Chapter Thirteen

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Charles

He woke up cold and in silence. It took Charles a couple minutes before he could pull himself together and remember what the hell was going on, and once he did, he was even more confused.

He perched himself up on his elbows and looked up at the dark fabric. The downside of having a four-poster bed for Erik, Charles figured, was that he didn't know anything about 'bright' colors. He was surprised that Raven didn't come and spray paint something lude or insulting about Erik behind his back (or above his head in this case).

"Did you sleep well?"

It was Emma. She was sitting calmly by his bedside with his legs crossed and arms folded in her lap. She had a peaceful look on her face but he could tell by her posture she had not been there long. She was suave, he would give her that, but she looked unsettled and quite flustered underneath her little facade.

It took him a minute to remember she was a friend, not a foe, and that he really didn't have to read her so carefully.  

Still looking disheveled and surprise, he nodded automatically. "Where's Raven?"

Emma furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side, obviously curious. "What do you remember from last night, Charles?"

Genuinely curious on Emma Frost did not look good, he decided. However, it seemed imperative that he answer her.

He laid back on the pillows and rubbed his face. "You and Erik were fighting . . . Raven had a night-terror . . . You were--" He chuckled softly. "You, in all your prowess and glory, were brought down by your taste in fashion. I fell asleep soon after that."

She glared at him without animosity -- bordering playfully, which sent chills down Charles's spine -- and 'hmm'ed a little. "Well, I've got to say: you didn't miss much. Mystique is downstairs in our bedroom and Magneto is . . . somewhere." She looked at him seriously. "I'm supposed to call him as soon as you wake, but I was wondering what you wanted."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't supposed to think for yourself?"

It was harsh, and Charles didn't realize it until he had said it. But she didn't react, really. Not that he had expected her to, but she didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Technically, I'm not supposed to really do anything. Falling in love with your sister, rebelling against the cause that I've had to fight with for a good part of my life--"

"You didn't believe in those fundamentals, though."

She let out a small smile and relaxed in her chair. Again, Charles reminded himself that she wasn't a target.

"Not after a while."

"Do you believe in Erik's?" Charles asked, moving himself to sit up.

Emma uncrossed her arms and put them on the arms of her chair, clearly and deeply pondering the question. "I suppose I do. I have to; I'm here now. He's a bit more . . . realistic than Sebastian ever was. Still, though, sometimes the paranoia the man sheds off is a bit over-whelming."

"I thought he almost always wears the helmet?"

"He does." Emma reassured. "That's my point: it's just shedding -- there's more underneath. Sebastian wore the helmet a lot too, and he said that powerful emotions might seep."

"Are you calling Shaw a level-headed man?" Charles asked incredulously.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course not." She sighed. "This is all very maudlin. Can't we talk about something more enticing?" She looked over her shoulder at the door but twisted back around before it could be mentioned. "Like the fact that your sister will almost permanently with-hold sex if I don't feed you."

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