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"It's all a problem of translation," Charles says. The drug has made him chatty, and this young mutant has a kind face. The poor woman looks wary, but if she's here to guard Charles, she must listen to the lecture. "Love," Charles goes on. "We always speak of it so simply. But I can tell you, every person has their own language, and each of them their different word for love." He fixes his young guard with a stern look. "You know I don't mean an actual word, but spoken language is so hazy. And if you could understand every language, would you be any better at crossing the gulf between them? Ah! You think so. So did I." He falls silent. His guard glances at a screen Charles can't see.
"I love Erik," he says. The young woman startles. "But not enough to kill for him. And he loves me. I can know that. And he would kill for me. Oh yes. But that is not how I define love!" His voice has risen. He checks himself, and when he speaks again, his tone is level. "He does not love me enough to stop this murderous crusade. I understand. That is not what love means for him."
Now a loud, angry beeping fills the room. His guard turns to the door, but she has moved too slowly.
Charles ignores his new company. He wheels towards the table, and picks up the small speaker that rests on it. "I love you," he whispers.
"Professor?" One of the X-Men steps up to him. "Are you all right?"
"Drugged," he says, "And lonely. Does that constitute 'all right', in your mind?"
The boy glances back at his team, unsure of what to do.
"We all have different words in our minds. Is this all right for you?" he asks the speaker.
Crackle, crackle, Erik says back.
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