It was the first snow of the season, and while Charles had grown rather tired of the stuff throughout his years in New York, the first snow still held some sort of magic over him, that inspired him to wheel out into the courtyard to stare up at the sky.

Hank had insisted he take a blanket, which was drapped over his lap. Useless, but he hadn't had the heart to tell Hank so, and simply had smiled and thanked him for fetching it. Other than that, the children allowed him his space, a tentative bid to make him feel better. Apparently, he hadn't hidden his wounds as well as he had hoped, because silence fell almost oppressively if Erik or Raven came up in conversation, and all eyes turned on him.

Apologetic.

Waiting.

He sighed and blew a breath of warm air into his cupped hands - clad in fingerless gloves, giving him a better grip with which to roll himself around with. Fingerless gloves, however, were useless in the wintertime, and he buried them under his blanket once he had found a place he wanted to sit in. The snow had crunched pleasantly under the rubber tires, giving proof to the inch or so that had managed to fall in thick white flakes that were now clinging to his hair.

He closed his eyes, feeling the silence of winter settle around him. Inside, Sean was routing around in the kitchen pantry. Alex was telling Hank to step outside of his lab for a bit, get some fresh air. They were- oh. Well, privacy was something to be expected at times like that, and Charles quickly and gently withdrew his attention.

He opened his eyes back up to the whitening outdoors - and felt his breath catch in his chest.

Erik. Not Magneto, there was no ridiculous cape and costume, though the garishly coloured helmet was still on his head, making him an empty hole in a world of awareness. It still gave him pain to think of, but it was now a dull throb of a scar, rather than the ache of an open wound.

He was dressed as if he had never left. A dark turtleneck - was it black or a dark brown? The sheer amount of white made distinguishing difficult - with his leather jacket.

Green eyes watching him closely, studying. "Charles," he said softly, and Charles felt himself grip the handles of his wheelchair tightly.

"Erik, my friend. What are you doing here?"

"Am I no longer welcome?" He seemed expectant. As if Charles could ever throw his friendship in his face.

"You're always welcome here, Erik," he insisted softly, shaking his head. He eased a hand off of the handle of the wheelchair, holding it out to Erik. Reminding him, gently, that he no longer could go to him.

Erik moved forward as if drawn, and sank to his knees, the snow protesting the weight under him. "This chair..." Erik growled, avoiding Charles's eyes and instead looking distastefully at the white plastic. "I did this, I-"

"Erik."

"It's plastic. The entire thing? Or - no, just mostly. There's still a little, but as little as you and Hank could manage, is it?" He lifted his eyes then, and Charles leaned back in his chair.

"It's not too much of a stone's throw from that helmet you're wearing, my friend." He offered a wry smile, and Erik lowered his head in understanding.

"I see. I'm- Charles, I'm sorry," the words came suddenly, as if expelled like he couldn't bare to be a part with them any longer. "I put you in this chair, I left you there. I did-"

"Calm your mind, Erik. It's in the past." Charles held out his hand again and Erik took it - warm, long fingers curling around them, and Charle closed his eyes at the feel of a painfully-familar pair of lips press against his palm.

"I'd do it differently, if I could," he swore softly. "We've decided - well, Mystique and Angel and I. Shaw's pets have parted from us - we want to come back. If you and the others will have us. We won't see eye to eye, of course, but it's better to stand together." He reasoned.

"You certainly don't have to ask, Erik. This will always be open to be your home." Charles managed a smile. "Just one condition, Erik."

Erik closed his eyes as Charles touched the sides of the helmet, but made no move to bolt away or to stop him.

Charles lifted it almost reverently, and a sigh shook his body at the first familiar touch of their minds. Erik's recoiled at first, before easing back, and Charles coaxed it back softly, patiently. "I found you, Erik. There you are." He smiled softly, and curled down over his friend half-laying on his lap. He pressed his lips to the top of Erik's head, and let the helmet drop to the ground beside them, where it instantly lay forgotten.
I'm not alone anymore. And that's the greatest gift you could give me, Erik. Kocham cie.

Short little fix-it fic that I will always pretend happened even though there's no way in hell Erik would go to Charles for partnership and forgiveness like this. Please be of mind that I've lived in Southern California almost my entire life and so I don't know the weather patterns of typical New York.

So.

There you go.