"Yes, I can do Friday afternoon. That'll be perfect. Yes, of. . . course. . .," Charles said into his phone as he stepped into the coffee shop. He came to an abrupt stop. There were a lot of people staring—no, make that glaring—at him. With cameras. Big, movie-style cameras. Shit. "Yeah, I, uh, I have to go. I'll see you Friday." He slid the phone into his pocket without waiting for a response.
Charles glanced around. Yep, this was a film crew and they were using the coffee shop. He glanced at the door behind him and saw the sign telling everyone to keep quiet due to filming. Shit. His gaze landed on the counter. Specifically the person standing in front of it.
Erik waved. Stunned and slightly embarrassed, Charles reflexively waved back. "Sorry I interrupted," he blurted and darted back outside. Please don't follow please don't follow please don't follow please don. . .
"Charles!"
Crap. Charles shoved his hands in his coat pockets and walked faster.
"Wait! Charles, wait!"
It wasn't for him. It was. . . a stranger. Calling for someone else named Charles. No way was it for him. Nope.
This wasn't happening.
"Charles!" A hand snagged his elbow, forcing him to stop. Erik swung in front of him and Charles averted his gaze. "Didn't you hear me calling?"
He jerked his arm free and said flatly, "What do you want?"
"Hey, listen, I'm sorry about the guys inside."
Charles took a step back. "It's my fault; I missed the signs. I didn't mean to interrupt your shot."
He heard Erik shake his head, the rustle of his coat giving it away. "No, it's no trouble. We were just camera blocking." When Charles didn't respond, Erik continued, "I'm glad I ran into you, though. We need to talk."
"I have nothing more to say to you."
"But there is more to say. More I have to tell you."
Charles shifted his feet, still avoiding his gaze.
Erik blew out his breath in a huff. "Have dinner with me."
Startled, Charles finally looked at him. "What? No. I'm not going out with you."
"Not . . . a date. Just. . . just dinner. As friends." Erik waved his hands awkwardly. "We need to. . . clear the air. Catch up. Come on, please? Just one meal. You don't even have to talk; just listen."
Charles bit his lip. Erik sounded in earnest.
"Just give me one chance to really explain things, Charles."
He looked down, at the window, out at the street, anywhere but at Erik. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more to do with Erik. . . but on the other. . . he did kind of want to know why. "I don't know. . . Last time didn't really go so well."
Erik nodded. "I know. I didn't mean to yell and you weren't ready to listen. But now I'm hoping that's changed. . .?"
His chest hurt. His throat felt tight. He had to get away before he said something he'd regret. "I'll think about it," he said hurriedly. "Look, I'm sorry; I have a meeting to get to. Bye." Charles brushed past Erik and hurried to the corner, crossing to the other side.
"I'm gonna kill you, Raven," Charles muttered to himself. How could she not tell him Erik was still here and that he was filming?
Erik watched Charles run away, his shoulders slumping. He'd felt his hopes rise when Charles waved back and he was so close just a moment ago.
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. Six years since he'd learned Charles had left the state, four since restarting contact with Raven. It took another year after reconnecting with her before she'd divulge any information on Charles. Now he'd managed to convince her to tell him where Charles was and then to convince her to help him win Charles back.
Eight years and Erik was still hopelessly in love with Charles Xavier. Now if he could only remind Charles of what they once had. Hopefully still had.
"Hey, Lensherr!"
He turned. Charles had long since vanished from view. Az stood half in the door. "Come on, man. They're waiting on you!"
Back to work, Erik thought as he jogged down the sidewalk.
The first indication Charles had that someone had just entered his office was the whap of air that hit him.
The second was Moira demanding of him, "Explain this."
Looking up, Charles smiled at her. "Afternoon, Moira. I'm good, a bit busy. Good to see you. What exactly am I explaining?"
She tapped his desk. "What is this?"
Charles slid her finger to the side and raised an eyebrow at the magazine title, feigning astonishment and horror, even throwing a hand to his chest as he asked, "Why, Moira, since when do you read tabloids?"
She sat down with a huff. "Charles, you are on the cover."
He glanced back down, actually looked at it, and felt his heart sink. Crap. Forcing a light, nonchalant tone to his voice, Charles responded, "Oh, so I am. Would you look at that?" He pushed it to the side and went back to his paperwork. Almost despite himself, Charles peeked at the tabloid cover again.
It was a recent photo, to be sure. And, as he studied it surreptitiously, Charles realized he knew exactly when it had been taken. And why Moira was so fired up about it. He stood opposite Erik on the sidewalk, Charles looking down, Erik looking earnestly down at him. Must've been before Erik asked him to dinner.
Moira scoffed. "When did you see Erik?"
He hummed. "Which time?"
"Which time?!" Moira's voice went up an octave. "You've seen him more than once?"
He winced. Crap, again. "Not on purpose, I can assure you."
"And how does one run into a famous actor more than once on accident?"
Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get anything done until Moira was satisfied, Charles leaned back and twisted the magazine until it was upside down, the photo facing Moira instead of him. "He stopped by the center last week. We had a—um. Discussion. The photo, here, was taken a few days ago. . . when I, uh, interrupted the film crew in my favorite café. I left, he ran after me." Charles shrugged. "We talked. Or, well, he talked while I tried to get away. And that's that. Nothing happened, Moira, I assure you."
She frowned at him. "Charles, this isn't. . . Are you okay? Because after the whole red carpet thing—"
He smiled faintly. "I'm okay, love. So long as he doesn't just randomly show up again, I'll be fine."
"You're sure you're okay? I know how hurt you were." Concern colored Moira's voice.
He leaned forward and put a hand over hers. "He wants to relive the past which is something I have no interest in doing. I am fine, Moira. Promise. Now, will you help me figure out how to word this pitch to Ms. Conrad so she lets me take Alex?"
Charles was shown into an office, offered coffee—which he accepted with a smile—and left to wait. There were two chairs opposite the very organized desk which looked like they'd be very comfy to sit on and there were personal touches on the bookcase and desk—photos, knickknacks, etc.—all good signs. He sipped his coffee and wandered, inspecting the books on display.
"Mr. Xavier?"
He whirled. A middle-aged woman with long blonde hair entered the room, wearing a black pencil skirt and short-sleeved red V-neck top, very flattering.
"So sorry to keep you waiting. The kids don't seem to care all that much about my schedule sometimes." She smiled and held her hand out. "I'm Melanie Conrad; I believe you spoke to my assistant a couple days ago?"
He shook her hand, returning the smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Conrad. And, please, call me Charles. Mr. Xavier was my father."
"Call me Melanie, then." Melanie nodded and moved to her desk. Charles followed suit, sitting in one of the chairs as she sat. It was extremely comfortable. "So, Charles," she smiled, "you said you had an interest in, what was it you said? Borrowing one of the children here?"
He set his cup down. "In a manner of speaking, yes."
She tented her hands. "I see. Could I have some more information?"
"I run a community center and most, if not all, of the young people and children who frequent it are, shall we say, underprivileged. Abused, street kids, foster kids, kids who think no one else understands them. . . they have all found a sort of safe haven with me. It gives them a place to spend their time between school and home, as well as helping them socialize with other children of their age in a more relaxed environment. I also end up acting as a therapist and babysitter more often than not." Charles smiled fondly. "It's a privilege to have the level of trust I do at the moment, but I'd like a little something more."
"Okay. I'm following you so far. What led you here, then?"
Moira had helped him with this part. "Well, you see, I truly enjoy helping these children to grow, get out of their shell and perhaps become a little less jaded at their current lot in life. And I thought, if I could help them, then why not try and help others? That's what led me here. I was hoping we could do an exchange of sorts. Instead of staying in here all day, why not let one or two of them perform a bit of community service, give back?"
Melanie studied him impassively over her hands before setting them down on the desk. "I applaud you on what you're trying to achieve, Charles, but I'm not sure I can accommodate your request."
His heart fell. "May I ask why not?"
"I don't know you, I don't know your background or what your center is like. I can't entrust an underage child to someone I don't know. I'm sorry, Charles, but I'm going to have to say no."
"Ah. I see." Charles scrambled. He had to salvage this. "What if I was willing to risk it?"
Melanie studied him again. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Call it the Christmas spirit?" he tried.
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Charles, I pride myself on being a good judge of character. I never would have gotten this far if I wasn't. You seem like a good person and, in the spirit of Christmas, I suppose I could try and expedite the process. You'll have to submit to a background check, of course."
Yes. "Of course, no problem."
"I can give you the bare details on the inhabitants here, enough to make a decision, and then we can ask him or her if they'd like to do it."
They spent the next forty-five minutes going through names. Charles pretended to be interested in them all, picking out similar files so that it wouldn't seem so odd when he chose Alex. And of course, Alex's name was near the end. When he asked to meet with Alex, Melanie gave him a surprised look but went out to call him in.
When she returned to clean up the files, Charles asked, "Is there something I should know about Alex Summers?"
"He's a tough case, Alex. Fifteen years old, been in and out of the system since he was ten and his parents died in a plane crash. Anger issues, abandonment issues, trouble with authority, the whole gamut. The only thing that settles him is his younger brother, Scott, who is in a foster home. Makes it difficult to see each other, which is always hard." Melanie sat back down. "We try our very hardest to keep families together but sometimes it's just not possible."
"That's so sad." Keep it vague. "How old is his brother?"
She took in a breath, thinking. "Um, he should be about nine, I believe. If I'm doing my math right. Alex could tell you for sure." A knock on the door interrupted them and she called out, "Come in!"
A fair-haired teenager stepped inside, casting a wary look between them. His jeans were worn with a hole in one knee and he had a black crew neck t-shirt on. A chain dangled from one pocket. "I didn't do anything."
Melanie smiled reassuringly. "I know, Alex. Have a seat; there's something I'd like to discuss with you."
Alex dragged the other chair a couple feet away from them both and flopped into it. "So?"
"Alex, this is Charles Xavier. He has a proposal I'd like you to consider." She gestured at him.
Charles took a breath and explained, albeit a bit shorter and catered more towards the teen opposite him than the social worker. Alex just scowled at him the entire time and the room was silent when Charles finally finished.
"So what exactly are you offering?" Alex finally said, his arms crossed over his chest.
"A chance to get outside these walls for a few hours a day." Charles leaned forward, elbows on his knees. It was imperative that Alex accept this. He met Alex's sullen blue eyes and urged, "A chance to help someone not nearly as fortunate as yourself, to put another on a better path than you're on. You could make a difference at my center, Alex. Just say yes." Please, say yes. "A chance to keep families together."
That got a reaction. Alex's expression softened, the mask falling for just the briefest of moments, but it was there. Alex flicked his eyes to Melanie. "And if I agree to this. . . this community service bull—B.S.? What do I get?"
Melanie remained calm. "A reduced sentence in juvie. Good marks on your record for once."
"I want to see my brother. Visitation rights or whatever you call them."
"I. . . will work on that. What do you say, Alex? Are you accepting Mr. Xavier's offer?"
Alex turned back to him. He shrugged, as if it meant nothing, but Charles had years of dealing with disabused children. It meant a lot to him, especially if he got Scott out of it. "Yeah, whatever. Change of scenery'd be nice."
"Excellent," Charles replied, beaming.
"All right then," Melanie said with a smile. "I'll get the paperwork started. Charles, when would you like Alex to start?"
"Um." Crap, he hadn't actually thought it would go this far. He'd expected to get shot down at this point. Thinking quickly, Charles offered, "Would Monday afternoon work? He would be there to help when the kids get off school and could stay until we close at eight or earlier if you need."
Melanie nodded, writing this on a pad of paper she'd pulled from somewhere. "So, say, a 3:30 arrival. Stay with you for dinner and then . . . would you mind driving him back or is that too much to ask? Once the background check goes through, of course."
Charles shook his head. "I'd be delighted. It's not too far from the center, actually."
"Excellent." She stood, and Charles stood as well. "I'll get everything started and Alex will see you Monday afternoon."
Charles smiled. "Wonderful. Thank you, Melanie. Alex, I'll see you in a couple days." Alex just grunted. Stepping out into the hall, he heaved a sigh of relief. He'd done it. Step one—complete. Step two would hopefully prove a lot easier.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet me here."
Raven shot him a quick smile, raising her hand to catch the bartender's eye. "No problem. You'd be surprised how many dives I've been in." She gave him a sharp look. "Charles does not need to know that, by the way."
Erik chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me."
"Good." She ordered a margarita. "So what's up?"
He sipped at his beer, trying for nonchalance. "What do you mean?"
Raven gave him a knowing look as she thanked the bartender for the drink and took a sip. "You asked me to meet you for drinks, late, in a very shitty bar where I'm pretty sure no one here has ever seen any of your movies. Let alone heard of your name. So, I'll repeat, what do you want?"
He muttered, "You sound like Charles."
"Aha. So that's it." She sounded smug and he gritted his teeth. "You went to see Charles and it backfired. That would be why he's back to ignoring me."
"I did what you said. I met him on his turf and it all went to hell." Erik sighed. So quickly, too.
"Somehow, that does not surprise me. He's probably been keeping it all in this whole time."
"Well I was hurting, too, and I wish he'd realize that."
She put a hand on his arm. "I think Charles does know that, deep down, but like I said, he's been suppressing a lot and I think he's having trouble coping right now."
"So what do I do?" Erik asked. "I can't even convince him to look at me, let alone give me a chance to explain."
They sat in silence for a couple minutes, drinking and thinking. Raven ordered a second margarita. "Okay, how about this?" Raven said, turning to him. "I go with you to the center."
He raised an eyebrow. "And that will help how, exactly?"
She grinned. "He can't say no to me. I can give you the tour. When's your next break during the week?"
He closed his eyes, mentally running through his schedule. He had to work tomorrow, then was off Saturday and Sunday while they worked with his co-star and setting up sets but he had fittings and interviews to do for Battle Magic. "Would Monday work? I'm rather busy this weekend and most of next week."
"Afternoon? I can slip out early; meet you there."
"Yeah," Erik nodded. "Yeah, that should work. And I hope this idea of yours works."
"Well, it's only a step. You two have a lot of work to do. But until then," she clinked her glass with his bottle, "next round's on you."
