Charles opened the door expecting to find that Raven had accidentally left her key or Moira decided to drop by for tea unannounced as she sometimes did. He certainly wasn't expecting to see the vaguely familiar face of the soldier who had delivered terrible news nearly half a year ago. It took a few moments for Charles to recall who the man was—likely made harder by the civilian clothes that had taken the place of the uniform—but the memory came back to him with a cruel sort of vengeance and Charles wanted nothing more than to shut the door and pretend he had never answered it at all.

Too many years of having manners drilled into him managed to stop his gut instinct from becoming reality. "I wasn't expecting to see you again," he noted instead of asking what the hell the soldier thought he was doing dredging up painful memories with his presence. Dimly, Charles thought he recalled the man's name being Scott. Though the name had never been spoken aloud in any sort of introduction, just written on a scrap of paper with a number. Scott's last visit had spared very little time for pleasantries like proper greetings.

"I wasn't expecting to come back," Scott replied. "I'm glad you haven't moved. I would have had no idea how to find you." There was a bit of determined resolve in his gaze that Charles couldn't recall seeing last time.

Deciding that he really ought to provide a little more respect and hospitality to a soldier who had gone out of his way once to bring Charles news—unpleasant though it may have been—he opened the door a little wider and gestured for Scott to come in. "Am I to assume there is a reason behind you wanting to find me?" It wasn't as if Charles had any other contact with the military. In fact he had avoided the very thought as often as possible because even the sight of the news reports on the war made his chest ache with the pain of lost opportunities. Any involvement had both started and ended with the life of Erik Lehnsherr.

Scott stepped across the threshold a little warily, as if afraid that he would be unwelcome despite the clear invitation. "I'm here for a reason," he confirmed, catching sight of the couch and making his way over to sit down on it. "And I really don't know how to start, but I suspect you might be better off sitting down."

"I should get you something to drink first. Or food perhaps," Charles protested weakly, well aware that he was just trying to stall. He wasn't sure what good it would do—or really why it was even necessary—but he couldn't quite help the feeling that once again the man was here to destroy some part of Charles. Silence met his almost hopeful attempt at dragging out the time before whatever news he was going to receive hit and Charles sunk down into his favorite armchair with a sigh. "Or I could get you something later and you can tell me why you look so much like you're working your way up to telling me something tragic."

No matter how hard he tried, Charles couldn't make himself meet Scott's eyes. Staring at his own hands as they lay clenched tightly together in his lap seemed a better alternative as he braced for an unknown impact.

"It isn't tragic," came the reply at last. The words didn't seem entirely believable given all the fearful darkness in Charles' mind. "It's just… Honestly I don't know how you're going to react and I haven't entirely decided if coming here was even the right option. I just had to do something."

The man was silent again for so long that Charles' patience nearly snapped. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff with no idea if the next gust of wind was going to knock him off or send him staggering away from the long fall to safety. He was on the verge of demanding an answer when one finally came.

"Erik is alive."

The words hit with an enough force to start Charles' world spinning as his breath caught in his throat. Optimism that had long been beaten back reared its head again even as Charles worked to fully process the words and ensure he hadn't somehow misunderstood. It was only three words. Surely there wasn't much room there for misinterpretation. "That's impossible," he murmured as hope warred with disbelief. "They buried him. I got the invitation to his funeral. From you I suspect, but I didn't check the return address." He had thrown the letter out and refused to even entertain the thought of going. It had been easier to childishly ignore it than it would have been to force himself to participate in that final proof of Erik's death.

Charles registered a movement from Scott that was likely a nod, but it was hard to tell for sure when he still wasn't looking directly at his guest. Even if it was a nod, Charles had little idea what it was in response to. Confirmation that he had sent the invite or merely confirmation that Erik was long buried?

"They never did find his body. The casket they buried was empty, a symbolic gesture more than a proper burial." Scott explained quietly, as if he somehow thought that making the words softer would lessen their ability to turn Charles' world upside down. "He was far from the only one who was given a funeral without a body. He's alive, Charles. He was finally found and they've shipped him home."

That finally brought Charles to look up, gaze snapping to Scott with a heady mix of hope and an unspoken demand for the words to be true. "Where exactly is he?" Charles asked, resolve thick in his voice even as it wavered with emotion. "Last I heard Erik didn't really consider anywhere home anymore. Have they brought him back to the states?"

In his mind he was already making plans for taking a leave of absence from work if he found out that Erik had made his way back to Germany or wound up making a home in some other European country. Making plans was a good distraction from dealing with the sting of saying Erik's name out loud again after so long trying to bury the memories. Making plans was definitely better than the painful question of why Erik hadn't tried to contact him once he was found. Why it was Scott on his couch and not Erik after all this time spent wanting nothing more than to finally meet the man he had grown so attached to.

Scott at least seemed to relax a little once he realized that Charles was somewhat out of his initial shock. There was still some hesitancy though in the way he answered, "He's in a recovery facility about thirty miles West of here actually. You're right that he didn't really have a home anymore—especially given that his apartment and belongings were all donated or sold months ago when he was declared dead—so they just sent him to the first place that had an opening and he wound up in New York. He's here, Charles."

As much as Scott tried to make it sound like nothing but good news, Charles was too smart not to pick up on a few less pleasant details, some of which helped answer a few of the pressing questions Charles hadn't wanted to ask. Erik was in recovery, which left little room for doubt that he hadn't come out of Vietnam unscathed. A few dots connect that Charles rather wished he hadn't thought of as he started to realize how long it had been since Erik went missing and how much time that meant he had spent in captivity. And his homecoming after months of God only knows what was to be sent to a strange place and told that he had nothing left of the life he left behind. It makes moisture prick at the edges of Charles' eyes. Had Erik not suffered enough already? Even before the war the man had seemingly had a tortured life, was it too much to ask that he be allowed some measure of peace now? How many times can one man lose everything without breaking?

But then, he supposed, Scott had in no way implied that Erik was unbroken by his experience.

"Why are you here, Scott?" Charles asked a bit warily. "Not that I'm not grateful to you for letting me know—I really am—but why now? What made you decide that you needed to contact me rather than wait until Erik could see me himself?"

Assuming Erik even wanted to see Charles still. After so long… Charles had a hard time believing that his long-lost soldier could still care all that much for a lonely professor.

Looking somewhat surprised and somewhat chastened that Charles had called him out, Scott replied, "He's been back for almost a three and a half months and he isn't getting better." The initial words came out in a rush but when Scott began to elaborate he noticeably slowed down to think through his words. "I first visited him after he had been back for about a week and I've seen him a few times a week since then but I can count the times he's actually spoken to me on one hand. He seems lost in his own head most the time and the rest the time he's just… He's practically a ghost. The man who came back isn't the Erik that I served with and it scares me. I don't know how to help him and I thought that maybe… Maybe you could bring him back. You were the one who got him out of his shell once and I just have to hope you can do it again. I should have thought of you sooner, but it didn't even cross my mind until I saw him trying to write the other day and something just clicked. I'm here, hopefully, to bring you with me to see Erik. Please. I don't know how else to help him."

Somewhere between Scott admitting that he was scared and him pleading with Charles, it struck the professor how very young Scott was. The first time they had met Charles had never really seen anything beyond the soldier who remained disciplined and calm as he delivered horrifying news. Even this visit he had carried himself mostly with an air of responsibility and maturity that made Charles ignore entirely the actual age of the man in front of him. Scott couldn't be older than twenty. The kid was likely drafted at 18 and forced to grow up far faster than he should have. Now he had somehow wound up in a position where he felt he needed to have all the answers to helping an old commander and no idea how to actually get those answers. He was scared and in over his head and begging for someone else to step in and help him shoulder the burden.

Not that Charles had any real hesitation in the first place, but if he had he would have agreed to Scott's request just for the sake of helping out the clearly desperate kid.

"Of course," he murmured before he had even fully absorbed the impact of Scott's words. To think of Erik being quite so broken as he sounded was more than Charles could bear so he did his best to cling to the optimistic concept that perhaps Scott was more worried than he needed to be. Maybe Erik was actually doing alright and Scott was just exaggerating things because he was young and panicked easily over things that are actually small. Charles remembered being that young and how everything seemed so much more dramatic. Not that twenty was really all that long ago to him, but it felt like a lifetime. "When did you want to go?"

"I usually visit him on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so whichever of those would work better," Scott answered with evident relief in his voice. "Or a different day really if those aren't convenient. I've certainly had a time or two when I visited spur of the moment on another day so I can make that work."

"This Saturday then," Charles concluded with a slight smile. "Just tell me a time and I'll be ready."

That gave him two days to mentally prepare himself for coming face to face with Erik Lehnsherr. Faintly it occurred to Charles that two days probably wasn't even enough time to wrap his head around the fact that Erik was alive.

Hurting and in need of something Charles wasn't sure he could actually provide, but alive.

The days flew by and Charles barely had enough focus to teach his students let alone actually figure out what he was supposed to say to Erik. How does one greet a ghost? It wasn't something anyone had ever informed him would be a skill he might need. Of course the letters Charles had continued to write even after Erik's death technically counted as speaking to the same ghost he had to confront now, but it was different somehow. The words that had so easily spilled onto paper whenever he spoke to the soldier all seemed wrong when he thought of saying them aloud and to Erik's face.

He found himself quite torn as he slid into the passenger seat of Scott's sedan on Saturday. The thought of meeting Erik was undeniably exhilarating, but the nerves stole a good deal of his confidence away and the fear of this all somehow going wrong—or worse yet being some cruel and elaborate hoax—stole the rest. The half hour drive was spent in painful silence that was only occasionally interrupted by Scott trying to engage him in small talk and quickly giving up when the answers he got were so clearly forced.

This may just be the worst mistake of my life, Charles couldn't help think. There was so much potential for pain here in the simple act of meeting one dead soldier.

And no matter how hard he tried, Charles honestly could not convince himself to think of Erik as anything but that. A dead soldier. The man had been grieved and buried and Charles had...Not recovered exactly—he expected that wasn't possible—but he had moved on with his life while dragging along the memory of Erik Lehnsherr knowing he would never have more than the fragments he held on to.

Paper snowflakes and laughter shared across thousands of miles. It was all he had and it would never be enough.

To think that he may have been wrong—that he could have more—was simply impossible, because if he allowed that thought in and Erik rejected him entirely then Charles would break. So Erik was dead and he would remain so until Charles had reason to believe that hope would not turn out to be in vain.

He was pulled from his rambling thoughts by the abrupt lack of the rumble of a car engine. Charles stared somewhat morosely at the cheery looking greeting placard beside the door of an obnoxiously bright building. Well-maintained flower beds and absurdly green grass spread along the grounds and the wide window Scott had parked in front of looked in on a comfortable looking seating area with fresh flowers in the center of each of the scattered tables.

It was almost idyllic enough to distract from the handful of men Charles could see who looked shuttered and miserable inside the facade of a welcoming facility.

The effort it took to get out of the car and follow Scott into the unknown was monumental but Charles somehow managed.

The door chimed when they walked through and the disinterested looking receptionist took one look at Scott before answering the question that she clearly already knew he was going to ask. "He's in his room." Her attention turned back to the book she held in her hand as she absently gestured to what Charles could only assume was a sign-in list.

Scott looked a little upset by her words, but he made no comment as he strode forward to write his name on the guest list with a confidence that showed just how familiar he already was with the process. When he was done he handed the pen to Charles expectantly and by the time the professor had signed himself in as well Scott's frown had yet to fade. In fact it deepened when he turned away from the front desk and headed down a sparsely decorated hallway. Charles trailed after, a little thrown off by the irritated behavior. It hadn't seemed like anything said by the receptionist was overly rude.

"I wish they wouldn't do that," Scott muttered once they were out of earshot of the desk. Charles didn't ask him to elaborate, figuring it was likely better to just let the man tell him in his own time. He seemed like the words were trying to burst out of him anyway. After another few steps Charles was proven right as Scott continued, "He's always in his room lately. They're afraid of him so they practically keep him prisoner. I've told them a dozen times that he would do far better if he was allowed to spend time with other people but most the nurses insist that he would be a danger to others if left alone and they don't have time to supervise him all day. And I get that, because it's understaffed as hell here, but how is he supposed to recover if they just abandon him entirely?" For a moment Scott just glared ahead of him, then he seemed to deflate some as he mumbled an apology for the outburst.

Charles hurriedly assured the younger man that an apology was unnecessary, but his mind was far more occupied with the fresh swell of questions Scott's rant had elicited and the indignant anger he couldn't help feeling for Erik's sake. Most of the questions could be dealt with later so Charles didn't voice them. One question though was perhaps a bit more important to ask. "Is he a danger to others?" Unspoken but rather implied was the desire to know if there was danger to them.

Regardless of the answer Charles still intended to see this through. It would be good to go in knowing the risks though.

Scott seemed to hesitate as he thought of the right words. "He can be," he finally admitted, stopping beside a closed door and making no move to go in. The small plaque in the center of the wood labeled the room beyond as 'E. Lehnsherr.' The sight of that name made something clench a bit painfully around Charles' chest and his vision swam for a moment before Scott pulled him back by expanding on his statement. "Erik is a damn good fighter even at his worst. Add that to the fact that he can't always seem to tell where he is and you wind up with a panicked army commander who sees danger and reacts to it exactly as he is trained to without stopping to think about the situation. He's caused a few injuries here, but as long as you don't push him too hard and you don't startle him Erik isn't going to hurt you. The worst he's done to me is yell."

The nod that Charles gave must have been enough for Scott to feel like he had properly warned the professor because without another word he reached out and opened the door.

"Wait here," Scott told him. "Just long enough for me to give him some warning. I didn't exactly let him know I was going to bring you."

It was a truth which Charles had already largely assumed, but he had to bite back the protest at the knowledge that Scott had gone behind Erik's back on this. It was far from unlikely that Charles would be an unwelcome visitor.

The room Scott entered was depressingly empty. No touches of comfort or personalization to offset the feel of a medical establishment. Charles lingered uncertainly in the doorway as he let his gaze drift over the few pieces of furniture and settle at last on the man Scott was already talking quietly to. He was sitting in a worn-out chair next to the window and all Charles could really see of him was the back of his head and the weary droop of his shoulders. The man hardly seemed to react to Scott's presence or to whatever words were said, but Scott glanced at Charles and gave a slight nod so Charles took a steadying breath and crossed the room while Scott stood up and moved aside.

Each step was harder than the one before and yet he kept going. He turned to properly face the man hidden away in a darkened room and Charles could have sworn that the noise was audible as his heart thudded hard against his ribcage. Perhaps it was audible. Perhaps that was what drew the man's confused gaze up to Charles.

Their eyes connected and Charles' heart gave another stuttered beat and then he dragged in a shallow breath as his eyes widened because it was all true. Erik was alive. The shark grin Charles was so fond of was noticeably absent, but the rest of the man's features were too familiar to belong to anyone but Erik.

Charles took that in and braced himself against the rush of emotions that followed. Elation, hope, relief, and then—the more he noticed of Erik's state—concern. He was pale and far too thin. Flickers of pain seemed to pass across his face when he breathed and more than a few freshly-healed scars were visible where skin was bare.

"Hello, Erik," he said softly, half to break the silence and half to force himself to stop trailing his eyes across the damage while he wondered what further harm lay where no one could see.

"Charles." The name was whispered with something bordering on reverence and enough layered feeling to make Charles' breath stop for fear that any noise he made would take away from the beautiful sound of Erik's voice.

It was just as well that he didn't want to make any noise. He had none to make. For all the times Charles had dreamed of the moment he would finally meet Erik, he found that now that it was here he could think of nothing to say. No brilliant words to bridge the vast distance between them that felt as if it stretched farther now than it ever had when Erik was in Vietnam.

Then again, words were not the only way to bridge distance. A fact that Charles was reminded of when Erik began to move, stretching a shaking hand towards him. Without hesitation Charles moved closer, taking Scott's recently vacated spot kneeling in front of Erik's chair.

Erik's fingers touched Charles' cheek briefly before he jerked his hand back a few inches as if the contact burned. "You're real," he breathed out seemingly to himself. After another moment he closed the distance again, this time trailing his fingers along Charles' jaw with a bit more surety. "You're here."

"I'm here," Charles confirmed with a warm smile that was only slightly weighted down by the situation. He leaned into Erik's touch and reveled in the sensation of calloused fingers against his skin. He could feel them trembling where they touched him and Charles pressed his own hand to the back of Erik's—holding it to his cheek—because he needed the contact between them to be steady and firm. The disbelief that was evident in Erik was certainly in Charles' mind too and nothing would make that better other than being able to feel that Erik was alive and here.

It was far from a perfect situation, but something in Charles still insisted that this was right. That this meeting was destined to happen and the connection between them was as real as the hand underneath his. The world had tipped back onto its axis and Charles could breathe again because the grave wrong that had been committed with Erik's reported death was repaired. Everything was going to be alright.

And then the moment shattered. Something darkened in Erik's eyes and the smile slipped from Charles' lips as Erik tore his hand away and growled, "You don't belong here. Get out."

AN: I was going to write more for this chapter to avoid this lovely cliffhanger, but then I realized the chapter is already super long compared to all my others so I should probably not. I'll update again as soon as I can. Thank you for all the comments and support. I know many of you have been following this story faithfully despite my long absences and I appreciate it greatly. Your comments are what keep drawing me back to this story because you love it so much that I can't bear to leave you unsatisfied.