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The good thing about living with a telepath who was also the most sympathetic person Moira MacTaggart had ever met was that when she had had too much of everyone else, he could get in the middle of it or lead her away and it wasn't immensely awkward. Yes, she was very fond of the X-Men; they were a group of people who were extraordinary for their bravery, not just their unique gifts. They'd saved her life, saved the world, rallied behind her when she caught flak for protecting them like she had. But they were also a group of crazy people whose personalities wildly conflicted and they had a talent for driving each other insane.
So it wasn't that Moira didn't care about them, it was just that they were currently actively working to drive her out of her mind and she needed an out, which Charles always provided.
It wasn't exactly a secret, either. Charles did do it for others, but he did it most often for Moira, because her tolerance level for arguments she wasn't participating in was far lower than everyone else's. Everyone knew that when Charles cut in smoothly, he was sparing Moira, doubly so when his save was him leading her out to help him with something or another.
It was really only a matter of time before someone made a comment, and of course it was Alex.
"Hey, Prof, you might wanna lead your girlfriend outta here, because I'm about to start using verbal sledgehammers," he ground out as he glared at Angel.
"Oh, try it, plasma boy," she snapped back. "If sticks and stones don't hurt me, why do you think you can?"
The rest of the conversation – Charles's save and the subsequent rising of volume behind the closed door – slid by her without so much as a cursory notice. She'd gotten hung up on Alex's sentence, because even though she knew it was coming, she still didn't know what to do with it.
Yes, she loved Charles. She hadn't kissed him yet – aside from that wonderful make-out session on the couch the night before Cuba – but she had no doubt where she stood with the genetics professor, just as she had no doubt that he loved her. He looked at no-one else like he looked at her, and Raven had gone out of her way to point that out to Moira. And he was amazing. Not perfect, because no-one was, but amazing in his gentle care and kind words and unwavering confidence. He looked at her like she was the moon – glowing and gorgeous and worthy of poems. She knew she looked at him like he was the stars – fascinating and endless, with so many stories to tell. She wished it was as easy as mutual love.
She wasn't sure it was.
Charles let her process the comment for as long as she needed. He bid her good night when he left her in his second study – it'd been his before his stepfather died, but since he'd moved into his father's study and she also needed a private place to work, he let her have it. It was already collecting small personal touches; a couple photos of her family, her favorite desk lamp, a multitude of colorful dividers she slipped between stacks of files.
She said nothing about Alex's comment the whole walk there and seemed rather out of it when she said good night. He'd hoped that it would be over tomorrow, since he did so enjoy their conversations, and not just because he was head over heels for her. Unfortunately for him, she barely spoke to him the next day. Her mind was enshrouded with an opaque wall of glass and the door was firmly shut. He couldn't get through to her telepathically, and she wouldn't talk to him verbally. Rationally, he understood that she was likely still processing what had been said last night. Emotionally, he couldn't help but be hurt.
The silence stretched into the day beyond that, leaving Charles gloomy and grappling with many things, primarily his telepathy. All he would need was a minute in her head, and he'd see everything that was stopping her. She was as miserable, if not more miserable, than he was, so he'd be doing them both a favor.
It was the boundary he'd set, though. The boundary she'd set, too. He could not just peek inside people's minds because that made things easier, no matter how bad the situation got. He had to wait, to be patient, to let her talk it out with herself or with him. And if he crossed it here, he'd cross it elsewhere, too. Moira might come around eventually, because she would see why, would feel it, and she would understand. Raven or Erik, they absolutely wouldn't, and the rules applied to all or they applied to none. Charles did not do double standards.
"Check." Erik leaned back and stared at Charles while Charles scrutinized the board. "You're thinking about her again, Charles."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Charles argued gently as he moved his rook to defend his king.
"No, but it's affecting your playing," Erik rebuffed. He then took the rook with his black bishop and Charles took the bishop with his king. "If you're thinking so intently about her, why don't you just go talk to her?"
Erik was still bitter about Moira's presence. He disliked that she was around, disliked that she still somewhat needed to be, disliked that Charles liked her so much. Erik disliked humans in general, and Charles couldn't tell if what Erik disliked most about Moira was the hold she had over Charles or the fact that she was both decent enough to be kind and tough enough not to take crap from anyone, least of all Erik himself. It was the same old argument they always had, and normally, Charles would be diplomatic about it, but it was a sore spot today.
"I would, if she'd talk to me," Charles groused.
Erik had been reaching to move his queen, but at hearing Charles's remark, he hesitated.
"She's shutting you out?"
"Move your piece, Erik; I'd rather not talk about this right now."
Erik did not move his piece. He leaned back and watched Charles for a long moment, and Charles had to resist the urge to suggest that Erik continue to play. God, how he sometimes hated to be a telepath.
What Erik finally settled on, much to Charles's shock, was, "Does she actually still love you anymore?"
"Erik!" Charles snapped sharply, almost startling his friend. He gathered himself after the outburst and more calmly replied, "Yes, she does. She's just-"
"Not admitting it."
"Not letting herself," Charles corrected.
"It's because of her job," Erik replied. Charles scoffed and shook his head as Erik moved a pawn forward. "That's what it is, Charles. It's the only thing that would stop her from leaping into your arms and declaring her undying affection for you."
What Charles wanted to do was to make a remark about Erik being an arse. What he did instead was what he always did. He looked at the sentence, turned it inside out, compared it with what he already knew about the problem, and found – to his surprise – that Erik was absolutely right. Well, not about the leaping and the declarations, but about it being Moira's job. It was the only thing that would make her stay at such a distance.
"Why tell me that?" Charles asked.
"You know the answer," Erik answered.
"I don't." It was the truth. "Why tell me that, when you've been so eager to get rid of her?"
Erik sighed shortly. "Because you love her, and if she left, she'd take the only decent chess player I've ever met with her."
Charles smiled warmly. Care by association was still progress, and it was nice, it was always nice, to know how much Erik cared for him.
It was well into the afternoon before Moira had her first caller, and she guessed who it was even before he opened the door and rolled in. She still invited him in anyway, because no matter her turbulent feelings and her worries about where she ought to be standing with their relationship, he was still her friend and she still cared deeply for him.
"What time is it?" she asked casually, scribbling her signature onto the last piece of paperwork having to do with her just-closed case.
"Almost 3."
"3?!" The pen hit the desk with a small clack. "Geez, I had no idea it was so late."
Her now-empty hand came up to rub at her temple, where a headache was starting to form. Charles smiled ruefully and rolled closer to the desk, but didn't cross around to her side. She could tell he wanted to. They started at each other for longer than they should've, and to her surprise, it was Charles who broke gazes first, looking across her half-empty, borrowed desk.
"How goes cutting down the mountain?" he asked.
She huffed a wry laugh. "I think someone keeps adding rubble to the other side." He chuckled, and she stretched for the first time in hours. "Ow. So, what can I help you with, Charles?"
"Actually, I was wondering if we might talk," he answered. She felt the faint suggestion of a knock on her mental door, but she once again turned him away gently. He inclined his head slightly, the only outward sign of the exchange. "You've been a bit distant of late. I hope I haven't been untoward."
"Charles," she replied sincerely, "you have been a perfect gentleman, and far kinder to me than I could ask for. Certainly more patient than I deserve."
God, it would be so easy to just give in, and she wanted to.
Silence stretched on for a short while, both of them puzzling out how to cross the gaping impasse. Charles was the one to figure it out first. "Since it's already 3, perhaps you'd like to come to the library with me?"
They'd taken to the library because it was quiet, not quite secluded, and there was enough space for her to work while Charles read whatever he wanted. Their routine was that she'd bring her paperwork, he'd pick a book, and he'd read to her while she worked until she couldn't work any longer. Sometimes he read and she listened. Sometimes they talked about deep things and past experiences. Sometimes they didn't say anything at all; she'd look at him and he'd look at her, and they'd both look out the window until they looked at each other again. It was a peaceful place, despite the differences of opinion and lively disagreements they'd had there.
She hoped that this wouldn't break them. She nodded slowly because the library was their best chance of working it out, and she refused to give up on him so easily.
The walk was short and quiet, with only passing remarks about various things lining the hallways. They danced around the subject and set each other back at ease. That sense of peace didn't leave her once they crossed the threshold of the library, and she felt the phantom touches of Charles's mind against hers, fostering that peace. She let it be, because she very much needed the tranquility.
They took their customary seats – her in the window nook and him next to it – and he pulled the book they'd been going through off the shelf. He managed to get back to the page they were on and open his mouth to speak before she suddenly cut him off.
"You know I want this, right?" she asked quietly. He froze, then looked up. "Us."
He swallowed. "I do."
"I…" She looked away, unable to keep his gaze. "I don't know if… My loyalty is supposed to be to the CIA. You – the X-Men – you're part of- It's a rival group, as much as a…"
"Potential threat," he answered for her. She glanced back to him, and she could see him fitting pieces together. She nodded to confirm his guess, and he waited for her to continue.
"I'm…afraid…that if I pick you, I'll have to pick the X-Men over the CIA, or vice versa, and I can't stay loyal to both groups. I can't support you as limitlessly as I want to and still remain objective enough to work with you in a professional capacity. I'm not ready to give up being a CIA agent just yet, either. I don't know how to balance the two, and I don't even know if I'm saying this right-"
His hand slipped over hers and she held it tightly. She made herself look into his eyes. They were as they always were, blue like the sea, twice as deep, and completely understanding. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"You can make this work," he assured her quietly. "You will, because your loyalty isn't really to the CIA. It's to justice. I think you know that, too, you just haven't admitted it yet."
There was the brush of mind against mind again, peering through the window and watching her. She didn't mind as much as she ought to have, because he was right. She was with the CIA because it gave her a sense of where to direct that burning desire for justice. If she was truly loyal to the CIA, she wouldn't have stayed with them after the attack on the facility, after the X-Division closed. She'd stayed because she knew the X-Men were right. Not for Charles, not to prove herself, not because it was new, not because she needed to finish it. Because it was right.
"You will have to make that choice, and I cannot express my regret that I will be the cause of your pain." He couldn't express it, but she could feel it, pressing in on her windows. "But I know, unreservedly, that you will make the right decision. I can only hope that I'll support it."
Slowly, she slipped one hand out from beneath her other – which was beneath both of his, now – and cupped the side of his face. He leaned into the touch and she let that love strengthen her.
Once, back at the facility, she'd tried to ward him off. When he'd been in that drab little bunk room with her, flirting with flair even though he must've known it wasn't going to work then. She'd clung to her rules, hid behind them because that was always easier than standing on her own against the breaking storm.
Looking into his eyes now, she felt, for the first time in her life, that she was strong enough to stand without a shelter.