The thoughts were an onslaught now, without Charles even having to try. Moments in a place he couldn't remember. That island, Erik had spoken of. Fragments of conversations they'd had-- or Erik and this other version of Charles Xavier, unburdened by the years they'd spent apart, hating one another. A Charles who still had full use of his legs, without the use of Hank's wonderful, awful serum.

And with the thoughts came a surge of emotion. Erik's mind, the bright burn of it, of regret and frustration and need. There were other thoughts, too. Voices. Patrons from the bar. But above all, there was Erik.

Bloody hell.

"Erik. You might want to be more careful, at the moment," he warned, his fingertip briefly touching his temple. "I'm having a bit of trouble controlling it."