Chapter Text
“Sorrow found me when I was young,
Sorrow waited, sorrow won.
Sorrow that put me on the pills,
It's in my honey, it's in my milk.
Don't leave my hyper heart alone on the water,
Cover me in rag and bones, sympathy.
’Cause I don't wanna get over you…”
— “Sorrow”, The National
The sleekly designed wheelchair moved fluidly: easy to learn, easy to maneuver.
She loathed it on sight.
“What do you think, Professor?”
She smiled tightly. “It is wonderful, Hank. You’ve outdone yourself once more. Thank you.”
The blue-haired mutant grinned. “No problem. Glad you like it. I was thinking we could start working on building Cerebro II soon, if you’d like?”
Again, she nodded, glad for the change in topic, even if her stomach was still churning. “That sounds great.”
All things considered, Charlotte was out of the hospital after a relatively quick physical recovery—for the wound itself anyway.
Now was the time for the slower recovery physically as she worked on adjusting to her partial paralysis and strengthened the muscles she’d rely on now. But she knew what to expect for now and she felt that physically she was making progress, even if she did not enjoy physical therapy a bit.
Accepting her new limitations and needs emotionally was difficult, and she tried to be patient with herself as she adjusted.
Tried.
Somehow, that felt easier than truly dealing with Erik and Raven’s absence.
She had resolutely left her tears on the beach and refused to shed any more. It didn’t mean she no longer felt the urge to scream.
The doctors had said…well, they’d said a lot but it boiled down to the fact that the bullet had practically severed her spinal cord and she would never walk again. Sure, there was a bit of sensation here and there, maybe a twitch or two, but that was all.
While hospitalized, Hank had made the time to build her a wheelchair before she was released. The boys pitched in with the Westchester house, doing their best to make it as accessible as possible. She returned home to find the furniture rearranged, the elevators inspected to be in perfect working order, the kitchen reworked, and her bathroom almost entirely remodeled.
She was touched at their determination and care.
Earlier that day, after arriving home, she had wiped Moira’s memory of the entire event and sent her home.
And so the house was left with only Hank, Alex, and Sean residing. It felt empty without Erik and Raven.
Charlotte didn’t allow herself to ponder such things.
Instead, she focused on making the dream she had showed Erik a reality. And so she set about to make the Xavier mansion a school for mutants. Though they didn’t have Cerebro, they still had some print outs and coordinates they had not had time to search for. They could run through that list for students and, hopefully, teachers.
That was the main concern before even making sure the mansion could be made into a school. She needed teachers. While Hank seemed very willing to be one, Alex and Sean were hardly teaching material. Not yet.
Alex, though, had mentioned wishing to find his little brother, Scott. Perhaps they could recruit him as one of their first students, he’d mentioned, trying not to get her hopes up, and her heart had melted.
Her mind swam with plans and ideas. So she put aside her impediment to focus on creating a school.
The first note came very shortly after she returned from the hospital.
She found it on her desk. It was in an envelope, which was sealed with wax. She knew its sender on sight but opened it anyway.
I’m sorry.
It made her throat tight but she restrained her tears. She had no doubt that it was from him, that he most likely sent Azazel to deliver it.
It was unlikely, improbable…but she did it anyways, just in case.
In a sealed note of her own, she wrote a reply. It took her three tries before her handwriting was suitable and one couldn’t tell her hand was trembling as she wrote it.
I know. I forgive you, Erik.
She didn’t know what else to say.
The next morning, when she came into her study, the note was gone from her desk. She smiled at that, daring to hope, and she tucked his note away in the bottom desk drawer and locked it. Just in case there aren’t any more, she told herself.
But there were more.
Two days later, his reply came.
How can you forgive me? How can you possibly?
She could sense the guilt behind his words. So she merely said: Wouldn’t you?
Nearly a week later, he wrote back: I would forgive only you, Liebling.
Time went on.
Slowly, Charlotte adjusted to the wheelchair. She forced herself to—forced herself to adapt to this limitation, forced herself to learn her house again, forced herself to change her daily habits as needed.
A month after returning to Westchester from the hospital, the boys had finished building Cerebro II. While she had rested, recovered, and adjusted wearily to life, they had finished necessary renovations to the mansion and the new Cerebro.
Its prototype, at least. Hank already had ideas for refining it later, but since they were starting from the ground up, they hadn’t wanted to do anything too extreme.
They showed her to the new device proudly as she studied it. Hank was full of nervous excitement at the chance to try it finally.
"It's wonderful, boys," she said as she looked around the immense, round room. "You did beautifully."
Sean and Alex grinned now too.
"Was a son of a bitch to finish," Sean said with a mischievous grin. "Woulda been easier if Erik was—"
Alex smacked the back of his head sharply with a furious glare.
Charlotte sighed. "It's alright," she said quietly. "You aren’t forbidden from mentioning his name, Sean."
When his grimace didn’t really ease, the telepath reached up and patted the redhead's shoulder as she sent a wave of calm to him. Her smile gave away none of her heartache. "Now, let's test out Cerebro, shall we?"
She reached for the helmet, placed it atop her head, and reached out with her mind.
Instantly, her mind spread wide and she gasped slightly at how much more powerful Cerebro was. Her normal range was over two hundred and fifty miles and now…now, her mind reached across the continent.
She could feel them all, feel every human and mutant alive, feel them all connected, feel their pain and joy, their love and sorrow, their compassion and hatred: the dual beauty and the ugliness of the human condition.
With a shuddering breath that brought her back to herself, Charlotte focused on Westchester.
She focused on the room she stood in, upon that spherical structure underground, and the four within.
The telepath froze.
Four and…
Yes, there were four including herself. Herself, Hank, Alex, and Sean, but there was something else, faint and gentle, not even a whole consciousness, but something tinged with warmth and comfort.
Charlotte tore the helmet from her head.
"Professor?" Hank exclaimed in worry.
"I'm—I–I need a moment, boys, please," she said and only just realized there were tears down her cheeks. "Excuse me."
She wheeled herself quickly into the corridor and to a nearby bathroom, in which she locked herself before going to the toilet.
Her stomach churned with unease before it finally gave up her breakfast to the porcelain bowl.
After flushing the toilet, the professor stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror: pale-faced with panicked eyes and tearstained cheeks.
Cautiously, she lifted the hem of her button-up blouse and inspected the curved plain of her stomach—a curve that she’d assumed to have rounded with weight she’d put on after leaving the hospital, thanks to the boys’ hovering and worrying about her eating.
She laid a tentative hand over her the bump. "Oh," Charlotte whispered, mind blank.
Oh.