Charles had woken to find Erik not there.

This wasn't so unusual in and of itself – he'd always been something of a sluggard, whereas Erik seemed to begrudge himself a thing so purposeless as sleep, resenting his need for it as a weakness. He slept like he ate, like he smiled, like he loved, sparingly and in spite of himself, only as needed. That was part of the problem.

At some point, Erik had stopped fighting himself, had put loving Charles into the category of need. And in the manner of the man, when he had committed to a course there was nothing half-hearted about it – just as he had loathed Shaw, body and soul, and sacrificed everything else to see through his vengeance, when he realised he needed to love Charles, he had thrown himself into it with the same single-minded certainty. After Cuba, Charles knew there was nothing that the older man wouldn't do to help him, to protect him. He knew how much Erik had compromised himself to be true to that love, how much he had denied his true nature, how much he had sacrificed. But Erik's need for Charles's love scared him. And so, at times like this, when he was troubled, at just the time he most needed that love, he drew himself away from it, as if testing himself to see if he could still survive without that crutch.

Sitting in his study, Charles put his hand over his eyes and sighed. They had been through it all before, and sometimes Charles wondered helplessly if it would always be so hard, if Erik was always going to fight himself every step of the way because he was so terrified to hope. And sometimes fear took over Charles himself, that Erik's love and Erik's guilt had got so mixed up in the German's mind that he'd lost sight of which one held him here.

A lot of Charles's confidence had gone the same way as his legs, but he still had pride enough to feel the shame of that – to be loved out of pity, not desire. He tried to tell himself that he was being foolish, that Erik still loved him, that the saw the man he used to be still there inside his crippled body. When things were good, when they were close, he truly felt that love, a fierce tenderness mixed with a bewildered, disbelieving awe, the same love he had felt from Erik the first night they spent together, before Shaw, before Cuba. But at times like this, when things were so strained between them, and Erik pulled away from him, he couldn't help but wonder just how long any love could survive under such a heavy burden of guilt.

Of course, he could have cleared the question up by taking a good look inside his lover's head. But quite apart from the fact that that would be disrespectful and quite wrong, Charles was frankly afraid of what he might discover. Better to wrestle with his doubts than have his fears confirmed.

Things would be different if… if…

He tried to push the thought aside. Couldn't. He was a hypocrite, telling Erik to be patient, to wait, when all he could think about was if it could work… if I could walk again…

The worst thing was (and competition for that was quite stiff, what with the desperate yearning, the dread that it wouldn't work, the horrible worry that he would never get the chance to find out) the worst thing was, he wasn't even sure he wanted it.

Of course, of course he longed to walk again. To have his freedom and his independence back, the ease in his own skin that had once been his birthright. And yet.

The evil thought in the back of his mind, the thought that insisted that he and Erik could never really work, that it had been doomed from the outset to disaster, and that it was only Erik's pity and guilt that had kept him around this long… That thought whispered, what if it works? What if it works, and you can walk, and there's nothing left between you to hold him here?

Charles put his hand over his eyes, feeling the waves of depression that never seemed too far away these days sucking at his metaphorical boots. He knew, from hard experience, the only way to extricate himself from their pull was to focus on something other than himself. He raised a hand to his temple and reached out with his mind for Madeline.

He found her instantly, a foreign mind here amongst those he knew and loved. She was with Raven, trying on clothes – he nodded in approval at the admiration and appreciation flowing from the girl towards his sister. Raven (or Mystique, as she more and more often thought of herself) was so different now from the girl he'd grown up with, and she could be prickly with strangers. That Madeline had formed a bond with her so quickly was heartening, said a lot about the girl's resilience, that in spite of what she'd been through, she still had it in her to trust, to love. So different from Erik, bent and broken by his suffering.

Suddenly, Charles became alert to the dangerous turn the conversation was taking. Madeline didn't seem to mind Raven asking about her past, but Charles didn't want anyone else to know about the girl's power, lest they see the obvious implications for himself. It was going to be hard enough to keep Erik in check, to hold him back from forcing the question before Madeline was ready. With Raven, he would stand no chance at all, unless he put her in a coma. He nudged into his sister's head more forcefully than was strictly necessary, derailing her train of thought and asking her to send the girl to him.

Madeline had decided to just go ahead and like Professor X. He had an incredibly restful presence, a good-natured ease of manner which made him impossible not to like. When he explained to her that she should probably keep quiet about her more spectacular ability, at least for now, in case word somehow got out to Fiskel, she was touched that he had taken the time to worry about her. She agreed to keep it between herself, the professor, and Erik Lensherr, the moody German who had managed to do her two good turns that day whilst still giving every impression he hated her guts. She mentioned her encounter with Erik in the kitchen that morning, and the professor's friendly smile tightened a little.

"You mustn't mind Erik – that's just his way. It's nothing personal; he hasn't had an easy life, and finds it hard to be at ease with strangers. I'm sure you would understand. You two have more in common than you know. But don't be deceived by his attitude; he may be light on social graces, but he cares as passionately as I do about keeping all of us safe – including you. Just give him time; he'll warm up, I promise."

Something about the way he talked about Erik – a mixture of wistfulness, indulgence and frustration – stirred her curiosity. The previous night in the study, she had thought she'd caught the scent of pheromones between the two men, but had dismissed the idea as a mistake borne of her exhaustion. But perhaps she had been right.

As she had said to Raven, she knew next to nothing about relationships – spending your teenage years shut up in an institution did not allow for the usual exploration of burgeoning desires that accompanied adolescence. All she knew of romantic matters came from TV soap operas, and while she was dimly aware that there were men who preferred other men, she had never really considered how such a thing would be in practice. She thought again about last night – the way the two of them had seemed to look out after each other, to think with one thought; thought as well of the scent of fear that had rolled off Lensherr when he attacked her, thinking she posed Charles a threat. It wasn't love as she had seen it played out between over-made-up starlets and lantern-jawed leading men; it seemed something more difficult, more profound and more beautiful.

Although he had promised not to read her mind without her permission, she suddenly became aware that he was giving her a look which suggested she hadn't been keeping her thoughts quite to herself. She blushed, but he was the one who apologized.

"Sorry; I didn't mean to hear that. It's just difficult when someone is concentrating on their thoughts. Please don't be embarrassed. It's common knowledge in the school, so you would have found out sooner or later. It doesn't – bother you, does it?"

Even as she shook her head, she took the time to wonder at this man, who'd offered her the only home she'd ever known, taken her under his wing without knowing so much as her name, more concerned with her comfort than his own privacy.

"Why should it bother anyone? It's nobody's business but your own. And if you make each other happy…" A flash of pain briefly crossed the man's face, but he smiled through it, then nodded briskly.

"Good, that's settled then. Now, we ought to talk about what you would like to do here. You can take all the time you need to rest; but I fancy you've had enough of doing nothing?" She nodded vigorously, grateful that he would understand that. "So, do you have any plans for your future? Any idea what you would like to do?"

When he said these words, the possibilities seemed to open up for her like a flower. Charles's open hands seemed to encompass anything and everything, a daunting prospect for a girl who'd never even decided what shirt to wear or food to eat. But more than trepidation, she felt excited – as if she was about to jump off the top of a diving board. A thousand futures fluttered like fans before her, but one dream seemed stronger than all of the rest. Charles raised his eyebrows.

"A doctor? I must admit, I am surprised. I would have thought you'd had enough of hospitals to last you a lifetime." She shook her head.

"It wasn't totally awful. I mean, it was – but even though it wasn't my choice, and even if they weren't the best people, Fiskel did save a lot of lives by doing what he did. Sometimes that was the only thought that kept me going, when I was sick or tired or scared of the next operation – the thought that, because of what I went through, somewhere there'd be a wife or brother or child getting their loved one back from the dead. Like my parents and Jessica. That's an amazing thing to be able to do. I'd love to carry on doing it one day – just not like that. Do you think I could be a doctor?"

He looked touched that his opinion should matter so much to her.

"I think you could do pretty much anything you set your mind to, my dear. And I'll do anything I can to help. I don't suppose you've had any formal schooling?" She shook her head.

"He wouldn't let me. But I think I could catch up quite quick – you only have to tell me something once, and I'll remember it. Is there anyone here who would be willing to tutor me?" Xavier smiled.

"There definitely is. Dr McCoy is one of the most brilliant physicians I have ever met – mind you, he's brilliant in several fields – there isn't much you couldn't learn from him. He also happens to be an excellent teacher, if a little shy. I know you're going to get on famously. Although he is away at the moment, visiting his parents in Colorado. He's had a – well, a change in circumstances which he felt he needed to discuss with them. He'll be back by the weekend. In the meantime, there's the library – you're welcome to get started on anything that might interest you there."

She leant across the desk, suddenly serious.

"What I'd like – what I'd really, really like – is to learn more about our kind. I want to know why we are all the way we are; what the cause and the purpose of it is. I don't suppose there is much written on that?" Charles smiled almost mischieviously, reminding her suddenly that for all his worldly kindliness he wasn't that much older than she was. He reached into a drawer and drew out a thick volume bound in blue leather.

"It just so happens that I have right here the authoritative history and etiology of mutation in human beings, including a 'theoretical' consideration" – here a conspiratorial waggle of eyebrows made Maddy giggle – "of the possibility of human beings mutating to the next level, a species with extraordinary abilities." He pushed the book across the table towards her with a grin. "It's a riveting read, if I say so myself."