Author's Note: I sincerely apologize for the length of time between now and my last update. My computer decided that it needed to corrupt the operating system. Thankfully, we have a computer guru in the family, so he fixed it. But it left me without a usable computer for several days.

All that said, I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story. A quick review response since I can't PM this individual: To CarpeDiem—I was not offended in the least by your comments. I hope my last note didn't come across that way. If it did, I apologize. I appreciate that anyone fills me in on trivia that I didn't/don't know. I simply wanted to outline why I hadn't pursued that side of Charles Xavier yet.

Also, to the guest that responded about knitting: I cannot recommend it enough. Knitting is actually quite therapeutic. As Anne said in an earlier chapter, it does have practical applications in the areas of depression and pain management. My sister who has fibromyalgia knits and spins yarn (something I'm doing as well), and she said it actually helps her with her pain and depression from the pain. Something about the repetitive motion helps the brain stay active (which is why it's also helpful for Alzheimer's and dementia patients) as well as allowing someone stressed or depressed to focus on a productive thing they can do to calm themselves. I highly recommend anyone who is stressed or just feels rushed to find some yarn, google "learning to knit," use the YouTube videos, and make time to relax. It's worked for me, and I believe it'll be something that can enrich a life if you're interested in it!

As always, I hope you enjoy! Oh, and, be prepared for fluff! ~lg

~oOo~

Alex glanced up as Hank and Jamie walked into the kitchen, grins in place. The two younger men gave a comical glance to the room, and Alex caught Rachel's eye as they did so. She blushed slightly, a new development since his little meltdown.

Maybe not so little, he thought. He had spent a full forty-eight hours in his room after the incident, going over everything in his mind. In those two days, he'd said goodbye to Anne, had seen how Hank worried over both him and Charles, and had realized just how much he cared for Rachel. When he'd started this relationship with her, he'd never seen himself caring so much. But, Rachel had become his lifeline, much like Anne had done for Charles. Somehow, Rachel grounded him in the present, never mentioning the bruises he'd left in the midst of his flashback, and had shown that she was willing to stand by him. Would they go the distance? He couldn't tell. But he suddenly understood why Charles insisted on telling Anne about his abilities.

But Anne had left. Alex had watched her walk out of his room, his heart breaking. He knew in his head that she wasn't afraid of him or his abilities, but his heart told him that she left because of his abilities. Or was it Charles's abilities? That man could control any person he wanted, and Alex suspected that Anne had discovered just how underhanded his gift of the necklace had been.

Would Rachel respond the same way? Would she fear him? Or maybe despise him? The questions kept him from opening up to her about his mutation, but he did his best to warn her when he felt too close to another breakdown.

Now, however, he narrowed his eyes at Hank and Jamie. The two were a little too gleeful.

Rachel glanced up from the bread that had just finished rising and frowned. "What's going on?"

Hank exchanged another grin with Jamie. "Anne's back."

"What!" Rachel tossed the dish towel toward the sink and headed for the door, excitement evident on her face.

Hank caught her arm, gently stopping her with an uncharacteristically bold move. He dropped his hand as quickly as his actions registered with Rachel, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. It's just that. . .She's with Charles right now."

Understanding dawned, and Rachel nodded. "I'll set another place at the table."

And Alex checked the turkey.

For a time, the four young adults worked in silence, all of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. Alex stirred potatoes for Rachel, checked on the turkey multiple times, smothered candied yams with marshmallows, and openly flirted with his girlfriend just to see Hank blush and Jamie smirk. But his thoughts were more serious than anyone suspected.

Anne had returned. She had obviously overcome her fear of Charles and his abilities. And Alex suspected she had returned to stay.

What did that mean for him and Rachel? He found himself watching her as she mashed the potatoes and tried not to stare too much. She was in Charles's "Introduction to Genetics" class, and she planned to take the follow-up class next semester. She and Anne were decent friends, and she insisted on being a part of Alex's life. Could she handle knowing about his abilities? Knowing about Hank and Jamie and Charles? Those three men meant as much to Alex as anyone, and protecting them—even if they didn't need that protection—had become a calling in his life. He already had ideas for how to improve security around the mansion, and he'd begun to consider taking a martial arts course at a local dojo. Or maybe major in education rather than in geology? After all, if Charles got his school off the ground, the students would need a physical education teacher.

Where did Rachel fit into all of that?

Arms slipped around his waist, and Rachel propped her chin on his shoulder. "What's got you so quiet?"

Alex glanced around and saw that Hank and Jamie had cleared out, obviously taking platters of food to the table. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"The future." Alex loosened her grip slightly and turned to face her. "Thinking about you and this school and Charles's class and what it all means."

"Those are some heavy thoughts." Rachel draped her arms over his shoulders. "Figured any of it out?"

"No." Alex pulled her closer, enjoying how she came willingly. But he couldn't let his thoughts go that easily. "Rachel, I've got a lot of things to work through. And not all of them are pretty." And I can't just go to a psychologist and say, "I'm a mutant and I watched my best friend die because he was a mutant." The thought was almost comical in its brutality. No psychologist in the area was trustworthy enough to handle what Alex had been through or what he now faced. Not with his mutation and the things that he'd seen in his life.

Rachel frowned at him. "Alex, I'm not here because things are pretty. I'm here because I care a great deal. About you, about Charles and Anne and your life. Believe me when I say I didn't have it this good. You've got friends who are willing to help you, and I'd love to do the same if you'd let me."

Alex nodded, his gaze drawn to the door leading to the dining room. Hank and Jamie had obviously chosen to leave them alone for a time. "Some of the things I need to work through. . . ." He sighed. "A regular psychologist can't help me. I know things that. . . ."

She put her fingers over his lips. "When you're ready, I'll be here. If you're never ready, I'll try to accept that." She shrugged. "But, Alex, realize that you're not alone."

"I know." He stared at her for another few moments before leaning down to kiss her. She returned it, completely distracting him from his thoughts. Just when things would have turned more than inappropriate, the timer on the oven dinged, reminding them of the day and that the house had more than just the two of them in it.

Alex grinned as he left Rachel a little stunned. She usually had that affect on him, and he enjoyed seeing that he could return the favor. "You know, I was thinking," he said as he reached for oven mitts. As he opened the oven to remove the turkey, he glanced at her. "There's a few houses on this property. If Anne's back for good, as Hank says she is, might be a good idea to move into one of those."

Rachel blinked at him. "Have your own place?"

"I'm thinking about it." He set the roaster pan with the turkey on the stove while she found the carving platter. "I'd have to talk to Charles, and I have no idea how they've been maintained through the years. But they're pretty large and close enough that I could be here if he needs anything."

Rachel waited while he carefully transferred the turkey from the roaster pan to the platter for Charles to carve. "I wouldn't mind you having your own place." Her meaning was obvious, but she sobered a moment later. "Really, Alex, I think it's a good idea. It's time to move on in life."

He nodded but didn't reply as Hank and Jamie again returned to the kitchen. Instead of worrying about his conversation with Rachel, which would likely continue in the coming days, he grinned. "Hank, take this to the table," he said as he handed the platter with the turkey to the Beast. "I'll let Charles and Anne know that food is ready."

He left everyone else moving toward the table and headed for the study. He doubted that Charles and Anne had gone very far, based on what he'd seen of the pair before she left. Besides, Charles would know he was coming, and he prepared himself. While it amused him that Hank became so uncomfortable seeing Alex and Rachel together, he had to say he understood. Seeing Charles and Anne was like watching two lovesick teenagers. The only difference was the light of hope and joy in Charles's eyes. It reminded him of when he'd first met the telepath, of when life was good and Charles had hoped for so much.

Alex sighed as he heard soft voices coming from the study. Maybe it was time he started hoping for something as well. He lifted his hand and knocked on the open door.

~oOo~

She stood on a beach, the warmth of the tropical climate a startling contrast to New York's winter. To her right, a submarine lay on its side, the sleek lines broken by its crash along the shore. And, to her left, a highly-advanced plane had been shattered into three pieces. Ten people littered the shore. Three wore common, every-day clothing. Six had on strange yellow and blue uniforms, and the final one—a woman—had chosen silver as her color. Above them, an assortment of missiles hung mid-air while one man wearing a helmet kept them suspended through his control over metal.

"I tried to stop him." Charles's voice sounded close to her ear, and Anne whirled to see him standing next to her. He was not much taller than her, but the reminder of how much he'd lost swept over her again. He continued, "I thought that if I could get through to him, make him see that those ships were full of innocent men who didn't deserve to die, I could somehow save him."

Anne watched as Erik—his name supplied by Charles's memories—turned the missiles back on the fleet of Russian and American ships in the bay. She listened as Charles's younger self pleaded with Erik, begging him to stop. And she gasped when, in desperation, Charles charged Erik with a shout. The two men wrestled on the ground, the missiles alternately falling from the sky and then recovering as Charles and Erik fought. Finally, the woman in silver—Moira—fired her weapon on Erik to end the conflict. But Erik turned, flicking the bullets away from him.

And straight into Charles's spine.

Anne gasped as his remembered shout echoed through the air. The massive explosions over the sea paled in comparison to the agony that ripped through her. She stared as Erik nearly killed Moira, as Charles rejected him and his cause in life, and as the man she loved allowed his sister to join Erik even if they did not agree.

Then, Erik and those who had joined him were gone. Vanished in a puff of red smoke and leaving Hank, Alex, and one other young man to rush to Charles's side. Anne stepped forward, drawn inexplicably toward the heartbreaking scene on the beach. The tiny cluster of mutants huddled around their leader, worry blossoming into fear and outright panic as his repeated words shattered their worlds.

"I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs. I can't. . . ."

Anne gasped as the memory faded, feeling tears coursing down her face, over her jaw, and onto her neck. The urge to weep was so strong, as was the panic and absolute desperation. She stared as Charles sat back in his wheelchair—that hated device that allowed him to move from point to point. And she finally understood. All of his hopes and dreams had broken on the beach that day, and he had fought with everything in him to rebuild, to find a new hope, to see his school working to teach mutants how to live. And, when that was also taken from him, he had nothing left to give.

Charles had also been affected by the memory, a sad smile on his face. But, he waited until she managed to swipe at her tears. "I let Moira go," he said softly. "She was CIA, and they would have used any means necessary to find us. I couldn't allow her to go through that."

Anne shook her head. "I had no idea, Charles."

"I know." He hesitated and then sighed. "May I show you one more thing?"

She forced herself to laugh, still mopping at her face while he dug yet another handkerchief from his pocket. Frowning at it, in particular at the "CFX" monogrammed on it, she asked, "How many of these do you have?"

He laughed then, a noise made deep in his chest that always caused her heart to skip a beat. "Enough."

She glanced up to see true amusement in his eyes and nodded. "I trust you, Charles."

His smile changed, softened, and he leaned forward to touch her head yet again. Rather than a memory, however, she felt something else. Something so foreign to her that she almost could not name it. But her training, as well as the heart she had kept buried under so many layers of defense for so long, allowed her to label it. Love. Acceptance. Hope. Desire. Faithfulness. Passion. Attraction. An image of herself in a red halter-top dress so alluring that she wanted to blush under the implications of the thought. Fascination. Talent so unique she didn't have to be a mutant. And a deep-seated wish to live the rest of his natural life showing that and more.

Anne blinked, realizing that, in those few seconds, Charles had managed to put every emotion he felt into her mind. He saw her as beautiful, as a woman who had not lived a perfect life but had come through it with her heart intact, as his lifeline, and as something far more precious than simply a "bed-warmer" or any other insult she'd had hurled at her in the past. He could not even bring himself to think the correct word for what she had done to survive—not in relation to her. In his mind, she was perfect.

Staring at him, she shrugged as his fingers slipped away from her temple. She caught his hand, still trying to fathom how someone like Charles Xavier could look at her and see all of that. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't that pretty, that she wasn't that nice of a person. But all of her methods of pushing him away had resulted in a strange mix of adoration that came from his eyes now.

She smiled, his final wish still lingering in her mind. "You'll never have an answer to your question if you don't ask."

He met her eyes, his expression serious. "I promised myself a while back, Anne, that I would not push you. No matter what the past years dictate, you are no longer that woman. And. . . ."

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the arms of his wheelchair, and kissed him. This time, she held nothing back, letting the kiss speak for her. His hands came up to her arms as he returned the favor, and she let every doubt and fear leave her mind as she thought about what he was to her. Protector. Provider. Lover. Friend. Her purpose. A vision of him right after he cut his hair, so distracting that she'd been unable to breathe. She stayed there, letting him see what she felt for him until her arms began to tremble, and she was in danger of falling on top of him. Not that he'd mind in the least!

Charles laughed at that, breaking the kiss with a slight gasp for air as his chuckle escaped. "You know I can hear your thoughts, love."

Anne smiled against his lips, barely moving away. "That's my goal."

"You're right." He shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."

She laughed at that, and sat back on the couch, regretting how her arms now felt cold as his fingers slipped away. But Charles solved that problem a few moments later by quickly transferring back to the couch. He pulled her close again, kissing her with everything in him. Anne felt her body responding to his attention and knew that one other thing needed to be resolved. He refused to push her, but she could not say that she had promised herself the same thing. If anything, she had promised him that she would push until he was happy and whole.

She pulled back, amused and beyond thrilled when he tried to follow. She grinned when he stared at her, his blue eyes dark and clouded with desire. "Charles Xavier, will you marry me?"

His smile nearly stretched off his face. "I thought you'd never ask." Pulling her close with one hand at the back of her head, he kissed her softly and then reached up to touch his temple. Yes, love. I will marry you.

Anne grinned when she heard his voice in her mind, relief and something deeper and far more profound flowing through her. This wasn't under the influence of his memories or how he felt about her. This came from her own heart. It was a realization that she had finally found what she wanted all those years ago. Franklin was gone, his memory no longer painful. And the man who had given her the strength to leave England had made his way back into her life, sharing his hope and purpose for the future and somehow letting her form her own.

Then, Charles began babbling. He tucked her under his arm, taking one hand in his and lacing their fingers together. "I don't have a ring," he confessed. "Not that I'm not happy, but these sorts of things require a ring. And a romantic dinner. And. . . ." He stopped talking when she lifted her head from his shoulder.

Anne stared at the joy on his face. "Charles, I don't care about a ring. Or a romantic dinner. I'd rather have Thanksgiving with our family than any of those."

"We'll buy a ring tomorrow." He leaned forward and kissed her, pulling away suddenly before things became too intense. "And Alex is coming."

Anne couldn't help herself. A full laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. She had left this study just five days ago, her heart broken and mind confused. Now, she sat here again, wrapped in the arms of a man who loved and cared for her while they planned for their future. So what that he could read minds? It made for a few less embarrassing encounters. She raised an eyebrow at Charles. "This is our home, Charles. And he can get used to it."

As Alex knocked on the open door and cleared his throat, Charles laughed deeply, as if it was the breaking of years of tension that hung over his shoulders.

Anne waited until Alex told them that Thanksgiving dinner was ready before she turned to Charles. "One more thing," she said, stopping him from moving to his chair so they could join the others. She met his eyes with a steady gaze of her own. "I love you, Charles. And nothing that happens from now on will change that."

His smile widened again, and he claimed one more kiss before they left the study. "I love you, too, Anne."

"I have one question, though." Anne spoke as she stood and waited for Charles to adjust his legs on the footrests of his wheelchair. When he glanced up at her and nodded, she held up the handkerchief he'd given her. "What does the 'F' stand for?"

His laugh of genuine amusement echoed through the downstairs of the house. And, in another room, Hank McCoy grinned at Alex Summers, both younger men well aware of what had likely occurred. While Rachel and Jamie looked on in confusion, they clapped one another on the shoulder in congratulations.

~TBC