A week later:

To be back in the halls of Oxford was… Odd. Not unpleasantly odd, no, but very irregular. Already he had seen several of his old professors, all of whom had expressed shock and sympathy (it was rather irritating, really) to find him suddenly bound to a wheelchair.

Charles had been forced to configure a false account of how he had been in an accident in the states which confined him to the chair just to escape their stifling consolations. He was not here to be consoled. He was here to address the issue which, he could tell, swirled through the whispering halls of the University already. The word mutant was on everyone's minds, thought with a confusing mixture of disbelief and fear.

Many did not even believe that mutants existed, that the pictures on television were merely conjured by the government to scare the public. For what reason, no one could figure, but that was beyond the point. Others were afraid of this development, checking their own skins as if to make sure that they appeared as they always had; as if mutation were some kind of new disease spreading about.

This will be harder than I thought, Charles considered ruefully as Moira wheeled him into the lecture hall. Some seats were already filled, and Charles saw several old friends wave at him. He waved back, heart thudding in his chest. It had taken no time at all for Moira to contact the CIA. Though she had not specifically named who the equipment was for, she had somehow managed to convince whoever was in charge at that place that she needed time off in order to protect a very valuable target.

She had thence appointed herself his honorary body guard. Charles glanced at her. She was not wearing anything that would mark her as threatening, but he knew that sheathed in her boot was an army knife, beneath her left breast was a gun and her hair was tied up in a cleverly concealed handcuffs.

He had to give her points for thoroughness. Alex and Sean had begged to come with him for protection reasons as well, but he had convinced them to stay at the school with the children. "No matter what happens," he had told them firmly. "Those children are the future of this world. They must be cherished, taught, concealed. Let no one know where you are," for if he was a target, he could only imagine what a school of mutants would be.

Then again, as of right now, no one knows that I am a mutant. Footage of Charles had not made it into the televisions, so for the moment he was safe. That was about to change though. His speech would reveal all.

Then, there would be no stopping anyone who wanted him gone.

His heart was hammering in his chest. After so long of hiding who he was-not exactly like Raven and Hank had too, but hidden nonetheless- the thought of being perfectly, undeniably exposed made him feel physically ill. Remember, equality. Equality. You promised Joseph. His substitute father had been on his mind often lately.

He only hoped he could do good by his memory.

"Charles?" he looked up to see Moira kneeling by his side, offering a water bottle. Her brown eyes were oft with kindness. He took the drink with a nod of thanks. "Are you ready?" She asked.

Charles smiled tremulously. "No one is ever ready for these things, Moira," he informed her. "And if they are-then they're the real freaks," she snickered softly and patted his shoulder.

"I have faith in you," well, that didn't help him. Now he would feel doubly as bad if he muddled it.

"I don't understand," he huffed agitatedly, watching as the seats gradually filled with students, professors, professionals. Intelligent people-friends- who would think him either mad or a monster. "I've given dozens of speeches in this very hall. They always invited me to do that sort of thing. Why is this any different?" Moira gave him a look which said 'you know quite well why,' and he nodded, taking another quick gulp of water. Charles glanced sideways.

"Is he..?" he trailed off. Moira understood what he was trying to say, and pressed a finger to the earpiece in her right ear, listening for a moment before nodding confidently.

"He's safely inside, awaiting your cue," good. That took a load off Charles's shoulder.

"Charles!" he turned, forcing himself to smile at one of his old professors, his English one he remembered. Professor Jones was a kind and funny man, with a head of raven black hair and deep brown eyes. "We're all ready, if you'd like to begin," he offered, waving a student in. The young man was pulling after him a microphone, tripping awkwardly over the long wire.

He came in, irritation rolling off him in waves. Charles grinned, wondering if his old professor was having the poor chap do this as some kind of punishment. He wouldn't put it past him. H took the microphone with a nod of thanks, quickly smoothing the irritation I the young man's mind into a less volatile emotion. It would do no good for him to fail at that already.

"Very well. Thank you old friend," why hadn't his voice wavered yet? His heart was still thudding against his chest after all. His old teacher grinned proudly and briskly walked to take his seat. Moira squeezed his shoulder.

"Good luck," she whispered before rushing to the side where several people had already crowded in to hear the renowned Oxford prodigy alumni speak on mutation. Charles hoped not to disappoint them. He tapped at the microphone first, testing it, and then cleared his throat.

This is for you, Joseph.

"Friends," he started as the people around quieted. The air was light with academic curiosity. Charles inhaled deeply, trying to find his center. What was it Hilda used to tell him over and over? Self-control was the key. If he was afraid, he could not show it. "Comrades," his voice softened. "Brethren," he addressed them all.

"I know you are wondering what the topic of this speech will be. I know you have been told by my old professors-who spoiled me, as I know they do you- of the trouble I caused them," some rippling chuckles. He smiled. "And they are not exaggerating. For I am Charles Xavier, and this time, I do not intend to keep you long. And any trouble I may cause may be added to my record," if only he knew how serious he was. Thank goodness they didn't.

Because then they wouldn't let him open his big mouth.

"I graduated from this university a scant few months ago," a growl of loathing swept through the crowd, Mace continued proudly. "I studied biogenetic mutations. It was more of an obsession, really. I know these accomplishments mean little to those who look upon me now, but I say it because there is a deeper reason for my obsession," a silence.

"These past few weeks, a secret has been revealed that will drastically change our world as we know it. Mutants. I know several of you are skeptical about their existence, as is common for the gifted of mind. However, I assure you, mutants are very real. You're all one yourselves," he steepled his fingers together, wishing very much that he could pace.

"The same changes which took us from being single-celled organisms to Neanderthals, then to advanced homo sapiens are the same changes which are accelerating us towards a new future. Humanity is evolving, my friends," he saw a few scientific ones brighten, overjoyed by the idea of new frontiers. Others remained skeptical. Most looked downright terrified. His mind told him terrified was a bit of an understatement.

"However, what science says is progress, society says is a curse. I am here today to stand for the ideals which this country was founded upon: the idea that all men are created equal. Fearing the men next to you for something that happened to his DNA during conception is a problem we have faced before. That problem ended in the deaths of thousands of people. Am I alone in never wanting it to happen again?" Several people shook their heads. Some exchanged doubtful glances, unfooled by his passionate appeals to their pathos. Charles inwardly cursed. He couldn't stand reasonable people. They were so logical.

"What does this have to do with us?" An unspecified voice asked in the caverns of his dubious mind. Charles was impressed. He had expected more comments of this type by now, and this one wasn't even aloud yet. He felt Moira's encouraging thought. You're doing well, my friend, keep it up. He didn't feel as if he was doing well.

"So I have a secret to share with you: the reason for my obsession with biogenetics and mutation," Charles finally got to the point he had been leading up too. He took a deep breath, and for one of the first times in his life, allowed his heart to speak. It was difficult.

"When I was nine years old, I began hearing voices in my mind. I thought I was going insane. Then at twelve, I discovered that the voices I thought were burgeoning signs of my mental insanity were really in everyone else's mind. I discovered that I was telepathic. A mutant," gasps resonated around the room. He saw Moira tense, her hand going towards the gun hidden away in her shirt. But Charles was not worried about that, he was worried about what he was about to do next.

Charles reached out, and with relative ease, touched the minds of everyone present. I was terrified of my gift at first, he continued, telepathically. He saw wide eyes, and more than a few students fainted. Other jumped up, looking around as if searching for the deity who spoke to them. When they realized it was his voice, he felt all eyes burrowing into him.

His face burned. It was like London all over again, only this time he had control of his powers. So Charles poured his emotions out-little by little so as not to make anyone burst into tears- his loneliness, his anger, his confusion. Letting them understand what it was to be a mutant.

I didn't understand what was happening to me, or why I had been cursed with this remarkable ability. It is the feeling which all mutants know intimately. When I came to the university, I came seeking answers. A shiver wet down Charles's spine as he felt incredulous shock from his professors. They had never known.

I found them, and with answers came an acceptance of who I was, and my place in this ever-changing world. However there are still mutants out there hiding, terrified of who they are and how they will be treated, confused about what is happening to them and how to control their powers.

"I want them to come forth," his voice echoed as he continued his speech aloud. His audience jumped, looking a bit dizzy at the sudden change in communication. "Out of the shadows, and embrace themselves exactly as nature declared them to be. Different but not demons. After twenty-one years, I'm tired of hiding who I am. I imagine they are too, but in order to escape this existence we must work together! All of us! Everyone!"

His father would be turning in his grave of he could hear Charles now. "Yet I also do not want anyone who is not a mutant to be afraid. I know that this is a scary prospect for anyone to handle. Change is always terrifying, and I do not expect immediate peace between humans and mutants. All I ask is that you try," that was all anyone could ever ask of them. Success was too large a burden to bear.

"Try to remember that the mutants who will come forward are still the same people you've always known. Your brothers and sisters and friends! Remember that no matter what boat we were born into, the sea is thrashing us in the same direction. We will either float together or sink together,"

"I would do anything for you. I would die at your side ten thousand times should you ask. Ten thousand times."

Erik's memory gave him strength. He raised his voice as a passionate fire swept through him, cooling his skin and enflaming his soul. "We all want the same thing: peace. Some of you will look for it by seeking wisdom and tolerance, some of you will seek knowledge and strength through combat. It doesn't matter what you do after this or what you did before it, what matters is what we will do to get through it!" He saw Moira smile from the corner of his eye.

"It will be hard. There are horrible people out there, mutant and human alike. Our journey will be long; our tensions strong; this fight will take patience and understanding which is a decidedly hard thing to get nowadays," He was on a roll. The crowd was silently captivated, hanging off his shouts as if they held within them the secret of the galaxy itself. Perhaps he did.

"But know that none of us-mutant or human- are fighting for ourselves or our own ambitions. No, we fight for equality and freedom! Fight for your dreams, and your children and your family and friends and the hopes you have for the world! It doesn't matter why or for what, it matters that we do it together because that is the only way to do it right!" Charles accentuated this with a small telepathic jab of determination, and a call for Hank to make his appearance. Right on time, his friend suddenly marched from some secluded corner and joined Charles, his blue fur and humungous fangs shining in the light.

A few more people fainted. Pity.

The rest of the crowd responded by letting out small gasps of surprise. "Let us be equal in this, our slow evolution, our natural inclination towards light!" Hank drew it to a close. "The days of old are dead and a new society will be born, one of brotherhood and peace. It is time to go about earning that era, and know when it is all over that earn it we did!" Charles picked up where Hank left off curtly, letting his eyes roam the room.

"So, that begs the question," he cocked his head, curiously and let his voice drop to normal pitch. "Are you ready?"

For a very long moment, the audience just stared at them, eyes as wide as saucers and minds empty save for one spiraling, twisting thought: what the hell? Charles was unsure whether this thought was a good one or signaled bad intentions, but he was determined to stand firm despite. Or, sit firm at any rate.

He could feel the waves of fear rolling off Hank. He was just as nerve wracked as Charles, perhaps more, and the telepath felt honored that the young man had agreed to come with him and show his true self. A self Charles knew Hank was deeply afraid might be rejected.

Then, after an eternity had passed and Charles had experienced three different heart attacks, there was a slow, tentative clap coming from his old professor.

Then another and another until the entire room was filled with the sound of clapping, and their audience was standing, eyes still wide but now with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. Charles was so shocked that he let out a lightly hysterical laugh. Hank's paw was digging into his shoulder, a giant grin stretching the length of his face as he executed a small bow. Charles watched, overjoyed and flabbergasted at the same time.

And that, he thought with satisfaction. Is how you give a speech.

Two months later:

"I have to hand it to Chuck," Wolverine growled, gently tapping his cigar with one finger as he breathed out, slowly. The smoke drifted into the air. Erik glanced at it, feeling his stomach broil with memories of other smoking chambers and the people inside them. He shook his head and took another sip of his brandy.

"His money gets us into a lot of nice places," there was not much Erik could say to disagree with that. He looked down at the five star hotel that they had settled into, the building spiraling so high that it made him nauseous to think about just where their room was, on the eighteenth floor.

Here, the towels were warmed, there were butlers in the hallways ready to do their bidding and the food was exquisite. Erik had already decided that based up the hotel, he adored India, India was fabulous.

"We won't be staying long," he warned Wolverine, instead of saying all this.

"Oh, come on chief," the clawed mutant whined, sagging against the balcony railing. They were currently watching the busy city of India move past, the beautiful and colorful castles-including the Taj Mahal- glittered in the fading sunlight. This place was gorgeous. Raven loved it. But their work here was done. They had spent the last three weeks smuggling food into the country to help feed the impoverished farmers on the outskirts of major cities. Now, they needed a new target.

To do that, they had to contact the Mansion, and ask Charles where else their assistance was needed. In the two months that they had been doing this, they had not yet had need to call upon the Mansion. The next mission had fallen into their laps easily and without end.

They had not had a moment of rest since they left the mansion; which is the only reason Erik had allowed them to staying this far too expensive hotel for a few nights, to clear their heads and get a good amount of rest before the next mission. He had not seen nor heard from anyone at the mansion in two months. Within that time, the team had been to Ethiopia, France, Russia, Ireland and Greece.

It seemed almost everywhere he went it was either sweltering or freezing.

Wolverine's shoulders were relaxed as he let out another long puff of his cigar. It had taken a few weeks-but eventually Erik had managed to earn Logan's respect. It had been during a battle when Erik saved his life, actually, and since then the two had been pleasant friends. "We just got here," Logan continued.

"Our work here is done," Erik reminded him. "It's time to move on," Logan glanced at him sideways.

"If I didn't know any better, Chief, I'd say you're eager to find someone else to help," Erik shook his head indifferently.

"I'd rather be doing something, but helping humans," he sneered. "Not my favorite thing so far," Logan chuckled, unimpressed by his disgust.

"You're not fooling anyone, Chief," he snorted. "You want to help in any way or anyone-human or not. As long as we're doing something that makes the world better, you'll be happy. It's just who you are," Erik smiled bitterly at the confidence in Logan's voice. He did not know about his past, about Shaw. In truth, Logan only knew the bare basics of Erik's hatred and Charles's pacifism.

He had been told about the bet and volunteered immediately, not because he hated humans or loved humans, but because he was a wanderer by nature. Logan, Erik knew, always had to be moving, discovering, seeking, as if he were looking for his lost memories in the alcoves of the world's treasure boxes. Emma worked with him almost every night, struggling to pull some memories out of his deep conscious, but they all knew it was a mission for Charles. Only his mind was stubborn enough to bring light into a mind darkened by amnesia.

"Maybe we'll stop by the mansion after this mission," he contemplated aloud, wondering what his friend was doing at that moment and how the students were faring. He had to admit, there were moments-quick ones, albeit- where he missed the mansion. He would lie on the cot or ground or wherever he was sleeping at that moment for a few seconds, trying in vain to convince himself that he was in the snug blankets of his room and that the far off bombs of some new conflict were only fireworks.

"For Fourth of July," Erik had never celebrated it himself-did not plan too, he was German at heart- but he was curious to see the sky light shows of America, the patriotic symbol of pride.

"You just want to get home," Wolverine snorted, plainly. Erik really wished he would stop being so perceptive, and so honest.

"And you don't?" He questioned back. Logan shrugged, and promptly squashed his cigar in the ash tray, almost violently. Then again, Logan did most everything violently. It was his way.

"I'd like to see how Rogue's doing," he grunted, merely. Erik smiled, thinking of the small girl who they had found following Logan around. The two seemed to share a unique bond. Rogue had been near tears when Logan had left, until Wolverine had solemnly handed her his dog tag, and firmly told her to take good care of it. He would be back for it one day, and expected it in top condition.

Erik did not turn when the door opened behind them and Emma stepped out. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of smoke and promptly joined them at the balcony, beautiful eyes examining the buildings of India. "It's so loud," Emma was one of the only ones not to enjoy it here.

"All of the cities we've been too are loud," Logan pointed out. Emma shook her head.

"I mean their minds," she grumbled, making both men perk in interest. The life of a telepath was mysterious and interesting. Emma gave more insights into it than Charles did. "They're filled to the brim with images and places and names and faces. It's distracting," she complained.

"Isn't everyone's head like that?" Erik asked curiously. Emma shook her head.

"No," she snorted. "Most people think at one thing at a time, focusing on it intensely. The people here focus on everything at once, feeling everything at once. It is like watching a colony of ants scurry over each other, never ending. It is enough to make anyone feel disorientated," she said. Erik nodded.

"Look into my head then," Logan offered bitterly. "I'm sure its empty enough," Emma cast him a pitying glance.

"Would you like to try again tonight?" She asked, gently. Logan shook his head mutely and returned to the cabin inside, closing the door hard enough to crack glass behind him. Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. He was not paying for that if Logan broke it. "Where are we going next?" Emma then asked.

Erik shrugged. "I don't know. Can you feel anything?" He asked.

"We could take a look of Japan. I believe they're still healing from Hiroshima and Nagasaki," Erik hummed beneath his breath, gut twisting. So many people…

"Then I was thinking to return home, for Fourth of July," he considered. Emma nodded and-probably just to make him uncomfortable-laid her head on his shoulder. Erik knew that he should have pushed her off but really? She smelled like lilacs and lavender and the sun was hitting her face at just the right angle to make her hair look like gold and her eyes like gems. She was stunningly gorgeous and the very last thing he wanted to do was for her to get away from him.

"Want to make sure Charles hasn't gotten into any trouble without you?" she inquired.

"Oh, he has," he very much wanted to stroke her hair. What did it feel like? "I only want to know what kind of trouble," she nodded and looked up at him with eyes that could see into his soul, and take control if she wanted too.

She studied his face for a long time. "You miss him," she finally muttered. Erik shrugged.

"He's my brother," he replied. She smiled, teasingly.

"Would you miss me if I went away?" She purred. Erik smiled back.

"Miss your sarcastic remarks and cunning ruthlessness? I'd be lost without them my dear," he promised, only half kidding. Emma took her head from his shoulder and tossed her hair to the side.

"As long as you remember that, spicy head," she said, and if he didn't know any better he could swear he saw her blushing.

"Hey guys!" Erik turned around to see Raven in the doorway, waving them inside frantically. "You've got to come see this! We're on the news!" The news? Erik and Emma exchanged concerned glances before dashing in after Raven. In the main living area, Riptide, Azazel, Raven and Logan had all gathered around the tiny television set. Erik gently shoved his way to the front, Emma at his side.

"Are we wanted?" he demanded gruffly, body tensing for an inevitable escape.

"No," Azazel said, awe in his voice. "We are…We are…" he stammered, looking for words.

"We're famous," Riptide finished incredulously, pointing at the T.V, where an NBC news anchor showed, his face grave as always.

"Just a few months ago, footage was released that changed the way we look at our world forever," the anchorman was saying. "The world leaders were frantically trying to find a solution to this 'mutant epidemic," as they termed it that is until, this footage was released to our stations a few weeks ago," at the bottom of the screen, Erik saw them in France.

The burning building that they had faced was crumbling on T.V when suddenly Raven launched herself out of the fiery door, two small children in her arms. Riptide was on the ground, his arms outstretched as he created a hurricane which sucked the fire into its embrace as it twirled. Azazel was vanishing on and off, appearing with chains or more and more people, who then ran screaming away from the red-skinned mutant before Azazel popped back in.

Suddenly, Wolverine smashed through the sidewall, roaring, his claws gleaming in the sun. Close on his heels was Emma, her diamond form impervious to the fire as she dragged a burning man and promptly pushed him to the ground where firemen doused him. She dashed back inside to get more. Suddenly, in a daring move which Erik did not remember feeling as elegant as it looked, he appeared on camera, carefully lowering himself to the ground. Several dozen unconscious people, held aloft by metal wires, landed gently on the ground around him.

"I remember that," Logan grunted, surprised.

"That was just two weeks ago," Emma marveled. "Who was videotaping us? And how did it get to the press?" She wondered.

The television screen flashed back to the anchorman. He tapped his pile of papers down professionally, eyes glued to the camera. "These people have been identified as mutants, and sightings of them doing good deeds have been reported all around the globe; including in Europe and Africa."

Rave crossed her arms. "Well, it's about time," she harrumphed.

"World leaders are refusing to comment on this,"-why wasn't Erik surprised? - "but the public has been thrown into a state of speculation. Indeed, reports have been coming in that a name has been bestowed upon these mutant vigilantes, inspired by the other mutant celebrity that has taken over the world stage," Erik blinked, taken aback. Another mutant? Who? "Apparently the name is X-Men. Holly, tell our viewers more about the namesake of the vigilantes, Professor X," Who?

The camera swiveled to a woman beside him, looking just as serious and shuffling exactly the same amount of papers. She scowled at the camera. She sure didn't look very jolly for a Holly.

"Well, Jim," she replied primly. "Just over a month ago, former Oxford University prodigy Charles Xavier gave a riveting speech at his old college, proclaiming himself a telepathic mutant and calling forth any others from hiding," no.

"It can't be," Emma muttered.

Erik sighed. Of course it was. "His speech-which witnesses testify was partly in their minds-brought the crowd to tears. Since then, he has delivered dozens of speeches all around the United States, pulling with him a Mutant movement of fantastic proportions!" Raven leaned on the back of the couch, pressing her face into her hands.

"I leave him alone for two months," she lamented. "And he starts a movement," she groaned.

"Well," Emma observed, giving him a canny look. "Now you know what kind of trouble he's gotten into during your absence," she said. Erik glared at her. What Charles was doing was suicidal.

"What do you mean by Mutant Movement, Holly?" Jim inquired.

"I mean that ordinary people have taken to the streets, revealing themselves to be Mutant. They are the ones who named the mutant vigilantes X-Men, and have subsequently started calling Charles Xavier Professor X. I don't know why, but it is catching! Why, just last week my neighbor, who I've known since elementary school, walked out of his house and I saw coming out of his back were spikes. He looked like a human porcupine. Imagine, a man I'd known forever was hiding a mutation all along, and he walked off to join the marchers. Entire towns and cities of mutants are being revealed, people we look at every day are revealing their true selves. Thousands of people, all in the name of Professor X," Jim's eyes widened.

"Holly," he gasped. "What does this mean to the public?" he asked.

"Well Jim, states such as Pennsylvania, Oregon, Idaho, and Maryland are demanding mutant equality in society. Incidentally, many humans have joined this movement as well. We asked one of them why, take a look," she gestured to the side of the screen, where footage was rolling of one young man with wild hair, and bright green eyes.

Behind him, a steady stream of bodies rolled past on the streets, holding signs above their heads and shouting a mantra which Erik recognized. His head snapped around to meet Raven's eyes.

They were shouting: "Mutant and proud!"

"Young man," another voice asked the marcher. "What are you doing here?" The boy cocked his brows and smiled cheekily.

"Marching," he replied.

"For what reason?"

The boy ran a hand through his hair, still smiling. "For mutant equality, man. So that they can get treated the same as we do and not get experimented on or put away in prisons or anything. So that people won't start hating on em' out of fear," though his vocabulary and grammar weren't top notch, Erik had to admit he was impressed.

"But aren't you human?"

"Professor X says we're all mutants," the teen informed the inquisitor evenly, before plowing on. "My sister is a mutant, though. She can control water and stuff; it's, like, pretty sweet. I've known forever, but she's always had to hide," there was a spark of seriousness in his happy-go-lucky eyes. "I want her to be able to come out, ya know? Share her talents with the world, be accepted. I don't want her to live the rest of her life afraid," he said, honestly.

"I like this boy," Azazel commented, nodding. "He is genius."

"His IQ points aren't up there but brains have nothing to do with morals," Emma snorted, crossing her arms.

Erik narrowed his eyes, listening. "But aren't you afraid that mutants might take over the world?" the protestor crossed his arms and snorted.

"Not really," he told the camera, as if this were a preposterous idea. "The only thing my sister could take over is the television. Besides, why do you have to be mutant to take over the world?" A fair question, if a bit stupid. Erik pursed his lips, wondering what Charles had said to make people this way and why he hadn't said it before. Preferably before Erik agreed to this bet.

"One more question," the anchorman went on, sounding surprised by the answers so far. "What does Professor X's message mean to you?" And now the boys features softened a bit into something like reverence. He rubbed the back of his neck before answering staggeringly.

"I think the same thing it means to everyone. Hope. Ya know, the world is changing. Even though I knew about my sister, man, I didn't know about all the other mutants out there. And the Civil Rights Movement is kickin up, and we just got one with that whole Russian crisis thing and the war… It's been tough."

The young man ran a wearied hand across his face, and in his eyes Erik saw some of the hardened shell crack away, leaving a child who had been made to make many sacrifices in the a war Erik had never considered before now. He had been involved in a very different aspect, in both WWII and the Cuban Missile crisis. He had never imagined that it might still be affecting even those who had not done any battle on the frontlines.

"I think everyone is scared this is one more war we gotta fight, right here at home too. But the Professor, man, he tells us that we don't have to be scared, ya know? He says that we're bigger than fear and we're better that what's happening. He believes that there can be peace. I don't even know what that word means anymore, but ya know what? If Professor X is leadin', then I'm followin,' because he believes in us. Doesn't that count for something?"

Professor X is going to get an earful from his best friend the second I get my hands on him, Erik thought, shaking his head in pure astonishment. Only Charles. The camera switched back to Holly, as grave-faced as she had been a moment before. "Well, Jim," Holly continued. "That is what is currently happening in the world today. Our sources tell us that Professor X is supposed to be giving another speech in California later this week," she sighed, audibly. "Mutant vigilantes, professors, movements. It does seem like the world is changing, doesn't it?" She asked. Jim nodded to her left, face contorting-quite shockingly-into one of thought.

"Indeed, Holly. I just hope it changes for the better. I'm Jim Barryman and this is…"

Riptide snapped the Television off before he could answer, briefly turning back to the others. "This is ridiculous," he finished for the anchorman. He looked at Erik, curiously. "This wasn't part of the bet, was it?" he asked.

Erik shrugged. "It wasn't ever not part of the bet," he admitted begrudgingly. Raven gave him a pointed look.

"I think you underestimated my brother, Erik," she told him. Erik had to agree. He stared at the black screen for a moment before laughter bubbled up inside him, released in a few sniggering chuckles. He saw Emma smiling from the corner of his eyes, and knew that she hadn't needed telepathy to know what he was laughing at.

"X-Men," the metal bender burst out, sniggering. "Dammit, Charles, what kind of name is that?" he asked the general air. The others stared at him laughing for a moment, bafflement twisted on their faces, before his laughter became contagious.

They had spent too long as a team to have separate emotions now. They fought together, woke up together, went to sleep together. And now, after two months of fighting, they laughed together at the pure ridiculousness of their world.

"Things are about to get interesting," Logan guessed when their mirth had died down.

Erik nodded and cocked an eyebrow at Emma. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, rhetorically. The telepath grinned. She looked like the surface of the sun when she smiled, Erik had noticed.

"We're off to California?" she asked.

"Of course," he looked around. "We have a speech to catch."