Charles found sleep oddly elusive that night. He felt Erik drift off almost the instant he left the room, and the other minds around the house were mostly silent. Downstairs in his lab, Hank was working on his latest project, a device that would project a hologram around the wearer, allowing them to temporally change their outward appearance. It was slow in coming, and Charles suspected it may be years before it worked, but when it did, it would make a huge difference. Not just to Hank himself, but to any other mutants they may encounter who looked anything other than normal.
Charles dreamed of a world where they would be accepted for who they were, where such an invention wouldn't be needed, but in reality he knew they were a long way from that, and he had witnessed the difficulty Hank had had since his transformation. For the most part, he stayed in the house and grounds, never venturing into town unless it was with Charles, who could alter perceptions for him.
For all the pain and difficulty Charles had been forced to endure over the past year, he couldn't help but think things were worse for Hank. Though ignorant people may stare at him in public – and that had been difficult to get used to – at least they didn't point and whisper, or run away. Much.
He shut out the flow of technical thoughts from Hank's mind, and tried to sleep. It was impossible. No matter how he lay, he found himself constantly noticing things. Like the brushing of the bedsheets against the bare skin of his feet when he moved – moved – his legs.
It's temporary, he reminded himself. Don't get used to it. But he knew that it wouldn't last, that tomorrow it would be over, and that was the reason that all he wanted to do was get up and run. And possibly keep running until he found somewhere where the others couldn't find him. Where he could live the rest of his life like this. Whole. Free.
It was an idle fantasy, of course, not something that he would ever truly consider. But as the clock ticked down the minutes until morning, when what Erik had done would be corrected, he found that his mind wandered to places it would never ordinarily go.
Finally, at some time in the early hours of the morning, he drifted off to sleep.
Erik woke early. Wakefulness crept up on him slowly, nipping first gently at the edges of his mind, before penetrating deeper, a little at a time.
He opened his eyes to see his old room at Charles' house, and for a moment, he felt as though he had never left. That moment was followed by a brief stab of confusion as he remembered how long it had been since he had called this room home, before the memories of the previous day settled back into his mind.
He was laying on his back, in the same position he had been when he had fallen asleep, almost at the instant that his head had hit the pillow. It wasn't surprising, it would be almost impossible for him to move around much in bed, considering how much forethought and planning had to go into any movement at all.
His back and arms felt slightly sore from unfamiliar use. The lower half of his body was, of course, completely without feeling. He touched one of his legs with his hand, just checking. He ran his fingers up the side of the leg and to his torso. Sensation reappeared just above his hips, and from there upward was completely normal. Below, there was nothing. Someone could stab him with a knife and he wouldn't feel it.
It was indescribably strange. He would never get used to it, he was certain of that.
Outside, the sun was starting to rise and the dawn chorus was in full swing. Erik positioned his arms on the bed to either side of him, and pushed himself into a sitting position. The wheelchair was still next to the bed where he had left it. The maneuver from chair to bed had been difficult, but getting back again looked less daunting. If not, he had the metal in his clothing to help him.
With hindsight, although that had been a good idea, he really needed some other method. Perhaps in addition to a source of metal in a room to provide leverage, some kind of magnetic framework, something that could be strapped directly onto his body, so that he wasn't being dragged around by his clothing. Like leg braces, for example. With something like that, and the right amount of concentration, he might even be able to look as though he was walking.
"If you're using half your concentration to look normal, then you're only half paying attention to whatever else you're doing."
His own words drifted unbidden into his mind. It had been easy to say at the time, and he still believed it, but just as Mystique needed to disguise herself sometimes, there would be times when he needed to appear... normal was the wrong word here, there was nothing abnormal about using a wheelchair, but the concept still applied. Sometimes, he would need to appear as though he could walk unaided.
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. That was a problem for another time. For now, he needed to occupy himself with the slightly more pressing conundrum of how to get out of bed. The alternative was to lay there and wait until someone appeared to help him, and that was no alternative.
Despite the late night, Charles woke before his alarm. As had become his habit – a bad one, he supposed, but one that did no harm – the first thing that he did was to reach out with his mind, making brief contact with the other minds surrounding him, seeing who was awake, who was in, who was still sleeping.
In the rooms that now housed the younger students, two or three to a room to give them some company, he felt nothing but relaxed minds, still deep in sleep. That was okay, it was Sunday, they were entitled to a lay in. He could hardly chastise them for not being up and working on their homework or chores while he was still in bed sleeping off the effects of a late night drinking with a friend.
He smelled the welcoming, morning scent of coffee in the air, though he suspected that it hadn't reached his bedroom, at the other side of the house to the kitchen, but rather he was perceiving it thanks to Hank, who was currently in the kitchen making a pot. The boy, Daniel, was also in the kitchen, sipping a glass of orange juice while he answered the curious questions about his life and his power coming from Hank and Alex. Sean was still sleeping, enjoying a dream that Charles escaped from instantly. Too private to share.
Erik was awake already, somewhere in the house. He pulled back from his friend's mind instantly before he could learn more. Glad to find the horrible metal helmet still absent, and determined to keep the promise that had convinced him to remove it.
Satisfied that no major catastrophes had occurred during the night, Charles retreated into his own mind, and pushed back his bed covers.
It had been the little things that he missed the most, since his injury. Things he hadn't even thought of before. Yes, it was wonderful to be able to run, and jump, climb the stairs and not have to worry when he was going somewhere new that he might not be able to get himself inside, but the things that had fascinated him during this temporary reprieve were things like reaching the top shelf, the feeling of the ground under his feet, standing under the water when he took a shower. Life was made up almost entirely of little things, and they were the things that really mattered.
Charles sighed. Another run, he decided. A good, long run, and then a hot shower and a good breakfast. The boy seemed fine now, fully recovered as far as he could tell, which meant that today they would put things right.
This would be his last run.
He paused half-way out of bed, as the thought hit him hard. He brushed it aside. This was a reprieve, a gift. A chance to do the impossible. Rather than dwelling on what he was about to lose, he needed to focus on the now, enjoy it while it lasted and allow the knowledge that it would soon be over to enhance the experience rather than detract from it.
He got out of bed and quickly dressed in his track suit and sneakers. Sneakers, an appropriate name for his footwear, considering. He reached out with his mind and determined the location of everyone in the house, waiting until the way to the door was clear. The action made no sense, not even in his own mind. It wasn't as though he was doing anything wrong, he had no reason to be ashamed. He slunk out of his room and down the stairs, treading carefully, remembering still which steps creaked. If this was to be his final run, he wanted it to be private. Uninterrupted. Perfect.
He closed the back door behind him and instantly set off at a jog, putting distance between himself and the mansion. He would be back. Of course he would. Idle nighttime fantasy aside, he had a duty to the students, to his friends and to Erik – especially to Erik, to return and set things right. But for now, he allowed the world around him, his worries, his conscious and subconscious thoughts to fall away.
Nothing existed but himself, and the ground beneath his feet.
