X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 10

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Chapter 10…

His mind was submerged in fog. Within it lingered a calm serenity—the moment between sleep and waking where no worries could pry their way inside and no nightmares could surface. He liked it there. But it couldn't last.

As a voice penetrated Charles' ears, the fog began to clear. His eyelids opened. Above him, someone was speaking. Bit by bit, Charles' vision found some clarity and then, like a lightening bolt to the brain, the image before him morphed into something real.

"Wake up," Erik said. "It's all right, my friend."

Lying on his back, Charles jerked upwards. The movement was clumsy—his lower abdomen had become weakened due to his injury and his mind was still reeling in a dozen separate directions. He started to drop back down. Erik's hands reached out; he grabbed Charles' arms before he had a chance to tumble over.

"It's okay," Erik told him as he got Charles into a sitting position. "It's just me here. You're safe."

Gasping, Charles swept his gaze across the room. The image was chaotic, blended together only as blots of colors and shadows. Gray walls—beige floor—lights suspended above. Further away, the room darkened like a cave. Everything else was blurred into the walls. As if by reflex, Charles tried to jerk his arms from Erik's grip.

"Just calm down," Erik said. "I need you to stay calm now."

But Charles didn't want to stay calm. A deep ache pulsated through his skull and down his back. He stomach churned as if ready to expel up his throat. He clasped to Erik's arms, holding tight like he was clinging to the edge of a cliff. His fingernails dug in.

Erik winced. "That's…unnecessary, Charles."

"You—" Charles shut his eyelids, begging for enough focus to speak. "What—what do you…think you're doing, Erik?"

Both men stared at each other. As the seconds passed, Charles' mind continued clearing; little details emerged. He was sitting on a bed. Ivory sheets cloaked him from the waist down. Erik was planted on the left edge, his legs dangling over the side. His friend wore black pants, a bright red shirt, and some sort of purple cape. On his head rested Shaw's helmet, now as colorful as the rest of him.

Charles didn't know what it was—perhaps the drugs and alcohol still toying with his mind—but as he peered at his old friend, a breath of laughter somehow rolled up his throat.

Erik gave him a look like he'd gone mad.

"What—what is this?" Charles grabbed the edge of Erik's cape and shook it.

A trace of amusement crossed Erik's features. Grabbing the fabric, he gently slid it away from Charles' care.

"You're fine," Erik said. Releasing Charles' arms, the other man studied him, obviously waiting for him to make the next move.

Charles turned back to the room. The image was clearer now. The place was constructed into one large, open area. To the far right was a small kitchen equipped with a refrigerator, dark brown cabinets, and an elegant dining room set. Pipes crossed the tall ceiling. By the corner was a metal door that looked as if it was pulled from a submarine. To the left, living room furniture was cramped in the corner, obviously moved aside to make room for the bed Charles was currently resting on. There was a moon-shaped sofa with a shimmery, velvet fabric and a leather Overman couch just across from it. Above, crystal lights hung down like glowing icicles.