Through a crack in the door, Charles watched Piotr as he placed carefully folded clothes haphazardly into a suitcase. His broad back and shoulders were tense, as if they might snap like cords any second. But they were also slumped somehow, in sorrow, in defeat.

Charles didn't need to be a telepath to understand what was wrong.

He heard a familiar throaty laugh in the room to his left, faint but distinct. He turned, hopeful, but didn't see anything. Didn't feel anyone who wasn't there before. Then he realized. The room to the left was Scott's. He hadn't heard the laugh. He had heard Scott's mind, remembering. Remembering Jean. Charles closed his eyes and tried to focus on controlling the wave of emotion that forced itself up inside him. When he opened them, he saw Piotr staring back at him, the door open.

"Professor."

"Piotr." Charles tried not to let his discomfort show. "Kurt told me I should speak to you."

Piotr looked down. "There is nothing to talk about, sir," he replied quietly. He backed away from the door to let Charles in.

"Please understand," said Charles as Piotr leaned against his desk. "It's only been two weeks."
"That's plenty of time to make a decision. More time than I took to decide to come here."

"You're grieving. We all are. Losing Jean was hard for us all, but please don't make the decision to leave rashly."
"Rashly?!," Piotr replied with sudden anger. His jaw worked furiously, trying to respond further but he didn't trust himself to speak. He turned to face the wall. He started to throw more shirts into the suitcase, not stopping to fold them this time. He stopped suddenly and gripped the desk chair tightly until Charles thought it might break. Piotr's breath hitched in his chest loudly and his shoulders rose and fell quickly. I'm strong.

Charles looked up suddenly, hearing the thoughts Piotr was directing at him. He wheeled closer to his student.

Back home...I'm strong. I knew who I was there. There was no one I couldn't help. No one I couldn't protect.

Charles put a calming hand on Piotr's arm. Piotr...what happened to Jean...it was beyond your control.

I know that! But here, I'm...

"What?," prompted Charles aloud.

Piotr hesitated, then said in a choked voice, "No one."

"That's not true."

"It is! Everyone here, Kurt, Ororo, Scott, they all contribute. They all help people. They're so powerful. And I'm...only strong." Piotr looked down at his large forearms. "I couldn't help protect her. I can't protect my friends. What am I here for if I can't even do that?"

"Piotr-"

"I don't belong here."

Silence filled the room. They didn't speak, vocally or otherwise for several minutes. Charles waited for Piotr to calm down and then began again. "Piotr, that's not true. You belong with the X-Men. I chose you because I saw something great in you. Your strength isn't in your muscles or your skin. It's you. It's your compassion, your love for people." Piotr looked away, his eyes misted over. "This is your destiny, Piotr. It's what you were meant to do. We all miss her, we all feel responsible. But we have to keep going. Would Jean want you to give up your life? What you were created for?" Piotr turned back, surprised. "Please stay, Piotr. Jean believed we could make the world better. Stay and help us prove her right."

Piotr swallowed hard and nodded. Sensing that Piotr wanted to be alone, Charles turned around and slowly wheeled out of the room. He heard Piotr sink slowly onto his bed, heard his faint sobs through the door as he pulled it shut. He stopped to choke back the tears that threatened him, the feelings that coursed through him coming from himself, from his students, from every person he'd met in the last two weeks who had ever called Jean "friend." He let out a shaky sigh and continued down the hall.