[*AN: I actually did write this at 1:15 a.m.! Score one for me!]
Charles
The large grandfather clock in the foyer chimed loudly throughout the silent corridors of the Xavier mansion. No one with any sense would be awake at this hour, but someone was. As the clock chimed two more times, Charles Xavier sat half asleep in his study amidst the piles of books and papers that cluttered his desk. He knew that it was late, but for some reason, sleep only brought on thoughts of what had happened a little over three weeks ago. The clock chimed again, causing Charles to waken from his brief reverie. Groaning, the telepath ran a hand through his disheveled hair that covered his face. It was one in the morning.
Looking back to his work, Charles pulled out a book from the bottom of the pile closet to him. Within seconds, the stack crashed to the floor, scattering more papers along the antique rug.
"Damn," Charles muttered as he pushed back his chair and knelt down to clean up the mess. He managed to gather several books before ceasing all movement as if something had paralyzed him. There on the floor, a small pile of photographs lay facing up at him. Black and white images of weeks long gone by bore into Charles's cerulean eyes reminding him of all that had passed. There were pictures of Raven and Hank, Alex putting Sean in a headlock, himself lounging about his study on the couch, and Erik…
There were several pictures of Erik: by himself brooding in a corner, Erik and Raven, Erik and the boys training, Erik and Charles… Charles almost had to turn away from the picture, but something inside of him wouldn't allow it. What had happened three weeks prior in Cuba changed the way that he thought about things—and by thing he meant Erik. Instead of collecting the rest of the fallen papers and returning to work, Charles gathered the pictures and splayed them out on the floor before him. Memories filled his mind as his gazed shifted between images. Everyone had been so happy then. Smiling faces silently mocked him, as he got up to pour himself a drink.
As he continued to search the photos for any sign of hope to return to how things used to be, his mind began to wander causing him to think about Erik. With every sip that he took, the burning sensation of the liquor reminded him of how hurt he really was by what Erik had done. He did not hate the metal-bender—of course he wasn't particularly saying "Bon voyage" either as he left with Raven—but they were friends, and he was hurting.
Charles drained his glass of its contents and sighed deeply. Each picture stung to look at, but the telepath could not pull away. Eventually he had to, as there was still work to be done. He collected the pictures, and rose from the floor. He set his glass on the coffee table, headed towards the bookcase and found a place where he could tuck the photos away for the time being. As he turned away from the shelf, he couldn't help but wonder if Erik thought about him at all. For some unknown reason, Charles felt the need to reach out to him through his mind, but he stopped himself knowing that the metal-bender would be wearing that stupid helmet he had taken from Shaw.
Slowly, he returned to his desk and began to work again just as the clock chimed the quarter after the hour.
