And with these our hells and our heavens
So few inches apart
We must be awfully small
And not as strong as we think we are
-Rich Mullins, "We Are Not As Strong As We Think We Are"

And, behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest…for I will not leave thee...
-Genesis 28:15

As Alex, Azazel, and the other mutant appeared in Hank McCoy's lab, Alex wondered briefly if Azazel minded being asked to "fetch" people so often; looking at the mutant's scarred devilish face, it certainly didn't seem to be the case—if Azazel felt anger or resentment over his role within the "X-Men," he certainly hid it well. While helping Azazel to lay the other mutant on an exam table, Alex got the first chance to actually see the strange mutant's face and he couldn't help staring. The man's eyes were closed, and the strangely luminous blue veins combined with the greenish tint to the translucent skin and the odd red glow that seemed to surround the entire body like an aura were distracting, but that face...somehow, somehow it still looked like... "Darwin," Alex whispered.

"I agree the facial resemblance is remarkable, Alex," Beast was saying as he approached, adjusting his glasses with one large blue hand. "But we can't immediately assume, considering...I'll need to do several tests—" The egghead broke off speaking at that point, apparently forgetting that he had been speaking at all as he lost himself in his "Brainy Science Research Mode."

Alex shook his head, feeling disoriented. Darwin, if indeed that's who this strange mutant was, lay unconscious on the table, Azazel had excused himself to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't being asked to fetch, and Doctor Hank McCoy had evidently decided Alex was entirely beneath his notice for the time being. Alex took a few steps backward until his back touched the wall, then slid down to sit with his chin resting on his knees, wrapping his arms around in front of his shins. His run had been much shorter than he had planned, but he suddenly felt completely and totally exhausted.

Charles smiled, looking up at Erik. "It seems we have a new guest joining us—a mutant Alex encountered while jogging on the grounds; he's unconscious at the moment, but Hank says his vitals seem strong, so hopefully we'll all get the chance to meet him soon." The idea of welcoming yet another mutant into his home seemed to fill Charles with so much happiness, it made Erik's teeth hurt.

"That's...great, Charles." Erik forced a smile—it wasn't that he didn't welcome the idea of new mutants joining their 'family,' it was more that he didn't automatically assume the very best of everyone the way Charles did; for the time being, he considered this new, unknown mutant to be a potential danger, and even if and when this mutant awoke, there was no guarantee he would want to stay. Emma had not wanted to stay. He sighed and changed the subject—it seemed such a shame to risk ruining Charles' mood, but Charles had asked him to stop treating him like he was fragile. "I really think you should allow Hank to finish and install the wheelchair lift he's been working on."

Charles made a dismissive gesture with his hand, looking away with an uncaring expression. "Unnecessary. Such trivialities can be considered at some later date…"

"Trivialities? Unnecessary? Charles, we are talking about your ability to actually navigate your own home."

Charles turned a bright smile on Erik, his eyes flashing with a hint of something…dangerous. "I seemed able to navigate it quite easily the last time I had any inclination to."

Erik closed his eyes and clenched his jaw painfully. He took a deep breath. "Charles," he said warningly.

He looked at Charles whose wide blue eyes stared back at him, the picture of innocence. But an undertone of challenge flashed in his eyes, a hint of Charles' answering warning.

"Charles," he said again with a sigh. "I can't always—won't always—" He stopped, eyes widening at the sparks of emotion in Charles' eyes: anger, fear, hurt. Charles body was tense as a tripwire. "Charles," he said carefully, "if there is something you wish to say to me…"

But Charles shook his head sharply, blinking a few times and narrowing his eyes.

"Charles." Erik sighed. He wanted nothing less than to cause his friend pain or distress, but…this was getting ridiculous; the weeks of tiptoeing around on eggshells had left him feeling exhausted and worn. And besides, Charles had asked... So he tried once more. "I won't always be around when you have 'inclination' to—"

DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME! The words were a shout in his mind, followed by a whisper: Not again. Charles looked quickly away, blinking rapidly. His knuckles were white as his hands gripped the metal armrests of his wheelchair.

Erik had felt his eyes widen at the telepathic shout. There had been so much rage, so much desperation, so much pain entwined in those words. He had never expected to feel any of those emotions in anything approaching the level of severity from Charles. Somewhere in a strangely calm portion of his mind, Erik found himself musing that he had apparently been trying to apologise for the wrong thing—he blamed and punished himself for the bullet he had deflected into his friend's spine and struggled to understand Charles' lack of anger at him for his loss of mobility and independence. However, it seemed Charles was indeed angry—angry at him, even—just not about the injury. Erik felt his mouth open and close twice before he could conjure any coherent words. "Charles, I—" Maybe not so 'coherent' after all. He took a step towards the other man. "That wasn't—I-I didn't mean…"

Charles turned back to face him, a forced smile on his face. His eyes betrayed guilt and fear as he visibly struggled to bring his emotions back under control. "Erik my friend," Charles was saying in a deceptively light voice, "forgive me; I didn't mean—"

"No." Erik found himself somehow on his knees before the other man, his hands gently covering the smaller ones—an academic's hands, a privileged boy's hands, not used to violence or even hard work—that still gripped the wheelchair's armrests far too tightly. "No." He shook his head, feeling tears burning in his eyes. "Charles, there is nothing to forgive."

One of those same hands, the same hands that had struck and clawed at him and at his thrice-damned helmet in ineffectual desperation that day in Cuba, slipped from under his hand to lay against the side of Erik's face. Charles looked into Erik's eyes, his gaze intent yet somehow far-away. The soft pad of Charles' thumb stroked across Erik's cheekbone. Charles' voice was terribly quiet as he finally spoke, "Oh, but there is."

Erik felt frozen, held in place by the torrent of warring emotions—fear, guilt, sadness, rage, longing—some of which Charles might be unintentionally projecting but all of which he knew he owned in and of himself. Charles seemed to be looking through and past him now, his hand stilled on Erik's cheek.

"It was my fault," Charles whispered.

Erik blinked in confusion, shaking his head. He coaxed Charles' fingers loose from the metal armrest, using the slightest hint of his power to warm the metal and make it gently thrum until he had Charles's hand fully loose from it. For such scholar's hands, they had a surprisingly strong grip. "What was your fault, Charles?"

Charles eyes shot to meet his.

Erik rephrased—corrected—his question, "What do you think was your fault, Charles?"

Charles' eyes had a far-way look. "You-you had that helmet on, and I couldn't—but that's no excuse! No excuse. I should have known—I'm supposed to be so smart, you know. They always said—everyone always told me how brilliant, how terribly bright I was. But when it really mattered…" He swallowed, a pained grimace on his face. "I was supposed to save you. I-it was too much to hope—too much to expect I could stop you from killing Shaw; I see that now. And maybe…" He paused, shaking his head. "But, Erik!" His eyes filled with desperation. "All those people! I couldn't allow—I couldn't— But, when it really mattered; I couldn't help you, couldn't even… I said—I said the one thing, the worst thing I could possibly have said."

Erik remembered. Charles, desperate, begging: "…only following orders." Erik hadn't seen it then, of course; hadn't considered how his actions would have affected Charles, had all those "innocent men" died by his hand. From what he knew of Charles' power, it was likely he would have felt each and every one die—how could he even have considered...?

"This," Charles said, gesturing to his useless legs and the metal wheelchair, "this isn't a reminder of anything terrible you did to me, Erik; it's a reminder of the day I failed you. It's the consequences for my own stupidity."

Erik was stunned. His mind reeled, tumbling over itself in an attempt to process what he was hearing. In the confusion, pain, and rage of the moment, Erik had blamed Moira, the human with the gun, and at the time Charles had seemed to blame Erik, the mutant deflecting bullets in a careless rage with no thought of where the bullets may end up. How Charles' undeniably brilliant mind could manage to twist the events to somehow make Charles himself to blame… "Charles," Erik began once he found his voice. "Do you really believe…?"

Charles nodded once, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Erik was shaking his head. "No, no, Charles. No. You can't blame— Charles, you are brilliant, and you are the very best person, better than any of us deserve. You can't blame yourself for my failures. Please," placed his hand on the side of Charles' face, "don't do this to yourself."

Charles suddenly smiled, his glistening eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I really am being quite the hypocrite, aren't I? Always lecturing you about blaming yourself... But I really do need to apologize for losing control like that, and—I mean—I know you never promised to stay, and—and I have no right—"

"I—" Erik squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't—" He leaned his forehead against Charles'. You have every right—every right to demand whatever you wish of me. His breath hitched in his throat. I still can't promise— Erik swallowed. ...I'm here now, Charles; I'm here now.

Erik felt his friend's smile in his mind. I know, Erik. And I am glad.

"There is one thing I can promise." Erik's voice was soft. "Maybe two things. The first is that I will never leave without warning."

And the second?

That I will always be your friend. No matter where I am.

A/N: So there you have another chapter (finally!); I suppose you could consider this my Christmas gift to all of you. :)

- One question I would like to ask, since I want my story to be as enjoyable as possible to as many of you as possible, and since someone reading this chapter before I published it (not a beta-reader, just someone irl who's a friend and a fan of the X-Men movies) accused it of being "too slashy" (apparently "kidding" but)...it got me wondering: keeping in mind that this story is rated T and that rating will not change, how do you all feel about its level of "slashieness"? Feel free to reply in a review or by messaging me, and thanks soooo much for any and all feedback (on this or any aspect of my writing). -

And while in the spirit of the season, you should totally all go read my other XMFC fic "Wishing You" which is also set in Earth-CSK14051981. It's rather short and at least a few shades warmer and fuzzier than this. Consider it "Born for Adversity"'s "Holiday Special," if you will. It's completely not required, but highly recommended simply because it's good. :D

If you're a Supernatural fan, you probably will also enjoy my Supernatural Christmas fic "Snow and Angels" (which contains no spoilers past s4).