Xavier assures everyone that Cal is, in fact, gone… a statement that Tessa seconds with little more than a weak nod. "Give us a bit of time," he requests gently from the others. "Won't you?"

Storm leads a still-nervous Steve and a terribly reticent Bucky out of the room, Logan traipsing behind mumbling something about needing a beer.

Tessa stares blankly ahead, her eyes glazed, mouth agape, for a long moment as the buzzing between her ears begins to mitigate. The Professor waits patiently, saying nothing. Two, three – perhaps five or more – minutes pass just this way, until, finally, she turns slowly towards the man in the wheelchair. "What did I do?" she asks him in a voice so small he almost misses the words.

"What you had to do," he replies gently. "For yourself. And for him."

She looks down at her hands, the trembling throughout her arms growing so intense that every muscle siezes until barely a twitch of her fingers can be seen. But she feels it still. Feels the drone of tired nerves desperate to regain the energy spent on… "I destroyed him."

He shakes his head adamantly. "No, Anna. No, you did not." He moves over to the sofa and beckons her to come and sit with a slow quirk of his head.

She stares at him curiously, as though unsure of… well, everything. "But I… I…"

Again, he directs her toward the couch, this time issuing a silent command that she hears only in her mind. Come. Sit.

She does as he requests, crossing the room slowly and lowering herself down onto the very edge of the cushion. "I felt him… blow apart," she says, suddenly steely eyes piercing into him.

"That doesn't mean you destroyed him," he says with utter authority. "Energy can be neither created nor destroyed. You are very powerful, Anna. But you are not more powerful than nature itself." He offers her a calm, conciliatory smile, allowing it to flip to a frown when he sees that she remains unmoved – unconvinced – by his words. He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "He died months ago. You – we – witnessed that. His life force should have been pushed out into the diaspora then. Finding you allowed him to… regather himself. All that you did was scatter him once more. Back out into the universe where his energy can be transmuted into whatever it is now meant to be."

She raises her eyebrows doubtfully and lets out a harsh scoff. "That sounds all nice and good, but the fact remains that he was here and now he's gone." A light sheen of tears rises suddenly, clouding her vision. "I didn't help him leave. I didn't help him at all. I forced him out. I killed him just as much as Lobe did." She falls back into the sofa, bringing her hands up to cover her face as she lets out a long, pained groan. "Fuck," she mutters, harshly shoving her fingers back through her thick hair and sniffling away the tears. "Now there's fucking Lobe again."

The Professor's lips twitch, eager to issue a chide and tell her to watch her language. But, to be fair, his thoughts are much the same. Yet another threat now burns on the horizon, eager to raze all that he's spent decades working to build… a world where all humans could live peaceably together.

He had spent so much of his life trying to help the non-mutant side of humanity. To keep them safe from the vindictive machinations of the Brotherhood. To help protect them from super-powered foes they never even knew existed. To train those who possessed the most awesome gifts so that they might be able to control and contain their powers. To keep the public blissfully unaware of the threats that mutantkind may pose.

Charles Xavier never wanted for any of his students to have to hide who – or what – they were. But he also understood that fear was a very powerful motivator. And keeping the public's fear at bay was the best way to ensure the survival of his people. Erik Lehnsherr, on the other hand, craved that fear. He created Magneto to elicit that fear. To stoke the flames of dread that normal people felt when faced with something inexplicable, something different… something greater.

Where Xavier wanted peace and – ideally – inclusion, Magneto ached to rule over those lesser souls. Where Xavier sought to forgive, Magneto sought to destroy. Where Xavier hoped for a normal life for the students who walked his halls, Magneto intended for each of them to show off their prowess to the world, to aid him in ruling over those not evolutionarily blessed. And for many of the students here, the way of the Brotherhood called louder and clearer than his own path ever could.

Still, he fought for that – perhaps idealized – version of the world… of mankind. For so long, it seemed, the struggle – his struggle – was for humanity. Not against it.

But now?

Now the fear brought out by Magneto – and by Loki and aliens in general, by inhumans and the city-leveling Hulk and the incredible, destructive abilities of the Avengers – it had all led to what Xavier himself most feared. And this Lobe is but a single, perilous facet of the new anti-mutant world in which he finds himself.

"Captain Rogers seems committed to finding him," he says after a long moment of reflection. "And I am glad for that."

Tessa drops her hands from her hair and sits up a bit, giving him a curious look. Not for the first time, she's struck by just how unreadable the Professor is. It's as though – being capable of reading people himself – he knows just how to mask any and every tell to keep those around him, even those closest to him, in the dark about what he's truly thinking. "I know he said that Storm and Logan had been helping," she says, her voice oddly tentative.

He merely nods. "Yes, they had been."

She continues to study his face, all the while working to tug at his energy, eager to find something beneath the soothing vibes he'd been putting out for her to soak up. Her eyes narrow as she strains to feel… more. But there is nothing more. He's just too good at shutting her out. She lets out a frustrated huff and blinks her eyes closed as she pinches the bridge of her nose. The thunderous headache that had been overridden by more insistent feelings for the past hour or so slowly begins to thread its way back up from the base of her skull, collecting in a deep throb just behind her eyes.

"When you were a little girl, you used to get headaches," he comments softly, watching as she grimaces from the steadily building pain. "Alex assumed you were straining too hard when using your powers. If I recall, he even suggested – rather harshly – that we limit your training."

She glances up at him with a confused look. "I don't remember that."

"Well," he says with a small chuckle, "I'm sure he didn't tell you. What a reaction you would have had! Even as a little girl, you were so terribly stubborn."

She leans back into the couch cushions and lets out a long sigh. "I don't think I've changed much," she mutters lightly. "Nothing pisses me off more than someone telling me to take it easy." She gives him a bit of a side-eyed glare. "Well, almost nothing."

Xavier offers a soft smile and nods thoughtfully. "And you still get those headaches," he intones, laughing lightly when he receives nothing more than an angry pout in return. "I never believed that they were the result of you straining to use your powers." She glances at him curiously. "They came on when you fought not to use your powers. When you were asked to pull back in training. Or when you were afraid that you might hurt someone. Or now, when you're uncertain of just what all you're capable of doing."

She sits upright and looks at him seriously, somber gaze boring into him. "I've never seen… colors before," she mentions, voice nearly a whisper.

He nods. "Seeing energy is just the same as feeling as it – you're simply starting to interpret that part of your world using another sense. If it's distracting to you, blocking it out should be no different from blocking the other sensations."

"Well," she starts, single eyebrow rising, "I haven't exactly been doing great at blocking the other stuff lately either."

He frowns at her – "Yes, I noticed." – and reaches out to drop an open palm on her knee. "If I recall, the times you struggled most with blocking out energies were those times when your mind was terribly preoccupied."

Tessa nods, but says nothing. Instead she lets out a sigh, long and loud, as a deep fatigue starts to set in. She leans heavily back into the cushions once again, and a tepid silence falls around them. Then, all at once, her shoulders stiffen, brow furrows as she hauls herself upright. She cocks her head to the side, a sudden realization hitting her. "Why is it so… quiet?" she asks, her eyes bouncing around the room.

"Quiet?"

"I haven't been able to block anything lately. At the compound… I could… I was feeling everything. Everyone. And now…" She reaches out to try and find others in the building. It takes nothing at all to get a glimpse of Bucky and Steve – their signatures being as recognizable as her own. And Storm and Logan have been lingering in her periphery from the moment she arrived, their energy never abating. But there's nothing else. No one else. "Where are the children?" she asks quickly, her eyes widening with trepidation. "Where's Bobby? And Kitty? And… everyone?"

He stares at her for a moment, a cloud passing over his irises. She struggles to gain a glimpse of the colors she saw before, the ones that had danced merrily around his aura. But all she can make out now are thin wisps of gray. "They're gone," he utters plainly, a finality to his voice.

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

"I've sent the children away – back home to their parents. The ones who have willing parents, anyway. The others are… safe."

"Safe?" She jumps up from the couch and looms over him, her eyes wild. "What the hell does that mean? Were they not safe here?"

He gives her an almost bittersweet sort of smile. "I think you know the answer to that." She cocks her head at him, staring long and hard, mere silence falling from her open mouth. "Isn't it your company that's trying to cure them all, Anna?" There's a slight biting quality to his tone, a hint of disgust – or disappointment – she's not sure which.

She swallows thickly and clamps her mouth shut, issuing out through gritted teeth, "But they won't."

He nods. "Perhaps not."

"No," she bites out. "They won't. I won't let them."

He looks up at her, his gaze softening. He doesn't have to read her mind to know what she's saying. "Alright. You won't let them," he repeats dully. "But you cannot stop others." He sees her every muscle tense and twitch, jaw tightening as she fights to keep from arguing a premise even she knows is true. "I can't say that I've seen a time like this before," he says gently before releasing a long, deep sigh. "I've decided to shut down the school. For now at least."

Her face falls. "What?" tumbles from her lips in a sort of shocked gasp.

"We can't remain hidden forever, my dear. Once those files were released by your agent friend, naming this school as a safe haven for enhanced children… well, we've had our fair share of investigators come through here over the past few years."

"Really? Why didn't you tell me?"

He lets out a small laugh. "Why would I?"

She gives him a stunned – hurt – look that takes no more than a second for her to wipe from her face. Replacing it with a well-practiced expression of indifference, she states, no question to her voice, "You're afraid of the registration act."

His countenance doesn't change, though she catches something shift in his eyes. "Those laws are coming. Sooner rather than later. And if we remain open, the state will have access to the names of every student, every teacher, every resident. Registration will only serve to brand each and every one of us as… lesser. A lesser citizen of this state, this nation. A lesser person. I can't do that to these children. I won't tell them that they must hide, but I will give them the chance to decide how to live their lives. Rather than have the state decide for them." He gives her a grave look, punctuated by the deep, stoic frown she'd only seen on a handful of occasions throughout her life. "It's time."

She pulls in a shuddering breath, feels another wave of wrenching fatigue roll over her. "But… where will you go?"

He reaches out and lays a gentle hand on her knee. "I trust that you are safe with the Avengers. With Captain Rogers, and most assuredly with Sergeant Barnes." He gives her a bright, genuine smile. "I am so glad that you found someone who makes you happy."

Without realizing, she repeats the word under her breath as though testing it on her tongue. "Happy."

He cocks his head at her quizzically, but says nothing about the odd utterance. Instead, he tightens his grip on her knee before releasing his hold and giving her a firm pat. "I trust that you will be safe," he says with a small wink. "Trust that we will be too."

He pulls away from the sofa and wheels himself toward the door. "But…" she starts, not a clue where to go.

He turns back to her and sweeps his arm toward the hall, wide – though oddly emotionless – smile on his face. "Come now, dear. You should let your family take you home. You'll need your rest after today."

000

The ride back to the compound is utterly silent, a sad sort of tension thickening the air in the car. Tessa tells Steve and Bucky that Professor Xavier is shutting down the school and going into hiding – But… what? Why? Where are they going? – but she refuses to say a single word beyond that, leaving them to speculate on their own.

Bucky isn't surprised. He'd thought that Storm seemed… cagey. Like she wasn't telling them something. Especially when Steve asked how much involvement they wanted to have – or how much they'd be willing to help – in tracking down Lobe. Neither of them refused to help, of course. But neither seemed particularly excited to either. And the wary looks she shared with Logan as they spoke, expressed far more than their sparse assurances ever could.

As much as he – like Steve – would've appreciated their help in the hunt for Lobe, he's actually relieved to hear that they'll be gone. Truth be told, working with the X-Men would only leave him feeling inadequate. And not just because they have, well, super powers. It's because they have a piece of Tessa that he can never possess himself, and nearly every interaction they have serves to remind him of that.

He turns and catches a glimpse of Tessa's drawn face staring out the car window as they continue their drive – her eyes glassy, lips pressed tightly together in a staunch firm line – and despite his personal relief, he feels a deep fury begin to burn inside of him. How dare they hurt his girl.

He lets her continue to drift in wounded muteness once they arrive back at the compound, saying goodnight to Steve on both of their behalves as he escorts her home. But the moment they enter the apartment, he breaks the silence. "Hey," he says simply, reaching out and lightly grabbing her arm as she begins to stalk off towards the bedroom. She pulls away, bristling at his touch, but turns to face him none the less. "You okay?"

Sincere concern is etched across his face, and it's almost enough for her to tell him the truth, to spill out all that she's feeling, to lay out for him just how not okay she is. But the anger and resentment and… hurt won't let her part her tightly pinched lips, won't allow any words to rise through her closed-off throat. So she shrugs and turns away.

Bucky lets out a soft sigh, taking a step closer. He doesn't take hold of her arm, too afraid she'll pull away again. Instead he reaches out and grazes her skin with the back of his fingers, brushing against her just enough to let her know that he's here.

"Go back to Steve's," she utters quickly, her tone clipped.

He pulls back his hand as though he's been burned. "What?"

She turns then, and levels him with an indignant stare, eyes dark and stern. "You don't get to be here now," she tells him, words simmering with a soft sort of hostility.

"I don't get to be here?" he questions, his own anger beginning to rise in his chest. "What the hell does that mean?"

Her face breaks, deep blush rising to her cheeks as she bites out, "You left me," in a bitter tone that she nearly chokes on. "You left." She swings her hand out toward the door. "So go."

"Baby," he starts, pulling in a deep breath and readying himself to say… something.

But she's not in the mood for baby. She's not willing to accept whatever it is he has to offer, not when it begins with that equally loved and loathed term. "Get out," she issues slowly from behind clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry." His head dips… he can't see her like this. He can't look at her when she's this… everything – angry and hurt and sad and disappointed. He can't look her in the eye knowing that she feels all of that because of him.

"You left me," she repeats, the final word coming out barely a whisper.

He shakes his head – "I didn't leave you." – and chances a glance at her pained face. "I just stayed at Steve's for a few days while things were…" He pulls in a long, deep breath and repeats, "I'm sorry."

But now she's the one shaking her head, ratcheting her neck side to side to give herself some time to think, to try and control the emotion bubbling up within. Angry, frustrated tears are building behind her eyes, in the back of her throat. Her jaw clenches as she works to swallow them down. "You think I don't know?" she finally manages, voice as steady as it's gonna get. "You think I don't know that… all of that… was hard on you?"

"No, I – "

"It was hard on me!" she shouts "I… I…" Her breath starts to come in ragged gasps and without thinking, he reaches for her, tries to pull her into his arms. "No!" she screams, wrenching herself away, wrapping her arms protectively, defensively, around her middle.

He stands, stunned for a long moment before saying the only thing he can think to say. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care," she snarls at him. "You left me."

"Stop saying that," he demands, irritation lacing his words. He takes two large strides back, unconsciously making the effort to give her space. Moving back to ensure that his own anger doesn't cause him to overstep. "I didn't leave you. I just…"

"Go," she says again, tone sharp and strong despite the meek way she curls in on herself.

His brows knit tightly together and he blows a short, annoyed breath out of his nose. "No."

"Get out!" she screams, unfurling her arms from around herself and flinging them almost maniacally.

He takes another step back. Then another. He's almost at the door when he says, a petulant lilt to his voice, "I don't want to."

In one swift motion, she grabs a half-full coffee mug from the breakfast bar and hurls it at his head, fully expecting him to dodge it. But he doesn't. He doesn't budge. There's a dull thwack that sounds when the mug collides with his forehead – a thick crack and shatter as it then falls to the floor and breaks into pieces.

For a long moment, the two just stare wide eyed at each other, each frozen in a different form of shock. Slowly, blood begins to trickle down Bucky's forehead. He breaks the stare by rapidly trying to blink away the thick, red liquid seeping into his eye. He reaches up and gingerly dabs at the inch-long cut above his brow, only just now seeming to realize that… "You hit me."

She continues to stare, gaping mouth ticking a couple times before words finally manage to come out in a dazed near whisper. "I thought you'd move."

"Yeah, well, I didn't. I didn't think you'd throw a damn coffee cup at my head." He palms his forehead, working to pinch his split skin together with the heel of his hand as he steps into the kitchen to grab a towel. "I'm bleeding," he mutters as he pulls his hand away and watches droplets of blood ping off the stainless steel sink.

"You'll heal," she states plainly, slowly pushing past him to grab some ice from the freezer.

"I'll heal?" he asks incredulously.

She steps in front of him and pulls his hand away from his head, takes the towel and wraps it around a thick ice pack before pressing it – not particularly gently – back to the wound. "It's what you do, right?" she snipes, avoiding eye contact when he hisses from the pain. "You heal."

"You hit me," he says again, disbelieving note to his voice. "What the hell…?"

She blows past him without a word, hurrying from the kitchen. He stands utterly still, absolute shock coursing through him.

Part of him wants to laugh. She threw a coffee mug at him! And he just stood there like an idiot and let it hit him. Right in the head. He saw her grab it, saw her fling it, saw the cold, stale coffee splash about as the cup made a beeline for him. He knew it was coming. And yet there was something so ridiculous about the whole thing, so unbelievable, that he almost thought it wasn't really happening. The fraction of a second he needed to realize that it was real was, apparently, just a fraction of a second too long to avoid a mug to the face.

Tessa whips back into the room with the first aid kit and steps in front of him. Again, she pulls the towel away from his forehead to look at the wound. Again, she avoids any sort or eye contact. "You're not even going to apologize?" he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up just the smallest bit.

She picks up some gauze and gently pats at the cut, grabs his empty hand and – without words – directs him to hold the gauze in place. "This might sting," she tells him as she pours something onto another pad and presses it to the wound.

"I should call the police," he states plainly, finally managing to get her to look at him. She gives him a skeptical stare and rolls her eyes. "I should press charges," he says, his steady voice holding more than a hint of amusement.

"Don't be so dramatic." She pulls the gauze away and takes a minute to carefully close the cut, sealing it together with butterfly tape from the kit. She takes the bloody gauze from his right hand and the bloody towel from his left, and she turns away from him, slowly packing up the kit and repackaging the ice into a clean towel. "You deserved it," she mutters under her breath.

He waits to respond until she faces him again, taking hold of her wrist as she raises the ice to his brow. "Maybe," he says, his deep voice pulling her gaze to his. "But you could still say you're sorry."

There's a soft glean to his light blue eyes, an almost jovial sparkle. He thinks this is funny. He hurt her. He hurt her so bad that she hurt him, made him bleed. And he thinks it's funny.

She tugs her wrist from his grip, shoving the ice pack into his metal hand. "I'm sorry," she says, clearing her throat sternly. She spins away, slams the lid down on the kit, and makes a move to go return it to the bathroom.

"Wait," he nearly shouts, grasping at her arm as she moves past. He follows her several steps, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over him as he nears the doorway. "Just… wait." He drops her arm and takes hold of the counter to steady himself. He blinks a few times to dispel the slight woozy feeling and when he meets her eyes again, he sees that they're filled with concern and… guilt. "You're right," he breathes out. "I left." He slowly steps away from the counter, making sure he's steady on his feet before moving closer to her. "But I didn't leave. I shouldn't have left… not like that. I shouldn't have yelled like I did, and… I shouldn't have left you to deal with that all on your own." He waits a moment before saying anything else, takes another reluctant step forward, watching her carefully for any sign of recoil.

She doesn't step away. And when his fingers reach out and lightly brush her hand, she doesn't pull away either. She looks down, her now-bleary eyes trained on his flesh fingers as he slowly wraps them around her hand. "Please don't leave me," she breathes out, the words falling from her lips in a soft, desperate whisper. Her eyes close, lids pinching tightly shut.

"I won't," he tells her, voice deep and sincere.

She swallows thickly, breath shuddering as she issues out, "Everyone leaves."

He shakes his head dolefully, stepping closer still so that they're barely an inch apart. He twines his fingers with hers and leans into her. She can feel his breath on her neck as he says, "Not me. Not ever."

And just like that, something inside of her breaks. Her breath hitches, a torrent of tears beginning to spill from her eyes. She lets out an awful sound – a small whimper that carries for a long moment before turning into a deep, mournful sob. She hears the pathetic cry and – with an oddly disaffected air – internally chides herself for letting it loose. She's angry, not sad. This is no time for tears, no time for weakness.

Bucky pulls away from her just the slightest bit, straightening up to look down at her crumpled countenance. His forehead crinkles in confusion and concern, causing the cut to seep blood anew. But he doesn't pay any heed to the sting above his eyebrow. "Oh, baby," he mutters absently as he brings both hands up to cradle her face. She won't look at him, won't open her already swollen eyes even the slightest bit. "Tessa?" he questions, tone deepening.

She doesn't respond, simply shaking her head instead. No words leave her open mouth, just gasping breaths and heaving sobs, both of which cause her body to begin to tremble and jolt. She pulls out of his grip and turns away, folding in on herself and slowly crumbling to the floor, right there in the middle of their hallway.

He drops to his knees beside her and curls around her, over the top of her, issuing small utterances of, "Shh, shh, baby. It's okay," over and over again. He trails his metal fingers up and down the length of her spine, knowing how that touch so often soothes her. But that's when she's just a bit upset. Or perhaps after a nightmare. He's never seen her like this. Never known her to just collapse into heart-wrenching sobs seemingly out of the blue. Never seen her fall into a state of such despair that she can't even speak. Never experienced her being so far gone that she would actually pull away from him, turn her back on him.

She curls even further into herself, pulling into a tight ball on the floor. She wraps her arms around her legs, tugging her knees to her chest, and does her best to tuck her face away so that he can't see. The tears won't stop. The short, clipped, ragged breaths won't settle. The deep, painful ache in her gut won't abate.

He had left her.

Just like the parents she never even knew had left her. Then her grandfather. Then Alex. Then John. Then Scott. Then Jean.

Cal had left her. So many times… this last one for good.

Anna had left her.

Now all that remained of her family had left her as well.

"I'm right here, baby," he murmurs to her, as though he can hear her thoughts. "I'm here."

But it's not enough. Because others had said it too.

I'd never leave behind my buttercup, her grandfather assured her just before hoisting her into his big red truck. So few memories of him remain, but that one is clear – the warmth of the sun beating down on her dark hair as she ran over to him, begging to go along to wherever it was he was off to.

Annie, Scott comforted, trailing light fingers along her back, just like Bucky's doing now. Annie, he said as he held so close, so tight. I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. You're mine for life, kid.

He's gonna be fine, Steve had told her, as she hovered over Bucky's broken body on a day not that long ago. I promise. He would never leave you.

They all say they'll never leave. So how is it that she always ends up so alone?

Author's Note: I just wanted to take a sec to thank everyone who's reviewed - and maybe beg a bit for more. I really do love to hear what you all think about the story and the characters... what you're dying to see more of, what you hope happens next, or where you think things might be going. So feel free to drop me a line. And as always, thanks for reading!