A/N: So okay. This idea hit me like a bolt of lightning and before I realized what was happening it'd swallowed me up completely. (grins sheepishly) We'll see just how this turned out…

WARNINGS: SPOILERS TO THE MOVIE 'FIRST CLASS'. MPREG, SLASH, language, a hint of gore and violence, adult themes… (blinks) Uh… Anybody out there?

DISCLAIMER: Oh, if only I'd own Charles and Erik…! (sighs dreamily) But oh well, it's a sweet daydream.

TIMELINE: THIS TAKES PLACE FOUR MONTHS AFTER THE BEACH SCENE. In this world Moira's memory's been erased, the school isn't quite operative just yet. Erik's still gone. (sobs a little)

Awkay… (trembles) I'm really, really nervous right now so I've gotta get this shipped out before I change my mind. I REALLY hope that you'll have a good ride!

The Life I Dreamed

Calls You Home

Charles had always been a man who preferred keeping certain things to himself. These days it was a necessity for the sake of his sanity. Because of his ability (talent, gift, curse) having several nightmare ridden, scared and confused young men in his household was a tremendous challenge that gave him a nearly constant headache even with his ability to shield his mind. Because of the said ability he also knew, better than well, that his protegés – still mere children although they'd already seen far too much to be really labelled as such – didn't need any more shocks and disturbing news.

Or perhaps it was Charles himself who didn't want those. For it was silly to hide some of the things that he kept buried deep inside his mind. Some secrets were bound to reveal themselves sooner or later. From the beginning he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

It was three thirty in the morning and Charles had just finished throwing up. For a moment he closed his eyes, dreaming of nothing but a glass full of fresh, cold water. And then he sensed that he wasn't alone.

Charles knew immediately that the presence behind him wasn't a threat but he still stiffened instinctively, his hand flying to cover his stomach. The chair turned far more slowly than it should've, leading him face to face with Hank. The younger, who was stood by the room's doorway to keep a discreet distance, swallowed loudly. "Professor? Are you alright?"

It wasn't that hard to smile. He found Hank's unmasked concern endearing. "Yes, I'm quite alright." He then frowned, choosing to direct the conversation elsewhere. "But what are you doing awake at this hour?" He had a feeling that he knew, though. While throwing up he'd kept feeling someone's nightmares, someone's sheer terror. The fact that the dream had been of him getting shot on that beach made a stab of guilt cross him.

How much more would he end up traumatizing these children in the future?

Hank shifted awkwardly, not quite daring to meet his eyes in fear of giving himself away. "I just… had a bad dream, that's all. It happens." The young scientist's eyes then hardened ever so slightly, signaling just how little of a boy he was anymore. It ached Charles. "I heard you throw up and you still look nauseous. What's wrong?"

Charles had no idea of how to answer and the uncertainty made him feel extremely uneasy. Hank's thick worry kept spiraling in his head like it was his own and those eyes pleading with him didn't make matters any easier. In the end he sighed, something inside him shifting with nervousness and something else. "I'm alright", he said for the second time, stretching the words in a half subconscious attempt to buy himself time. He swallowed, still tasting vomit. It made him shiver. "Nausea is perfectly common for those in my… situation, I've heard."

Hank's frown of confusion and slight fear persisted. It was around them Charles realized that he'd have to be slightly more direct with his explanation. Bracing himself for Hank's reaction he brought two fingers to his forehead, closed his eyes and focused. Focused on letting the younger man hear the rapid, comforting heartbeat that he kept hearing at all times.

Hank's wave of shock nearly made him gasp. The scientist stumbled a couple of steps backwards, his eyes wide. "What…?! What was that?"

Charles tried to smile although he felt more nervous than he would've cared to admit. "I think you already know", he pointed out. For he could feel dawning rising through a thick fog of stun and disbelief.

Hank's eyes remained wide but there was a tiny hint of curiosity in them. A couple of blinks followed. "But… Professor, that's impossible. You're a man. You can't possibly be…" His student trailed off and Charles could've sworn that he felt a blush.

This time the smile wasn't tense. "By now you should've learned that few things are impossible."

Hank seemed and felt shaken and throughoutly baffled but also… excited, almost. "But… How?" Lips moved but the rest died out.

Charles took a breath, realizing that his chest had been quite tight for a while. Now it was loosening. "My mutation doesn't limit solely to…" He gestured towards his head. This time he felt himself blush. Oh, how he wished that he wouldn't have to explain this to one of his students. "Certain… parts of me are quite different from the average human anatomy."

It took a while before those words sunk in. "Oh." Was it possible for someone with a ton of blue fur to blush? "Oh…!" Charles was beyond glad that Hank's modesty and embarrassment beat scientific curiosity. The questions stopped there.

Well, almost. "How… far along are you?" followed after a prolonged pause.

Charles met the other's eyes with bravery he hadn't expected to find. "Eighteen weeks." He waited for it to sink in. It did.

No amount of time would've been enough for Charles to shield himself completely. For next came the question he'd been truly dreading. "Is… he the father?" Hank respected the rule of not calling Erik Magneto in Charles' house but that didn't stop the wave of resentment from rolling.

Charles swallowed before nodding sharply and looking away, feeling nauseous all over again. "Yes." It took his all not to use his skills to end the flood of questions. The past few months had barely been enough for the process of scarring to even begin. There were so many deep, deep wounds that he didn't wish to have torn wide open all over again.

Hank was quiet for the longest time and he began to worry if he'd projected some of his most hidden thoughts. Then came the nearly whispered question. "But… You got…" The words 'shot in the back' never made it through Hank's lips but they boomed in both their heads. As did the pain in the youth's eyes. "How did the baby survive?"

For the second time Charles' self control was stretched to the extreme. The tiny being inside him squirmed with fear and discomfort as he breathed sharply, in, out and in again, trying to force the tidal wave of agony to subside. His eyes stung but with weeks and weeks of experience he was able to press the sensation back down. "I'm afraid that it's a long story and we both need rest."

Some disappointment and discomfort lingered on Hank. It took a moment before the cause was voiced. "What about the others? They don't know yet."

Charles wasn't quite able to smile but at least he was composed enough for it to make Hank feel a great deal calmer. "I'll tell them as soon as the time is right. I know that it's unfair to ask you to keep this secret." He then sensed the yawn Hank was trying to restrain and felt his eyes soften. "Goodnight, Hank. I'll see you in the morning."

Hank nodded, appearing slightly dazed from shock and exhaustion, then made a somewhat awkward tiny wave. "Goodnight, professor." It felt like the youth would've wanted to say something more but chose against it and Charles decided not to pry.

If he kept chunks of the full story hidden it was only fair that Hank got the chance to maintain his privacy.

As soon as he was surely alone and felt Hank's rest Charles sighed, letting his eyes wander towards the tiny window close to the bathroom's ceiling. Raindrops kept crawling down the glass, slowly and heavily. Charles inhaled a deep breath, once more bringing his hand to his abdomen. The being inside reacted instantly, reaching out towards his hand, towards his mind.

Charles gritted his teeth, feeling such a twinge of sadness and overwhelming longing that hurt far more than any bullet or coin ever could've.

And couldn't resist wondering if Erik ever thought of him, too.

Erik's eyes flew open, wide and full of far more emotions than he would've ever consciously allowed himself. His chest rose and fell quickly with his erratic breathing while his head buzzed, desperately trying to comprehend what was going on. Was there a threat? Was someone attacking him? His new reality was such a violent place.

His eyes began to dart around. He spotted nothing but harmless shadows. So why… did he still feel someone?

His left eyebrow twitched. If this was Emma's doing…

It was then he sensed it, with every fibre of his being. The warm presence in his mind was so familiar that it hurt. There were no actual words but the meaning was clear.

'Please come back home. I need you.'

It wasn't the first time Charles called out to him. Sometimes when asleep or something else Erik preferred not thinking about Charles' subconsciousness was able to take over and send a message to him before the telepath was able to stop it. Each cry felt like a stab. (Or perhaps a bullet to the back, he mused mirthlessly.) But no other call had ever felt like this.

One of his cheeks was moist before Erik realized what was happening. He wiped it dry, his eyes narrowing with rage the target of which he had no idea. These days he was always so angry that it was impossible to analyse the feeling.

Erik gritted his teeth, then whispered out a venomous snarl. "Leave me alone already, Charles. It's too late."

For these few moments since that call he'd felt actual warmth inside him. After his own words that feeling disappeared, almost like something had simply died inside of him. For some reason it made Erik want to cry, so badly that the feeling nearly suffocated him.

He honestly thought that it was over. But then he heard the thumping – a very, very quick heartbeat that seemed to echo in this very bizarre sync with his own. Light as a whisper at first, then booming in his ears. Yearning to be heard.

Erik hadn't cried in a long time, since that day on the beach. But for the second time that night he shed tears. And the worst part of it all was that he had no idea of what, exactly, he was crying for. "Get out of my head." He was so used to commanding that even his plea came out as a all but roared order.

It was completely quiet, both inside his head and everywhere around him. For some reason that was just out of his reach it made him feel unbearably lonely but he smothered the stirring emotion with such brutality that he trembled physically. He sat perfectly still for about five more minutes until he finally sighed and lay back down, deciding that as of tomorrow he'd be sleeping with his helmet on. He should've realized to do so sooner.

Erik was just about to drift back into a restless, nightmare filled slumber when he felt that torturous, pleading call again. Only this time the final whisper it left was different. Made his eyes fly wide open.

'It's not too late, yet.'


A/N: Sooooooo… (gulps nervously) Whadda ya say, folks? This COULD BE the start of a full story, if you want to read it. The choice is entirely in your hands.

PLEASE, let me know your thoughts! It'd mean A LOT to me. (gives puppy's eyes)

In any case, thank you so much for reading! Who knows, maybe I'll c ya again one day.

Take care!