Title: Once Upon A Late December Night
Author: Duchess Curry
Fandom: X-Men (cartoons/comics)
Beta: Dark Knight
Pairings: Charles/Nightcrawler, Hank/Logan, Gambit/Iceman, Scott/Archangel
Summary: A Christmas Fic
Archive: here
Rating: M
Parts: 2 - ?
Status: WIP
Series/Sequel: Nope
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN X-Men!!!!!!!!! They belong to Marvel Comics. (You all know this). And just to be safe; I also don't own the plot for A Christmas Carol.
Author's Notes: Sorry it's taken so long to get this up. No time to post, unfortunately.
Warnings: A.U. / Slash. Same old same old from me.

Chapter 2

Through blurry eyes the Prof looked up and saw the short form of a man standing at the foot of his bed; his arms crossed and a cigar dangling from his mouth.
"Logan, I know that I've asked you at least a dozen times not to smoke in the mansion."
"So?"
"So I would prefer if you did not; especially in my bedroom." The figure just shook his head. "Why did you set the alarm clock?"
"Because you have to get up and face your Christmases past."
Charles chuckled a little. "Oh, right; my dream." He shook his head a little and lay down again. "Good night Logan." The sheets flew off of him. Charles sat up; just in time to see Logan raise his right hand so the French windows flew open without anyone touching them.
The cold night air was not what made the Professor shiver as an eerie pale light seemed o emanate from Logan's form. "Are you the Ghost sent here to make me remember the past."
The ghost that looked like Logan nodded. "I am. Take heed, and come." The ghost started to walk toward the window.
"Spirit, I am a mutant; but I don't have wings. If I try to go out that window, I will fall; and probably die." He mumbled "Not that that would be a bad thing."
Without warning, a clawed fist was shoved under Charles's chin. His breath coming fast but catching in his throat as he sweat a little the Prof watched the ghost's claws (that perfectly matched Wolverine's) slowly slide back into place. His fist unfolded.
"A touch of my hand and you will not only fly; but walk too. Now come on."
As Charles took the Ghost's hand and the world seemed to fly away from him in a brilliant flash of light, Charles realized that the Ghost might look like Logan; but it's personality was a curious mix of Wolverine's and that of the Ghost of Christmas Past; from the story that Hank read aloud every Christmas Eve; whether people listened or not.
The flash of light that had engulfed Charles had also blinded him so he was left blinking and stumbling; just getting used to being able to use his legs; so he fell into the soft, white snow. He looked up and saw the mansion; but as it had been years and years ago; when he had lived there as a boy with his parents.
"Remember it?" The Ghost's gruff voice asked?
"Of course." Charles said, getting up; smiling and watching his eight year old self sliding down a snow mound on a sled as dusk fell. A fierce looking nanny stood in a side door-way.
"Master Xavier; come here this instance. If your parents' guests see you…" There was no need for her to finish the statement.
The little boy walked slowly to the door looking sad.
"Nanny Stella, I want to go to the party too."
"I know you do; but you know that you can't until you are older." She shepherded the boy into the big house.
Charles knew that his expression had fallen at the memory of the disappointment that he had felt during his childhood.
"Want to see more?"
"They were all very the same. The only thing that changed occasionally was who the nanny of the year was."
"You changed." The gruff Ghost growled softly, which reminded Charles of the few times that he heard Logan being truly empathetic. It caught him off guard, and Charles found himself nodding.
There before his eyes, he watched himself as a young boy laughing and playing in the snow; rolling around, sledding, throwing snowballs; every few seconds growing older before him. His entire childhood of Christmases flashed before him, until they stopped; as dusk fell and he was not out there. The sled that he had played with in previous years standing near the darken doorway, the snow on it showing that it had not been used for quiet a while.
For some reason, the sight made the bottom of Charles's stomach feel like it had fallen out.
"I didn't play this year. This time I was told that I was old enough to go to the party; and then I stopped playing and became a grown up."
"Was the party worth it?"
Charles looked into the distance as he answered the Spirit. "I was bored out of my mind. But I tried not to let it show. I tried so very hard to make my parents proud."
He felt a strong, warm hand on his left shoulder; and then that world dissolved into darkness around him. The flash of light; bright as a camera's flash brought him back up and into a new memory.
The Prof looked around him; and saw the hospital that he had helped at. He saw himself, much younger, and sitting in a wheelchair. He looked around at the white walls; then at the Christmas tree that his younger self was sitting before; hanging colored glass bulbs.
"Charles" a woman's voice called out. The soft Scottish accent made his heart swell; but also made the small tears that rested in the corners of his eyes trail down his cheeks. "Charles, are you there?"
"Yes Myra. I'm here." His younger self called out. A young woman with reddish brown hair came into the room, and rested both hands on his younger self's shoulders.
"Oh Charles, the tree looks beautiful. The children will love it when they wake up tomorrow." His younger self smiled back at her.
"Yes. This truly is the season for everything wonderful to happen."
The scene played on for the Prof; but he paid no attention to it. He walked closer to the tree, and stared into the metallic orbs that hung before his eyes. Lights sparkled off a silver one.
Charles looked at it and watched as the reflection in it seemed to change. There before him played scenes from other Christmases, long past.
There he was; alone again eating a solitary meal in the mansion; now looking a little older and still in the wheelchair. He remembered how lonely he was; and how that Christmas had spurred him to start not only the X-Men, but his school as well so no mutant would have to be alone at Christmas.
Then the images swirled a little and changed into Scott's first Christmas in the mansion. Charles had to beam at the memory of Scott as a very young man when he had first seen the gigantic tree and the presents underneath it. His heart warmed at the thought of the orphaned boy who finally felt the love and joy that made up Christmas.
The image swirled a little again and he saw all of the X-Men there; before they had partnered up. It was nice to see all of them; looking young. It was before the older girls had moved out. They came back daily; but it still wasn't quite the same anymore. But here before his eyes; they all sat down and talked and laughed as they ate.
It swirled again; but this time it was back to being just a silver orb. A warm, happy feeling had spread through Charles's body; and he found himself smiling.
The spirit's heavy hand rested on Charles's shoulder again, as it spoke. "Come, we have one more Christmas to visit." The world disappeared around him as with a brilliant flash of light, Charles and the Ghost of Christmas Past dissolved into another scene.
The Prof looked around. He recognized the place as his mansion; fully decorated for the season. Little white lights twinkled on the pine branches that decorated the banisters. It looked very similar to the sights that he had just seen that night before going to bed.
"Spirit, why did you bring me here; to tonight."
"It's not tonight Charles; but another night that you seem to be thinking too much of lately." The Ghost who looked like Logan replied. It started to walk down the hallway; from the top of the stairs where they were. Charles followed; realizing that it was a strange feeling to stand and walk where he had in the past only wheeled. Charles sensed another strange feeling; and though the corridor was warm; it made him shiver a little. He heard the gentle sounds of someone breathing heavily; as though they had been crying.
The door to his own room was open, and the Ghost walked into it.
Charles didn't have to, to remember the scene.
"Spirit, don't show me this; please."
But it was too late.
There he was; one year ago, lying next to Kurt on the bed.
Kurt was the one breathing heavily; his blue face wet from crying. There he was, gently rubbing his lover's back; not knowing what to say to comfort the man who had been carrying his child; just to miscarry earlier that day.
Charles remembered that he could not cry that day; but the image of them, both hurting so much made him want to break down right now. He watched; remembering even as he saw it.
Kurt rolled over a little, so he was facing the Charles of one year ago.
"It iz alright. Ze Lord blessed us vith a child; but ve are not ready. He vill give us one again vhen ve are." Nightcrawler's eyes held so much hope. Even then, when he was hurting so badly, he still had faith that everything would work out alright.
"I wish that I had as much faith as you do. But right now I can't."
"Give it time; and you vill."
Charles heard the words; and it was too much. He buried his head in his hands and wept bitterly; crying for when he couldn't, crying for when he wouldn't, crying for the faith that he could not have.

Charles leaned back, and found himself leaning against wood. Underneath him was soft … His own bed. It was dark, and slightly cold. He was back in the present. Not questioning, not looking at the clock, Charles lay down, resting his head on the pillows; and cried himself to sleep.
The cold air enveloped him; and Charles slept almost soundly; until the grandfather clock downstairs started to strike.
Bong.
Bong.
As it tolled two, Charles's eyes popped open. He looked around him. Nothing. Sighing with relief that he had just had a miserable dream, he closed his eyes again. But the soft sound of bells touched his ears; a voice with them.
"Wake up, and know me betder."