Argh, I hate research papers. Sorry again, ya'll. *sigh* Please do review, if you're still here! It helps so much! Thank you! *big hugs*

Chapter 3

Erik is there when Charles wakes up the next morning, just as he promised he would be. It's Charles who wakes him, laughing quietly in his ear, and when Erik is awake enough to process more than the sensation of his lover's breath in his ear he remembers that they aren't lovers anymore. Not really. Their differences are insurmountable and Erik is only here because Charles needs him.

Because Charles is dying.

No.

His jaw clenches, but then his stomach growls loudly. Erik looks down at it accusingly, and he realizes that must be what Charles has been laughing at. Erik looks at him, and he looks just as small and pale as the day before—if not worse—but seeing the smile on his face helps.

"You need to eat," Charles tells him.

It's been almost twenty-four hours since he's eaten anything, but he didn't notice before. It didn't matter. It was Charles that was important.

"You shouldn't be alone."

"Alex is awake; he's already on his way."

Alex. Wonderful. Alex who hadn't seemed any more forgiving than Hank. Not that he deserved forgiveness.

Charles frowns, and Erik makes a face. "Forget I thought anything." The twist on the old saying makes Charles smile again, even if it's thinner this time, but it's better than nothing.

Erik claims a kiss good morning before Charles can reach for one anyway, and by the time he's crawled from the bed Alex is there.

Alex goes straight to Charles's side of the bed to ask him if he needs anything, and doesn't even look Erik's way.

Erik snorts inwardly, and promises to Charles by thought not to take long before he makes his way down to the kitchen on his own to rifle through the noticeably empty cabinets for something quick to eat. He doesn't find much, and that's when he remembers that it was Raven who saw to keeping the pantry stocked when they were all here before Cuba.

"Yeah, we need food…it'll probably be me going later."

The voice is Sean's, and Erik turns with a piece of slightly stale bread in his mouth to find the young man in the doorway.

Erik chews and swallows, studying him for moment.

"You aren't treating me like the pariah Hank and Sean seem to have decided I am. Why?"

Sean shrugs, and the slump in his shoulders from yesterday is still there. "The professor…Charles…he…we all know he wants you here. God knows we don't understand it, but he does. We knew that before we ever knew you were even going to show up. It seems kinda stupid to complicate him having the one thing he wants anymore. So…yeah. You're not gonna get any problems out of me." Then his eyes flash, and their gazes lock for a brief instant. "Not while the professor's alive, anyway."

Erik nods slowly in understanding, and Sean nods curtly back and moves around him to find some sort of breakfast for himself.

Erik quickly eats a bit more—enough to keep his stomach from complaining, anyhow—and hurries back up the stairs. When he looks in through the crack in Charles's door, though, Alex is sitting quietly in the chair by the far side of the bed and Charles has fallen back to sleep.

He takes the opportunity, and detours to Hank McCoy's lab.

Hank is there, of course, but he doesn't even turn around when Erik storms in. "What do you want?" he asks instead. The question is hard and cold, which was expected.

"How did you know it was me?" Erik questions flatly.

"Sean and Alex don't come back here. Let me guess; you want to know what we tried?"

"To start with."

Hank turns around, finally, scowling at him. "Everything. That's what we tried. We've been over this."

Erik throws out the only feasible idea he's come up with, wishing he had more. "What about another telepath?"

"The only one we know of would never even try, and we don't know where she is, anyway. Though I'm guessing you do."

He does, of course. She's back at the Brotherhood's current hideout, with Mystique and Azazel and Angel and Riptide.

"Answer the question; could another telepath help him?"

"How the hell could I even know that? I'm not telepathic. But I doubt it; Charles is exponentially more powerful than Emma Frost can ever hope to be, and if he couldn't repair the damage himself I doubt she could even touch it."

"But you don't know for sure? What if fixing it is simply something he can't do himself, because the damage is to his mind? What if she could help him?"

"What I said before is still true; you know she wouldn't. She would rather let him die to get rid of the competition."

Erik's fists clench. "What about something else? Is there anything else? There has to be something you considered…something you couldn't…get done…didn't have the resources for, maybe…something maybe I can—"

"There is nothing else, Erik. Or should I say Magneto?"

Hank is glaring more pointedly now, and Erik realizes that the metal in the room is vibrating. He stops it, but he glares right back.

"Call me whatever you want. Just stay out of my way." It's all he can think of to say, and the only way to cover for the weakness he showed in begging for another answer just seconds before. He turns and quickly leaves Hank behind for the second time in twenty-four hours, knowing full well that his parting words didn't help to repair his image at all.

They all know by now, how closely he's tied to Charles. How much it affects him. There was never really any hiding it from them, even before he walked away.

It's only now that Erik is beginning to understand that these youngsters care about Charles just as much, even if it isn't the same type of love.

He goes back to Charles's room, and as soon as he's inside Alex stands. Charles is still asleep. Erik wonders if he imagined the hand pulling away from resting atop Charles's arm.

He didn't. The fact of how much these boys care rams itself home again, and Erik doesn't care about them nearly as much but still he begins to feel guilty, too, for causing them this much pain. Unless something can be done they will lose the man that has shown them a better way…a better life, a richer one…and Erik knows how lost they will feel because he feels it too.

But much worse. Or so he thinks. He can't know for sure, because he isn't them and he isn't telepathic.

But what would his life be, what would his world be, if Charles were not in it? Whether or not they could truly be together doesn't matter. Nothing matters if Charles is not alive, somewhere, just breathing, just being himself.

But what hope is there? Erik refuses to let go of hope, but he doesn't know what it is he's holding on to. If anything. What if he's holding on to nothing? What if there is no hope?

He can't process that idea now. Alex comes around the bed to leave, and the room is large but somehow he manages to roughly bump Erik's shoulder on the way out. On purpose, of course. Under any other circumstances Erik would have stopped him and made him pay for it in seconds, but not here, or now. He ignores the wordless insult and waits for the click of the door to slip back under the covers to Charles's side.

He plants a gentle kiss on the younger man's forehead, not meaning to wake him, but when he does it Charles's eyes flutter groggily open away.

"Mmm…I'm sorry. I fell asleep again, didn't I?"

"Nothing to be guilty about." Erik pushes up on an elbow, trying to do a bit of damage control on Charles's rebellious hair with his free hand.

"Did you find something to eat?"

"I found enough. How are you feeling?"

Charles winces. "That's been rather difficult to answer of late." He looks up at Erik for a while, quietly, and Erik doesn't know what he's doing so he looks back. "I'm sorry the others haven't been…polite."

"Snooping around in my head again, Charles?"

"Sorry…I can't do it as well with the boys any longer. I must admit I'm beginning to miss my powers. I never realized how much I relied on them until they were no longer reliable."

"It's all right; it was just a comment. I don't think I really have the right to deny you anything right now, anyway."

"Don't say that. Don't let me do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Erik shakes his head. "It's fine. It doesn't matter." He points to his head. "I'm here for you, and that should mean all of me." And he means it.

Charles swallows, and his eyes are damp now. He looks away, like he did the last time, trying to cover it up or make it less obvious or something of the sort. It doesn't work, of course.

"Charles, what is it?"

He shakes his head a bit. "Nothing…I just…hearing you say that…" He has trouble putting what he means into words—or maybe just trouble getting the words past his throat. Erik prods him again, gently, wanting to know what's wrong but having an idea of the answer. A good idea.

He wants Charles to tell him.

Charles shows him, instead, the memory of the helmet and how much it hurt when Erik put it on—the barrier, the lack of trust, cutting him off. The fight on the beach. Erik hurt him to keep the damn thing. Hit him. It shouldn't have come to that.

When Charles stops abruptly, Erik's jaw is clenched. "I know. I know. I'm sorry."

Why did he do it? He still believes what he believes, but there must have been a better way.

Now they're here, and it's his fault.

"Don't," Charles says quietly. And he tugs himself up enough to claim Erik's lips. I'm sorry.

Stop saying that. If anyone should be saying it more, it's me.

We could place a moratorium on it.

We can try. I doubt it would work.

Charles chuckles against Erik's mouth, and Erik lets his elbow out from under him and pulls Charles closer, letting their bodies press together as they kiss. He doesn't mean for that to go anywhere else. It shouldn't; Charles is sick, and weak, and it's been so long and he doesn't deserve it and it's a bad idea all over but he's growing hard anyway, and what if Charles wants it? Whatever Charles wants Erik will give him, as long as however he wants it Erik can do it without hurting him.

Or maybe it's not a good idea at all. No. It's not. Charles's breath is ragged already. They have to stop. Or is that just reaction? But—he realizes now—Charles isn't hard. Not even a hint of it against his leg, and…

Oh god.

They both stop at the same moment, pushing each other away just enough to have air.

"God, Charles—"

"Erik, I can't…"

Erik falls silent, and Charles is the one to continue, still trying to catch his breath. "I can't," he gasps. "I can't…it's not…I-I should have said something. It's not p—god, Erik, I can't…" He trails off painfully, not crying, maybe just refusing too, but he doesn't. Still, he's more upset than Erik has seen him yet.

"Charles," he whispers. "I—" He wants to apologize again. He wants to say it over and over until it changes something, but it never will. There isn't any point in saying it. How much does it really mean anymore? Charles knows how sorry he is.

As if in answer to that Charles just shakes his head and presses in against Erik's chest again. This time Erik hesitates, before holding onto him in return, part of him afraid that Charles is angry—that he's only acting this way for Erik's benefit. That would be just like him. But then Charles's arms tighten around him, asking for Erik's embrace, asking for comfort, and Erik gives it to him.

"The night before Cuba…" Charles whispers at length. "I think we both knew it was the last time."

Maybe they did. Somehow. Never had they made love so long, so desperately, so fervently as that night. Erik remembers the unexplainable rush of…of something, which drove them on that night. Panic. Fear. Dread. Anxiousness. And love for each other so strong they didn't know what to do with it and they were so sure the brief happiness they'd been granted was going to be taken away but they didn't know why they knew it.

Then it happened.

Erik's throat is clogged again. He wants to give in this time, but, again, he doesn't. Tears from him would only make Charles feel worse at this point, and that isn't what he wants.

He thinks, too, that Charles won't want to kiss him anymore. That it will remind him of too much. But only moments later Charles is kissing him again purposely. Not as fervently as before, but just as sincerely.

"Are you sure?" Erik asks.

Charles nods, waiting a few more seconds before he stops to answer in words. "Might as well take what I can get," he says, trying to smile. Erik moves in to kiss him again, harder this time, so he doesn't have to try.

There isn't any danger of Erik's body reacting again. Not now. He's too upset for that. Angry, at the injustice of it all, all of this, but he pushes it down. He doesn't want to upset Charles any further.

Their mouths are all but locked together until Charles is too tired, and he lets his head drop to rest against Erik's chest again instead. He laughs weakly, and Erik doesn't know what for until he asks.

"Hmm? Oh…nothing, really. Just all those months, everything we did, and I don't think we ever really did quite that…making out like teenagers. Not quite that innocently, anyhow." He chuckles again, almost absently, and Erik huffs into his hair.

"You're almost…chipper. How do you manage that?"

He doesn't know if he would take advantage of the secret, if he knew it.

But there isn't any secret.

"It's far better than lying about feeling sorry for myself…I tried that, too. After the anger abated. It wasn't quite fun enough to consider trying again." He pauses, and when he continues it's more quiet. "Though I must admit that I wasn't as well before you came."

Erik's eyes clench shut. "Charles….what about—?"

"It wouldn't work. You know she wouldn't even try."

He has to force himself not to grind his teeth when his jaw clenches. "She would if I made her."

"That wouldn't be right."

"I don't care. This your life we're talking about; why do you care?"

"Because I do. And because I know that there would be little point in Emma attempting to help me anyhow. There is nothing she could do."

"You don't know that."

"I know enough." Charles presses closer, the not-so-quiet huffs of his breaths puffing into Erik's shirt. "Please, Erik…don't make this more complicated than it has to be. I just…need you here; I don't need you to try to save me."

"I have to try. I can't not try."

"You can do whatever you want to…" His breathing is becoming more labored again, rather than easier, and he trails off. "Damn." He pushes away reluctantly, and Erik doesn't know what's wrong now but he lets go.

Charles is on his back again, all but gasping for air and trying to push away the one or two remaining blankets. Erik pulls them down for him.

"Too…hot…" he gasps. His temperature fluctuating again. Or at least his perception of it. Whatever is really happening. It seems to have come on rather quickly, and Erik frowns.

"What can I do?"

Charles shakes his head a bit, already sweating. "Not much…just…water…"

There's already a half-full cup sitting on the bedside table by Charles, but there's no telling how long it's been there. Erik gets up to take it and refill it, but by the time he's walked quickly around the bed to get it Charles is tugging up at his shirt. He can't do much with it, his weak muscles keeping him from pushing off the bed long enough to pull it over his head.

Erik helps him off with it, and isn't happy at all with the unhealthy translucence of Charles's skin that is made more apparent by seeing the larger expanse of his torso—more than only his arms and head and neck. How thin he is is more obvious now, too; certainly with his ribs more visible than they should be.

Charles, though clearly miserable, smiles wryly anyway. "I know I'm not…much to look at…anymore."

Erik shakes his head, and braces his arms on the headboard so he can more easily lean down to kiss Charles briefly without touching him anywhere else. Without contributing to the amount of overheating he's already enduring.

"You will always be beautiful to me," he says softly.

It's true. Even if he didn't love Charles as fiercely as he does…he doesn't know how anyone could ever fail to see the beauty in those sapphire eyes. That, at least, he has not lost; Erik hopes it will never be lost.

Charles doesn't answer him, but he wasn't looking for an answer. Erik takes the plastic cup into the bathroom to refill it, trying to ignore the fact that it's probably plastic for a reason.

Plastic is lighter than glass. Plastic can't fall and shatter. Plastic affords a bit more friction…easier to hold on to.

A plastic cup is easier for a dying man to handle.

It's a tough material, this particular cup, but still he nearly damages it squeezing it too hard in his hand before he remembers that Charles needs the water. He takes it back quickly, and tilts the younger man's head up to help him drink. Maybe food doesn't interest him anymore, but he takes the water greedily.

It doesn't help much.

"Should I get more?"

"Isn't any point…" Charles mutters.

Erik is perched on the edge of the bed, and now that the water is gone he's made sure he's far enough away that Charles can't feel any of his body heat. Charles's chest is heaving, and he's drenched, and it's drained him to the point that he doesn't seem able to move.

Charles is right. He would just sweat it out again. As soon as this stops they can get him rehydrated. The IV should be able to help with that, too. He'll have to get Hank in here, as much as he doesn't necessarily feel like facing the young scientist again.

"How long will this last?" Erik asks anxiously.

Don't know.

He's abandoned speech. Not a good sign.

Charles's fingers drag themselves over the sheets, and find Erik's where they rest on the bed. They curl around his. There isn't much warmth is the grip that is barely there, but Erik knows it still can't be comfortable for Charles.

"You need to—" Stay cool, he meant to say. As cool as you can, anyway. He meant to finish his sentence that way, and he meant to pull gently away, but Charles's thought interrupts him.

Need you more.

So Erik shifts to the chair by the bed and keeps the light, twisting hold on Charles's fingers, wishing he could hold Charles to this world just as easily.

When it ends there is almost no break before Charles is cold again. Erik barely has him toweled off and into a fresh change of clothes before he's shivering. Hank temporarily removes the IV, and Erik cradles Charles in his arms near the fire at the far end of the room (it's there because it's still winter) while the boys change the sheets and things on the bed. Even bundled in a blanket and shivering, Charles is ridiculously easy to hold.

The only thing that makes it harder is the dead weight of his legs over one arm. Though they really shouldn't weight much, either. Maybe, Erik thinks, it's in his head. It must be. But he can't ask Charles if his mind is playing tricks on him; Charles isn't conscious to give him an answer. At some point he gives up wondering, and he lowers them both to the rug and clutches Charles to him there.

The boys finish making the bed and leave, and Hank is the only one who says anything. He says he'll be back later to put the IV back in.

When they're gone Erik stays where he is, with Charles, by the fire where they played so many games of chess what seems an eternity ago now. He doesn't know when Charles wakes or when, exactly, he stops shivering, but Erik realizes eventually that they're both awake and unmoving and silent, doing nothing more than taking solace in each others' presence. Someone has set a full cup of water on the ground nearby, within reach, and Erik never even noticed.

Charles seems content, but he is all but panting, and Erik takes the cup and holds it to his lips, on and off until he's drained it. He'll need more, but they don't necessarily have to move right now.

Erik doesn't really want to. Here on the carpet they can pretend that they're only sitting here because they want to. That Charles is lying heavy against him because it's been a long day of training and not because he hasn't the strength to do otherwise. Not because he can't feel his legs and he couldn't get up on his own if he wanted to.

Not because Charles is dying.

They stay there a while longer, and Charles seems just as content to let it last.

This moment. We could freeze this one, and I think I could live in it. As long as we wanted to, Charles says finally. Something in it assures Erik that he says it silently only because it is more intimate that way—not because he couldn't speak if he wanted to.

Wait…it isn't perfect yet.

There is an exhale of breath that is something short of a chuckle, and Charles is smiling a little when Erik tilts his chin up and kisses him. Charles frees a hand from the blanket cocoon to let it rest softly against Erik's cheek.

The moment is perfect then.