"Did I say something last night?"

"No Charles," Moira sighed, running her hands through her hair tiredly at the question, "you smashed a whiskey bottle then fainted. Then I had to pay the tab, get a taxi, drive you back here, answer questions from your oh so concerned and giggling students, get you into bed-"

"Alright, I uh, get the idea now. You can stop."

"-then, hide all the alcohol and I actually considered gagging you when you started talking in your sleep. About Erik."

"...Ah."

"Yes. Ah."

"I, erm, well..."

"What are we talking about this fine morning?" Hank boomed, coming into the kitchen, only to freeze as he beheld Charles's abashed face. A frown flickered over his lips, before he sighed heavily. "Let me guess, you got so down from everyone laughing at your dream that you went to a bar, got drunk, and it was up to Moira to haul you back here after paying your tab."

Charles blinked slowly. "Are you telepathic?"

"No," Henry said shortly, "it's just I did that once."

"Least you didn't talk in your sleep afterwards," Moira muttered, grabbing her coffee and taking a sip as Charles shot her a look and Hank raised an eyebrow.

"Do I want to know?"

"No."

"Then I won't ask."

"Would any of you three care to tell me exactly what happened for you to end up in my office this fine morning?"

The three people in front of him shifted uncomfortably in their seats, each shooting looks at each other accusingly, yet no words were spoken. Charles sighed.

"You were once students at this school, weren't you?"

"You know we were Professor."

Resting his eyes on the owner of the affronted voice, Charles rubbed his temples as he felt another migraine coming on. "Jean, I know that."

The red head bit her lip and looked away, towards her boyfriend, Scott Summers. "Professor-"

Charles held up a hand as he beheld his three former students sitting guiltily in front of his desk. "Jean, Scott, Ororo, what happened?"

As Jean reluctantly spoke up about how it was all Ororo's fault and proceeded to tell a tale of complete lies about her trying to steal Scott from her, Charles sighed and closed his eyes. About half-way through the story, when Jean was describing what Ororo had tried to do to her, Charles stopped her with a look.

"Ororo," he said smoothly, and the African in question looked at him blankly, "do you deny trying to beat Jean up?"

"No."

Charles sighed. "Were you trying to "steal Scott" from her?"

Ororo sniffed, hatred burning in her gaze as she glared at Jean stubbornly. "No."

"Then why were you trying to beat her up?"

"She annoyed me. Called me a freak because of my hair." As she spoke, one dark hand came up to stroke a lock of pure white hair that fell in front of her eyes. Cerulean blue eyes met blue, and Ororo blinked.

"Scott, where we you during all of this?"

Scott frowned, sitting up straight in his seat. "I was nowhere near the scene, Professor. Ask Kurt. I was with him."

Sitting back in his chair, Charles regarded his former students with a sigh.

Three different stories...

Clearing his throat after a moment, Charles leant forward again, crossing his arms as he wondered why the three never got along properly. "You three graduated from this school with flying honours. You were the best of friends. And I let you three back into this school with the knowledge that you would continue your college and university studies from here. Am I correct?"

Three murmured agreements came from the young adults.

"But this sort of behaviour is not tolerated. So I will have to punish you."

Three sets of horrified eyes stared at him.

"Tell me," he offered, with a small smirk, "what do you think of robot boxing?"

The part where Charles talks in his sleep may be referred to as slash, but you can decide that or not.