I own nothing.

I apologize for the relatively short chapters. But that's how the action breaks – at around 1,200 words.

Yes, I know it's early.

Moira! Charles! Erik! Raven!


Charles was ever so slightly drunk; something Raven teased him about constantly, when he met CIA Agent Moira MacTaggert. Charles had successfully defended his thesis and was now officially a PhD or Professor, as Raven had lovingly teased him.

"Oh! Just wait, now you'll be an extra fuddy-duddy!" She had squealed when he came out of the hall after the defense. Raven squeezed him extra hard, pride rolling off her in large waves. Charles felt dizzy and exhilarated swinging his sister around in the narrow hallway.

"Oh, be quiet, you," he grumbled good-naturedly and kissed her on the cheek. "Let's go get drunk," he winked and offered her his arm.

Charles had spotted the young lady he had shamelessly flirted with the other night and went towards her, hoping to make more progress when the beautiful dark-haired American (being quite out of place in the Oxford pub) had stepped in front of him, the bar and the young lady.

Startled for a quick second, Charles instantaneously, switched into his flirty Charles mode; really it was his M.O. and confirming Raven's theory on her adoptive brother.

"God Charles, why is it that with every beautiful woman you meet, you become this…lothario?" Raven had her back to Charles as she was combing her blond hair. Charles sensed her jealously, but chose not to comment on it.

"Whatever do you mean," Charles responded choosing a light and teasing touch to his voice.

"You know perfectly well, what I mean." Raven turned around, her control on her natural appearance decreased whenever she was angry. He saw a ripple come over her body and saw a hint of her natural blue skin before resettling on the blond appearance she had chosen for herself. "It's like you want to fuck everything that moves!" Charles blinked at that statement.

"I…do not!" Charles was flummoxed.

Raven finally turned around and saw her brother's astonished face and started laughing. "Oh, Charles, yes you do," she said a little sadly and continued with her nightly ritual.

A beautiful woman had come to him instead of the other way around. Not that he minded the chase, but sometimes it was nice to be the pursued and not the pursuer.

He turned his brilliant blue (and drunken) eyes on her. And for the briefest of moments, Charles lost his mind. Admittedly, the women he had chased were a bit…frivolous, to put politely. Despite being on the other side of the pond, everyone here in Oxford seemed to know Charles Xavier…at least everyone seemed to know his money. So, while he chased anything in a skirt, he never took these flirtations, one night stands, very seriously. So, to have a beautiful woman (with sparkling brown eyes) introduce herself to him…well, how could he possibly say no?

As the woman rolled her eyes at his awful pick-up lines, she had maneuvered Charles to a table and explained what she needed. Charles, still feeling very tipsy had to reprocess what she had said several times before giving up and staring deeply into her eyes (ignoring her plaintive, Professor) and saw what she had seen in the Hellfire Club.

What Moira had seen absolutely frightened and exhilarated him at the same time.

"I believe you already know the answer to that question," Charles said quietly after slipping out of her mind. He shook his head and took on an authoritative tone; the one Raven said was his stick-in-the-mud professorial tone, "What do you need me to do?"

Moira blinked. "I need you to come with me to Langley, Virginia," she said slowly suddenly feeling unsure of what just happened. He was very charming (if drunk) after all.

Charles just smiled a small reassuring smile at her and listened to her outline the plan she had in mind, in detail. Later that night, after speaking with Moira further, he agreed to help her (but not necessarily the CIA), Charles thought about Moira MacTaggert.

"Charles?" Raven asked as they walked home that night from the pub, arm in arm.

"Yes, Raven?" Charles said staring off into the distance, his mind still on Moira's eyes.

"What did you see in her mind?" she asked, her voice a little frightened and unsure.

"Raven, what would you say, if I told you that there might be more than just the two of us?" Charles said, not looking at his sister, still staring straight ahead.

Raven stopped and tugged on Charles' arm. "What did you say?" Charles continued walking, but only stopped after Raven tugged harder on her brother's arm. "Are you saying, what I think you're saying?"
Again, Charles did not respond. "Charles! Turn around and answer me!"

Finally, Charles did turn around. Raven could not read what emotions were going through her beloved older brother's face. "There might be more than just the two of us," he said. Raven gasped. "And they might not have the best intentions…" Charles trailed off. He slowly, carefully and very, very quietly told her what he saw in the CIA agent's mind.

Later in bed, after telling Raven all what he knew, Charles thought long and hard about CIA Agent Moira MacTaggert. He knew instinctively and without reading her mind, that Moira was a good and just person. She was earnest, serious, and intelligent. Moira had not smiled the entire time they talked though he observed that there was a hint of a smile when he tried that cheesy line on her in the pub not to mention a considerable amount of warmth and empathy. When they parted, however, Moira had finally smiled and all the clouds had parted for him.

The more he thought about Moira, the more he wanted nothing more than to press this serious Moira MacTaggert up against the pub wall and fuck her senseless. Thus, unconsciously, confirming Raven's theory on her adoptive brother.

There will be time enough for that, he though hazily as he closed his eyes, ignoring his growing erection. Charles briefly touched upon Raven's mind being careful not to read it and slipped into a heavy dreamless sleep, the alcohol serving to muffle the constant cacophony of voices swirling in his tired mind. The minutest of smiles touched upon his lips as he slept.

Erik chose not to confront Moira this time. His anger was too palpable and he could not help but ruin several metallic objects within her home.

He quietly left her apartment, finding nothing and went back to his hotel room to contemplate his next move, a bit angry and tired at himself, though he did not know why.

Moira came home and was instantly hit with a sense of angry violation. Someone had been in her home though nothing seemed out of place or missing, per se, but her sense of safety was angrily ripped from her. She exhaled quietly and contemplated her next move.

Heart beating, she pulled her gun out of her purse and began scanning the living room and the rest of her house, squashing her anxiety. She did not know what she was looking for until Moira's eyes fell upon a spoon left in a bowl earlier in the day during her breakfast.

The spoon was bent neatly in half.


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