He tries not to hope, tries not to dream. He learned not to dream a long time ago, not about this, at least. He spent six months spinning hopes and dreams, imagining the life he'd build with Erik, and not even the paralysis hurt quite as much as watching those dreams turn to ash on a Cuban beach. He tries not to hope that this means what he wants it to mean, that this is the reward they get for so many years of dedication to mutantkind. He tries not to hope that he's going to live out the rest of his days somewhere private and quiet with Erik by his side.

The problem is it's very hard to tell when a superhero is recklessly endangering himself versus when he's accepting the very real dangers of the job. Tony, who is the embodiment of reckless on a good day, doesn't know if Captain America is throwing himself into his work because it's his work, or because secretly he wishes he were dead.

It scares him. And the fact that it scares him also scares him. Tony is used to being a shallow jerk; he's very good at it. Caring about Steve to the point that he worries if the guy goes off his own personal radar for more than an hour is seriously fucking with him.

Charles nudged him on. “So, you joined the army. Then what?”

Erik took a deep breath and said, “I freaked out. I joined the army. I worked for the government for a while. I went into business for myself. I’m a professional killer.”

Charles slurped at his beer. “Right. Do you have to do post-graduate work for that or can you just jump right in?”

“It’s an open market,” Erik replied miserably.

Faith, he repeats to himself as he sets off (still dizzy from the physical contact, trying to keep his breath) equipped with nothing but a sword and a purse- and good, thick winter wear. He looks ridiculous, he knows, and people stare at his fur cap and thick cloak as he walks out of the city.

"I'm going to die," he murmurs in his native tongue as the guards of Westchester let him out. He stands outside the iron gates, allowing himself a moment of reflection. He's going to die. He's going to die for a small boy Raven hasn't let go of for a dozen years. He's going to go there and find a grave, or a tumble of bones on the knoll, and no one will know how fruitless it all had been for him because he'll never been seen again.

Ah well.

"Oh, excellent," Xavier said earnestly. He looked like a delighted teenager. "I- oh, I'm sorry. Do you have jet lag? It's night in, in Germany, isn't it? You can go sleep. You can start tomorrow morning."

Erik stared at him. It just hit him, like that, that he had a job. He remembered his plan to walk back to the nearest village. Take buses until his money ran out. See the Statue of Liberty (towering metal HIGH distant). Jump off a bridge or a dock.

Xavier's eyes had gone a little wide. Erik wondered what he was getting. Just vaguely pleasant surprise, he supposed. Thank god he was only a low-level empath. "I'll show you to your room," he was saying. "It's next to the library. It's an adjoining room, actually. I'm always in the library. So it'll be more efficient like that, I suppose. I hope you like it here."

"Thank you, Mr. Xavier," said Erik, more intensely than he'd intended.

Xavier touched the back of his hand gently. "Charles. It's Charles."

“I’m sure you have many talents I’ve yet to experience,” Harvey placates him with an eye roll. “But that’s not what this is. You’re only eighteen. You just got out of a very complicated and destructive relationship. Set of relationships. I don’t date teenagers. And I certainly don’t exchange legal services and personal favors for sex. I don’t have to.”

And yeah, of course he doesn’t. He’s Harvey Fucking Specter, what the hell was Mike thinking?

Except, except, “So what the hell is this, then? Don’t just give me that bullshit about my potential again, Harvey, because that’s what it is. Bullshit. You can do better.”

“I want to help you, Mike. Isn’t that enough?” Harvey asks tiredly.

Sometimes, when she concentrates really hard, she sees flashes of what might be, probable outcomes and at first she thinks it’s funny, but then — when she’s talking to Gordon’s neighbour and he tells her she’s a pretty young lady — there’s a glimpse of an accident and she tells Gordon’s neighbour not to go to the city by car and he takes his bike and dies anyway. She learns, then, that she might influence the details, but time has the amazing ability to correct itself.

She still doesn’t know why she knows, but that doesn’t matter. Dad would be proud and Erik would be amused and he would tell her that she’s his favourite sister.

That had been the reason he was drinking, Tony remembered suddenly. The Avengers had answered a call at Daytona, and then stuck around to relax. "Tony Stark" hadn't been there, and Iron Man couldn't take off the armor to swim, obviously, but he'd watched Steve being swarmed by beautiful women. They were all out of costume, but the ladies still surrounded him, even without knowing who he was. Steve, who was honest and kind and a real hero and probably the most heterosexual man since God created Adam. When they'd gotten back, Iron Man had vanished, and Tony had started trying to do the same.