right," he whispers.

It's not, but Erik doesn't say that. He nods weakly instead and holds on, listening and feeling it against him as his husband's breaths ease back to something closer to even and easier.

"Who knows?" Charles mumbles quietly. "Perhaps the extra time is good. Maybe a rescue will come soon." They both know that isn't going to happen. It doesn't help, and Charles has to kiss him again. "Erik, talk to me. Please…"

Erik swallows. "I know…I never doubt it anymore. That we were meant to be together, no matter how it happened. But I feel like I've failed you in so much. I just wish I had the time to make it right."

"Nonsense. You've always…well, to be quite honest I sometimes wonder how I deserve you."

Erik snorts against his shoulder. "That's ridiculous."

"Then I suppose we're both ridiculous. I even look it—my hair is gone entirely now, isn't it?"

And Charles has done the impossible. Laughter bubbles in Erik's chest and it come out in a small chuckle. "You do not look ridiculous."

"I'm the one who's bald at the moment; aren't I allowed to say so?"

"Whatever you want, Charles…"

They're quite after that, and Erik finds Charles's sweater that is still hanging over the corner of the mattress and gets it onto him to keep him warm. The fever is still there; he's still flushed and shivering despite the minor positive change. "Maybe you should try to eat." Before it gets worse again. Erik thinks about eating himself, but quickly dismisses the idea. His own nausea is worse now. He isn't interested.

Charles only nods, grimacing as a hand fists over his stomach again. Maybe if he can get something down it will put a damper on the cramping, at the least. Though he knows not all of it has to do with an empty stomach.

Erik tries to let him go enough to get up to get the bag that is still on the ground some feet away, but even though he can sit up against Erik now he can't support himself. Erik could lay him back down, but he would just have to help up again so he could eat. Frustrated, he pulls at the bag.

It comes to him, not enough left in it to be heavy enough to tear when lifted by the zipper.

It lands on the bed beside them, and they both stare at it.

"Erik…" Charles breathes.

There isn't any other metal in here. Of course there isn't. It was design as a prison for Erik, after all. But Shaw didn't take the bag. He didn't see the zipper. It's hidden under a flap that provides extra strength for the closure.

"I can't believe I didn't think about it." Erik swears. "I am so damn stupid…"

"No, you were just worried. We all forget things when we're upset. It's all right…" And Charles is smiling a little now as he rests against Erik's shoulder. Erik is pulling the flap back and taking the zipper from its moorings, melding the metal together into a single piece he can hide away in his pocket and hiding the torn pieces of zipper edging inside a pocket in the bag itself.

Charles is right. There isn't any reason to be upset with himself. It isn't much, and with Shaw's power to absorb energy how would he have hurt him in the first place? But…it's better than nothing. It's hope.

Chapter Text

Thirty-Seven Years Ago - Poland

Charles is almost four. He doesn't quite understand why his parents want to go so many places with so many people, but they're happy about it. The trains and boats don't bother them and they don't seem to feel the strange pressure in their heads that Charles feels when so many other people are around.

But it doesn't hurt, really, so he doesn't say anything, and he doesn't complain about all of the going places or the fact that they haven't been home to England for weeks.

"We'll have to do this again when you're older," his mother tells him as she smiles. He smiles back.

They just got off of a train. They're waiting for a boat. Charles knows that much, though he isn't entirely sure exactly where they are. After places like Paris he knows that here isn't exactly once of the highlights of their tour, but it's different. It's something to look at. Besides that, his father told him yesterday that they would be home in another two or three weeks. That much makes him happy, so he's in a good mood if nothing else.

They're waiting, and Father leads them through the crowded streets of the port city, unfamiliar language bouncing around in the air in the bustle. Mother asks why they couldn't find a taxi, but Charles's father laughs and says it's more fun this way. It's already arranged for their luggage to make it to the boat, anyhow.

Brian Xavier has always been more adventurous than his wife.

Father stops at a street vendor, and Charles holds his mother's hand and squeezes. He's trying to decide how he feels about the pressure in his head. Sometimes he wishes it would just go away, and sometimes it's kind of comforting. Now is one of those times, and he wishes he knew why.

And then something changes. The pressure has always been only that, only a feeling, and only when he's in or near crowds. He knows it has something to do with the people, but that's all he knows. That's why he doesn't quite understand what's happening when there is suddenly a bright point of light in the dimness of the feeling—something that pulls at him.

He turns around, and his eyes are drawn to a young boy not far away with his own parents—a boy maybe two or three years older than himself. The boy looks at him, and an odd shiver travels up Charles's spine when their eyes meet. It isn't unpleasant. It's really nice, actually. He smiles at the older boy, who hesitantly smiles back.

Then the boy is gone, he and his parents lost in the crowd.

Charles has seen so many people since they left home, and he sees more before they make it back. But the boy he remembers. More, too, the point of light in his mind that he realizes was somehow associated with the boy does not fade back into obscurity. Not completely. The more distance between them the dimmer it is, but even when they're home in England weeks later he can feel it. If he closes his eyes he can see it shining in the background.

As time passes he wishes more than ever that he knew exactly what it all meant, but at least the light is there. Somehow he knows that if the light is there, the boy is fine wherever he is. Charles wonders if, someday when he's not so small, he can go and find him.

Then Charles is five, and the war comes. Somewhere Father goes for work is attacked when he's there, and they don't know what happened to him. Mother is so worried she's sick, and Charles doesn't know what to do. The maids take care of him in the days that follow, but then the attacks come closer.

Mother is afraid to leave for fear Father won't be able to find them if he comes back. The older woman who heads the maid staff has taken care of Charles often since he was born, and Sharon Xavier asks her to take Charles somewhere safe, but he won't go. He doesn't want to leave Mother. Mother has finally decided that they'll all go, but it's too late.

As the bombs come down the pressure in Charles's head is suddenly pain, and all at once he knows exactly what it is—the touch of other minds, and so many of them are dying. It hurts, and when it's too much he's screaming, and then everything is black.

Mother dies in the attack. Charles doesn't know until days later when he wakes. The two maids that didn't die take care of him at first, but they get sick and they die too and Charles is alone. He's alone until he finds others, anyway—others who are different, like he knows now that he is. They're not all different in the same way, but they're different. They survived.

Charles misses his parents. Some of the other survivors are kind, but most of them don't want the responsibility of a child. He learns quickly to take care of himself, taking advantage of his newfound abilities as he learns to use them to gain needed information. Life is lonely, until he finds Raven.

In the stress of survival and the onslaught of new mental information from his abilities, the boy and the point of light are long forgotten.

Now

Having the burn gone helps, Charles feels more alert, but Shaw wouldn't allow Nicole to do much more and he can feel it. There isn't much improvement, otherwise. He's able to sit up against Erik's shoulder for a while, and they stay like that. Erik makes him eat something. They talk.

Somehow it's easier to talk now, with the small amount of hope that the bit of metal gives them. Charles knows that if it helps at all it will likely only help Erik to escape, later, but they don't talk about that part. They don't talk about the fact that it probably isn't going to change Charles's fate.

Charles manages to digest at least some of what he ate, but the rest comes up eventually. By then Erik is vomiting again too, though he didn't eat anything. He's still getting sick—slowly, but it's happening. Charles manages not to say anything. He knows it won't keep his husband from holding him and probably making it worse in the process. Erik isn't going anywhere.

They have to lie back down after that. Or Charles does, but Erik stretches out beside him again.

They've talked about the future. Erik has made the promises he needs to make. When they talk it's about the past—the things they remember fondly, for there are plenty of memories like that even though they have only taken full advantage of their relationship for a few short months.

Agonizingly short months. But they don't talk about that, either.

"The first time Jean made everything in the house float?"

Charles chuckles quietly. "She was seven. You were trying so hard to make certain the knives didn't fly about where they didn't need to be, and the look on your face…"

"She was stronger than me and she wasn't even trying. It was just a temper tantrum!"

Erik's arms are wrapped around him but for when Charles has to lean off the side of the mattress to wretch or to spit out the blood he coughs up. He tries not to see the haunted look in his husband's eyes that's always there when Erik gently pulls him back. He steers the quiet conversation back to whatever they'd been talking about, and tries to forget the look was there.

Kurt follows Jean and Scott and Hank and Logan around the valley, and they find the back entrance by dusk. There's a dirt road and a checkpoint several hundred yards before an opening in the side of the hill—a large bay of vehicles and storage, the more active entrance to the compound that's underground.

Jean sends him back to the other group then, so he can help them get the healer's family out of the village.

"I'll be in touch. We'll head in when you're in. It's probably better to do this more all-at-once than anything…" She glances at Logan when she says this, and he nods. With that, Kurt goes.

He appears where they left the others earlier in the day, and after a quick scan of the valley he finds Alex and Sean and Moira and Ororo behind a stand of trees near the village walls. He teleports to them.

"Jean said—"

"Go in. Yeah," Alex nods.

There isn't much security around the village. It has a wall, and Jean pointed out before they separated that there are a few of what must be Shaw's men at the gates, but that's all. No guard towers. No one on the walls. Then again, these people probably know that if they run Shaw can find them anywhere.

Kurt knows that's why they have to do this quickly. All of it. Get this Nicole lady's family out, get Uncle Erik and Uncle Charles and Nicole out and get Uncle Charles better, and then somehow take care of Shaw.

Otherwise all of this is for nothing.

The others probably think he doesn't get that, but he does.

They're at the back of the village, and Kurt glances at the wall. "I'll check on the other side. If it's clear, I'll bring you guys in. Jean showed you where in there to find them?"

Alex nods, and Kurt nods back and does what he said he would do. He teleports to just the other side of the stone wall, and finds a dim, empty alleyway.

"We're good. Let's go," he says when he goes back. Four passengers is more than he's used to, but not going very far it isn't too hard. Alex looks around, and he must be talking to Jean because he's quiet and then he point in a particular direction.

"This way. It isn't far."

Jean is able to keep them from being seen long enough for them to climb into the back of an incoming truck at the checkpoint. The driver moves to unload the truck once it drives into the hangar-like area, but a punch in the face from Logan and he's unconscious.

"The back-of-a-truck entrance…an old one, but if it's done right it still works," Logan shrugs.

"You've done this before, then?" Scott asks.

"Oh yeah. You live through a few wars, you get around to plenty of this kind of stuff." Sometimes it's hard to remember that not only does Logan know what it was like before the war, but he saw others. He's seen more than anyone else still alive today. This world must seem especially strange to him, Jean thinks.

They pull the unconscious man under the canvas flap and into the back of the truck with them and plan their next move.

In the village they find a small house not unlike their own, one among many. Alex leads them up to the back door and knocks, all of them looking about to be sure they aren't seen by anyone else. They likely wouldn't be in any danger from the other families trapped here, but better safe than sorry.

The door opens and it's the middle-aged man Jean sent them all an image of that's there. It also seems Jean has been hard at work.

The man ushers them quickly inside. "We've been expecting you."

Jean? Are you all right?

She blinks and glances at Scott when she catches the thought. Yeah…I'm fine. Just never had to do this much at once before. Telepathy isn't even supposed to be my primary mutation.

I know…be careful. Don't hurt yourself.

I have to do what I have to do for all of this to work, Scott. I can rest when Mom and Dad are safe and at home.

They're inside the compound now. Jean is able to keep them away from populated areas, which is quite a bit easier that making them invisible. She wasn't entirely she could do that when she did it out by the road until she succeeded. She was pleasantly surprised. Still, it wasn't easy.

She'll be glad when all of this is over.

Scott is still looking at her, but he doesn't say anything else because he knows she's right.

"How much farther?" Hank is asking.

Jean lets out a breath and does another scan before answering. "Not much farther."

"Any guards at the tunnel entrance?" Logan asks.

"No. No reason for them. The room Mom and Dad are in is blocked up; no one is supposed to be able to get to them. The tunnel is just left over from digging the place out. The tunnel entrance is somewhat hidden, but it doesn't matter now that I know where it is anyway."

"No going back now," Hank mutters quietly. "You might as well let them know we're here."

Jean nods a bit. "I was about to." Not that she's exactly looking forward to it. Mom and Dad aren't going to be happy. But she'll take the good yelling at they'll probably get later if it means her parents will be safe and alive then.

Being home alone for several days has been nerve-wracking. Someone had to stay behind to take care of Lorna and Bobby and Kitty, and it was logical that it be Raven, but that doesn't mean she's enjoyed it. She's spent the days worrying and pacing, and beyond that Scott's parents have been hounding her since the day their son disappeared from town with the others. She would rather be with the others. It's her own brother and brother-in-law in danger after all, and her husband and son have walked right into it with everyone else.

Kurt, of course, shouldn't be there. She should have known he would just follow them anyway, but it didn't make her any less furious when he did.

She knows Hank and Jean and Logan and the rest of them will do everything they can to keep him out of harm's way, but that doesn't make her feel much better.

It doesn't help, either, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach won't go away. She knows why it's there, but she doesn't want to think about it. She knows it's thanks to the awful feeling in the back of her mind—the connection to her brother, weak from distance. It doesn't feel the way it usually does. It feels…wrong, somehow. It isn't a feeling she's unfamiliar with. Something is very wrong, with Charles, but Jean hasn't kept in touch as much as she promised and Raven wonders about why.

Damnit, what's happening over there?

Charles falls back into sleep as the day drags on, leaving Erik alone with the thoughts he'd rather not think. Shaw and the unborn children he took and the ones they already have, at home, who may never see their mother again…

With the bit of metal from his pocket he takes to punching small holes in the walled-up door between the rocks, where Shaw won't see them the next time he shows himself. There probably isn't enough of the metal to take out the wall anyhow, and if he can't do that and get Charles out of here himself there isn't any reason to provoke Shaw further.

But it's something to do to not feel completely useless. Besides that, even if he could break them out of here now it wouldn't matter. Charles would still be sick.

Except for Charles's fitful sleep and the occasional ping of the metal into the rocks, their prison is silent for a while.

Then Charles starts awake in his arms.

"Charles?"

He's gasping, eyes darting about, not focusing even when they slow as if he's focusing on something inwardly instead. "Oh god," he breathes in panic.

"Charles? What is it!" Erik sits up beside him, holding his shoulders and staring at him, and finally Charles is focusing on him. "What's wrong?"

"The children! God…no no no no…" He's still only half there.

"Charles!" What about the children?

"No no…damn!"

"Charles, what?"

He doesn't even have the strength to push up on elbows or move much at all on his own, but the worry is clear on his face. "The children are here—"

Erik immediately feels sick to his stomach—or more so than he already felt, anyhow. "Shaw—?"

"They came on their own. They came for us. They—damnit, Jean…she won't answer me now. Though I guess it's really too late…they're already inside. They'll be here soon…"

"They'll what? But how did they even—?"

"Logan helped them. Scott and Moira are with them as well. So is Kurt. The only one besides the younger children who is not here is Raven, but she stayed behind to take care of the younger children and she was complicit with the plan to come after us." Charles is pinching the bridge of his nose now, grimacing, but then his arm drops bonelessly to the mattress.

Erik swallows. He hears himself ask questions, tight-lipped and his heart pounding. "Are they all right?"

"No one has seen them. They're fine at the moment," Charles answers wearily.

"Are all of them inside?"

"No…Jean, Hank, Logan, and Scott are inside. The others are in the village extracting Nicole's family."

Erik is panicked enough that it takes a moment for him to make sense of that. He feels even worse when he realizes what it means. "They know. They know what's wrong with you and that she won't be able to help you unless her family is safe."

Charles nods weakly, jaw tight. They know everything. Almost everything. Jean has been monitoring us and I've been weak enough that she was able to keep me from sensing it and from knowing that they were coming. They followed you here.

Erik falls silent as Charles gives him everything Jean gave him—something of a brief record of the last few days from her perspective. He sees the plan and everything else, and when he's processed it…he lets himself hope. More than anything he's worried for their safety, but…

Charles…this could work. What if it works? It's far too late to turn them back now, and Jean knew that. It's why she waited until now to let them know what they were doing. There's nothing to do but let this play out and do everything they can to keep it from going wrong.

Charles doesn't exactly answer. He squeezes Erik's hand as tightly as he's capable of squeezing it—which isn't very tight just now—and seems to be having trouble breathing.

Erik holds onto him, leaning down to kiss his forehead and will him to calm down. "It's all right. It'll be all right. The children will be fine and…and maybe this can work. We can go home and you'll be fine…"

We can't go home yet. Not with Shaw still alive. Even if we take Nicole and her entire family with us it won't solve the problem. He'll come for us.

"So we'll take care of him."

But…how?

"Let me worry about that. Just stay with me, all right?" Even as worried as he is, Charles's eyes are beginning to drift shut again. Nicole may have given him another day or two, but he's still almost as weak as he was before. It seems staying awake is becoming a challenge again already.

Charles nods uncertainly and turns his head into Erik's chest, and he's shivering now.

With their children's lives hanging in the balance now, Erik can't blame him.

Jean doesn't contact her mother again until they're standing at the end of the tunnel facing the walled-up doorway into in the room Charles and Erik are being held in. We're here. Are you as far away from the door as you can be?

Yes…

Considering he's on the other side of the wall, Mom sounds alarmingly distant. Jean feels the part of him that's relieved and glad he'll see her in a moment, but she also knows how worried about all of this he is. That much was made clear minutes ago, when she let him know they were here for the first time.

Jean glances at Scott and nods. "They're as clear as they're going to get, but the room isn't big. Just be careful, and I'll do what I can.

"Right." Scott closes his eyes before reaching up to his red-tinted glasses. He lifts them just enough that when he opens his eyes only a bit of the energy beams is able to escape. Jean uses her telekinesis to hold them back enough to keep them from blowing the glasses away entirely and leaving the beams uncontrolled. The result is the amount of energy they need to bring down most of the rocks blocking up the door.

Jean contains the blast as best she can as well, and it's easier when Scott shoves his glasses back down and she doesn't have to worry about pulling back on the strong energy beams. She keeps the rocks from going very far and lowers them to the ground, pulling away any still clinging in the doorway and clearing the entrance.

"Mom! Dad!" she calls.

Scott backs away and lets Hank in with her ahead of him. Jean has already seen the room through her parents' eyes. She knows where the bed is in the far corner and that it's where they are.

Dad is one his feet by now and Jean runs straight into his arms. She's vaguely aware of Hank moving quickly to the edge of the bed beside them.

"Daddy…" For a moment she lets herself bury her face in his shirt.

"You shouldn't be here," Erik whispers. But he isn't letting go of her.

"I know. I don't care…"

Jean swallows and pulls away, the momentary lapse already all but over. Now isn't the time. She wants to be home, but they aren't there yet. They have to get out of here first.

"Mom?" Erik lets her go and Jean is looking down at the bed, where Hank is already at their mother's side with a hand on his shoulder. "How is he?"

Hank opens his mouth, but Charles speaks first. "I am right here, you know." His voice is quiet, but the same humor she's used to is in it. She wants to say something else, but her voice sticks in her throat as she really takes in how Mom looks and realizes how sick he really is.

Feeling how worried Dad has been about it is one thing, but seeing it is another entirely.

Jean sinks to the edge of the bed beside Hank and takes her mother's hand. "We'll get you out of here. You'll be fine," she promises. "Nicole is already on her way to us. Or she will be as soon as she can get away from where she is without looking suspicious." Charles takes this more in stride, but Jean can feel the wave of relief from her father when she says this.

"We need to go," Logan says from the doorway. "Now. I know that tunnel is long, but I doubt that explosion went unnoticed no matter how much you dumbed it down."

"He's right," Erik agrees. He moves to pick up his husband, but Hank holds him off.

"I can carry Mom; I can do it more easily than you can, actually. And your powers are more useful in a scrape than mine are; we need your hands free in case we run into any trouble. "

Dad hesitates at that. Jean sees him glance at Charles, who nods minutely.

"All right…" He still doesn't look happy as Hank carefully lifts Mom from the mattress, but he doesn't protest. He doesn't look so well himself, and that probably has something to do with it. Otherwise he would put up more of a fight about it. Charles reaches for Erik's hand once he's up in Hank's arms and can reach it, and that seems reassure him.

It also seems to make him remember something, or maybe Charles is telling him something silently. His mouth presses into an anxious line. "I know, but we shouldn't do anything about it right now; you said yourself that once Shaw is out of the way, maybe…"

Mom nods and looks away, a pained look on his face. Jean can feel hope trying to push in atop the pain, but she doesn't know what it is her parents are concerned about. She blinks. "What?" The others are looking at them strangely too. Whatever this is, it's something she missed.

"Nothing," Erik says quietly. "Something we have to do. But right now we need to get your mother out of here."

"What about Shaw?"

"I can come back once the rest of you are safe."

"Not by yourself," Hank protests.

Logan nods. "Kid's right; this bastard's tricky. You're not taking him out on your own."

"And certainly not right now," Charles adds softly. "You're exhausted and you're sick yourself."

Something else she missed, Jean realizes, when she was trying not to intrude so much on the intermediate days of the trip and in the last day or so. Now that she really looks at him, besides the fatigue that was obvious she can tell that her father is pale and trying not to sway on his feet. When Erik reaches to pick up the near-empty bag from the foot of the bed—the one he brought with him—Scott takes it and throws it over his own shoulder before he can.

Erik only scowls, and falls silent and releases his husband's hand as Logan ushers them from the room and back up the tunnel. Jean lets Logan lead the way, and stay near her father to watch for any unsteadiness. He's stubborn, and he won't want help if there is any, but if she uses her powers to do it if needed maybe he won't notice.

Well…he'll notice, but he can complain about it later.

Nicole's family is nearly ready to leave when they arrive. They don't carry much, and when they're through packing the few things they bring they're ready.

"Where are we going?" Kurt asks.

"Let's just get out of the valley and we can go from there," Alex says. Then he nods to the four members of Nicole's family. "Take them first."

Kurt nods and tells them to hold hands. He's taken the older woman's hand and is about to take them from the small house to the rim of the valley when there's a puff of sulfur that isn't his own and Shaw's teleporter that Jean showed them is in the room.

"Kurt, go!" Alex shouts.

He doesn't want to, but he goes, because he promised Jean that he would do what he was told. That he would teleport away if there was trouble. But he panics. The teleporter is lunging at Alex and the others and he doesn't try to go to the rim of the valley.

He tries to go home. He tries to go to his mother.

A second later he's standing in the main room of Uncle Erik and Uncle Charles's house. He made it. He's never made it that far with passengers. He didn't think he could do that yet, at least not with that many…

Then everything is black.

Lorna is sleeping in her crib that was brought here from her own house and Raven is upstairs putting Bobby and Kitty to bed when she hears the heavy thump downstairs and smells the sulfur.

"Kurt?" she calls anxiously. No answer. "Kurt!" Only Kitty is still awake, and Raven tells her to stay put and pounds down the stairs. "Kurt!"

She finds four strangers in her brother's kitchen—an older woman, a middle-aged man, and two young women—but what she's looking for is her son. The two young women are on their knees, one of them holding Kurt as if she caught him mid-fall, and the man and older woman are leaning over them and worried.

"Who are you! What happened?" Raven demands. She pushes the man and one of the teenagers on the ground aside, drops to her knees and pulls her son into her own arms.

"I'm sorry," the man is saying. "He was trying to help us. You must be—your brother is…ill. My wife is a healer, but she wouldn't go against Shaw unless she knew we were safe…"

"Was it too much for him?" the smaller of the young women asks. "I don't even know how far we've come."

Raven swallow. "I-I don't know I—my brother? What wrong with Charles? What happened?" Her head is spinning.

The man answers again. "Shaw did something to him, to make his husband cooperate, I think. I don't remember all of it. The girl, Jean, she showed us some of it, so we would understand why we had to go when the others came for us, but only what we needed to know. I'm sorry…I don't think we were supposed to come this far now. I think the boy was scared; Shaw's teleporter appeared and—and I have no idea how he knew—"

"What?" But then Kurt is stirring, and her attention turns to him.

"Mom?" he asks groggily.

"I'm right here…"

His eyes flicker open, and he takes in her and the other four people over him and where he is. "I made it," he says, grinning a little.

"You shouldn't have tried that," Raven scolds angrily.

"I had to get them out of there. Nicole has to be able to help Uncle Charles or—" But he stops, as if he's said too much, and bites his lip. "I mean…"

Something in her chest clenches. "Or what?" Nicole must be the healer, and Raven doesn't like the look on the faces of the woman's family. Said exchanged glance is not making her feel any better about any of this. "Or what?"

"Or he isn't going to make it, dear," the older woman says finally, frowning at her son (or son-in-law?) and granddaughters for cowards.

Raven's stomach drops away into nothing, and she has to fight for the breath to ask the next question. "Wh-wh…what did Shaw do to him?"

She doesn't get an answer, because Kurt is scrambling awkwardly to his feet and pulling out of her arms. "I have to go back," he's saying. "I have to make sure Alex and Sean and them are okay. I left them—"

"Kurt, wait. That last trip took a lot out of you. You need to rest."

"Not while the other guys are in trouble! I'll be fine going by myself. It was having four passengers that was hard. I'll be okay. I have to go."

"Kurt—!"

But he's already gone.

Kurt goes back to the house in the village, but it's empty. "Guys!"

They're fine. Jean's voice, in his head. They're at the wall trying to find a way out without trying get past the few guards at the gates. Are you okay?

Yeah…fine. But what about the other teleporter?

He was trying to stop Nicole's family from leaving; he wasn't worried about the others. As soon as you left he left too—to find you, I would assume.

Crap. I'll get Alex and them out of the village and I'll go back. What if he figures out I took them home? He knows where home is. How did he even know we were trying to get Nicole's family out of the city? What's going on?

I don't know, Jean answers worriedly. He shouldn't have known. No one's seen us. I don't know.

Kurt is already out of the house and running through the back alley to the stone wall, and not far down he finds Alex and Sean and Moira and Ororo. Jean must be talking to them too, because they spin around and come back to meet him halfway. Ororo pulls him into a hug.

"Thank god you're okay!"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Everybody's fine…" He pulls away and just takes her hand instead. "Come on, let's get you guys over this wall." Still tired, he isn't able to take them much farther than just the other side, but at least he makes it as far as the stand of trees they'd used for cover before going in. "Sorry guys. You're on your own from here…"

"We know," Alex nods. "It's fine. Go on."

Raven is on her feet, still staring at the place where Kurt disappeared when another puff of sulfur makes her hope he came to his senses and came back.

But it isn't Kurt. The smoke is red.

She remembers the images Jean showed them—the teleporter taking Charles, and bringing Shaw here to taunt Erik. But Raven hasn't seen this mutant herself in thirteen years.

"You," she glares.

The red-skinned teleporter takes in Nicole's family behind her. "The boy has been here." He scans the room. "He has left again."

"Gee, you figured that out all on your own?"

The teleporter scowls at her only briefly before making a move toward the people behind her. Raven counters by moving over to plant herself more firmly between him and the others. "I don't think so. You want them, you'll have to go through me." Not that she cares much about them. But she cares about Charles.

"-have to go through me."

Kurt appears at his mother's side just as she says this, and he sees the teleporter staring her down. "And me," he says as firmly as he can.

The teleporter looks at them for what seems like forever, and his face is so stony that Kurt wonders if his mother made up what she's told him in the past.

He knows who the teleporter is—besides one of Shaw's lackeys. His mother told him that he father was a red-skinned teleporter, and he doesn't know of any others. But he tells himself it doesn't matter. Not only was his father never here, but now they know he was working for Shaw from the beginning. And that's worse.

Then the teleporter steps back, and he stared at Kurt for a long time but now he's looking at Raven. "You I cannot harm," he concedes quietly. "Or the boy."

Then he's gone.

Kurt swallows and looks up at his mother, who squeezes his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asks. He doesn't know if she means physically, after wearing himself out before, or if she's asking because she knows he made the connection.

"Yeah," he shrugs. Not because he is, but because he doesn't know what else to say to her.

"What…?" It's Nicole's husband, behind her, not knowing what just happened. The girls are wide-eyed.

Raven turns back to them, and when Kurt looks the older woman is patting the man's arm. "It's none of our business," she says. Raven lets out a breath of thanks at that, and now that it's clear that everyone here will be safe Kurt moves away. This time his mother doesn't try to stop him.

"Be careful," she says instead.

It would be better to just teleport out of here, but Kurt is busy. He and the others in the village run into trouble and they're on their own to find their way back to the hangar. As they near the end of the long tunnel Jean hears from Nicole, telling her that she's on her way now and will meet them there. The woman is glad that her family is safe and happy to be getting out of here.

Jean doesn't tell her about the hiccup in getting her family out of the village, but it doesn't matter now. They may be farther away then the plan originally called for, but they're safe.

However, Jean now has no idea where the teleporter is and still doesn't know how he knew to go to the village. Kurt, though, is on his way back here, taking it in smaller jumps so he'll be more recovered and able to help if needed when he arrives.

"We could probably get hold of a truck easy enough," Logan is saying. "Let Nicole and the kids get Charles out of here."

Erik makes a face. "If Nicole knows how to drive one. I'm afraid you're the only one of us who does."

Logan blinks in surprise, then shakes it off as he remembers how different this world is than the one he remembers from before. "Right. Let's hope she does, because I already told you I ain't letting you take on this Shaw character alone."

Jean sighs and quickly poses the question to their ally on her way. "She does."

Once they're out of the tunnel there will be plenty of metal, but Dad simply blasting their way out of here is out of the question. With Shaw's energy-absorbing abilities Erik's powers and even Scott's would be useless. Brute force will not take care of him. They have to think of something else, and Jean hopes Dad and Logan can because she hasn't any idea.

There may be no way to kill him. Not physically, Mom tells her silently. I don't know if your father fully understands that. His eyes have been closed for a while now, head resting against Hank's shoulder, but apparently he's still awake, if barely.

Then…what? Jean asks.

It may have to be done another way. He says it evenly, and she doesn't quite understand. If we do this the way your father and Logan seem to want to, I can ask Nicole do as much as she can in a short time and I'll have to come back. Perhaps Kurt can help with that. Once I'm stronger…if I can get Shaw's helmet off I may be able to…rearrange his mind. Be certain he will never harm us or anyone else again. Get him to end this ridiculousness about controlling the remaining mutant population and overseeing pairings.

You haven't told Dad any of this, have you?

He is preoccupied with our safety at the moment, and there is nothing wrong with that, but it will go more smoothly if he doesn't know what I'm planning.

Then why are you telling ME?

I need SOMEONE to know. And you do happen to be the rebellious one—which I mean in the kindest way possible.

Jean snorts inwardly, but she smiles a bit. Thanks.

The entrance to the tunnel was hidden behind crates in a little-used storage room, and Jean doesn't think to check for occupants until Logan is pushing the crates aside again. She scans quickly and finds nothing.

Which makes it that much more surprising when they all stop dead, finding themselves face-to-face with Shaw and several other mutants waiting for them in the storage room.

Shaw is wearing the helmet, which explains why she didn't pick him up, but the others…

One of Shaw's lackey's behind him is smirking at her. At her specifically. Jean glares back at first, at the barely-dressed woman in white, but the expression slips away in shock as she realizes what's happened.

The woman is a telepath. Shaw has a telepath. With Mom sick the entire time he's been here and Jean distracted keeping up with everything else, she was able to keep herself under the radar easily.

That's how the teleporter knew what the others were trying to do in the village. It's how Shaw knew to cut them off here, at the end of the tunnel.

They have nowhere to go.

Chapter Text

Now

Charles's eyes are certainly open now. The moment the telepath reveals herself to Jean he feels it too. He can feel her smug satisfaction and he knows just how much trouble they're in.

Hank's grasp on him tightens, Logan is swearing a streak inwardly, and Erik is somewhere near panic.

"Well," Shaw smiles. "It's so nice to see you all, but I'm afraid I can't let any of you go anywhere."

What happened? Erik questions in despair. How did they know…?

The woman is a telepath. Charles lets all of them know this, rather than only Erik. Otherwise only he and Jean would understand what's gone wrong.

They never had any chance of getting out of here cleanly. Shaw's telepath has been following their moves from the beginning, and anything they try now she'll read before they can try it. She can hear him now, telling them what she is.

Nice to meet you too, sweetheart, she scoffs.

The standoff is silent until Erik clears his throat. "You want me," he says roughly. "I'll stay; just let the others leave, and let Nicole help Charles."

"Erik—" Charles stops, because he doesn't know what else he can say. He can't disagree. It isn't just him. It's the children.

Shaw is shaking his head slowly. "I don't think I will."

"But you told me—"

"That was before you attempted to escape. Not that it would have done you much good if you'd succeeded."

Erik's teeth are grinding. Charles can see it from beside him. He can hear his husband's thoughts working, knowing that if he begs—not that he wants to—Shaw may at least give him one thing or other.

He can't make the decision. He knows what it should be, but he doesn't want to make it. Chest aching, Charles does it for him.

"At least let the others go," he says quietly. He's so tired.

Logan, scowling, adds to that. "Just the kids, if you want. Let the kids go." He didn't have to do that, but he did it. Charles thanks him silently, hoping he's paying attention enough to notice.

Scott has a protective arm around Jean, and the girl wants to protest what the adults are saying but nothing is coming out.

Shaw is still looking at them, thinking, though Charles doesn't know what it is going through the man's mind, and it's still as frustrating as ever. But it doesn't matter, really. There are six of them and they're not outnumbered, but he can't do much now himself and all of their powers are useless against Shaw. His only idea won't work now—not until he's stronger.

Or…Charles doesn't know exactly what else to do, especially in his current condition, but he knows he can't even attempt to figure it out with Shaw's telepath monitoring his and everyone else's thoughts.

He does the only thing he can. He puts up as much of a shield as he can, hoping it will be enough to keep her out of, at least, his own thoughts.

It works. He knows it works because his head hurts awfully all of a sudden and because he can feel the telepath's annoyance. Frost. Her name is Emma Frost. You really think that's going to help you? she laughs. Even if you cook something up in there, you can't do it. You don't have enough strength left. You can't even stand up; what makes you think you can do anything against me?

But though he can hear her she can't hear him any longer; not unless he wants her to. He can't protect the others' thoughts too, but it's something.

Though he isn't certain how long he can keep even that up.

Don't worry about it. I've got you.

Jean. She's done the same—cloaked her mind, after watching him do it. She's lending him energy now, and it does help some but as weak as he is it's still difficult, just to control what she gives him. But now, at least, the two of them can communicate.

We have to do something, Mom. I'm not going home without you.

You will if there is no other choice.

There is. I know there is. If you can't really do anything right now then tell me what to do, or…I don't know. I don't guess getting Shaw's helmet off right now would do us any good, would it?

Likely not. I'm not sure. She doesn't know how to do what he'd planned to do. It would be incredibly complicated, and Charles isn't entirely sure it would work even if he were at normal strength. But something else…

Charles gasps in pain, curling farther in Hank's arms when Frost pounds on his brittle defenses.

"Charles!" Erik's hands, one on an arm and one on his shoulder

"They're trying to plan something—the telepaths are trying to shut me out," Frost says aloud.

"Trying? Or succeeding?" Shaw questions in amusement.

Frost scowls, and Charles shouts when she lashes out in anger and the pain worsens. He doesn't have enough to protect himself—just to keep her out of his thoughts. Or at least, he doesn't want to waste what energy he has on anything else. He hears angry shouting, vaguely, but everything else fuzzes out until it stops.

"-st stop!"

"-eave him alone!"

They all fall silent when Charles stops shouting, and when he opens his eyes Erik is close and leaning over him. "Charles…?" Charles is only able to nod in reassurance, but it's better than nothing. Erik swallows, and there's a hand on his cheek for a moment. "I'm so sorry," Erik whispers near his ear, softly enough that only the two of them hear. "This was never supposed to happen."

"I assume that means they're succeeding," Shaw smirks. He shifts his attention from Frost back to the escaping party. "You might as well stop, Charles, Jean. There is nothing you can do. You have nowhere to run and I can overpower any of you."

Maybe so. But Charles has kept hold of his shielding.

Mom? Mom, are you okay? Jean is asking worriedly.

That is an extremely relative term for me at the moment…

He's held on to the shielding, but though Jean is still trying to help him he's growing weaker by the moment.

If he's going to do anything, it has to be soon.

Shaw is motioning past them now, more firm. "Back down the tunnel, all of you. None of you are going anywhere."

"But the children—" Erik protests.

"Knew what they were getting into when they came to rescue you, and what would happen if they failed. It's happened. Cooperate with me, Erik, and they might at least live."

"What about Mom?" Hank questions tightly.

"It's clear that one of you needs to die for your father to understand how serious his situation is. Charles is so close already it seems a shame to waste the effort it took to put him there."

Shaw seems to enjoy saying that quite a bit. Erik is seething, but when the other mutant raises an eyebrow at him he says nothing. With him still close Charles is able to gain a grip on his arm, but it doesn't seem to help at all.

Erik…

I failed. I couldn't protect you. I couldn't protect anyone…

I love you.

That brings him up short, and Charles doesn't care that Frost can hear them since it isn't only within his own mind. Erik looks at him, eyes damp though he would probably very much rather that they weren't, and covers Charles's hand on his arm with his own.

I love you, too.

If nothing happens here, if they don't get out of this now, the others may still have a chance to take care of Shaw and get out of here later. Erik did it once before as a boy; they can do it again. Maybe Charles won't be here, but that hope is something. He knows Erik will do everything he can to make it happen, and that he'll keep his promises about everything else.

"The boy is back," Frost says abruptly.

Shaw is scowling. "Where the hell is Azazel?"

But Charles is already seeking out Kurt, and finds him in the valley in a stand of trees with the other children.

And now that the boy is within range, Charles knows exactly what to do.

Or to try to do.

He pulls together every bit of strength he has, everything Jean has given him, and makes sure the line between them is still open in case he needs more. He compiles concentrated telepathic bursts to send to Kurt and Erik. Frost will hear them, but not be able to decipher them herself quickly enough to do anything before it's too late.

Jean is privy to everything he's doing—almost everything—and she's understandably worried. Are you sure? Can you do anything like that now? Why don't you let me do more?

Just take the others with them out of the equation. Put them to sleep. I don't want you anywhere near Shaw's mind.

But what about the telepath? I could distract her—

AND put the others to sleep at the same time? You're strong, Jean—stronger than me on my best day, at the core of it—but you need more practice, and more coordination. Beyond that, you've done quite a bit in recent days. I'm proud of you. But it's much safer if you leave Shaw and the telepath to me.

Safer for me. Not safer for you. I really hate to say it, but I wouldn't even be so sure about you taking on just Shaw right now. Or just the telepath, for that matter.

Jean…

Let me help with the telepath. At least.

And he doesn't really have time to argue, so he agrees. Jean signals that she's ready, and Charles drops his shields and sends the bursts.

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Moira questions.

"I don't know," Alex is saying. "Jean hasn't contacted us anymore. I don't know what's going on, or anything."

Kurt would have jumped into the compound, but he doesn't know where the others are. Jean hasn't contacted him, either. He and Alex and Sean and Ororo and Moira are trying to decide what to do when the message hits him.

It's everything he needs, inserted into his mind at once—where Uncle Charles and the others are, what kind of trouble they're in, and exactly what Uncle Charles needs him to do.

He doesn't waste time explaining where he's going, as he knows he can't. He goes the moment he knows he needs to.

Frost opens her mouth to warn Shaw, but Charles and Jean are already on her, shutting her up and keeping her from stopping Kurt when he teleports into the storage room.

It's an understatement to say that Shaw is shocked when the boy appears right behind him, leaving again in an instant with the helmet and leaving his mind unprotected.

Charles shifts immediately to clamping down on Shaw's mind as his other lackeys behind him drop, deeply asleep, thanks to Jean. He's immediately glad that he allowed Jean to help him with keeping Frost suppressed, because Shaw's mind is…much more difficult than he expected. All of the energy he's absorbed in his long lifetime has made him stronger in more ways than one.

Erik has heard him, and he's waiting for the signal that Shaw is under control. But it isn't that easy. Even with the connection to Jean, trying to control the man is draining him immediately.

He has to do this. If he doesn't do it now they'll all be dead.

Charles hears himself screaming. Fighting so hard is hurting him. Damnit, if he were at full strength this would hardly be a fight at all.

But it is, and he's running out of energy. He's running out of time. He's running out of everything. Erik is holding onto him and he wonders if it's the last thing he'll ever feel.

Frost is bent over, trying to fight them and failing. She is not a problem. But though Shaw can't do anything else right now, if attacked he could still absorb the energy.

Mom, I've got the telepath! Don't worry about her!

He has no choice but to listen to her. He draws any focus away from Frost.

Did you really think you could defeat me?

Shaw. Charles bites back a cry and pries his eyes open, locking gazes with the man who caused his husband so much pain. I have to.

He does it. He refocuses everything on Shaw, pushing with everything he has left, and Shaw, already limited in movement, freezes completely. Or he would have if Erik hadn't received Charles's signal at the same moment. Instead he drops, a small hole in the center of his forehead.

The small bit of metal from Erik's pocket is buried in the wall behind him.

Erik sends the ball of metal flying as soon as he knows it will do any good, and the moment after Shaw collapses the woman in white does too. Though she is merely unconscious like the others and not dead like Shaw.

Jean stumbles, letting out a heavy breath, but Scott catches her and otherwise she seems fine.

The consequences are not so mild for Charles. He goes limp in Hank's arms, gasping and moaning and coughing up blood. "Oh god, Charles—"

"Damnit," Hank swears. He moves quickly to settle his mother on the floor against the back wall of the storage room, and behind him Logan is swearing much more colorfully and demanding to know what the hell just happened.

"He kept Shaw's powers at bay long enough for me to do that," Erik says quickly, motioning to the dead mutant. Dead. He isn't quite processing that yet. Shaw is gone. But that isn't the concern right now. "Charles! Can you hear me?" He drops to his knees and takes his husband's face between his hands, and Hank is puling his jacket off and pushing it behind his mother's head.

Charles nods once, but he can't get breath enough to say anything and Erik feels nothing in his mind. God, if Charles has nothing left even to contact him that way…"Charles?" This times it comes out unevenly.

A quiet thump, and Jean is beside him and panicking, words tumbling out almost too fast to be understandable. "It took everything he had to do that. He was already so weak even using my energy didn't help. He—in his condition, doing that…Nicole needs to get here. Damnit! I knew he shouldn't have done that! We have to do something. Oh my god, oh god—"

Erik stares at her until it clicks.

Charles is dying. Not in another day or so if nothing is done to purge the radiation poisoning.

Right now.

His gaze snaps back to his husband, who can breathe and has calmed by now. Charles is looking at him, and he doesn't even need to nod for Erik to know he's understood correctly. He swallows, finding one of Charles's hands and twining their fingers. Charles can scarcely squeeze back, but he tries, muscles spasming anyway with weak coughs.

"Where is Nicole?" Erik questions desperately.

"On her way," Jean tells him. "She knows we need her."

He nods, eyes never leaving his husband's. He leans in closer to kiss the cheeks he isn't stroking with a thumb. "Just hold on. You'll be fine…" he whispers. He wishes he could keep the tightness out of his voice, but he can't help the part of himself that's petrified.

Logan is pacing by the door. Scott is standing behind Jean and doesn't seem to know what else to do. Jean is still beside Erik and Hank is at Charles's other side across from them with fingers loosely wrapped around one of his mother's wrists.

"His pulse is weakening fast…" he mutters worriedly.

"She's coming. Just a couple of minutes," Jean says.

"Erik…" The voice is by his ear, barely audible.

"Charles, you're going to be fine. It's over. We did it. We're safe…Nicole's going to help you." Damn his voice for shaking again. Charles's eyes are closing. That can't be good. Erik shakes him, just hopefully not enough to hurt him. "Charles!" He hears Hank and Jean calling out with him, but at the same time he doesn't.

His husband's eyes open again, as wet as his own, and everything freezes in that moment.

Charles feels drained. Empty. He can feel himself slipping away and the only thing still holding him here is Erik. Erik and the children and he can hear them but everything is dimming. He can hear their words but not their thoughts. He can't hear anyone's thoughts. He can't even feel their minds—at least not in the sense that he's used to.

Everything is gone. All he can feel in the faint pressure he felt when he was young, before his powers were really available to him.

"Charles, you're going to be fine. It's over. We did it. We're safe…Nicole's going to help you…" He can hear Erik, but he can't keep his eyes open. Shaking…is someone shaking him?

"Charles!"

He knows there are other voices, but all Charles really hears is Erik's voice, cutting through the fog of nothing and the pressure. The gray unidentifiable feeling of his powers existing but having no active strength. The way it was before the war.

Erik is still calling to him. His eyes open and he can see his husband looking at him, begging him to stay. Loving him. And…

A point of light, in the pressure. Through the gray. A point of light that seems somehow familiar.

And it all comes back. The boy. The point of light. The mind. The one he's felt connected to from the beginning. Except when he forgot. He didn't mean to forget, but if needed fate can work without one's help. This time it did.

Charles almost laughs when he understands. He would, if he had the strength for it. Instead he smiles and squeezes his husband's fingers tighter—all he can do.

"It was you…it was always you." He's not sure it's loud enough to hear, but from the look on Erik's face it was enough. Erik doesn't seem to know exactly what he means, but he offers what he can in return.

"I love you," Erik manages softly. There are tears on his face now. Charles wishes he could make them go away. The boy he saw so many years ago was so happy. Charles wants him to be happy again.

But he's just so tired.

Charles's eyes close again, and Erik panics. "Where is Nicole! NICOLE!" He's twisting toward the door and shouting, as if that will help anything and she'll be able to hear even if she's half the compound away.

"I'm here!" He's not quite sure it's real when she hurries through the door right then anyway. "I'm here!" she repeats.

Logan and Scott and Hank clear out of her way, letting her take the place on the ground by Charles's other side. She quickly plants a hand over his chest, and nothing else changes yet but his breathing evens out.

"I've got him…he isn't going anywhere now."

Erik lets out an uneven breath.

"You can fix this, right?" Jean questions worriedly.

The way Nicole hesitates at that does not help Erik's heart rate. "What? You can, can't you? You wouldn't have come if you couldn't—"

"I can," she says quickly. "It's just that…as close as he came…even before this…incident…" she trails, glancing around the room.

"What?" Erik demands.

She sighs. "I can heal him. I can. But you of all people should know that once it comes this close even I can't bring someone back to perfect health from something like this."

He blinks at her, trying to understand what she means. After the last few minutes it takes a while to straighten his thoughts enough to understand.

He realizes she isn't lying. She isn't wrong. He's seen it before. Both of his parents came close, many times, before they died. His mother was with him longer. Shaw allowed her to be almost healthy more than once. But it was never perfect. Some small thing—her pallor, a cough, the way she was tired so often, often more things than one—something always told him that the repair was not complete.

Nicole is saying that Charles will never be healthy again. Not entirely.

Then again, that isn't so different from the way the last six years have been. Since Bobby and Kitty were born and they nearly lost him.

Erik very quietly tells her this.

"I know…and it may be the same, it's possible, but it's likely it'll be worse. And after exposure to such concentrated radiation…the most thorough scrubbing I can do won't keep him from being more susceptible to other cancers and infections. I think I managed to do enough in the past few days that the brain tumor shouldn't come back, but I can't make any such promise about anything else."

"So what are you saying?"

"Nothing…I just…thought you should be warned."

"Shouldn't Charles be told this?"

"I have been…" Charles's eyes flicker open groggily. "I'm sorry…she's done enough to bring me back to consciousness, but it was easier to stay awake with my eyes resting…still quite drained, I'm afraid…"

Erik laughs weakly, but it doesn't last long. There's something he's missing here, and he knows he's missing it. He's ignoring it purposefully.

Nicole is telling him that if he were strong enough, maybe he could tell Charles that it's all right. He doesn't have to stay. He doesn't have to live like that.

He isn't strong enough. But at least this time, after everything that's already happened in recent months, he knows that to begin with.

But he loves Charles. That part of him knows what he should do, and that part of him opens his mouth.

"Charles…"

"I'm staying." Charles smiles at him tiredly, but not without amusement. "I don't plan to go anywhere just yet, Erik."

Nicole smiles in understanding. "As long as you're sure."

Charles nods, and this time Erik's soft laugh is more genuine. He can feel a warmth from where Nicole's hand touches Charles as he leans to kiss him.

When he pulls back enough to look at his husband Charles's eyes are all but sparkling with excitement. "There's something I have to tell you later…" Erik wonders if it has something to do with the strange thing he said, when he was drifting away.

And then Hank and Jean are moving in, Logan and Scott too, and on top of that Kurt appears with the other four that were in the valley—Alex and Sean and Ororo and Moira, and they all want to know what happened. Nicole is trying to shoo them all off with her free hand so she can work, and all Erik manages to keep the entire time is one of Charles's hands. But after thinking for so long he would lose him it's more than enough, with the smiles Charles sends his way.

They'll have plenty of time now. It may not be perfect, but it will be theirs.

Chapter Text

Now

With everyone trying to make sure that everyone else is all right and all of them wanting to know what happened to everyone else—seeing as Jean is probably the only one that knows every side of the story—there is enough crowding and commotion in the small storage room that Erik can't keep an eye on his husband the entire time. He doesn't notice when it happens, but at one point he turns back and Charles's eyes are closed and he's still.

"Charles…?"

The sudden panic is stopped by the gentle hand on his arm. "It's all right," Nicole tells him. "He's only sleeping. He needs it." The hand she had on Charles's chest as she healed him comes away.

Erik glances at her, still uneasy. "You've finished?"

She shakes her head slowly. "Any traces of the radiation are gone, and the effects reversed, but he'll still be weak. Maybe a bit sick for a while. I can do a little more for him, but not right now. He needs the rest first. And even then…" She sighs apologetically. "Well that I explained to you…"

He nods numbly, and tries to gather his thoughts enough to know what to ask next. "I take it I shouldn't bring him home just yet then."

"No. I wouldn't travel with him yet, and teleporting…I don't know. But it looks like your teleporter needs rest anyway." She's right. Kurt is swaying on his feet and Jean is up now and she and Moira are clucking over him, trying to make him sit. Nicole, however, is continuing. "Beyond that, not only do you need rest, you could probably use a bit of healing yourself."

"Later," Erik answers tiredly. "We need to know what we should do now. If we can't go home where can we go?"

Nicole looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Most of the old barracks from before the village was built have been converted to storage or labs, but we still have one or two of the smaller ones. They're out of the way. No one uses them anymore—the few humans left have rooms of their own, if you can call what Shaw gave them rooms…closets more like…"

Erik blinked. "Humans?"

Nicole paused, caught off guard because the part of her answer he was focusing on obviously wasn't what she'd expected him to respond to, seeing as it had seemed to be more of an offhand comment than anything.

"Yes. You didn't know? Some of the scientists Shaw kept here after the war were humans. Those that were intelligent or successful enough for him to take notice of them even if they weren't mutants, I suppose. Unfortunately they've always been treated like second-class citizens here even so—have even less freedom than the rest of us; he wouldn't let them off base—but they're here. The few that were younger at the time of the war and haven't passed away already, anyhow."

"No…I didn't know." Just another layer of Shaw to disturb him.

Nicole sighs. "Anyway…one of the old barracks. There's a small one not far from here that ought to be big enough for all of you. You can rest there. With any luck we can get you there before anyone finds out what's happened here." She glances at Shaw's lifeless body and the unconscious mutants around him nervously. "Most here will be glad to know he's gone. We're free. But there are the few that are loyal…"

Erik scowls. "What can we do?"

"Let us worry about them. You've done enough," she tells him sincerely. "Already I don't know how we could ever repay you."

Erik swallows and looks down at his husband, whose color is already beginning to return. "You've done enough yourself," he says quietly. He starts to get up then, if they're going to get moving, but finds himself dizzy and sinks to the ground again. His voice is tinged with embarrassment when he speaks next. "Nicole…I uhm…"

Her hand is already on his arm to steady him, and wordlessly she moves it to his chest. Erik closes his eyes for a moment, letting the familiar feeling of warmth wash over him as he begins to feel stronger. Without direct exposure the sickness has built slowly, and he hasn't been much affected. It doesn't take long before the effects are gone and he feels himself again. Still exhausted, but himself. As strong as he should be.

"Thank you…" He pauses uneasily. "Nicole, there's…before we leave, whenever that is…there's something else we have to…take care of. Somehow. I don't know if you even know what I'm—"

"I know," she says, pitching her voice low. "You don't need to be worried about that, either. Trust me; they're safe, and after what you've done any of our doctors will be more than glad to help."

If he'd been on his feet he would have staggered just from relief, no matter how much he'd been healed.

Their children are going to be fine, in one way or another.

All of them.

It takes a moment or two to quiet everyone down enough to tell them what they plan to do, and Erik is glad to be able to carry Charles himself as they move out. On the other hand it also worries him; Charles may be mostly healed now, but he's still far too light.

"He'll be fine," Nicole assures him.

Erik gives her a sidelong glance. "But you said…"

"I know what I said. It's all true—it's probably not going to be easy for him from now on—but you're looking at him like he might break at any moment. He won't. He'll be all right. He's stable now, physically. He just needs time to recover."

By now Logan is carrying Kurt, who looks like he's near to falling asleep himself, and Erik has to remind himself again that Charles is not his only concern.

"All right…where is this place we're going? You said it wasn't far." He glances down at the sprawled forms on the floor of the storage room. "And what about them?"

"Considering the way they were knocked out, I doubt they'll come around for a while. As soon as I get the lot of you settled I'll get help. We have somewhere we can keep the loyalists under lock and key until we decide what to do with them."

Erik is quiet for a moment. "Right…I suppose that isn't up to us. You're the ones who've been here, dealing with him every day for thirty-five years…all of them…"

Nicole quietly ushers them on, through several deserted corridors that don't look at all familiar to Erik. He spent five years in that stone prison, but all he ever saw of the compound beyond were the labs—teleported there, and straight back. It was a miracle he found his way out at all when he escaped.

When he made his attempt he'd nearly lost the will. But something pulled him—something he didn't understand. Now he couldn't help but wonder if, somehow, that something had been Charles.

They haven't gone far before someone rounds the corner in front of them. Erik tenses immediately, but Nicole isn't alarmed and she seems to know him.

"There you are!" the man is saying. "What happened?" He's speaking to Nicole, and only slowly seems to realize that the rest of them are there.

Erik is a bit behind her, but from the angle he can just tell that she's smiling some. "The children came after them—with a little help from friends," she says, nodding minutely in the direction of Logan and Scott .

The man is older, moderately tall and clean-cut. As well as he's aged it's impossible to tell just what category of older he is. The only new piece of clothing is the white lab coat he wears, and everything else looks rather old but well mended and taken care of. He's blinking in surprise as he takes in the entire family behind Nicole.

Then he smiles, just a fraction, as he looks back to Nicole. "I told you they'd do something," he says conspiratorially.

"Shaw is dead."

That gives him the dumbstruck look again, but he recovers quickly, and he doesn't comment. "What can I do? Where are you bringing them?" Why does he keep glancing at Charles? Why does it seems like he hopes he isn't noticed doing it? He seems to know something about them, anyway. Erik wonders what, and why. He tries to keep his eyes from narrowing.

"I'm bringing them to the old barracks. They need somewhere out of the way to rest. And if you want to help, round up enough others to clean up the mess in the storage room before anyone else finds it." The last part she says flatly, and the man nods stiffly and starts to turn and part ways. He glances at Charles again. Erik thought maybe it was only that if the man knew anything about what had been happening in the past week he might realize who Charles is…who Erik is and who Charles is in relation to him, anyhow, or something like that…but now he wonders if it's something else.

The man lets out a short breath. "I'll take care of it." Now he nods toward Charles. "Uhm…if you need somewhere more quiet or private for him…if that would be better for recovery or…you can use my room. It's near the closest of the barracks anyway." He's likely human then, if he has a room here. He is older. It fits. It also explains why he's on Nicole's side—their side—with no love for Shaw and those loyal to him.

Nicole nods, and the man hurries off, and Erik is left with no idea what the hell just happened.

Jean is watching him go. Why does she have that look on her face?

Thirty-Five Years, Two Months Ago

"How long will you be gone this time?" Charles asks plaintively, eyes wide and questioning.

Father smiles and bends down to ruffle his hair. "Just a couple of weeks. Don't look at me like that—you know I don't like going. But research is what we scientists do, you know. I need to work on something with a friend of mine."

"Just a couplea weeks. Promise?"

"I promise," Father chuckles, and kisses his forehead. "I'll be back before you know it, and I'll bring you a present."

Charles throws his arms around his father's neck and squeezes. "That's okay. I don't need a present."

He'd have settled for getting his father back.

He gets neither.

Now

Nicole shows them to the barracks first, a room with several beds down each side and shelves that haven't been used in years. Most of the children drop onto the thin mattresses, barely taking the time to brush the dust from the old blankets.

They've all had a long week.

Though that's quite a bit of an understatement.

"If you want to find that other room for Charles, go ahead," Logan tells Erik. "I'll watch the kids." He looks tired himself, but Erik trusts him.

Nicole bring him just around the corner a few doors down, and glances at a number on the doorframe before going in. "It's not much better…but he'll probably rest better without the entire family crowding him asking questions the moment he wakes up. I'm no doctor, but I can tell you he needs at least two or three days of relatively uninterrupted rest before you think about bringing him anywhere…"

When Erik sees the room he's sure the man they met in the hallway is human. The room really isn't any bigger than a large closet. A single bed and a small shelf with a few articles of worn but well-mended clothing like the ones he'd been wearing are the only things in the room.

"But if we use this room, then…"

"Brian can sleep anywhere—there's more room in the barracks we just left, and there are others. But either way, he was right—this will be better for Charles. You can control visitors until he's stronger, at least, and keep it quiet so he can sleep."

Nicole pulls the covers back on the bed, which as she said isn't much better than those in the barracks, though at this point that really doesn't matter. Erik gently lowers his husband to the mattress and covers him up, arranging the pillows under his head. "Brian. That's his name?"

She nods absently and quickly changes the subject, which is curious. Jean didn't say anything, the rest of the way here, but Erik can't help remembering the look on her face…

"I need to see how things are going out there—there may be some trouble—but don't worry about anything." Nicole smiles. "Maybe I don't have anything useful in a scuffle, but plenty of us who aren't fond of Shaw here have decently formidable powers. We'll have any trouble-makers rounded up soon enough. Anyway, I'll bring you all something to eat as soon as I can. Hopefully you won't have to stay out of sight for long, but for now don't go anywhere unless it's the lavatory." She'd pointed out the now-unused community one across the corridor from the barracks.

Erik nods and then she's gone.

The bed isn't really meant to hold two, but on his side Erik manages to squeeze himself onto the edge next to Charles, and wraps an arm around him. He doesn't mean to fall asleep but he does, and when he wakes he doesn't know how long he's been out. He realizes there's an old clock on the shelf, but he doesn't know what time it was when they were brought here.

The clock tells him it's early to mid morning now, and he wonders if any night will ever bring as much excitement as last night did.

He hopes not.

Charles is still sleeping comfortably, and Erik takes the opportunity to find the bathroom by the barracks and check on the children. Logan is sitting up in one of the beds, still dozing a bit but awake now, and gives him a nod of reassurance that they're all fine. Everyone else is still asleep.

"Kurt woke up a few hours ago freaking out that Raven didn't know what had happened…went home a little while to let her and Nicole's family know we're all right and came back. Didn't take long and he was out like a light again," Logan tells him. "He said something about he could probably bring them all back here once he'd gotten some more sleep if he brought them one at a time."

Raven. In everything else Erik hadn't even thought…he feels awful about it now, but he's glad she knows it's over. That they're safe.

Or they should be. Where is Nicole? He asks, but Logan hasn't seen her either.

She comes back not long after Erik has returned to the small room where his husband sleeps. She tells him that everything is under control, and brings food. She has help. The older human man from yesterday and a couple of others are with her, helping her carrying things. They distribute the food to the children and the others in the barracks, and the other two mutants with Nicole leave then but the human man stays. Both he and Nicole follow Erik back to the other room.

Erik stops outside the door, looking at Nicole, and then the man, and then Nicole again. The man seems anxious. Nicole, for some reason he can't fathom, looks as if she's trying to keep from smiling. "Is there something I need to know?"

Charles doesn't know where he is when he wakes up, but Erik is there and it doesn't matter. He's in a bed, and he's warm, and Erik is sitting beside him with a hand wrapped around one of his.

"There you are," Erik smiles.

"Mmm…not that I know where 'there' is. Meaning here. Where…?"

"We're still in the compound, but now it's under the control of those who wanted Shaw out of power anyway—which was nearly everyone here. Those who were loyal are out of the way for the time being." He briefly explains the rest—what happened after Charles fell asleep and where exactly within the compound they are.

Charles is satisfied until he remembers what else they have to be concerned about. "The children—"

He surges up, and Erik gently pushes him back down. Along with a brief coughing fit, he finds out that it doesn't take much force to keep him there; he's still particularly weak, even if he's no longer deathly ill.

"They're all fine. Most of them are still sleeping."

Erik is right. Charles can feel their minds not far away, most quiet and still in sleep. But that isn't what he meant. "I know…I mean…"

His husband's expression softens. "I know what you mean, and it's all right. You were right; now that Shaw is dead most of the people here want to help us. We'll get them back."

Charles relaxes then. "All right…what about Raven? Does she know we're okay? What about Nicole's family?"

"Nicole's family is still back in the city with Raven, and they all know what happened. Kurt told them; he's just not ready to start carrying passengers again yet. Last night really wiped him out."

Charles lets out a breath. "I'm sorry he had to be involved at all. Any of them."

Erik squeezes his hand gently, and grins a bit. "Though I hate to admit it, but we never would have gotten out of this without them."

"Yes, they're…quite extraordinary, aren't they?" he chuckles fondly.

They're quiet then, until Erik bring a hand to his cheek and strokes it with a thumb, looking at him closely. "How are you feeling?"

That's hard to determine, but, "I feel much better than I did. Though I imagine a full recovery will take some time, no matter how much Nicole can do for me."

"And after that?" Erik looks worried all of a sudden, frowning as he asks that, but the expression is rather ambiguous and Charles might not have realized exactly what was worrying him without the connection they have. He can feel the guilt, the concern…and he know what his husband is thinking about.

"After that we'll take it a day at a time," he says quietly. "What Nicole said…I don't know how bad it will be. But it doesn't matter. I promised I wouldn't leave you if I could help it, and this time I could."

Erik swallows and leans down to kiss him. His fingers brush the back of Charles's head—which is still bare, of course—and Charles feels a strange bubble of laughter rising in his chest.

"What?" Erik asks, looking at him curiously as he pulls back.

"I still have no hair."

Erik smirks a little. "If it makes you feel any better, I think she did say it should come back."

"For a while, at least. It was already thinning some before this. I don't know if there is any genetic coding for baldness in my family, but…well, I suppose we'll see."

Erik is shaking his head in bewilderment. "Why are we talking about this?"

Charles laughs again, and this time he notices the tears in his eyes. "I really don't know. But I'd much rather be talking about this than…than…" He sobs quietly before he can stop it, and he doesn't know if it's relief or something else. He doesn't have to say anything. He reaches up for Erik and his husband gently pulls him up into his arms and holds him. He doesn't cry. Not really. Neither does Erik. There isn't any reason to now. But he can feel the silent tears on his face.

"We're all right," he breathes. "We'll really be all right." Erik is nodding against his shoulder and holding him tightly, helping him to believe that it's all really over. Shaw is dead and everyone is safe and it will take time but everything that's been wrong with this world with Shaw in control can be fixed. It threatens to feel like nothing but a dream.

Erik holds him for a long time, both of them content to rest in the fact that they're both still here. Charles wouldn't have minded if Erik held him all day, but eventually he gently pulls back again. He settles Charles against the head of the bed, pulling a pillow or two up behind him for support.

"I know you probably want to see the children, but they're still sleeping, aren't they?"

Charles checks, and nods. "Most of them. Logan and Scott, too. Jean is awake. I would like to see her…"

"You will. But I think there's someone else you should see first." Erik is smiling again now, and Charles doesn't understand. "I think you'd like to meet the man who's leant us his room."

"Well…I'd like to thank him at some point, certainly, but I don't see why I necessarily need to do that right this moment…" He can already feel his eyelids drooping again.

Erik kisses his forehead, and he's already standing up. "Trust me; you'll be glad I didn't let you wait."

"But…" He doesn't have time to protest any further before his husband is out the door and Charles is left alone, shaking his head in confusion.

The barracks is quiet. Everyone is asleep or dozing except for Jean, Nicole, and Brian. Jean is talking quietly but animatedly with the human man, and Nicole is finishing up making rounds to the others to see if any of them need her abilities. When she sees him she comes to the door to meet him.

"I checked all of them," she tells him, keeping her voice down so as not to wake anyone. "Hank was the only one I sensed any real amount of exposure in, and even then it wasn't much—all indirect, like yours."

"Hank's the one that carried Charles at first…"

"That explains it, then. And it's gone now. He won't be affected. I gave the others a precautionary sweep, too. None of them will have any ill effects, and it should help them get their strength back more quickly besides. They're all exhausted." She pointed an accusing finger into his chest. "You should be getting more sleep too."

"I will…but Charles is awake now, and…" He nods toward Jean and her partner in conversation, and Nicole glances back at them and nods knowingly.

"Of course."

Nicole excuses herself, smiling again, and at the same moment Jean stops talking and looks up and catches Erik's eye. She motions to him and the older man she's talking to turns around, standing when he sees Erik is there. Erik scarcely needs to nod before Brian is excusing himself and hurrying from the room.

"You didn't even warn Mom, did you?" Jean asks.

Erik takes a seat beside her and shrugs. He's a little concerned, as his daughter seems to be, but he doesn't know what he could do about it. "What would I have said?"

"Good point…still working on this one myself."

Charles doesn't know he's dozing until there's a knock on the small room's door. He picks his head up with a start, wincing when his weak muscles protest at the abrupt movement. He doesn't sense Erik outside the door—only someone else—and he assumes his husband is checking on the children and sent the man back here on his own.

Another knock, more hesitant this time. Now that he thinks about it, the first was rather hesitant as well.

"You can come in. I'm sorry, I dozed off…"

The door cracks open, and though the thin older man who comes in carries himself well, confidently, at least at the moment it's a façade. The waves of nervousness rolling from him hit Charles like a wall. Not only nervousness, either. Carefully controlled…excitement? Charles doesn't pry, and right now with his strength still low the feelings must be strong indeed for him to be picking them up without looking for them.

The man slowly closes the door behind him, and though he's almost staring he doesn't seem to know what to say.

Neither does Charles. He's struck by the fact that this man looks so familiar to him but he can't pinpoint how or why.

"Charles, I—" The man begins and ends abruptly, then tries again with something Charles wasn't expecting—not that he was expecting the man to use his first name from the get-go, either. "Did Erik say anything to you…?" He's confused now, and it seems to be from Charles's lack of response.

But Charles doesn't know how to respond to that, either, and he only stares back. He knows he should say something—something polite, at least—but he simply can't stop trying to decipher why the man looks familiar. It's feels, all of a sudden, as if he's forgotten something incredibly important. It doesn't help that his mind still feels sluggish from need of rest and recovery.

The man is quiet for a few seconds, and then sighs shortly.

"He didn't. And here I am just staring at you. I'm…I'm sorry…what you must think…I…"

"I'm sorry. I feel like I know you and that seems to be what you're insinuating, but—" How is it possible? The man's mind isn't familiar to him—it's pattern and waves—which would mean if they've met it would have been before the war before he fully gained his powers…

The man is shaking his head in disappointment. "You were five. You were old enough to remember, but so much has happened to you since then—to all of us. I shouldn't be surprised, really, I just—" He ducks his head bit and pinches the bridge of his nose in a sigh and—

And the scraps of information in Charles's mind snap together with pieces of memory to form a coherent whole.

Someone who claims to know him—to know him well enough to be anxious about seeing him again—but couldn't have known him anything later than before the war. A familiar face but not a familiar mind.

"Just a couplea weeks. Promise?"

"I promise."

A laugh and a kiss. An embrace. A promise that never could have been kept.

"Father, what's wrong?"

That same gesture, thumb and forefinger pinching, a bowed head, over and over as far back as memory allow. A silent plea. Brian Xavier doesn't like to be away from his family, or to work too long and away from them, but sometimes he has no choice. He and his wife are, over all, happy. In love. But, sometimes, she's angry. Because she doesn't like to see him go.

When the war begins and Father stops coming back, Charles wonders if it wouldn't have helped if he'd been angry sometimes, too. Or if Mother hadn't been. If maybe Father wouldn't have left that time and he would be safe. But now they don't know what happened to him.

Charles pulls in a breath so sharply it hurts, and it leads to a coughing fit he didn't plan.

"Charles! Are you all right?"

"I-It's impossible…" he gasps between breaths, as he regains control. Regaining that control and getting enough air again takes enough concentration that his eyes snap shut.

When he opens them again the man is at his bedside, leaning over him with a hand hovering near his shoulder, not touching. And now he knows why he knows that face. But. "It's impossible," he breathes again. Damn his eyes. They're filling.

At least he isn't the only one. The man shakes his head slowly, his own eyes damp. "No…not impossible. I was one of the scientists Shaw brought here at the beginning of the war. I was never in danger from that attack. I was snatched from where I was before it came. My family wasn't taken too because they weren't with me, and in the confusion…all of the people Shaw was having spirited away…I'm not the only one whose family they missed and never went back for."

Oh god. All those years of thinking…

"Oh my god. You…" Suddenly he can't breathe again, and he can't see anymore for tears blurring his vision, but it doesn't matter now. He doesn't need to. He doesn't need to see the man to know without a doubt who he is.

Charles doesn't know his mind, but he can feel a warmth in the back of his own—not the same as Erik's light, nothing so bright and piercing, but something warm and comfortable that he never missed until he felt it again now.

Now he knows it was missing.

"Father…"

Just a hand on his arm at first, but that quickly becomes a tight embrace and Charles clings back as Brian Xavier drops onto the edge of the bed beside him and pulls his son into his arms.

Brian Xavier. His father. His father is still alive. He's been alive all this time, held here by Shaw.

This time Charles cries. He's happy—just as happy as he was to know that their ordeal here was over and that Shaw will never hurt anyone again—but this time he can't stop it. This time, too, there is sadness with the joy. The years they didn't have. So many of them. It's so much different than the first twenty-five years he and Erik passed together. At least they had each other, even if they didn't know just to what extent.

Until this moment, Charles had been sure of his orphaned status for thirty-five years.

Brian doesn't seem to mind. He holds him, the way Charles remembers from when he was a boy—different only because he's, well, much bigger now.

So many times in his life he's cried, but never for the childhood he lost. The same was true for everyone young at the time of the war, after all. He's hardly unique in that respect. It seemed especially insignificant after learning what Erik went through.

But having his father's arms around him makes it suddenly seem okay to cry for those things. Okay to cry for missing his mother. Okay to cry for all the years he missed his father until now. Even now he nearly can't believe it, but…

It doesn't matter. It's real.

"Oh son, I'm so sorry. If there had been any way at least to let you know I was all right…he wouldn't allow it. He didn't want knowledge of his control to get out beyond the councils at this stage, and I couldn't act against him any more than Nicole could before now. He knew where you were. You and your family. He could have—"

"I know," Charles answers softly, almost miserably. "I understand. I do. It doesn't make me hate how it all turned out any less." Brian only squeezes him gently in response. He could fall asleep here, like this. He was falling asleep anyway, before this, and now he's tempted to just do it.

They're quiet for a little longer after that, Charles composing himself and Brian trying not to loose his own composure. When he's sure he'll be able to speak without clamming up again Charles sits back slowly. He feels even more tired out than before thanks to being put through the emotional wringer he's not quite free of yet, but at the same time he's also certain he won't actually be falling asleep any time soon.

Brian lets him go reluctantly, watching him searchingly as he settles back against the pillows. Charles can feel the mixed emotions still emanating from the man in waves. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "I know this is…are you all right?"

Charles nods slowly. "I am, I just…" One of those strange bubbles of laughter again, rising in his chest because he doesn't know how else to respond. After everything that's happened in such a short time he wonders if he's bordering on hysteria.

Some of the laughter escapes weakly. "Thirty-five years…it's quite a bit to catch up on."

"There isn't much else to say, about me," his father answers, frowning. "I've been here. Done whatever Shaw asked, and hated it. But I couldn't let anything happen to you."

Charles's chest feels tight, wondering what that must have been like and being afraid to know, all at once. This past week has been hard enough on himself and Erik, trying to keep each other and the children safe from Shaw. For someone to have such pressure put on them for so many years…well. The lines in Brian's face are no wonder. "I'm sorry…"

His father shakes his head and shrugs—as if saying What can be done about it now?—and moves as if to stand. "Well…I guess I should let you get some rest…"

Charles catches his arm. "Have you lost your mind? You can't leave now. Even if you did, I certainly wouldn't sleep. Not for a while, at least."

Brian smiles a little and settles on the edge of the bed again. "What did you have in mind? Like I said, I don't have much to tell."

"Do I have to have anything in mind?" Charles asks quietly. I just don't want you to leave. Not yet.

His father jumps a little, unused to the telepathic contact, blinking in surprise and looking around. "That was…that was you?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "I'm sorry; I've had the use of my abilities for so long I sometimes forget they were ever latent. That's right; you never would have known anything about them, I suppose." It's why he didn't know who Brian was instantly. If he had ever in the past touched his father mind with his fully activated powers, he never would have been in the dark today.

"Not until Shaw tracked you down after the war, no."

"Hmm…he kept you updated, then? He…watched us? Erik and I?" The thought sends chills up his spine, and he has to remind himself that the dangerous mutant is dead now.

"Had you watched, yes. He told me enough to keep me from stepping out of line, from risking any harm coming to any of you—about Raven, and Erik, and the children. Never as much as I wanted to know." He swallows. "I wanted to know everything. I wanted to see you."

Charles gulps past a knot in his own throat. "You can see us all now. You can come home with us."

Brian smiles uncertainly. "I would like that."

"You've met Erik, apparently. Who else have you seen?"

A brief laugh. "I've seen all of them, but they've been sleeping. Jean is the only one of the children I've spoken with. She's something, that one."

Charles can't help but grin. "She certainly is."

They both fall quiet again, Brian shaking his head in bewilderment. "Grandchildren. I've known about them all since they were born, but it didn't quite seem real until now. Well, that and…you see, you were so cute as a child your mother and I were always sure we'd have a smart, beautiful daughter-in-law someday…"

He's smiling in good-humored amusement as he says it, and that doesn't help Charles as he tries to keep his cheeks from burning. "Oh, god, please, I mean—that's hardly—" He's trying not to sputter.

Yesterday he was dying, half an hour ago he didn't have a father, and now he's already catching up on all of the years of embarrassment-by-parent he was never subjected to? What is the world coming to?

If Erik were here he would just find it incredibly funny.

Damn him.

"I'm sorry," Brian laughs. "It's true, but it doesn't matter." He quiets and is speaking seriously again. "I like Erik. I really do." He pauses, mouth opening once or twice before he's able to continue. "It's so clear how much he loves you—that he would do anything for you. That's all I could have asked for, for you."

Charles smiles, blinking away tears again now, and he says what he says because he doesn't know what else to say. But also because it's true. "Erik is smart and beautiful."

His father chuckles again and hugs him.

Chapter Text

Now

Before the day is out Charles is able to see the children, and the children who haven't already been able to meet their grandfather. Jean, who has already spoken with Brian for a while, seems to find their reactions amusing. Charles has to admit that he can't help grinning.

Everyone Charles sees comes to him; Erik and Brian won't let him out of bed.

"I almost lost you. Again," Erik whispers at one point. "That I had no control over. The least I can do is make sure you get the rest you need to recover. Otherwise you'd push yourself too hard, too soon. I know you. So just trust me, all right?"

Charles can't really argue with that.

Nicole comes to see him again, too, and spends a few minutes brushing up all of the work she did on him the day before.

"That's everything I can do, I'm afraid. The rest is up to you," she tells him apologetically.

"Please, you've done so much already. I feel almost as good as new. There isn't any need to sell yourself short," Charles assures her. He isn't lying. He feels all right—not sick at all, just rather exhausted, which is something only rest can cure. He knows he'll need to let himself recover his strength—as Erik keeps telling him. Hank and Brian and pretty much everyone else have already voiced their opinions on the matter as well.

Well, at least he knows how much they care.

The beds in the barracks are metal-framed, which makes it easy for Erik to move one of them into Brian's room next to the one that's already there, so that he and Charles have more room to sleep. That night with his husband' arms around him Charles dreams about the boy and the point of light—the memory that had been lost before. When he wakes smiling to himself it's still dark, but there is just enough light that he can see Erik looking at him strangely.

"What is it?"

Erik shakes his head slowly, unsure. "I don't know…I thought I was dreaming, but it seemed like more than that. I could feel you."

Charles blinks, and remembers that he hasn't had the chance to let Erik know about any of it yet. "I'm sorry…I must have been projecting. I was dreaming." He smiles. "But it's something I wanted you to know anyhow."

His husband is still trying to make sense of it. "What do you mean? I was…I was at home. Home before the war. In Poland, with my parents. And I saw…someone. I felt something. I thought it was you, but that doesn't make sense, and what does that have to do with—"

"It wasn't a dream, Erik. It was a memory, buried for both of us by years and worse memories that crowded it out. We were so young…I suppose its not surprising." Erik still seems helplessly confused, and Charles chuckles quietly and brushes his mind, helping him to unlock the images and to know what they mean. A hand brushes his husband's face, and Charles pushes up on his other elbow and waits for everything to sink in. "Now do you understand?" he asks softly.

Erik pulls in a breath, and their eyes lock, like they did so many years ago on a street so far away. "This is…it's what you meant, back in that storage room." It was you…it was always you. "It's what you wanted to tell me. We—"

"We were always meant to be together. Even before the war happened. Something bonded us, that day. Or maybe it was there even before that, and we only had to find each other. I doubt we'll ever know exactly what it is, or where it came from or why, but it doesn't matter. We did find one another. I think we would have with or without Shaw's interference."

Erik doesn't have much to say to that. He can only stare, with an odd awed smile, and soon enough he pulls Charles close again and kisses him. "We don't need some grand destiny to be in love, you know." It's almost a laugh in the dimness.

"I know," Charles answers. "I agree. That doesn't mean it isn't interesting."

Erik snorts. "'Interesting'…you do have a talent for understatement."

"Maybe."

It's early morning when Kurt gets up to make his way to the restroom—or the clock on the wall says so, though underground it's impossible to tell. He doesn't expect to run into anyone. Nicole told them that no one comes this way anymore, which was necessary at the beginning when they needed to stay out of sight. Now everything in the compound in under control, as far as he knows, but there was no reason to move anywhere else.

All of that is why it surprises him when he hears movement behind him on the way back. He thinks he smells something like sulfur, too—the smell that's left behind after he teleports. But he hasn't teleported in nearly two days.

Her spins around, but there's nothing behind him. However, the corridor does turn a few feet back.

"Come out; I know you're there." Kurt knows who to expect, but what he doesn't understand is why the other teleporter is there. He hasn't been seen for days. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

The red-skinned mutant shakes his head as he steps into view, denying an answer to either question.

"Well…don't just stand there."

The teleporter looks at him for a long time, and Kurt really just wants to turn and run. But there's still a part of him that…doesn't want to. There's a part of him that cares that this man fathered him.

"Why did you just leave?" Kurt asks eventually.

"I could not harm you or your mother, but neither could I directly disobey Shaw. Instead…"

"You ran anyway, so he couldn't give you any more orders." The silence after that is Kurt's answer. "What will you do now?"

"Sebastian Shaw is no longer in control here. I must go."

Kurt hesitates before he says anything to that. "Do you have to?"

"I am not welcome here—or anywhere that knew Shaw's rule."

"Does that mean anywhere? Or are there places he didn't get to?"

"There is no civilization organized since the war he did not exert some degree of control over, no. And once the leaders that knew of him know that he is dead I will no longer be tolerated. Neither will any that followed him willingly."

Kurt blinks in confusion. "But how will they know? Last I heard the planet was a big place."

The teleporter looks at him without speaking for a while again. "They will know because I will tell them."

"You—what?"

"It is the least that I can do."

Kurt has a pretty good idea what that means, but he asks anyway, and again he is met by silence.

"I must go," the other mutant says finally. "I only wished to—" He stops abruptly, and goes in a different direction with that. "You will not see me again."

The part of himself that cares at all hurts when Kurt hears that, but he swallows it back. His only response is a nod.

Then the teleporter is gone.

"Kurt? What are you doing out here? Are you all right?"

He turns around, and Hank is coming from the direction of the barracks. He looks groggy, but the concern in his voice is real.

Kurt closes the distance between them and hugs his stepfather, which is something of a surprise for Hank considering that Kurt is usually the typical pre-teen boy who doesn't do such things. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Okay…" Hank returns the embrace, and Kurt decides that the word 'step' is highly overrated anyway. Why bother with it anymore?

"Yeah, the kid's still recharging and we don't wanna put too much on him anyway—so I'm taking a truck back to town to bring Nicole's family back here now that it's safe. I can bring some of the others home if they want to go."

Logan is saying this late the next morning, and Kurt pops in as he's finishing. "Yeah, sorry…I can only go that far on my own right now. But anyway, Mom wants to come here, Uncle Charles, if you and Uncle Erik have to stay a while. Ororo said she'd go back to watch the little kids, and I think Alex and Sean and Moira want to go home too. Well, and Scott has to go home or his parents are gonna have a cow…"

Erik laughs once. "Hank and Jean refuse to go on ahead too, then?"

"Of course they do," Charles says. "They're both stubborn, and without my usual doctor here I presume that Hank considers himself the next best thing." What he doesn't say—because Logan and Kurt don't know anything about that situation—is that Hank has also begun working with Nicole and the doctors here on deciding the best way for the frozen embryos Shaw had removed to be returned to their parents and born.

Kurt shrugs, and Logan only rolls his eyes. "Well tell whoever's coming to get ready to go; I want to be outta here in a couple of hours."

"Okay," Kurt nods. Then he disappears again.

"It's not far driving. I should be back before dark," Logan adds.

"Thank you, for ferrying the children home," Charles nods. "And if at all possible, please convince my sister that I am perfectly all right and that there isn't any reason for her to come."

"I can try, but I doubt it'll do any good," he smirks. Erik is grinning in agreement.

"Yes, well…thank you anyway. For everything."

Logan shrugs. "Hey, it was worth it—town wouldn't be any fun without you two and your crazy kids. Besides; now I don't have to move again."

Raven heard some of what happened from her son—what little he knew—and she hears more from Logan when he comes to pick up Nicole's family to return them home. Ororo, Alex, Sean, and Moira are with him.

Though she trusts Ororo and Moira promises to stay and help look after the little ones Raven still has a hard time leaving. But despite Logan telling her that Charles would rather she stay home, she can't. Because Logan also told her enough for her to understand how close it came to losing Charles. Again.

She can't wait. She needs to see him now, and she wants to be there for him whether he thinks he needs her or not. She wouldn't mind meeting the woman who saved him, either.

Nicole, of course, is waiting for them when they arrive because her family is with them. Raven doesn't get a chance to talk to her then, but that's fine. She'd rather get to Charles anyway.

Logan takes her there, and Erik is with him, which of course isn't at all surprising. Erik gets up and retreats to leave brother and sister alone once he sees who it is at the door, though, and she's grateful.

Then she's laughing, when as soon as Erik is gone Charles is out of bed and up on unsteady legs trying to come to meet her. "Whoa, down boy." She hurries to him and hugs him, gently tugging him back down onto the edge of the bed to sit with her so he won't be up.

"I've been horizontal for more than a week now," Charles grumbles. "I'm bloody tired of it, and while I've promised Erik I won't push myself too far too quickly, I don't think standing up falls into that category."

Raven drops her one bag onto the floor by the bed and readjusts her hold on her brother. "Oh be quiet." Surprisingly enough, he obliges, and she doesn't want to think about everything that happened here. She knows she probably isn't aware of the half of it.

That, of course, makes her all the more upset that she wasn't able to be here to help before now, but she pushes those thoughts away and sits back. She's glad enough that everyone is finally safe. She looks Charles over, trying to reassure herself that he really will be all right. The lack of hair doesn't help, nor the lines around his eyes, but he's Charles and he's smiling at her and that is so much better than nothing.

"You've got to stop trying to leave me, you know," she says, her throat suddenly tight. "I don't care if you were eleven; you promised you'd be there for me forever, and I plan to hold you to that."

"I'm sorry," he answers, smiling weakly.

"Don't apologize; just don't do it again." She sighs and looks at him, wincing a bit not so much because his hair is gone but because of what she knows caused it. "Do you get cold like that?" she asks. She doesn't have to add anything else for him to know what she means.

His eyebrows go up, and so do his eyes, but of course he can't really see the top of his own head. "I hadn't really thought about it. I've been sleeping too much to really notice, I suppose…talking to everyone who comes to see me when I'm not sleeping…I don't know. But there are people who are bald usually, so seeing as it isn't completely abnormal or anything I suppose I'd get used to it." He frowns then. "Though I'm certainly not used to it now."

Raven shakes her head at him. "Do you have to overthink everything?" She lets out a breath and leans down to open her bag and dig through it. She brought one of his hats from home, from the chest of winter clothes packed upstairs, and she finds the knit cap and pulls it over his head. "Here. Merry Christmas-in-July."

"Oh…well, that's better." He pulls it off for a moment to see which one it is, straightens the thick fold at the rims, and then puts it back on and adjusts it himself. It's navy blue, and he chuckles lightly. "I suppose it's fortuitous that I have one that matches most of my sweaters. I may have to wear it for a while. Nicole said that my hair should come back, but didn't give an indication as to how long that would take. I don't think she knows." He pauses. "It is July, isn't it?"

"Something like that," Raven answers. "I'm too tired to care right now. While everyone else has been off getting into trouble I've spent all week watching two hyper six years olds and a one month old with no one to change shifts with." On the up side, the past couple of nights Nicole's daughters helped her and she managed to get more sleep. She still hasn't quite caught up, but it did help.

"I know, and I'm sorry. Pease don't let me keep you if you need to get some rest—"

"No, no—I'm fine right now. Talk to me." Charles shifts uncomfortably, and she narrows her eyes at him. "What? There's more I need to know—I know there is. I can tell."

He tells her, and it isn't all bad, not like she suspected. In fact, the news that Charles's father is alive is more than welcome. The rest isn't exactly bad…just hard to hear. He tells her about the pregnancy he didn't know about himself, because it was too early. He tells her what Shaw did, but that the people here are willing to help them. But there are also Nicole's predictions about his health in the future.

"I don't know what will have to be done. I…I don't particularly want to think about it," he admits.

"Charles…if you don't have a uterus anymore you know what'll have to be done. You'll have to find a surrogate."

He doesn't seem to like that answer, and his sentences become to come out faster and tumbling over each other. "If there aren't any other options, yes, I know that, but…and they haven't told me anything yet, but—but perhaps Nicole can…fix me. So I could carry them. I don't know. I know she can't make me any healthier in general, but it is isn't as if I'm horribly bad off, especially once I've got my strength back, and maybe she could at least do that. And then…if she was able to make sure the tumor wouldn't return when I was exposed to the radiation Shaw dosed me with, then I'm sure she could do something to make sure it wouldn't return if I were to carry one more pregnancy to term, and—and it's only one. Two children, I know, but one pregnancy. Twins. It isn't as if I haven't done such a thing before. I've done it twice. Nicole is a healer and the doctors here have more medical advancements at their call than anyone even before the war. Don't you think they could find a way? How hard could it—"

"You almost died last time, Charles. And that was before you got hit with a fatal dose of radiation poisoning," Raven says firmly. "You are not doing that again. I would carry them before I'd let you do it. Now or after anything they could do to 'improve' you."

"Raven…"

"I'm serious."

He lets out a breath, looking like he wants to say something else. Raven pulls him into an embrace again, not letting him go so easily this time. "There's nothing you can do about it right now, Charles. Just…focus on getting better. We need you at home."

"I feel fine," he sighs. "Just tired, but I could rest at home. I'm waiting for them to let me leave."

"Well I'm here now. At least you won't be bored."

Charles chuckles against her shoulder.

"We found something today."

Charles props himself up on his elbows and raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Erik toes his shoes off and drops onto the bed on his back, an unreadable look on his face. "Shaw's office—his private rooms. Well…everyone here knew where they were, but no one had ever been inside. Maybe the teleporter and the other telepath had…some of the other higher-ups, but none of them are saying anything."

"And what did you find that has you in such a mood?"

"Maps. The location of every post-war settlement on the planet that he knew about, population estimates…other files…everything. He really did control the planet. He really did have what he wanted. Maybe it wasn't all the way he wanted it yet…but he would have gotten there if we hadn't stopped him."

Charles swallows. "I just wish there had been another way to do it—other than killing him. If I'd been strong enough I—"

"You did what you could. You did what you had to. So did I," Erik says, shifting a hand across the mattress to hold one of his. Charles squeezes back and lets his arms out from under him. He lies down again and turning his head he's still able to see his husband.

"How many are out there?" he asks quietly.

"We knew about the five settlements here in England, which has grown from the original two. In the rest of Europe combined, nearly twenty…dozens more each in Asia and Africa and the Americas. Two or three along the coast in Australia. All with the pairing system imposed on them—Shaw trying to breed the perfect mutant race to serve him." Erik makes a face. "I don't know how we're going to tell them all that they're free."

Charles is quiet a moment, trying to grasp the enormity of the situation. "Surely there's some means of communication…we haven't lost everything, after all, and he can't have relied solely on the teleporter…"

"No. Still no telephones or lines put back up anywhere, but plenty of radios. All of the settlements had them—he simply made sure that the councils didn't allow the general population access to them. Or to any vehicles. He wanted the settlements as isolated as they could be, while still making the pairing system as valuable as possible. So only small groups of town were allowed to communicate and travel between each other…everything restricted and moderated of course, while the people were led to believe it was all for safety and because of loss of technology."

"But there IS a way to contact the other settlements. They can know—"

"But after being subjugated by the same powerful tyrant for thirty-five years, would you believe he was gone simply because someone told you over a radio? How do we make them believe it?"

"I don't know…but it has to be attempted. They have to know. After Shaw, those councils are the ones in power. Only they can release the people from the laws Shaw imposed on them and give everyone the freedoms they deserve."

Erik sighs. "I know that. You're right. But I don't know how it's going to work. Though it turns out that Shaw actually has several aircraft stashed elsewhere—another base. If all else failed…"

"We would need pilots," Charles chuckles. "And I don't happen to know anyone who can fly a plane. Not even Logan can do that, as long as he's been about."

"True, but to be fair we wouldn't absolutely need more than one. You could pass the knowledge on to anyone else."

"It would work, but real experience is better. And you're getting ahead of yourself, Erik. No one has even tried calling any of the other towns yet, have they?"

"No…we were going to try tomorrow."

By 'we' he means himself and Jean and Brian and some of the other residents of the compound and the village below, who have been helping to scour Shaw's home base for any useful information and to find out just what technology is here that the settlements weren't allowed to have. Most of the group are the local leaders, who want to help formulate a plan of action—to decide what needs to be done and how now that Shaw is gone.

"Good. Try."

An older mutant woman from the village's small council is at the radio console in Shaw's quarters the next day, when they try to contact the other settlements on the island that was once Great Britain. The rest of the village's council is there, and Nicole, who is one of them. Erik is there, and Brian and Jean and Kurt are with him.

"Too bad telepathy wouldn't work through this thing," Jean mumbles. "Anybody who had trouble believing, I could just zap them."

But her sentiment isn't needed. They reach all five of the settlements, and while they seem surprised to be getting a call from someone who isn't Shaw or one of his top two or three followers…the members of the towns' councils that answer say they already know that Shaw is dead.

"The teleporter…the one who worked for him…he told us," one man says, sounding more bewildered than anything.

They go beyond England. They get the same response. Most of the call recipients thank the radio operator for confirmation. Hearing the information from a second source makes it seem more real, they say.

Everyone is quiet, stunned more and more as it goes on, so Erik doesn't notice the look on Kurt's face until the boy tugs on his sleeve and whispers.

"Uncle Erik…I think there's something I need to tell you."

It feels like there are far too many people in here, crowded around the small exam table Charles is sitting on the edge of. A curtain is pulled, and the space seems even smaller. Erik is with him, of course, at his side, an arm around his shoulder. And Hank and Nicole and one of the compound's doctors they've been collaborating with. Then there's Raven, and Brian. Raven is holding one of Charles's hands and his father doesn't seem to know quite what to do.

The people here are the only ones that know about the embryos, besides a few of the other doctors. But they don't really know Charles and Erik. Anyone they care about who knows is here. Well…maybe Jean knows. Charles isn't sure whether or not she's picked that up.

It isn't that he minds that they're here. It's just that he doesn't like what he's hearing. Maybe that's why it feels too hot in here now.

"You're sure? There isn't any other way?"

Nicole shakes her head apologetically. "I can't regrow entire organs, and the ones that were removed weren't saved. Even if they had been…it would be too dangerous. You know that."

"You're in no condition to support a pregnancy, even if it were possible," the doctor fills in again, only repeating what they've already told him in more detail.

Charles resists looking at his sister; she would never say 'I told you so' on an issue this sensitive, but he would hear it anyway even if it were only in his own imagination.

They've said everything there is to say already. All Hank can add now is, "I'm sorry, Mom…"

So there isn't going to be any miracle. Still, it isn't the end. The children can still be born, it's just…

It hurts.

"No, it's all right, I understand, I uhm…" He trails off, and he knows it all comes out weak and unconvincing. Erik is squeezing his shoulders reassuringly as Nicole and doctor retreat, leaving the family alone in the curtained-off corner of the infirmary. After a while he does look at Raven, when she squeezes his hand.

"I'll do it," she says gently. "I told you days ago I would. I meant it."

Charles lets out a breath. "Don't be ridiculous. You've only just had Lorna, and—"

"And what? You didn't wait much longer between Jean and Ororo, and besides—I'm a lot sturdier than you. It's not your fault; it's just genetics."

He shakes his head. "But I couldn't ask you to do something like this…"

"Who else is gonna do it? And you're not asking me; I'm volunteering."

"She's already talked to me," Hank adds, which puts Charles out of excuses.

Raven sits beside him on the exam table and kisses his forehead. "You're my brother, Charles. You found me, you took care of me…you've always been there for me, just like you promised you would be. You going to let me do this one thing for you, or are you just going to be stubborn?"

She's right. There isn't any other choice, really. He looks up at Erik, and his husband's nod is just perceptible.

So Charles nods too, but it still hurts.

Charles is quiet until they make it back to the room they've been using, but once they get there he doesn't even make it to the bed. He lets his knees go out from under him as soon as they're through the door, and Erik only has time to catch him enough to lower him carefully to the floor.

"Charles? Are you all right?"

He worries Charles has been up for too long, until he realizes his husband is crying. "Charles…?" Erik closes the door without touching it and sits with him on the cold metal floor, holding him close and maybe he's rocking a bit; he isn't sure. He's more worried about Charles. "What is it? What's wrong?"

There's no answer, just quiet sobbing muffled into his shoulder, but it doesn't take long for Erik to be sure about what's bothering him. "I'm so sorry…did it really mean that much to you?"

It's another minute or two before Charles can answer, but finally he does. "Before…when I told you to find another way…when I thought I wouldn't be here…that was different. If I was going to die anyway I wanted them to have a chance to live, as long as you could get them away from Shaw. It wouldn't have mattered then. Now, I-I…I'm here. It's not the same for someone else to carry them when I'm still here."

"You'd rather it were Raven than someone else, wouldn't you?"

"Of course; th-that's not…what I mean…"

Charles's head is tucked under his chin, the hat scratching a bit. Erik doesn't care. He holds on. "Then what do you mean?"

"I mean it hurts, Erik," Charles whispers miserably. "It…it makes me feel…useless. And I can even blame anyone. Not myself. Not even Shaw. It isn't anyone's fault. I wouldn't have been able to do it no matter what anyone else had or hadn't done and…and…." He ducks his head even farther. "It just hurts, and I don't know how to make to stop."

Erik swallows and peels Charles off of him enough to get his husband to look up at him. "You told me not so long ago that we could get through anything, as long as we did it together. Were you lying? Did you make that up?"

"No…" Charles answers weakly.

Erik strokes his cheek with a thumb and looks him in the eyes. "Then why would this be any different?" he says softly. "Yes, you're still here—so am I. And I'm not going anywhere. I love you…"

There's a quiet choked sound, maybe almost like a laugh. At least Charles is trying to smile now. Erik kisses him, and that goes quite a lot better.

They're still all but tangled together on the floor, but neither of them are inclined to move just yet. "I suppose you're right," Charles mumbles. "We've made it this far, after all…" He pauses. "I want to go home."

Erik nods against his cheek.

Enough has been done here. There are plans being made, strategies for redistributing the recovered technology Shaw kept from the settlements, for getting vehicles and more radios and other thing from his hidden bases to the people.

The world is on its way to reconnecting. It's on its way to learning to grow and improve again. Now the people left on Earth can take back the reins, and there will be more to do, but…

Right now, it's time to go home.

Chapter Text

Twenty-Nine Years Ago

Sometimes it seems like it's always cold. Maybe it is, or maybe it's only the empty world and the other mutants Charles is traveling with. Most of them are cold and uninviting themselves. None of them really care about him. Most of the few who might, who are kind, have a child or children of their own and no time for him, really.

He's eleven, after, all. In this world, that's more than old enough to take care of himself. He's had to learn how.

Tonight they're camped in the shell of an old library, a treat really, in the tedium of every life. Of survival. In the mass of books that used to be here he's only found a few that aren't burned or torn or too badly soaked through from later rains to be readable, but that's to be expected. A few is better than nothing. It's new reading material, and he peruses the ones he knows he isn't interested enough in to take with him and leaves the two or three best ones for later. He puts them in the old bag he found a couple of years ago. It contains everything he owns.

Charles stays close enough to the fire the others build to be able to read, but far enough away to find some semblance of privacy. When he's too tired to read anymore he pulls farther into the shadows between the toppled shelves and tries to sleep. His stomach growls at him, complaining because he hasn't eaten much in the past few days. Food has been scarce. In the morning everyone will be up to scour what else is left of this town for anything that's here.

He isn't able to sleep anyway, so when he hears a sound in the darkness he sits up. He looks toward the fire and thinks everyone is there, so the sound that came from the other direction must have been something else. He hears it again, but this time it's closer to the fire. He thinks it's movement—someone walking, trying to stay quiet. Charles gets up just as quietly and creeps back toward the circle of other survivors around the warmth, and suddenly his heart is pounding.

Should he let them know there might be danger? Is that what it is? Sometimes more violent groups of survivors attack those they think they can easily steal from.

Charles is distracted from the fire, looking around nervously and trying to see through the darkness beyond to whatever might be there. He doesn't know anymore where the sounds came from or where whatever or whoever made them might be now.

He twists around when he hears the high-pitched scream, and sees one of the larger men hauling a figure into the light. "What are you doing here!" he's bellowing.

But what he has is only a small girl. She lands on her backside on the ground in front of him, and…in the firelight it's hard to tell, but her skin isn't a normal color. It's dark and textured, almost scaled, and her hair is bright orange. That much is clear. She's obviously a mutant child, no more than two or three and plainly undernourished, and he can feel her desperation and fear from here.

"She only saw the fire! She just wanted to be warm," Charles says quickly, hurrying back into the light himself.

The man glares at him, and then back at the girl. She's crying now; she doesn't know how to respond to the large man threatening her.

At least he seems to understand that she isn't a threat. The menacing scowl on his face slips a bit, but then he frowns. "We got enough people—get outta here, brat," he growls.

"She has nowhere else to go," Charles answers for her. "Her parents were human. They survived a while after the war, but they became sick eventually. They're dead now." The girl abruptly stops crying in surprise and looks at him instead of the man towering over her.

"We don't have the resources for another kid, and nobody's got the time, anyway. She's too young and she'll probly die anyway. She's what, two?"

The girl, instead of whimpering, surprises all of them by answering indignantly. "Am not! "'M three!"

Charles can't help but smile.. "See? She's three."

The man snorts. "That doesn't change anything. We're not taking her on."

"I'll be responsible for her."

Charles feels the eyes on him, all around him, sees the ones of the man in front of him narrow, but he doesn't care.

"Please. I'll watch her, I'll find food for her…none of you'll have to worry about her. I'll take responsibility for her," he repeats. He glances down at the girl again, and yellow eyes meet his and the dark lips try a tentative smile. He smiles back, and does what he can by way of his powers to help calm her.

The other man is shaking his head now. "Whatever."

He moves off, and Charles goes to the girl's side and helps her up and brings her to the edge of the circle of light from the fire—back toward his bag and his makeshift bed, but not so far as to take her away from the warmth. He looks her over, but sees no injuries, and all the while she's quiet.

Finally he looks her in the eyes, and the moment he does so she hugs him. He's knelt down to her eye level to examine her, and her arms end up tight around his neck.

"Oh! Uhm…ok…" He returns the embrace, and it isn't something he's used to anymore. Not since his parents died. It's…it's nice. "What's your name?" he asks when she pulls back.

She shakes her head, indicating that she doesn't know. Her only memories are the few he saw in her mind—bleary images of parents and what happened to them. Not even images, really. Just impressions.

"You don't know that you're really three either, do you?"

The girl shakes her head again, a small but impish grin on her face. Charles laughs a little.

"Well you'll need a name…"

He casts about in his mind, but can't thing of anything suitable. Then his gaze falls on a fallen, broken picture frame—cheap art from the library wall, illustrating something or other. Most of the words or gone but the bird illustrated there is clear and beautiful, even with it's dark color. A red ribbon in its beak, the color faded to orange, is now similar enough to the color of the girl's hair.

"What about Raven?" he asks. "Would you like that?"

The girl cocks her head for a moment, thinking, but then she shrugs and nods. She smiles again. "Okay."

Charles sits back against a wall, and she climbs onto his lap. "Okay. Raven it is then. And you're my sister now. How's that? I know I'd like to have sister. Would you like having a brother?"

Raven snuggles into his shoulder and nods against it, yawning. Charles holds onto her, feeling as if maybe life isn't so bad anymore. That maybe it won't seem so cold anymore.

"Good…" he whispers. "Then you're my sister and I'll take care of you. Always."

Now

"Isn't Erik coming? They're his kids too." Raven asks Charles the question when he follows her alone from the room he and Erik have been using.

It's late morning now, and she spent the night alone in the barracks with Jean and Brian. Hank was with the doctors, making certain everything was ready for the transfer of the embryos. She had a part to take in those preparations, but they did anything that required her before nightfall and her husband made sure she went off to rest.

She didn't sleep much. She isn't second-guessing her decision by any means, but that doesn't mean she isn't anxious about the idea of carrying someone else's children. Her brother's children. All she wants is for them to be safe, and she hopes that these doctors are as skilled as they say.

Charles blinks at her as the door closes behind him, as if maybe he didn't understand the question.

"Charles?"

He snaps out of it, blinking one last time and focusing on her. "Oh…sorry. No, Erik isn't going to be there. He uhm…" Charles glances back toward the room as they start down the corridor. "He felt this was something you and I should do alone."

"Alone plus half a dozen doctors."

Her brother chuckles, and already he seems better than yesterday. When he and Erik left the infirmary she was worried for him. He seemed so upset, and she could understand that.

"Are you all right?" Raven asks. She loops an arm through one of his and holds on as they walk, hoping for a truthful answer that's also one she wants to hear.

He pauses before he does answer, but she knows him and she knows that when he speaks he isn't lying. "I am," he says, tone reassuring. "I really am. In the end what I was upset about isn't the important part. I wanted to carry them myself, but really, as long as they have a chance at the life that would have been stolen from them otherwise…it doesn't matter." He lets out a breath. "They'll be born, and Erik and I will be able to raise them together." He draws closer and kisses the side of her head. "With help from the wonderful aunt who helped to bring them into the world, of course."

Raven turns soon enough to catch his cheek with a kiss before he's settled back to his previous distance, walking easily beside her. She's glad, too, to see that he's walking more steadily now. The days of rest and recovery have helped. Holding his arm closely she can feel the bit of unsteadiness that remains, but it isn't anything to be concerned about at the moment. Hopefully that too will be gone soon enough.

"That's right," Raven smiles playfully. "And don't you forget it."

Charles's smile becomes suddenly more serious, reflective. "No. No, I certainly won't."

Raven pushes out an arm to bring them both to a stop in the empty corridor, and turns to hug him.

"I don't know how we can ever repay you for this," Charles says softly. "It isn't only the doing it. I know you and Hank want more children of your own, and this will take time—"

"You don't have to worry about that." She pulls back, and tugs him over by the wall even though there's no one in sight. "There's something you need to know. Hank and I have known for a while, but with everything that's happened the last few months, it didn't seem like the time to say anything…"

"What are you talking about?"

Raven shrugs. "It's…well it's nothing anybody needed to worry about right now. Or at all, really. Just some research Hank has been doing. You know I've always been even more unusual than most mutants—just look at me. We were curious about a few things and he started helping me to look into it after we got married. The most significant discovery seems to be that it looks like I'm aging more slowly than most people. Somewhere around half as fast."

Charles just stares at her, but now his hands come up to grip her arms. "What? I don't understand."

"I've always looked young. Maybe my skin is different and it's hard to compare, but it's still noticeable. Did you never think about it?"

"Not really…some people just do. I never thought—"

"I didn't either, but that's what we found." She shrugs again. "So I guess what I'm trying to say is you don't have to worry about me wasting any time. Apparently I've got plenty of it. Hank and I can have more children of their own whenever we want to."

Charles is frowning now. "Yes but…but won't that be…strange? Later?"

Raven winces once, but she shakes her head. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. I mean…we love each other, and it's not like I'm not aging at all. I've got almost ten years on him to start with, and besides that any difference later will be harder to tell because I'm so different anyway. And we live in a mutant society now. We'll be understood, just like you and Erik have always been accepted—not that it would matter to us if we weren't."

Her brother's sudden concern seems to abate. "I take it you've already talked about all of this then?"

"Quite a lot, actually." Raven tugs him back into motion, and they continue on their way. "We'll be fine, Charles. All I needed you to take away from that is not to worry about me, or us, or how me doing this might affect any of it. It won't."

Charles relaxes now, walking with her easily again. "You're right; that does help. I couldn't stop thinking what this could mean for you…"

"It means I love my brother and his husband, and I'm doing this because I want to," Raven smiles.

This time it's Charles who stops them again and pulls her into a tight embrace. "That doesn't change how much we'll owe you."

"That's ridiculous. I thought we'd been over that? This is all I can do for you…after everything you did when you found me. I'd have been dead without you."

"I don't know about that; you've always been resourceful." He smiles, but then he sighs and looks in the direction they've been walking. "Well…I suppose we should go on then, if you're ready."

Raven finds her brother's hand and squeezes. "I'm ready whenever you are."

Moira stays at the house with Ororo to help take care of Bobby and Kitty and Lorna while their parents are gone, and Alex and Sean and Logan stop by regularly to check on them. Sean and Alex, really, rarely leave but to find their room at the apartments to sleep at night. They're all anxious for any word of when the others will make it back home, and of what's happening—what will happen.

They know things are going to be different now. They just don't know how quickly things are going to change, or exactly how it's going to be done.

Kurt goes back and forth on his own, delivering messages, and Scott stops by when he can to ask if they know when Jean will be back.

Moira enjoys tending to Lorna, and playing with Bobby and Kitty. She can't help noticing, too, that sometimes when she's doing so Sean is watching her. Smiling. It sends a strange thrill up her spine, and she can't help hoping that the pairing system will be eradicated quickly.

They're old enough to be married now. They're ready to have a family. They've dreamed about it. But before it never seemed as if they would be allowed to have it—not without leaving the city. They thought about that, too. They hadn't told Erik and Charles, before any of this happened they'd been seriously considering leaving with Logan, whenever he decided to go. It wouldn't have been long before they were forced to say something.

Now they don't have to leave. It's almost doesn't seem real.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Moira asks, more than once.

Sean shrugs and pulls her closer into his arms. The back yard is nearly dark, the sun recently set. The small garden is still just visible, the plants barely healthy enough to bare any produce. With everything that's happened in recent months, she knows it hasn't gotten as much attention as it should have. But it's holding on.

"Does it matter?" Sean asks. "It'll happen. It has to, now. And I'll wait as long as I need to."

Moira smiles when he tries to kiss her, but another thought interrupts them. A pang in her chest makes her pulls back, wondering if all of this is really as wonderful as it seems. "What if it happens quickly? What if we're married this time next month?"

"What about it?"

"I mean…we've always talked about it before like it was something that could never happen anyway, but…"

"But what?"

She lets out a small breath. "I know you want to marry me…but have you thought about the fact that if we have children—"

"Of course we'll have kids."

"That some of them may be human?"

Sean frowns at her. "What kind of question is that? Why does it matter?"

"It matters to someone, or the laws we've been living under wouldn't exist."

"Moira, it mattered to Shaw, and he's dead. Not everyone thinks that way."

"Maybe not, but enough of the people here have bought into it, and…and even if those laws are gone tomorrow, there are still going to be those that think that way. If we get married…the mutant population of this world now may be accepting of just about everything else, but they may not accept that. They may let us do it, but that doesn't mean they'll be happy about it."

He shrugs. "Nobody else has to be happy about it. The people we care about will be, and that's all that really matters, isn't it?"

Moira swallows. "That's all that matters to me…but I had to ask."

This time when Sean kisses her she doesn't stop it. "Well, don't worry about it. I don't care what anyone else thinks. I love you, and I'm marrying you, and we can have as many kids as you want."

They're in the back yard until Ororo comes looking for them, to tell them that Kurt's been by to let them know that everyone else will be home tomorrow. Reluctantly they go in then, and Sean leaves. Moira goes upstairs to help Ororo put the children to bed, and she can't stop smiling.

The next morning Kurt brings Logan back to the compound so that he can drive Charles and Erik and the others still there back home to the settlement, so Nicole or anyone else won't need to leave to bring them. With the underground compound and its nearby village now the center of the changes radiating through the world's surviving population, everyone is needed.

The council of the village and the other leaders who were not Shaw loyalists are beginning to coordinate what looks to turn into a massive effort. Though the councils of every settlement have radios, it's still much easier to establish easy contact with Shaw's other bases. One by one, as those who had no love for the man take control of the establishments in response to news of his death, they join the cause. They plan to more widely distribute the extra radios and vehicles and other technology available at the bases to the settlements and cities.

It's a meager beginning, but it's something. It's a way to start in bringing civilization back.

Erik has helped quite a bit in the days they've stayed at the compound, at Charles's urging, and when Charles was strong enough he began to accompany his husband to some of the meetings. He was surprised to find his mind racing, often offering suggestions the local leaders actually found worthwhile.

It was Charles who suggested distributing any saved books, too, to smaller settlements and others that don't have the collection their own home does. Their city is unusual, really, in having established a library, and as small as their school system is it's one of the better run. They knew it was true in a limited capacity from knowledge of the few surrounding settlements, but those at the compound who know more tell them that particular truth is, unfortunately, widespread. Charles suggested immediately that education be one of the first things they should focus on, and everyone seemed to agree.

The council there is sorry to see Erik and Charles go, and it isn't that they don't want to help more. Charles is sure they will. But right now they want nothing more than to be home.

Charles wants to be under his own roof again, in their own bed, with Erik's arms around him…

Maybe it's only been a little over two weeks or so, but so much has happened that it feels like they've been away forever.

He wants to curl up at his husband's side and wish the world away on the ride back home, but Raven and Hank and Jean and Brian are with them. He wouldn't want them to misread the action—wouldn't want them to worry about him. He really is all right, but he knows it's difficult for any of them to believe that right now.

Yes, there will be more to deal with. The emotional fallout likely isn't over—for any of them really. Charles knows, too, that everything that's happened to him may leave him physical affected for the rest of his life. He's known that since he woke in his father's small room in Shaw's underground complex.

But…it doesn't matter. None of it does. It's over now. He and Erik have each other, they have their children, they even have a father once thought lost and…he's all right.

"It's bigger than I thought," Brian says, as the city comes into view. "I'd heard so much about the other settlements, but I guess I wasn't sure how much was really possible in the time since the war."

"For people without the technology Shaw kept to himself, you mean," Erik clarifies.

"Right. I guess that's as good a way to put it as any."

"Well, you also have to remember that most of us are mutants. Many mutations are often more than suitable substitutes for technology," Charles says. "Granted, those things can't be shared as well technology can, but we've done what we could."

"You certainly have…" Brian is craning his neck for a better view. "Half of those walls…the ones that aren't stone, are they metal?"

"They are, and much of it my handiwork. Not that I'm necessarily proud of it," Erik answers, clear distaste in his tone.

Erik?

"What do you mean? What is it, Dad?" Hank asks.

"Where do you think the orders to build better walls really came from? I was frustrated with the council, but more likely than not it was word handed down from Shaw. It must have been what HE wanted—for the settlements to have the best barriers they could. To keep out humans, to keep the bloodlines how he wanted them, to make us easier to control…any number of reasons."

Jean huffs quietly. "It would make sense, from his point of view."

Charles leans a little closer into his husband's shoulder. You couldn't have known then, and you didn't have a choice. You didn't like it even then, and I'm glad you didn't, but you had me and the children to think about. You weren't going to let them turn us out.

No…I couldn't have let that happen, Erik agrees silently.

Logan stops the truck outside the gates when they reach them. "All ashore that's going ashore," he calls from the front. Everyone but Brian looks at him strangely, and he shakes his head. "Never mind. We're here."

They hope to get inside and back to the house relatively unnoticed, but to no avail. When Erik opens one of the gates most of the council is waiting on the other side. They know what's happened, of course, as the other settlements do. They probably know more, now that Logan and Scott and several of the other children have already been home for days.

At first it's unclear what reaction they've had to the news, but then Charles realizes that Ororo and other children are there too, coming forward now. Moira loses her grips on the twins' hands and Bobby and Kitty collide with their parents' legs. Charles, taken by surprise and still not as strong as he could be, nearly topples. Erik and Raven catch him, steady him.

Everyone else is still silent.

What's going on? Charles wonders, the thought directed to those that were here these last few days.

I think they're all still a little shell-shocked, Logan answers. But I don't know why they're here.

A man at the head of the gathered group—one of the oldest of the council's senior members—steps forward then, after Charles and Erik have had a chance to hug their children. Charles feels the need to meet him in the middle, and Erik stays at his side.

"Mr. Gerrow?" Charles asks quietly.

The older man just studies him, though Charles knows he isn't much to study right now—weight lost, skin still pale and drawn, for the most part. He feels better, but he doesn't so much look it yet. The hat covering his head probably doesn't make it any less obvious that his hair is gone, either.

"We have you to thank, then," Gerrow finally says. And his gaze sweeps Charles and Erik and the children, Logan…Scott has appeared at Jean's side, too. "All of you." He pauses. "I don't know if any of the other settlements have done so yet, but we've told the people the truth."

Charles glances back at Logan, raising an eyebrow. That you failed to mention. The other mutant only shrugs, if sheepishly.

It seems they've unknowingly returned home heroes.

Erik gathers his wits and answers first. "Good…they needed to know who was really controlling them. They deserve to know."

Gerrow nods. "So many years all I wanted to do was tell them…but I couldn't, Not if I wanted to keep them safe. We had to lie, to keep all of you safe. Don't you understand?"

"You couldn't stand up to him?" Erik shoots back. His voice is harder now.

Erik…

The old man sighs. "We were afraid. We were the oldest and wisest of the survivors of a catastrophe that left so few, and still we were afraid. Who were we to turn down what help we could find? By the time we realized that we had signed away our freedom it was too late." He glances back at the gathered council, and the civilians crowding in behind them. "But they know the truth now. And they know who they have to thank for giving their freedom back to them."

Charles doesn't want Erik to lose his temper, but what he meant…it isn't untrue. "It didn't have to be us," Charles says then.

"I know," Gerrow sighs. "Maybe many of the others won't admit it, but I will—that maybe we could have done something if we'd tried. We didn't, and you and your family have paid the price for it. All of our children have paid the price. Now we have no way to thank you."

Charles is suddenly very, very tired. "You don't have to. We only did what had to be done. Please, just…let us go home in peace." The older council member seems willing to do that, but the rest of the crowd is clamoring, wanting to know more, perhaps.

But Kurt is there, too, and at his signal Charles lets the others know to hold hands. A moment later they're all home—Moira and Logan and Scott included—and the main room of the house is a bit crowded with all of them, but that's okay. Kurt sits down immediately in the nearest chair, but he seems fine. Maybe there were a lot of them, but they've barely gone halfway across the town.

Charles lets out a heavy breath, and Erik's arms wrap around him from the side. He turns to press his forehead into his husband's chest for a long few moments. When he pulls away it's only to sit, and Erik's hand stays on his shoulder. He's grateful for the connection.

"We can't really blame them," Charles says at last, the first words in the silent room. "Maybe not all of them are as pure of heart, but overall they really did do it to protect us—everyone in the city. Gerrow wasn't lying. They did all of it for us."

He knows that won't change the past or any of the hurt, but it's true.

Chapter Text

Now

It seems like so much has happened, and it's barely noon. Erik can tell that all his husband really wants to do is sleep—and really, he should still be resting as much as he can—but Charles doesn't say anything. He shows his father around the house and does whatever else needs doing.

Now that they have their life back Erik doesn't want to start off by annoying him, so he keeps an eye on Charles without a word.

It takes most of the afternoon for everyone to settle down enough to go their separate ways to their homes. By the time everyone else has left and Jean and Ororo and Bobby and Kitty are upstairs, Charles is almost asleep on his feet. Erik steers him into the bedroom, where he perks up a bit and changes and crawls into bed.

"I thought I was going to have to get you ready for bed myself," Erik notes in amusement, crawling in beside his husband once he's changed too.

"I'm not quite that bad off," Charles murmurs tiredly. He stretches under the covers and looks around the room contentedly. He smiles, and Erik has an idea of what he's thinking. "I was so afraid I would never see this place again," Charles sighs. "I can't say I'm sorry that I was wrong."

"I'm certainly not," Erik says, drawing closer and kissing his temple. Charles settles into his arms, trying and failing to suppress a chuckle. "What is it?"

"I was just…remembering. You know, the first time I stepped into this room it terrified me."

"Oh?" Erik shrugs. "To be honest…I think I was just as scared as you were."

"I know you were," Charles laughs quietly.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be in my head then."

"I wasn't. Not really. Reading someone's mind and sensing their emotions are two very different things—or they can be. The latter is much more basic for me. That I can do without hearing any real thoughts at all, and usually I'm doing it without thinking about it."

Now Erik is frowning, and he isn't sure why.

"What?" Charles asks.

Erik shakes his head slowly, shrugging. "It's only…something that simple…so inherent to you…you'd think I would have known that. I mean I suppose I did, really, but we never talked about it." He lets out a breath. "There are so many things we never talked about. Just being together all these years…we know each other so well, but we don't know as much as we think." He makes a face. "Everything I hid from you about Shaw proved that."

"Perhaps that's true, but we do have the chance to remedy the problem now," Charles points out.

"We don't have as much time as we should…we should have been at it from the beginning," Erik sighs in frustration. Most of it is directed at himself. The rest is more anomalous.

Charles's smile is a little more somber this time. "That's more than we thought we would have two weeks ago."

He's right.

Charles pushes closer and takes Erik's face in his hands. "No more regrets. What's done is done and what's past is past. I want to live the rest of my life with you, Erik—without wondering how it could have been different at every turn."

Erik's throat clogs, and he can't figure out whether they're happy tears threatening his eyes or something else.

But Charles is right, and he doesn't over-analyze it.

Instead he kisses his husband and holds him close, and lets the night and the mind resting with his own lull him to sleep.

Keeping themselves busy helps everyone to settle in again at home. Among other work, a corner of the upstairs of the house to the side of the stairs is walled off as a small room for Brian Xavier. While all of the children are excited at having a grandparent, Bobby and Kitty especially are thrilled to have him there in the next room. Brian quickly takes to playing with them, enjoying his new role immensely.

When Charles apologizes for the fact that the space they've made for him is by necessity rather negligible—just enough room for a bed and a small shelf—he laughs.

"All I ever wanted was for the day to come that I could know Shaw would never be a threat to you again," Brian tells his son. "I didn't care what happened to me. This…" He motions to the tiny room, and to Charles sitting beside him on the bed, and the sounds of the children playing in the larger space on the other side of the door. "It's all more than I ever could have asked for."

Charles smiles, trying to make a joke around the lump in his throat. "The room is less than half the size of the one you had as a prisoner."

"But I'm not one anymore. I'm here, where you are. That's what matters."

He's right, and besides having a place in their home Brian finds a place in the community. Soon enough he's teaching at the school, and though it isn't scientific research, he says he's had enough of that. "Maybe someday I'll want to go back to that, but right now…teaching is so much more rewarding, after what I and the others were forced to do for Shaw all those years."

Charles thinks that maybe someday he'd like to teach, too. Right now he'd rather be at home, watching Bobby and Kitty grow up and being there for the two new children when they arrive, but teaching sounds like something he would enjoy.

Ororo and Jean's birthdays come and go, making them seventeen and eighteen, respectively. Jean, true to her word, does not leave home immediately. When fall comes and Bobby and Kitty begin school, both of the older girls are at home to help. Ororo finished the curriculum back in the spring at the end of the previous school year, in the midst of Charles's medical crisis.

He regrets that he doesn't remember the small graduation ceremony at the school building very well. He was battling pain at the time and Erik surely would have suggested he stay home if he'd known how bad it was. But he wanted to be there. What he doesn't remember well enough himself he can fill in with Erik's memories.

Charles tries to convince the girls that they needn't stay. With his father here now he has help if he needs it when everyone else is gone during the weekdays to work and school, and surely the women's apartments would allow Ororo in even though she isn't eighteen, since she's finished school…

He knows they look forward to having their own space, even if its only one apartment room to themselves, but they ignore his suggestions and they stay anyway. "Those apartments will be there next year, Mom," Jean tells him more than once.

"Unless you plan to kick us out," Ororo adds.

"No, no, of course not…"Charles laughs.

There's so much to be done, with Shaw gone. Perhaps the leaders from his previous bases are taking the lead in the redistribution and regrowth effort, but every settlement has its own issues to deal with. Within two months Erik has accepted the offer of a move up to the senior council.

They asked almost the moment he and his family returned to the city. It takes him that long to agree because of his disapproval of their actions (and non-action) until now. It takes Charles to remind him that if he accepts, maybe things will turn around a bit faster.

It isn't until fall, when Raven's condition begins to be noticeable, that the reality of and situation surrounding her pregnancy is explained to the rest of the family. It has to be explained separately and much more simply to Bobby and Kitty, but the fact that the babies Raven will have will be their siblings is gotten across even if they can't really be told or understand why or how.

Unsurprisingly, Jean is not surprised by any of the news.

Some things change more slowly than others. While the distribution of technology and information is going well, and increased travel and trade between cities and settlements picks up quickly, some of the old rules die harder. That was expected. There are those who still believe that there was truth and reason to the ordinances originally set in place at the beginning. The pairing system does not stop immediately, but at least the requirement of action for those recently paired is put on hold while deliberations are made.

The deliberations drag on for months.

At least, for the moment, Alex and Angel are not being forced to do anything they don't want to do. Charles is grateful for that, but he hopes it will not be too long before decisions are made. The right ones.

But many of the older council members, for quite a while, will not budge. With Erik and Mr. Gerrow leading the counter argument they make progress in changing minds, but it's agonizingly slow work.

By mid fall Charles has recovered as much as he's going to. His hair does return—much more gray peppered through it than before, but it's there and Erik likes it anyway—and overall he really doesn't feel any worse than he did after the tumor finally came out. Even when winter comes and the usual symptoms ensue, it isn't much more than it has been during the cold months for the past six years. It seems as if Nicole did a better job than she'd hoped, and that the lasting effects of the radiation won't be as serious as they feared. He does have to learn to live with tiring more easily than before, and he knows there is always the chance that there will be more complications later, but it doesn't matter.

Charles can't remember ever being more content. Nothing is perfect yet, but though it will take time, he's confident that the rest of the council will come around. The young people of this city, of this world, will truly have their freedom soon enough. After everything…they have to.

The victory comes just in time to be the perfect Christmas gift. It seems fitting that the first wedding in town after the announcement is between a mutant and a human—something that never could have happened at all before the abolishment of the system. Sean and Moira are married on New Years Eve.

They aren't the only ones who rush to the altar, either, now that they can. As the new year begins, the town hall is so busy that some of the now-unused offices of the assignment department are commandeered for marriage ceremonies—many of the first ceremonies taking place while the department workers are still cleaning out their spaces. The irony is not lost on anyone.

Charles can't help but pass the building on purpose, whenever he's out. The joy and love and amusement emanating from the place is like a balm, an irresistible music after the years of frustration and sadness and oppression he'd felt all around them for so long.

As a result he leaves the house more often than maybe he should while it's still cold, which doesn't help him physically. He comes home coughing more often than not, probably catches a fever more frequently than in other recent winters, but unlike through those other winters Erik doesn't scold him. At least not too much. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes and makes soup, and he doesn't insist that Charles climb right into bed but Charles usually does it anyway. It makes Erik feel better, for him to rest when he isn't feeling well.

He wants to ignore it—to assimilate it as part of his life and not let it slow him down more than it should. But while Erik is trying to avoid the frustration with each other they settled uncomfortably into in the years after Bobby and Kitty's birth, Charles realizes, too, that he wasn't wrong. Maybe he asked after how Charles felt too often for comfort—something he's fixing now—but he wasn't wrong to care and he wasn't wrong to suggest that Charles be vigilant in taking care of himself. Charles knows that's going to be even more important, now, and he wants to be here with his family as long as he can be.

He plans for it to be quite a long time.

So when Erik does say something, he listens. Until the flurry of marriages settles down, though, he simply can't stay away from the center of town and the happiness pouring from it. Erik, bless him, seems to understand.

It makes Charles happy, too, that he and Erik and their family were not alone in their stubbornness and hope.

It seems there were always many others who had hope that things would change soon.

Eight-and-a-Half Months After

Erik…

Charles is slipping away, and there's nothing he can do about it. The pain is like a vice around his heart, squeezing the life out of him just as well.

Erik?

Where is Nicole? Where the HELL is Nicole?

Erik!

No no no don't close your eyes…

"Erik! Erik, wake up. You're dreaming. Wake up!"

Erik wakes up, a gasp shuddering through his body. But when his eyes open Charles is right there, leaning over him, lying half on top of him really, looking down at him in concern. Erik barely has time to take in that fact before he has to pull his husband down to him and hold on to fight back the panic from the dream.

"It's all right…I'm right here…" Charles is whispering, by his ear now.

"I'm all right," he breathes after a moment. He just wishes the nightmares would stop. Or at least settle into the background like the old ones. But he isn't alone; Charles has his share of them, too.

Erik loosens his hold enough for Charles to push back up on his elbows. He's kept his hair somewhat shorter since its grown back, but there are still clumps hanging in his face—shorter ones than in the past, but they're there. Just seeing him like that—hair askew, a bit of amusement on his face—is enough to put Erik at ease again, to remind him that they really are all right now. He lets out a breath and fingers a hand through his husband's hair, ruffling it and smiling as best he can just now. Charles leans back in to kiss him, and that helps too.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Charles asks after a moment.

Erik rolls his eyes a bit, shrugs. "This is getting old."

"So are we. And?"

He chuckles quietly. "Whatever…"

Charles slides off of him and settles against his side, and Erik holds onto him still. Charles doesn't mind. They'll soon fall asleep again, likely tangled like this.

"If we're getting old why are we about to have twins? Again," Erik mutters after a few moments.

Charles huffs in amusement. "Be quiet and go back to sleep."

Raven and Lorna are dropped off again in the morning, as they have been every morning for several days now. The babies are due any time now, and she doesn't need to be at home alone if she goes into labor.

Charles knows when they're coming, and not only because he's close to his sister. He would sense her coming anyway, but now it's more than that.

Raven steps through the door and immediately slows, a hand going to her belly. "Whoa…there they go again."

Charles smiles and reaches out to the two small minds inside her, calming their excitement. He had been afraid in the beginning that he wouldn't be able to form the same telepathic connection with them as they developed as he'd had with the other children. Though it's a bit different, however, it's still there. He can always feel them, even when Raven is at home and not near him.

And they know who he is. They know when he's nearby. They can feel him too, just like the others could.

"Better?"

Raven nods, and as Hank waves and says good morning before he leaves again for work Charles guides her to a chair. Since Hank wasn't able to stay long enough to answer questions himself, Charles asks after him.

"He's a trooper," Raven assures him. "He did agree to this, but I don't think he's ever quite gotten over the weird. He deals with it pretty well though."

"I hope so…of course I wish this hadn't been necessary at all, but there's nothing to be done about it. Are you going to sit down?"

"I'm fine, Charles."

"You should sit down."

"I will. When I'm good and ready."

"Now, come on, you walked here already, and you don't need to strain yourself—"

"I'm fine."

Charles opens his mouth to say something else when Erik, who is holding Lorna, walks past them and smirks, saying something first. "Welcome to how I felt."

"What are you talking about?" Charles protests.

"Stop worrying about me, Charles," Raven says, patting her belly. "We're all fine here."

"Who ever said I was worried?"

"Maybe you're not thinking about it, but you're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

Erik shrugs. "I don't think he knows he's doing it. No experience on this side, and all that."

"What thing?" Charles demands again.

"Never mind," Raven smirks.

"I am not worried. It's just that the due date was three days ago, and—"

"Oh yeah, like you never missed a due date."

"Exactly! I'm not worried. What am I doing?"

"Erik—"

"You have fun with this one, Raven. I've got to get going," Erik says, grinning as he hands Lorna over to Charles. "Call me if anything happens." He's gone quickly.

Charles huffs quietly. "That—"

"Oh, don't take it too hard. Come on, it's funny. You get to be a real man now—the waiting and everything." She's still grinning, too.

"You think it's so funny. It really isn't." He's trying not to smile. He really is.

He ends up laughing anyway, both of them do, and it turns out, of course, that there really isn't anything to be concerned about at all. In the middle of that night Raven goes into labor.

The children, a boy and a girl, are perfectly healthy.

Days later Erik is still at home regularly, which isn't unusual after a new arrival. And this time, thank god, no one is in any lingering medical danger. It's only to give him the time to spend with the newborns. It's like the first time—more like when they brought Sean and Alex home. A happy time, and not a terrifying one.

Their names are Wanda and Pietro, and Erik can't help but smile as he watches Charles sitting at the table, holding Wanda and completely oblivious to the outside word so focused is he on his sleeping daughter.

"There are two of them, you know," Erik chuckles. The boy is in his own arms, though Erik is on his feet and still trying to get the baby back to sleep. Raven left not long ago, after coming to feed them. They should both be asleep by now, and while Wanda complied easily Pietro is more stubborn. He seems content, but he simply won't sleep yet.

"Hmm?" Charles isn't quite tuned back in. It takes him a moment to look up and focus on Erik, and then he lets out an amused breath. "Oh, I know. It's just so…overwhelming, I suppose."

"It isn't like we haven't done this before," Erik point out.

"I know that. How could I not? Nine children…" He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as his gaze wanders from the boy in Erik's arms to the girl in his. "It just that right now…these two…it's like starting over. It's like being back at the beginning." His expression grows more wistful, but he's still smiling. "And this time we can do it right."

Erik doesn't have to ask, to know what he means, but he does anyway. "Meaning what?"

Charles's face tells him that he knows Erik isn't asking because he doesn't know. Amusement joins the happiness there. "This time we can do it the way we should have—not just a team, but a pair. This time they'll know from the beginning that their parents love each other." He glances down at Wanda again, and when he looks up, his eyes twinkling, Erik has already come to him and bent to lean in.

The kiss almost feels like the beginning of a new life.

Maybe it is. Maybe the people they were those first twenty-five years are gone—replaced by older, wiser counterparts who have seen what they've seen and been through what they've been through since then.

But Erik knows neither of them would change who they get to be now for anything.

Epilogue

Five Years Later

The little house is full that evening, as they celebrate Wanda and Pietro's fifth birthday and everyone is there.

The family is even larger than it was just a few years ago. Sean and Moira have two children now. Jean and Scott have been married a year, and Jean is pregnant. Alex is now officially seeing someone—Angel, of all people, and goodness knows that relationship has seen its ups and downs over the years. She's here with him. Marie from across the street is here too. She and Bobby and Kitty are twelve, and they've always played together but Marie has begun to look at Bobby a little differently. Logan, who never had to leave, is here too, and as Ororo has gotten older…well, something may be going on there. Charles and Erik wouldn't object to it at all if it were.

Later, after the party has wound down to only a few, Charles is leaning against Erik in the doorway to house watching Wanda and Pietro and Lorna play outside in the glow from the moon and the street lights and porch lights. Those lights weren't there three years ago. Everyone has electricity now, and not only the public buildings, but it's a recent thing.

"They'll be going to school in the fall," Erik says. It's April now.

"Don't remind me." For the first time in quite a while he'll have the house to himself during the day. Jean and Ororo have long since left the house, and Brian is still teaching. Charles has already begun to inquire after a position himself. He'll have to do something, after all.

Erik laughs quietly. "Worried about what you'll do with yourself?"

"Not at all. If there isn't a place for me at the school I've heard that Moira and her assistant at the library are still looking for more help."

"Oh right, the other girl got married, didn't she?"

Charles nods. "And while I'd rather teach, I certainly wouldn't mind tending to books."

"You wouldn't."

Charles snorts and turns around in his husband's arms, stealing a kiss before Erik can tease him any further.

"I love you," Erik whispers near his ear.

I love you, too.

They don't notice when the children run past them and back into the house, so Raven's call from inside is a surprise.

"Erik! Your granddaughter just bent a fork without touching it!"

Charles and Erik jerk apart in confusion, realizing the children aren't outside and what Raven means.

"Well," Charles laughs. "I suppose we won't have to wonder over Lorna's powers any longer."

"What…?"

"Genetic traits skipping generations is common enough."

Erik just rolls his eyes and grins and pulls him back into the house.