The Road to Recovery

Chapter III



Erik never would have expected to be approached by Wolverine again so soon after the

awkward morning he spent in the other's quarters. On the contrary, he believed that Logan

probably felt just as awkward about it and therefore tried to avoid him. Not that he'd have to

try all that hard. When Erik was not in his bedroom, he often went to the library, which was

not exactly among Logan's favourite locations. Did he even know how to read? Erik recalled

with a hint of irony that his former henchman Sabretooth had had certain problems in the

written language department.



Charles' condition seemed to be steadily deteriorating, despite the fact that the telepath

himself steadfastly denied it. This particular day - a Sunday - Charles had been sleeping

almost around the clock. Erik had tried to wake him up for lunch, but all he received in reply

from his friend was a grunt and a slightly irritable wave of his hand, and Charles had gone

back to sleep within thirty seconds. Even though Xavier had pulled the covers up to his chin,

Erik could see the feverish glow of his head.



//Why is he not getting better?// he thought, and the small, clawed animal named anxiety

awoke within him, as it did from time to time. //The antibiotic should be working by now.

Why isn't it?//



Erik spent a few hours reading, seated by the window, and occasionally threw a glance at

Charles to see if there was any change. The telepath's laboured breathing was a constant

distraction. The breakfast tray which Storm had brought earlier stood untouched on Charles'

bedside table. Erik himself was quite hungry, but he could not bring himself to eat what was

meant for his friend.



A few hours into the afternoon, Erik had had enough. He closed his book and stood up,

padding over to the large bed. Xavier did not react to his approach, and Erik noticed that this

morning's dose of amoxicillin also lay untouched in a small plastic cup next to the food tray.



No, this wouldn't do. If Charles wanted to get better, he had to take his medicine. Erik felt a

brief stab of irritation, bordering anger, toward the telepath. Charles was a doctor himself; he

of all should know such things.



Erik shook his friend awake a little less gently than before. Charles' watery eyes opened and it

took him quite a while to focus his gaze. "Erik..." he slurred. "Wha...?"



Holding the drugs visible to him, Erik said, "You forgot to take these this morning, Charles. I

just noticed and thought you should do so." Charles blinked a few times and wet his dry lips

with his tongue. Then he sighed. A rattling, hollow sound which increased Erik's feeling of

discomfort.



"Oh, yes... You're right, my dear... I'm sorry."



Erik said nothing more in fear of revealing his aggravation. Instead he helped Charles lift his

head and placed the pills in his mouth. Xavier swallowed them with the help of some water.



"I'm going out for a while," Erik informed him. "This room is suffocating me. I think I'll go

to the library. Will you be alright while I'm gone?"



//Funny I'm asking him that question; our roles are normally reversed. It must be hard for

Charles not being able to take responsibility as he usually does. For me and everyone else

who lives here.//



Xavier gave an almost imperceptible nod, and his eyes slid shut once more. He drew in a

breath that sounded even more strenuous than before, and Erik's worry increased.



"Maybe you need some extra oxygen, Charles? I could tell Jean to bring in a storage tank and

a breathing mask for you..."



Charles shook his head almost vehemently. "I don't... need that..." he groaned, pulling one

hand over his damp face. "You can go, Erik..." He coughed. "I'll be alright."



Now it was Erik's turn to sigh. Doctors were indeed the worst kind of patients. Charles had no

many roles in his everyday life; father figure, headmaster, teacher, mentor, therapist... The

role of the patient was not one he accepted willingly.



Erik kissed the telepath's forehead - something Charles often did when he was depressed and

refused to get out of bed - and then quietly left the room, heading for the mansion library.

During Sundays one could expect it not to be too crowded.



And he was right. The only visitor except him was a petite teenage girl whom he remembered

as Katherine Pryde. She threw a quick glance in his direction and then used her mutant ability

to phase through the nearest wall, the books she held pressed to her chest. It had not been

Erik's intention to frighten the child, but at least he could now enjoy complete solitude.

Choosing a book about the Crimean war from the history shelf, he seated himself by the

window. Erik, however, paid little attention to the book. Admiring nature from behind a glass

was the closest he came to actual outdoor life nowadays. The few times he had tried going

outside, a swift and vehement panic attack had effectively put an end to his attempts. After

that, Erik had been too worn down and discouraged to even consider trying again.



"Hey Mags, how are you doin'?"



Wolverine's sudden voice made Erik jump in his seat. The other mutant was standing less

than ten feet away, nonchalantly leaning against a bookshelf and, as always, sucking on a

rather huge cigar. The acrid smoke reached Erik's nostrils and made him scowl. He'd been a

smoker himself in the past, although his vice had been cigarettes and not cigars.



"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" Logan asked sympathetically. "Wasn't my intention. Were you

daydreaming, or something?"



"What are you doing here, Wolverine?" Erik muttered once he'd regained control of his

voice. If Logan persisted on referring to him as "Mags", Erik might as well treat him equally.

"I didn't know you were into reading."



Logan shrugged. "I didn't come here to read. I just wanted to see how you were doing."



"How I was doing?" Erik asked incredulously. "How did you know I was here? Are you

stalking me?"



"Stalking you?" The look on Logan's face was a mixture of embarrassment and mild

amusement. "I was just trying to be friendly, Mags. You don't have to be so highly strung."



The frown already present on Erik's face deepened. "You don't have to patronize me,

Wolverine. I already know I am a mess, but your pity is something I can do without. Now, if

you'll excuse me..." The older man picked up the book and pretended to be completely

absorbed by it, purposefully ignoring the other.



Despite the blatantly dismissive gesture, Logan refused to give up. He pulled out a chair and

sat down opposite Erik, who still refused to look up from the pages.



"I'm not patronizing you. Is it really so wrong, just being nice? I know you probably have

issues with trust after... well, after what happened, but not everyone has to have an ulterior

motive behind everything.



Now Erik finally lowered the book and looked straight at Logan, sighing. "Alright then. I'm

sorry. Was there something you wanted?"



"The weather's nice for once, without Ro's influence. Why don't you go read outside instead?

Some fresh air wouldn't hurt you."



"I really don't think so..."



"Why not? Even if you don't like the sun, there's plenty of trees to offer shadow. Or you

could come with me. I was gonna head downtown for some supplies."



"You still don't understand, do you?" Erik spat out, his frustration now at its peak. "I'm

agoraphobic. I don't go out. Not ever! Go do what you have to do, and leave me alone,

please!"



"Agoraphobic...?"



"The dictionaries are over there," Erik said venomously and gestured toward a shelf to their

left. He had expected Logan to lose his patience and cease his idiotic attempts at "being

friendly", but the other's reaction surprised him once more.



"I know what it means, I just didn't know you were... that it's that serious. I'm sorry if I upset

you."



It struck Erik that he had been incredibly rude to someone who didn't quite deserve it, and

was suddenly ashamed of his recent behaviour. "No, I'm sorry..." he mumbled. "You did not

deserve that kind of treatment. But the fact is that I can't leave the mansion, Wolverine. I

haven't for over a year. If I try, my anxiety disorder takes control."



"You get one of your panic attacks?"



A nod. "Yes."



"Damn..." A moment of uncomfortable silence followed before Logan spoke again. "But

can't you like... desensitize yourself through gradual exposure? I've heard people can

overcome phobias that way."



"Since when did you become an amateur psychologist?"



"I'm not trying to be. I just know because I used to have one myself," Logan replied.



Now Erik's eyes widened in surprise. Wolverine? A phobia? "You did?"



The big man nodded gravely. "For some time after I had my adamantium skeleton and these

claws implanted inside my body, I was afraid of being around people in general. You know,

never knowing when they might pop out, dangerous situations with no escape... Letting guys

know I was a freak. It was tough, but I got over it. I learned to control my fears instead of

letting them control me. I think you could too, Mags."



Erik shook his head with a sad countenance. "I've already tried. Charles has tried too.

Nothing helps. I'm wrecked beyond repair, I'm afraid."



"I don't believe you. Come with me outside. Prove yourself wrong."



//He just won't give up, will he?// Erik thought with a touch of irritation, but he also couldn't

help feeling touched by the gesture. It seemed that Wolverine's concern for him was genuine,

whether it stemmed from pity or something else.



"I appreciate what you're trying to do, honestly, but you're not the ideal person to help me

with this. In fact, you should probably not be near me at all," Erik said with a sigh.



"Why not, Erik? What's wrong with me?" Despite Logan's attempt to sound sarcastic, one

could not avoid noticing that he was a trifle hurt. "Do you think I'd hurt you?"



"No, it's not me I'm worried about. Sometimes when I get a panic attack, I lose control over

my powers." The discussion with Charles a few days back was still fresh in Erik's memory.

He had accused the telepath of being jealous when he pointed out Erik should be careful

around Logan, but from a logical point of view it made perfect sense. "So I could hurt you."



"Mags, come on, I'm a big boy. I can handle myself," Logan replied with a snort, although he

too recalled the faint magnetic tug Magneto had generated simply by starting when Logan

woke him up. If he got an actual panic attack, his loss of control might be much, much worse.

Perhaps it really was a bad idea to be around Mags?



You're just making excuses now, a voice inside his head told him. There are plenty of

"dangerous" mutants in this building, and you never hesitate to approach any of them. Take

Rogue, for example. She could put you in a coma, or perhaps even kill you just by touching

you for a few seconds, and she's one of your best friends.



The truth was that Magneto was very alone. The only one he interacted with regularly was

Xavier, who had over 200 other "fledglings" to look after, and who probably was too busy to

give Erik enough of the aid and attention he would have needed to improve his mental health.

Now that Charles was sick, Erik was probably even more lonely than usual.



"Give it a try, that's all I'm asking," Logan urged. "If it doesn't work, I promise I won't bug

you anymore."



Erik hesitantly moved his gaze from Logan to the outside world behind the glass. Charles had

been with him during his previous attempts, and even the telepath had not been able to do

anything about the feeling of impending doom that came over him. That the Wolverine would

be able to help him with the psychological stress better than Charles was a laughable idea, but

then again, sometimes the impossible did happen.



"And you would stay with me the whole time?" Erik asked dubiously. "Even if... or rather

when I get an... an acute stress response?"



"You can count on me," Logan replied with a wry smile. "Unless you send me crashing into a

tree, that is."



"I will try not to."



"Then let's go." Logan stood up and considered offering Erik his arm, as an overly chivalrous

knight, but decided not to, as he didn't know if Erik's sense of humour coincided with his

own. Most likely not, he concluded.



"I won't go to the grand entrance, though," Erik informed his companion as they left the

library. "There's always a chance someone will pass through at the same time."



"That's fine..." Logan murmured absently, thinking that maybe it was a good idea. An

audience was really the last thing they needed, and given Mags' past, no doubt many of

Xavier's students were curious of, or at least fascinated by him. Not counting those who were

merely frightened, that was.



As they walked side by side, it suddenly struck Logan that Magneto was considerably shorter

than he without the extra few inches added by the riding boots he'd worn when Logan first

got to know him. The absence of the shoulder pads belonging to his purple "combat suit"

enhanced the effect and made him seem smaller in every dimension. That was an outfit the

man formerly known as Magneto would never wear again, Logan thought.



The old dining hall was empty, just as many other parts of the mansion, as it was Sunday

afternoon and many students had headed downtown for some enjoyment. The far wall had a

small adjacent patio which faced the east part of the garden. Due to his heightened senses,

Logan could hear distant voices from outside, but he suspected that Erik couldn't.



Erik had not been here for ages. In the old days, when Jean Grey and Scott Summers had been

the only students at the Xavier institute, he and Charles had often dined here with them, not as

teachers and students, but as a family. He knew that Charles still ate his meals here

sometimes, mostly in the company of his X-men, but Erik didn't. Since the number of

"refugees" had become too great for the original dining hall, a new, larger one had been built

in another part of the mansion.



Erik stopped at the dining table and let his fingernails lightly scrape the dark mahogany. "I

don't think I can do this..." he murmured, eyes cast downward.



Logan's hand landed on his shoulder only seconds later. It was pleasantly warm. "You

promised me one try," the big man said. "Who knows, you might be surprised."



The sun was still up, although it had started to darken in the east. Erik hoped that Charles was

still asleep and would remain so until he returned. This was not something he cared to explain

to the telepath.



//Logan does not have the knowledge or resources to handle one of your panic attacks.//



The phrase spoken by Charles reappeared in his mind. "I'll just have to make sure I don't get

a panic attack, then..." he muttered, and first didn't realize he'd spoken the words out loud.



"Of course you won't," Logan replied, smiling, and nudged him toward the patio door. Erik

reluctantly complied. All the metal around them worried him. In case of a control loss, he

risked destroying the entire dining hall. Plus there was Logan to consider, although due to his

healing factor, it would take a whole lot to cause him permanent damage.



Logan was already standing at the door with a hand on the doorknob. Erik approached him

like a robot, stiffly, forcing one leg past the other. The door opened an inch. The instinctive

reaction was to press up against a wall and pinch his eyes shut, but Erik fought hard to repress

this primitive urge. He still had no idea why Wolverine was so anxious to help him, and a part

of him continued to distrust the other mutant. The fear of Logan laughing at his seemingly

unfounded fear made the experience even more difficult.



However, no such thing happened. Logan patiently awaited him to follow through, the door

now open halfway. Erik was met by the sweet, fresh scent of the outside garden, and his heart

rate increased further.



A full blown panic attack was not far away, he could feel it. Soon all the other symptoms

would appear: trembling, shortness of breath, dizziness, sweating, nausea, and in some cases

chest pains. The first time it happened, Erik had mistaken the reaction for a heart attack.



"I... I can't do this..." he sighed, voice trembling, and sank down on the floor, leaning

heavily against the adjoining wall. His heart already felt like a race car inside his chest.



Wolverine knelt next to him; Erik could not tell his state of mind, as he kept his eyes pinched

shut and was unable to see the other's face.



"Maybe if I went first..."



"No!" Erik snapped. "I can't, I just can't, now get away! You hear me? Why are you even

here? I didn't ask you to be here, so why are you here?!"



Suddenly it seemed so easy to take out one's pent up frustration and aggression on the person

in closest proximity. Erik continued to yell at Logan, telling him to go away, and he even

pushed against the other mutant's shoulders and upper arms.



Logan let it happen. As long as Magneto merely used his physical strength, he had nothing to

fear from him. Any attempt to restrain him at this point would only aggravate the situation.



Tears began to burn in the corners of his eyes, and Erik furiously wiped them away. Crying

like a baby in front of Wolverine was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.



"Come on, Erik. I'll walk you back to your room," Logan said, extending his hand. Erik found

it strange that despite his recent hostile behaviour, the other was still willing to stay and help

him. Taking the proffered hand, Erik let Logan pull him to his feet.



"You don't have to walk me back," he said wearily. "I can manage that on my own."



"You sure?"



"Yes. T-thank you for your concern. I'm sorry I reacted the way I did."



Logan merely nodded and Erik left the dining hall. His limbs still felt a bit shaky, but he

trusted his body to obey him for now. During his way back to their quarters, he wondered if

Charles would be awake when he returned.



He didn't make it there to find out, though. Only a few doors away, Erik almost walked into

Ororo Munroe. Neither was apparently paying attention to their steps, but something that

caught Erik's attention immediately was the coloured woman's dishevelled appearance. Storm

was usually very particular about how she looked, even when she was not out in public, but

not this time. Her long, wavy, ivory hair was a tousled mess, and thick, black streaks of

mascara were pouring down her cheeks. Ororo was crying.



"Oh, Erik... I'm sorry..." she murmured seconds after their near-collision. "I wasn't watching

my steps."



"Storm? W-what is wrong?" Erik gazed over her shoulder and noticed that the door to their

chambers was ajar. A cold hand squeezed his innards. "Charles?!" He didn't stay to listen to

her reply but stepped aside to rush past her and find out for himself. Storm, however, stopped

him.



"Erik!" she said, her voice and hold firm despite her state of mind. "The professor is not there.

He..."



"Let go of me!" Erik hissed vehemently, shoving the female mutant back.



"Erik, listen! Charles became critical just a little while ago, and Jean..."



"Critical? What are you say...-"



Storm fought hard to keep her composure despite the distressful situation. "I don't know

exactly what happened. He... he couldn't breathe, and... Jean..." She had to stop in order to

sniffle, and a small, choked sob left her throat. "I can't really tell you what went wrong, but

by god, his lips were turning blue...!"



"Where is he, Ororo?" Erik's voice was dangerously close to failing him.



"I...I alerted Jean as quickly as I could, but..."



"Damn it, where is he?!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Storm looked up at

him with large, tear-filled eyes.



"At the med-lab. He..."



Erik passed her in an instant, and though not a telepath, Ororo knew that he was headed for

the elevators. She couldn't remember she had ever seen Magneto move at such speed in her

life. She had to stop him, though, before he caused havoc in his search for the professor. Erik,

whose psyche was already instable, would not bear the sight of his old friend possibly dying.

Storm ran after him and regretted that she'd chosen to wear a pair of high-heeled shoes.



"Erik, wait! Stop! You must not go down there!"



He could hear Ororo shouting and running after him, but Erik could not care less. His only

objective now was to find Charles. The mental image of his friend's lips going blue from lack

of oxygen sent another surge of adrenalin into his bloodstream.



By the time he reached the elevators, Storm was only a few yards behind. Despite his

newfound strength, she had the advantage of youth over him. Having no time to summon an

elevator the traditional way, Erik used magnetism to open the heavy slide doors, and as soon

as he was in he made them shut right before Ororo's surprised face. Luckily she had not tried

inserting any limbs in her attempts to stop him.



Erik was sure that his heart rate was past 200 by the time he finally reached the lower levels

of the mansion. Even though the X-men had been reluctant to allow him access here, he knew

the subterranean part of the mansion like his own pocket. After all, most of the endless,

intricate metal corridors were his doing. Building this level manually would have taken years,

but he'd done it in a few weeks. Even in his delirious state, Erik had no trouble finding his

way to the med-lab.



The doors to the infirmary were open, and Erik could discern a white-coated figure - Jean -

bending over another that lay supine on an examination table. Charles! This was all Erik saw,

and his jogging pace progressed into running. Despite the lactic acid produced by his aching

muscles, he refused to slow down. He had to reach Charles. He had to.



Erik's state of mind did not even allow him to notice Scott Summers standing on guard

outside the entrance. At least not until the X-man grabbed him. He'd run straight into

Cyclops' arms.



"Now take it easy," Scott said, and started to pull him back and further away from Charles.



To Erik the young man's words only sounded like distorted buzzing. "No!" he yelled with the

full power of his lungs. "Let me go! Let me go, you bastard! I have to get to Charles! I have

to!"



Erik struggled violently, but Cyclops held him as easily as one holds a refractory puppy or

kitten. At this moment Erik did not remember or consider that this was the young boy he had

scolded sixteen years ago for cheating one a math test. All he saw was an obstacle preventing

him from reaching his goal.



"Scott, don't let him in! He's getting a nervous breakdown!" Jean cried out and diverted her

attention from Xavier only for a moment. She also did something else. Erik saw, to his horror,

that the heavy doors were sliding shut. In a few seconds he would not even be able to see

Charles anymore.



That was definitely the final straw. No one, least of all two snot-nosed "X-men" would keep

him from his mate at a time like this. Nor would a stainless steel door. Erik reached out the

arm Scott was not holding on to and generated a magnetic field strong enough to rip the door

right out of its hold. The heavy chunk of metal landed on the floor with a deafening bang,

leaving a circular opening more than six feet in diameter in the wall.



"Magneto, what the hell..."



Cyclops did not release Erik, but he stood still with his mouth hanging open, regarding the

destruction through his ruby-red goggles. How much of it he saw did not interest or concern

Erik. He stomped on the X-man's foot, and Scott released him with a surprised cry of pain.



Erik was not slow to take the opportunity and enter the med-lab through the entrance he'd just

created. Jean, just as flabbergasted as her boyfriend, stared at him with a kind of horror-filled

wonder. Erik had no time to scrutinize her, though. The centre of his attention was the

seemingly unconscious telepath.



Charles was hooked to what appeared to be an endless amount of machines. It frightened him

to think that most of them, if not all, were required to sustain his friend's life at the moment.

Though Charles' skin and lips were not blue, as Storm had described them, they were far from

their pale but healthy normal colour. The telepath's chest rose and fell at an even pace due to

the respirator Jean had inserted into his trachea.



"No, Charles..." Erik's voice broke and was replaced by a sob that sounded like a howl. He

reached out his hand to touch the other, but Jean caught his wrist.



"You mustn't touch him, Erik," she said gravely. "Charles is extremely sensitive to all kinds

of infections right now. I'm sorry."



"What's happening to him...?" Erik realized that his own voice was very weak and frail.



The tall redhead sighed, looking down at her mentor with sorrow and deep affection. It was

obvious that she was close to tears herself. "I'm not going to lie to you, Erik. Charles is very,

very ill. This is no longer merely a case of bacterial pneumonia."



Jean made a break to swallow down the growing lump in her throat. She felt Erik's eyes burn

on her. "The sepsis caused by the bacteria has triggered a DIC reaction. That's a..."



"Disseminated intravascular coagulation. I'm not an idiot!" Erik yelled at her across the table

and Charles. "I want to know what you are doing to fix it!"



"I... The release of cytokines and bacterial toxins into his bloodstream instigated a... a

coagulation process in his body. This resulted in a case of pulmonary emboli. D-do you know

what that means, Erik?" Jean asked.



Erik nodded quietly. He had come to realize that shouting at Jean did not help Charles the

slightest. If anything, she needed his support. "A blood clot in his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

That's why he was going blue..."



Jean gave him a surprised look.



"Storm told me," Erik quietly explained. "I saw her upstairs only minutes ago."



"I see." Jean swallowed again. "You asked to know how I'm treating him."



"Just tell me one thing... is he dying?" While Erik was no medical doctor, he knew that a

sepsis, especially one followed by a DIC reaction, was a grim diagnosis.



Jean shook her head. "I... I honestly don't know. I wish I could say he's going to be fine. But

I don't know."



"What are his chances? Be honest."



Jean was reluctant to answer the question, as she didn't want to give Erik - or herself - any

false hopes. Nor did she want to give too discouraging odds. "I'd say maybe... fifty-fifty. But

I suppose the chances that he'll make a complete recovery are even lower."



Erik knew what she was referring to. Patients who managed to overcome a sepsis were often

left with irreparable damage to vital organs, such as the kidneys or the liver. Or the brain.

There was a risk, even though it was too frightening to even consider, that Charles might

remain a vegetable for the rest of his life.



"I'm treating him with antibiotics intravenously," Jean said. "A broad-spectrum antibiotic

until I get back the test results from the blood culture and can isolate the particular microbe."



"Which antibiotic?" Erik asked.



"Sorry?"



"He took Amoxycillin for over a week. It didn't help one bit." Now Erik's voice was

resentful.



"I know..." Jean hung with her head. "I should have realized it sooner. Now I'm giving him

Levofloxacin. It has effect against most gram-positive bacteria that could have caused this."



"And what about the DIC? And the emboli?"



"Charles' blood pressure was dangerously low when he was brought here. I managed to get

some fluid and dopamine into his system, which helped a little, but not much. And his oxygen

saturation is still low, as well."



Erik gazed at the pulse oximeter attached to Charles' right index finger. It was supposed to

display the amount of oxygen in his blood, and at present the saturation was down at 89

percent. It was not catastrophically low, but far from satisfactory.



For the upcoming two or three minutes, neither of them said anything. The only sounds came

from the steady beeping of Charles' heart monitor and the deep, hollow breathing sounds

caused by the respirator.



Suddenly Erik felt someone grab his arm. "I think I'd better escort you out." Cyclops' voice

was calm, but it was impossible not to catch the fury hidden behind the cool exterior.



"Scott, let him stay," Jean said to Erik's surprise. "He, if anyone, has the right to be here."



"But look what he did with the...-"



"Scott, it's alright. I insist." The med-lab was Jean's territory, so usually she got the final

word in anything concerning it. Scott's jaw muscles flexed, but he did not object further,

despite being obviously discontent with the decision. By all rights, he was the next one in

charge after the professor.



"Fine. Storm and I will inform the students. Let me know if his conditions changes," Scott

said, leaving the med-lab through the new entrance and exit hole.



Jean suppressed a sigh. Scott was a great man most of the time, but sometimes he could really

be far too... susceptible. She walked over to Erik, who still looked quite devastated, and put

her arms around him. To begin with, he felt as stiff as a board and refused to lean into her, but

Jean held on.



"I know how you feel..." she whispered.



"No, you don't..." Erik sniffled back.



"Yes, I do. You're not the only one who loves Charles Xavier. He has been like a father to

me. Seeing him this helpless, knowing he might not survive the night... It breaks my heart."



"I know you're doing your best to help him, Jean," Erik said stiffly.



"I am. We all are. But I believe that right now you should go up and get some rest."



Erik, who'd gradually relaxed into her embrace, disengaged at once. "Never! I'm not leaving

him!" he snapped vehemently.



"Erik, listen to me. There is nothing else you can do for Charles now," Jean tried. "You have

to focus on your own needs. And I believe that right now you could really need some sleep."



She reached out to place her hand against his cheek, and a crease formed between Jean's

neatly plucked brows; though Erik had not continuously followed the development of her

powers, he knew exactly what that particular expression meant. It had not changed one bit

since she was twelve.



"Don't go in my head!" he hissed, throwing her hand away.



"I didn't...!" Jean lowered her eyes and had the decency to look guilty. "Alright, I did. I'm

sorry, Erik. I just wanted to know how you were."



"I'm fine."



"You're tired."



"And? So are you."



"You know I'm needed here," Jean said.



"I'm not leaving."



Jean herself was too physically and mentally exhausted to argue any further, so instead she

suggested a compromise. "Okay, then. Why don't you rest in one of the adjoining rooms?"



"Why? Am I in the way here?"



"It'll help me focus if I'm left by myself," Jean admitted. "And as I said before, you really

need it."



Erik sighed, rubbing his eyes. Even though he was drained in every way possible, he really

doubted that he would be able to sleep, or even rest. But just as Jean, Erik was sick of

pointless bandying of words. Besides, the presence of a mentally instable and near hysterical

mutant with volatile powers most likely did nothing to improve Jean's concentration.



"Fine. I'll try to "rest"."



The ghost of a smile appeared on the redhead's face, and her eyes silently thanked Erik. He

allowed her to grasp his arm and start leading him toward one of the small rooms normally

reserved for non-critical patients who still needed medical surveillance. He noticed that she

cast an awkward glance at the gaping hole where the doors had been.



"I'm sorry about that," Erik said.



"For what?"



"The entrance."



"Don't worry about it. You can fix it later, if you want to. Should be easy enough."



"You shouldn't have tried to block me out. Why did you close the doors, Jean?" Erik asked.

He tried not to sound reproachful but deemed his attempt unsuccessful.



She sighed. "I'm sorry I did that, Erik. It was wrong of me. But please, let's not discuss that

right now."



The walls of the room she took him to were sterile and white. Didn't offer much in the way of

optical stimulation. It would do, though. At least the bedclothes were fresh and clean. There

was, however, only one pillow.



"I normally sleep with two pillows," Erik pointed out.



"Look in the closet. There should be a spare one," Jean replied. "There's also a robe, if you'll

need one."



"Oh. Alright."



Erik let the robe stay on the hanger but took the pillow, which unfortunately didn't have a

pillowcase. He figured that Jean's patience with him would soon run dry, so he didn't ask for

one.



"I'll leave you to your thoughts, then," the telekinetic mutant said and took a step toward the

door. Erik called her name and she turned around. Her face was neutral, but her eyes were

tired and also slightly irritable.



"Wake me up if Charles' condition changes," Erik demanded. "Even the slightest.

Understand?"



"Of course. I promise," Jean replied and left.





TBC...