Disclaimer: I only own the plot and my OCs. Anything you recognize as not mine belongs to 20th Century Fox, Disney, Marvel, and/or their otherwise respective owners.

Author's Notes: I know I said on Tumblr I was gonna wait to post this until December but I have the restraint of a pigeon, so fuck it. I'm riding the Cherik wave hard rn after binge-watching all of the X-Men movies besides the last 2 Wolverine ones and Dark Phoenix over my October break, and I'm gonna own it and I'm gonna own it with style.

This story is brought to you by Adele, as the story title and all the chapter ones are of songs by her. I'm picturing ~12 chapters for this, might be more. No real big warnings for this story, except maybe I'm playing a little loose with the timing of things. Nothing too big, don't worry; you'll see what I mean starting next chapter. I'll try to get it posted in the next few days; after that, it might be a while until the third one.

Anyways, as always, I hope you enjoy,

~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

~turning tables~

~chapter 1: hometown glory~

The manor was quieter in those first weeks after he was released from the hospital.

His entire life, Charles had never been used to quiet. As a child up until the age of nine, his family's home had always been noisy, between his mother's alcoholism, his stepfather's abuse, and the servants. After he'd manifested, the world had only become that much louder: there were voices inside his had all the time, which had made him think he was going crazy up until he had met Raven. She had added a new level of complexity, but not the bad kid: she was his sister in all but blood, and he loved the way she talked and was fascinated by the things he studied or worked with, even if she didn't truly understand them.

(Had once talked and been fascinated. He loved her, but he understood that she wasn't that girl anymore, and hadn't been for quite some time. He'd simply been too oblivious to notice it.)

When they'd come back to the manor after the CIA disaster, that brief time, there had been more sounds. Training Hank, Alex, and Sean in their powers had been a blissful period. They'd gotten excited at how far they had come, and rightfully so; Charles had been as happy as thy'd been. For then, he'd felt achieved in his goal of helping mutants with their powers and finding their place in the world, hopeful that there could come a day when mutants and humans could live together and alongside one another, no matter their differences or how far the date would be in the future.

Then Cuba had happened.

Charles still felt that same hope, but it was diminished. Erik had hurt him far more than the bullet he'd inadvertently shot into his spine, making him lose the usage of his legs, or the coin he'd put through Shaw's brain and Charles had felt every second of due to his telepathy. The world was no longer as vibrant or colorful as it'd once been, the betrayal of Erik cutting too deep after everything they'd shared combined with him having to adjust to life as a paraplegic.

Even without his telepathy, he knew Hank, Alex, and Sean felt a similar way as well, hence the quiet in the manor. Alex and Sean put up valiant efforts to make it more lively, causing some mischief and trying to lighten the mood with jokes, but he felt their hurts in both their thoughts and actions. They were not the same as his, but they were poignant, exuding a melancholy that settled as the atmosphere in the entire house.

But the quiet was not the only thing Charles was having to deal with.

He woke up one morning three weeks after his release, and after he'd locked away Moira's memories of Cuba and mutants alike. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, the curtains casting the light in a greenish hue. He felt for a moment, in that fogginess which came immediately after waking up, that he was in a different world between it and the quiet. They were so strange, so unusual. Even after weeks with the latter, he still wasn't used to it.

The musing did not last long.

Something swirled in his gut, a horrible sensation. Despite the fact that he was laying in bed, the entire room seemed to spin. "Oh, God," he groaned, putting a hand to his mouth.

As quickly as possible, which was truly a feat these days, he pulled himself up using the bar above his bed, having been installed by Alex. Transferring himself into his chair, he rolled it into his bathroom.

He almost didn't make it.

The sick came up as he positioned himself in front of the toilet, burning the back of his throat. He grunted in discomfort, a sound barely heard over the one of his retching. There was no food to come up due to the hours which had passed since he'd last eaten, only bile which burned even worse than it would've otherwise.

When he was done, he allowed his forehead to rest against the cool porcelain of the toilet, not having the energy to flush the toilet yet. It was as if he'd woken up solely for this. Perhaps he had.

The knocking at his bedroom door startled him, a distraction from how he was silently wondering if there would be another round of throwing up this morning. He lifted his head from the toilet, numbly putting his fingers to his temple to concentrate and see who was searching for him.

"Charles?" Hank called out at the same time.

Charles knew what he wanted – it was nothing serious, simply a request for him to join the boys downstairs for breakfast, Sean having kindly and good-naturedly made an attempt at an English breakfast which didn't look half-bad – but he couldn't focus his mind enough to relay that he wanted to be left alone. Nor could he make his tongue work. It was simply too soon after his most recent bout of nausea.

A nausea which was half of the other item he'd been dealing with since coming home, the other being a general fatigue that didn't seem to be connected to the injuries he'd sustained. He didn't know exactly how he knew that, but he did. So far, he'd managed to keep the two symptoms hidden from Hank, Alex, and Sean, not wanting to bother them any further with his problems. They were already doing so much for him.

Alas, now it appeared the decision was being taken out of his hands, because he currently felt like a marionette with all of its strings cut. Useless.

"Charles, are you up?" Hank tried again.

Without any response, mental or verbal, he opened the door. Charles forced himself into a better position, leaning back against the toilet just as Hank turned and saw him through the open doorway. The alarm which went off in his mind made a sound akin to bells, even with only a basic skimming of his mind.

"Charles!" Hank rushed over to help him, coming to his side to lift him up back into his hair. This time, unlike the many times before, he made no move to stop him. The reasoning was twofold: along with his exhaustion, he was relatively certain there wouldn't be a round two of vomiting. He didn't feel it coming on, at least. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," he replied weakly, through gritted teeth. "And that's three times you've said my name, Hank."

His weak attempt at humor did not go over well, as he was not the one with the penchant for such sarcasm. That had always been Erik. Hank's thoughts fluttered with more concern, and he saw an image of himself within them. His skin was clammy and pale, and there were dark bruises under his eyes in spite of how he'd actually had a decent night's sleep. There had been no nightmares, in any event, haunting him with Cuba or the earlier events.

("We're brothers, you and I. We want the same thing."

"My friend, I'm sorry, but we do not.")

(Erik's green eyes glittered in the darkness, as beautiful as his mind. He was a fire burning bright in comparison to everything else, a phoenix, and he had no idea of it or how much he meant to him. "Charles," the older man whispered, invoking his name like a prayer.

His touch was as true as his powers: magnetic. His fingers trailed down Charles' torso, igniting his nerves, until they came to the hem of his pants. Carefully, with a twitch of his fingers, he unbuttoned them with his powers, and smirked at his handiwork.

Charles resisted the urge to chuckle. "Did you really have to do that?"

"Of course." Erik leaned down, brushing his lips against Charles' neck as he began to pull down his pants. "Would you rather I have – ")

"You don't look fine," Hank said.

"I assure you, I am." As Hank bristled, he sighed. "Please, just – give me a moment. I'll meet you downstairs."

Hank did not want to acquiesce to his request, yet nevertheless he did. "Alright," he spoke, giving up. "But don't take too long, or I'll come up here again and find you."

As the other man left the room, his mind was a whir with possibilities for why Charles was ill. It was touching, even if he could discredit almost every one of the theories. He did not have a cold or the flu, the nausea and fatigue lasting too long to be caused by either of those ailments, albeit Hank didn't know that. Nor did he think it would be a side effect of his paralysis. Stress, maybe; depression or cancer, as Hank's mind quickly jumped to...those didn't bear thinking about.

Charles would refute the notion of him prolonging the inevitable, but he wasn't exactly rushing to get downstairs, either. The quiet returned as he changed his clothes, the melancholic tinge intensifying by the sharp concern of the three boys downstairs. No doubt Hank had told the other two he thought he was ill, precisely the dilemma he'd been trying to avoid. He let out another sigh.

The boys were all huddled around the island counter when he wheeled himself into the kitchen, where Alex and Sean had moved the dining table after they'd declared the dining room to be too "stuffy." They all looked up when he arrived, their faces giving themselves away. They were all concerned, but Sean's was laced with guilt, Hank's curiosity, and Alex's a slight anger. Rage had been boiling within him for months now, just like his powers.

"Hey, Professor," Sean said, sounding nervous. "Are you feeling better?"

He gave Hank a look. "What exactly did you tell them?"

"Just that you were sick," Hank defended himself. He paused. "And that, knowing you, you've probably been sick for a while."

Charles grimaced. "Hank."

"Is he wrong?" Alex interjected, crossing his arms.

It would've been easier to refuse him if he'd asked the opposite. Still, Charles was not going to lie to him, and he supposed the truth was already out of the bag anyways from Hank's correct guess. "No, he's not. I have, admittedly, not been feeling...well, ever since I came home from the hospital. But it hasn't been serious, and the nausea's only occurred in the mornings." Hence why he had been able to hide it from them until now.

"'The nausea?'" Alex quoted, scowling. "Does that mean – ?"

Sean cut him off. "You should eat something," he suggested to Charles. He walked over with a plate containing a fried egg, fried tomatoes and mushrooms, and toast, a sampling of the breakfast he'd made that he thought would be easy on Charles' stomach. "If this is too much, I could also make you – "

Charles gave him a smile. "No, this is perfect. Thank you, Sean."

It wasn't very easy to eat under three pairs of watchful eyes. By the time he was finished, his stomach was churning once more, and he almost doubted his earlier assumptions. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin. "Alright, out with it, then."

"You've been sick for three weeks," Alex accused. "And you didn't tell any of us?"

"No, I did not."

Alex scoffed. "Something could be seriously wrong with you!"

"I do not think that's the case," he disagreed. "I've only had the nausea, and some fatigue." The last part, he said before any of the boys could ask him about his additional symptom. Better to get it out of the way now rather than later. "I've figured it's almost definitely something inconsequential, perhaps even just nerves, which is to be expected after everything we've gone through and the schedule we're keeping."

Yes, "the schedule." He still wanted to open up the school, it was only right. Hank, Alex, and Sam had been doing most of the grunt work in preparing one of the wings of the manor for the future students, but Charles was by no means sitting around and doing nothing. There was the budget to put together out of his own funds, potential teachers to hire since he and Hank were the only ones with college degrees and Sean and Alex could only do PE/training because of it, etcetera, etcetera. Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither would be the school.

Although, if he was being honest with himself, he did not think that it was nerves causing his symptoms. Something about the thought didn't sit...right with him. It felt like he was missing a crucial piece to the puzzle in the back of his mind, a low him which was barely discernible.

Unfortunately, Hank seemed too willing to call him out on this. "You don't really think that last part," he stated. "Please, Charles. Alex is right."

Charles frowned. "What would you have me do?"

In hindsight, this was not the right question to ask, given that he truly wanted Hank to stop thinking about the subject. For all of the brilliant man others said he was, even he could sometimes say the wrong thing.

("For God's sake, Raven! Where are your clothes? Put some clothes on!")

("There are thousands of men on those ships – good, honest men! They're just following orders!"

"I've been at the mercy of men just following orders.")

"I could run some blood and urine tests," Hank offered. "Nothing terribly invasive, unless I find something serious. And if I had the right equipment, I could also check your spine to make sure it hasn't been injured any further."

"The doctors would've already seen that before they discharged me."

"It wouldn't hurt to make sure."

"Please, Professor," said Sean, eyes pleading.

Charles' frown deepened. Quickly skimming their minds and Alex's, he could see none of them were going to give this up. Now that the cat was out of the bag, so to say, they were determined to find out what was wrong with him. It didn't matter that, again, this was the situation he'd been trying to prevent from happening.

(Disabled though he now was, he was not the shell of a person he'd sensed the doctors, nurses, and strangers alike to perceive him to be ever since he'd woken up in the hospital. He still had his wits, his intelligence. He did not need anyone to take care of him; he could do it himself.

Perhaps that was what made the simple desire of the boys' to do it so hard to endure.)

"Alright," he relented, pushing away his plate. "But I will hold you to that, Hank. And no more doctors, please."

"I promise," Hank responded.

Hank's laboratory was not quiet.

In the three months since Cuba, he had successfully transformed one of the bunkers to suit his needs. It was full of his equipment, machines which made their odd little dings and clangs, and chemicals primed and ready to be combined and studied. Charles thought he saw the serum the younger man had devised from Raven's DNA resting on a table in the corner, but he did not let the thought worry him for long.

The tests started off simple. Hank drew only a few vials of blood along with having him give a sample of his urine, doing only the basic workup: a complete blood count, a comprehensive metabolic panel, a coagulation panel, and a check for infections and signs of either kidney disease or diabetes. The work for most of it, while almost entirely relying on machines, was tedious. Alex and Sean, hanging out with them in the lab for "moral support," could not keep themselves quiet.

Well, Alex could not keep himself quiet.

"Yes, thank you, Alex," Charles spoke after yet another sarcastic quip, to which Hank growled at under his breath in frustration. "Perhaps you and Sean could go work on the students' wing some more?"

Alex huffed, pushing himself away from the wall. Sean, who was sitting on a clear spot on one of the tables, kicked his feet in the air nervously. "Are you sure about that, Professor?"

He had not said it because of a lack of faith in Hank, Charles knew. Sean had said it because he was worried. He was the most empathetic of the bunch, doing well at hiding it underneath his mischievous nature.

Charles smiled. "Hank and I will be fine."

After lunch and shortly before dinner, Hank said what he had already deduced from his mind. "Everything looks normal, Charles. The only thing I found was that your white blood cell count is a little high, but – "

"That could mean multiple things," Charles finished for him. "I take it you'll want to do more tests?"

Hank was abashed. "Is that okay with you?"

If there was something wrong with him, it wasn't likely to be depression or cancer with his white blood cell count. He could humor the other man some more. "Do what you need to do."

Hank did not do any further tests that day. They had dinner with Alex and Sean, then after the boys had trained together some, they spent the evening playing card games. It was Sean's idea, making use of his light in the darkness which had settled over them. Alex and Hank almost got into it again, bickering with each other and drawing genuine laughter from Charles for the first time in months as they almost ruined several cards. It felt almost like they were back in the before time, when everything had been easier. More breathable.

The next morning, he woke up after a dream of the last night with Erik, recalled to perfection with his eidetic memory, and wasn't able to get out of bed and go to the bathroom as his insides twisted. He vomited over the side of the bed, and somehow the smell was worse out here than if he'd been puking into the toilet. It made him retch more as the remnants of his dream danced behind his eyes.

(" – unbuttoned them by hand?"

"It would've been just as good," Charles argued.

"Maybe," Erik allowed. "But we're mutants, Charles, you and I. We should be able to do what we want with our powers."

He drew a gasp from him as he bit at the skin at the crook of his neck, where it met his collarbone. This way, no one else would see the bruise it made besides them. Well, perhaps Raven might, since she had her tendency to barge in on him in rather compromising situations. But she knew of his sexuality, he having never bothered to hide it from her, and she was –

"I can hear you thinking," Erik murmured, moving away from his neck. "Not literally, don't worry. But I'd prefer it if you would focus on me."

Now, Charles did laugh, a light and airy sound. "Yes, I imagine so. My apologies.")

Alex was the one who had apparently been sent to retrieve him this morning, so he was the one who saw the pool of sick near the bed. "Shit," he cursed. He came over and helped Charles sit up, his hands lingering on his back as a solace. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

"No." Charles shook his head. He ran a hand over his face. "I had a bad dream, not uncommon anymore."

Alex went quiet at that, his mind burbling with his familiar anger.

Charles patted his arm. "Get something to help me clean up this mess, would you?"

Hank's tests for the day were of a different variety. Most of them continued to involve his blood and urine, but they were analyzing his hormonal levels and looking for markers for the most common reasons for his symptoms (for there were too many to check every single one) besides infections instead. Charles went back upstairs after his part in the affair was over, entering the greenhouse room on the ground floor.

This had been Erik's favorite room in the manor, he remembered, a bittersweet smile edging at his features. It was unavoidable to think about him here. The room was a mess, dust covering every inch of it, the windows turned almost opaque from the passage of time. His mother had never liked the room. It was the one other part of the manor besides the kitchen she'd refused to ever step foot in, and it was in a worse state of disrepair compared to other sections because she'd ordered the servants to do the same.

One day, he would like to have a proper greenhouse on the grounds. The room could be converted into a sort of classroom, keeping its original design, but in place of tables and gardening tools there would be desks and a chalkboard. Plants had an opening effect on the mind, allowing for better learning. It would be good.

Around three, after he'd busied himself for a while with tending to the bigger things in the room that could be cleaned up or thrown away, he felt a sharp spear of concern and fear rise up out of Hank's mind. It was loud, louder than Alex's and Sean's thoughts currently were combined.

Tentatively, he reached out to him. Hank, what did you find?

Immediately, to his surprise, Hank employed the shielding techniques he'd been teaching all of the boys in case they didn't want him to read their thoughts at any time. They were all new to the idea, so Hank didn't shut him out perfectly, but the intent was clear. I think I might know what's going on, he broadcasted through the shield, the message more organized than a non-telepath's thoughts usually were. Could you please come down here?

For the first time since his symptoms had started, a trickle of concern seeped into him. Hank would not have hidden the truth away from him if it was something inconsequential. Thus, it seemed likely that whatever this was, it was serious. He continued to deny himself the possibility it was cancer, but stress or depression – it most certainly wasn't either of those things now. The physical presence of something beyond his white blood cell count disproved them.

Is this my luck? a voice in the back of his mind whispered traitorously, curling around him. He had already lost so much in such a short time: Raven, Erik, Moira, the use of his legs. Now, when he was trying to pull himself and his dreams for the school back together in the face of devastation, something else was wrong with him.

Self pity is unbecoming of you, he tried to chastise himself. He hadn't let himself feel anything other than loneliness and grief at the loss of Erik and his sister, along with the shame at how the boys had to help him so. He wasn't going to let himself feel anything beyond that now.

Rolling into Hank's laboratory, he found the other man pacing the length of it nervously. At his arrival, his head snapped up, his yellow eyes as guarded as his thoughts.

Charles decided to just get it over with. "So, what is it?"

Hank kept on perplexing him. "I have some questions to ask you," he began, narrowly avoided the direct answer. He clasped and unclasped his hands, mindful of his claws. "But I don't think you're going to like answering them."

"Are they pertinent to my health?" he inquired.

Hank nodded. "Yes."

"Then I don't see why you can't ask them. Go ahead, Hank. Don't be afraid of my feelings."

"Have you – " Hank started, only to falter. And now, it occurred to Charles, the man was as uncomfortable at the idea of asking his questions as he was at Charles' hypothetical reaction to them. Without breaking down his shield, he sent him a wave of calm, letting him know whatever they were or how uncomfortable he was going to be at answering them, it would be alright. "Were you sexually active shortly before Cuba?"

Charles blinked.

That...was not how he'd thought this was going to go.

"Do I have an STD?"

He didn't think any of the STDs caused only nausea and fatigue as their symptoms. Actually, hepatitis, if he recalled correctly (and he did), was the only one which could cause them. But if he had hepatitis, surely he would be exhibiting other symptoms? It had been nine weeks since Cuba.

"Just answer the question, Charles," Hank insisted.

"I was," he acknowledged.

"Was it – " again with the faltering. The uneasy feeling in Charles sunk into something much more foreboding, like a rock in the ocean " – was it with another man?"

He hesitated.

"I won't think any less of you," promised Hank, and his intent was true. He opened up his mental shield enough to show him that, regardless of his answer, he would not. Being a homophile to him was akin to being a mutant: it was who you were, and you couldn't change it. But he knew his opinion was not of the norm. "Please, just answer me."

"Yes."

Hank sucked in a breath. "Was it with Erik?"

Charles tried not give an instant response, but it appeared to be pointless. From the look on Hank's face, he had given it away with his own.

(Their lovemaking was slow, passionate. Charles was not used to this. Oftentimes, when he was able to "woo" someone, as Raven liked to put it, the action was fast and quick. The '50s and the '60s thus far were not as strict in regards to their sexual mores as previous decades, but there remained a sense of urgency. It would not be wise for him and his paramours to be caught doing what they were in public, and he couldn't let them see Raven as her natural self. It was too dangerous for her.

But then, what he had been doing with those paramours had never really been "lovemaking." It had been sex, plain and simple.

He loved Erik. Never had he felt this strongly about another person in this way before. Raven had always used to joke that, if he fell for someone, he would fall for them irrevocably, perhaps even irredeemably – and she was right. He was sure the other man had ruined everyone else for him. It would be impossible for him to fall in love with someone like this ever again, and he was okay with that.

Erik was the only person he would ever want.

In the aftermath, Erik wrapped around him, holding him in his arms. His mind was content, no matter what they would be facing soon, what would possibly happen at any moment. It was the first time he had been happy in a long while, even after they'd been recruiting the younger mutants.

Charles relished in it. For the second time in his life, the first being when he'd met Raven, he knew he was truly not alone. "I love you," he whispered into the night.

Erik did not answer him out loud, but his inner workings were enough.

And I, you.)

"It was," he vocalized.

Hank's anger slipped through the cracks of his shield, loud and cacophonous. He locked his hold on it back in place just as quickly, but there was an undertone which left Charles confused. He was angry for Charles, yes.

But he was also angry for someone else.

"Hank – "

"There's no easy way to tell you this, Charles," the man cut over him. "But I think you've developed a secondary mutation."

Charles had no idea where this was going. "What?"

"Your hCG levels are up. Usually, in men, they should be practically undetectable. But right now, your levels are thirty-three thousand times higher than they should be," Hank explained. "That's too high of a number to be explained by testicular cancer without some sort of other symptoms. You would've noticed a tumor or something else by now." He shuddered in another breath. "Charles, I think you're pregnant."

"You're joking," were the first words out of Charles' mouth.

The manor was no longer quiet. It was loud. His blood was roaring in his ears, his mind was humming with his own thoughts. It was, in a strange way, like every moment of the past three weeks since his release from the hospital had been leading up to this: a culmination of the events of Cuba, a final curveball the world had decided to throw at him after everything else. A part of him knew, in his heart of hearts, that what Hank had said was true. It would, if nothing else, explain that low, constant thrum in the back of his head. A not yet conscious life, forming deep within him.

But it could not be possible. Men could not become pregnant. It was a simple statement of fact, of biology.

"I wish I was," Hank admitted. "But the hCG levels – "

"Could be inaccurate," Charles supplied smoothly. "Take the test again."

Hank gestured with his head his disagreement. "It doesn't work like that. I already ran it twice. If it is, somehow, an error, I'll need time to fix the machine and you – "

"Do the test again," Charles repeated. He rolled up one of his sleeves, holding out his bare arm.

Hank reluctantly did as demanded. He took another vial of blood, putting it in the machine he'd made with his own hands while Charles had been in the hospital, in the assumption that it could one day be put to good use for the school. It narrowed down the time to do the test from what could've been hours to only half of one; for this, Charles was thankful.

When the test was finished, Hank looked at the long piece of paper the machine had printed out. "The hCG levels are the same," he said quietly.

The dissonance in Charles' head would not cease. If his mind were a fortress, then its walls were crumbling as if they were made of sand.

It could not be possible.

He could not be pregnant.

Although he was a mutant capable of reading minds, and had met mutants capable of changing their appearances to perfectly mirror somebody else's (Raven) or to survive almost anything (Darwin), there were some facts about himself he knew to be true: he was a man, biologically and in terms of his gender identity. He had the parts to father children, not...mother them. It wasn't something he was supposed to be capable of.

More than that, he couldn't be pregnant with Erik's child. The anguish he had sustained from the other man was lasting, as lasting as the injury and damage to his spine. He knew now, with the benefit of the passage of time, that Erik had been on his path to self-destruction long before he had met Charles, and Charles hadn't been able to change his course because Erik didn't want it to be changed. Maybe one day, he would, but not now.

And that course, as deadly as it had proven itself to be already, was no place for a child.

He could not be pregnant.

Abruptly, it occurred to him that his mind was going around in circles. He cleared his throat. "Is there truly nothing else it could be?"

Hank stared at him. "At these levels, even the tests they have in the hospital could tell the difference between hCG and luteinizing hormone, and – "

Charles was not an impatient man, but right then he wanted to scream. "Just answer the question."

The response was short, at first. "No, there's nothing else." They remained like that, unblinking, until the other man shuffled his feet. "If you want to confirm it even more beyond a doubt, I'm sure we could convince the local hospital to loan us their ultrasound machine. With your powers, it wouldn't be hard."

He discarded the possibility right away. "I think not," he said. If there was life stirring within him, he had no current desire to see it. He was repulsed by the very notion, the negative emotion bubbling within him hot and deep, thick and ugly. "I think, actually, that...I would like some time alone."

Hank was not surprised by this information. There was a sympathetic shine to his yellow eyes. "I understand."

Charles left the laboratory and went to the elevator. As it went up past the ground floor, Sean's and Alex's minds pinpricked his, reaching out. They were inquiring to know if Hank had figured out what was wrong with him yet.

He did not have it in him to tell them the truth, and telepathy would not be the best way to give them it as it was. He relayed to them, in feelings rather than words, that Hank had and he was not happy about it. It was nothing serious, he assured them as their own emotions flared – the scholarly aspect of his brain protested this, because he knew from one of his courses in college that pregnancy was a serious condition for even women, as almost 40 out of 100,000 women died from childbirth in the United States every year – but he did not want to talk about it for the time being. They each understood, withdrawing away.

What made things worse was that he knew his sister would not have done the same. Raven would have pestered him until he revealed the truth in that way of hers, forcing him to spill the secret. She would not have thought of him differently, like Hank. She probably would have even been glad at the opportunity to be an aunt, forcing him to look on the bright side of things.

But there was no bright side to this, because in spite of how much he longed for her, she was gone, and so was Erik.

And he was pregnant with Erik's child.

Word Count: 5,660

Next Chapter Title: strangers by nature