"Got intel that Shaw is meeting with the Russian Defense Chief in Moscow." CIA Director McCone sighed as he collapsed onto his chair in the conference room, tossing the folder with the damning information onto the table before him. "Go ahead, say it."

And McCone bristled inside when MacTaggert smirked smugly and nodded. "I'll take a rain check on that, but that's not why I'm currently here. You know what I want."

McCone scowled inwardly as he nearly growled out, "Yeah yeah yeah. Clearance to bring along your mutants, fight fire with fire." And as much as he didn't want it to be true, it did, "Makes sense."

"Wait, you're okay with this? Sending in a bunch of untrained, unauthorized freaks?" McCone nearly winced at his colleague's harsh words; but partially understood where he was coming from. McCone himself had never been a big fan of the Evolution movement, but if it was true, and the human race was evolving; didn't it stand to reason that they, like the Neanderthals before them, were next to be extinguished? And here they were, inviting them into their military, putting the safety of their nation in their hands… and it was the best – the only – option that they had.

McCone felt that William Stryker had every right to be upset and appalled – although he didn't think such insulting terms were necessary; McCone after all knew, at least in part, from where Erik Lensherr came from, and didn't think that the man would appreciate the term 'freak' all that much.

Thankfully, the overweight fellow whose name still slipped McCone's mind spoke up – as McCone didn't want to alienate William by reprimanding him (especially when he partially agreed), but didn't want to make enemies of Moira or the Mutants by not reprimanding him. Oh the complications of politics… - with a remarkably sharp tone. "Those 'freaks' are dedicated, hardworking, people."

But were they really? McCone couldn't help but wonder as Moira ran out the door after the sprinting forms of Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr.

And as the sound of muffled explosions and bursts of light echoed from the courtyard, McCone couldn't find an answer.

Erik sat pensively as he watched the (again) unconscious form of their (still) mysterious HJP. True, they had more answers about him then they'd had before; but they were answers to questions that they hadn't even asked yet, or considered asking, and only served to surface even more.

He was so young, yet he obviously was used to combat – or at the very least, used to being hunted. But by whom? And why?

He had displayed abilities ranging from telekinesis to teleportation to echolocation (as he'd figured out from viewing the security footage). Were these each individual powers? Or were they part of another ability that Erik hadn't grasped yet? His mind wandered back to that paper, and the little infinity signs underneath the 'power' column, but he quickly discarded that idea. No one could be that powerful… the very idea sent shivers down even his back.

He had an extremely high threshold for pain, as well as incredible healing abilities; as evidenced by the numerous reopened and bleeding wounds when they'd changed the bandages after Charles' accidental mind-knockout, as well as the fact that, according to Hank, instead of sleeping for a week after such a tiring battle like he should have, the boy was well on his way to wakefulness only hours later. Who trained him to endure pain, or to unconsciously heal himself? Erik had a suspicion that it was only in part the fault of the mysterious ''Ncle V'non'.

And then add to that the fact that he appeared from nowhere, in a place that only halfway existed, and was impervious to Charles' attempts to read his mind – and HJP was the most curious, fascinating, incredible, possibly terrifying thing Erik had ever seen.

And then said boy groaned, stiffened, and awoke. Damn, Charles had hoped to be back from his mission to extract Shaw before the boy regained consciousness… his friend would not be happy.

Charles scowled when the faint mental tag he'd put on HJP alerted him that the boy had awoken. Damn, couldn't the child do anything normally? He shouldn't have stirred for a week! Much less regaining full consciousness!

Charles had to admit, though, as inconvenient and unfortunate as HJP's desperate escape attempt, it had served one good purpose – proving that the rest of the young adults were in no way prepared to face Shaw and Co. Maybe with a little bit of training (okay, a lot of training), but the speed and effectiveness with which HJP had dispatched with all of them was almost laughable – and incredibly worrisome. It hadn't really sunk in – at least, not entirely – that this was all incredibly real.

Real enough that any one of them could die.

And Charles didn't want that. God, that was the absolute last thing that he wanted. So he knew that, as soon as he returned from this hopefully-successful mission to apprehend and capture Shaw, he would be taking them all to the Xavier Mansion for some much-needed training and honing. Even if Charles' mission was successful, and they had no need to fight.

They still needed the control, but Charles would be thrilled if they didn't have to fight a war to get it.

Although Charles couldn't suppress his smirk when he remembered Raven's incoherent babblings regarding their 'codenames' – courtesy of the rather nasty concussion she received upon collision with the wall when HJP slammed her there with his telekinesis (or whatever it was). She mumbled something about "Darwin being Darwin" and "Alex is Angel… no Angel is Angel and Angel is Havok… and, and Sean is 'wailing spirit' erm… bansheeeeeeeee Hank is really pretty an' I'm Mystique, not Bansh-erm-Sean-erm-really pretty red-haired boy and…" and she'd continued to ramble until they gave her a mild sedative. However, it was the last thing she mumbled before she'd slipped into unconsciousness that made Charles burst out into loud laughter and Erik to smirk in that rather debonair, fetching way of his (where the heck did that come from?).

Anyway, she'd mumbled that he was "P'r'fess'r Exssss' and Erik was 'Magnet… Magnetto… MagnEEtoooo… pretty…' and then she'd started snoring, which sent Charles to laughing again until he noticed Erik staring at him in that strange, too-intense way that caused Charles to inexplicably flush and stammer and his stomach to knot; before he immediately fled (erm, retreated).

Even now he had to force himself not to snicker; but as he was surrounded by tense troops in the back of an undercover vehicle in Moscow, he thought that it wouldn't be the most well-received.

There was a sharp knock against the wood from the cap, and Charles quickly lifted the wooden divider. He was met with the driver's (Borus Reichen) and Moira's tense and panicked faces.

"I'm so sorry, this wasn't on the map!" She yelped over the noise of the truck, and Charles peered between them and out the front window to find the security checkpoint – the security checkpoint that had been in the intel folder that they'd all received.

"Of course it wasn't! It was in the folder that the Director gave each of us – you know, the one that we were ordered to read on the way over? There was an alternate route that some of the CIA's top spies had risked their lives and covers for in order to get us through – and now we're not even going to show up! How could you not have read the information?" Charles couldn't help but snap, getting frustrated with Moira's increasingly smug and thoughtless attitude. This wasn't just spying and stakeouts anymore, this was life-or-death situations with the fate of (what Charles felt) the nation in the balance.

And honestly, the attraction and lust that she was practically radiating towards both him and Erik in turn was particularly irritating – though Charles couldn't figure out why it made him even more furious when she was lusting after Erik than after him (as he was in no way attracted to or possessive of her).

Charles caught sight of Moira's embarrassed and stricken face before sighing in exasperation, "Just forget it, and act normally. I'll take care of this." And he quickly shut the divider before she could say anything in return.

He quickly turned and faced the concerned, firm, angry faces of the troops seated on either side of him, all of them having heard the conversation. Charles took a deep breath and steeled himself – these men's lives were now in his hands. "Alright, listen to me, this is what's going to happen. When they open the back of the truck – which they will – I'll quickly slip into his mind and plant a running illusion of the back of an empty truck. We should pass through with no problems. However, if they bring a dog around you'll have to attack, as I cannot control animals. After that, if you can just get me into a position in which I can see all of the enemy and establish a connection, I can take control of them. Does anyone have any objections or comments that they'd wish to make?"

All them men (oh, and on woman) exchanged glances before shaking their heads negative; right before the truck squealed to a stop and they heard the crunch of gravel as the surrounding soldiers moved closer or shifted. Everyone tensed when they heard a couple dogs whining and sniffing.

"Where are you going?" Charles easily slipped into Boris' mind, which allowed him to roughly translate what the Russian guard was saying into English (or at least the basic meaning).

"To our farm." Boris replied, and Charles gently toned down the panic and alarm bells blaring in the man's mind.

Charles flinched slightly when a German Shepherd hopped it's front legs onto the side of the car and barked once. And all of the men tensed as tightly as a coiled spring when the Russian said, "Open the back."

Charles again calmed Boris enough that he could say, "As you wish," without stuttering. Charles only had a moment to hope that Moira didn't give anything away on her face (honestly, the woman was a terrible actress), before both men had circled around to the back and were now fiddling with the lever on the door.

The soldiers stirred, nearly on the breaking point, but Charles quickly stood up and closer to the door, allowing himself to send out a wave of calm that wouldn't effect their senses or reflexes. "Easy. Easy, take it easy chaps."

And then, on squeaky hinges, the door was flung open… but there was no reaction. Charles grit his teeth and poured all of his concentration into the illusion, while both Boris and the Russian guard stared into the back (Boris in confusion, the guard in boredom).

Charles felt the man next to him let out a shaky breath, before a voice yelled over, "Anything back there?"

"Nothing. It's empty." The guard replied, although he still continued to stare. Charles felt a brief suspicion rise up in the man's mind ('If he's going to his farm, where are his supplies, his produce or wares?') before he ruthlessly squashed it down.

"Everything okay?" Boris asked, nearly nonchalantly; the missing lines of tension in his brow signifying that a great weight of worry had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Yes." The guard answered, and it was to the American's relief when Boris shut the doors and locked them again. The men all relaxed and the one next to Charles (who had let out the relieved breath) clapped him quietly on the shoulder in a combination of thanks and camaraderie.

Charles almost felt his faith in mankind return, until he saw and felt the wary, mistrustful, and frightened glances and thoughts from the other men (and woman); and he closed his eyes in despair.

Had Erik truly been right, all this time?

"Calm down child, you're safe." Erik gently touched the boy's hand, before allowing his fingers to skim up the boy's arm and shoulder, until they wandered along the side of his face and gently carded through the untamable ebony locks; doing so to let the boy know of his every movement, so that he didn't panic when a hand came out of nowhere to touch his vulnerable face.

Even so, the boy flinched; but he didn't react violently, and only remained tense for another three minutes before relaxing – tentatively – into the gentle touch.

Erik believed that he knew – at least partially – what the child was going through. He, himself, had been in such a position once; distrustful of touch and companionship and humans. Even now, he was just coming out of it (if for no other reason than to pursue Charles' touch…). But Erik felt that, for some reason, what this child had gone through was so much worse in ways than his own life. And that was a terrifying, horrifying thought.

"My name is Erik Lehnsherr. I am a mutant, which is a human whose evolutionary makeup has advanced to the next stage: a Homo Novus, or Homo Superior, if you will. I have the ability to manipulate metal and magnetic fields to a certain extent. I am a Jew, and managed to survive the Concentration Camps. I'm fond of spaghetti and French wine; and secretly enjoy drawing and sketching panda bears and dragons. But don't tell anyone."

Erik was rewarded with a huffing snort of laughter from the child, and grinned in response (even if he couldn't see it).

"So now, your turn. What's your name? Your power?"

HJP frowned slightly and seemed to be thinking, before something seemed to give inside of him for he sighed – almost as if in surrender. And Erik had a feeling it was a surrender of the ability to continue fighting; a surrender into the hope of having someone to care for him, to protect him. "My name is Harry James Potter, although I would like to go by the name of, erm… Jamie. Jamie Hadrian Evans. I hate cats – they are evil, sadistic animals who only are waiting for you to die so they can eat you; and I will eat anything that I deserve to have, though I'm super fond of treacle tart." Erik frowned at the 'deserve to have' comment… had this boy also been starved? Erik had just thought him small for his age (whichever age that was). "I don't really know what my, erm, mutant power is, but I know that I'm…"

Here, the boy took a deep breath and seemed to be steeling himself for something (pain, perhaps) even while he trembled. "And I'm… I'm a Wiz- I'm a Wizard."

Erik and Harry – erm, Jamie – both tensed at the same time. But all Erik could think was, 'Oh Charles will be so upset when he hears that he missed this…'

Charles looked through his binoculars, side by side with Moira and Boris in the damp, mossy earth; and watched the helicopter land on the grass in front of the Russian Defense Base.

And he watched with growing dread as a lady in white – Ms. Emma Frost – and only a lady in white exited the helicopter and started walking towards the building while the aircraft flew away.

Boris leaned over, being sure to keep his head out of sight, and whispered, "Where's Shaw?"

Charles shook his head, his face scrunched up in worry. "I dunno. But she's a telepath and if I scan her she'll know I'm here." He thought for a moment before an idea came to him. "Let me try something else…"

Pressing his finger to his head he concentrated, sending his consciousness across the field and into the mind of one of the guards stationed to the left of the door. Slipping in to the weak mind with relative ease, he watched aptly as the General strode forward to welcome Ms. Frost. Using a combination of psychic enhancing and lip-reading, Charles was able to make out their words.

"Shaw sends his apologies but he's indisposed. He sent me to come in his place. And between you and I honey, I'm a lot better company." Was it just Charles, or did she emphasize that a bit too much, and was that a flash of fear and revulsion directed at Shaw or the now obviously lusting General?

"Please, come in." The General replied in lust- and Russian-heavy English, his hand slipping around Ms. Frost's shoulders as he lead her inside.

Having got all the information that he currently could, Charles quickly returned to his own mind; leaving the guard blinking in confusion before quickly standing to attention.

"He's not coming." Charles growled, unsure of what to do. Incredibly enough, he started thinking in terms of his friend – what would Erik do in this situation?

"What now boss?" Charles heard Boris ask Moira as he mused to himself.

"Now nothing. We were here for Shaw, we should abort it." Surprisingly (or not so much) Charles was unsatisfied with Moira's solution. So many people risked their lives for this chance (and almost lost them, thanks to her), and Charles wasn't going to let this pass them by.

"Bullshit." A voice in his head that sounded a lot like Erik remarked sardonically that he'd never cussed so much before he met Erik; and that obviously Erik was rubbing off on him. Surprisingly, Charles was perfectly fine with that, before quickly shutting down both voice was strange, traitorous thoughts. "She's his right hand woman. That's good enough for me. I can get the information we need from her."

Moira held him back and snapped, "The CIA invading the home of a senior Soviet official? Are you crazy?"

"It's what we were going to do anyways, had Shaw been here. At least this way, I can get in and out with no one the wiser." And then that Erik-voice took over and Charles smirked wickedly, "Besides, I'm not CIA." And he leapt to his feet and started running for the entrance.

He briefly heard Boris whisper, "Good luck Xavier," and Moira's hissed, "Shut up!" before he was out of hearing range.

Emma clinked her glass in a toast with the General, outwardly all coy smiles while inside she was screaming in fear and helplessness.

She wanted nothing more than to tell the General not to agree to Shaw, to put a stop to her Master's insane and terrifying plot. But Azazel and Janos were with Shaw, and she knew that if she failed this mission, her lovers' lives would be forfeit. And for all their combined powers, she knew that Shaw – whatever the hell he was – could kill them instantly.

So Emma smiled, and acted, and desperately cried out for a solution, for a savior; although she was sure that no one would hear her cry.

"Your health." General Sherbedgia toasted in Russian (Emma unknowingly using the same method as Xavier to translate the language and general gist/meaning), before downing the shot of vodka all at once. Emma closely followed suit (after having scanned the General to make sure there was no poison).

After setting her glass down Emma crossed her legs and lifted a tempting eyebrow as she lowered her voice a notch; feeling disgusted with herself and wishing it were her lovers she were trying to seduce. "So you must be busy planning your next move, what with the Americans refusing to remove their missiles from Turkey."

The General half-smiled and adopted a patronizing tone, as though she was just a bimbo who truly didn't understand what was going on around her and the intricacies of war, "You know that I cannot talk about those things with you, Ms. Frost."

And Emma was only too pleased to allow an illusion to slip into the man's mind, only too pleased to have those lusting eyes fixed upon the false image rather than herself. "Emma," the illusion corrected as it stood and smiled, before beginning to unbuckle her revealing jacket, "and don't worry, you don't have to say a word." And it began to unzip the front of the dress/jacket, revealing only lacy white underneath.

And the real Emma turned away and helped herself to some more vodka as the General sat back to enjoy the show.

"A Wizard? Really? Like, 'abracadabra' and 'hocus pocus'?" Erik questioned, not even trying to hide his sincerity or excitement. After all, he needed Jamie to believe that he was sincere, and he wouldn't achieve that goal if the child suspected that he was hiding or masking his emotions in any way.

And Erik's knowledge was rewarded when Jamie relaxed with a soft sigh before leaning into the now-frozen hand in his hair, prompting Erik to continue his soothing petting.

"No, nothing like that really. Those are only illusions and clever tricks. Being a true Witch or Wizard is significantly more than that. There's a whole world of us, hidden right beneath your very noses. A whole culture, with it's fair share of prejudices. Every magical child has bursts of uncontrolled power – called accidental magic – up until eleven, when they're accepted into a magical school. I only know of three, though there's probably many more; Hogwarts in Scotland, Beauxbatons in France, and Durmstrang in Bulgaria. You go to school for seven years before graduating and choosing a career – like Curse Breaking in Egypt or Dragon Taming at the Welsh Dragon Reserve. Then there's Divination, a job at the Ministry of Magic, an Auror – sort of like the wizarding police – even a professor or Master of Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, or Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"But it's not all sunshine and magic." Jamie growled, and Erik felt some of his excitement fade from him in worry. "There's a Dark Lord out for my blood, as well as his whole fucking army. Then there's the quote 'Light Side' who is more than willing to throw me in front of the murdering masses as a scapegoat/sacrificial lamb to slaughter. There're monsters that are the most decent beings you'll ever meet while the 'normal humans' – who are the real monsters! – walk all over them and everyone else.

"Where you're worshipped and persecuted and tortured equally in turn, while all those you thought you trusted the most stab you in the back time and time again; testing and risking your life while your at school only to send you back to your relatives with specific instructions to increase their methods in order to keep you submissive when a regular beating is enough to keep you writhing in agony for days from the pain! Oh Merlin… so much pain…"

And as Jamie collapsed into helpless, desperate sobs and Erik gathered the child into his arms and rocked him gently; Erik couldn't help but be glad that Charles wasn't here for this. The pain and agony in the child was practically rolling off him in waves, to the point where Erik could almost see every physical and emotional wound – and he wasn't even the telepath.

And somehow, Erik knew, that it was only the tip of the iceberg.

Charles ran as fast as he could, psychic mind thrown out wide enough to encompass every guard on the grass as well as by the doors. Slipping in effortlessly, Charles flitted across their vision without them ever knowing; the ongoing illusion that all was peaceful and undisturbed solid in their minds.

Then Charles was inside the building, releasing those behind him from his mind as he captured those before him and sent them back to their posts without a single suspicion marring their thoughts.

It was easy, but Charles didn't allow himself to grow complacent. He knew that his true battle would be in the next room, between himself and the telepath known as Emma Frost.

Emma felt herself growing increasingly sick with every pleasured groan and lewd word that General Rade Sherbedgia said to her illusion.

"Pathetic." She sneered, taking a bite of a cracker to quell her rising nausea; even while she wasn't sure if she was talking about the General, or herself and her powerlessness.

Lost in her thoughts and illusions as she was, she yelped and jumped when the door burst open, revealing the flushed face of one Charles Xavier.

Immediately her illusion fell, and the General spent several confused moments taking in the sight of his empty lap, the object of his lust sitting shocked still on the sofa, and one panting American standing in the doorway.

"Nice trick." Charles praised, right before the General pulled out his musket and yelled, "Who are you?"

Charles, thinking more and more like Erik and not having any patience for the weak human General, merely rolled his eyes and ordered, "Go to sleep."

The General collapsed onto his bedcovers as Emma stood up, slipping her jacket/dress on and buckling it up, feeling strangely ashamed and vulnerable before the other telepath.

Hating the feeling, she quickly turned her body to impenetrable diamond; needing the security of her lovers' arms and going for the next best thing in the absence of.

"Don't even both trying to read my mind, sugar. You can't get anything from me while I'm like this." But, strangely enough, Xavier wasn't even trying. He was just staring at her with those penetrating turquoise-blue eyes; almost as though he could see deep inside of her, to everything she kept hidden.

"No." Xavier finally spoke, focusing his eyes on her face rather than in her, and she relaxed when the intrusive feeling faded; even if she knew that he couldn't have read her mind. "You're right. I cannot. There's no point in me trying to apprehend you, either, as from what Erik has told me you're extremely strong in that form. However, I can allow you to read my mind, and decide what you really want from this war."

And Emma, being the curious, slightly invasive telepath that she was, couldn't resist the temptation of Xavier's lowered barriers, and slipped right in.

She saw everything. She saw Charles' beliefs, his hopes and passion and eloquence. She saw the flirting, the brilliance, the hangovers. She saw the hints of the burgeoning attraction to Lehnsherr, and she saw the slight shift in Xavier's worldview upon the arrival of the mysterious HJP.

But most of all, she saw Xavier's blossoming team, their friendship and camaraderie, as well as their almost desperate and powerful desire to win, to prevail.

And she knew, then, that they were so much more powerful than Sebastian Shaw. She saw that they would have no problem taking out her Master; and the hope nearly strangled her it was so potent.

She slipped out of Xavier's mind, turning back to human flesh and blood in the same moment. She felt wetness on her cheeks and felt them, only to pull back and find the traces of tears on her fingertips.

"My lovers," she whispered, longing and hope and desperation and pleading shining through her ice-blue eyes, "please, help them. They want out too… but we can't break free unless you offer us protection. Please."

"Agreed," Xavier nodded, and Emma sighed in relief. She knew that he could be just like any other man, one of thousands who had betrayed her. But she felt the need to trust him, trust him like she would trust Janos and Azazel; and the only reason she gave in was because there was no one else to trust.

So she lowered her barriers, and let him in.

Erik walked with Jamie towards the main common room, where everyone was hanging out and recovering from the almost one-sided fight a couple hours ago; his hand resting comfortably on the technically blind boy's shoulder – though more for comfort than necessity.

Erik had, as a last minute decision, decided to gather up all of the young people and have them tell their life stories – or as much as they were comfortable with. It would help them understand eachother, as well as build a sense of team unity and companionship – which is precisely what Jamie would need for the team to accept him into their ranks after being so thoroughly thrashed earlier.

Of course, he'd discussed with Jamie the necessity that the team all get along and why it was so important. Instantly drawing the similarities between Sebastian Shaw and Voldemort and Dumbledore (both were equally evil in his eyes and sought to completely obliterate the other side), Jamie's Gryffindor side gave one last desperate fight and convinced Jamie to join them and help out; even as his Slytherin side completely obliterated the Gryffindor.

It was during this discussion that Jamie realized that they were talking about the Cold War, and immediately remembered Erik's comment about surviving the concentration camps. After frantically asking what year it was, and being informed that it was 1962, Jamie had experienced a brief panic attack when he realized that he was over thirty years in the past. After Erik had helped him regain control of himself and he explained when he came from; Jamie felt an abrupt sense of peace and relief. In this time, he didn't yet exist. In this time, Dumbledore wouldn't be hunting for him.

He was free.

Jamie had wept in relief.

It was actually this reaction that Erik's confusion over the reason for it that led to Erik's decision to do this team building exercise/past share-all.

Hence the reason that they were now stepping into the common room, to the immediate silence and shock of all in attendance (even Raven and Angel, who had both awoken from their concussions and were nursing bags of ice to their heads – thank God for mutant accelerating healing).

As the silence continued on and became more and more oppressive, Jamie seemed to shrink further and further into himself; becoming even smaller, if that was possible.

Until, finally, "Hi, 'm Jamie," he whispered shyly, flattening his untamable fringe down over his forehead in a nervous gesture (for some odd reason), "an' 'm real sorry."

Erik observed as Angel, Raven, and (oddly enough) Alex immediately melted; even as Darwin, Sean, and Hank stiffened up, winced, or frowned severely. Before anyone could say anything or comment, however, Erik raised his hand for (continued) silence.

"If everyone will take a seat, Jamie will explain everything, as will yourselves." And as Erik took in the sight of their confused expressions as they all dutifully sat down, he took a deep breath. He knew that he was in for quite the battle.

Images and scenes flashed through Charles' mind, one after another, the overall picture that they were forming becoming more and more horrible and sinister than he had ever imagined.

Forget the nation being in the balance, this was about the whole world.

A map with missiles in Cuba…

A simulation of America's nuclear retaliation, resulting in return fire and a massive nuclear war between America and the Soviet Union…

Horrible mushroom cloud after mushroom cloud, obliterating millions of people…

"We are the Children of the Atom. Radiation gave birth to humans. What will kill the humans, will only make us stronger…"

Shaw's voice echoes through a vision of the future, a vision of Shaw standing over a burning city with a black sky, a world filled with only mutants and the decimated, obliterated, still-burning image of the White House in the background…

Charles had never felt more sickened or horrified; and one look into Emma's tearful gaze was enough to know that she felt the same.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" She whispered, voice choked and desperate and filled with fear.

Charles nodded, "Yes… it's far worse than we'd ever previously imagined. But we'll stop him, and that's a promise. Come with me, the official story will be that the CIA is questioning you." Charles smirked. "Of course, reports will say that you remain resistant to interrogation, thus keeping your lovers safe until we can get them out too."

Emma breathed a shaky sigh of relief and seemed to slump into herself. "Oh thank you, thank you so much…"

Charles put a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder and gave her a comforting half-squeeze, before thinking of something that caused him to frown slightly.

"By the way, where is Shaw and your two lovers? Do you know?"

And Charles was wholly unprepared for Emma's head to shoot up in horror and a terrible, awful image to assault his mind as she remembered.

"Oh no…" They both whispered, and Charles sent up a brief prayer that Erik would be able to protect the children and keep his head when faced with his worst enemy.

Because Sebastian Shaw was paying a house call.

His destination: CIA Headquarters; Mutant Division.

A/N: Hope that you all enjoyed the chapter! It was a lot of fun to write, and I'm glad the my plot-werewolf came out yesterday to bite me and inject me with good ideas and fast typing speed.

Tell me what you think and how much you love it (yes, I know that I'm a shameless review-whore). But you all love me anyways! ;D