Logan had contacted him about a week ago, asking if Charles could make some time to come up North. It had been an odd request by the other mutant and Charles had been a bit bemused by it. Normally Logan dropped by Westchester or the manor, lingered a few days, did what he had come to do, and disappeared again.

After the attack on Muir Island his visits had been a lot more frequent. He had spent a lot of time with Erik, of all people, and Charles had expected snarling and growling and posturing, but that had been over within the first hour of the first visit. After that the two men had, reluctantly and still with a lot of caution, started to accept each other's presence. Well, it had been mainly Erik who had needed to get accustomed to the powerful mutant, not the other way around.

Not that Logan had had any intentions, ever, to make a move on Charles. Erik had simply been falling back on his Shifter instincts to protect his partner, and Charles had watched it with the occasional eye-roll.

Now the two men were almost amicable.

In a way that had been worrying, too.

Charles had picked a few stray things from his lover and partner, but he had never actively listened in. Apparently Logan's visits had been about finding the ones responsible for the attack on Moira and also Charles, who had been the one with the worst injuries. Three months had passed since then and the scars were all that reminded him of that time. Erik still had that intense, sometimes cold, sometimes heated, look in his eyes when he saw them.

Well, whatever he and Logan were doing hunting those men, Charles had promised himself not to worry. Erik wouldn't risk his life like that; he knew what was at stake. If the Shark died, Charles would be cast adrift; the anchor line would be destroyed. Charles had no idea how he would be able to cope with this.

Now Logan was back at the manor and he had asked to talk to Charles alone. With Erik letting his inner shark out and taking a long swim, it was no problem. Logan still looked almost apprehensive when he stepped into the telepath's office, something Charles would never have thought the other man would be.

"Hello, Logan," he greeted the mutant. "What do I owe this visit to?"

Logan flexed his fingers as if he was ready to deploy his claws. "You know I've been looking into the attack on Muir Island."

Charles nodded.

"Ran into trouble."

He frowned. He couldn't read the other man's mind, but he was pretty good at picking up a few things. Logan was very worried.

"Got out of the trouble okay and they paid for it, but a friend of mine was injured."

Charles sat up sharply. "How badly?"

"Was knocked around a bit and he dislocated a shoulder. Got that fixed. But he's vulnerable and he needs a place to lay low. I wanted to ask a favor, professor."

"Of course he can stay here," Charles immediately offered.

Logan nodded briskly. "Thanks."

"Where is he?"

"With a friend."

And the way Logan tried not to name a location made it clear that the friend was not a people person, nor was he going to disclose the address.

"So you want me to meet your injured friend before he comes here?"

Logan nodded.

"Why?"

"He's Cursed."

Well, duh, Charles thought in a moment of uncharacteristic sarcasm floating through his mind.

"Can't tell you more now."

"Unless I come along?"

Logan nodded.

Charles rubbed his fingertips over his forehead. "Alright. I'm coming."

The other mutant grinned, showing even, white teeth that were only missing the feral fangs to make it a truly frightening look.

"I take it you have a ride?" Charles asked, resigned.

"You betcha."

Erik wouldn't be back for maybe a week. He had decided to head for a longer swim and Charles couldn't fault him for it. Sometimes he wanted to just scamper off as well and let the manor handle itself. When had he become headmaster of a school-like institution, manager of Curses and something of a go-to person for all of Westchester?

He had no idea.

x x x x x

Northbound Bridge was an unremarkable place. As old as Haven and Westchester, but a lot more northerly, with more snow days than any place else, and populated mostly by those working in the forest in the brief summer periods. In winter the ice fishers came, together with some hunters. But it was a mostly deserted place then. To the south of Northbound Bridge was the much bigger town of Ashhill. Charles watched the bustled in town as they passed through almost as if it was another life.

Once it had been another life. He had been to good schools, he had earned degrees, he had gone into research, and he had chosen the Curses as his field of study. Now everything had changed and he was bonded to a powerful Omega Cursed, the man he loved dearly and couldn't imagine being without. He had opened the Xavier manor to other Cursed, those seeking help, and Westchester had been revived.

Ashhill looked like another world. He would probably get chills in other, much bigger towns or even cities. Not just because he was a telepath and it was an immense feat to just shield against so many minds. No, he had grown accustomed to small town life. He loved Westchester and he couldn't think of being anywhere else.

Logan parked the banged-up pick-up he called his own around the back of a formerly splendid Victorian clapboard. Today it was a forgotten, decrepit house that badly needed a paint-job, a new roof, and where the garden was only a memory hidden within the overgrown disaster that made up the backyard.

With Logan in the lead they made their way through the jungle of plants, then Logan rapped his knuckles sharply against the weathered door. There was a moment of silence, then the door opened. Charles, without even actively trying to read the other mind, was hit with the sharp intensity and the distrust like a sledge hammer. He felt himself rock a little and had to steady his mind before looking into the steely eyes of their host.

This was a man not to be underestimated.

Logan just nodded at him and Charles followed quickly as the other walked inside. He knew he could defend himself, he knew he wasn't helpless and could fell an opponent with a thought, but their silent host creeped him out.

But he wasn't here for a pleasant afternoon tea. Logan had hardly lost a word about who Charles was about to meet, despite the Shifter's gentle prodding. All he knew was that the man was a friend of Logan's and that he needed help.

The inside of the old house didn't look all that much better than the outside, though it was clean. The walls were bare. The wallpaper had been wonderfully detailed once, but now it was faded and peeling at the corners. There were no pictures, the bulbs hung nakedly, and the musty smell told the rest of the story. Charles wasn't surprised to see an ancient kitchen from the turn of the century that hadn't been updated at all when they passed by that door. There was even an old pump!

Logan opened the basement door and Charles only raised his brows in query, but the other man didn't say anything, just gestured at him to follow. The surprise came when they arrived at the end of the stone steps. The basement was a paradise compared to upstairs! Florescent lights, cool, clean, the walls covered in white tiles, and several doors leading into what seemed to be inhabited rooms.

Whoever lived here, they lived underground!

Charles was aghast and fascinated in one.

"Not every town welcomes a Cursed," Logan grunted.

Dear god, Charles thought. This was a refuge. With a guardian upstairs and who knew how many defenses.

Suddenly he appreciated the Xavier manor and the welcoming atmosphere.

At least it was clean and warm, though looked too cool to be homey. Logan entered a door, behind which was another short corridor, then they were in what looked like a small apartment. Charles must have looked surprised because Logan gave him a brief grin.

Scott Summers was definitely not what Charles had expected him to be. Since it was so hard to read Logan, getting an impression of the man who meant apparently more to Logan than a mere acquaintance would, had been impossible. At least without launching a full-out spy attack that would have Logan at his throat in a matter of seconds.

Scott was tall, with a lean built not unlike Erik's, a shock of dark hair and currently rather pale features. Charles guessed his age around mid to late twenties. What stood out with him were the dark red glasses he was wearing. That and the fact that he was barely able to move and his face was twisted into a grimace of pain.

Charles didn't have to read Scott's mind to pick up the pain and he didn't have to go deep to recognize the wariness and apprehension.

"Hello Scott," he greeted the other man. "My names is Charles Xavier."

"I know. Logan told me. He talked about you."

The voice was pleasant, though laced with the pain he felt, and Scott tried to sound at least a little civil and warm. He was failing, though. The apprehension was there, the tension visible in every line of his body, and there was a wariness the Cursed developed in their lives that spoke of too much abuse of trust.

Charles smiled warmly. "Did he now?"

Logan scowled, but he didn't comment. He had position himself close to Scott, not hovering per se but nearly.

Summers settled himself carefully against the wall, breathing shallowly. One arm was wrapped around his ribs and they were most likely either very bruised or even broken. There was a huge bruise on his left temple.

"Did you already see a doctor?"

"Yeah, we did," Logan growled. "Got the ribs fixed. Concussion, too."

Charles nodded. He was curious about Scott. His last name was the same as Alex's and he did share a resemblance with the other Cursed. Brothers? Alex had never mentioned his family and it was something of a sore spot for the younger man. Charles had never pried. Or cousins?
He was even more curious about the fact that he was wearing those specialized glasses. His eyes were near-invisible behind the tinted shades and when Scott moved his head Charles discovered that they extended around, making it impossible for anyone to catch a look.

"What happened, Scott?" Charles asked bluntly.

Logan bristled, ready to snap something, but the way the younger mutant looked at him, it was clear Logan had no say in whether Scott answered or not.

Answer he did.

"We ran into a bunch of rather… unsavory characters," Scott smiled thinly, "and I let my guard down briefly."

"You were knocked around by that red-head."

Charles' brows climbed a little.

Scott sighed. "She's a Cursed, professor. Someone who can move objects by mind. I've known her for a long time and she fell off the radar a few years ago. Her name is Jean. She was always kind of a mindreader and she moved stuff with her mind."

Charles knew he was gaping. A Cursed with two talents?

"She always said she heard voices and they were telling her bad things," Scott went on, looking and sounding pained and unhappy. "I tried to help her. I mean, we partially grew up together. And then she ran with the wrong crowd, got involved with the wrong people, and now…" He sighed, wincing a little. "We met again and she ran me over before I could do anything."

"She's got ties to Sinister," Logan said coldly. "And he's responsible for the attack on Muir Island and you. Get her to talk, she might lead us to him. Gotta say she got guts and stamina."

Charles gave him a sharp look and he grinned humorlessly.

"Don't worry, Chuck. She's alive and she got away. But a guy I know is tagging her."

"You didn't have to go looking for the attackers, Logan," the Shifter replied, voice more steady than he felt.

Why had the other mutant done it? He understood Erik's need for revenge, but the Shark, who had nearly lost his mate, had been a lot more restrained than this man had been. Logan had no investment in Westchester or the Xavier manor, let alone the people there, Charles was an acquaintance, nothing more, nothing less.

"Sinister's bad news. Like Shaw was. Like so many who think they can control us Cursed."

"He didn't attack you."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Like Stryker never attacked you and you still helped me."

Charles blinked, confused. "I didn't…"

"You gave me a place to stay."

What? The telepath wished he could just glean the whole meaning of the words from Logan's mind, but it was impossible.

"Logan, everyone is welcome…"

"Just accept it, Prof," the alpha growled.

"You're doing great things for the Cursed," Scott spoke up calmly. "Losing that would mean Sinister and those like him have won again. It's an endless fight, but battles can be won. Protecting you, striking back as payback, is all we others can do."

Others?

Charles felt his world sway a little. Others? What others? And what payback?

"Westchester's not some unknown little backwater smudge on the map," Logan said. "You were noticed. They won't dare to come that close, but they will strike at whatever threatens them outside your safe haven."

"I never…"

"Accept it. You've started something big. And out here, away from that, there are Cursed who believe it's worth fighting for."

Charles ran shaky fingers through his unruly hair. "Oh dear…"

"Ask anyone in Westchester," Logan added. "You got their loyalty."

"But you don't know me," Charles argued, looking at Scott.

"Logan trusts you. That was enough."