"Devil."

Would you date me?"

"I'm gonna die!"

"Peace was never an option."

"Wake up, Charles, please wake up…"

Charles did so with a gasp of a newborns frenzied breath, the pleading of someone he knew ringing in his ears. Without consciously thinking about it, he had shot up, every muscles tense and his mind reeling with confusion.

His spine erupted in pure agony. Charles fell back against soft pillows, gasping for breath. He lay there completely still, red dots of pain swimming behind his lashes. He wondered vaguely if he would die from it. Next to him a large machine beeped loudly and a thin red line shot into the air rapidly, measuring his own panic, a shrill warning to desist his activities. His heart hammered in his ears like drums, drowning everything else out. Slowly though, the pain started to fade, inch by inch retreating back to its source at the base of his lower back. His heart slowed enough for his actual hearing to come into focus.

He opened his eyes. Everything was fuzzy with a white, sterile light, as if bathed in a halo. Did I die? He couldn't have. He could feel a dull aching in his right shoulder. Dead people surely didn't feel pain; it was irrational. Charles raised his left hand, feeling at whatever the heck was making it ache so. Damn, he thought in a rare moment of viciousness. What did my father do to me this time?

It disturbed him that he could not remember. He usually recalled everything. His fingers gently scraped over his shoulder, padded with bandages. The pinprick of pain he felt made him gasp aloud as everything shot violently into focus. Fragmented pictures swirled in front of his vision, pricking his brain like tiny pieces of glass.

The CIA. Shaw. The radiation weapon. Training, trying, flying, crashing… Saving Erik and then being shot and he remembered… He remembered… That the bloody machine was beeping again, more loudly this time! Charles hissed in frustration, yanking his arm back to his side.

"Erik," the name came out in a desperate whisper as his heart beat wildly in his chest. He was in a medical facility for sure, judging by the sterile whiteness of his surroundings. But that could be a good or a bad thing depending on who had placed him here. Charles was no fool. He knew how valuable humans could find mutants. Shaw had experimented on Erik for years, trying to find the source of his power. Was Charles now about to experience the same? Where were the others? Had they caught Hank, Alex, Sean, Raven?

Charles's chest heaved with breaths that didn't seem to be doing any good. His eyes swept the room dizzily. With painstaking discipline, Charles forced himself to calm down. He was not doing anyone any good like this. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door being opened. He looked up just in time to see a long, lanky man with a head of thinning black hair and a large, protruding nose walk in. His bushy brow furrowed. He wore the traditional white coat of a doctor.

Somehow Charles was not soothed.

"Ah," the man gasped when he saw Charles awake and staring at him. The mutant imagined he looked a frightful mess, very uncivilized. "You're awake, Mr. Xavier," Charles relaxed fractionally at hearing his name. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The doctor walked over to the machine and tapped a few buttons, quieting the stupid thing.

The room fell into a deep silence. Charles watched the man cautiously. The other didn't seem to notice. He merely stood up and gave Charles a friendly smile. "Well then, we can be properly introduced. My name is Dr. Michael Fisherman," Charles blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly. Dr. Fisherman grinned at his befuddlement. "I'm serious," he chuckled.

"Oh," Charles muttered, suddenly embarrassed that he had been seen through so easily. He was supposed to be the mind-reader here. He scrambled to regain his manners. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I'm…"

"Charles Xavier, I know. Professor, as the children call you," Charles perked up. Children?

"Dr. Fisherman, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," he began, still trying to get his bearings. "Where am I?" Dr. Fisherman blinked, surprised, before he smacked his forehead with a loud clap.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Xavier! I imagine you're disorientated. You've been out cold for three days. Well, let me tell you first, your friends are safe," Charles scanned his mind for any sign of a lie. When he found none, he sighed and leaned into his pillows.

"Thank you," he breathed. "That's a relief," the doctor nodded.

"You are currently on board the U.S.S Carolina. In our tiny but efficient medical bay. Your friends Agent McTaggert and Erik brought you on board for treatment after the accident, and you were put under my charge," accident. Yes, that was what you called the deliberate shooting of a man. Charles did not say any of this aloud, instead upon hearing that Erik and Moira were definitely on board; he reached out with his mind. He could have jumped for joy when he felt their minds immediately, unharmed and uninhibited. Thankfully Erik had gotten rid of that stupid helmet.

Erik, he called first, gently passing by his friend's mind. He felt Erik's shock, followed immediately by a sense of relief and joy that humbled Charles.

Charles! Erik said back, using the mind techniques that Charles had showed him. Are you alright? He asked first.

Feeling a bit left out of the loop, but otherwise yes. The children…?

I'll bring them to you, Charles nodded and broke off the connection, relieved beyond measure. And exhausted. "Then I have you to thank for my life, yes?" He then returned to Dr. Fisherman, who was studying him curiously. The Dr. shrugged modestly. Charles decided that he liked this man.

"Really it was you, Mr. Xavier. I've never seen a man fight so hard for life, and you had some serious fighting on your hands. With the amount of blood you lost, you should be dead," Charles nodded. He had felt himself slipping a few times, tempted by the sense of peace that seemed to beckon him towards a bright and unlimited light… But he had turned back. He couldn't leave without knowing if his friends were safe, and besides, Raven would never forgive him if he just up and died on her.

"Well, I very much doubt I would have survived without you anyway, Dr. Fisherman," he extended his hand. Dr Fisherman took it and Charles shook it warmly, smiling. "You have my undying gratitude, sir. Thank you. And please, call me Charles," The Dr. smiled at him and performed a flamboyant bow.

"It was my honor, Charles. And please, call me Michael. I get enough teasing from the men as it is," Charles chuckled softly with him, both of them enjoying the joke because if anyone understood how short and precious life was, it would be Michael.

"Would you like me to alert the others you're awake, Charles?" Michael then asked him compassionately. Charles shook his head, resting against his pillows as he waited.

"No. Thank you Michael, but I've already called them," after all, he assumed that if Michael had seen Raven and Hank, he would know that none of them were human. Indeed, Michael didn't bat an eye. He gazed at Charles with some admiration instead.

"Of course. I've met Raven and Hank and everyone saw Erik lift that submarine. The younger men even managed to pester Sean into some tricks but I didn't know if you were… What do you do?" He wondered.

Charles shifted, a bit embarrassed by the palpable attention. True, he did like to show off every once in awhile, but after seeing Michael's modest answer about saving his life, he suddenly felt very much like a braggart.

"I'm a telepath," he finally managed, cheeks a vibrant red. Michael was delighted.

"Extraordinary!" He cried.

Charles opened his mouth to assure Michael that it really wasn't until he heard the voice which had begged him to wake up. "Charles!" Raven yelled just as she whizzed around the corner into the room, blue skin shining in the fluorescent light. Charles beamed. In that moment, Raven was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Oof," he harrumphed when she virtually landed in his lap, squeezing the life out of him. He pulled her against him tightly, relishing the feel of her safely in his arms and irrevocably, Charles was glad to be alive. "I'm alright, sister mine," he mumbled, stroking her hair as he felt wetness leak into his shoulder.

"It's alright. I'm alright, Raven," she nodded and sat back, gazing at him tenderly. His heart melted when he saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. She probably had not gotten a wink of sleep since he had been shot. "I'm sorry to have frightened you," he instantly told her.

Raven sat back and crossed her blue arms sternly. Charles had the feeling he was in for a talking too. "I'm getting too old for your shenanigans, Charles," she informed him irritably. He smiled, trying to be charming. He knew she wasn't kidding.

"I make things interesting…"

"You're an idiot and I can't believe I still put up with you. I mean, who jumps in front of a gun?" he couldn't even be offended. He just winked at her.

"Your handsome and courageous brother?" he suggested. Raven rolled her eyes, but he had managed to make her smile.

"I'm going to lock you in a closet," she threatened. "With a leash," I welcome you to try, he thought in reply.

"I heard that Charles," a new voice piped up. Charles peered past Raven's shoulder to see Erik standing there looking slightly uncomfortable, but he, too, was smiling warmly. "And don't even think about fighting it. It will be a metal leash," Erik added as he stepped up. Raven moved away so that Erik could get better access. Charles smiled and offered his hand. Erik shook it with a squeeze.

"It's good to see you too Erik," Charles replied cheerfully. He glanced at the children. "I see you kept your promise," Erik was staring at him as if he thought Charles might turn into thin air if he looked away.

"I never made any such promise to you, Xavier," the man growled in response. He squeezed Charles's hand. "And I never will. It's either you stay alive or they starve. Good incentive to cease your shenanigans," Charles gave him a dry look. It was his opinion that he wasn't the problem here.

Looking past Erik now, he grinned at Alex, Sean and Hank. "Are you boys getting to old for me now, too?" he teased lightly. As if he had given permission the three boys walked over and each shook his hand.

"I think I am, yes," Hank rumbled. "You gave us quite the heart attack there, professor," Sean shook his head.

"I think I'm still luxuriously young," he assured Charles.

Alex gave a shy smile as he shrugged, settling his hands into his pockets. "Maybe once or twice more, just to liven things up," he said softly. Charles surprised himself when he barked out a laugh. He had not realized how much he missed his students until now.

"Ah," he cringed and held his side as his shoulder suddenly blossomed into stabbing pain. "Don't make me laugh," he scolded the others good naturedly when Moira offered him a glass of water. He took it with a nod and squeezed Moira's arm. "Hello, Moira," she smiled at him, exposing white pearly teeth.

"Hello Charles," she replied, and he could sense the worry slowly coming away from her. He gave her hand another squeeze as he realized that they were all in still in their mission clothes, blue and yellow a stark contrast to the whiteness of the room. He looked down. Thankfully, he was not shirtless (he had a feeling he had been at some point) but he was now in the thin cotton shirt that most hospitals gave their patients. He groaned.

Michael seemed to understand. He smiled. "Shall I go get you some real clothes, Charles?" he inquired. Charles nodded meekly.

"That would be delightful, thank you Michael," he agreed. With a nod Michael patted Hank on the shoulder companionably (Charles assumed that Hank had already engaged him in mechanical and medical anomalies) and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Charles's grin wavered a bit as he asked Erik through their minds are there any cameras in here?

Erik cast him a surprised look before shaking his head. Can they hear us? Another negative. Good.

"Shaw?" Charles asked aloud, effectively getting to the reason they were here. The others stared at him, staggered by his swift change of demeanor and subject. Only Erik chuckled.

"Efficient as always, Charles," he observed ironically, crossing his arms.

"Well, we are alone now," Charles pointed out.

Moira snapped into agent mode, her eyes hardening as Raven came to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers intertwined with his. "He's dead," Charles glanced at Erik. The other man met his gaze levelly. Charles narrowed his eyes, they did not have time for that conversation right then, and Charles did not want everyone hearing it. We'll talk about that later, he projected and Erik nodded.

"The radiation machine?" Charles went on; going down the list of worries he had had since remembering.

"Destroyed," Alex piped up in a way that let Charles know that he was very proud of that. "So that neither Americans nor Soviet's can use it," Charles exhaled.

"Good thinking," he agreed, nodding. "And Shaw's minions?"

"Currently stuck to a wall inside of the ship's prisons, courtesy of Erik," Raven piped up. Charles gave Erik a dry look, to which the metal-bender only grinned like a mischievous child. Charles could not help but smile back.

"I contacted headquarters," Moira told him grimly. "Congress is embroiled in a debate wondering what to do about you all," she gestured around, to Raven's blue skin and Alex's newly repaired suit. Powers that could topple countries.

"I imagine the whole world is," Charles agreed passively.

"For now we've been told to head back to D.C. It's been slow going, but the general assures me we'll reach the Capital in about a week," she reported. Charles nodded; his head spinning with these new thoughts. If they were going to D.C, he assumed that they would be taken prisoner the second they touched shore, especially if no one knew what to do with them yet.

Charles did not doubt that between the seven of them, they could avoid capture but for how long? And how would that help the Mutant/Human relations? Charles glanced at Erik, who was studying him intently. Without having to look, Charles knew that Erik was thinking about what Shaw had said about Mutant superiority. Charles was painfully aware that his friend still believed every word. A weight settled unto his shoulders, a boulder he imagined would not be easy to shake off.

This was not going to be easy.

Added to that, a queasy feeling suddenly sprang into his gut. He furrowed his brows as he felt for Michael's psyche across the ship, and the shock turning into deep sadness that was shooting through the good natured man. He was looking at a piece of paper… Results of Charles's blood work… But what… No. No.

He paled. "Charles?" He looked up to realize that he had been staring into space. The others were regarding him as if he were a fragile animal. Charles gulped. Why did he feel as if he were going to get a lot more of those looks from now on?

"Michael is coming," he told them, forcing himself to sound calm. Perhaps it was nothing. Maybe… Just maybe... he had read Michael wrong. It had never happened before but there was a first time for everything. He had to be wrong.

"Charles, are you alright?" He didn't realize that he was nearly crushing Raven's fingers in a death grip. He could feel Michael-and the news he brought with him-coming down the hall. Charles tensed. He was going to be alright. He had not fought back to life just to live…Like this. Not like this. It didn't make sense. He couldn't feel his legs but that was just the result of shock. Parts of the nervous system would sometimes shut down and restart after a traumatic event, it was perfectly normal that he shouldn't feel his legs…

Wasn't it?

"Everything will be alright," he whispered, and did not realize that he said it out loud until Raven gently grabbed his chin and forced him to look into her yellow glowing eyes, filled with concern.

"Charles, what are you talking about?" he did not answer, instead only squeezed her wrist tightly in his own. He had to protect her. It had been his life's goal to make sure she was safe and happy since the day he had come upon her stealing cookies from his kitchen. If he couldn't…? Then how was he…? No. No, don't do this to me, he begged whatever force drove the universe, whatever heaven decreed that actions happened. His heart was hammering in his chest. He had to be wrong. He must be.

Michael opened the door, holding a piece of paper in his hands, eyes wide and mouth set into a grim but determined line. He would tell Charles the truth, no matter how deeply it cut.

But Charles already knew. He gently took Raven's hands away from his face, still keeping tight hold on her. Then, with infinite emptiness, he tried to move his toes.

They wouldn't budge.

Charles closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. Michael had not spoken. He only stared back at him. "Michael," Charles was ashamed when his voice broke. "My legs… I'll never use them again, will I?" Michael did not seem surprised that he knew. Instead, the doctor only nodded slowly.

"I'm so sorry Charles," Michael's eyes roved the room, taking in every detail and every person before he repeated again with perfect empathy:

"I'm so sorry."

Erik hated this room. Before today, it might have represented something else. Might have represented the way that each of them had come to connect as a sort of family unit, taking turns visiting Charles while he was unconscious, or the way that he and Moira worked like a well-oiled machine, her logistics fitting with his callousness in a way that sometimes disturbed him because after all, she was human. The room might have represented the joy which Erik had felt when Charles had finally woken up. All of this would have been represented by this sterile, tiny cubicle the day before.

Now, however, it stood for the way Raven had covered her mouth in horror. The way Alex and Sean had exchanged a look full of shock. The way Hank had nearly crumpled to his own knees and Moira had gripped his arm in a hold tight enough to break bones. It represented the way Erik's heart had broken for Charles.

Charles, the one who had merely closed his eyes in acceptance, and asked calmly and politely to be left alone. That had been hours ago, and in the hours since they had all found their different ways of coping with the fact that Charles Xavier would never stand again.

Raven and Alex had retreated to the gym, beating the hell out of a boxing bag and at times wrestling with one another with bodies honed with warped genetics and strengthened by rage and pain for their friend. Sean was screaming his heart out above the sea, swooping and diving so near to the surface that it had taken Erik's breath away to watch his unconcerned recklessness.

Moira was holed away in the ship's navigation room, going over plan after plan of what to do once they got to D.C, if things became violent, her mind concentrated on one undaunting task in her mind. Hank was somewhere else, probably drawing formulas for the cure he had sworn he would find Charles.

"I will find a way, professor," the young man had sworn as they ushered themselves out. "I'll find a way to bring back your legs. I promise. I promise," Charles had only smiled fondly at Hank, with no conviction at all.

And Erik? Erik was standing outside of the closed doors with a chess board in his hands, shaking. He was fully cognizant of the fact that Charles knew he was there, and also well aware that the blinds to the window had been closed and Charles had not called him in yet. He felt like an intruder, an imposter, as if it should have been him.

Shaw had been aiming for him. Not Charles. It wasn't fair.

And as he always did, Erik had messed it up. Charles probably despised him, and he had every right to hate him. He was never going to walk or run or even crawl again; and all because he had saved the life of one broken, angry man. Charles deserved more. He deserved better. Erik bit back the tears beginning in his eyes, pondering whether he should go in and attempt to plead for forgiveness, or whether he should remain out here, where it was safe to assume he would never have any.

At length, he realized he did not have a choice in the matter. He needed Charles. Whether or not the younger man needed him was not the question in dispute. Their world could be ending the second they landed on the shores of America. Erik would not spend what days of freedom he had left wondering about a forgiveness he did not deserve.

He opened the door.

The room was shadowed, bathed in darkness. Only a single lamp by Charles's bed and the blinking buttons of the machines he was hooked up too gave off any light. The lamp shed orange luminescence that reminded Erik of sunset. The blinking machine buttons were like stars winking at him from a prematurely darkening sky. The lack of light was fine with him. Erik could still see Charles lying in bed, eyes closed. There were dried tear tracks on his face, made orange and somber by the setting sun lamp.

Erik allowed the door to close behind him. Charles gasped as his eyes snapped open to reveal orbs dull with exhaustion and sadness. It occurred to Erik that Charles might actually have been asleep all this time instead of ignoring him. "I'm sorry," he blurted, very much so. "I didn't mean to wake you," Charles's eyes focused on him. He gave a flippant half shrug with his uninjured shoulder.

"It was not much of a sleep, admittedly," he replied softly. "Come in, Erik," the invitation given, Erik eased himself into the room. He moved the metal machines with a wave of his hand and settled into the chair by Charles's bedside. "What do you have there?" Charles asked weakly.

Erik smoothed the chess board out and delicately laid down the pieces. "I…" he gulped, glanced up, suddenly shy. "I thought you'd like to play," he gestured to the board. Charles smiled thinly.

"I'd like that," he agreed. Erik was setting the board on his knees when something occurred to him. He lifted it quickly, looking to Charles.

"Does that hurt?" he asked anxiously. Charles was staring at him with eyes that knew infinite secrets and sadness's.

"I don't feel a thing," he whispered. Erik felt his heart pang and set the board back down. He took his time putting down the pieces, setting them out one by one, took his time staring at anywhere but Charles's deep blue eyes, as immeasurable as the oceans. When he had set every piece down, he sat back and waited.

Charles always started. And he was always the white knight, pure and selfless. It suited his personality perfectly. Charles had been moving the back of his bed up with the automatic trigger while he waited for Erik to set the board. Now he sat up, eyes attentively scanning his playing field.

He moved his pawn. Erik countered lightning fast, his brain starting to get into the sluggish motion that signaled a clearing of the mind. The advantage of playing with a highly intelligent opponent. They remained like this for a number of minutes, without speaking.

Finally, Erik could stand the silence no longer. "How do you feel?" He asked at last, not looking up from his position. Charles hummed low in his throat, glancing up. His eyes were distant, his mind consumed by the game. Good. Anymore emotion and they both might burst.

"Where do I begin?" His friend asked softly. "One moment, I feel as if I am in a dream," he pushed aside Erik's pawn with a gracefulness that was slightly apologetic. "And I'll wake up any moment now, Raven pestering me to make her some hot chocolate," Erik let a small smile flicker across his face. Charles, on the other hand, was not smiling. "Then the next I feel…" Charles sat back with a sigh. "Useless. Helpless. More helpless than I have felt since I was a very young child. Erik… I feel so pathetic," Erik moved a bishop.

"It'll pass, Charles," he hoped so at any rate. "You'll come out on the other end of this, stronger," He hoped that Charles's innumerable strength would carry him through this. If it didn't, what use were the rest of them?

Charles's mouth danced in a tiny, sarcastic smile. "I'm afraid you'll have to have faith for the both of us, my friend," he said softly. Erik looked up, his hand stilling over a piece.

"You know faith isn't my strong suit Charles," he replied. Charles looked up. His eyes were sunken in with sadness.

"At the moment my friend? It is not mine either," Erik gulped. He hated seeing that look in Charles's eyes, those eyes which were usually so bright now dulled into helplessness. The only thing he hated more was the knowledge that this was his entire fault. Charles was paralyzed because of him.

"Do you hate me?" Erik asked softly. For one of the first times, Erik saw Charles surprised at something he had said. Every other time, Charles knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"Hate you?" The telepath echoed, staring at him with wide eyes. "Why would I hate you, Erik?" The metal-bender gulped, suddenly wishing he could take his words back. Of course it would not occur to Charles to purposefully hate someone. His mind just didn't work like Erik's did; it did not find blame or fault. Now Erik would have to answer, and tell him that he was the one to blame. Erik closed his eyes briefly and leaned back, steeling himself for the end of the first and only friendship he had.

"Because this is my fault," he bit out. "This happened because you had to come save me, Charles. After I betrayed you by donning that stupid helmet, you jumped in front of a gun to save me, and now you're paying the price," Erik opened his eyes and gazed into Charles's stormy blue eyes. He wanted Charles to know how sincere he was when he said the next thing. "I'm so very sorry, Charles. Truly I am, and… I would understand, if you never wanted to see me again," there. He said it.

And tore out his heart in the making. Erik hung his head and waited for Charles to comprehend just what he had done to him. For a long time, though, Charles was silent, processing Erik's words. Then, he did something that should not have surprised Erik so much as it did.

"You bloody idiot," Charles breathed, affectionately. Erik felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into eyes full of compassion and understanding. No hate, no anger, no resentment. It took Erik's breath away.

"Listen to me very carefully, my friend," Charles instructed in his wise teacher voice which always managed to snag Erik's complete attention. "I do not blame you, do you understand?" Erik could have sworn he felt his heart knitting itself back together, each stitch lovingly mended by Charles's words.

"What has happened to me is in no way your fault. In fact, it's mine," Charles continued, thoughtfully. "So far as I remember, I chose to follow you into that submarine and I chose to try and stop Shaw. I chose to jump in front of that gun. Shaw was going to kill you Erik, right in front of me," and now a crack of anger managed to sneak past Charles's guarded façade.

"I couldn't just lay there and let it happen, and my telepathy wasn't working so I did the next best thing," Charles gave his shoulder a light squeeze before settling back into his place, still smiling at Erik affectionately. Erik stared at him, wondering if he was in the presence of an angel come to earth because… How? How could Charles just feel no resentment or no fury, no hatred, no… Anything bad?

"You're my friend, Erik. If it was a contest between my legs or your life, I'd make the same decision every time with no regrets," Erik blinked rapidly to clear the hot blurriness from his eyes. When that did not work he attempted to clear his throat of the lump lodged there and found that it worked even less. Finally, he had to look down and away, overcome with emotion.

"Charles…" he breathed. "I… You… Why?" That was the ultimate question. All of his life Erik had been hated, feared, reviled, tortured and hunted. No one had liked him since his parents died. He had assumed no one ever would even be able to stand his presence for more than few weeks let alone give their lives for him. He wasn't that special, so why? Why would Charles ever…?

His friend-first friend- smiled indulgently. "Because Erik, your life is important to me. You're my friend," and it was as simple as that. Somehow Erik had expected it to be more. Charles had nearly given his life away because of something so small as a word like friendship? It was beyond comprehension.

So Erik did not try to comprehend it. Instead, he accepted this new thing in his life called friendship. His fingers swooped, captured one of Charles's Knights. "Thank you, my friend," Charles dipped his head, acknowledging the thanks and swiftly plucked another of his Knights from the board. They shared an identical smile and in that moment, despite all that was happening around them, Erik knew that some of their faith had been restored.