Molotov Heart {Alex Summers | X-Men}

16. anecdoche.

it's nearly been a y e a r and i can't shake the way i'm feeling
i love you b u t i'm not myself

"What do you mean we're going to see Moira? Who’s Moira?" Voice low as to not attract too much attention, they found themselves waiting in the driveway for Alex to pull his car around. Aoibheal’s eyes narrowed. “Cuba Moira?” Charles was genuinely flustered at the question, even as he confirmed as much, which prompted a smirk from the girl, though he pretended he didn't see it.

“You, uh, remember how the house shook last night?” Clearing his throat loudly, Charles looked up to  the ginger girl by his side. "Well, it didn’t just affect us; as it so happens, Hank recorded a tremor a few hours ago and it's epicentre was in Egypt." With a pause, he averted his gaze, cheeks surprisingly pink. "As was Moira.” Another pause but the girl beside him remained confused, a noncommittal noise humming from her throat. “It coincided with one of Jean's dreams."

"You mean her premonitions?" Finally able to contribute once more, Aoibheal’s rather shocked that her question is met by a stern look from Charles.

"We don't know that." His voice holds an unspoken warning, hands reaching out to brush at her temple to quell her half-formed protest. Images formed in her mind of blood and fire and death, of people screaming and the world turning to ash around them. Charles’s voice is quiet where Aoibheal is left gasping for air, barely hearing him over the beating of her own heart. "We hope it's not a premonition." Dread and desperation are seeping from Aoibheal’s pores, and Charles is suddenly guilty for dumping such a vision on her unprepared mind, so he holds her hand tightly, thumb pressed to her wrist as her erratic pulse beat beneath his fingertips.

Words have left her and she stuttering over half formed thoughts before Aoibheal comes back to herself. There’s a lump that sticks in her throat when she goes to speak, voice coming out as a strange crackle before she clears her throat. “So what do you need me to come along for?" Charles is torn, hesitant to reply in her current state; he’s riddled with guilt, Aoibheal’s still mind is still raw from Alex’s unexpected appearance, Charles really should have known better.

"Lord knows your students could use a day off from analysing one another." So he goes with softly amused, which earns a half-smile from Aoibheal, which is almost worth it. They talk out loud out of habit alone, both of them more than comfortable conversing in their minds. After Washington, in fact, back when the school had merely been a home for them and Hank, Charles could go months without speaking aloud, though the house had never seemed quiet with him in their minds.

Aoibheal doesn’t even try to hide her smile, though there is something faintly accusatory in her tone when she speaks that Charles chuckles at. Her heartbeat is steady beneath his fingertips and her mind is clear, despite the earlier shock. "Is that a dig at my teaching?"

"Only a little one." But when he looks up at her, his smile fades because all he can see is the girl who has given him her whole life. They both know there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for him or for Hank, which makes Charles choke up just a little, lifting their linked hands to press her knuckles to his cheek in soft affection. “Support, my love, I need you for moral support.”

In the silence that stretches between them Aoibheal’s mind lights with realisation and though Charles can read it as it forms, it doesn’t stop him from blushing when she asks; "Charles, do you still have the hots for Moira? That was twenty years ago." It’s amusing until it isn’t, with Charles giving her a very pointed look that had her mouth snapping  closed before she could actually laugh at him. "That's different." Averting her gaze, she could feel as a light blush crept across her cheeks at the mere thought of Alex. “Eight years is different to twenty." It was surprisingly sulky, which had Charles smiling sunnily at her now that it seemed he had the upper hand once more.