Author's Note: So, I am super excited about this particular chapter. There are things that this chapter faces and/or mentions that some of you have been asking about.

Also, as I can't respond to one reviewer via PM, I figured I'd put this in here for everyone. Someone pointed out that, in the comics, Charles had a Ph.D in Psychology and an MD in Psychiatry. As I should have mentioned in my very first author's note, I don't know the comics well. And I based this off of the movies, which have him as a geneticist, not a psychologist or psychiatrist. In my mind, those latter two come after he gets back on his feet, a natural growth of his telepathy. At this point in time in my mind, he is simply a geneticist.

All of that said, this chapter has actually grown a bit due to all of your wonderful reviews. And I value all of them, even those that some might view as too critical. They all make me a better author, and I appreciate the time you take in leaving them.

As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter! ~lg

~oOo~

Hank McCoy had never been the best at interpersonal relationships. But he was no fool when it came to Charles Xavier. He had watched Charles slide down into alcoholism and drug addiction, hoping to deaden the pain of loss and the pressure of the voices in his mind. Those years of watching and doing nothing had broken Hank's heart just as surely as Raven's actions and rejection had.

He supposed he'd had that one coming, though. In spite of how much he truly cared for her, he could never accept her in her natural blue form. In Hank's mind, it was as much of an aberration as his feet, something that should never have occurred. But it had, and he had thought he could fit her into his own world view. You're beautiful now. Those three words haunted him for years, and he had never truly asked her forgiveness. How could he? The next time he saw her, she'd played that moment down, trying to seduce him just to get to Cerebro. By that time, Hank had been so caught up in his own self-recriminations that he'd just added the responsibility of Cerebro's destruction to his growing list of failures.

Charles had tried stop him from doing so. Even though the telepath had struggled to put his past behind him, he had seen Hank's guilt and had pulled him aside. Raven made her choices. Charles's words echoed in Hank's mind. She's cut her ties, and she has to bear the consequences of her actions. You are no more guilty of her crimes than I am of Erik's.

The last time Hank had seen her, she'd just saved the president after holding a gun to Bolivar Trask's head. Erik tried to kill her, and then she had, ultimately, averted future disaster. But Hank had been the one to tell Charles to shut her down, the one who finally gave up hope at the very end.

And, yet, she had still offered him an almost-smile before leaving the White House lawn. Hank had no idea where she'd gone, and it didn't matter how many times he asked Charles. The telepath had chosen to leave his sister to her own life, and nothing Hank offered in return would entice him to pry into her mind. Besides, what right did Hank have to try to find Raven and save her when he'd been the one to suggest that Charles incapacitate her?

As a result, Hank had spent months hiding in his lab, knowing that Charles and Anne had fallen in love with one another. He cared dearly for both of them but felt ill equipped to handle their obvious affection and Alex's pain and his own guilt. So, he'd hovered when he felt the need but otherwise let the world pass him by. Being called to the library, having his secret outed because of a crisis and not because Charles had chosen a good time, and then watching Charles stare out the window. . . .It all reminded him of when Moira left. Charles had sat in his study for hours at a time, not doing anything beyond watching the drive and leaving Alex, Hank, and Sean to themselves. Then, he'd picked himself up, put his three students to work, and threw everything he had into building the school.

This was worse, however. Anne's departure, while not entirely unreasonable, had managed to harm Charles in a way that Hank had never seen. When Charles let the drugs and alcohol take hold, he'd simply been broken. This. . . .It nearly destroyed him that Saturday evening when he'd wheeled into the lab and told Hank to order pizza for their supper. It wasn't the pizza or even the request that angered Hank. It was the dimming of the hope that had finally begun to burn brightly in Charles Xavier's eyes.

Hank watched for three days as Charles rose every morning, made tea, ate a small breakfast, and continued his work. He even filled in as Charles's assistant on Monday, telling the class that Anne had taken the holiday off. But Rachel clearly realized what had happened. She marched up to Hank after class and demanded to know when Anne would return.

That, more than anything, made Hank's decision for him. He was responsible for the wreck Charles had become after losing the school, and he lived with that knowledge every single day. Not only did he force himself to keep his serum under lock and key, but he often debated whether or not to even take it. After all, wasn't Charles's dream to provide a safe place for mutants of all abilities and colors? Why did it matter that he looked normal when he spent most of his life in a place that would never glance at him again because he was actually blue? Would it really be so bad if a woman like Anne, someone who seemed to connect to the plight of mutants so deeply, knew of his true form?

The day before Thanksgiving, Hank slipped out of the house early, while Charles still slept. The telepath would have told him to wait, to leave Anne to her thoughts and let her return on her own. That was Charles's way. He gave people opportunities to overcome their fears and guilt on their own, providing a supportive ear to listen when they needed it. Hank, however, was a Beast. His method of coping involved facing a problem head-on, even if that problem was so far beyond him that he barely understood it. But he refused to let Anne wreck her life because she was frightened of Charles. Not after everything she'd endured until now. And he definitely would not allow her to destroy the man that Charles Xavier had finally become. Not if all it took to repair things was revealing his secret and letting her see why Charles had kept his secret for so long.

Alex agreed with Hank when he first broached the idea, and he handed over a cup of hot coffee for the drive. Hank had done some research, tracking Anne northward. He nodded to Alex, who was just as supportive of Hank's idea, and left the mansion barely an hour before Charles rose.

It only took a few hours to find the bed and breakfast. Anne had been clear in her instructions to find her if something changed. Now, Hank took a moment to think through what he would tell her before he walked into the picturesque house. It perched on a hillside overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, a place Anne likely would never have thought to come before Charles and his exorbitant way of paying her.

Inside, Hank smiled at the proprietress and tried to sound as charming as Charles. "Good morning. I'm actually looking for one of your guests. Anne Conrad?"

The lady nodded. "I'll take you up to her room." She gave Hank a speculative glance. "Are you and Miss Conrad involved?"

"No!" Hank readjusted his glasses, wishing he didn't have this weird urge to fidget. The question was out of line, and it irritated him that the woman would be so bold as to ask something so personal. "She and I consulted on a patient recently and became good friends. I'm here to invite her to share Thanksgiving with my family." Well, it's the truth!

The proprietress accepted that with an obviously relieved smile. "That's wonderful!" She leaned toward Hank as they reached the top of the stairs. "And I'm glad. We would have been happy to have Miss Conrad join us, but the young woman seems so sad."

So does the man who loves her. Hank simply nodded at that, not certain what he should say. Instead, he thanked the owner of the house and knocked on Anne's door.

Her reaction was unexpected. Panic covered her face, and she grabbed his arm, dragging him inside. "What happened? Is Charles. . . .Did he. . . ?"

Hank suddenly realized how she'd taken his appearance. "Charles is fine. Nothing happened."

Anne let out a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. "You. . . I thought. . . ." She didn't have to say it even if both of them had worried about how Charles would react to her departure.

Hank shrugged. "I'm here because I wanted to talk with you. Not because Charles asked me. And, before you go there, Alex is fine. He's agreed to let Charles help him find a psychologist."

"Good." Anne motioned toward a love seat, a pale pink affair that fit into the little-girl look of the bedroom. She perched on the end of the bed. "What is it?"

Hank sat down and stared at his hands. He had thought of nothing else for hours, tying his stomach into knots and nearly making himself turn around. But he believed this would be the best thing he could do. After all, Charles needed Anne around as much as any of them, and having a normal human in the house that openly accepted and approved of mutants would do wonders for students' mindsets.

Anne truly was the epitome of "normal." No matter how unique Charles thought her, Hank had to take that opinion with a grain of salt. Charles was head-over-heels, and everything Anne said or did fascinated him. It had from the very beginning, Hank realized, and he'd watched with amusement while Anne dragged Charles away from the edge of the pit that threatened to overwhelm him yet again. For that reason alone, Hank and Alex accepted her and came to love her as a sister. But neither of them had been as trusting as Charles, who had wanted to tell her everything. The younger two men had discussed this at length, and both agreed, however. Whatever Anne's reaction to them, it was nothing compared to seeing Charles settled and able to move forward with his promise to Logan and other mutants around the world.

Besides, Anne had somehow managed to do the one thing everyone thought impossible. She had so enchanted Charles Xavier that the telepath would rather carry on without happiness than think of betraying her. And he absolutely refused to remove the knowledge of their existence from her mind, a courtesy he hadn't even given Moira.

Still, how would she feel when she knew the truth? Would she scream? Tell him to leave? Or worse?

Finally, Hank looked at her. "I want to show you something," he said softly, "but I need your promise that you won't do anything foolish." I even sound like Charles now! "What I mean is. . . ."

"You're a mutant." Anne's interruption was paired with a surprised tone. "Like Charles."

"Yes. And no." Hank shrugged, his hands trembling as he fidgeted with his sleeves, his glasses, and anything else his fingers touched. "Most mutants are like Charles. You probably wouldn't even know they had powers until you saw them used. But not all of us are so blessed."

Anne stared at him, a frown on her face in spite of the openness he sensed from her. She had accepted that he was a mutant rather easily, probably the result of several days to herself. "You are normal," she said. "So much so that, when you picked up Alex, it surprised me."

Hank met her eyes. "No, I'm not." He took a deep breath and braced his elbows on his knees. "I take a serum that lets me regulate my appearance. The same kind of serum that, for a time, cured Charles's spine and muted his telepathy. But I take just enough to stay balanced, to where I can go out in public without causing mass panic."

Anne's expression changed as she listened. She cycled through concern, understanding, and confusion. Then, with a deep breath, she visibly shored up her defenses and nodded. "Show me."

Hank blinked at that. He had come here to show Anne what he was, to explain that Charles kept his mutation a secret for reasons other than trusting her, and to convince her to return. He had never expected her to order him in much the same tone that Charles used whenever he needed something revealed. "You're sure?"

She nodded again.

Hank took another deep breath. This was it. This was the moment he learned whether Anne could ever be a part of their lives. If she reacted poorly, he would leave and never even mention that he'd been to see her. Granted, Charles would know, but Hank had resolved that he wouldn't talk about what happened if this went badly. But, if it went well. . . .

Letting out his breath, Hank released control of his mutation, letting the beastly senses and appearance take over. He pulled his glasses from his face, knowing he wouldn't need them. His vision sharpened, his sense of smell picked up on the lavender sachet tucked under a pillow, and he tasted snow on the air. Fur grew all over his body, filling out the baggy clothing he wore for just such an event. And he heard himself growl slightly as he worked to take in all of these sensations and still keep control.

Anne stared with her mouth hanging open. For a moment, she seemed frozen in place while Hank shrugged at her. Watching him transform into a blue furry creature couldn't have been the prettiest thing to see.

Then, she reached out, her hand bound for his arm before she realized what she was doing. A blush covered her features, and she shook her head. "Sorry." She sat on her hands. "I don't know what I was. . . .Hank?"

He met her eyes, watching the way she studied him. He saw curiosity more than revulsion and, in spite of a spark of fear, a sincere desire to truly understand him. "This is why Charles waited so long to tell you about his mutation." His words impacted her, bringing tears to her eyes even as she tried to keep control of her emotions. "It wasn't because he didn't trust you. He promised to keep us—all of us—safe. And he promised that he would never reveal my secret to anyone. Not telling you about his mutation was less an act of mistrust and more an act of upholding trust."

Anne glanced away, her eyes still suspiciously wet. For a long moment, she stared out the window, where a light snow obscured the view of the beach. Hank tried not to squirm, but he refused to allow her to think Charles's actions were motivated by something as petty as self-preservation. When it came to Charles Xavier and those he called family, self-preservation went out the window.

Finally, she sighed. "I feel like an idiot."

Hank chuckled at that, the low growl in his tone drawing a sudden glance from Anne. "It means you're human," he said. "And, for what it's worth, Charles will understand. He's made his mistakes as well."

Anne frowned at him, her mind whirling off on another topic as quickly as before. "So, Alex is. . . .What is his gift?"

Hank couldn't stop the smile. She hadn't used "ability" or "power" or "mutation." "Alex can fire laser blasts from his body. Years ago, he had no idea how to control it, but he can regulate it now with a bit of concentration."

Anne's eyebrows rose. "So, the other day when he had his flashback. . . ."

Hank nodded. "He nearly took out a wall of the house."

"And Charles reads minds." Anne smiled at him, but it was strained. "Does he know you're here?"

"Probably." Hank hesitated and then shrugged. "At least, he probably knows I was thinking about finding you. But he was still asleep when I left this morning."

Anne glanced out the window, her eyes not really focused on the snow that had begun to fall in light flakes that obscured everything. "Hank, I know why you're telling me this. You want to make me understand. But. . . ." She sighed. "He's been reading my mind for months, and I never knew it."

"He can't read your mind." Hank watched as she tried to figure out how that was possible.

"But I thought. . . ." She frowned. "His abilities allow him to read. . . ."

"Most minds." Hank's interruption wasn't all that surprising. He pointed, indicating the necklace that still hung around her neck. "I had that made out of a metal that, depending on how it's charged, will either shield from or enhance his abilities. There's a small chip in that necklace that creates a sort of bubble around your mind. Charles mentioned a few weaknesses, but he never fully explained them."

Anne reached up and touched the necklace, her mind trying to figure out how this related. It didn't take long. "He did this so he didn't influence me. The way he did to Alex."

"Yes."

She frowned, and then her expression fractured. "The night that he got drunk and I had no idea how he managed to get the alcohol home. . . .That's what happened?"

Hank hated this part. Anne had figured out almost everything, and she would likely root out all of their secrets if she continued. But seeing the hurt that covered her features, the way tears filled her eyes, did something to him. He suddenly wanted to find Charles and remind him of that moment, but he knew it would do no good. Charles had steadfastly held on to his sobriety in the days that Anne had been gone, and he had not once indicated that he would let go of his dreams. If anything, he'd thrown himself into them even more. "He made a mistake, Anne."

"I know, but. . . ." Her hands shook as she folded them into her lap. "Why are you here? Sort of a 'For your information' kind of thing?"

Hank closed his eyes, bringing the Beast back under control and somehow regretting the loss of the sharpened senses. "I didn't come here to tell you all of this just so you know. Alex and I want you to understand what kind of man you left behind. And, while I may not be the best with personal relationships, even I see the changes you brought to Charles."

"You want me to go back."

"Yes." Hank stood then, awkwardly motioning over his shoulder. "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving." He shrugged. "Family should be together." He grinned as he thought of another tidbit of information he hadn't given her. "And Rachel is cooking."

Anne blinked. "Rachel's cooking?" Her question was less about Rachel's ability to cook and more about the woman.

Hank grinned. "After you left, Alex talked to her. She's been a big help, letting him bleed off the tension while not panicking. You taught her well."

Anne didn't say anything else. She looked as if she didn't quite know what to say to that. Instead, Hank took that as his cue to leave and slipped out the door. He hoped he'd managed to get through to her because he hated the idea of learning what losing Anne would do to Charles. Granted, Charles now had Alex and Jamie depending on him, but it had only been a few days. Even though he went about his business, his heart just wasn't in his work.

Hank truly feared for what would happen if Charles once again lost too much.

~oOo~

Anne couldn't move. She heard Hank leave her room, recognized when the door closed, and knew that he'd left the decision in her hands. She wanted to immediately rush out the door, hire a car, and go back to Charles's home. To rush into his arms and declare that everything was okay and that she would never leave again.

But she couldn't know that. Not with what Hank had showed her. The knowledge that Charles had this ability to read her mind concerned her, and that he had managed to easily manipulate Alex terrified her. However, as the shock of Hank's revelation wore off, she found herself descending into another emotion: betrayal.

Reaching up, she unclasped the necklace and tossed it onto the bed. Charles had given it to her, and she had proudly worn it as a way to remind him of his promise. She had used the necklace to keep him in line as much as he had used it to get back in her good graces. Anne could accept that. But the deeper motive behind the necklace—so he couldn't manipulate her mind—left her wanting to scream and cry and pull out her hair. How could she trust him again? How could she allow him into her life when he could make her do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted? What sort of relationship would that be?

Pacing over to the door, Anne reached for a shawl and slipped onto the balcony. The wind cut through the shawl, and she pulled it closer as she ignored the snow that fell around her. Rather than crying, she tried to think of Charles, of his fears, of what he might have felt after realizing that he'd used her to get what he wanted. The man she'd known—the man she'd seen in recent weeks—was a good man, an honest man, and someone who would happily give up his own happiness for others. It didn't track with the same man who had cavalierly entered her mind to remove memories of the alcohol.

An image of her would-be seducer at the coffee shop flashed through her mind, particularly his shout of indignation. And she understood. Charles had somehow changed his perception of coffee. But that had finalized a downward spiral. If he could do that with just a few moments, what else could he do?

What would he do? Anne blinked at the horizon, her angry thoughts trailing off at the thought. She had often taken the necklace off to bathe, and someone as powerful as Charles had to have known that. But he had not interfered in her life, nor had he tried to keep her from leaving. No matter how this device worked, it still had its flaws. And, had Charles wanted to keep her close or erase her memories or anything else, he could have exploited them. But he had let her go, something that Anne knew he would find an agonizing decision given how many times he'd been abandoned in the past.

She felt like such a fool. When she'd left Charles and the only true home she'd ever known, she had recognized that it would break her heart. And she had never truly anticipated returning. Not when Charles could not trust her with the biggest portion of his life. She had not, however, foreseen that Hank—awkward, socially inept Hank McCoy—would seek her out and tear all of her assumptions to shreds. But, with one quick revelation, he showed her how shallow she'd been.

When had she begun to believe that Charles didn't trust her? He gave her free access to his home, even allowed her to leave without stopping her, and completely welcomed her. Everything she had become was due to one man's generosity. It didn't matter to her that he could still lapse back into alcoholism with only one taste. Charles had begun to rebuild his life, and he had done so with help from a woman as broken as he had been.

Her tears began to fall as she faced the final bit of her insecurities. Anne tried to breathe, but the pressure of what she had done weighed her down as she let go of all of her ideas. She had left because, on some level, she doubted Charles and his actions. While he had shown her unconditional acceptance and genuine love. And, in the spirit of that love, he had let her go.

The next morning, Anne found she had nothing left to hide. She had the sensation of an errant child crawling back to her parents and asking them for forgiveness. But, after a night full of self-recriminations and self-examination, she just wanted to go home. Not back to New York or to a mundane existence as a woman alone in a world dominated by men. She wanted to return to a place where she was valued, a place she loved, and a man who saw her for who she was and what she had done and didn't care in the least.

As she dressed, Anne took a moment to consider her wardrobe. She was going home, yes. But she also wanted Charles to understand that she was returning to him. So, with trembling hands, she pulled on the red dress he'd loved so much and then fastened the necklace around her neck. If it really did keep him from her mind, she could use that surprise to gauge his reaction to her return.

The drive back to Westchester and the mansion on Graymalkin Drive passed too slowly. Anne spent most of it working up the courage to face Charles, to ask for his forgiveness, and to show him how wrong she'd been. But she had no idea what to say, and acting as if nothing had happened would have been the biggest mistake of her life. She had clearly hurt him deeply if Hank had come to see her, and she refused to pretend as if nothing had happened.

Once there, she sat outside the gate. If she was wrong about this necklace, Charles already knew she had arrived. And he probably knew why she had arrived. However, every time they talked in recent weeks, he had never tried to figure out what she wanted to say or how to fix it. He simply listened. Then, if the situation was right, he either held her, kissed her, or just let her think. The memory put a smile on her face, and she found she could not wait to see him again.

That pushed her to continue driving through the gate. Someone, probably at Charles's request, had left it open in welcome. With snow on the ground, the sky threatening more, and the dimness of the day, the house fairly glowed. The bottom floor poured light through the windows, and Anne smiled when she spotted the music room. The piano was open, the chandeliers glittering, and smoke came from several chimneys. Someone walked past a window, stopping a moment later to watch her climb out of her rental car. Then, with a huge grin, Hank rushed to open the front door.

He met her with a hug. "I'm glad you're back."

"Thank you." She quickly shed her coat, hanging it on the coat rack near the door. It looked so natural there, like it belonged in the midst of more masculine apparel and the lap blanket that Charles used to keep his legs and feet from freezing without his knowledge. She glanced at Hank. "Where is he?"

"His study." Hank grinned slightly. "Jamie's here, so be warned."

"And Alex and Rachel?"

Hank flushed. "They say they're cooking dinner, but. . . ."

Anne didn't need to be a telepath to know what Alex and Rachel were doing. Hank's expression said it all.

Rather than letting herself become focused on that, she touched the necklace at her throat as she headed for the study and its closed door. This was it: the moment she decided whether or not she fully trusted the man she claimed to love. If she didn't, she might as well get back in that car and drive away. If she did, however, she had one last thing left to give him.

She reached up and unlatched the necklace, letting it fall into her hand.

The door opened before she had a chance to knock. Jamie grinned at her. "We're done. I'll be in the kitchen with the others."

Anne barely had a moment to say anything before he darted toward the dining room. Then, she turned to stare at the study.

Charles had just finished transferring back to his wheelchair, shaking his hair from his eyes as he looked at her. His face was a mask of shock, apprehension, and so much love that Anne could barely take it. She met his eyes, shrugging. "I'm sorry."

Charles blinked at her, his own tears close to the surface. "Hank told me he'd gone to see you." He tried to smile. "Welcome back."

Anne could barely force the words from her throat. It had closed around what she wanted to say, leaving her voice choked. "I'd hoped to be welcomed home."

Charles laughed, a sudden, relieved chuckle that had nothing to do with amusement. At the sound, Anne walked straight to the couch and sat on the edge, reaching out to take his hands. "Charles, I am so very sorry. I was a fool, and. . . ."

He reached out and put a finger on her lips. "You're human, and we all make mistakes." He smiled, this expression reaching his eyes even though they still sparkled with unshed tears. "Welcome home."

Not certain what else to say or do, Anne did what she'd dreamed of doing all through the night. She leaned forward until Charles met her in a soft kiss. Neither of them wanted to push the other, and she hated the strange hesitation between them. She had come back to stay, not to leave again when she got scared. And, in a strange way, being here had just confirmed how much of a fool she had been.

Charles pulled back a moment later. "No more thinking of that." He tucked her hair behind her ear, his thumb tracing its way across her cheek in a move that was tender and so electric she could barely stand it. "You're home. And I, for one, am very happy you're here."

Anne let out a deep breath. "When Hank showed me why you never told me what you are, I realized I made the biggest mistake of my life."

"But you came back." He sat back long enough to meet her eyes. "Anne, all of us make mistakes. And all of us need a little help. It is what we do with that help that defines us. For both you and I, we had to learn to hope again, and it took our friendship to bring us to that place. In the process, we found something worth so much more."

She nodded briefly. "About that, Charles." She glanced away and then faced him. "Will you ever tell me what happened to you? Why you lost hope in the first place?"

A smile played around his lips, one that was relieved and happy and tearful all at once. He seemed to debate what he would say, and then he sighed. "I could tell you." He paused. "Or I can show you."

Anne realized what he had asked her. This wasn't about whether or not he could read her mind. He had just asked her permission to enter her mind and show her the worst possible moment of his life. The moment of true trust had arrived, and Anne wanted to weep. This one secret had always eluded her, and she recognized that he had placed his trust in her to tell her the stories of other people, others who had no say in what she would or would not do with that information. Just as much as she needed to trust him to only show her what had happened, he trusted her with the truth.

She nodded. "I trust you."

~TBC