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Elaine Grey opened the door with a pleasant smile; she was a wonderfully efficient woman, admirably calm under pressure, and she’d managed to take her daughter’s mutation well in stride. A woman after his own heart, really; the love she had for Jean was not easily missed, and it showed in just about everything she did. It was something that cheered him when he witnessed it, this bit of proof that he was doing the right thing. That there were mothers out there like Elaine, who loved their children regardless of their mutations and wanted them to have as bright and as happy a future as possible.

“It’s nice to see you, Professor Xavier,” she greeted as she allowed them passage into her home. “And you, too, Dr. McCoy. Would you like anything to drink? I can put tea on, if you’d like,” she said as she led them into the sitting room.

“Always a pleasure, Mrs. Grey,” Charles assured, taking in Jean’s mental state. The poor girl was utterly exhausted. “Tea would be wonderful, actually; Earl Grey, preferably, if you have it.” A nice cup of Earl Grey was wonderful for easing exhaustion, particularly when taken properly with a bit of lemon.

“Hello,” Jean greeted, offering a tired smile that faltered just a bit.

“Hello, my dear,” Charles replied, maneuvering his chair closer to her. “You seem rather tired, Jean. Another nightmare?”

Jean was as prone to them as any other child, but her telekinesis had a habit of getting out of hand when they occurred. It was something they had been working on, as Jean was concerned she’d end up hurting someone if she couldn’t maintain control even while asleep.

“Well, I am rather good with a curling iron,” she confessed, “but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Charles grinned a bit at that, before his mind caught her thoughts. She was a mutant! His grin grew and he shifted a bit to cover up a bit of a relieved laugh. Another mutant; he’d always known he couldn’t be the only one in the world. It was sheer arrogance to think such, for one thing, and rather depressing, for another. Charles wondered if she’d ever met another mutant, or if she was aware of his own status as a mutant.

“Something tells me that’s rather true,” he replied, giving her a cursory once-over, trying to reconcile what he’d seen in her mind with what he could currently see. She had blue, scaled skin underneath all of that pretty pale flesh; Charles wanted to see it, wanted to see her natural form. Memories could be tainted with one’s own perceptions and body image, and Charles wanted to be sure she was just as lovely as he’d seen in her mind. “As a matter of fact, I’m quite interested in these tricks you claim to possess.”

He set his drink down and looked her in the eye, giving her the best intriguing look he could manage. “I will admit, I was a bit serious when I mentioned my flat. Care to join me and show me some of your tricks?”

"Why didn't you tell me before, Charles?” Raven hugged him as tightly as she dared, and he wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to do anything else. “Were you afraid that I, of all people, wouldn't accept you? Never, ever, ever think that again."

How could he possibly explain? There had been the occasional flutter of physical attraction to other men back in Oxford, but Charles had always just chalked it up to the appreciation of certain aesthetics and left it at that. He’d certainly never been drawn in so deeply as to consider actually acting on it. But Erik...Erik was different. Something else entirely, and Charles was quite certain it was how deeply he’d had to plunge into Erik’s mind that night in Miami that had something to do with it.

“I want you to be happy, Charles,” she added. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She drew in a deep breath and released it, as shaky as he felt. They wanted the same things, it seemed—and far more so than they had previously realized—but Raven had one major advantage over him: she was female, and apparently Erik’s type. She rested her head on his shoulder, and Charles bit his bottom lip as he worked to keep his breathing under control.

“Don’t be sorry, Charles.” Oh, but he was. He should’ve fled, should have made up a lie about some random woman he could’ve met while crisscrossing the country with Erik. “I was blind. How could I not have been able to tell you connected with his mind?” Because she was as much a slave to societal norms as he was, and homosexuality was simply not done. It was a perversion, something utterly shameful and disgusting, despite its common occurrence in nature, and she had never been made to consider it. “The two of you have a bond, though, Charles. It is special.”

Raven just sighed and shook her head. “Go figure. The first time we both fall in love, it’s with the same person. At least we have good taste.”

Charles snorted at that. They’d spent too much time together, it seemed; they’d developed the same taste in men. She apologized again, and Charles shook his head in response. He’d regained control of his voice, sure it wouldn’t fail him if he put it to use this time.

“Raven, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m obviously not his type, and even if I were, there are laws against it.”

Even if there was anything between them, it would only end in tears. Better if Raven had her shot at happiness; he could always try again with a more appropriate partner. Moira was a possibility, considering her obvious interest in him and he did find her rather attractive, after all. But...maybe not; her superiors would not be happy with one of their operatives intimately involved with a man who could pluck state secrets straight out of her head with her being none the wiser—not that he’d ever actually do something like that, but a telepath’s word meant very little to a non-psionic.

“Don’t throw away what makes you happy just because of me, Raven, please,” he insisted, pulling back a bit to look her in the eye. “I’ll manage, okay? All I need to be happy is to know that you’re happy.” He offered her the sincerest smile he could. “Though, do promise me you’ll be careful? Now wouldn’t be the most opportune time to be made an uncle.”

Ashni grinned, her expression completely mischievous and Charles resisted the urge to seek out the answers himself.

“Well, come on, then,” she said as she stood, crooking a finger at him and holding out her hand.

Charles followed her out to the garage, taking note of a covered vehicle. He raised an eyebrow, feeling a sudden wave of trepidation and a litany of anxious thoughts. Sending a bit of calm in her direction, Charles considered the possibilities of what was under the covering. Obviously it was a vehicle of some kind, and the same was a bit distinctive, but he couldn’t quite place why that was so.

“Please, if you don’t like it, tell me,” Ashni insisted as she pulled the cover off.

He blinked as he took in a rather handsome car, and one he recognized almost instantly. A DB5 Bond car. Charles smiled and laughed as the realization clicked into place. He’d been a fan of James Bond since he’d stumbled across a copy of Casino Royale when he was a boy. It had been the one interest he and Cain had shared, surprisingly enough. When Dr. No had been released into theaters back in 1962, Charles had insisted they go to watch the premiere as a way to take their minds off what was going on with Shaw for a moment. Lately, though...he hadn’t been able to keep up with it as much as he’d wanted. Too much paperwork and keeping an eye on a number of young mutants.

“Moonraker just came out,” she added, biting her lip. “The new Bond film. We could go, if you wanted.”

Had it? Charles laughed a bit more; he hadn’t realized! Amazing how time flew when his attention was otherwise occupied.

“That sounds wonderful, my dear. And it’s lovely, I assure you. Wonderful, actually, thank you,” Charles assured, still smiling as he controlled his laughter. “Though, I haven’t driven in nearly twenty years. Haven’t—well, not many models out there that accommodate men in my position.”

“Damn, school teacher,” Lana muttered, his reaction to her mention of Erik all but overwhelming her.

Charles tried to scale his emotions back, tried to dam them back up behind the mental shields he’d been fighting to maintain since Erik shoved a coin through his head by proxy. There was damage he had no clue how to repair, no precedent to work off of, nothing but a few band-aid fixes to a problem with no solution, and he should count himself lucky that he hadn’t ended up worse off. After all, he could have easily gone insane or his mental state could have fractured and splintered, or worse.

But he was tired. He was tired of trying to remain strong, of only being able to devote late nights in the most remote room of the mansion to dealing with what was left of himself. It was exhausting, and while the boys certainly did their best to help and meant well, it just wasn’t enough. They didn’t know him like Raven had; they didn’t know what to say or how to act. They looked at him and saw something broken. Raven had an entire lifetime of dealing with his moods. She knew exactly how far to push and which buttons would get which reactions. And just the fact that she would be there would be more than a comfort. She was the only family he had left in the world. She was familiar, someone he could be at his worst in front of and she wouldn’t think at all poorly of him.

“Look school teacher,” Lana continued, “I ain’t gonna sit here and judge you. You’re in pain. That’s all I see right now.”

And he was sorry for that; she deserved better than having to deal with his issues. She stood up and grabbed a table, dragging it ahead until she’d able to sit right before him. Lana braced her hands on the armrests of his wheelchair and gave him a brief kiss on his cheek before sitting down and taking his hand. He could feel her power working to draw out some of his more negative emotions, and Charles didn’t even try to resist. It was a bit strange; he’d never really had another mutant like him work their powers on him. Emma had been the only other one, and she wasn’t gentle in her usage.

"I'm not leaving right now. You've caught my off guard, yeah, but I’m a big girl. I'll recover. Pride is a little hurt, mind you. I had aims to get you in a bath, but at least it's you and not me."

He offered her a tired, half-smile in response. “A few years ago, I might have taken you up on your offer—if you were a bit closer to my age, mind.”

She was lovely, after all, and the sort of woman he would have flirted with in a pub back in Oxford. But there wasn’t any use in thinking of what-ifs and might-have-beens; she was a bit young for him, and now she was his student. Anything else wouldn’t be at all proper.

“Let me help you, Charles,” she said, her voice soft and serious. All joking aside, she seemed as though she may genuinely care. And wouldn’t that just be a wonderful thing?

Charles sighed and closed his eyes. “I feel as though none of this is at all fair to you. You shouldn’t have to deal with these sorts of things, especially not my romantic blunders.”

While he’d never dove that deep into her mind, he knew Lana had a great deal of strength and potential within her. All at once, he was both excited for her and terrified for her. That sort of power...it was easy to grow bitter, to grow to hate yourself and think that you can do nothing right. He knew from experience, struggled with it still. White lies existed for a reason, but evolution had decided that their comfort was not to be for those like Charles and Lana.

"I've never loved anyone, and honestly, after seeing how it leaves everyone, I don't think I want too. Does he know?"

He kept his eyes close and shook his head. He’d never told Erik. Raven knew; she’d pulled it out of him until they were both blubbering messes on the kitchen floor. It was how he learned that Erik had chosen her, that Raven had wanted to go with Erik without reading her mind. He loved Raven, and he loved Erik. If they couldn’t be happy with him, then they deserved to be happy with each other. Or so he had thought.

She was rather gracious in defeat, it seemed, judging from her reaction to his calling her bluff. Still, the young woman took control and got the attention of the bartender.

“One more for me,” she ordered, “and one of whatever my friend here is drinking.”

Well that cut the drink-ordering portion of his standard line, but Charles didn’t find himself too bothered by it. That line was designed to pick up human women—and the occasional man, on those nights when he felt particularly daring and there was a particularly attractive one milling about. (Men were easier to convince so long as they topped, Charles had found, as though it was somehow an insult to be the “woman” during sex. Utterly ridiculous, but expending the effort to convince them otherwise was far beyond what Charles was willing to spend on them.) This dear lady was a much more exquisite prize, if she was in fact a mutant like himself, and therefore deserved better.

“Well, you’re in luck,” she said again. “No boyfriend about to beat you into the ground. Good call.”

“I tend to make a lot of those,” Charles replied, still grinning. Her smile had turned playful, and it was certainly the sort of smile that suited her face.

“Raven Darkholme,” she offered, her smile widening a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” he answered. Raven, hmm? After the wise bird itself, it seemed. Now, just how apt a moniker was it?

“You look like you have a question, Charles.” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “You can ask it. I’ll answer as truthfully as I feel like answering.”

Playful suited Raven well; as did laughter, he found. As far as looks went, Raven was not the most stunning woman he’d ever laid eyes on, but there was far more to her than some of the solely gorgeous ones. Not only was he catching what could possibly be a mutation in the same definition as his telepathy, but she was simply more interesting to speak with.

“It’s not a question I’d care to ask in public,” he responded. “Perhaps in my flat?”

He laughed a bit, waving it off as a half-joke. “But no, I must say, my dear, you either have a lovely expression of the TCHH gene or you are a rather skilled with a curling iron. Though, if it is the latter, you are in possession of a mutation—and a stunning one, at that.”

Charles kept his mind against hers, waiting to see her reaction to the concept of mutation. It wouldn’t be a definite thing, but if she thought loudly enough, that could be the ticket.

Each mutant was different. While most mutations manifested at some point during puberty, some mutants manifested at birth or in early childhood. Some didn’t manifest until they were nearly full-grown adults. Some were forced to manifest early for one reason or another. Certain mutations were ones that it could be argued that they would have never even shown up if extenuating circumstances hadn’t taken hold. There were those whose manifestations were violent and destructive, and those whose manifestations were as peaceable as could be. Every mutant was different, every set of abilities was different, and while it made teaching young mutants how to control their abilities a bit difficult on occasion, it was an understanding that was inherently necessary for any hope of success.

Jean Grey was an unusual case in that, while her primary mutation seemed to be her telekinesis, the story of her manifestation belied either telepathic or empathic powers as well. The poor girl had felt her friend die, and that was an incredibly difficult way to go about manifesting. While he’d located her a while ago, Jean had decided to remain with her family rather than leave them behind to attend his school. It had been a family decision, one Charles respected. Mr. and Mrs. Grey had nothing but love for their eldest daughter, despite any instinctual fears of what her telekinesis could do if left unchecked. And so, instead of Jean coming to stay at the school, they had arranged for Charles to visit once a month, every month in order to give her a bit of training as well as maintain the open offer of a place at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.

Hank parked the car and pulled out the wheelchair. After the minute or two it took to get into the blasted thing (still quicker than when he’d first be landed in it, but still), Charles settled himself into the seat. The two then made their way to the front door of the Grey residence and Hank rang the doorbell. It must have been a long night for Jean; he could feel her mind projecting a bit of her tiredness. Had she had another fit, then? They would need to figure out a better way for her to retain control even asleep. Charles began to outline a possible course of action as they waited for the door to open.

“It might help you to let him go,” Lana offered, and her confusion as to his pronoun use apparent.

Charles could kick himself for slipping up with that; his own misery was not something his students needed to be at all involved in. Alex, Hank, and Sean had regarded him a bit different since it came out just how strong Erik’s loss was affecting him. None of the boys were at all about to take off and abandon him for it, but he could tell that it was a constant though in the back of their minds. Charles wasn’t simply different, he was different.

A sharp burst of realization from Lana’s mind made Charles wince. Her jaw dropped and the shock she felt was almost visible in its intensity. She all but jumped away, her knees catching the edge of the coffee table and depositing her directly on her bum.

“You’re in love with a man?!”

It felt like an accusation, like something he’d normally be much more prepared to deal with when sober (mainly because he’d only had to deal with it sober once, and that was when he so tragically naïve), and what was left of his spine immediately stiffened.

“And so what if I am,” he shot back, a part of him wincing at how harsh the retort was. He was tired of being constantly at odds with everyone around him. Humans, mutants, it didn’t matter. His telepathy made everyone wary of him, and his nearly fatal attraction to Erik fucking Lehnsherr, of all people, was just another reason why he would never truly be a part of the world. He struggled to keep it all under wraps, to downplay his powers as much as he could so he wouldn’t intimidate others, but he always seemed to slip up. To make mistakes. Why, oh why had Lana decided to seek him out tonight?

Then she said his name, and Charles immediately deflated. The maelstrom of love-anger-upset-hurt-betrayal crescendoed and then immediately fell flat. He’d long since given up trying to deny just how badly he’d fallen for the metal manipulator. Erik had been the brightest mind Charles had ever had the pleasure to sense, and there had been so much love and passion resting untapped beneath the anger and fear that Charles had been well and truly damned since Day One. Of course, Charles had not been worth enough to stay—Raven had earned Erik’s affection, and Charles had been left behind to bleed out on the hot sand. And yet, despite it all, Charles couldn’t convince himself to stop loving Erik. No matter how painful, how hopeless, he couldn’t kill that piece of himself. And he’d tried.

“I understand if you think differently of me,” he muttered, accepting his defeat. The boys only stayed because they would feel too guilty doing the proper thing and leaving him behind. That much was obvious, he didn’t need to glance into their minds to confirm it. “If you wish to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Because she would leave. Sooner or later, everyone did. And he was a fool for ever trying at all.

Raven stared for the longest time, and Charles fought the urge to squirm under the weight of her gaze. His stomach was slowly working itself into knots and surely she could hear his heart thudding loudly against his ribcage; the noise was almost deafening to him. Finally, she took a deep breath and laughed a bit as she shook her head.

“Oh, Charles Xavier,” she said, nearly shifting back into her more ordinary appearance before she caught herself. “Touché.”

She took another deep breath and glanced down at the counter as she relented. “Alright, alright. I’ll tell you, but you’re not getting out of it that easy. We’ll both go. On the count of three. Deal?”

Both of them. At the same time. It was the best he could hope for, given how the conversation had gone, and Charles couldn’t refuse it. He nodded at his agreement, though it was tight enough that she didn’t catch it. On a count of three, he would either still have his sympathetic sister, or he would have alienated her forever. The all-too real possibility that she’d react poorly was enough to make him feel sick.

“But, you’ve gotta promise me that you won’t be mad at me. Okay? Okay.”

Mad? Why on earth would he be mad? Raven had obviously found someone who made her happy, who made her feel loved and confident and beautiful in all the ways Charles never could. He wanted a chance to thank the man in question. Unless...had she fallen for someone of her own gender as well? It couldn’t have been Moira, given how she’d teased him about her. But, then, who? A tentative bit of hope unfurled in his chest, and for a moment, he half hoped her mysterious lover was female.

“Okay,” she breathed, reaching out to take his hands. “One.”

He gripped her hands as tightly as he dared, swallowing as the anxiety swelled within him.

“Two.”

He was sweating far more than he should be, and he worried his bottom lip.

“Three.”

Charles swallowed one last time and uttered the name. “Erik.”

“It’s Erik,” Raven revealed, and Charles paled.

Suddenly, he felt like the wolf from that old story about the seven young goats, like he’d been filled with large stones and left to drown. Raven’s lover was Erik. Erik...Erik was off limits. And Charles had just revealed that he loved Erik. It was devastating, and Charles felt his knees nearly give out on him. He caught himself by his arms on the counter-top, still gripping his sister’s hands.

The stories of heartbreak had lied. It wasn’t pain that consumed him, but an unbearable tightness in his chest and the sensation that his heart had simply stopped beating. His eyes stung slightly, and Charles squeezed his eyes shut to prevent anything from leaking out. He’d never even stood a chance, had he?