Prompts: "Hey! The spy au sounds super rad! Consider this a formal request. Also ur cool and ily" / "Please do the James Bond au if you would like to, I adore spy au's and your writing"

Leaning against the concrete wall with his arms folded over his chest, Charles kept his eyes pinned to his target as the rugged man slipped out of the store, glanced around, and began to walk down the street. Charles stood up and touched his back where his gun, his favorite Walther PPK, was tucked into his pants. Then he slipped his sunglasses onto his nose and took off, walking a comfortable block behind his target, his eyes never straying from the back of the man named Erik Lehnsherr.

Erik had a small package tucked under his right arm, and the fingers of his left twitched as he walked more quickly, his eyes darting left and right. Charles picked up his pace, almost regretting wearing his tuxedo because it stood out so much on the city streets – before remembering that there was never a good excuse not to wear a tux. He weaved through the crowd, picking up his pace.

And then, all at once, Erik froze, his eyes locking on to Charles'. A moment passed. Then he took off, his bare feet slapping against the ground as he darted through the people cramming the sidewalks. Charles grabbed his gun and bolted after him, flicking off the safety as he ran and cursing as he shoved people left and right.

"Get out of the way!" he shouted, elbowing a short woman to the ground as he ducked around a corner after Erik.

He veered around the edge of the building and hesitated, his eyes scanning the packed crowd for any hint of the man. His fingers were turning white around the gun, but his heart maintained its steady pace as he searched with calculated precision. Erik was nowhere in sight. "Well fuck."

He turned around to get to his motorcycle, only to come face to face with his target, who lifted the package and brought it down hard on Charles' head – so hard that he staggered. "Fuck!" By the time he could see straight again, Erik was whipping around another corner. Charles took after him, firing three shots in to the air so the civilians would scram.

He turned another corner and watched as Erik backed into a brick wall. A dead end.

"Give me the package," Charles said calmly.

"No," Erik gasped, his hands tightening around the small box.

"Do it, or I'll shoot."

"I don't believe you."

Charles raised the gun, aiming it at the man's head. "That's your mistake."

Erik raised his chin and met Charles' eyes, slowing his breath. "Fine."

Charles almost hesitated. Almost. Something about this man was different – unlike all his other targets. Yes, he was carrying information that couldn't be seen by anyone. Yes, he was on the list, marked for death. But there was something else. Something he couldn't place his finger on – but his instincts told him he couldn't kill this man. Not yet.

Charles cursed once more under his breath, inched his hand down, and pulled the trigger.

Erik's shouts of pain reverberated off the brick walls as the package fell from his bleeding arm. Charles strode over to it, picked it up, and used the sleeve of his tuxedo to wipe off the dirt and blood.

He leaned down, so close that he could feel Erik's ragged breaths on his cheek. "You're lucky," he breathed in Erik's ear, standing up and turning on his heel, the package stowed in his pocket.

"Wait," Erik choked.

Charles turned around and looked down at the kneeling man, raising his sunglasses so he could look him in the eye.

Erik spit out a mouthful of blood and raised his face defiantly. "Who are you?"

Charles' mouth twitched. "Xavier. Charles Xavier."