Sorry ya'll, was spending Thanksgiving with the family and then I had to do craploads and craploads of research so that most of this medical stuff is actually legit...but anyway. And please trust me once you read this, because I hate crappy endings, so...

Anyway, here's the chapter. Thanks so much for reading, and I can't wait to hear from ya'll!

Chapter 9

Now (Six Weeks Later)

Charles is at the table, reading in the light of what's left of the bright part of the afternoon—now that the day's headache has subsided at least enough that he can. Or he's trying to, but he's having to squint and he wonders when his vision began to blur. It isn't awful, but it's enough to be frustrating while trying to make out the small words on the page.

Now that he thinks about it, that's happened more than once lately. It's worse today, and he's near to giving up for the afternoon but he isn't certain what else he would do if he did. There isn't much to be done, for once; clothes are washed, the house is mostly clean, and there are more than enough leftovers for dinner. He's glad of it today. He hates to admit it to himself, but he hasn't felt well at all and it isn't only his head and eyes.

Not that it's unusual, but he wishes it wasn't.

When Erik comes in from work he takes the chair next to him, pulling it closer and looping his arms around Charles from beside him.

"I'm all right," Charles says, before he can ask.

"Your head isn't hurting you today?"

"Well…"

Erik lets out a breath and holds him closer, nearly making him lean out of the chair. Charles puts the book down and turns to surrender into the embrace. He won't be reading anymore today. But he's used to that by now. Sometimes it still seems strange, how different things are, but at the same time things are just the same as they've always been.

After all, they always felt this way. It just took them far too long to realize it.

"When are you going back?" Erik asks.

"Next week. There's an appointment scheduled already."

"Whatever it is he gave you hasn't helped at all. Maybe you shouldn't wait for the appointment. I'm worried about you."

Charles shakes his head a bit. "There isn't any reason not to simply wait; it won't make much of a difference. How many times have we had this conversation?"

Erik kisses his cheek. "More than I'd like."

Charles knows he's going to continue, and he turns his head to catch his husband's lips to silence him.

He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to be pressed; he doesn't want to speculate on what might be wrong. It's clear by now that it isn't only telepathy headaches, and the doctor's thoughts are still in the back of his mind.

But for now, if he can get away with not worrying about it for just this one more week…if things can just be as normal as they can be for just a little while longer…

Maybe if he pretends there isn't a problem there won't be one.

Charles pushes the kiss deeper, and maybe he's a bit too aggressive because Erik is with him for a moment but then he pulls back and it's confusion Charles is sensing from him.

"Charles? What is it?"

"Nothing."

He wants it to sound natural, and he wants it to be true. Still Erik looks at him for a few seconds longer than usual, before kissing him again as if to assure himself that it really is nothing.

It could still be nothing. God, he hopes it's nothing.

There's giggling from the stairs, and they look up to find Bobby and Kitty watching them. Erik rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but there isn't any reason to hide or anything of the sort. The children seem used this new level of their relationship. In truth, it's as if they'd expected it. It hasn't seemed to surprise them much at all.

Go on. I'll warm up dinner, Charles thinks to his smiles and gets to his feet to chase the twins back up the stairs, and Charles hears the heavy footfalls of their play over his head as he puts the remains of yesterday's dinner back on the stove.

Perfect. It's almost perfect. If not for blasted health uncertainties, and the system that threatens to ruin their children's futures…it would be perfect.


Erik wakes the next morning with empty arms, and panics for a moment before he realizes that Charles is mere inches away. That should have calmed him completely, but he's worried when he sees that his husband is curled in on himself, back to him. When he pushes up on his elbows Erik sees that Charles's hands are clenching his head.

He quickly closes the bit of distance between them, sliding to Charles and holding him from behind.

"Charles, what's wrong? Is it that bad?" he asks anxiously, near Charles's ear.

The only answer he receives is a whimper of pain.

Erik swallows and tugs at him gently, trying not to let the panic return. "Come on. Can you get up? We need to get you into town."

"N-no, I—"

"I'll carry you if I have to, but we're going. This is ridiculous."

Charles opens his mouth as if he's going to say something to that, but all that comes out is a soft groan.

Erik squeezes his shoulder and climbs quickly from the bed, going around it to find clothes from the shelf and dress. Once he's ready Charles still hasn't moved, and Erik helps him sit up and pulls clothes onto him, too. That's when Charles protests, trying to squirm away at first and insisting he isn't a child, but then he doubles over again and has no choice but to let Erik help him.

Erik bites his lip, trying to swallow back the lump in his throat at the pain on husband's face. Once Charles is dressed he picks him up, carefully, and Charles buries his face in Erik's neck.

They've barely made it from the bedroom, though, before Charles tenses and all but falls from Erik's arms. He pitches out and Erik has to catch him to keep him from hitting the floor too hard. Charles scrambles into the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet and retching violently into it. Erik follows him automatically, finding a cloth from the small cupboard under the washbasin. He dampens it in the relatively cool water there in the basin and kneels at his husband's side to support him and hold the folded cloth to his forehead.

There isn't much in his stomach, but it takes so long, before Charles finally can finally stop dry-heaving. By the time he's able to stop he's trembling, tears of exhaustion and pain on his face, and it doesn't take much tugging for him to willingly drop back against Erik's chest. Erik holds him there, keeping the cool cloth to his forehead, and there almost isn't room for the both of them to be on the floor in here.

"Charles…"

His throat has nearly closed, as his brain catches up and part of him begins to understand what just happened, and what it could mean.

Charles gulps noisily, still shivering in his arms. "Oh god."

There's pounding overhead, and down the stairs. In another moment the bathroom door burst open, slamming into his shin, and Erik grunts but says nothing. It's Jean, in the doorway, with Ororo crowding in beside her.

"Mom?" Jean questions urgently.

"What's going on?" Ororo wails. It's apparent that her sister, if her telepathy has clued her in to anything more than what they can see, hasn't said anything to her younger sibling.

Charles tries to push out of Erik's arms and sit up, tries to keep the girls from worrying too much, but there's a quickly strangled-off cry and he drops back again, holding his head. "I'm, uhm…I'm just not feeling my best…at the moment…" he manages anyway.

Erik resists the urge to make a face and looks up at the girls. "Can you two keep an eye on the twins today?"


The wait is agonizing. With Jean and Ororo watching Bobby and Kitty they needn't leave the infirmary, but having nothing to do but sit here is almost worse. It would certainly be worse if they weren't together.

But they are. Charles's doctor understands the possible seriousness of the situation, and he let them remain in the examination room to wait rather then sending them back out into the waiting room after taking the samples to test.

They don't say anything. Erik just holds him, massaging his temples because his head is still pulsing mercilessly, and Charles is grateful for all of it.

He tries to tell himself it's nothing. He could have been sick from the pain; that's all. But that wouldn't explain the nausea and dizziness he's felt on and off for months, or the fact that it's been worse recently.

It takes what seems like forever. When the doctor returns—an older man who had just begun practicing even before the war—Erik slips off the edge of the exam table they've been sitting on to stand, but his arms never let Charles go.

Charles's chest clenches, but he doesn't search the man's mind, and what he says isn't at all expected.

It's welcome, but unexpected.

"You aren't pregnant, Charles. That isn't what's going on here. In fact, thanks to both what I think was a natural shift that was occurring already and the medication I gave you, your levels of female hormones have dropped significantly. You're as close to what would be called normal as you've ever been."

Charles allows himself a breath of relief, and he feels Erik's tight grip around his shoulders loosen just a little.

The doctor, meanwhile, continues. "That may be partly why you've been so sick so often. We already know your immune system hasn't been what it could be since the last pregnancy, and that's still part of it, too, but I believe what you've been going through in the last few months is the final breakdown of the secondary mutation. I wasn't sure until I saw today's results, but now I'm certain it's the only explanation."

"He's been sick because of…what? The changes? Is that what you're saying?" Erik asks.

"Essentially, yes—the upset in the balance of hormones he's had his entire life. They're moving toward what's normal for males on their own, and the medication I gave him seems to have sped that process. I'm sorry, Charles; if you've felt even worse since you began taking it that's why."

Charles straightens more on the edge of the exam table. "So…you're saying these levels will be normal soon? Does that mean I won't be capable at all of conceiving?"

"I doubt you would be capable of it now. But yes. That's what I'm saying. If you don't mind I'd like to keep you on the medication for a few more months to help it along and to be sure. Don't worry; it shouldn't keep you so sick for much longer. And once the levels are normal, of course, the nausea and other related symptoms should stop completely."

And you'll be safe, Erik adds silently. Erik is almost more relieved than he is, and Charles leans into him a bit from the weight of his own.

But also because he's afraid of what he has to ask next.

"But what about the headaches? And the blurred vision?" Charles asks after a long minute or two.

"That's what we need to find out."

"It couldn't simply be related…?"

The doctor shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. It might cause some of that, but not as much pain as you seem to be having, and not the blurred vision. And you're saying the medication I gave you for the headaches hasn't helped?"

"Not one wit, I'm afraid," Charles grimaces.

"I assume that was going to be the subject of the appointment you made for next week…" Charles nods, and the man moves on. "Is it simply not helping, or has it gotten worse?"

"Worse," Erik answers immediately.

Charles lets out a breath, wishing Erik wouldn't do that, answer for him, but it is the truth. "Yes. It's gotten worse."

Erik scowls worriedly. "We were on our way here anyway when he got sick; he was in too much pain to get up on his own."

The doctor doesn't like that bit of information, though Charles doesn't let Erik know that. The man doesn't say much else, offering noncommittally that there are tests that can be run. He orders more bloodwork, and performs vision tests and other tests after asking if Charles is up for it today.

Charles says he is, even though he's exhausted; he would rather know what's wrong than go on wondering, even if it means he has to force himself to stay awake for a few more hours.

And Erik doesn't leave him. That helps.

After everything else, the doctor asks for X-Rays, and Charles catches him grumbling inwardly about the fact that since the war they haven't recovered enough technology for more sophisticated imaging than that.

He doesn't mean to intrude into the man's mind, but it's harder not to catch others' thoughts when his head is bothering him so. The ache is subsiding as the day goes on, as it always does, and he used to have better control even through it, but he's so tired…

He's exhausted enough that with anxiousness besides he is dozing on the exam table soon after the X-Rays are taken, head in his arms. Charles is just aware of Erik sitting beside him, rubbing soothing circles in his back. His thoughts, however, are not comforting, and they are likely the only thing keeping Charles from real sleep.

It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay…Erik is repeating on the surface. Over and over and over and over, more to himself than anything, but Charles can hear it. But that isn't what bothers him. What bothers him are the thoughts beneath the surface—the worry and speculations that aren't quite even thoughts, really, and it doesn't help that they're echoed in the back of his own mind.

Finally he has to say something, just because he can't stand the silence anymore.

"What if it's—"

"It isn't."

Erik's answer is quick, unwavering, and Charles wishes he were that sure.

Mom? What's going on over there? You've been gone all day…

Jean.

Charles lets out a breath and closes his eyes again. We don't know yet.

How can you not know yet? Worry there too, and Charles swallows.

We may know something soon, I think. All he's really told her so far is what they discovered earlier in the morning—the good news. Jean retreats now, reluctantly, understanding that there's nothing more really to know.

Charles turns onto his back, grimacing when the jostling sends dull spikes of fresh pain through his head, and tugs at the bottom of Erik's shirt. His husband glances down at him, and after the smallest mental nudging he understands what Charles wants. He obliges, shifting back on the padded exam table, and lets Charles rest his head in his lap.


Charles is well and truly asleep when the doctor comes in with the printed X-Rays, and Erik nudges him awake and helps him sit up.

They don't have the resources for proper viewing boxes in every exam room, and the doctor leads them to another small room where there is a desk, two or three chairs, and the light box for viewing the X-Rays. The prints themselves are in a paper envelope, and the man doesn't pull them out immediately. He motions to the chairs and props himself on the corner of the desk, instead.

He's holding onto one of Charles's arms—he'd held onto it on the way here to be sure he was steady—and Erik feels in tense under his fingers now. He can see Charles's entire body growing taut, though he tries to hide it, and Erik slides his hand down the arm to twist Charles's fingers with his own.

What? What are you sensing from him?

Charles doesn't answer—just squeezes back in response.

"I need to explain this first," the doctor is saying. "The fact is that we found something much like what I was expecting."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Erik asks tightly.

The man doesn't answer that question directly. Instead he looks at his patient. "Charles, there's a tumor on the surface of your brain," he says slowly. "It's large enough that it's beginning to cause pressure within your skull, and that's what's caused the other symptoms—the headaches and the blurred vision, at least, and it may be contributing to the recurring nausea and exhaustion."

Charles is silent at his side, and Erik opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"However, just because it's a tumor doesn't mean it's cancerous," the doctor says quickly, and Erik swallows because that would have been his first question.

The doctor stands, and pulls two X-Rays from the envelope to clip them up in the light box. He points to the blatant mass that is toward the front and to the right side of Charles's head, on the surface of Charles's brain just as he said it was, and Erik's mouth is suddenly dry. Charles just stares, and Erik wishes abruptly that he shared his husband's gift and he could know what Charles is thinking.

I'm right here, he thinks, because he doesn't know what else is appropriate to say right now.

"We won't know anything more for certain until we can get a sample for a biopsy, but with the tumor here on the surface that won't be difficult. We won't need to do surgery for that; we'll just need several more X-Rays to get a better lock on the position. And perhaps X-Rays are limited in what they can show, especially in situations like this, but from the position and general shape I can tell you that cancer isn't the most likely answer here. I can't promise you that isn't what it is, but…"

"Then what?" Charles speaks up finally, though softly, and Erik feels badly that he can't push words past his throat yet.

A tumor. In Charles's brain. What…what the hell? Things like this happen to other people. Things like this happen to humans, or those who stay out in the radiation too long like Logan and Kayla did. (Not that he blames Logan any more than anyone else does. He doesn't. He understands the choice they made.)

But this isn't supposed to happen to them. To Charles.

God, if anyone deserves it it isn't Charles.

Not that anyone deserves it.

"We won't know until we can examine a sample from the tumor. If it's benign we should be able to operate and remove at least most of it. If it's cancerous we can do that, but you'll still need treatment. Though with no better imaging systems we won't know until we're in how much we really can remove, but if the tumor is benign removing enough to relieve the pressure may be all that's needed."

And if it isn't benign…

That is what the man isn't saying.

It could come back then. Charles could die.

Charles is nodding slowly, mechanically, and Erik would have slipped his arm around his husband's shoulders but Charles is squeezing the hand he would have to move so tightly Erik is afraid someone's fingers might crack. He settles for reaching across himself with his free hand to grip Charles's shoulder, and when he does Charles blinks and speaks again.

"When?" he asks shortly. "When do we…uhm…the sample…"

The doctor's expression had been as gentle as it could be, but it softens more now. "Not today. Thanks to the position of the tumor we should be able to take the sample in the least invasive way possible—with a needle. It isn't an awful procedure, and we will numb the area, but it's been a long day, and I'm not going to put you through that now. All I need from you now is to let us take the extra X-Rays so we'll be ready tomorrow, which shouldn't take long at all, and you can go home."

Charles starts to shake his head. "But…if you can take the sample today, that's all right. We should do it. We'll know sooner—"

"It's going to take several days to analyze everything thoroughly, especially with what limited resources we have here, unfortunately. Waiting until morning won't make much difference, and you need to go home. You should rest."

He's right. Charles, by now, looks awful even though he'd been resting just before this. And now, at that, Charles finally, finally looks at him, looking for guidance when usually he is perfectly happy to stand on his own two feet, and Erik has to fight the urge to swallow when his throat closes. He nods a bit, and Charles looks back to the doctor.

"All right…"

The doctor takes down the X-Rays, puts them back in the envelope and goes to the door. "I'll have a nurse outside waiting to take you back for the other X-Rays," he says quietly.

He's leaving them alone, to give them time to process everything they've just been told. Erik is thankful for that, but Charles pushes to his feet immediately. "No, it's all right. We'll come now." He tugs on Erik's hand, urging him up with him, but Erik doesn't budge at first.

Charles…

If this is all we've left to have done today, then we ought to have it over with.

Are you sure…? He asks again because Charles's voice, even inwardly, is strained. His expression is tight. And that besides the fact that he looks awful already.

If he isn't going to take the sample today anyhow I would rather be out of here sooner rather than later. I want to go home.

That, Erik cannot argue with. They've been here all day. The afternoon is growing long, and here is not the place to deal with this anyway.

The doctor is looking at them questioningly. "Are you sure?" he asks, echoing Erik's silent question.

"We're sure," Erik says, finally using his voice. Charles nods, and they follow the man from the small room.

He leads them back to where they'd been before, when they took the first X-Rays, and Erik is forced to wait again while they take the rest of the X-Rays that are needed. Charles is reluctant to release his hand when they take him back, and when he comes out Erik offers it again and he quickly takes it. Erik is relatively certain his hand will be bruised tomorrow, but he doesn't care.

The doctor is ready to let them be on their way, but before he turns to go Erik finally manages to speak.

"How?" he asks. "How did this happen?"

The man turns back to them, opens his mouth and closes it again, and pulls them farther away from anyone else in the lobby. "I must admit that this is not the sort of thing that we've seen much of since the war, with most of us remaining being of the mutant sort…"

"That's why I'm asking," Erik presses, bordering on anger.

The doctor looks at them for a long moment, and lets out a breath. "The two of you knew Kayla Silverfox, yes?"

"Yes," Charles says quietly.

"Were you aware of her particular gift?"

Charles is the one to answer this time, too, because Erik isn't following beyond the fact that Kayla is the only other case of anything like this that he can remember since the war.

And he knows how that ended.

"Persuasion…" Charles trails when he answers, and the look on his face is not comforting. It's as if he knows the rest of the conversation already, and because he's Charles he might. He looks sick to his stomach.

"I don't understand," Erik says desperately. And now he does put an arm around Charles, because it seems it really might be needed just to hold him up.

"Her power was very mentally-centered. She had to be touching whomever she was attempting to influence, but that was the only physical aspect of it. Other than that it was entirely mental, and the only real theory we ever had as to why she'd contracted such an aggressive brain cancer even though she was a mutant was that her power, being centered mentally, had directed most of the radiation she absorbed to her brain. No one else that we know of has developed anything like that, or like this, and…"

"My powers are even more mentally centered," Charles whispers. "God…"

"But this is an entirely different situation, Charles. You haven't been overtly exposed to any of the remaining radiation since you were very young. That bodes well. And not even growths triggered by radiation are always cancerous."

"But if it's been that long since he was exposed how could it have been caused by radiation in any way in the first place?" Erik questions.

"Sometimes reactions like this can be delayed by years, or decades—or not be discovered until then. And if the tumor is benign it could have been there for years, or decades, and it's only now large enough to cause symptoms. Some of them can grow quite slowly." The man looks thoughtful for a moment. "That may be the most likely scenario, in fact. It might help to explain why you had such difficulties with pregnancy even in the beginning."

"It could have been there that long?" Charles asks weakly.

"It's possible, if it was growing slowly enough."

"But how would that have affected anything so early on?" Erik asks then.

"I misspoke. It isn't that the tumor would have affected the pregnancies, really; it's more that the pregnancies may have affected the tumor, and then in turn the symptoms from the growing tumor may have made pregnancy more difficult. Before the war research was beginning to suggest that hormones involved with pregnancy can speed the growth of tumors and cancer—particularly those centered in the brain, because it's the brain that releases these hormones."

Charles is quiet again. "What does all that mean?" Erik presses.

The doctor lets out a breath. "I'm sorry if I've confused you. I'm afraid all it really means is that at this point it's hard to say how much of Charles's problems over the years have been due to the destabilization of his secondary mutation, and how much has been due to the tumor. It's even possible that perhaps the presence of the tumor was one of the causes of the breakdown of the secondary mutation. We just don't know."

"Then what the hell do we know?" he all but growls.

"We know that we're going to do everything we can to help him," the doctor says firmly. "You can be sure of that."

His head is spinning when Charles speaks up again, more loudly this time, and the hand that isn't entwined with Erik's reaches up to tug gently at Erik's arm. "Thank you. We'll be back in the morning, " he says, and then he's pulling Erik toward the door more forcefully.


Charles quickly pulls Erik from the infirmary building, just wanting to be out of there himself but sensing, too, the anger building in his husband and the need to remove him from the situation. By the time he has Erik out of the building and into the narrow alley Charles can see that his eyes are damp and wild, and he isn't breathing evenly anymore.

"We've been killing you," Erik gasps. "From the beginning, we—"

"What? 'We' who?"

"Me! Them. Oh god." He leans heavily into the side of the building. "Oh god, Charles, I'm so sorry. They decided it was all right to let you die the moment they decided to pair you with me and I just went along with it. I—"

He grips Erik's arms and shakes him a bit. "Stop it, Erik! You couldn't have known, and neither could they. No one knew. No one could have. And you heard the things he said, didn't you? This doesn't mean anything. This doesn't mean that—that I'm going to die, and it certainly does not mean that it is anyone's fault even if I do."

His voice is thick, but he refuses to give in to panic. There is nothing to panic about. Not yet. Not if they can fix it. Not if whatever this is can removed and stay away after that. Everything could still be just fine.

As long as it isn't cancer.

But it could be.

Oh god don't lose it, don't lose it, don't lose it…

Erik shakes his head stubbornly and refuses to look up. "No. It's my fault. I could have protested; I could have protected you…but I just did what they asked. I married you, I—I got you pregnant. Half a dozen times. It's my fault, Charles! I've been doing this to you! If he's right I've only been making it worse."

"No, if it was anything it was hormones from the pregnancies. You heard him."

"But I caused those pregnancies."

"God, Erik, you were hardly alone in that venture."

"I didn't say no when they didn't stop asking! Maybe if you hadn't had so many children, or…I don't know. I—"

"Erik, stop!" Charles all but shouts, and really shakes him now. He can't listen to any more of this. It isn't helping his effort to not-panic. "Those pregnancies brought us seven beautiful, wonderful children, and I would not have it any other way. Who would we have left out? Sean and Alex? Ororo? Hank? Well?"

Erik is silent now, but there are tears on his cheeks, and they're both quiet for a long time. Erik looks at him finally, and reaches to pull Charles into his arms and hold him close and tightly. Charles relaxes into the embrace, face buried in his husband's shoulder, and though it's really only been maybe an hour since the doctor brought them into that little room and turned everything in their world on its head it seems like forever since he's relaxed at all. Still, when he feels tears of his own welling to the surface he squeezes his eyes shut and forces them back.

Now isn't the time. They have to go home.

"I don't want to lose you," Erik whispers at length. "I just found you."

"I feel rather the same," Charles answers quietly.

There's more silence, but it doesn't matter. They're here, together, in each other's arms right now, and that's enough for this moment. It has to be, because apparently now is all that's certain anymore.