Getting out of Cairo had been problematic. Without the craft that they had flown in, and Kurt almost completely depleted, it had been a matter of getting somewhere close to relax and discussing what to do the following morning.

When Moira mentioned she had a safe house in a nearby town, he'd agreed immediately. It had taken a few trips for Kurt, and he could tell that the young man was exhausted by the time they arrived. He'd only had time to see the couch before he dropped into it.

They'd decided to leave him be, although Charles had spotted Raven placing a blanket over him later. It was a question for another time, but one he knew would have to be asked. Just like he'd have to have a conversation with Jean on what she wanted to do with her newly-tapped powers.

Everyone had divided up into different rooms, the dining room, kitchen, office space and even the roof being converted into temporary sleeping quarters. Storm, as the young girl insisted on being called, had immediately gone up to the roof. He imagined she wanted to be alone.

Erik had taken a similar tactic, only with a tent in the small backyard. Moira had radioed in that he'd helped them, but they were still awaiting word on that. For now, it was best to be cautious, and his friend wasn't going out without covering his face.

He closed his eyes. Yes, he would have to talk to them all soon about what they wanted to do. He'd like to keep them all together if he could, but that might not be an option. He was walking on uneven ground with his friend, Raven, and Storm, but it was treacherous terrain he'd trod before, with varying degrees of success.

Charles ran a hand over his now-bald head. That would take some getting used to. He shifted in the bed, uncomfortable for a minute. They'd all agreed, despite his protests, that he should get the only bedroom. Apparently nearly having your body taken over by an ancient Egyptian mutant warranted some sort of special treatment in their eyes.

Folding his hands on his chest, he watched the fan make its slow circuit of the ceiling. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to get some level of calm going. His mind still had small prickles running through it after acting as the battleground for a three-way psychic war.

The door opened and Moira walked in, looking exhausted. Immediately Charles tried to straighten himself, to look a bit more relaxed and nonchalant. It hadn't been fast enough, judging by the quirk of her eyebrows.

"Any news?" he asked.

"They want a full briefing as soon as possible," she said, closing the door behind her, "But even they seemed to understand they'd have to wait for some more details."

"And why make them wait?" Charles asked.

"To start with, the line isn't secure enough for this, I've got a house full of people, some of whom are international terrorists, and because I need to call Levine," said Moira.

The first two made sense, but he didn't understand the third. She must have seen his confusion, because she sighed.

"Ask him if he could keep Kevin another night," she explained.

Charles paused and Moira sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Kevin," he said, "Your son?"

She nodded. Charles sought the right words. He'd been so frightened when he'd seen that picture on her desk, frightened it meant that he'd lost his chance forever. When she'd admitted to being divorced he'd felt a sense of great relief, followed only by a prickle of regret that the boy wasn't his.

"Levine's Kevin's godfather," Moira said, "He's always been a good babysitter for him ever since he retired a few years ago. They get on pretty well."

Silence descended. His fingers begin to tap his chest of their own accord. Nervously, he tried to still their motion, but he could feel them continue to tap away, each movement only a little slower than his own heartbeat.

"I'm still kind of mad at you for what you did you know," Moira said.

He looked up, mustering the most charming smile he could when his throat felt like sandpaper.

"I'm still very sorry," he said.

She smiled and looked down. He reached out tentatively and took her hand. Moira didn't pull away, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks for that. He'd tried to give her as much of his own memories of that time as he could, his fears for her, and his desperate gamble.

He'd hoped it would be enough.

"You could've asked me," she said, "Reasoned with me. After seeing your thought process, I might have agreed."

Charles laughed.

"Moira, I'd just lost everything," he said, "I was...I was so scared something would happen to you."

"So you left me," said Moira, "For years and years."

He ran his thumb against the back of her hand.

"Things kept getting in the way," he said, "But I'm sorry for that too. I just want…I want you to…I want us to…"

Fumbling for words, as he always seemed to do around her now, he latched onto the first ones that made any sort of sense.

"I'd like you to give me another chance, if you can," he said.

He saw her swallow, his eyes following the contraction of muscles all the way down her throat. The seconds stretched, seemingly turning into hours. Charles's heart thudded in his ears, and he wanted to say something, anything, just to break the silence, to know the world was still turning.

"Today's a day for second chances, I think."

His breath caught in his throat as she lifted his hand and kissed the back of it. Swallowing back tears, he squeezed her hand, relieved when she squeezed it back. Tension from the day drained away and, somehow, he felt more optimistic than he had for the last half hour.

Moira leaned over and kissed the top of his head. For the first time that day he felt glad he was bald. This way he could feel her lips on his skin instead of his hair.

"I need to get going," she murmured, "I still need to figure out where I'm going to sleep in all this."

"You could stay here."

She raised her eyebrows, and Charles found himself fumbling for words again.

"I mean, of course, if you're comfortable," he said, "The bed's big enough for two, and well, I mean, it's yours to start with and, well, I wouldn't mind you here. It would be great actually, but not that way, I mean-"

Her lips touched his and, for a moment, it was twenty years ago, back on the lawn. He could feel the sunshine on his skin, the softness of hers, and the same love, passion and desperation that had driven him to force her out of his life.

But this kiss, this one didn't have to end. He didn't have to remove her memories, wouldn't have to say goodbye at the end. It was a heady, intoxicating feeling.

Almost giddy, he deepened the kiss, felt her respond. His heart leapt, hammering against his chest so hard he knew she could feel it thudding up against her ribs. But she didn't push him away, only leaving his lips for small sips of air before returning.

The years seemed to melt away, and once again he was in his twenties, knowing that the most amazing woman he'd ever met cared for him too. One of her hands threaded through his hair, and his moved to the side of her neck.

His fingers found the collar of her blouse, and he slipped them under it, only wanting to tease her collarbone, to move the fabric to the side so he could kiss her neck. But he felt something rough under his fingers, rough and whorled and, for a minute, he stopped.

Moira stiffened and began pulling away, not looking at him. She hadn't moved out of his reach, but her teeth began to worry her lip. Dread growing in his stomach, he gently pushed back the fabric slightly, just enough to expose what his fingers had felt. She didn't stop him.

A jagged scar met his eyes, one that traveled further down beyond his sight. He knew it hadn't been there all those years ago, not when she'd worn scoop-necked dresses, sweetheart blouses.

And he knew what type of wound it was. He'd seen Alex come back from Vietnam with knife wounds, seen what happened to some of his X-men. Something bubbled deep inside him, his vision blurring like the wound.

Before he knew it, a question had left him.

"Who?" he asked.

It was more of a snarl really, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Moira stopped worrying her lip, and, for the first time, her eyes met his.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

The answer scared him, more than he'd like to admit. If she'd simply said it happened on a mission, then he would have accepted it. If she'd have said a car crash, then it wouldn't have been alright, but at least he'd have understood.

But this, this was different.

"Moira," he said quietly.

She began to move away, but he reached out and grasped her wrist. She looked at him, and Charles swallowed.

"I just…I want to know," he said, "I won't force you, I don't have any right, but, Moira…"

He brought her fingers to her lips and kissed them. It was so difficult to find the words as to why he wanted to know this, why he thought he could push her when he'd already pushed his luck so much.

"I just…I hate…I can't…" he said.

Charles swallowed.

"I don't like seeing you hurt," he said, "And after everything I did…"

She tightened her grip on his hand. He gave a weak smile, but didn't say anything. His words were too mixed up.

"It was my ex-husband," she said at last.

"What?"

She snorted.

"Right after the first restraining order went through," Moira said, "I shouldn't have thought a piece of paper would've been enough to stop him."

He stared at her, his breaths growing deeper inside his chest.

"Kevin, my son, was off at daycare," Moira said, "Joe came over, started screaming, smashed a plate, picked up a piece…"

Her voice became a little softer, but she kept speaking.

"I found something, a book I think, to hit him on the head with. I got upstairs, lock the door, called 911, stemmed the bleeding," she said, "You can bet my divorce papers got expedited after that."

He stared at her, knowing there was more to the story, more pain she wasn't talking about, was struggling with. Charles didn't know what to say: his own anger was boiling over. For years he'd pined for her, never believing himself good enough, or that there wasn't time, letting other things get in the way. All the while, she had gone through that.

Breathing in, he exhaled the most obvious symptoms, saving the rest for later. If there was one thing Charles was good at, it was storing his emotions away. Hardly healthy, but useful in a pinch.

Tenderly, he reached up with his free hand and caressed her face.

"You deserved more," he said.

She gave a wan smile, but he held eye contact.

"I mean it," he said, "I know that…"

He swallowed.

"I know that there's a lot I can't give you," he said, "But everything that I can, it's yours."

She leaned down and kissed him, once on the forehead, and once near his ear, lingering on the still-healing cut he'd received there only hours before.

"I think," she murmured, "That you've given me quite enough for one day."

Moira pulled away and smiled, fully laying herself down next to him. Every nerve ending sparked at the contact. It had been so long since he'd shared such intimate touches with anyone. But, with her, it had always been different.

And he blessed that difference.

"Just, do me a favor," she said, "Don't make me forget this in the morning."

Her tone was light, teasing. He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

"I will never take anything you aren't willing to give," he said, "Not again."

A/N: And I'm back everyone! It's been a long time since I wrote, but I saw X-men: Apocalypse this past Saturday and it blew my mind. And all that Charles/Moira love? This movie had everything!

I've also received a few inquiries this month, asking me if I was going to write a fic. For those of you who wanted another story, thanks for giving me that much-needed nudge. You guys are the best!