**A few notes before we begin: This is unabashedly a fix-it fic, one that includes rather gratuitous amounts of an original character I came up with. If it helps you, think of her as a plot device. I've never done a fully-fleshed-out OC before and I tried very hard not to make her too Mary Sue, but she was born out of an intense desire I had, every time I watched XMFC, to reach into the screen and firmly shake Charles and Eric until their teeth rattled. So she does that a lot and if she gets a little snarky about it I can't help it. MAN THEY MAKE ME SO MAD SOMETIMES.

Other things: There have got to be at least 20 different X-Men storylines and I play fast and loose with them here. Logan's backstory in particular will borrow from several, and in some cases totally diverge from any canon altogether. Purists beware.

Lastly: You know I don't own any of this. About a billion other people came before me and made this whole thing up, and they were awesome, so go spend your money on their stuff. As for me, all I want is a) for Charles and Eric to live happily ever after, and b) for you to tell me what you think. Seriously, message. Review. I crave your input like a vampire craves blood.**

Erik felt like an ass walking down a sunny Canadian sidewalk in a suit. Charles was blithe about it - Charles Xavier was born for linen button-downs and sports jackets. They were on their way to intercept yet another potential mutant ally. Charles described the candidate as a large man in his thirties, who would be found in a bar drinking himself into oblivion. Erik was too dignified to roll his eyes but the temptation was there.

In that moment a dreamy-looking boy exited a nearby shop and collided with Charles, who caught him reflexively. A well-timed hand under the telepath's arm, courtesy of Erik, was all that kept the pair from tumbling to the bricks. "Watch it!" Erik hissed, but for a wonder Charles' blue gaze was focused elsewhere. On the boy in his arms, who Erik realized was not a boy after all, but a slim-hipped young woman with a short mop of dark hair and huge, impossibly green eyes.

"I beg your pardon," Charles exclaimed, setting her to rights with a little more hands-on effort than necessary. For the love of - was Xavier truly going to flirt now, in the middle of the street? In the middle of a mission? Erik's hands twitched irritably at his sides. The young woman still hadn't spoken. He realized she was instead making shapes with her fingers in the air. Signing. Charles lifted a hand and casually brushed his temple. "Not at all," he was saying in response to whatever she'd signed. "I should have been paying attention to the path. Allow me to -" Charles broke off, a strange expression flashing across his face. "Oh my," he sighed abruptly. He glanced up at the metal-bender, suddenly very serious. Erik returned the look with confusion.

"Forgive me, my dear," said Charles to the woman. "Let us buy you a drink." She smiled at them, signing briefly. "I'm afraid I must insist," said the telepath firmly.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She was really too calm for a young, attractive creature who had just been shuffled into a private booth by two strange men and handed a beer. Charles and Erik sat facing her, the first man beaming, the second scowling. "Miss... Alice Cantor, am I right?" Charles grinned. The woman's eyes widened briefly, before she lapsed back into an easy lean. She inclined her head.

"You have a little secret," said Charles conspiratorially. "As it turns out, so do we." He touched his hand to his face, and Erik could tell he was projecting. Most people hearing Charles in their heads for the first time practically jumped out of their skin, but Alice Cantor merely clasped her hands on the table and gave them both a faint smile. "She's a mutant?" Erik sputtered, caught off guard. "Of course!" Charles said brightly. "Now, would you...?"

Erik used his power to lift a fork from the table and plunk it into Xavier's drink. "Erik!" Charles laughed, but the girl merely looked fascinated. She propped one elbow on the table and leaned her chin into her hand.

"There you go," Erik muttered. "We showed you ours, now show us yours."

"Erik, that's not quite -"

"Shhh," said the girl, a voiceless susurration of noise against white teeth. She reached a hand across the table and turned it palm up, an invitation. Charles slid his own hand into hers without a moment's hesitation, and Erik grimaced. Too trusting by half, the ignorant Brit.

Alice closed her fingers gently around the telepath's, and slowly a broad, blissful smile stretched across his face. Charles looked as if he'd just had a go at Cassidy's secret stash. "An empath," he breathed. "My, that's... mmm, that's lovely." The girl quietly slid her hand back across the table, and Charles took a moment to compose himself. "I was unaware that empaths could project," he remarked thoughtfully. She shrugged.

I was unaware there were other empaths, she thought to him clearly, and he grinned again, pleasantly surprised. "But of course!" he enthused. "And so many other gifts! It's why we've come, you know. It's time we mutants got to know each other."

Your friend looks as though he's swallowed a lemon, she prodded mentally.

"Oh, that's just Erik's way," Charles laughed. "He hates not being the center of attention." The metal-bender growled.

"So you can't speak," Erik bit out. "Is that part of your mutation?"

"Erik, really!" Charles looked affronted. "It's no good trying to extend the hand of friendship if you're just going to be an arse -" Alice cut him off with a gentle shake of her head. He gets right to the point, she said. It's refreshing. Charles frowned. "It's not," he answered Erik shortly, after a time.

Erik had had just about enough chit-chat, and daylight was wasting. "We're with the CIA," he told the girl succinctly. "We're gathering mutant allies. Will you join us?"

The girl looked troubled. Her eyes moved to Charles before he even began to speak. "It's an opportunity," said Xavier softly. "To be part of something. To be with your own kind at last."

She considered them both, her green eyes penetrating. Finally she shook her head and moved to stand. "Won't you reconsider?" Charles pleaded. She gave him another long look. Her smile was small and sad. Then she slipped away, her abandoned beer still full and sweating condensation on the table.

"What did she say?" Erik demanded at last. Charles' face was brooding.

"She said," he answered, "that she had no desire for war."