Brave New World

by Alicia McKenzie

Part Seven

His shields held in the end, but just barely. Half-delirious with pain, he laid there on the table, fighting to stay conscious. Distantly, he was aware that he was alone, that the mask--the telepath in the mask had left again, but Nathan knew he couldn't delude himself. This was just a respite, that was all. His shields were fractured, flayed almost to pieces. A few more blows and they'd crumple.

Like before. Or maybe before was now; he wasn't sure. Everything was so confused in his head, the few memories he could see clearly put together in the wrong order, so that he didn't know what was real and what he'd dreamed. Amelia, Moira, Charles--they were hazy in his mind, too hazy to be real. He wondered dully if he'd ever actually left his own time. Maybe it had all been a hallucination, and he'd never left the Canaanite-occupied citadel where he'd been taken after that last battle.

That seemed more likely. They were getting clever, he thought vaguely. Trying to trick him with dreams of freedom--creative dreams, at that. It didn't matter. He wasn't going to let them take what little he had left.

Jen, he thought emptily, holding tightly to those few precious memories and letting himself sink into the darkness, beyond the reach of the pain.

***

Amelia materialized in the alley, looking around warily. She'd been tempted to linger in mist-form until she saw him, but he was nowhere in evidence, and she was getting impatient. For all she knew, he was here somewhere, waiting HER out--

"Good evening, Amelia," a voice said from somewhere above her. She swallowed a yelp, and looked upwards until she saw the tall, silver-haired man standing atop the warehouse fire escape, watching her.

Proving me right and scaring the shit out of me simultaneously, she thought, her heart racing. The man's talented, I've got to give him that. Amelia clenched shaking hands into fists at her sides and forced herself to straighten from the hunched, defensive posture she'd instinctively fallen into.

"I hadn't noticed anything particularly good about it, Mr. Lehnsherr," she retorted, as a crackling nimbus of blueish energy formed around him and he floated down to her side, as lightly as a falling leaf. "The evening, I mean."

"Please," he said, his eyes still glowing with an unearthly light, even as the air around him returning to normal. The intensity of his gaze as he regarded her was unsettling, and as Amelia shifted uneasily, fighting the urge to take a step backwards, his mouth quirked almost imperceptibly. "There's no need for such formality. Call me Magnus."

"Not Magneto?" Amelia said, and then wished she hadn't said it. But the man was unnerving her, just like he had at her first meeting, and her instinct when she was edgy was to be flippant.

It was a smile he was repressing, and not a particularly pleasant one. "You may, if you wish to maintain some distance between us," he said softly. "If you need to feel more secure in your loyalties."

There was a definite bite to that last, suggestive statement, and Amelia bristled, a retort springing to her lips before she could help herself. "What would you know about my loyalties?" she snapped in a low voice. It was precisely what he'd expected her to say, she realized as his smile grew. He was playing with her. Testing her. "Let's just stick to the matter at hand, shall we?" she said savagely, wrestling her temper back under control and keeping a firm grip on it. Focus, she told herself. She was here for Nathan, not to fence words with Charles's--well, whatever this man was to Charles.

But Magnus didn't seem to want to accept the change of subject. There was a hard glitter in those icy blue eyes suddenly, a suppressed satisfaction that made her shiver. "I may not be a telepath, but I recognize anger when I hear it," he said, and if she hadn't been listening carefully, alert for any sign that he was about to lose his temper and do something dreadful to her, she would have missed the bitter note in his voice. "Have his charms waned, over the course of your association?"

It took an effort, but she managed to keep her voice soft and relatively calm as she responded. "I'm not here to talk about this."

"Charles can be very attractive, when he wants to be--"

"Please stop," she said, as levelly as she could. "I didn't come here to talk about Charles with you," she went on, putting steel into her voice and pulling icy calm around herself like a blanket. She was good at putting on a mask. It was a skill of long standing for her. "I'm here because of Nathan."

Magnus studied her for a moment, and the edge of menace in his demeanor faded abruptly. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "my conduct was inappropriate."

Amelia managed not to let the immediate retort to that slip. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax, even as he continued to stand there and study her intently, as if she were some particularly interesting variety of insect. "You told Charles you could get Nathan out," she prodded finally, when the silence dragged on a little too long.

He seemed to withdraw into himself suddenly, his gaze going from probing to remote in the space of a heartbeat. "It has taken me months to find this scientist," he said, almost grimly. "Months, to find hard evidence of his activities. The laboratory in this area is only one of many such installations, but he has betrayed his presence here, by his abduction of your friend. I intend to take advantage."

Amelia bit her lip. Charles had given her a condensed version of what Magnus had told him, and the idea of Nathan in the hands of some mad scientist who spent his time experimenting on mutants terrified her. "We have to get Nathan out first," she murmured, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. That had to be Magnus's plan, or he wouldn't have called Charles in the first place.

"Make no mistake, Amelia," Magnus said almost warningly, "my goal tonight is the destruction of that laboratory and the death of this scientist and his personnel."

"But?" She looked up at him, letting the mask go, letting him see her fear and worry. Willing him to understand, to respond to it. Not that she disagreed with what he was planning to do to this scientist, not after some of the things she'd seen done to mutants, but she wanted Nathan out of there first.

"But I will not punish the innocent along with the guilty," Magnus said crisply. "You are a teleporter. You can gain us entry into the laboratory with ease. At that point, you may remove your Nathan from the premises while I see to what must be done."

Amelia flushed. "He's not my Nathan," she said defensively. Bastard, she thought as Magnus raised an eyebrow at her. He'd done that deliberately, just to see her reaction, and she'd been fool enough to oblige him. "So this really isn't for his benefit after all, is it? You just need me to get in there."

Magnus gave her a twisted, bitter smile. "Such suspicion, for a woman who loves such an idealist," he murmured. "Think on it for a moment, Amelia. Your powers simplify my plan of attack, and serve to remove your friend before I destroy the place. It seems fair enough to me."

"Why bother?" she snapped, still angry at herself for letting him push her buttons. "I never got the impression that you were all that concerned about a little collateral damage."

Magnus merely shrugged. "Perhaps I am intrigued with this Nathan," he said, eyeing her almost measuringly. "After all, time-travelers are a rare breed."

Amelia did take a step back this time, her jaw dropping before she could help herself. "I don't--I can't believe Charles told you that," she managed, her fear for Nathan redoubling. Was this going to be a case of hauling him out of the frying pain and dropping him in the fire?

Magnus gave a low laugh that sounded sincerely amused. "I watch Moira, as well as Charles," he said almost gently, as if he were speaking to a child. "Their activities are naturally of great interest to me. I'm well aware of Nathan's unorthodox arrival upon Muir Island. I hardly needed Charles to confirm his origins." Magnus smiled faintly. "But Charles thought to appeal to my better nature, to help safeguard knowledge that could be critical to us both. I must admit, I had considered merely rescuing the man myself, and later opening his eyes to the reality of our situation as mutants--"

"And keeping what he tells you from Charles?" Amelia asked bitterly. This wasn't some kind of chess game between the two of them, damn it. Nathan's life was at stake. "I don't think you want to know what he knows, Magnus. From what little he's told me, the war does come, and everybody loses."

The humor faded from his smile, though it lingered as he took a step towards her. "I have seen the survivors of this scientist's experiments," Magnus said calmly. "Once we rescue your friend, he will more than likely require medical attention. It seemed to make the most sense to me to have you take him back to Moira. After all," he said, his voice almost taunting now and that hard glitter back in his eyes, "at least then, I will know where to find him."

Amelia gave a short, despairing laugh. She was so out of her league here. She needed to shut up before she pissed him off and he decided to swat her like a fly. He could probably do that, long before she managed to teleport his head off or some such thing. "I wouldn't be too sure about that," she said, taking a deliberate step back, to make it clear to him that she was backing off. "He's not a big fan of the Dream."

Magnus looked briefly surprised, then pleased. "With Charles for such a short time, and already souring on the ideological climate?" he murmured. "How delightful." He stared down at her, his gaze turning almost speculative. "And he's not the only one, is he?" She opened her mouth to snarl at him, but he went on, cutting her off smoothly. "Love and delusion cannot coexist peacefully, Amelia." His smile was wry, but thin. "Much like mutants and flatscans."

***

Moira was worried. About Nathan, of course, but about Amelia as well - although the woman would undoubtedly scoff at her for fretting - and about Charles, as well, if less so than the other two. He at least was in front of her nose, where she could worry at him in person.

If he'd let her, that was. "Charles?" she tried again. He hadn't said a word since Amelia had left to meet Magnus; he'd just sat there in his chair, fingers steepled on the desk in front of him as he stared off into space. 'Reading' him was a challenge under the best of circumstances for a non-telepath such as herself. At the moment, it seemed impossible.

And she was getting very, very frustrated. This had been part of the problem between them from the beginning. He and she both had the need to stay in control, but it manifested in very different ways. She channeled it into intensity, more often than not throwing herself into her work, but Charles simply became--unreachable. "Charles, would ye say something?" she finally demanded, tiring of the waiting game.

He waited a full five seconds - just to infuriate her, most likely - and only then looked up at her. "What do you want me to say, Moira?" Charles inquired, his voice so calm and even that she had to repress the sudden impulse to throw her coffee mug at him and see if that got a reaction.

"It helps to t'talk, ye silly man," she said tiredly, instead. "If y keep all that worry locked away inside, the only thing ye will succeed in doing will be t'give yuirself an ulcer. Or drive yuirself mad."

Charles shook his head. "I am not worried, Moira," he said very calmly, and she wondered incredulously just when he'd gotten so good at the bold-faced lie. "Despite our philosophical differences, Erik is an honorable man," Charles went on almost pedantically. As if he were trying to cast it as obvious truth, to convince himself. "He will not keep Amelia from returning with Nathan."

Moira pursed her lips, deciding that she wouldn't point out just how tempting Magnus might find the possibility of having a conversation or six with Nathan and his knowledge of the future--or how much he might enjoy fostering the doubts already festering in Amelia's mind. Charles surely knew all of this, even if he was trying to deny that it concerned him. "Ach," she said, "I still cannae believe he called ye." That HAD surprised her. An overture, perhaps? "He could've rescued Nathan without Amelia's help."

"He could have," Charles said, and Moira noted a tension in his posture that hadn't been there a minute ago. He truly didn't want to discuss this, it seemed. "Undoubtedly he saw some advantage to involving her."

"Or perhaps he was trying t'make a point to ye, Charles?" Moira said speculatively, wondering what sort of reaction she would get.

His response was almost chilly. "If so, it escapes me."

"Ach," she scoffed, "you're just being coy."

Charles looked up at her, and she saw the flash of anger in his eyes, as quickly suppressed as it had come. "If you're asking me to believe his intention in this are noble--"

"Nobility is one vice he's never suffered from," Moira said wryly, and mentally thanked the Good Lord for that. Two of them with that particular bent would simply have been too much. "The two of ye could do so much together, ye know. If ye could just--"

"Rebuild our bridges?" Charles shrugged slightly. "I haven't given up hope, Moira," he admitted quietly. "But we can't do anything of the sort until he learns for himself how destructive the path he's chosen is."

Moira raised an eyebrow at him. "I would imagine he'd say the same thing about ye, Charles," she said idly, and got an irritated almost-glare in response.

"Really, Moira. I understand the value of a devil's advocate, but now is not the time--"

"Why?" she inquired innocently. "Do ye have anything else t'do?"

"I have to listen for Amelia," he said, closing his eyes. It was a clear dismissal.

She ignored it utterly, of course. "I think I know the problem, Charles," Moira said as casually as she could. "Ye do believe he'll let her bring Nathan back, that's not the problem. Ye trust Magnus, at least that far." He opened his eyes, looking up at her wearily, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, and she let her voice grow more sharp as she continued. "Ye just dinnae trust either Nathan or Amelia around him, because ye know both of them think more like him than they do like ye."

Charles just stared at her for a moment, giving no sign that she'd hit a sore spot--which she knew she had, even if he wasn't going to admit it. "I need to concentrate, Moira," he said very precisely. "Please allow me to do so."

Moira threw her hands up in the air and went to get herself another coffee. Charles needed to do more than concentrate--he needed to think, clearly, about his approach to the woman he purported to love and the houseguest he'd promised to help. But perhaps it was as he'd said, and now wasn't the time. Better to get them both back safely, first.

***

Noise. Klaxons of some sort, shattering the comfortable darkness in which he'd been drifting and yanking him back to consciousness. Nathan opened his eyes, blinking up at the smooth metal ceiling and barely registering the continued presence of the restraints holding him to the table.

He felt numb. Just that. Somewhere across the void inside his head there was pain, but it was distant enough he could ignore it. The comforting blackness was gone, but everything around him was dulled, unthreatening. All the edges were gone from the world.

The noise continued, in the background. He listened to it, and wondered what it meant. Nothing to do with him, most likely. Certainly nothing like a rescue. He'd dreamed he'd been rescued once already, and that was enough. What is, is. He was here. There was nowhere else.

So when he heard the voice calling his name and the running footsteps, Nathan ignored them, brushed them off as the hallucination they were.

"Nathan!" The red-haired figment of his imagination leaned over him, struggling with the restraints. Or maybe she wasn't a figment of his imagination, because if she was, she'd have brown hair, not red. She'd be Jen.

But that didn't matter. She couldn't be real--

"Nathan, can you hear me? Damn it, how do these fucking things come off--"

He felt the restraints give a somehow unnatural shudder, and pop open. The red-haired woman fell back with a yelp, and then jumped forward again, pulling him upwards, urging him to "get up, Nathan, we have to get out of here!"

But his legs wouldn't hold him. He slid to the floor at the base of the table, only her firm grip on him keeping him from hitting the floor face-first. She knelt at his side, her breath coming quickly, as if she'd been running.

"Nathan, can't you hear me?" she pleaded with him, taking his face between her hands. Her touch felt very real for a hallucination, but Nathan closed his eyes, willing her to be gone when he opened them again.

She wasn't. She was still staring down at him with those wide, worried green eye, biting her lower lip as she checked his pulse. "It's like he doesn't recognize me," she said, looking over her shoulder. "And he's got one of these damned collars on."

There was a click, and the weight around his neck shifted suddenly. The woman reached out and took it away, throwing it to the side violently, her mouth twisting as if she'd touched something filthy.

And the emptiness in his mind wasn't quite so empty. Pain flooded in to fill it, and Nathan shivered, drawing back from her gentle hands as her thoughts exploded against his broken, battered shields, scorching his mind with their intensity.

--like he doesn't know me, how could he not know me, what did those bastards DO to him--oh, Nathan, I shouldn't have left you alone, I'm so sorry, I should have taken you with me and this wouldn't have happened--

He tried to reinforce his shields, to shut her out, but they crumbled like sand walls battered by waves, and fire blazed up behind his eyes, threatening to smash him back down into semi-consciousness.

No, Nathan thought deliriously. If this was real, and it almost felt like it was, he had to stay awake, keep track of what was happening. If he passed out, he'd wake up back on the table to find out that this was all a dream, and he couldn't bear that, not again.

The pain eased a little as he fought his way through it, and gradually he became peripherally aware of another presence in the room, a vivid, powerful presence. Dangerous, he thought, part of his mind still functioning as the soldier, assessing threat levels.

"He is drugged, at the least," the other presence said, and he blinked up at it, his vision clearing enough to let him see a silver-haired man wreathed in power, standing behind the woman and staring down at him. "Perhaps more." That deep, authoritative voice grew harsh and angry, and he shuddered, trying to withdraw into himself, aware from the fury that splashed against his damaged shields like acid, seeping through the holes. "He was brought here to be an experimental animal, Amelia. Did you expect them to treat him kindly?"

"Don't bellow," the woman - Amelia? - hissed, and turned back to him, her voice soothing. "It's all right, Nathan."

"Is he stable enough to teleport?"

"I think so."

"Be on your way, then." The silver-haired man gave a laugh as cold as frozen steel as he turned away. "A warning, Amelia," he tossed back over his shoulder. "The war is coming. Be certain you're on the right side." Glowing blue eyes shifted from Amelia to him, and Nathan shuddered again under the weight of that measuring stare. "Sometime the only thing to do is to trust one's instincts," he murmured, and walked--no, floated from the room.

The building seemed to shudder, and Amelia cursed softly, reaching forward and laying both hands on his shoulders, her features settling into a look of utter concentration. "Hold on," she murmured. "We'll be out of here in a second."

His determination to stay conscious didn't last for more than a moment of the wrenching transition that followed.

***

Charles had hoped that the newly constructed infirmary wouldn't see a patient for some time. He hadn't expected it to stay empty forever, of course, not with what he was planning and the dangers involved. But those plans were barely off the ground, and seeing it put to use already was unsettling, as if it were an omen for the future. He shook his head, banishing the foolish thought, and focussed all his attention on the man lying on the bed in front of him, and the two women tending him.

"He's not hurt," Moira said with a sigh, adjusting the light blanket that covered Nathan and then straightening. "A few bruises, that's all. But I need t'analyse this blood sample," she said, biting her lip as she held the vial up to the light. "I cannae say he's out of the woods until I find out what they drugged him with."

"I just wish he'd wake up," Amelia murmured, turning away to dispose of the syringe itself. She'd fallen smoothly into the role of nurse to Moira's doctor, all of the usual friction between them submerged.

Charles gave her a thoughtful look, not entirely trusting her appearance of professionalism. She hadn't budged from Nathan's side since the moment she'd teleported back with him, and even as she'd hovered, she'd been simultaneously trying very hard to shield her thoughts. He was tempted to probe a little deeper, to find out what she didn't want him to see, but as unsettling as her furtiveness was - Amelia was usually open to a fault, even the times he would have preferred her to keep her opinions private - she wasn't his primary concern at the moment.

"Charles? Are we dealing with anything beyond the physical?" Moira asked, looking over at him, her features set in a rather forbidding scowl. "I dinnae like how unresponsive he is."

Charles nodded, letting his gaze linger on Nathan's pallid face. "His shields are damaged," he murmured. The evidence was right there; for the first time, he could see Nathan's mind, although the psionic impression of his presence flickered in time with the fluctuation of his shields. "Clearly he endured some sort of telepathic assault."

"Another telepath did this to him?" Amelia asked sharply, and then bit her lip. "I knew it wasn't just the drugs," she said, so much pain in her voice that Charles gave her another, keener look, suppressing a surge of some indescribable emotion as he saw her sudden, half-suppressed protective movement towards the man on the bed. "He didn't even recognize me when we found him."

"If ye couldn't get through his shields, Charles, I dinnae think I want t'know who did this," Moira said darkly.

Charles shook his head at her. "I never made a concentrated effort to get through his shields, Moira," he said harshly, the words coming out colored by the disgust he felt for whoever had done this. This was, to put it plainly, telepathic rape. Just the idea of perpetrating such a violation made his stomach turn.

Could it have been Farouk? Part of him almost hoped so. The idea that there was more than one telepath out there who was powerful enough and twisted enough to do such a thing was alarming. "His consciousness has retreated," Charles said, extricating himself from that train of thought, for now. "It's a normal response to such a severe psionic trauma."

"We dinnae precisely have that much evidence t'go on in that area, Charles," Moira said. "Even Jean's case is different."

"Nevertheless, that is what's happened," Charles said, vaguely irritated at Moira for stating the obvious. In any case, this was not her area of specialty; it was his, and he intended to do what he could, just as she would have done if Nathan had returned with serious physical injuries. "His shields are weakened enough that I can enter his mind easily," he went on. "If I can reach him, assure him that he's safe, he will most likely come out of this coma-state of his own volition." Which would be far, far safer than trying to force him back to consciousness, Charles reflected. All that would accomplish would be to cause more damage.

"Why not just let him wake up in his own time?" Amelia said, her tone so hostile that Charles caught himself glaring at her before he could quite stop himself.

"I don't believe that would be advisable," he said coolly, composing his features. "I could try and heal the damage to his mind myself, but in this state, he could interpret that as another attack and retreat even further." Possibly even beyond the point of no return, Charles thought grimly, his gaze going back to Nathan. But he was not going to permit that, one way or the other. "At the very least, he would fight me, and that would only cause further damage."

"Safer t'have him cooperating, or at least nae resisting, or running," Moira said, and Charles took solace in the fact that she, at least, was not emanating waves of distrust and suspicion. She seemed quite content with his plan of action, which was a rather nice contrast to Amelia, all things considered. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

Amelia turned away again, busying herself with putting away some of the unused supplies Moira had gotten out while they'd been waiting. "I suppose if you have to do it, you have to do it," she muttered. "It just seems--cruel, to invade his mind for a second time."

"I don't intend to harm him, Amy," Charles said, trying to placate her. But she didn't respond, and he bit back a sigh, letting it go for now. One couldn't rely on telepathy for everything, he thought bleakly. Moira was right. He did need to talk to Amelia.

But later. Once he'd seen to the more pressing matter at hand. Wheeling himself forward to the side of the bed, he took a deep breath and relaxed in the chair, letting his eyes close as he slipped through one of the gaping holes in Nathan's shields, descending into the other telepath's battered mind.

He had to go very, very deep. Far deeper than he would have ventured into another telepath's mind under any other circumstances. His own shields would be of very little use here, against the elemental forces of a powerful psi's subconscious.

And Nathan was powerful. As powerful as Charles had imagined, based on what little evidence he'd had to work with. Everywhere he looked, he saw psionic power carefully channeled, set in complex patterns that all seemed to be working fluidly for a single purpose. He lingered, trying to figure out precisely what that purpose was, but a sudden, determined tug from even deeper in Nathan's subconscious jarred him out of contemplation, pulling him down into--

--the desert? Charles looked around, perplexed at the sudden appearance of a pseudo-physical setting, and his presence here in a shape that was virtually identical to his astral form. The setting was very convincing, he thought, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh desert sun. The heat was oppressive, almost malevolent, and a hot wind stirred sand from the dunes, spinning it in small whirlwinds through the air.

The only jarring note was that everything was in monochrome. Strange, when the setting was perfect in every detail save that.

#Nathan?# Charles sent tentatively.

#You shouldn't be here,# Nathan's voice came from behind him, and Charles turned to see him walking down the side of the dune, looking very much as he did in the physical world, save that he was wearing flowing desert garb of a sort that reminded Charles vaguely of the Bedouins he'd seen once. Only it was more exotic, the cut and fabric unfamiliar. Something from Nathan's own time? Charles wondered.

#Do you know me, Nathan?# Charles prodded gently as the other man reached the bottom of the dune and stopped there, lingering a few feet away but watching him closely.

#Xavier,# Nathan said after a long moment. Still coming no closer.

The wariness bothered him. There was recognition there, but only on the surface. #Yes,# Charles said encouragingly. #Charles. Your friend.#

#No,# Nathan said suddenly, insistently, his face darkening, as if a shadow had fallen across him. #Xavier, the legend. All the children know your name.# He gave a soft, strangely despairing laugh. #They sing songs about you.#

He was trying to distance himself, Charles thought, and wondered at just how much more smoothly Nathan was speaking. There was a lilt to his words, an almost lyrical cadence. #Focus, Nathan,# he sent softly. #Do you remember where--when you are?#

Nathan's simulacrum shivered. #Far from home,# he said, pain lacing his words. #Except my home is ashes and I can never go back.#

And Charles jerked backwards, shaken by a jolt of anguish and a flood of horrific images. Children screaming--a city of soaring towers in flames--piles of corpses, burning--

#You're in--the twentieth century,# he managed, wrenching himself free with a massive effort. #Don't you remember? You met Moira--she brought you to me, so I could help you.#

#I'm waiting,# Nathan said very calmly, the wind ruffling his hair. His left eye flickered gold, the only spot of color in the entire landscape. #It's the space between battles. The quiet time.#

#There's no war here, Nathan,# Charles said.

Nathan laughed again, more gently this time. #The war is everywhere,# he said, as if speaking to a very young child who couldn't understand a simple truth.

This time, the images hit Charles like a blow to the stomach, leaving him shuddering and fighting for control as they burned through his mind. He'd seen combat, but nothing like what he experienced through Nathan's eyes. It was war on a massive scale. Tens of thousands fighting and dying--more cities burning--forests in ashes--great floating airships blacking out the sky. He saw it all through Nathan's eyes, from the heart of battle. Felt anger and exhaustion, hatred and grim satisfaction, and every so often, a flash of fire amid the bleakness--a savage, almost feral joy taken in the act of killing the hated enemy--

#Nathan!# Charles cried, using all his strength to pull free and bring himself back to the desertscape. #You're back in my home--you're safe! There's no need to stay here!#

Nathan shook his head slowly. #I never left here,# he said quietly. And threw Charles out of his mind.

Charles gasped aloud, gripping the arms of his chair as the physical world descended upon him with a brutal suddenness. Amelia rushed to his side, reaching out to him, and for a moment, he let himself be comforted by the desperate strength with which she gripped his shoulder, and the vivid worry in her eyes.

"Charles?"

"I'm all right," he said hoarsely.

"Ach," Moira murmured from the other side of the bed. "'Twould seem to have worked, as well."

Nathan was stirring. He opened his eyes for a moment, blinking up at Moira, and then sighed, his features twisting in pain as he closed his eyes tightly again, murmuring something inaudible beneath his breath. It didn't sound like English, Charles thought, still trying to regain his inner equilibrium.

"Just rest, lad," Moira said gently, reaching out and smoothing silver-streaked hair back from Nathan's forehead. "Ye're safe now. Nothing t'worry about." She gave Charles a penetrating look. He nodded, and she looked relieved.

"Yes," Charles said. "Just rest, and let me--" He trailed off in shock. He'd reached out instinctively, planning to begin repairing the damage to Nathan's mind, but what he saw was nothing short than amazing. The holes in Nathan's shields were already sealing, as if of their own accord. "His shields are regenerating," he said, surprised. "Very interesting."

"You weren't in there for very long," Amelia said, her hand still resting on his shoulder, though more lightly now. He laid his hand over hers, squeezing gently.

"We had a brief conversation," he said wryly, distracted by his mind's eye view of Nathan. His shields were repairing themselves slowly enough to let Charles see that his psi-signature was just as clearly growing steadier, more regular, as if the deeper damage to his mind was healing itself as well.

Remarkable, Charles thought in amazement. Truly remarkable. He would have to have a long talk with Nathan about this, find out what techniques he had been taught to heal himself like this. "I don't think I fully understood how terrible the situation in his time truly was," he went, not really thinking about his words, but sensing that Amelia would grow distressed again if he remained silent for too long. "How a society like that conditions its people--" Charles shook his head. "He has a tremendous capacity for violence. It's something we'll have to work on."

Amelia's hand left his shoulder, but not before he felt her stiffen. "Amy?" he asked, looking up at her, startled by her shuttered expression and the unreadable look in her suddenly lightless eyes.

"My head hurts," Nathan muttered in a weak voice, shifting on the bed. "What happened?"

Amelia coughed, and moved away, going back to Nathan's side without so much as a backwards look at Charles. She was more than likely simply overstressed by the events of the day, Charles reasoned. He'd encourage her to talk about it later, help her deal with whatever residual anxiety she was still harboring. It would give him the opportunity to find out what Erik had said to her, as well--another priority.

Yes, that made the most sense. As soon as Nathan was resting comfortably, that was what he'd do. "We're not precisely sure," Charles said, turning his attention to answering Nathan's question. "We were hoping you could fill in some of the details for us."

Nathan opened his eyes, but only to slits, as if the light hurt. "I don't remember," he said, his voice hoarse, curiously lifeless. "I thought--I thought I was dreaming."

"It's okay," Amelia said in a strange, tight voice. "You don't have to talk about it now." She shot Charles an almost defiant look, and he shifted in his chair, trying not to let the exasperated sigh slip out.

"Aye," Moira said suddenly. Her quick glance at Charles was almost reproving. "Ye're safe. That's all that matters."

Charles decided, philosophically, that he was outvoted.

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