Been rather busy this week, but finally got this done. Now to study more for the Art History test tomorrow. Oi. Anyhoo, I hope ya'll like it, and thanks so much for everything! I can't wait to hear from ya'll! Have a good week. :)

Chapter 18

Now

Erik didn't remember the valley well until Charles worked with him before his surgery. He certainly didn't remember the village. But as they put his memories back together he did—remembered the shape and size of the valley and the flashes of the small walled village he saw as he ran. The village is larger now, but certainly still much smaller than any of the other settlements. And it isn't one of the five that are officially known of now.

What Erik remembers most—what he remembered even before Charles helped him—was the entrance in the side of the hill. It's a hill, because maybe it isn't small but it certainly is not a mountain. It isn't large enough to house what Erik knows that entrance leads to, but he supposes most of what he saw in his escape is underground.

The hillside is merely a convenient place to hide an entrance in the rocks. Anyone who happened upon this place would likely believe it to be a newer village not reported yet, or one that had decided not to officially join with the network of settlements. They wouldn't know the walled village is there as a home for the families of the mutants and other people Shaw forces to do his bidding. They wouldn't know the people in that village are virtually prisoners. They wouldn't about Shaw's headquarters and the labs underground.

But Erik knows where the entrance is. It's the one he made it out of thirty years ago.

He doesn't see much reason to observe for long before cresting the opposite hill and making his way down into the valley. There isn't any reason to hide as he crosses the small valley to the entrance.

He wants Shaw to know he's here. He isn't trying to pull anything just yet, after all. He's here because Charles needs him.

The metal door in the hillside creaks open before he reaches it.

Shaw and the teleporter and another mutant man Erik doesn't know are on the other side.

"You actually followed instructions, Erik. I'm impressed."

"Where is Charles?" he demands immediately.

"There will be time for that; there are a few things we need to discuss first."

"I have nothing to say to you. I know what you did to him, you bastard, now take me to him."

Shaw's eyebrows go up, disappearing under the helmet that really doesn't look any good on him at all. "Managed to reach you, did he?"

"Take me to him," Erik repeats firmly.

"I assume you also know what I'm asking of you, then."

Erik's eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches. "You know I won't do that. I won't help you. You've done enough to this world."

"Well…maybe you'll change your mind. Azazel, take him to his husband. If Nicole is there, bring her back up for now."

Nicole? Nicole is still here?

Erik doesn't have time to be upset over that before the teleporter takes the short few steps to him, takes his arm, and they've gone. The hillside disappears and the all-too-familiar dim walls of his old stone prison materialize around him. It hasn't changed at all save for the wooden platform under the slightly better mattress boosting it a foot or two from the ground and keeping it level.

The vents to the surface help some, but the stench of blood and sickness makes Erik's stomach turn before he's even focused on the makeshift bed. He can't entirely see the prone figure there because a blonde woman of maybe middle age is sitting on the edge of it at the head.

When she turns and stands Erik knows it's Nicole, but that doesn't matter anymore as he lets the bag drop from his shoulder and quickly takes the few strides to the bedside and drops onto the edge himself.

"Charles…"

He isn't conscious, but he's still here. He looks…awful isn't a good beginning. He's lost weight just in the four and half days it's taken Erik to get here. He is pale as a sheet but for the flush of fever, his hair is thinning already, hints of dried blood are around his nose and mouth, and the burn on his chest is terrifying.

"I'm sorry," Nicole whispers from behind him.

Erik wraps one of Charles's hands in both of his as he glances back at her. She is much older now, of course—she was only seventeen or eighteen the last time he saw her—but he recognizes her easily. "I'm sure you've done everything you can."

She doesn't seem to know what else to say before the teleporter disappears with her, and Erik is left alone with his husband.

When they're gone he takes in the rest of the small room. It isn't empty. There is a bucket by the bed, and beyond that a pile of rags and a basin of water and a small pile of containers of medical ointments. He notices now that the burn has been treated.

So Shaw is perhaps a bit more generous these days. That doesn't change anything. Erik still plans to kill him if he ever gets the chance.

"Charles, I'm here," he says. His voice catches in his throat.

He can't move but to rub gentle circles with a thumb over the back of the hand held between his. It's hard, too, not to just weep. He doesn't want to be crying when Charles wakes up. He doesn't want that to be the first thing he sees or the first thing he hears.

Finally the fingers between his twitch, and Charles coughs roughly and opens his eyes part of the way. Erik keeps up the circular motion over his husband's hand, squeezing a little now, and he doesn't know what to say as Charles blinks up at him.

Are you real this time?

Erik swallows back a lump in his throat, not want to know what sort of dreams Charles has had in this state. "I'm real. I promise."

"You're so…stubborn. Should have gone home…"

"I told you I wasn't going to leave you." His throat is tight and his voice is wavering already. He's not going to make it. Half a dry sob escapes and he chokes it back with an angry frustrated sound. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Stop…"

Charles tugs only a little with the hand Erik is grasping, but he understands. He bends to kiss his husband's clammy forehead and then lets his own rest against it, careful not to press too close or let their entwined hands brush the burn. They're quiet until Charles coughs again suddenly, turning his face away, and Erik pulls back enough to help him onto his side when he begins to wretch. He snatches the bucket from the ground to bring it closer, but not much comes out beyond stomach fluid and blood.

Charles is exhausted and moaning when he finally stops heaving, grimacing likely because the movement hurt thanks to the burned skin. Erik finds the rag Nicole left at the corner of the mattress and wipes the blood from around his mouth, but now his nose is bleeding. He's trembling. Erik keeps the rag pressed to his nose and realizes that one of Charles's hands is gripping his arm, fingers spasming. Quiet sounds escape his lips between not-quite-even gulps of air.

He's in pain. Erik knows that, but it wasn't quite so clear until now.

"Charles, I'm so sorry," he cries. It was never supposed to be like this. This was never supposed to be Charles.

It takes several moments for Charles to relax again and for Erik to be able to remove the rag from under his nose, but when Charles is otherwise more still he's shaking his head weakly. "I told you not to do that…"

"Do what?" Erik asks dully. He's cried. He's done now. His cheeks are still damp, but he hasn't bothered to dry them yet.

"Blame yourself."

Erik cups his husband's cheek and swallows. "You're suffering because of me. He's doing this to you because he knows watching you go through this will hurt me. He knows how strong the memories are of what happened last time I was here. He…it's all because of me."

"That doesn't make it your fault."

His eyes fill again even though he didn't think they would. "There has to be a way around this. I can't let you die like this—not here. Not now. Not…ever. It's not right. You don't deserve this."

Charles swallows thickly and lets out a small breath. "Erik…you're here. Please just…just be here," he whispers.

Erik hesitates. It takes a moment but he nods unevenly and stretches out at Charles's side. He keeps his hand and presses kisses to the side of his head, and otherwise tries not to jostle him for fear of causing any more pain. He has to move, when the nausea forces him to wretch, but Erik does everything he can to cushion the impact of movement.

He tends to Charles until sleep drags him under again, and it seems like forever but really it isn't long. When he's asleep Erik watches his face, reassuring himself that the pain does not seep too much into his rest. He can't know, really, but he seems more peaceful at least. Erik smooths his hair and kisses his forehead again.

It takes him a moment or two to realize quite a few strands came away with his fingers.

A puff of sulfur, and Shaw is watching him.

"Nicole could fix this."

Erik snorts. "But at what cost would you let her?"

"You know the answer to that: You stay here. You do what I ask of you. It wouldn't be so awful, really. We'd be ruling the world, after all."

"Would you let him go?" Erik asks.

Shaw actually looks almost apologetic. "I'm afraid not. I could allow him to be more healthy, but…well, there would need to be some incentive for you to stay, after all—since world domination is obviously not enough for you." He says it as if there is something wrong with Erik and he isn't the insane one.

Charles was right, then.

"Then no," Erik answers. Charles has already made it clear that he would rather die than live as a prisoner to be used against Erik.

"Charles will be dead within two or three days if something isn't done."

"I'm aware of that," Erik snaps roughly.

"I was simply making certain. I'll leave you to think more about it then." He nods, and the teleporter takes him away again.

Erik doesn't have to think about it. He can't agree.

But maybe he can think of another way to fix this.

He stretches out beside Charles again and watches his husband's damaged chest rise and fall, willing it to keep doing so for long enough.


"We don't have much time," Jean says. She tries to keep her voice neutral and she isn't sure how well she succeeds. They're hidden by the ridge at the top on the side of the valley they approached from, crouched behind rocks to be sure they're not seen by anyone in the village or from the compound underground. At her side, Scott squeezes her hand.

"We'll figure it out," he tells her.

"How much of a crunch are we talking about?" Logan asks.

"Two or three days, at the most."

They all know what she means. It wasn't easy, telling them what she heard after she collapsed. But she had to. Right now they're all nodding grimly, and it doesn't help her mood.

"We can work with that," Logan says. "Nobody's dying here if I have anything to say about it."

Jean doesn't have to be able to read his mind to know what he's thinking, when he says that so adamantly. She knows he'll do anything he can to keep Erik from having to go through what he went through, losing Kayla.

Thank you, she tells him silently. He nods at her.

"So what's the plan? How are we getting in there?" Hank questions.

Logan answers with another question. "Where are your parents?"

Jean isn't sure how to explain that. "The best way I can describe it is a cave, but the entrance is walled up. The only way in or out is by teleportation, but since we don't know exactly where it is that doesn't help us. Kurt can't get in there. We'll have to get into the compound somehow and find the entrance to where they are. There has to be a way there; we'll just have to blast through when we find it. Alex or Scott could do that easy."

"Yeah, but like you said we have to get in there first," Alex echoes.

"Is there another entrance?" Logan asks.

Jean makes a face. "Not that I know of. I could try looking through a few minds in there, as long as I'm not noticed."

"You're telling me Mom hasn't noticed you yet? Any of us?" Hank asks skeptically.

"No…he's not looking for us. He doesn't expect us to be here, and he's…kind of distracted right now anyway. And okay maybe I'm using some shielding. Anyway, no. Don't worry about it."

"I'm not. I want to know why you don't want Mom and Dad to know we're here," he presses.

"Because if your parents know we're here they won't want us here—they'll want you kids safe—and Charles still might be able to make us go home," Logan answers bluntly.

He's right, that's it exactly, but Jean is glad he said it and she didn't have to.

Hank winces. "I didn't think about it that way…"

Jean lets out a breath. "Anyway. It's getting dark. The rest of you settle down for the night, and I'll take first watch and see what I can find in there."

Logan nods. "She's right. Whenever and however we go in, we should do it at night, and we don't have time to get a plan of action together and go now. So we can't do anything until tomorrow night anyway."


Erik isn't sure what time it is, but it must be late because he's drifting off. Careful thinking has yielded nothing yet, and he tries to keep himself awake because he hates the thought of sleeping with no idea yet what to do. But the journey here was long and he didn't allow himself any more rest at night than he absolutely needed. He's exhausted, and soon enough sleep wins out.

It doesn't last long. Quiet moaning wakes him, and when he opens his eyes Charles is curled away from him and clutching his stomach.

"Charles? What is it?" He pushes a hand gently behind his husband's neck to support his head when he rolls back to look at him. Erik's other hand moves to cover the ones clutched over Charles's middle, as if that will do any good in soothing whatever pain he's in.

Charles shakes his head weakly, trying to gulp back the moans. "Don't know…some sort of infection…or perhaps just the fact that…haven't been able to keep anything down in days…just hurts."

Erik makes a face. "Is there anything I can do?" Charles shakes his head again, looking away when he groans more loudly. When Erik next gets a glimpse of his face in the dimness, there are tears in the corners of his eyes. More than that, it seems there's something he isn't saying.

Erik swallows. "Charles?"

"There's nothing," he answers, almost too quickly. More moaning, punctuated by higher frustrated sounds that tell Erik he's trying to keep himself quiet.

"It's all right," Erik tells him. His throat is threatening to close again, but he repeats it. "It's all right." He kisses Charles's cheek and temple. "Anything? Water?" Charles shakes his head and tugs Erik back down at his side. Erik goes, wrapping a gentle arm around his husband's waist low enough to avoid the burn and settling his chin over Charles's shoulder. "Okay…okay…"

"I'm…being selfish," Charles whispers at length.

"Why would you say that?"

"This isn't like before. Shaw…he had to dose me with enough…radiation to affect a mutant…like this. There could be enough left on me to make you sick if you stay so close…"

Erik kisses his bare shoulder. "I know…it doesn't matter. I don't care."

"Of course you don't…because you're so stubborn," Charles huffs quietly.

"I know. I'm stubborn. We covered that." And he manages to smile.

Erik holds onto him, wishing he could do more to help with the pain, and it's a while before Charles can stop squirming and moaning. Really he doesn't entirely before he's out again simply from exhaustion—from lack of any real energy in the first place. Erik is only against his side, not his chest or his back, but still he can tell that his husband's breathing isn't even just from the way the arm against his chest and the shoulder under his chin are moving.

They may have less time than they want to think.


Charles doesn't want Erik to hurt anymore than he already is. He doesn't want to make it all worse. But lying isn't something he wants to do, either, and a sin of omission is just as much a sin.

He tells himself he doesn't have to say anything immediately, and by now the effects of the radiation poisoning have progressed far enough that exhaustion and pain drag him under more than once and he almost forgets. Half of the night passes. The first time he wakes up and everything hurts more and Erik is there…his stomach is the enemy and when he clutches at it he feels the scar and he thinks about it. He knows he should say something but his eyes fill and he can't.

Erik thinks the tears are only from the pain. Charles lets him think that. He knows it isn't right, but it hurts too much to think about trying to tell him. Erik holds him, and they both, eventually, fall asleep again.

But he dreams. It's what he always dreams about, now.


Eight Years, Six Months Ago

"We didn't need to open the entire incision for this. He doesn't need to stay here if he doesn't want to. As long as long as he stays in bed for at least a couple of days and you keep an eye on the stitches you can take him home now. That might be better, really," the doctor tells him.

Erik only nods numbly.

When he pushes back through the door and into the room Charles is facing away from him on the infirmary bed, still in the thin gown from the minor surgery that was needed to remove the dead fetal tissue he couldn't expel like a women could have. He's quiet, and Erik swallows and goes around the bed so his husband can see him.

He crouches by the bed and waits for Charles to focus on him. It seems to take a minute or two for him to realize Erik is even there.

"They said I can take you home…do you want to go home?" Erik asks gently.

Charles nods wordlessly, and Erik finds his clothes—pajamas he'd gone back to the house to get while Charles was in surgery.

The ones he was wearing last night are ruined, blood-stained from the bleeding the miscarriage caused. That could happen, because of the small passage that is there for fertilization to take place, but there was no way for him to expel anything other than the blood just like he can't give birth in the usual way. The doctors told them that's likely why it was hurting him so much—before they quickly carted Charles off into the back to put him under and do what needed to be done.

The fall air is chilly, and Erik wraps him in his coat once he's helped him change clothes and scoops him up in his arms. Charles is still silent, until they make it home. Raven is there. She came to stay with the children the rest of the night and get them sent off to school this morning. It's mid-morning now, and the house is empty once she's left. She offers to stay, but once Erik has set him down in the bed and she's kisses her brother's forehead Charles thanks her but tells her to go home and get some sleep. Then it's just the two of them.

As soon as they're alone Charles cries, and Erik doesn't know what to do but hold him. "I'm sorry," he says, over and over. What else is he supposed to say?

Charles is despondent for days. Weeks. He has enough presence of mind to hold himself together in the evenings and during the day on weekends—whenever the children are not asleep or at school. When they're watching him. He speaks when he needs to, but not when he doesn't. They notice. Erik has to talk to them—spend time with them because Charles is trying, he really is, but he doesn't seem able to focus on much for long.

Erik questions the doctors. They can't help. It's different for everyone, they say. Everyone takes it differently. Just be there for him. It's probably worse for him because he's such a strong telepath. He could feel the developing child's mind—the pregnancy was nine or ten weeks along when it happened, enough for there to be brain waves. Charles had the opportunity to attach to much more than other mothers. The doctors don't know what else to do.

Charles cries at night. Every night. Sometimes during the day when the children have gone to school he sits at the table and cries a little or locks himself in the bathroom, but it's worst at night. He won't say anything. He's curled on his side, usually, arms around his middle. He sobs and Erik holds him, wrapping around him from behind and just being there because it's all he can do. Saying anything doesn't help. All he can do is hold Charles until he manages to sleep.

It isn't something they usually do, sleeping spooned like this when they haven't just been together—even then, they usually separate at least a bit, just out of habit, unless they're too tired to and they fall asleep tangled that way—but Erik doesn't mind it now. He'll do anything, as long as it helps Charles. As long as it lets him know he isn't lone and they'll get through this.

Nothing changes much, until the night Charles turns over and presses his face into Erik's chest instead. "Did I do something wrong?" he sobs. "Could I have prevented this? I—"

"No…stop, Charles. It's not your fault."

It's a few more minutes, but he calms some, still clinging to Erik. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I kn-know this happens…I know it's not uncommon…especially now. The radiation left over from the war…other conditions…technology we haven't regained yet…" He swallows hard. "Maybe I've been silly…letting this go on like this…"

"You're not being silly," Erik says quietly. This is hurting him, too. It's not silly to be upset. He's just afraid it's been going on too long.

"I've worried you…I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Erik holds on a little tighter.

Charles sobs again. "It's just…I could feel it, Erik. There was a mind. It was a baby, it was our baby, and I let it down. I let it die—"

"I told you to stop that," Erik whispers. "It is not your fault. You're right; these things happen…"

"But it's different with me…the secondary mutation is more unstable then before…it's my body's fault…it couldn't…I couldn't…it is my fault…"

"No…it's not. Your body and you are not the same thing, Charles." He nudges his husband's chin up and looks him in the eyes—those piercing blue eyes that always seem to see right through him. Except for now. Now they can't even see through Charles's own grief and guilt, and it breaks Erik's heart. It shouldn't be that way. He makes Charles look at him and runs a hand through his hair gently, ruffling it a bit and trying to smile.

"It may be beautiful, but you are so much more than just this shell. It doesn't define you. What it does against your will doesn't either." And through the now-silent tears Charles is flushing furiously now, as Erik kisses his forehead.

"You never told me that before…" Charles murmurs.

"Told you what?"

Charles hesitates, the tears slowing to a stop now. His face is still damp, but he's too busy looking up at Erik to dry them and so Erik does it for him. That makes him shy away from answering for another minute or two, until Erik is done and his face is dry.

"That you think I'm beautiful…" he says finally, not quite looking up anymore. His face is still flushed. "Not when we weren't having sex, anyhow, and that hardly counts."

Erik blinks, trying to think back and wondering how that's possible. He knows he isn't the most affectionate person in the world, or the most articulate, and…well, as much as they care for each other after all this time it's still true that they were only ever married in the first place because they had no choice. It's why they're here. It's probably why so many things go unsaid, but…

"I'm sorry," Erik says quietly. "I should have." He presses another gentle kiss into his husband's hair. There's something else he could say. Maybe. But it scares him and he ignores it.

Charles knows he's here. Charles knows he cares. That's always been enough. Charles rests in his arms now, and maybe that's a bit of a smile on his lips.


Now

Charles wakes crying, the dream not just of then but of now and of what could have been but wasn't and what won't be, now. Erik is still asleep at his side and his husband's arm is still around his waist—low and over the scar, over the incision Shaw's doctors used to take what they took from him.

"Erik…"

It comes out choked and barely audible the first time. He has to try again. Luckily Erik wakes up in time to help him turn over when he starts to wretch again. It takes his energy, and everything hurts, and his fever is awful and he knows it and he wants nothing more than to sleep in Erik's arms and ignore it all, but he can't back down this time.

Erik deserves the truth.

He's crying again, softly. Erik thinks it's the pain like he did last time and he's trying to settle him down, kissing his forehead and his cheeks and trying to soothe him, and won't let him speak.

Erik, stop. Listen to me. You have to listen to me…please…

"What is it?" he asks softly.

Charles swallows back tears and takes a careful breath. "It's not nothing…" he says. "Before. It wasn't nothing. There's something else…"

He doesn't realize he's trembling again until he tries to wrap his arms around his stomach. He doesn't know if it's cold or pain or lack of nutrition or just how much this upsets him, but he can't stop it. Then Erik is rubbing his arms and that helps some, and he tries to go on.

"When I was first brought here…Erik, it's not just you…you can't think that…he wanted something from me, too…"

The motion of Erik's hands on his arms stops, and Charles can feel the fear rolling off him. "What do you mean?" he asks anxiously.

"The surgery the doctors at home wouldn't do, before we found out about the tumor. When they were concerned for my health." Charles snorts at the irony. "Shaw had his own doctors do it…I didn't know he planned to until I woke up."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"The rest of my eggs. He wanted them. He has more technology than anyone else here—more than anyone had even before the war. He has a way to use them. He…oh god, I only know what he told me. I don't know exactly what he plans to do. I…he didn't have Nicole heal the incision until I woke up so I would believe him when he told me what he'd done. He has that helmet. I can't hear his thoughts…"

Erik's mouth is in a thin, angry line "I know. Jean couldn't hear him, either."

"What?" Charles questions immediately. Erik looks away as if he's said too much. "When was Shaw ever close enough for Jean to try?" Charles demands. The idea of Shaw anywhere near her makes him sick. Well, more sick.

Erik grimaces. "Right after they took you—he showed up to make his demands that I come alone. It was just for a minute. He didn't try anything. He was there and he was gone; Jean is fine. Everyone is fine."

But Charles is already breathing too hard—everything Shaw's said to him and what Shaw's done and the control he's had, ever since the beginning. Maybe the children are fine but they aren't safe

"Not everyone," Charles gasps. "Not everyone is fine. Erik…he took everything. Everything they would have taken out if they'd done the surgery at home. But the uterus wasn't empty. I was pregnant," he cries. "I was pregnant…there were two of them, and he took them…"

He meant to tell Erik gently. He didn't want to make all of this worse. But it comes out in a panicked rush and everything hurts, outside and inside, and he doesn't mean to but it comes out anyway.

Erik seems to have trouble processing. "You were what? But I thought—"

"I don't know! I don't know how it happened, but it did. The last time we—the embryos were only a few days old. I never could have carried them to term; I might never have known they were there. He saved them. I know that. But it doesn't change the fact that Shaw has them. He has our children…"

Erik makes a strangled sound. "Oh god. Oh god, you're serious. He really—"

Charles has enough to calm them both down, but Erik's eyes are still wide. Charles can feel the shock and the anger roiling in him.

"Erik," he whispers painfully. "You have to get them out of here. You can't let Shaw have them. You have to get them back. Or if you can't or you can't find out how to…a way for them to be born away from Shaw, or at all, then…" He swallows noisily. "Just don't let Shaw have them. You can't let him raise them, or let them stay the way they are, never born. You can't let either of those things happen. They don't deserve that." He's had time to think this through. He knows what he's saying, and he waits for Erik to understand him.

Erik's eyes are red-rimmed now. He understands. "Charles…"

Charles nods a bit, telling him he's understanding correctly, and Erik sobs quietly and holds onto him.

"That is the right thing to do, isn't it?" he asks softly. Erik nods against his shoulder.

"If they're ours Shaw shouldn't have them…if they can't be born and grow up with us…or one of us…or anyone else we trust, then…"

"Then if I'm not here…if you can't save them, will you promise me? Promise you'll—"

Another pained sound. "I promise. Shaw won't have them. If I can't save them I'll…I'll send them to their mother. " Erik's voice breaks and there are more kisses—his shoulder and his neck and his head and cheek and temple. Gentle kisses. Loving ones that tell him he has nothing to fear, even if he never leaves this place.

"I'll tell them all about you," he murmurs weakly. "And their brothers and sisters….oh…all three of them. There's the one already waiting for us…there'll be four of us waiting for the rest of you…though…I hope to need to wait a while…"

"Shh…" Erik tells him.

"But try to find a way to save them. Most here don't like Shaw, actually. If you defeat him, they may help you. Then if someone will carry them…I'll be all right without them. I'll still have the one with me…we'll be all right." He finds a tired smile somewhere, and he means to stop talking but he's drifting off again and it's coming out groggily the same as if he were heavily medicated. "We'll watch over you all until you join us. And our parents are there. Or I know my mother is there. I'm sure my father is too, but actually he was away when the war started. Giving a presentation. I don't think I ever told you that…I don't actually know what happened to him. He was a nuclear scientist, you know. Did I ever tell you he was a scientist? When I was a child I used to think I wanted to be a scientist too…"

He coughs. It rips through his chest and he's faintly aware of the fire—of something warm and liquid coming from the side of his mouth and Erik wiping it away. He thinks he hears more quiet sobs but he's too far away.

It's all right. Erik knows the truth now. He'll do the right thing, however the rest of this plays out.

Is he still talking? He's still talking. But his eyes are closed now. "Anyhow, 'm sure there are plenty of stories your parents could tell me about you…that will be interesting…and I'm sure they've all been taking care of the grandchild that's already with them...the one we lost before…do you ever think about it? What he or she would have been like? I do…I can't wait to meet them…so this isn't all bad, really…"

Charles knows he feels Erik's breath on his neck now, but he thinks he feels tears there, too.

I'm sorry, he thinks.

Then there's darkness again.


"Jean?"

It isn't her watch anymore. Logan is at the other end of their small camp, and he's the one on watch, but she hasn't been able to sleep. Not much. Scott is awake now, looking at her and concerned, and Jean realizes she whimpered. That she's shivering from the secondhand emotions in the back of her mind.

"Sorry…" she whispers as he shifts closer. "I've been trying not to directly eavesdrop on Mom and Dad anymore, but I can still feel them. I have to keep at least that much connection so I know they're okay." Not that they're okay, really. But so she knows they're alive. Especially Mom. She swallows and blinks back tears, and Scott takes her hand and squeezes it. She can't quite see his eyes through the red-tinted glasses, but she knows what they would look like if she could. She knows he's listening, and that he cares.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently.

"It's just bad," she swallows. "I don't…know exactly. I'm not intruding, but I know what they're feeling. Mom is miserable…he's so sick…still convinced he's not going to make it…and Dad is just…god, Scott, it hurts. It's worse than when we didn't know what was going to happen with the tumor."

She doesn't want to cry. She's not supposed to do that. She may not be the oldest, and maybe she's not even technically in charge here—that would be Logan, with the experience he has—but she's the one who started this. Who got them all out here. She's supposed to be the strong one.

But Scott, of course, doesn't care about any of that. He doesn't care if she cries, and she knows it. He pulls her into his arms and she doesn't cry but it helps to be held.

"Did you find anything?" he asks eventually. He knows she would rather get back to business, or be talking about something important, rather than dwelling on what's upsetting her.

"Another entrance, a couple of miles on the other side of the valley—a bigger one. A cargo entrance, for vehicles and things."

"They have vehicles?"

"Apparently. Lots of them."

Cars aren't unknown, but the streets in the settlements aren't made for anything larger than wagons. The cars that have been recovered and fixed that still run are kept by the Council and used for transportation between the cities.

"Huh," Scott huffs. He sits back, letting her go as she keeps talking.

"Yeah. Anyway…we should be able to find a way to slip in there. It's open more often, and it's a lot bigger. More activity around it to blend into. Or if I need to cloak us or cause enough confusion to keep us from being seen I think I can manage it. And I know where the tunnel is. I can get us to Mom and Dad. I don't know what we're going to do about Shaw though. If he can absorb any sort of energy…I have no idea how to hurt him. And he has that helmet to protect him from telepathy, too."

"If we can get your parents out of there…that other woman too, and her family…she could help your mom and then maybe he and your dad will have some idea of how to take care of him."

Jean sighs. "Yeah…we'd have to get her family out too, or she won't be able to do anything…she won't put them in danger from Shaw…damn. We're going to have to split up. Her family would be in the village. And I'll have to find out who her family is. I'll have to do that without her noticing…if I talk to her Mom will know. And even if Mom couldn't make us go home, Shaw might notice they know something. It's better if no one knows we're coming until we go in..."

"You can find whatever else you need to find in the morning. You should sleep," Scott tells her.

"But we should be ready to go in the morning. Those of us hitting the entrance will have to work around the valley tomorrow—"

"You can't rummage through people's minds and walk at the same time?" he asks, smirking a bit.

"Not all the time," she answers dryly.

He chuckles quietly. "Don't worry; I'll make sure you don't run into anything."

They're quiet then, and she looks at him, and he's smiling at her and because it's Scott she can smile back—no matter what else is going on around them. And suddenly the full force of what they're doing hits her. Of what it could mean if they succeed.

Scott clearly doesn't see it coming when she surges forward to kiss him. He makes a surprised sound, but then he's responding. "What was that?" he breathes when she finally breaks off. Kissing isn't something they let themselves do. Not usually. Hardly ever. They've been too afraid of becoming used it, when they know they'll probably be separated when they're old enough to be paired.

"Don't you get it?" she asks. "If we take Shaw down, it's over. It may take a little time to convince the Councils it's really over, but no more Shaw and soon enough the system will break down. They'll let it go. We can be together. Sean and Moira can be together. Alex won't have to go anywhere near Angel if he doesn't want to…we'll all be free."

Scott tugs her close again, and she can hear him gulping in her ear. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves…" He's being cautious, like he always is, but she can feel the sudden thrill

"I can hope, can't I?" she asks quietly. There's a pressure in her chest—or in the back of her mind, really, and she lets out a quiet sob. "I'm just afraid it'll happen but we'll be too late to save Mom…that the rest of us will get what we want but he won't be here to see it…that Dad will be alone."

Scott's arms tighten around her. "Don't think like that."

"I'm trying…"

He urges her back down onto the blankets they're all sleeping on—using bags for pillows—and this time she doesn't resist. He's right. They need to sleep.

But this time she falls asleep in his arms, and she's not afraid to do it.

One way or another, this is all going to end tomorrow night.