Broken Promises [Book Two | REMASTERED]

Chapter 14: They All Come Back

Xavier Mansion
Westchester, New York

        Kat pulled down her torn blouse as she stepped out of the car, happy to be able to stand after such a long drive. The sounds of their car doors slamming closed echoed in the acres surrounding the mansion. Kat took a deep breath, soaking in the feeling of home before walking into what she knew had become such a dead home. 

        Charles had a pained expression—one that Kat and Hank had not seen in a long time. As they walked through the doors, Charles took the two steps down to the main floor, exhaling sharply. But as his right foot came in contact with the wooden flooring, he gave a grunt, his right hand going behind him to the base of his spine. He collapsed then, hitting his knees and breathing hard.

        Kat and Hank both rushed to Charles's side, the both of them having been through this with him before. They gripped his arms, maneuvering him to lean up by the steps. "Come on, come on," Hank voiced, the both of them placing their hands beneath Charles's reluctant grip. He always hated it when it came to this.

        "What happened?" Logan asked, approaching quickly. "Why can't he walk?"

        "He needs his treatment," Hank explained, just before he and Kat both lifted Charles to stand, helping him be seated against the wall. 

        "Christiana," Charles called, placing his hands over his ears as if to suppress a loud noise. "I can hear them."

        "It's okay," Kat answered, concern taking over her as she ran her fingers through his hair.  

        Charles's hands gripped at the sleeve of her blouse. "Make it stop."

        "I'll go get them!" Hank declared before he turned to dash up the stairs, heading for his latest supply of the serum. 

        Suddenly, Charles's eyes closed, and he held his head in his hands, fingers splayed as he combed them through his hair. He grunted again in pain, hissing with it. Kat remained by his side, wishing she could take away his pain. How she always wished she could take it away. 

        "Hey," Logan interjected from Charles's other side. "Pull yourself together! It's not over yet."

        Charles looked to the side and up at Logan, his blue eyes suddenly clear of the pain as he let his mind reach out. He brought his right hand up, pressing two fingers to his temple, his voice stable despite his labored breathing. "You don't believe that."

        Logan paused. "How do you know?" He asked quietly, a shaken look in his eyes.

        Charles brought his right hand down to gesture at his legs. "As these go . . ." He moved his hand up again, fingers back to his temple. ". . . this comes back." He sat back, looking between Kat and Logan before his expression became pained again. "They all come back." Again, his eyes closed, palms pressing to his ears as if he could truly silence them that way.

        Kat remained by her husband's side, forcing herself to shield her mind as best she could from his reach. It was too hectic in there for now, with his powers greater than hers and yet so untamed after so long.

        "Look . . . we're still here," Logan said, "and she's still out there."

        Charles didn't seem to be listening as he suddenly jerked away from Kat, twisting so that he could get his left arm out of his leather jacket. Then he began unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeve. 

        "But we need your help, Charles. Not like this; we need you." When Charles did not answer, he added, "We can't find Raven. Not without Cerebro. Not without your powers." 

        Charles looked up then, sleeve rolled up, his eyes intense. That was when Hank came dashing down the grand staircase, a full syringe in his hand. Kat stood and moved out of his way, stepping away with her back to Charles so as not to see it.

        "I added a little extra because you missed a dose," Hank said, handing Charles the syringe filled with the yellow liquid. 

        Charles looked at the tip of the needle, adjusting it so there was no air bubble. His eyes were intense, like those of a true addict eyeing up his next high. 

        "Charles," Kat's voice cracked, tears in her eyes where Charles could not see. It was a beg, it was a plea. 'Don't do this.' 

        There was a pause of movement, but behind her, Charles still took the needle in hand. Positioning the pointed tip of the needle to his vein, he hesitated. Logan stared with a stern look, knowing that this was not the right path. Hank looked down, and Kat remained turned away. They all knew the same thing. 

        That was it. Charles could not bring himself to do it. His hand shook as he placed the syringe by his side, tears in his eyes. He his hands over his face, his decision made. Then he took a in a sharp and deep breath, blue eyes stung red from his pain. After a moment, they softened, and he glanced up at Hank then looked down again, unsure. "Hank, do me a favor," he said carefully, calming his breathing. "Would you help me to my study, please?"

        Kat turned around at this, unable to believe what she was hearing.

        Hank considered this, pursing his lips for a moment before he nodded. "Come on, I got you." He helped Charles to stand then, Charles giving another grunt as he mustered up what little control he had left of his legs. He walked stiffly, one arm across Hank's shoulders as he helped him to the study.

        Behind then, Logan glanced at Kat to be sure she was okay, but when he turned to follow after them, Kat's eyes remained on the syringe. It was only the first time Charles had said no, but it meant so much more than that. 

        Kat had to turn, following the three men into the study. Charles leaned back against the side of the desk, and Hank opened a closet parallel him. 

        "Are you sure about this?" Logan asked as they all peered inside the closet. 

        Charles shook his head. "Absolutely not."

        And as they looked, Kat rounded the desk, placing her hand to Charles's shoulder. There in the closer was Charles's custom made wheelchair, designed by Hank himself. Only covered in a layer of dust, it still looked brand new. 

        It looked like a new promise.