Sorry this is late again! I tried updating last night, but I couldn't log onto FanFiction from my iPad for some strange reason... So, I had to wait until I got home and had access to my normal computer before I updated. :/. Stupid technology.

Don't worry-the next chapter will be up next Friday. I'm not going anywhere without my normal computer or Internet... so we'll be good.

Thank you for reading and reviewing. If I haven't responded to your reviews, then that doesn't mean I hate you. It means I've been extraordinarily busy lately, but I still love you all! I promise! :)

Perks of Being a Telepath

Chapter 24: A Question of Motives

Charles winced as he slowly slipped off the couch, his back cracking and aching at the effort. There was a sudden, sharp twist and then everything thankfully stopped hurting.

He was beginning to hate that. It had happened a handful of times this morning, each more painful than the last.

"Charles?"

Raven was still asleep on the couch, while Erik absently pushed some of the metal items around on Charles' desk. Charles had half a mind to stop him—some of those were priceless antiques—but decided it wasn't worth it.

"What, Erik?"

He wasn't exactly thrilled with the fact that Erik knew his darkest secrets now, nor was he happy about Erik insisting on blaming himself for everything that had happened. In fact, Charles couldn't figure out what he was happy with Erik about at the moment.

Erik seemed to falter at Charles' shortness, before regaining his composure.

"You said that you couldn't trust yourself."

Charles stopped short of the door he had been making for.

He raised an eyebrow.

Erik swallowed and pressed on.

"You blame yourself for being out of control one time, so you stopped trusting in you and in your abilities."

"And?"

Charles wished that hadn't come out sounding quite so defensive. For god's sake, he was past this. Kurt, Cuba, all of it. He was over it.

Keep telling yourself that.

Erik sighed.

"I can't force you to trust yourself if you don't think you can. I can't tell you that what happened with Kurt and Cain was an accident because I know you won't believe me. What I can tell you is that you have to learn to let it go. It will consume you if you don't."

Like it consumed me.

The thought was so loud that Charles couldn't help but hear it.

"It didn't consume you, Erik. The fact that you're here speaks to that."

"I'm here because of you, Charles. Because of everything that you stand for and your stubbornness to make things right. Don't forget that."

Please. The world needs you, Charles. More than your self-torture or your hallucinations need you. We need you. I need you.

Erik got up and left the room, gently pushing past Charles on his way out.

The library was silent after his exit.

Charles wondered when their roles had reversed, when Erik had started becoming the better man and Charles had started becoming the broken one.

There was a lot of commotion coming from outside the truck. Raven, as Stryker, seemed to be ordering the armed men to leave, that she had a handle on the situation.

Erik ignored it all as he scrambled to do something to get Charles breathing again.

He was distantly aware of Hank shoving him out of the way and doing something complicated that resulted in a cry of pain from Charles that Erik felt more than heard.

"Hand me the first aid kit!"

There was more yelling, followed by several gunshots. Erik's heart caught in his throat. He half turned to the back of the truck, moments away from going out and making sure that Raven was all right, when a flood of pain crashed into his skull. He couldn't contain a gasp of surprise as the constant stabbing broke off into hundreds of voices, all screaming in pain and surprise.

"Erik! Damn it. Sean, I need your help!"

Hank's growled order was the last thing Erik heard before his mind completely shut down and everything faded to black.

Charles knocked softly on Hank's door, casting a swift glance over his shoulder to be sure Erik wasn't going to pop out from behind a corner anytime soon. He was fairly certain the German had finally fallen asleep—something Erik had avoided doing since he woke up three days ago—but Charles didn't want to leave anything to chance.

There was a faint, half-snore, half-growl coming from inside the room, followed by a low curse and a thump before the bedroom door swung open.

Hank looked almost comical, with his blue fur sticking up in matted clumps and a half-glazed look in his barely open yellow eyes. His glasses were skewed, barely crammed on his face.

"Professor?"

"Please, Hank, call me Charles. Professor makes me feel old."

"Yes, Prof—Charles."

Charles sighed.

"Are you busy today?"

"I was just going to work on recalibrating Cerebro again. Why?"

Charles gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Do you feel like taking the Blackbird on another trip?"

Hank's eyes widened, opening properly for the first time that morning.

"Where?"

"I was thinking about Texas."

"What's in Texas?"

"A lot of things. The Alamo. The desert. Other mutants."

Hank's eyes widened even more at this admission, as he tried to figure out how exactly Charles had figured that out without using Cerebro.

Charles had seen it in Erik's head before the catastrophe that had been breakfast that morning. There was a group of mutants, all loyal to Erik's cause, that had been thinking about causing some sort of disaster that would inevitably lead to the CIA and other government agencies trying to round up and kill even more mutants.

He rather wanted to avoid such an event.

Hank's eyes narrowed as he realized where exactly Charles could find that sort of thing out.

"Shouldn't you be taking him with you, then?"

Charles sighed. He had hoped Hank and Sean would be over it by now—it had been a year—but some wounds ran too deep, as Erik so bluntly pointed out earlier.

"Erik is still recovering from his entanglement with the CIA. And neither he nor I could pilot the plane."

Hank had made certain that no one would be able to pilot the plane without his consent. He said it was because he didn't want the government stealing it, but Charles knew Hank well enough to guess that he didn't want any of their kind, such as Erik, stealing it either.

Hank didn't look convinced.

"No offense, but that's a bunch of crap, Charles."

Charles smiled benignly.

"It is what it is, Hank. Now, do you want to come or not?"

Hank swore as Erik passed out beside Charles, his nose bloody, and his face contorted with pain. While that meant Charles was alive enough to project(barely), it also meant that he was slowly killing Erik and himself.

Hank was starting to hate telepathy.

"Sean!"

The other man looked up, his eyes barely open. He handed Hank the giant red first aid kit, his hands shaking so hard that he almost dropped it.

Hank took it with a concerned look at the red-haired man.

"Stay with me, Sean, okay? I don't need you dying on me either."

"M'fine, Hank."

His slurred words did nothing to reassure Hank, who tore open the first aid kit with a growl and ripped open a package of bandages. He handed one to Sean.

"Hold this under Erik's nose until it stops bleeding, okay?"

Sean blinked, before sluggishly getting it in gear.

There wasn't much Hank could do for either Charles or Erik until they got to safety—wherever that would be. Charles was going to need a hospital. Erik needed—Hank wasn't sure what the metal bender needed, outside of possibly a new brain after this, but he was going to need help too.

And then there was Raven.

The part of Hank that wasn't in a state of panic about both of their leaders collapsing was in a hyper aware state, listening for any sign of Raven that he might gleam from outside. The gunshots had stopped and so had the shouting. His heart skipped a beat as footsteps walked slowly toward the truck.

"Mystique?"

Her name slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Sean sent him what would have been a glare under normal circumstances, but came out looking more like a grimace.

The footsteps grew closer, followed by a familiar sigh.

"I'm all right, Beast. The guards… I convinced them to leave."

There was a tremor in her voice, which usually betrayed her mental state. He might not have been the telepath that her brother was, but Hank could tell that she was feeling guilty, which meant that at least one of the guards had died.

"Are you sure?"

"They won't be coming after us anytime soon."

He didn't doubt her.

There was a brief moment of silence, in which Raven walked to the front of the truck and climbed back in. She wore her natural form now, instead of Stryker's. She glanced back at Hank and her eyes widened in horror as they rested on the now unconscious form of Erik.

"What happened?"

Hank swallowed. He didn't want to explain it—hell, he didn't even know what truly happened—but he knew it was bad and that both of their leaders needed help.

"They'll be okay."

It wasn't an answer and he was sure it wasn't the truth, but it seemed to comfort to Raven. She nodded once.

"Are they safe to move?"

Hank hesitated.

"I don't know."

"We need to get them to the other truck. I don't know how to change a tire."

Hank still hesitated. He didn't know how extensive the damage was that had been inflicted on Charles, nor was he willing to risk moving the telepath or Erik, for that matter, until at least one of them was conscious. However, he knew that if he was going to save them, they needed to be moved.

Damn it.

Hank, among other things over the past year, had managed to reconstruct the Blackbird, with a few fancy upgrades that Charles had only half paid attention to when the scientist had rambled on about them a few months ago.

The plane was now hidden in a private airstrip about half a mile away from the Westchester mansion. It took Hank and Charles about five minutes to get there by car. The ride was silent and tense. Hank was nursing a cup of coffee while Charles drove up the small wooded road that led to the airstrip.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Charles?"

"Yes."

The words were a lie, but Charles wasn't about to admit that.

Hank didn't look convinced, but said nothing as Charles pulled into a parking space. He put his cup of coffee down and slowly climbed out of the car. Charles followed suit, trying his hardest not to wince as his back cracked and groaned.

Hank shot him an inquisitive look, missing nothing as Charles placed a hand on the car's hood for balance.

"Are you okay?"

Charles resisted the urge to growl. Why was everyone suddenly so concerned with his health?

"I'm fine."

Hank pressed his lips together, but once again, didn't say anything. It was starting to get on Charles' nerves.

They made their way to the airplane hangar in silence. It took longer than Charles would have liked, because his leg muscles were refusing to cooperate in a timely fashion.

Hank muttered something about checking fuel levels and making sure that the plane was okay before dashing off to the other side of the hangar, leaving Charles alone in the middle of the wide building.

He made his way for the plane, deciding if Hank needed help, he'd ask.

Charles had just made it to the plane when a familiar mind brushed against his. He froze, not expecting the contact.

Aren't you supposed to be at the mansion, asleep?

A faint chuckle reverberated inside his head.

And leave you to all of the fun, Charles?

Charles sighed.

What are you doing here, Erik?

I'm not an idiot, my friend. I know you are entirely incapable of resisting helping other mutants discover their true goodness and I know you were in my head this morning. I can put two and two together and get four, you know.

Charles sniffed.

You say 'discover their true goodness' like it's a bad thing.

In you, it probably is.