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The first time they tried this, Ruth said they were doing it wrong.

Charles had not known there was a proper way to spend an entire day in bed. Ruth insisted junk food was required.

With the kids mostly looking after themselves, Scott at the library and Ororo hanging around the spaceship or the construction, Charles and Ruth had decided to simply withdraw. Charles suggested it a few days ago, but Ruth insisted there was more to it than simply not leaving the room.

She offered him a paper cup filled with orange juice. Charles sipped at it, considering the dozen donuts that were apparently necessary to a day in bed. He had to admit, they looked appealing. Easily the second most appealing thing on the bed.

"It does rather defeat the purpose of a lie-in," Charles observed.

He was not a late sleeper by most standards, but the discipline of a dedicated student was nothing to that of a soldier. By the time Charles opened his eyes to a bleary world, Ruth had been into town and back. He awoke to a wide-awake Ruth tossing a box of donuts onto the bed.

Not, of course, that he objected when she kicked off her jeans and bounced onto the mattress.

He stood by his linguistic technicality, however: it wasn't a lie-in if you started by getting up.

"True," she acknowledged. She sat cross-legged on top of the covers, wearing a close-fitting t-shirt and underwear, and making Charles wonder—not for the first time—how a woman like Ruth could love a man like him.

He turned his attention to breakfast. Junk food had never been a preference of Charles's, not permitted when he was a child and not often a temptation now. Those sprinkles looked awfully difficult to refuse, though.

"This is not the first time I've envied your metabolism," he said.

She shrugged. "Well, I do not spend all day sitting on my ass."

He laughed. There were few people who could actually make him laugh about his paraplegia. And even better, she looked incredibly sexy while she did it.

Charles grabbed a donut. "Going to have more ass to sit on now."

"It is a delightful ass."

He chuckled.

"The more the merrier."

Very few people had seen Charles Xavier laugh orange juice through his nose.

"I love you."

She kissed him. She tasted like sprinkles and he felt crumbs of sugar on her mouth, sensations he did not generally think so fondly of. Not until they were wrapped up in Ruth.

"I love you, too. I love the life we have here because of you."

"But… that's not what we were meant to discuss today, is it?" Charles acknowledged regretfully. He should have liked to discuss that more. Follow the subject to its conclusion.

It was a rather solemn subject which took his attention away.

"No," Ruth acknowledged.

Neither of them had openly stated the reason they needed these hours to themselves. It was true they normally had plenty of time alone, but not for them, not devoted to one or the other of them.

"What was his name?" Charles asked. When he received no answer, he ventured, "You mentioned this, before."

She nodded. "I did."

"But I didn't hear."

"I wanted you not to hear."

"But I should have done. I should have—I'm sorry."

She shook her head. She had stopped looking at him now. She looked at the distance instead, at the curtains pulled open over the window and the gauzy shade keeping some semblance of privacy.

"I do not want sorry."

"And you did not want me to hear," Charles replied, gently, "but, Ruth, I should have heard." He realized he still had a donut in his hand and felt immensely silly. He set it down and brushed off his fingers. "I'm like Chris, you know."

"You are nothing like him."

"But I am," Charles disputed. He was an aggravatingly matter-of-fact man at times, and he knew it. "It was Moira who found Scott and when she called me, all I wanted was to stay in bed. I was hungover and I was so sorry for myself. He was in that police station, lost and afraid, and I didn't care."

"You didn't know."

Charles shook his head. "No, that's not true," he said. "I heard in her voice that the situation was serious and I disregarded that. Moira appealed to my pride and because she did that, I went with her—not because there was a child in danger but because it might be exciting for me."

Ruth was not so affected by this story. Charles saw the love in her eyes, but not the understanding that he had done something quite wrong.

"I have to be a better person because of Scott. Without my telepathy to tell me better, I disregarded Moira. I did the same to you. Because I can't read your mind, I am too inclined to simply accept what you tell me. You tell me you're fine and I believe it. I shouldn't."

Her thoughts were actually becoming somewhat easier for Charles to understand. He could not quite translate them, but he understood her moods, a glimpse here or there. Not enough to dig.

Ruth ate the last piece of her donut and licked her fingers clean. It was a deeply unfair act on her part, trying to distract him like that. She nearly succeeded.

"I am not a student," Ruth said, "and it is not your job to care for me."

"I care for you very much—and that is absolutely absurd. You constantly push me to do better, make the right choices. Constantly."

"What do you want, Charles? Apology? I lied to you, I apologize."

She made the words 'I apologize' sound remarkably like a crude suggestion. Best not make that suggestion. They would both be tempted to act on it.

"You never lied. You told the truth," Charles explained. "I apologize. I ignored you. What was his name, Ruth?"

Ruth tilted her head back and exhaled at the ceiling.

"Ruth. Please."

"Avram. My husband's name was Avram."

"Avram. A soldier?" Charles guessed. He knew Ruth had been a soldier for most of her life, that if she met a man at work she probably met him in the military.

So he was surprised when Ruth shook her head.

"No, there are exceptions to service requirements. He was in the seminary." Ruth must have read his surprise, because she chuckled. "I think you say I have a type?"

That surprised him even more. Charles objected, "I'm not a particularly religious man."

"No, but you are studious. Avram was studious. Is studious, probably, he turned to his books after. Perhaps they made him happier. Perhaps…" She trailed off, shivered, and a tear slid down her cheek.

"Ruth—"

Charles reached out to her, but Ruth waved him off. "No, no, I am fine. It was a long time ago."

"Not so long."

"No," she agreed. "Not so long."

He did not know what to ask, so he let the silence continue, hoping she would volunteer further information. She didn't. It was strange to see Ruth this way. Charles realized he had never seen her vulnerable. Had he seen her sleep? She usually fell asleep later and woke up earlier.

Certainly he had never seen her cry.

Now she looked so far away and he didn't know how to help. He couldn't make her forget, did not even have the temptation—literally, he could not. Was this how normal people felt?

"Come lie with me."

She looked at him like he had said something silly. Then she moved the donuts to the floor beside the bed and slipped under the covers. Usually, when he held her, he was very aware that she permitted that because she liked it. Now she needed him. Charles was not thrilled with himself for liking that.

"I love you, Charles, you know this."

"I know," he confirmed.

"Remind me again why we are doing this. Usually when I have all day and a beautiful man in my bed I am not talking about the past."

Charles objected, "Men are handsome, not beautiful."

Ruth shrugged. "I think you are beautiful."

"Well, thank you very much, I supposed. And it's my bed!"

The smile she gave him reminded Charles that Ruth had a way of getting what she wanted. She had a way of making him want to give her the whole world, let alone presidency of the bed.

He answered her earlier question, "We're doing this because you always take care of us. You look after everyone around you, but you're hurting now. Let me look after you for a change."

For a long moment, Ruth did not respond. Charles wasn't certain she would—not with the truth. But she would certainly have something to say.

The Ruth he knew and loved always had something to say.

"The last thing I did, when I knew I must leave Israel, I had watched him, in the seminary, in his old life like nothing had happened. I thought there is pain in his eyes, but this is all. I wanted to destroy it. This is… you are not a man of faith, you do not know what this is like. To betray everything you have ever believed in, the country you have given your life to and the God you have loved… everything was gone. Everything. I was not me anymore."

Charles kissed her gently. He had never been surprised by the pain in someone's voice as they bared their soul. She was right: he didn't understand the feeling of losing one's self, but he wondered if he made people feel this way. When he used this power, what was it like for them?

"I love you."

"I was not the woman you love."

"I would have loved you anyway."

She laughed and wiped her eyes. "You are a romantic. So was Avram."

"You… at some time, you must have loved him, too."

"I did."

He wasn't jealous. He had loved people before, physically and emotionally. He was no longer a young man who believed that only one's first love was real.

"I still do, somewhere. Very deep. We are not who we were, but I love him the way I love the other children from the kibbutz. But I think if I had to look at him again I would possibly break his neck."

With Ruth, that was a terrifyingly literal possibility.

"Was it his fault?"

She shook her head. "It was not so much his fault. But it was his fault. Who do you blame when they do not stop something they could no stop? But if I was there… Avram was sweet, but he was not even a soldier, nor anything like me. Only a man. I could have."

"Oh, Ruth…"

He did not know why he assumed this mattered, besides he remembered that it had to Erik. He remembered that day in the water and how much it mattered to use someone's name.

"It will never not be true."

Charles held her closer. It was not a role he had ever taken with Ruth and he found himself quite gratified by the experience. He hated that it was happening but he loved that, for once, he could take someone in his arms and make them feel protected. For once he did not feel the absence of his legs: he felt strong. If only for her.

"I miss him so much."

"I know, love. I know."

"When I see him now, I—he would laugh. Always he would laugh, and now I see him and he was laughing the last time I saw him he was laughing. I see him like this still, but in the dark… you cannot understand this, what it is like to feel empty. Like you are poison."

"You are not poison."

"No," Ruth agreed, "I know this, but it is one thing to know, this does not mean I can decide I will not feel this way."

It was an interesting point and not one Charles could refute. He knew people did not control their feelings. They might control how the feelings influenced them, but she could not stop feeling the pain. She could not stop blaming herself.

"What was his name, Ruth?"

She sniffled. He did not expect an answer, not really.

"Noah. My son's name was Noah."