Eight panels across, starting with the left corner above my head. Nine panels down, starting from the same place. Seventy-two total, and then I began again. Eight, sixteen, twenty-four, thirty-two... Or, when I was getting really bored, nine, eighteen, twenty-seven, thirty-six, forty-five... I just lay there, counting ceiling panels, and trying with all my might to remember the first thing that happened today. I could hardly do it. It seemed ages, and another lifetime ago that I had rolled over to the ringing of my alarm clock, and realized, I really do have to get up. Today is the day. It was the day alright, but I don't suppose you could say it was my day. And in a way, it really was another lifetime ago.
Zipping up the ridiculous-looking suit, finding Hank and the jet... I scarcely had time to look at him. The beast was almost unrecognizable from socially-awkward genius I thought I knew, but come to think of it, his eyes were still the same, shifting, intelligent, timid, but capable of great rage. I saw that when he thought Erik was teasing him, poor chap. Meaning poor Erik, not Hank.
Raven looked as she usually did, or, what I was quickly beginning to see as usual. Erik must have said something to her, because she mentioned his coming in on her training and saying a few words, but I don't know what they were. Last night she just showed up in the kitchen, much as she had before, only she didn't seem to realize that showing all of her blue body now, sans a scrap of clothing, was highly inappropriate, whereas when she was a child, a little red-headed mutant girl... well, it was different, then. I did my best to convince her, but she never was one to listen to me. I wonder, then, why do I keep trying?
She did listen to me, come to think of it, when I told her not to go with Erik into the crashed submarine. And she did as I said. Bravo. Not that I am so brilliant to give good orders, but looking back, we did not have time for a row while trying to clamber out of the crashed jet and see if everyone was even alive.
I have such a headache now, and have been trying to turn off my telepathy, but it seems to be going haywire, causing me to read into the minds of every passing soul. I've got bits floating around from conversations on the phone, of grocery lists, of concern for ailing relatives, of shots to be administered and precautions to be taken... very much hospital stuff. Then there's the corners that I didn't mean to read into, but which are all jumbled in my head, images I shouldn't be seeing, memories I shouldn't be replaying. I'd apologize for prying if I could, but I did not intend to; I'd beg pardon for giving them something akin to an ice-cream headache, but I've got such a raging one myself that I can't help but feel whatever discomfort they experienced can't count much in comparison.
The pain started earlier, while trying to communicate with Erik. Some of it was brought on by the actual telepathy, which can sometimes be uncomfortable, but most of it by my own mental anguish. The he would shut me out, ignore my attempts at helping him... In a way, I was the one who thought that he could be so much more, that he could use his abilities for good – for real good. And in another way, he feels the same for me, thinks that I have betrayed him by not seeing that certain people deserve to die. We all deserve to die, that is the truth. And I keep living because I try to keep contact with the good inside me and see it in others. Often, their reasons for evil, while not being completely justified, are only misled assumptions. Either that or following orders. They can hardly be faulted for that. I thought we were one, and yet knew we were different. He knows we are different, and yet tries to convince himself, and me, that we are one.
And so now, I'm lying here, hooked up to machine after machine, having endured poking and prodding and all sorts of scans, and have been pronounced an invalid. More than that, but I don't even want to think about it. Invalids heal. Paralytics don't. I shall continue to be an invalid for as long as I can, and try not to think on it, because I know that if I do the scientific side of my mind will convince me of the truth, and that will be a little too much, I think, added to this day.
I can't get the view out of my head, of Erik standing there, his feet spread wide, his arm outstretched, possessing such great power as he suspended hundreds of missiles in mid-air. If only he knew. If only he knew. I keep thinking that if only he knew what great a power had been given him, he would take a day, a week, a month, a year to think, to come to some conclusions about what on earth he ought to do with himself so that he will not be ruled by anger, but he won't listen. And I suspect he never will. His face, looking down at me from between the cheekpieces of that hated helmet, the barrier between us – for in that moment, if he hadn't been wearing it, at least I could have merged our minds one last time – I will never forget. His words belied the look in his eye, but if I were deaf to what he was saying, I could have sworn that in that moment he would have done anything, anything in the world to undo what he did to me.
I do not blame him. I do not blame him at all. It was inadvertently done, it is not Moira's fault, nor his. It is his doing, but not his fault. I can remember a feeling of horror while seeing her advance on him with the gun, of seeing him knock aside each bullet as it flew towards him, and then feeling an excruciating pain bury itself deep within my lower back. And yet, I remained conscious, as I could not have if I had been loosing blood. Erik held me there on the sand, and I can't remember all the words I spoke, but I wish that I could. Because I thought, as he vanished with Azazel, Raven, and the others, what if I never got to see them again. I am thinking of Raven, because she is as a sister to me, but mostly of Erik.
It turned out that my fears were unfounded. Passing of time was unaccountable to me, unless it be measured in increments of eights or nines or ceiling tiles, but the door opened sometime when the room was growing darker, and a nurse said to me:
"Mr. Xavier, a visitor for you."
If I had been able to sit up, I would have, but I had tried earlier, the moment I received my prognosis, and it had failed miserably. My shaking arms could not support the weight of the rest of my body, and it seemed to be so heavy, so useless, as I tried in vain to drag my legs upwards so that I could remain upright even for a few minutes... As it was, I could do nothing but lay there, and try to turn my head to get a glimpse of my visitor. And then I saw him.
He was wearing neither his suit, nor one of his classic outfits – the turtle-neck shirt with the leather jacket that I teased him about – he was clad in a plain button down and a pair of light trousers. He looked so – normal. As if nothing at all had happened. As if nothing was changing.
I couldn't help myself. For some strange reason, I smiled, then tried to wipe the expression off my face as I saw only rue reflected in Erik's gaze. He pulled up the chair near my head and took a seat.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him, lifting a hand and wiping the perplexing tear that trickled from the corner of my eye, even as my heart felt as heavy as lead and a smile was plastered on my face. What a confusing world the study of emotion is.
"I thought I'd come and see... how you are," he said, his voice so painfully familiar in these strange circumstances. I'd heard it day, night, and weekend for so long; to hear it again hardly disrupted my normal processing. And yet – my surroundings were so different. The events that had transpired changed everything. That is why it was so strange.
"I'm alright," I told him. "All things considered. Alive..." I chuckled a little ruefully, but it was an honest joy. I am alive. My mind is working. I shouldn't give up hope.
"Raven, she –" Erik gestured, but didn't finish.
"Is she here?"
He shook his head. "She wanted to come, but I told her that she could come... some other time. I wanted..." He lifted a hand and scratched the back of his head, awkwardly, it seemed. "I wanted it to be just us."
"What shall it be, then, a lecture on the AKT1 gene, which was what caused the imbalances in Joseph Merrick's appearance? Mosaicism? Ever heard of it?" I was trying to be light-hearted, but it was painful in the quiet room. Erik didn't seem to amused, and I closed my eyes, wishing I could unsay what I'd just said.
"You did that before," Erik said at last. I opened my eyes again and looked at him. "When we were at the Lincoln monument. I said that I'd read that Lincoln suffered from Marfan's–"
"But you were wrong, it was more likely multiple endocrine neoplasia, type 2b," I told him.
Erik smiled at me, and then looked me up and down. "How – what..." He didn't seem to know what to ask. "Your legs?"
I just lay there for a long time, trying to think of how to reply. At last, I simply shook my head.
"Tell me."
"No." My voice cracked as it hadn't in years.
"In my mind, tell me." Erik's tone was low, insistent. "I want you."
Now, those words can take on many different meanings. All I am going to say is that in this circumstance, I chose to believe that he wanted me inside his mind once more, if only for the last time. I had been searching for him all day, but all I could sense was a muffled resonance sent off by the helmet. When he had finally removed it, I must have sensed something, but was too exhausted to identify it. At least that's all I can think, as I had been getting so many signals all day long.
I shut my eyes and lifted a hand to my temple, pressing there and focusing my mind. Erik gave so easily, there was no resistance whatsoever. If it wasn't shamelessly taking advantage of the situation, I could have penetrated as deeply as I wished, searching his memories, and pulling forward the most tender ones for him to relive, as I had once. The result had been brilliant – he had controlled himself so much better motivated by love than by anger. Some would say anger is the stronger emotion, but I would argue that power, when channeled through love, is amplified exponentially more.
It's my legs. They say it's complete paralysis.
Erik's response was scrambled, and it is all I could do to make sense of it.
What – no...not possible. Misdiagnosis – surely they can do something to... medical knowledge these days... advanced, no, don't believe...
It is true.
Erik's eyes met mine.
"You cannot accept that," he told me, his lips moving, but my mind hearing the words more than my ears.
I sighed.
"I'm working on it. It is pure science. The nerves at the bottom of my spine –"
"Charles, no!" Erik's voice rose. "Fight this. Fight it – with your mind you ought to be able to do anything you want, control any forces –"
"No, my friend." I shook my head, my vision glossing over; tears, I realized. "I am not that strong. It is only my body."
"But you – I did this," Erik choked. "You know it. You told me."
"Yes." I nodded, feeling the tears trickle from the corner of my eye, down to my ear, and along my jaw. "Yes, but I don't blame you, my friend. Things will be different, but –"
Erik rose with a curse. "I don't want things to be different!"
"Settle down, or you'll bring the nurses," I chuckled, wiping the tears away. Erik regarded my body from the waist down, still and sterile under the white sheet, and I could see his nostrils trembling with the erratic breaths he was trying in vain to steady.
"Charles," he managed. "It is not too late."
Too late for what? I was too tired to form the words.
For you – us – this. Three responses came, each as unclear as the last. I shook my head.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but this is clearly irrevocable." I gestured. "However, I am glad you came. It is... good to see you. See your face. Without that silly – that... yes."
Erik nodded, his mouth quirking slightly. He seemed almost amused.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked at length.
No.
And so he sat with me all through the long night, I suspect. I drifted off to sleep soon after that, but I could feel him in my mind. And when the sun filtered through the blinds and the nurses began to clatter about the halls more freely, I heard him rise stiffly, and stretch, emitting a tiny sound. I did not want to open my eyes, to see him leave. But I pulled, ever so carefully, and gently enough that he would hardly notice, my reaching grasp from his mind, and then I felt strangely cold.
This day had been a nightmare, a whirlwind, a terrible cacophony of sound of activity, of change and choice, and somehow I knew that it marked a new beginning for us. I didn't dread it, but I did shed a few more tears in spite of myself. I wished Raven was here, she had a nice way of playing with my hair without messing it up, and it soothed me just to imagine her touch.
A hand, cool on my brow, a finger traced lightly down my nose. I smiled in spite of myself. Imaginations can be so vivid. And then I opened my eyes and saw that Erik had not left, he was here, looking down at me, a gentle hand outstretched. I couldn't bring myself to talk.
What are you –
He lay a hand ever so gently on my shoulder, and then moved down,. I sat up ever so slightly to see what it was he was doing, and only through sight did I know he was touching my legs. I could feel nothing– nothing at all.
"Not there," I whispered. "Not there where I can't feel."
And obligingly, he grasped my hand, wringing it in his own. It hurt, how hard he was squeezing me, but I enjoyed the feeling while I could. I never realized how blissful pain could seem.
"I'm sorry," he said in a quiet voice. "I have to go."
And then he left. I looked at the clock, and it read 7:14. This day was now yesterday, and in the past. That somehow makes it easier to bear. But only a little.