Charles was in the lobby of their hotel when he first felt it; sharp enough, sudden enough, to make him cry out, to bend him double. With his mind ablaze he reached out, shouted silently through the connection to Erik's mind as he tried desperately to get a fix on a location through the explosion of fear that was partially his own.

But before he could find him, he lost him. He screamed and shouted in his own head, unaware of the people around him covering their ears, unaware of the hands on his arm and his back. As if from a great distance he could hear voices, but none of them belonged to Erik and through the nauseating birth of a migraine he kept reaching beyond even his own limits, hopelessly trying to find Erik until his body overrode his mind, shutting it down before it overloaded, and he collapsed to the marble floor.

x x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x x

He came round to soft rain on his face, mud sucking at his clothes, his lungs on fire, though he didn't quite make it to full consciousness. There were parts of his body that his brain had decided were better off remaining out of contact with his nervous system for the time being, so he felt hot, feverish, but not in anywhere near the amount of pain he knew he should be.

He had no idea where he was and for a while he lay in the mud and the undergrowth until he felt the unnatural heat start to leech from his body to be replaced by a bone deep chill. He knew then that if he didn't do something to help himself, he would die there, and for a time the prospect didn't seem too bad. He felt a strange peace saturating him. His life had been, for the most part, a tragedy. There were few who would mourn him for long. Even Charles seemed to have abandoned him, his mind was empty and for the first time in a long time, he was truly alone there.

You're not alone. Erik, you're not alone.

His eyes snapped open. Was that a memory or Charles speaking to him? He didn't know, but suddenly he had to move. If he did nothing and by some miracle still made it out alive, Charles would kill him anyway for giving up on him. He tried to sit up and that was when the broke bits of his body made themselves known. He let the scream out because there was no one around to hear him and it helped for a second or two. So he screamed again as he wrapped his right arm around his torn stomach because his left one wouldn't respond. When he lifted his arm away, it was covered in blood. Suddenly his whole body started shaking and he dropped back to the forest floor.

What was the point? He was dying, he'd probably already lost too much blood to survive. If he just closed his eyes everything would go black, the pain would go away, his whole shattered life would go away.

Don't spoil this for me, Erik.

Another memory opened his eyes, and he knew it was a memory because he could see the smile on Charles' face as they stood for the first time inside Cerebro. But it didn't matter because it reminded him that Charles definitely wouldn't be happy with this new Erik who quit when the going got tough and bloody.

Gritting his teeth, he started to test which parts of his body still responded without too much pain. His legs were okay, and one arm. That was going to have to be enough. Taking a deep breath, he reached out his good arm, clawed his fingers into the wet ground, and pushed himself to his knees. The pain ripped another scream from him and he remembered that it felt good to let it out, so he did it again, and again, screaming from the pit of his lungs each and every time he moved.

By the time he reached the tree line his trousers were ripped from cutting a path through the forest, his hand was bleeding and his throat was raw. But at least he'd found his way out, and five hundred yards more would get him to the derelict cabin in which the girl had been hiding, protected by that creature, the one that had appeared from nowhere to attack him. It didn't make sense that he hadn't seen it, then again, nothing was making much sense. All he knew was that he needed to get help and the only person around to help him here was himself. He'd survived alone in the past, he was going to now.

You're not alone.

Charles' voice in his mind, nothing but a memory, but it pushed him forward, pushed him on. He couldn't give up because leaving Charles without his anchor wasn't an option. For the first time in his life he had a motive for living besides revenge; he had someone who loved him, needed him, relied on him. He had to live, however badly his body wanted to die.

The ground was rough; dirt, patchy grass and small stones. His legs were starting to wobble, his balance was gone, he was bleeding to death. The cabin was his only hope and he'd make it any way he could.

When his knees turned to jelly, he knew the only way was to crawl.

With his left hand uselessly covering his stomach as if trying to hold his insides inside and his left shoulder radiating pain like fire, he moved an inch at a time, weight on his right thigh and hip, pulling himself across the space with his right hand, pushing with his right foot. He didn't feel like he had the strength to push even one of the stones that kept cutting into his flesh, digging up into the denim of his jeans but somehow he made it, dragging himself up the wooden steps to drop back hard against the door.

x x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x x

The silent scream echoed around the inside of his head. Maybe his scream, maybe the memory of Erik's before the link between them was so brutally severed. This was different to when Erik had been pulled through into the rift, when all Charles had felt at the end of his anchor line was a black hole that threatened to drown him in the despair and loneliness he'd experienced. This time the disconnection hadn't left a hole, it had left a jagged rip, a tear in his own psyche with edges sharp enough to cut himself, to bleed himself dry if he chose to.

It was death, the severance of a telepath's anchor line to a lost soul mate, and tears leaked from Charles' eyes even though he wasn't really conscious. Not yet.

And this wasn't death. He could feel moments of life, flashes of white-hot agony, relief from his own mind, terror and pain from Erik's, but at least it meant there was a chance of saving him.

Still too deep in his own mind to wake, Charles called to Erik, reaching out the way he would to any other mind, using his innate mutation rather than the intimate connection he was used to speaking to his lover through.

::Erik! Please! Where are you?::

But the flashes, when they happened, weren't enough to get a location, weren't even enough to tell Charles what had gone wrong. There were only enough to convince him that Erik had been attacked, that he was badly hurt. That he was dying.

He had to find him!

::Erik, answer me! Tell me where you are!::

Still nothing, and with every minute that ticked passed the flashes weakened, the pain of loss got stronger and more overwhelming, and Charles consciousness fought for its own survival by dragging him back to wakefulness, away from the dangerous injury to his mind.

He struggled, tried to stay close to the anchor point just in case Erik... but he was the telepath, not his lover. He was going to have to find Erik himself, Erik wouldn't be able to come to him now.

He was crying when he opened his eyes. There was a cool cloth on his head which he ripped away and threw across his room in a flash of grief and anger. He was grateful for the curtains closed against the sunlight, and the soft pillows under his head. The last place he remembered being was in the hotel lobby; someone had got him into his room and he knew he needed to be grateful of that too.

He sat up, too quickly, headache slamming hard against his optic nerve, turning his stomach.

For a moment he closed his eyes, willed his body to settle down. He was no good to Erik if he made himself sick. Tears ran down his face, streaming from his eyes. He didn't care, didn't try to stop them.

"Professor!" Hayes rushed over to him, obviously relieved to see him awake. "Professor?" he could hear her, see her, but all he could Do was stare, as if he'd lost some of the controls to his own body along with his vital link to Erik.

It's just grief, he told himself firmly, you can speak, you just don't want to talk.

He looked at her, opened his mouth, and finally managed to whisper, "He's gone. Erik's gone."

x x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x x

Hayes found herself ill-equipped to handle a hurting telepath. She was generally ill-equipped to handle injured or hurt people and so far their cases had never called upon her to play nurse. That was Reaper's job. Even Blu was better at this than her. Give her a vault to break into or a reluctant target to charm, that was her strength.

Looking at the beyond-pale, crying man sitting on the bed, the mutant sighed softly.

What to do? Charles was their leader. Well, him and Erik. Now Erik was missing and Charles looked like he might be losing his mind. She had no idea how to get in contact with the other two members of their team. Reaper and Blu might be on their way but it was just as likely that they were stuck somewhere.

"Professor, do you know where he went?"

It occurred to her that Charles might not actually have meant 'gone'. He might have meant 'dead'. But that was unthinkable.

"Professor?" she tried again tentatively when he didn't answer her first question.

But he just continued to stare at her as if he was trying to work out who she was. Or maybe he was testing to remember who he was.

Getting Xavier up here had been a stretch on her abilities and she had charmed several hotel employees into getting the suffering telepath in here, then sweet-talked them into leaving them alone and not calling the police. Afterwards she had felt a headache of her own and she had been close to breathless.

She knew, as well as everyone else at the Xavier Institute, about the relationship between the two leaders. Actually, when Hayes had joined it had been strong and ongoing for a while. She found they made a handsome pairing and watching them had given her a good insight into their workings as a couple. Whatever had hit Erik, it had severely ricocheted into Charles, knocking him senseless.

But what? Had he found the mutant? If yes, what the hell kind of mutation could do this? Another telepath?

Maybe, she supposed. A telepath who had knocked Erik out? But Charles' reaction had been one of sudden, expected and intense pain. Would a telepathic attack on Erik do this to Charles?

She glanced at him. There were lines of pain on his handsome face, and his tears we falling steadily. Hayes chewed her lower lip.

What else was there? Physical attack?

Something cold settled in her stomach.

Who or what might have attacked their team leader? Erik was powerful, dangerous, a survivor. There was metal everywhere and he could fight back with just a tiny flick of his finger or a stray thought. She had seen him wield his abilities with a finesse that had left her breathless. He also never went unarmed.

Sooo… Hayes' brows drew down as she continued to chew her lip. So if something attacked Erik it had been somewhere he couldn't defend himself. No metal. Or not enough. Too sudden.

Moving to stand in front of Charles, she gently covered his hands in his lap and squeezed his fingers. He looked up again but he didn't seem to even be seeing her any longer, like he was only seeing whatever was in his own head.

"Prof?"

Up close she saw to her dismay how bloodless he appeared, like he was going into shock. Just what she needed! She had no idea to help him!

"Charles?" she tried again, gentle and letting some of her charm bleed into her voice. "Charles, please, I need you to help me. Where is Erik? Where was he last?"

Carefully she reached out and touched one slender hand to his cheek, just the fingertips on cool skin.

"Charles, darling," she tried again, voice smoother, rich and going deeper into his consciousness. "You know where he went, right? Tell me. I can keep a secret. Share it with me."

Her head throbbed faintly and Hayes knew she was overdoing it, trying to influence the strongest mind this planet knew. Charles was incredibly powerful and her piddly-ass powers were nothing in comparison. She had only once tried it and gotten a migraine for a day.

Back then he had been conscious and rather amused at her attempts. Now there was no amusement.

"Charles," she cajoled. "Please. I need your help here."

x x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x xx x x x x

Charles replayed his memories, the few moments before the pain had crippled him in the middle of the hotel lobby, tried to see what Erik had seen, if Erik had given him anything, however small, to go on.

There was something; the scent of trees after rain, a wooden cabin. He needed more! The fifth time through, he caught it. Just before the first burst of pain, there was surprise, shock, horror... a monster! Huge, black, with teeth and claws, razor sharp knives cutting through the air, cutting through flesh...!

Pulling himself back from the anchor again, he focused with difficulty on Hayes, standing in front of him looking scared and helpless.

"A cabin," he told her, swallowing hard. His throat felt too dry. "And a monster."

He saw in her expression that she didn't believe him, that she thought he was losing his marbles and she might have been right but he knew without a doubt what he saw in his memory, what Erik saw for real.

"I'm telling you the truth," he tried to sound sane, tried to keep calm. "Erik's been attacked by a monster." He needed her to believe him, relieved when he felt her do just that.

"Where?" she asked him steadily. "Where is the cabin? Because I'm no detective, Prof. I need help. And my help is probably still stuck somewhere in Butthole or Armpit or whatever."

He watched her rake slender fingers through her hair. He'd told her everything he knew. But it wasn't going to be enough. They needed more. They needed local knowledge.

"Go and ask the concierge," he suggested, thinking his way through the beginning of the inevitable migraine. He could feel her trying to decide if leaving him alone was a good idea. "I'm not going to do anything stupid," he chided, "just go."

It was the push she needed and promising him she'd be less than ten minutes, she left the room. Charles closed his eyes, swiped at his wet face with the backs of his hands, and dropped back across the bed.

tbc...