A/N: Written for the prompt here at the 1stclass_kink meme.

It starts with a cell. Maybe a handful. Starts in the bone, deep within the marrow. Leukocytes that never fully mature.

Then signs, symptoms, but of course, that comes later.

And much later comes death.

"Mr Xavier?"

"Speaking."

"Mr Xavier, this is Jean from Dr Frie's office. You need to come to the office. The test results just came in."

For a long while, he doesn't say sits with his mouth agape and staring at the phone.

It feels like hours later when Sean walks in and asks "Hey prof, what's up?".

And Charles shakes his head and hangs up the phone.

"Nothing Sean." He tries to smile. "I think I'm going out for a bit. You and the rest can busy yourself with something, yes?"

Sean nods. "Yeah. Sure." And he goes wandering off.

The only thing Charles can equate it to is that it's like playing chess when all your pawns are gone and your rook is one move away from being capture.

He rubs at his arms gently, too aware that any wrong move, any touch too rough and he'd bruise. And another bruise means more time concentrating on making sure no one sees.

He takes in a large and deep breath. When he exhales it's shuddery. It's getting harder and harder to keep his breathing at a normal and regulated pace. Someone was going to notice, he could just tell. And at that, he's terrified. Might not have the energy to-

"Hey prof?"

Charles shakes his head and looks towards Alex.

"Yes?"

"It's...Can we..." He looks pointedly towards the hallway leading to the bunkers. "Train? I really think that-"

"That you can get it this time. Yeah, sure. Come on."

After training, Charles is back in his room, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He's looking for new forming bruises. He feel out of his chair by the force of one of the energy shots.

Just know it's coming.

And then he spots it. Just above his hip bone and trailing up. Large, yellow blotchy spots are scattered across his side.

"Fuck." he mutters under his breath. "Just...Bloody hell."

He sighs and pulls his shirt back on.

Least these aren't terribly visible.

He knows the worst part isn't dying. The worst isn't even leaving everyone behind. Or knowing that there was so much more to do and knowing he couldn't do any of it. He thinks the worst part maybe the fact that he can't prevent any of it. Yes, he is an omega level telepath, yes he's got the beginnings of a school in the works, and yes he's got the money to do just about everything and anything he could want to do except live.

Charles wheels himself into the dinning room, and tries to smile when he sees that everyone is already there. Sean is talking animatedly to Alex and Hank is finally out and about and talking to one of the newest recruits, Jubilee.

As Charles finishes up putting the breaks down on his chair, Hank looks to him and squints.

"Are you alright professor? You look a little pale."

Charles focuses his eyes onto Hank. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes I'm fine."

Hank looks over him for a moment before saying, "Okay...How do you feel about using Cerebro again?"

At this Charles quirks an eyebrow. "It would be..." He thinks of the amount of energy and concentration that would go into using the machine, thinks of the backlash from the first time he used it and holds back a shudder. "lovely, but we don't have Cerebro. It's at the CIA facility."

"Well, I was thinking that maybe I could build a new one. A more powerful one. More precise. You know, work the kinks out of the old model."

Charles shuts his eyes for a moment and forces a smile. "That would be great Hank." He opens his eyes and tries to focus his vision. "When do you want to start?"

Sometimes Charles contemplates telling them. He thinks it might be easier. He wouldn't have to hide the dark purple splotches that have taken residence around his eyes and his hips and his legs and his arms. He would be able to stop concentrating on making himself look alive and actually live. But then he thinks of how they would look at him; how they would treat him. Like he was some sort of porcelain doll and more than just three feet into the grave. Just waiting for him to break.

Charles looks up from his book and smiles.

"Yes Ms Pryde?"

"Oh, umm..." She twiddles her hair between her fingers. "Are you okay? You look kind of um-"

Charles gives her a quizzical look. "I look like what?"

"You look starved and not at the same time." He brown eyes shine watery.

"Kitty, my dear, that doesn't make any sense. One can't be starved and not."

"But you do..."

Charles chuckles hollowly and glances down at his hands. He's surprised at what he sees. The skin stretched over bone and muscle is thin and spindly. If you stared long enough he could see the blood flow through his veins.

His eyes travel farther down to his belly. It's swollen and he can't remember the last time he properly ate without throwing it up twenty minutes later.

He realizes she can see this-that everyone can see this. His control is slipping; concentration faltering. And no he has no choice, but he can try to prolong the inevitable.

"See?"

He looks back up to Kitty and tries his hardest to smile.

"I don't see anything wrong, Ms Pryde." He voices catches in his throat. "I don't think anything is wrong. Now," He sets his book down next to him. "I believe you still have time to train, and it would be appreciated if you do."

Kitty bites at her lip, giving Charles a worrying glance before she nods and walks off.