A.N. Hey, guys! Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews. It heartens me to know that people are reading and enjoying my stories. So, I'm going to make an attempt at my own multi-chapter fic (And no, I don't count my two-shot as a multi-chapter fic.) for everyone who doesn't actually read the A.N.s THIS PART IS IMPORTANT! This is set at the beginning of X2, but it's the same universe as First Class. The mansion has not been attacked. Magneto was in prison, but Raven broke him out (as she did in the movie), and got captured. The title is from 'High Noon', an old black-and-white movie. I don't know if this will turn into a Cherik story—I'll write it as the story unfolds. So read, enjoy, and send me any opinions you might have. Thanks!
The night was still and silent, with an underlying current of heat and energy that spoke of the coming summer. For once, the mansion was quiet, the children asleep in their beds—or for the insomniacs, reading quietly in the library. Charles wheeled himself onto the balcony, a small glass of brandy in his hand. He rarely allowed himself to indulge in alcohol these days, but tonight he felt like he had earned it. The day had been a good one. The classes were going well. Rogue had settled into the school easily with the help of Bobby, although she would often clutch at the dog tags in her hand and stare out the driveway, waiting for Logan. Kitty, the girl who was able to walk through walls had made a breakthrough in her training, learning to walk through water without so much as rippling it. Yes, all seemed good, and yet…
Charles stared out into the well-tended grounds of the mansion that he and dozens of other mutants called home. This had been his dream for so long. His… and Erik's. As usual, the thought of Erik filled Charles with a strange melancholy. Erik had been as close as any brother for a time. They had shared thoughts, dreams and ambitions over an endless series of chess games. They had dreamed of this school together, imagining it as the one place where mutant children would always be safe. They had shared their stories of the day's adventures with each other, sharing their joys and grievances. Now Charles shared those moments with himself. Granted, he could have hunted down Scott or Ororo—both would have been pleased to share their stories of the day with him. But it could never be the same. It was irrational, but Charles feared that sharing the day's adventures in such a manner would somehow taint the few peaceful memories that he had of his time with Erik. Before Shaw, before the Cuban Missile Crisis, before the bullet that had been meant for Erik's head had pierced his spine.
Charles sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the warm breezes… and then snapped to attention as a border alarm rang from the security system. Charles rolled over to the computer monitor. He half expected for the warning to be a false alarm, but the sight of the figure that was stumbling up the driveway instantly killed that suspicion. Charles wheeled himself as fast as he could to the elevator, his heart lodged in his throat. Fear, hope, worry, love… a multitude of emotions were swirling through his mind like a modern art piece—all form and shape and colour, that made less and less sense the longer you stared at it. Charles could hear groaning from some of the bedrooms that he passed on his way to the door, but only Scott actually left his room to find the cause of the commotion. He was wearing a pair of green pajama pant, and he had already swapped his glasses for a visor. "I swear, if this is Logan returning from chasing his past…" Scott let the threat hang. Part of Charles wanted to laugh at the meaningless rivalry that had cropped up between the pair, but the rest of him was already too wound up. All he could do was motion Scott forward, and open the main doors to the house.
A blast of hot air blew in from the yard, coupled with the scent of a hundred types of flower, all growing in the same area. The trees that still remained after countless outdoor gym classes in a school of mutants stood over the concrete drive like retired soldiers—worn, battered and scarred, but still strong. A figure was standing in the shade of one of the trees. He wore a pair of patent leather shoes, a pair of black pants and a white dress shirt. A black trench coat hung artfully around his thin body. A trebly cap was pulled down low over silver locks, and yet, it was impossible to mistake the figure for anyone but Erik Lehnsherr—Magneto. He was trembling violently, despite the warm spring air, and Charles knew that he was on his last leg. Some part of his mind registered Scott's gasp of shock, then his cautious movements forward, as if he feared to touch the man who had caused him so much pain. But the rest of Charles wondered what on earth had drawn Erik here, of all places. Why return in this state to the headquarters of his enemies? Erik looked up, his face tight with pain, fear and exhaustion. "Charles," he gasped. Part of Charles wanted to cover his ears, instinctively knowing that the news that Erik had come to share would be bad. And yet he listened. "Charles, they have Mystique. She got me out of prison, but they caught her!" Charles felt his heart wrench. Raven… The prone form of Magneto shuddered once, and then collapsed. Scott caught him instinctively, then almost seemed to puzzle over the fact that he was holding the still form of his arch-nemesis. And in less than 5 minutes, Charles found himself with a dilemma… and his peaceful night had been ruined.