Author's Note: By posting this note I am probably digging myself a hole, but...you know what? I don't really care! Please, please review my story, folks? Not just favorite story or story alert...take the time and drop me a little note of encouragement. This is going to be a fairly short story...only one or two more chapters, and I would love to know what you think about it since it's my first time writing in the First Class-verse, although I am no stranger to X-Men.

Central Park, New York City…a few hours later…

Erik wasn't sure why he had retreated here after leaving the mansion. It was so…pedestrian, and yet he felt oddly drawn here. All around him people were walking their dogs, jogging along the paths, or enjoying various other summer-time pursuits like throwing Frisbees or flying kites in the cleared areas. No one paid him any attention at all, which meant he could examine the package from Charles in peace.

Commandeering a bench on an out of the way path that overlooked the lake, he studied the box. It was about a shoulder-width long and half that wide, and half a hand's length deep. Through the paper he thought he could feel hinges, which told him that it was designed to open, and – knowing Charles' love of beautiful and ornate things – the box inside the paper was probably carved wood – polished and expensive.

He set the box aside, however, because he was more interested in the letter. It was thick and bore Charles' perfect handwriting on the outside. Interestingly, it was labeled "Erik" not "Magneto", and he was forced to wonder if Beast would have given it to him if he still had his powers. Of course, if he still had his powers, he probably wouldn't have even been permitted within one hundred yards of the mansion, let alone allowed to sit by Charles' memorial or permitted inside his office.

He carefully extracted the envelope and held it, weighing it in his hand. The envelope was actually yellowed with age. In the interior light of the mansion it hadn't been noticeable, and he'd been too shocked by the fact that Charles had left him anything to care.

But ultimately, he was curious to know what message Charles had left him. What had needed to be said between them had been said that day on the beach, at the Senate building when the Registration Act was proposed, and all the times that Charles had come to visit Erik in his plastic prison. He couldn't imagine what more needed to be said, that Charles apparently had felt the need to write down long enough ago for the envelope to turn yellow. With a heavy sigh he slipped his finger beneath the flap and opened it, extracting the thick sheaf of paper inside.

He unfolded the letter, seeing the neat, proper handwriting of his oldest friend filling each page. He leaned back against the bench and started to read, one hand falling to rest on the paper-wrapped box.

March 26, 1963

Dear Erik,

It has only been a few months since last I saw you, yet I feel compelled to write this letter explaining a few things to you. I know that our ideals are different and that we will probably never reconcile. You made your position quite clear, and I cannot sway from my beliefs just for the sake of our friendship.

I find it sad that we must disagree on this issue, and no doubt it will lead to many years of conflict between the two of us, with each of us battling to prove that we are right. We are all one people, you are right about that, but it is for that reason that we should stand together and introduce ourselves as friends, not enemies. That was the whole purpose of trying to stop Shaw, to show that we are willing to stand up to protect human lives, that not all mutants have Shaw's twisted evil inside. Instead, we are destined to continually fight until one or the other is proven right. Why must it be this way?

If things go the way I sense they will, you will probably not receive this letter until after I am dead. It seems odd to already be thinking about my own death, but recent events have forced me to really look at how quickly things can change. I do not know if you are aware of my changed circumstances or not, but I have no doubt that if you do not know already, you will soon.

We have not known each other very long, and I know you were uncomfortable with how much I know about your past when I never reciprocated and shared mine. Some part of me hopes that this will help you understand me better, and to understand why I have held to my beliefs all this time, despite what happened that day.

Erik paused and considered the letter, knowing that by writing this, his friend had found a way to speak to him from beyond the grave. His eyes flickered back up to the date on the letter. March 1963…Charles would have been paralyzed for five months at the time he wrote this letter. He thought back, trying to remember when he had learned that the bullet had left Charles a cripple. If he remembered correctly, it had been three or four months before he had learned the truth…but that didn't really matter now. The question was, did he want to know, or was he content to know what he already knew and no more?

Some part of him felt that he owed this to Charles after everything he had done to hurt him – an atonement of sorts. The rest of him didn't want to read about Charles' spoiled, idealistic background. He had learned everything he needed to know about his friend when he had seen Charles' family estate for the first time after the attack on the CIA base. Charles had never suffered a hardship like the camps, and he'd had Raven with him.

Sighing, he returned his attention to the letter.

Please, understand my friend…I am baring my soul to you. Writing this letter is probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Much of what I wish to tell you I have told no one. Raven knows, but she was there for it. She knows about it, but I never told her the full extent of what actually happened. She had already been through so much, and I had promised her safety…safety I could not provide if I told her everything.

"It was a hardship softened by me," Raven's words drifted back into his mind. At the time, he hadn't thought anything of it, but now, looking at Charles' letter and thinking back on it, he wondered if there hadn't been a deeper meaning to her words than he had considered at the time.

I know I am not in a position to demand anything of you…yet I would ask that you withhold any judgments until you finish reading this. Then…if you still cannot understand why my beliefs are what they are, I will simply have to accept that fact and continue to hope that someday you will understand.

Erik frowned at that plea. There was no way Charles could have known when or if he would ever read this letter, or if something else would bring them back together – so why had he felt compelled to write it? Why was it so important to his friend that he understand it and not pass judgment? But Charles had written the letter, and the least that he could do was honor his friend's request.

You once called me an idealistic, naïve fool who so wanted to see the good in everyone that I had blinded myself to the evils of the world. At the time, I merely smiled at you and allowed you to believe that, although deep inside it was so much different. My heart clenched with long-buried pain as you disregarded everything that I was and everything that I had experienced in my life. To be fair, I hadn't shared anything with you, but you were so wrapped up in your own rage, hate, and pain that you didn't even consider what I might have gone through as well. You saw the façade that I wanted you – everyone – to see.

No, my friend, you had no idea, because I did not want you to know. I knew the evils of the world long before I met you. Did you forget that I am a telepath? My powers manifested when I was quite young, and I had to teach myself the control that you and the boys envy whenever you look at me. But until I did learn that control, I felt the pain of all the minds around me, absorbed it, and was deeply changed by it.

When my father died, it hurt. But I didn't take it too much to heart, even at the age of nine, because even then I knew that I still had my mother, and that she loved me. But my pain truly started when my mother remarried a year later and we welcomed my stepfather and stepbrother into our home – yes, the very same mansion that you saw and which you immediately assumed meant that I had lived a sheltered, pampered life. I heard your thoughts then, my friend, and they were quite clear – and no, I didn't read your mind. You broadcasted them to me, and I couldn't help but overhear.

Raven came into my life and it was easy for us to love each other as brother and sister because we both felt like we only had each other. My mother died a few short years after marrying my stepfather and for years afterward I endured abuse at the hands of my stepfather and stepbrother. My stepfather was an angry, violent man who was furious that he had not been able to con my mother into giving him my inheritance, and my stepbrother was a jealous, lazy bully who delighted on picking on me just because I was younger and smaller. When I began to have success academically, it only made things worse between my stepbrother and me. I endured abuse from both of them because of who I was, and I took additional abuse in an effort to protect Raven from their cruelty.

I learned pain and I learned the hurt that can be caused by anger, greed, jealousy, and hatred. Those were my personal pains, but from the minds of others I felt and learned the pain carried along with the hardships of starvation, sickness, poverty, and death. Just going to school every day and being with my classmates taught me about pain, for they all had their own pains that I could not help but feel until I learned control of my power and learned to shut it out. Even your memories hurt me, though I buried it deeply and never let you see how much it affected me. I knew your pain, and I was trying to save you from that pain from the very moment that we met. I think, even then, some part of me knew that I couldn't save you unless you were willing to save yourself, but it didn't stop me from trying.

But I forgave your ignorance the night you called me an idealistic fool, Erik. And I was thankful that you were not a telepath and would never know my pain, for yours was dark enough for both of us.

Erik let the letter fall in shock. How did I never know any of this? he wondered. How had Charles been able to keep all of this from him? And why? In a vague, impossible effort to save him? Why had he never put the pieces together, that Charles, as a telepath, would feel the pain of the people around him as if it was his own? And if his powers came on him as a young child...and he didn't know how to control them…surely the pain would have been magnified as his young mind struggled to cope, to understand things that he was too young to comprehend.

It was a miracle that Charles hadn't gone mad from what he had gone through – that he had been able to find any spot of decency and goodness in anyone.

He picked up the letter and skimmed it again, rereading the part about how Charles had been abused by his stepfamily. What kind of abuse did he suffer? Erik wondered. Did they beat him, starve him, or torture him? Or was it worse than that? There was no indication in the letter that Erik could see. Perhaps, if he could find her and she was willing to talk to him, Raven could shed some light on the subject, even though Charles had written that he had done his best to protect her from the full truth. But perhaps there were things that she knew that, as a child, she had never fully understood or connected the dots to put together the full picture.

I forgave you for your ignorance…Erik couldn't help but feel…relieved at those words. It was such a minor thing in the grand scheme, yet knowing that Charles had not held it against him all these years did help. After all, even some forgiveness was better than none, even if it was for an offense that he hadn't even been aware that he had committed against his friend. He remembered the conversation that the two of them had had, the night before Cuba as they sat up late into the night playing chess. It had been that night when Charles had tried to convince him that killing Shaw wouldn't bring him any peace, and Erik had frankly admitted that he wasn't looking to find peace.

He had called Charles idealistic, naïve and arrogant, among other things. He had firmly believed that Charles couldn't possibly understand the pain of seeing his mother shot in front of him by a sadistic madman, that he was foolish enough to believe that the humans would welcome them with open arms and treat them as heroes for stopping Shaw's insane plan to kill them all. But Charles had no doubt sensed all of that, even if he hadn't actively read his mind, and had apparently been deeply hurt by it, enough that he felt it necessary to specifically make sure that he understood that he didn't hold Erik to blame.

He put the letter down again and rubbed his eyes. He'd barely read any of it, and already he was exhausted. Charles' emotions at the time he was writing this letter were still quite clear, even forty years later. It was in the word choice, in the formal yet honest way that Charles wrote, in the neat, precise penmanship. For a moment, he didn't know if he could continue to read the letter any more. He was tempted to just set it aside and come back to it another time…but it wouldn't change the fact that there was apparently more that Charles had wanted him to know, and putting it off longer would be wrong and it wouldn't be fair to Charles, who had taken the time all those years ago to write all of this down, never knowing if he would ever get to read it or not.

No…he owed his friend enough to finish what he had begun. Letting out a slow, deep breath in an effort to try to calm his thoughts and curtail his emotions, he found the place he'd left off.

I may have always sought the good in others, but that doesn't mean that pain, anger, and betrayal do not touch me – that I cannot feel them for myself as well as from others. But of all the anguish I have felt in my life, it was losing you that finally broke me; that truly wounded my soul and made me question my beliefs.

I was alone for so long until Raven came into my life. My mother loved me, but she was often busy and didn't have time for me. I was left to practically raise myself and find ways to keep myself entertained. Raven filled some of the void that had been there since my father's death. Even though my mother loved me, there was still a void there, until Raven came. I could love her and care for her, and know that she loved and cared for me as well. But ultimately, I had to be the strong one for her. It was for that reason that I ran interference between her and my stepfather and stepbrother. My powers were strong enough to convince them that she had always been present in the family, but that didn't mean they were willing to leave her out of their plans and anger. I had to be strong and protect her, because that was what I pledged I would do. Very rarely did I get the chance to be weak and let someone else protect me.

Until I met you.

With you, I found strength, and I found solace. Though you had that horrible darkness inside you, I trusted that you would never hurt me. I pretended to be strong and unflappable, flaunting my control over my powers in an effort to convince you and the others that they could learn it too. But in truth, I needed you just as much as you needed me. You were older, taller, stronger, and more physically imposing. In many ways you reminded me of my stepbrother, but unlike Cain, there was a goodness to you that I had never felt in him – and I knew that I could allow myself to love you, to see you as the brother I never had. I could trust you to protect me and keep me safe, while I tried to find a way to heal you and bring you some peace. Your strength made me stronger. Shaw was never able to break you completely, and after seeing your memories, it gave me the strength to face my own, to admit to myself what I had gone through, and to become confident that I could put those memories aside and gain strength from the fact that I had survived.

I know you often wondered, in that week before Cuba, what I was doing to train my powers. I heard the thought in your mind and saw it in your eyes as you watched me work with Hank, Alex, and Sean, but you never commented on it. As a telepath, the training I put myself under was as rigorous as anything I did for everyone else. The worst enemy that a telepath can have is our own mind – my power and my control comes from accepting every aspect of my life, including the painful parts. Until I met you and saw the darkness inside you, I had buried the memories of what I suffered at the hands of my stepfamily. I didn't want to remember it, because it brought me nothing but pain – and emotional pain can cripple a telepath.

But in order to help you face your darkness, I had to face my own, else I would have been nothing but a bloody hypocrite. So with every moment of every day, I forced myself to not only relive those memories, but to work past them, to use my powers or to maintain a conversation with Alex, Hank, Sean, or you without giving any sign that I was doing so. Didn't you ever wonder where I came up with the idea of true focus that I shared with you? It was drawn from my own experiences. I could either allow the pain and anger at my stepbrother and stepfather to forever cloud my judgment of the human race, as you have done, or I could embrace what they did to me, use that power to make myself stronger because I could work my way past the pain and not allow it to influence me as anything other than a distant memory. I could draw instead on the happy moments with my father that I remember, or the times I spent with Raven.

So for that, my friend, I thank you. You made me stronger, and you gave me the courage to make myself stronger.

Yet it was you who broke me.

The blame in those words stabbed through him. He had never known that Charles had felt that way about him before – he had known they were friends…the weeks of travelling together, seeking out other young mutants to join them had cemented their friendship. But he had never even suspected that Charles had looked at him as a brother, as his protector. The young telepath had always seemed so strong and confident. After all, he had been thirty years old and already held a doctorate in genetics from Oxford no less. He had been a powerful telepath with nearly complete control over his powers.

But, apparently, he had also been an abused young man, a protector who had never been protected himself. And yet he had never given even a hint of it. The façade that he had created had been flawless, and it had fooled Erik completely. His eyes went back to that one line.

Yet it was you who broke me.

There was no way to hide the accusation, although the words were written to be straight-forward, honest, and blunt, just like Charles. In the short time that he had known the telepath before Cuba, Charles had always struck him as being proud and unafraid to speak his mind – a talent that Erik had wondered if it could possibly be linked to his incredibly powerful mind. He had never had any idea that Charles had seen him like that.

That day on the beach, I stood there and held onto Shaw with all my strength and power. I knew you sought to kill him, but I had hoped that I could change your mind – right up until that moment when you claimed that damned helmet for your own. The silence in the mind that I had drawn my strength from cut through my heart the same way your coin cut through Shaw's skull.

A pain which I also felt.

Erik blinked as he read. Charles had…it wasn't possible. Surely physical pain couldn't translate telepathically in that fashion…could it?

You are not a telepath, my friend, so you do not know the agony I suffered in those moments as you killed Shaw. As I struggled to hold Shaw, to control him…for those short minutes I had to become Shaw. It was the only way I could contain his power. The coin went through my head, carving a path through my brain. Shaw's pain and death were mine. I died a little bit in those moments that felt like eternity. Even now, if I choose to, I can remember it, and in the dead of night it still haunts my dreams. I suspect that it always will. Perhaps, if we ever reconcile before you get an opportunity to read this letter, I will have the courage to tell you what you did to me that day…

Involuntarily, Erik's hand fisted, crumpling the letter inside it as he fought the urge to scream. How could this possibly be true? How could he never have realized that by asking Charles to hold Shaw, to prevent him from using his powers, he was asking Charles to literally live through Shaw's death? He knew from the short time he had been around Emma Frost that pain could be felt by a telepath because there was such a close connection between a person's mind and their emotions. But he had never imagined that physical pain could be shared as well. After all, he had seen Emma kill someone once with her powers, not to mention the numerous times that she had used them to torture people for information so that Mystique could pull off a believable impersonation. Had Emma felt it too? Or had she become so inured to the pain that she had sealed part of her very existence away? Was that why she had been so cold, so emotionless? Had she taken a step that Charles had never been able to?

Why didn't you tell me, Charles? Why didn't you tell me that would happen? I never would have put you through that if I'd known. "Why, Charles? Why didn't you trust me enough?" Or perhaps that had been the very reason that Charles hadn't mentioned it – because he had trusted Erik too much. He had trusted Erik to make the right decision, to be logical and calm enough to listen to reason, to allow Charles to explain what needed to happen…until he had realized what Shaw's helmet could do and he had taken it for his own and prevented his friend from communicating with him.

In a sudden flurry of rage, he threw the crumpled letter on the ground at his feet and stood. Instinctively, he reached for his power, searching for anything metallic that he could take command of and mutilate and mangle. He suddenly wanted to kill Shaw a thousand times more, even though the man had been dead for forty years. He wanted to scream, to rage at something – but he was still a wanted man and he could not risk someone calling the police on him and taking him into custody.

But no metal leapt to his command…his powers were gone and he was so much less than he had been.

Feeling the weight of the world and his age combined, Erik sank back down onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know whether he should cry or scream – everything in his life had been a failure. He'd lost his mother and father, he'd suffered unbelievable torture at Shaw's hands, he'd seen his people – both the Jews and mutants – persecuted at the hands of bigots just for being different, and now he'd lost his powers and his only chance to get his people the respect that they deserved.

But for some reason, none of that mattered to him…except for the most important loss of all – his dearest and only friend. And he had done more to hurt Charles Xavier in the forty years they had known each other than anything that Shaw or the Nazis could have done to him in the same amount of time.

Hot tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to choke him as he struggled to repress the emotion of reading his friend's words. If Charles had sought to punish him for all the pain and hurt that he had been put through at his hands, the telepath could not have devised a more suitable way of doing so. Physical pain meant nothing to him. His tolerance for physical pain was higher than most because of what Shaw had done. Mentally, he feared nothing because of the helmet he had taken from Shaw – no one could touch his mind while he wore it and thus he had never needed to worry about anything except what his own memories conjured for him in the darkest parts of the night. But emotionally…he wasn't prepared to deal with the pain he was feeling at that very moment as Charles' words ripped into his heart and woke emotions that he thought he had buried forever.

How long he sat there, he didn't know. The whole time, he choked, trying desperately to reach the place of serenity that he had found long ago.

"I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity...There's so much more to you than you know. Not just pain and anger. There's good too, I felt it. When you can access all that, you'll possess a power that no one can match. Not even me."

Again, Charles' words came back to him, choking him again as he realized that the technique he had been using all these years to focus his powers and give him strength had come from Charles. How could he have forgotten that? The stab of pain went through him again – Charles had given him everything, and what had he done? He had spit in his best friend's face and counted him as worthless…and why? Because they didn't have the same viewpoint?

"Sir?"

He jerked up, startled at the sound and quickly dashed his hand against his eyes to remove any lingering trace of the tears that were threatening to steal his breath. A young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen was standing a few feet away from him, with a hesitantly concerned look on her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked once she realized that she had his attention.

"Y-" his voice broke when he tried to answer and he quickly cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm fine."

She watched him for a moment before she extended the crumpled up letter that he had thrown to the ground. "I saw the wind catch this and I didn't think you noticed."

He was shocked that someone would have cared enough to retrieve his friend's letter for him, and he reached out and took it from her extended hand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She hesitated and then left him alone, holding Charles' letter. For a moment it had looked like she wanted to say something further, but then thought better of it and decided to just carry on with her day.

Erik watched her go for a moment, before he turned his attention back to the crumpled up letter. There was still a great deal of it that he hadn't read – but he didn't know if he could take any more. He wasn't even sure that he understood Charles' intention in writing this letter any more.

But…

Charles had written this for a reason, and apparently he had never even confided in Beast, Havok, or Banshee about it, since Beast had mentioned that he had no idea what was in the box or the letter. And if Charles had intended that this letter would never be read until he was dead…

Carefully, he smoothed the creases out of the letter and laid it down in his lap, trying to decide if he could bear to continue reading. It would be so easy to simply take the letter and put it away in a drawer, somewhere he'd never have to look at it again. He could also throw it away, but some part of him rebelled at that thought, since it felt like he was once again spitting in Charles' face by being so heartless. Even though Charles was dead and would never know, he couldn't bear to be that cruel and cold regarding his friend.

I owe this to Charles. It's the least I can do, considering what I've done to him over the years. He wrote this for me for a reason – he wanted me to know this. I should at least honor his wishes and finish it.

His hands actually trembled a little as he picked the letter back up. Now that it was creased it was a little more difficult to read, but Charles had apparently had the foresight to use a sturdy-weight paper and a thick, dark ink, which made it easier than it would have been with modern paper and ink.

It was a hard decision to make, but at least it couldn't be much worse. After all, if it had been written in 1963, there wouldn't be any accusations about Alkali Lake, or Liberty Island buried in his friend's careful writing.

Actually, if I am honest with myself, I am too much of a coward to tell you to your face what you did to me that day. Even if we reconcile, I will never have the courage to tell you how much you hurt me. That sounds impossible, I am sure, but some part of me is still the small boy who was so abused by his stepfamily that he cannot bear to do anything to cause pain to someone else, lest he feel their pain as well as his own.

No…the only way you shall ever know this is if I am gone before you, my friend. That is the way it must be.

I felt Shaw's pain on the beach, and just as I told you, killing him did not bring you any peace. I could sense that much in your mind. Your vengeance was fulfilled, yet part of you was still empty – as I knew it would be. But still, I had taken and endured that agony, because I cared about you, and I was willing to do whatever was necessary to help you.

I lost much of my naïveté and idealism in those moments when I held Shaw. Until that point, I thought I knew what pain and agony were, but I had never known just how evil and twisted someone could become. Shaw was incredibly strong and his mind was so twisted and dark that it surpassed the darkest evil I had known up to that moment, in the mind of my stepbrother. But I lost even more when I realized that you were right about the humans' fear of us.

Is it surprising that I can admit that? I know you may think so, but I never denied that there might be some fear and resentment. What I hold so dear to my heart is the possibility that with kindness, maturity, and control of our abilities, we can be friends with those who are not mutants – that we can win acceptance from them with time and patience. But to convince you of that is not the true purpose of this letter.

The worst part of that day was not the coin, or feeling Shaw die inside my mind. What was worse was when we stood on that beach together, with you holding those missiles up. You would not listen to my pleas, and I could not touch your mind because of the helmet. The only option left to me was to fight you in order to save the lives of the men on those ships. I knew that they might be frightened of what we could do, but that only reinforced my conviction that we needed to present ourselves peacefully, to overcome that fear by showing that we could control ourselves and our powerful abilities.

So I fought you for their lives, because you left me no other choice. I had considered you my brother – and yet we clashed. For what reason? For the lives of strangers, I fought with the man who was the closest thing I had ever had to a real brother. Do I regret it? No, I don't...and yet I do regret it, because it set the two of us at odds and showed me that the only option we would truly have from that moment forward would be to go our own separate ways.

I fought you and I won, because I did succeed in saving the lives of those men…

…but I also lost.

I lost when that bullet slammed into my back. I lost when Raven decided to follow you, leaving me, her brother, wounded and bleeding on the beach.

But most of all, I lost my brother, and I felt the sting of betrayal. Even as I lay there, wounded, you still didn't trust me enough to remove Shaw's helmet and allow me to draw some comfort from touching your mind so that I didn't feel alone.

My friend, I do want you to understand something very important, however. Despite all the pain that you caused me that day, despite the fact that we went our separate ways, despite the fact that I felt like I was betraying you for fighting against you...I still forgave you.

I forgave you for the betrayal, I forgave you for the coin, Raven, and the bullet – but on the beach that day I could not forgive you for the helmet. For everything else, I forgave you, even though I wished with all my soul that you were telepathic too, so that you could know what you did to me that day. It may be cruel of me to say that, but at the time, all I wanted was for you to know what it was that you had done to me.

But I did forgive you, and I have never held it against you.

Erik couldn't go on reading. Every word on the page wrenched at his heart, choked the breath in his throat, and caused tears to well up in his eyes. In that moment, he hated Charles for doing this, for putting these emotions on paper and then leaving them behind to be read only after he was dead. Now Erik had no way to talk to Charles, no way to vent his frustration with his friend. He had been better off before he had read this letter. He had been better off when he had believed that Charles had lived an indulged lifestyle of wealth and privilege.

"Damn you, Charles," he whispered. "Damn you for your idealism, your kindness, and your optimism." It felt wrong to be cursing the dead like this, but he couldn't bring himself to truly care at the moment. Any cares he'd had about religion or the afterlife had been brutally shattered as he watched his people dying in the concentration camps all those years ago.

He started to crumple the letter up again, but stopped himself in time and instead simply folded the letter and stuffed it back inside the envelope. He felt completely drained and exhausted, even more so than when he had experimented with his device to turn humans into mutants on Senator Kelly.

His gaze fell on the paper-wrapped box next to him…but he could care less about it at the moment, he decided. Tucking the envelope back under the string that was wrapped around the box, he picked the whole thing up and tucked it under his arm before he headed back to the hotel room he had rented while he made this journey back to New York to bid farewell to his friend.

He would finish reading the letter…but not now. He didn't have the energy to read any more, to learn more dark secrets that Charles had hidden from him for forty years. Another day, another time…that would be the time to finish the letter and then decide if he wanted to open the box.

tbc...stay tuned!