i took the bullet for all the wrong reasons

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier.
What: Comings and goings.
Where: Back home and the arrival cell.
When: Givdi 16th of Caraden.
Notes: Some scenes from the past three months.
Warnings: N/A.

It's only when he feels pain shooting through him, star blossoming behind his eyes, that time slows to a surreal pace and he’s struck with the idea that something is wrong. Ever since the plane crashed, he feels as though he’s forgotten something important, but he pushes it away, blaming it on adrenaline or impact trauma.

When Erik holds him, something more heightened than this moment aches within him. When Raven comes forward, and he clasps her gloved hand, kissing it, he can only apologise for all the promises he made that he hadn’t come through on. But there is so much he needs to tell her, there is something dreadfully important that he needs to tell her—

And then they’re gone. The only thing left to focus on is the pain shooting up his spine and –oh. Oh. Oh no, oh no...

"I can’t. I can’t feel my legs—"

~ ~ ~

They make it back to the United States. Everything is a timeless state of the chemical smell from hospitals —don't I have patients today?— and being told what he already knows. Moira looks at him with wide-eyed sadness, Sean and Alex give him timid but tough, chin-up glances of young men their age, not knowing what else to do. Hank can't even be there.

He wants to go home, but home is a large, empty building, and that bothers him. He longs for something smaller, cosier, with a sun room to lie in and feel the sleepy heat. A cup of tea by his side. The sound of familiar footsteps coming through the door. The presence of a man whom he wants to reach out and embrace.

~ ~ ~

That first night in Westchester, he dreams of the mind-lights of the citizens of a faraway city and knows that he mustn't turn around. Something awful is behind him, and he mustn't turn around. It is worse than anything he could ever imagine. It's hungry, endlessly hungry, and it's waiting for him, for all of them. And he mustn't. Turn. Around.

When he wakes up, he is drenched in a cold sweat and the desire to cry out for someone who is too far away to answer those cries.

But he remembers.

~ ~ ~

In an odd way, he wishes Moira had been in Baedal, too –then again, perhaps not. The monsters and abject horror weren't worth it, but at the same time he knows she would have been wonderful.

The night before he sends her away, he turns to her and says, "Let's have dinner." And rather than invasively read all the details of her mind like he would have done before, he encourages her to talk while he listens.

They stay up until the small hours of the morning and, later in the day, when he kisses her goodbye, it is sincere and wistful. But it's better this way.

~ ~ ~

He doesn’t feel at ease until he has his affairs in order and, because of his recent injury, his attorneys and the people at the bank understand his concerns. And due to his kind of wealth, they don't question the stranger requests. Accounts are set up to provide for Alex, Sean, Hank, and Raven, wherever she may be. Just in case.

The only matter he is questioned on is carrying a small pouch of very valuable jewels on his person. It's a matter of safety, you see, and he sees their mouths try to dart around the subject nicely and then he sees what they’re really thinking.

Well. That's something he’ll have to get used to.

Just this once, their polite protests suddenly stop and they’re shaking his hand and wishing him a pleasant day.

~ ~ ~

He's not susprised when, in one moment, he turns himself around and he's in a green tiled room again. He sees the familiar pamphlet (Burnsworth is a twat) and the CiD. He doesn’t panic. He doesn't even ask anyone to let him out. Instead he waits patiently, flicking through the network to see what he's missed (three days worth as opposed to three months) and makes a to-do list on the notepad function.

At least he's left things at home in some semblance of order this time.

A member of staff eventually comes and knocks, questions and tentatively opens the door. Charles wheels himself out.

Comments

[asklepios]

“A few close calls, only,” she promises, gathering up her purse, keys, coat and a couple of folders that she's taking home with her to work on and signalling with gestures that she's on her way out but no, yes, she'll be back, of course. “I will see you shortly, yes? Good.”

--and that's that. The carriage that she calls isn't precisely equipped for disability so much as it's been, at some distant point in the past, converted from what must have been some kind of arrest vehicle. The seats in the back move and adjust, and can be set against the sides to allow space for the wheelchair; although there are those that can be folded for transportation, more archaic variants that don't are the more common in Baedal, and the carriage driver in question is accustomed to accommodating them for a bit of a hiked price.

When Charles reaches Madrasati, Benevenuta is waiting for him.

[cerebral]

It's a lot better than a standard New York cab in the nineteen-sixties, at least, and the driver is used to receiving customers with either a disability, or size that is distinctly not human. Charles arrives with relative ease and, when Vanessza sees him, he's able to disembark with only a few bumps.

Other than the addition of the wheelchair, he doesn't look much more different than three days ago. He's dressed in a tailored dark grey suit, which isn't too different from what he normally wears in Baedal. Perhaps a touch more formal, but then he's found that people have difficulty taking him seriously in his current state, whereas suits always demand a certain level of respect.

"As strange as it may sound, it's good to see you again." Either because of the short lapse in time, or because no one is exactly glad to be back in Baedal.