A/N: Set after the beach scene. When Charles is convalescing in hospital he receives an unexpected visit. I hope you enjoy it - Ilaeryn.
As the nurse walked towards him, Charles caught some quite flattering thoughts, bringing him out of his moody contemplation. What she said out loud was even better.
"You have a visitor, Professor Xavier, would you like to see him?"
"Who is it?" He wasn't expecting anyone, and for a brief moment he allowed himself the painful hope that Mystique would come.
"He said his name was Erik Lehnsherr."
Charles froze. Erik. Erik had come to see his friend. No, he reminded himself sharply. Magneto had come to see his handiwork. Still, he supposed, he should be flattered that the man had taken time out of his busy schedule of mutant activism to visit Charles.
"Thank you, Freya, please let him in." he flashed her a winning smile, although as she left his expression became more apprehensive.
He reached out hesitantly with his abilities as he heard returning footsteps, anticipating the cold blankness that replaced the comforting awareness of his friend's presence. Not that he had ever pried into Erik's mind, but he had always sensed him there, almost subconsciously. It had felt... safe.
But there he was. For a moment it was as if nothing had changed. A gentle brush against Erik's mind and the familiar sensations made his heart ache.
It was not the same. There had always been anger in Erik, but now his whole aura was harder, colder, but with a loneliness too, that Charles knew was mirrored in himself. He drew back quickly as the turmoil of his thoughts threatened to reveal him.
The footsteps reached his door and after a moment Erik, uncharacteristically hesitant, crossed the threshold.
"Charles..." he said, entering the room slowly. He didn't seem to know where to look - not wanting to see Charles' injuries, but unwilling to meet his eyes either.
"Erik." Charles kept his voice as neutral as possible, waiting for Erik to explain why he had come.
There was silence for a while, as Erik scrutinised the spotless floor between his boots. It was not companionable, perhaps that had been lost forever, but nor was it hostile. They did not, Charles decided, quite know how to be enemies yet.
He broke it.
"Your helmet...?"
"I... Well..." Erik looked away with an air of embarrassment. "They wouldn't let me in unless I took it off, interferes with something or other... Besides, Emma Frost is in Australia."
Charles smiled, acknowledging the implicit trust. He realised that he'd returned it unthinkingly by seeing him – there were even metal pins in his spine now for goodness' sake!
"Why did you come here, Erik?" He asked, thinking a direct approach might be more effective.
"You know why."
Charles considered this. It certainly wouldn't be to recruit him, Erik would recognise that as a fruitless task. And if he wanted to harm him, why come alone and vulnerable?
"Enlighten me." He said, catching Erik's eye and holding his gaze. Erik looked pained. He absentmindedly drew a screw from the table and began turning and twisting it in his hands.
"I've seen the other patients get visitors" Charles said lightly. "Theirs seem to talk to them. Bring them flowers too."
"Charles," Erik said sharply, "I... when you..." He sighed. "There are titanium plates in your spine. Does that...?"
"You mean will I be able to walk?" Erik met his eyes again, his own showing a desperate hope. "No." Charles said, taking a perverse pleasure in how much that one syllable could hurt his old friend. He had got used to the idea himself quite quickly, finding that other losses had hurt him more.
Erik stood up suddenly. Coming over to the bed, he pressed something into Charles' hand and, speaking softly said "I deeply regret... your choice, old friend."
He left, not hearing Charles reply, "And I yours."
Charles opened his hand and saw what Erik had fashioned from the screw: a miniature copy of the dish-receiver. He clenched his fist and felt the tears well up.
}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{
Epilogue
When Charles woke up the next morning, he found that his table had been covered with flowers - a rather haphazard arrangement, it's size matched only by its ridiculousness. There was a card propped up at the front. It read: You may not get the most visitors, but you will get the most flowers.
By the time Charles was discharged, his flowers filled the room and had become something of a hospital legend, but he didn't get any more visitors.