X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 36

"Can I help with anything?" she asked.

As Charles opened the passenger's car door, he gave a nod towards his wheelchair. "Can you fold it up and put it in the back for me, please?"

Manually, he lugged both feet into the vehicle, and then using the car's hood, transferred himself into the passenger's seat. Moira did as he asked, and collapsed the chair. She tucked it into the backseat, half-dropping it with a clank to the car's floor.

"Sorry," she whispered.

Charles didn't respond.

Moira closed the car door. She circled around to her side, got in and then positioned her foot on the clutch. Pressing on the gas pedal, she shifted the car's gears and the car began to accelerate.

Away of the hospital's sunroof, the California sky was clear and sunny. Daylight still hung bright even in the late afternoon, and as Moira rolled down her window, the breeze captured her hair, twirling the strands around her as if they were alive.

To her right, Charles didn't budge. He didn't talk. His eyes were glued straight ahead, his face as empty as the sky above. Moira continued driving, shifting gears as she worked the foot pedals. She talked. It was all trivial things, she realized—in the hospital, she had already told Charles about Hank, Sean and Alex being somewhere close by, searching for him. There was nothing else she could think of except silly, random topics: Isn't it amazing how different the west coast looks compared to the east coast? Did you know that even the diners out here serve burritos?

Charles shifted his attention to the passenger window, gazing out.

Moira tapped her fingers across the steering wheel. Should she tell him that she had regained all her memories from Cuba? Should she mention that she'd read the CIA reports that explained what had really happened on the beach? Should she beg forgiveness for ruining his life because she'd been too dumb to realize Erik would deflect her bullets away?

As she shot a glimpse at the man beside her, she instantly knew the answer to all those questions. And it was no. Charles' hair was disheveled, his bangs matted to his forehead. The stubble across his jaw was almost a beard and his skin was whiter than the hospital's bed sheets. He no longer resembled the man she had met half a year ago. Back then, that one had draped an arm across her shoulders within a second of meeting her, and spoke with more confidence than one man should possess. At the time, it had annoyed her a little bit—this half-drunk guy assuming she wanted him just because she had stepped into his path.

That man was gone and how badly she wanted to see him again. The one sitting beside her…he was like a house made of paper; with one tiny spark, someone could destroy him completely.

"Could you take East Ocean Boulevard, please?" Charles suddenly spoke.

Surprised, Moira jumped her focus back to the road. She did as Charles instructed and eased the car to the right.

"So," Moira said as she merged with the afternoon traffic, "what's the plan here?"

As Charles continued to gaze out of the windshield, all he said was, "We need to find Hank and the others."

Then, he lifted his left hand. Planting his point and middle fingers to his temple, he closed his eyelids for a breath and then his pupils focused for the first time since leaving the hospital.

Moira concentrated on the road, and throughout the rest of the afternoon, they drove around Long Beach searching for the others, neither of them saying hardly a word to one another as they went.

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It was close to ten at night before Charles and Moira decided to give up for the evening. They returned to the Loma Vista Hotel, parked the car and then wandered to a small diner across the street. Charles nibbled at his dinner as if the hamburger and potato chips tasted like sawdust.