Author's Note: The O.C.C.B. is short for the Organized Crime Control Bureau. Timelines mentioned might be a bit confusing because Erik is referring to what he remembers and he's missing a good chuck of his memories. For quick reference:

- It's currently 2014
- Erik remembers it being 2010
- Charles and Erik have known each other for ten years (since 2004)
- They've been divorced for almost a year

Chapter 1 (of 3)

There's the soothing sound of his mother's voice cutting through the haze, singing a familiar lullaby from his childhood.

And the feel of his hand cradled in her much smaller one, soft and calloused fingers stroking in time to the beat.

He tries to open his eyes and speak, to ask why she's sitting there beside his bed but he's just so tired and why isn't his body cooperating and he finds too soon that he's drifting off again into a dreamless sleep…

"…should wake up soon, Mrs. Lensherr. His ribs are bruised but thankfully no lung damage. Also his left arm will need to stay in the cast for 6 to 8 weeks while it heals. We won't know anything more…"

Erik's aware of his surroundings more frequently now; can hear voices and movement around him as he drifts in and out of consciousness. His mother is almost always there, steady as the soft beep of the machines that are his constant companion. Occasionally there are other voices, unknown and clinical as they discuss his vitals and administer treatment to a body that he can't seem to control.

He only remembers hearing Charles once, warm hands brushing his cheek and fervent whispers barely audible as Erik tries desperately to open his eyes.

"…please wake up. I know…I know things between us are…but Erik, please I need you to wake up…"

When he finally opens his eyes it's to his mother's wide, relieved smile, too quickly replaced by faces and more faces, all poking and prodding as Erik tries to shake the cobwebs from his brain. There are orders to rest and assurances he'll feel better soon and it's such a relief when they all finally leave and his mother is the only one left in the room.

"Oh my sweet boy," Edie says, eyes glistening as she clutches his hand and places a light kiss on his forehead. "We've been so worried, Erik. You've been in a coma for weeks and the doctors had no idea when you would wake up."

He tries to answer her, but his mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton balls and nothing discernable wants to come out. He has to try a couple more times, his mother helping him take a drink of water in between clumsy attempts, before it's finally unglued enough for his words to be heard.

"Ma...ma," he asks, voice raspy and low, "where's Charles?"

Erik has picked up enough from the doctors talking at him to know he's in the hospital, recuperating from a hit and run accident on his way home from the precinct. That he's bruised and battered with a broken arm but miraculously, not as injured as he could have been considering the state of his car when they pulled him from the wreckage.

What he doesn't know - and the doctors don't say - is why his husband hasn't been notified that Erik is awake. Because he knows Charles and Charles would want to be there with him, the moment he woke up. To fuss over him and lecture Erik about being more careful; that being a cop meant he should always be aware of his surroundings.

The strangest look crosses his mother's face, sad and concerned before she leans forward and plumps the pillow under his head. "Charles has been here every day, Erik. He's been quite worried about you...we all have," she whispers. "I'll call him at the University and let him know how you are. I'm sure he'll be relieved."

"I want…to see him," Erik says, talking a little easier now that his throat doesn't feel like sandpaper. "Why isn't he here?"

Edie smiles but doesn't quite look him in the eye, hands busy with the pillows and blankets she's arranging and rearranging on his bed. "The doctors…well they would only let immediate family in while you were sleeping. I only managed to sneak him in here once with the help of one of the night shift nurses."

Nothing his mother just said makes any sense to Erik. Why would they let her in to see him but not Charles? Why would they have to sneak his husbandin to see him? Charles would never back down when it came to Erik, no matter what the doctors said. What the hell is going on?

"I don't…understand," he growls, trying not to let his irritation and impatience with the situation and his general helplessness spill over into his words. "I want to…see my husband, Mama. I want Charles. Now."

The smile on Edie's face morphs slowly into a frown, a hand sliding to cup his cheek as she answers, very gently but succinctly, "Charles isn't your husband, Erik. He hasn't been for about a year now."

"What?" He doesn't know what his mother sees in his face but she immediately strokes her hand through his hair, a comforting gesture Erik recognizes only distantly as he tries to digest her words.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Edie asks calmly, after a couple of minutes of stunned silence on his part.

"I don't…I don't know, Mama. Charles and I had breakfast, I made scrambled eggs. Then I left for work and he…he didn't have class until noon. I don't…how? How? How did this happen? What happened to my life?"

He is shouting by the end of it, loud enough to bring a slew of doctors and nurses into his room, all clamoring to poke and prod at him some more, asking inane and never-ending questions. There are phrases bandied about - retrograde amnesia and possible recovery – and Erik can only sit and wonder what could possibly have happened for him to lose the man he's been in love with since he was twenty years old.

It's a tough truth to swallow, even coming from his own mother, when he clearly remembers waking up - just this morning - with his arms wrapped around Charles, their legs intertwined beneath the sheets. The way Charles smells of soap and sunshine and Earl Grey tea when Erik presses his nose to the nape of his husband's neck and breathes in, the first thing he does every morning and the last thing he does before he falls asleep at night.

It only truly clicks into place when Charles arrives a few hours later, hovering uncertainly at the door before Edie gets up and takes him by the hand, tugging him inside. His husband - ex-husband he has to remind himself – doesn't look anything like his normal, confident and easy-going self. Charles is strung tighter than a bow-string, eyeing him on the bed with clearly wrought conflict all over his face, uncertain if he should wrap himself around Erik or turn and run out of the room.

His mother guides Charles into her usual seat beside Erik, before murmuring a quick excuse and leaving the two of them alone. They stare at each other for a long time, the soft humming of the machines seeming much louder in the awkward silence.

"How are you feeling?" Charles asks, reaching slowly to take his hand, his touch light and uncertain. "I was…we were all so worried. I'm…" He stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide and wet before taking a deep breath and clenching Erik's hand a bit tighter. "Thank goodness you're awake. You're going to be alright."

Charles squeezes his hand, loosening his grip as if to let go but Erik only twines their fingers together, keeping the other man close. He wants to know so badly what's happened between them; why Charles seems so unsure of his welcome and so tentative with his touch. He has never been either of those things with Erik, in the seven years they've been together.

It takes a few moments, but eventually the hand relaxes in his hold and Erik allows himself to embrace the comfort in that connection, an anchor in a reality that doesn't feel quite real. Charles sighs, a pained smile on his face but he doesn't pull away from Erik, letting him rub his thumb gently over the professor's skin.

"Edie told me what the doctors said. That you have retrograde amnesia. They aren't sure when you'll regain your memories but they think there's a good chance you'll recover most—"

"What did I do?" he interrupts, and Charles' head snaps upwards, gaze tearing away from their joined hands to Erik's face. "What did I do that made you leave me, Charles? I want you to tell me. I need to know."

Charles doesn't look at all surprised by Erik's outburst – and why should he? He knows better than anyone that Erik attacks every issue head on with laser focus, letting nothing distract or deter him from getting his answers. It's partly why he's such a good cop and one of the reasons Captain Shaw took a keen interest in his career and became his mentor.

"I don't even know where to begin," Charles says, running his hand absently through his tousled hair. "Why don't you tell me what you remember? What year is it for you? Where do you work? Anything important that comes to mind."

"It's May 2010. We live in a two bedroom condo not too far from Columbia. It has a view of Central Park and would be way out of our price range if not for your hefty inheritance. It was your sister's birthday three weeks ago and we had dinner with her and her new boyfriend Hank. You had seafood linguini and I had the lamb. I work at the
9th and last week I finally broke the big drug case I've been working on for the past five months."

Charles chuckles, amused and a little rueful. "That's...very specific."

He shrugs and his own answer is tinged with irony. "I've always had a good memory."

The comment pulls a startled laugh from Charles' lips but it's mixed with a lingering sadness that makes his own insides hurt. If not for the bandages and bruises and the left arm in a sling, he would have pulled Charles into his arms by now, awkwardness and divorce be damned.

"Yes, well…it's no wonder you're confused," Charles says quietly, expression sympathetic and kind as he looks into Erik's eyes. "You've lost almost four years' worth of memories. A lot's happened since then."

Erik snorts; because isn't that the understatement of the century. "Yes, I gathered. I woke up this morning with a husband, Charles. I don't know what I could have done in the last four years that's made you stop loving me."

"I didn't…" Charles argues, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. "It's not...it's complicated, Erik. It wasn't just your fault that we're not together anymore. We grew apart. Things got pretty bad…and in the end there wasn't much of our marriage left to save."

"Just tell me," he snaps, nerves and patience both wearing thin at Charles' vague assertions. "Tell me everything. All of it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up in a hospital bed with no idea how you got here? And everything you know about your life is no longer true? I need this Charles, tell me the damned truth! Tell me, I can handle it."

For a moment, Erik thinks he's pushed too hard, too fast; Charles' expression shutters, lips pursed with his hand sliding from Erik's grip. It's not his intention to antagonize his ex-husband, and some of his panic must show on his face because Charles just lets out a loud huff of breath before settling back into his armchair.

"Alright, Erik. I guess the best place to start is with your old Captain, Sebastian Shaw."

He can only describe the feeling as surreal, listening to Charles recount the story of their lives these past four years with Erik as the troubled hero. How his mentor transferred to the O.C.C.B. and he followed a few months later, taking on more and more cases with Shaw's support and encouragement. How increasingly long days and late nights became the new norm for them both, as Erik embraced his responsibilities with fierce pride and enthusiasm and Charles wrestled with his course load and his dissertation for a second PhD. Until they were mere strangers and visitors in each other's lives.

Charles relays the information with the detachment of an academic, though it clearly pains him to recall the events. He glosses over much of the details – forgotten dates and all-night stakeouts, lonely meals and a cold bed; details he gets later from Raven, who's happy to disclose his failings as husband to her beloved big brother. The end of their marriage happens over the course and distance of weeks and months, a slow and steady weariness creating a chasm too wide to bridge.

"We never talked about it?" he asks, wondering how either of them could have let their relationship deteriorate beyond repair. "Didn't we try to fix things between us? Did we...when did we stop loving each other, Charles?"

The other man hesitates and the conflict is clear on his face, whether he should protect Erik from the ugly truth or to lay it out plain. "We fought more than we talked, Erik. You were so angry; you didn't think I understood how important your career was to you. Angry that I would even question why we were still together when we barely spent time in the same room. And I was angry – angry that you thought I was making you choose. Angry that if you did choose that I would lose."

Erik doesn't feel any of the emotions Charles describes, disconnected as he is from the events that have so dramatically changed their lives. He wants to be furious at them both for laying waste to their four year marriage but can muster nothing but a bone-deep ache at the bitter loss.

"You let Shaw push you," Charles continues, his voice hoarse and strained. "He pretended to look out for you while he took credit for all your hard work and still you didn't stop. It was like you were obsessed; that every criminal you arrested would get you a little bit closer to avenging your father's death."

A death that haunts Erik for its senselessness and brutality; the shooting of an innocent man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I asked Edie not to get involved but you know your mother does as she pleases, Erik. Though it didn't make a difference really. Things were…broken between us and there wasn't anything anyone could do to fix it."

"How long?" he asks and Charles looks up distractedly, shaken from his memories by Erik's voice. "How long have we been separated?"

"Our divorce was finalized almost a year ago. A year next month actually," Charles answers with a sad smile.

"And are we still friends at least? Tell me we haven't lost each other completely."

Charles shakes his head, thumb hurrying to brush the lone tear sliding down his cheek. "No Erik, we're not. This is the first we've seen or spoken to each other in over six months."

"No," Erik says, because his mind can't wrap itself around Charles' revelation; can't comprehend not having Charles Xavier there every day of his life. Nothing and no one (except his mother) is as important as Charles and hasn't been since the first night they met; not since Erik bumped into the Genetics student on his way back from the bar, spilling half his beer all over both their shirts. Not since Erik apologized profusely to the cute brunette with the brilliant smile and sparkling blue eyes and Charles gave Erik his number with a wink, insisting they go out for coffee the next day after classes.

He remembers that first meeting – their first date really – as clear as though it happened yesterday. Charles came into the cafe from the blistering November cold, hair windblown and ridiculously attractive, sporting fingerless gloves and a dark blue scarf around his neck. Erik had felt the jolt of desire like a punch in the gut, the delicious pull from the night before solidifying over the course of unhurried hours into a tension so palpable he found it difficult to think straight. Coffee turned into dinner and then an invitation to Charles' place, whispered against his lips as Erik lost himself completely to the taste of Charles' sinful mouth.

Erik let his head fall back against the pillow, a great heaving breath escaping his chest. "No. This is unacceptable. You can't expect me to just...sit here while you tell me it's over! I refuse to believe it! We would never let things end like that! Never!" He glares at his ex-husband, who looks a bit lost at his outburst. "You filed for the divorce, didn't you? What did you do? How did you get me to agree to it?"

Charles frowns, eyes narrowing at the accusations. "Yes, I was the one who filed for divorce," the other man snaps and in the back of his mind, Erik knows he's being unfair - he just can't do anything to stop himself, mired as he is in anger and despair. "Because I refused to be married to a stranger anymore Erik and that's what we were! And I didn't do anything to make you agree! You never once asked me to reconsider, nor did you contest the divorce. You signed those papers willingly. All on your own."

At least he still knows Charles well enough to anticipate what happens next, Erik reaching to grab Charles' hand before the professor can get up and out of the armchair. "Please," Erik begs, feeling desperate and off-kilter, "I'm sorry. Look I'm just a bit overwhelmed. Please don't go."

With a sigh and a glare that's both fond and irritated, Charles settles back into his seat and the two men sit in silence as Erik tries to absorb everything he's been told. He tries to imagine the bitterness and the hurt he must have felt when he got served with divorce papers, no matter the state of their marriage at the time. Can imagine his own pride and stubbornness the reasons he didn't ask Charles to reconsider, if he thought his husband was ready to walk away.

"We can try again," he says, placing a kiss on the back of Charles' hand and holding it against his chest. "We can fix things…we'll make better choices this time. I love you Charles and I can't imagine I ever stopped, no matter what happened between us. We'll consider this a chance to wipe the slate clean and start over." Erik chuckles and points to the bandages wrapped around his head, giving Charles a wry grin. "See I'm already there."

Whatever he might have expected the reaction to be – happiness, anger, ridicule – it isn't this, Charles lurching to his feet and pulling away, grabbing his jacket and backing slowly towards the door. Erik stares in shock as the professor struggles into his jacket, muttering curses under his breath before spinning around to face him.

"I'm sorry Erik but I can't," Charles says, words just above a whisper. "It was devastating. It's taken so long for me to move on and I just can't…"

"Charles, please…"

"No, you have to listen to me, Erik." And this time, Charles voice is firm and unwavering. "The doctors believe you have an excellent chance of recovering your memories and when you do, things will go back to the way they were before your accident. I can't let you drag us both through a reconciliation, just to break up again in the end. I'm sorry."

"How can you be sure?" Erik growls, because he's not going to let Charles walk away from him again without a fight. "How do you know for sure what will happen? Maybe it won't matter if I get my memories back. Maybe I'll only care that we're together again and fuck everything else, Charles because I love you dammit!"

"I know because I know you Erik! I've known you for ten years and having amnesia doesn't change who you are!"

"I don't care! I don't care what's happened Charles! There's nothing that could possibly make me—"

"I slept with your partner!" Charles shouts and the admission stuns them both into an abrupt silence. The words that follow are much softer and a bit sorrowful. "I was drunk and it just…happened. We'd been divorced for months and I guess I just thought…I didn't think—"

"Didn't think I'd find out?" Erik asks, bile lodged in his throat at the thought of someone else – someone he trusted - touching his husband.

"Didn't think you'd care," Charles answers bitterly, before turning and walking out the door.