I own nothing.
Charles Xavier genuinely did not like looking into other people's minds without their permission. He had learned early on that the mind, even one possessed by an outwardly pleasant person, could contain any amount of ugliness. Unfortunately, the lesson that, while thoughts could be dangerous, he should judge people more for their words and outward actions, that had not sunk in until later.
But when confronted with a mind he was immersed in, one whose pathways and corridors he could not escape, when drowned in nothing but thoughts, Charles began to think that maybe there were exceptions. Especially when it came to Apocalypse.
The future, as glimpsed through the eyes of Apocalypse, was both wonderful and terrible to behold.
He was relieved when, finally, the connection was broken and he was himself again. He was relieved when the scope of his mind shrank and the alien influence that had overpowered him receded at last. He was himself again, whole and unaffected by any outside influence.
Jean's relief was palpable as well. She was practically laughing from it as she hugged him, throwing her arms around his neck and crying in happiness. Charles could accept the hug readily, so glad to be free of Apocalypse's influence and with his students again. But he could not smile.
Charles Xavier glimpsed the future through the mind of Apocalypse. They were a series of broken images, all of them without context, but he had seen one that he knew would haunt him for years to come. How could he smile, when he had seen Jean's death?
Days later, Charles still saw Jean as she had been in the vision: overshadowed by flame, torn apart by her own power, her eyes filled with terror. The despairing peal of her last scream echoed in his head.
He wondered, briefly, if he would ever be able to see her again without seeing the fire that would one day consume her. The answer came to him moments later: No, he wouldn't.
