A/N: Thanks again for your support guys, I really appreciate it. Some of you are enormously kind with your reviews, and if I haven't responded to them it's because I truly don't know what to say.

*Okay so there's a very good reason why I call this guy 'the fat agent' and it's because I haven't the slightest clue as to what his name actually is. Obviously I couldn't have Charles say "No, I'm sorry fat agent", as I believe it to be somewhat out of character (despite the slightly comical image it evokes)...also IMDb suggests I call him 'man in black suit' which also seems somewhat impersonal, so I've listened to this scene a few times and the best I could come up with was 'Curtis' so Curtis he has become. If you know his name, I would appreciate you letting me know. Otherwise he shall remain Curtis, and his last name can be...Gregory.

...

It was midmorning, and Erik was hiding somewhat conspicuously in the small foyer of the CIA building. He hadn't been back to his room since the confrontation as he hadn't wanted to concede another victory to the telepath, thus he was avoiding Charles and, consequently, every other human being in the building as he was well aware of the man's penchant for snooping through minds. Apparently his 'manners' only extended to mutants, and sporadically even then. Logically he knew that eventually he would be discovered but he had long since decided that it needed to be in a place and setting of his choosing. Somewhere Charles wouldn't be able to be smug and all-knowing, somewhere public.

"Excuse me," he looked up at the familiar voice to see Agent McTaggert addressing another agent, "have you seen Agent Gregory around?"

"He's in a meeting," the agent sounded bored, "has been all morning."

"With who?"

"That mutant guy." Erik tuned out of the conversation, if Charles was in a meeting he probably had time to take his briefcase back to his room. He waited until both agents had disappeared and then snuck out and headed down the corridor.

"Oh and this is the most exciting part," he stopped as another familiar voice floated out of the room just ahead of him. It seemed the door was open. "Hank turned that radio installation into a transmitter, it's designed to amplify brainwaves so it could enhance your telepathic powers. Help you spot other mutants for our division."

No time like the present.

"What if they don't want to be found by you." He leant against the doorframe and then looked casually at Charles to observe his reaction.

"Erik," the telepath sounded cheerful but completely unsurprised, "you decided to stay."

Damn him, he knew. Of course he knew. He should've known that he'd know. The man was a telepath apparently not above sneaking glimpses of people's minds. He'd been in Erik's before, who was to say he wouldn't do it again? How would he even know if he had? He looked at Charles, determined to see exactly what he was certain he knew. It wasn't there. Yes there was a small amount of smugness – pride, in his own abilities maybe – but he could see genuine warmth in the other's eyes, a genuine gladness he wasn't prepared for. It was that same baffling warmth that had thrown him last night, which had caused him to doubt himself even though his instincts were all he had to depend on. "You're not alone," Charles had told him right when they'd first met and now, for the first time, he was beginning to believe that might just be true.

There were others out there, like him, who believed they were alone. Others who thought they were freaks, unnatural, who sought to hide themselves from the world for fear of what people might think – might do. Maybe there were some who'd been exploited, like he had, others whose families had been torn from them because of what they could – or couldn't – do. They deserved to know they weren't alone, that they weren't freaks, that the world's failure to accept them was due not to any fault of their own, but due to humanity's failings. The government, however, had no right to be involved. Not when their involvement threatened the safety of those they were trying to uncover.

Erik looked at Charles, hoping he'd understand the point he was trying to make, "if a new species is being discovered, it should be by its own kind. Charles and I find the mutants, no suits."

"First of all," the fat agent blustered, "that's my machine out there. Second of all and much more importantly, this is Charles' decision. Charles is fine with the CIA being involved, isn't that right?" He looked to Charles pathetically.

"No," Charles looked straight at Erik, and there was a long moment in which he thought the other man might be trying to read his soul rather than his mind, then turned back to the fat agent, "I'm sorry Curtis but I'm with Erik. We'll find them alone."

"What if I say no?"

"Then good luck using your installation without me." Erik had to admire the smooth way Charles delivered the threat without sounding in the least bit threatening.

"Fine," the agent glanced out the machine which looked, to Erik, somewhat like a giant golf ball, "I've asked Hank to meet you there at twelve."

"I believe he's there already," Charles smiled that infuriating omniscient smile, "shall we head down then, Erik?" He didn't wait for a reply, just leapt out of his chair and brushed past Erik as he left the room. "Coming?"

Erik left the fat agent pouting like a small child and fell into step beside Charles.

"You knew," he glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye.

"I suspected," Charles admitted.

"How? Were you in my mind?" Erik failed to contain his disquiet at the thought.

"No," Charles paused and grabbed his arm, bringing them to a halt, "I won't enter your mind without your permission, my friend. Not again." His intense blue eyes bored into Erik's own grey ones.

"Then how did you know?"

"When we first met I saw into your mind," Charles motioned for him to continue walking, "I saw your past – what Shaw did to you – I felt your pain" he paused, "I felt your longing."

Erik said nothing, the conversation was going in an entirely different direction than he had intended.

"Despite all the pain and suffering," Charles continued, "you didn't hope to be free of it – of him – no, you believed you deserved it. Something we'll discuss later, mind. Instead, you hoped for someone like you, experiencing what you were experiencing, someone who knew what you felt. Someone who you believed could justify your existence. My friend, that is something we all hope for."

"I've been alone most of my life, I don't need companionship." Who was Charles Xavier to tell him what he was thinking? Erik's thoughts were his own; they were not a playground for a bored telepath to flounce around in.

"If that were true, you would have left last night." Charles raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny it. Well, he'd hate to disappoint.

"Maybe I simply wanted backup." The moment he said it, he wished he could take it back. Charles would see right through it, no doubt.

"Perhaps," Charles opened the door and gestured for him to go first, "Would you like to know what I think?"

"Not really, no."

"Alright then." Charles shrugged, continued walking as if they'd been chatting idly about the weather.

"That's it?" Erik was surprised to say the least. He hadn't expected the telepath to give up so easily. Hadn't wanted him to, though he was loath to admit it.

"You said you didn't want to know." Charles pointed out, appearing completely uninterested in whether or not the conversation continued. Intellectually Erik knew it was an act, a type of reverse psychology, but he couldn't help himself. He had to know.

"When has that stopped you?" He just wasn't going to admit that to Charles.

"Why does it matter?" Charles feigned complete ignorance, "You're not interested in what I think, are you?"

He wondered what would happen if he gave in to the increasingly alarming urge to punch the man in the face. He'd like to say that he wasn't a man prone to violence, but that simply wasn't true. He was prone to violence, what was disturbing was his current reluctance to succumb to the emotion that had ruled almost all of his adult life. Anger had served him well in the past, why not now?

"You're looking quite violent, my friend. Should I be running?"

"Just tell me." He breathed; another point for Charles. But he had to know.

To Charles' credit, he refrained from calling him out on his sudden change of heart. He seemed to recognise Erik's struggle to say those few words, to admit to needing help.

"I think you've been independent for so long you've forgotten what it's like to actually trust another human being. I think that if you let someone in for just a moment, you may find what it is you're looking for." They stopped outside the golf-ball like structure.

No, he was wrong. Erik had never needed another; he had known from the beginning that he was alone and destined to remain that way. He had caused the death of his mother; he didn't deserve anything but pain. Until he avenged her, he could not rest. He didn't deserve to. What this man was offering, he could not accept.

"And you think you're the man for the job?" He could hear the self-loathing in his voice, despised it.

"Who better than a telepath – ah Hank," Charles gaze shifted from Erik's face to somewhere behind him, "show me this marvellous machine of yours."

Erik watched as Charles climbed the stairs wrapped around the exterior of the golf-ball. He could not accept, but it shocked him how much he wanted to. He felt the longing surface, an ache in his chest so acute it was almost physically painful.

"Erik?" He looked up to see Charles' head poke around the door.

Charles made it so easy, made it look so easy.

He started up the stairs, watched as Charles vanished back into the golf-ball. Walked inside to see them all smiling at each other as if the world and its troubles were miles away, and felt that ache pulse in his chest. For perhaps the first time he allowed himself to wonder what it would feel like to belong here, to fit in with this group of people bound by a single commonality. A commonality he shared.

"I call it Cerebro," he heard Hank say, a note of pride in his voice.

Charles, whom Erik was beginning to see as a strange amalgamation of child-like curiosity and adult commonsense, looked around with pure fascination in his eyes. Erik wished he could feel it, wished for a moment that he had the power to experience others thoughts.

"The Spanish for brain?" Hank, noticeably thrown by Charles' lack of response, hastened to clarify his choice of name.

"Yes." Charles said distantly, still lost in whatever innocent, childish, thought that was occupying his mind.

"Okay so, the electrodes connect Charles to the transmitter and when he picks up, ah, a mutant his brain sends signals through a relay and then the co-ordinates of their location are printed out here.

"You designed this?" Raven was also fascinated, although her focus appeared to be the young scientist rather than the machine.

"Yeah."

Erik watched as Charles strode to the centre and grabbed the strange wired helmet, placing it on his head without hesitation. His mind was dragged back to days of restraints, wires and tubes, and the ever-present beep of a heart monitor.

"What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles." He attempted a joke to distract himself from the pain of memory.

"Don't spoil this for me, Erik."

"Oh I've been a lab rat," he tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, "I know one when I see one."

"Okay, now are you sure we can't shave your head?" Hank asked Charles hopefully.

"Don't touch my hair."

Erik could have laughed, if he were prone to such displays, at the look on Charles' face. Hank started up the machine and Erik watched as Charles' face contorted, as his hands clenched against the handles. But there was no mistaking his expression. Where Erik expected fear, pain, there was only...joy. Just what exactly was he seeing?

"I've got them," Hank announced, delighted, "I've got co-ordinates, Charles this is amazing."

"More than you know," Charles breathed as he removed the helmet, then looked straight at Erik, "there were so many, I can't believe how many there were."

"Now what?" Erik felt a surge of excitement simply from hearing the elation in the other man's voice. Could it be true? Could there really be so many more than a few random individuals?

"We find them," Charles looked around, "we find all of them and we let them know they're not alone."

"And then recruit them." Erik reminded him, not intending to spoil anything but determined to let no pretence lie.

"It won't be like that," Charles of course bypassed the actual comment in favour of what he'd obviously assumed Erik was thinking, "It's a choice, Erik."

"I never had one."

"You do now," Charles stepped closer, "and you made one last night."

"I somehow feel you had something to do with that." It wasn't an accusation, just a comment.

"Do you regret staying?" He looked up, surprised, then resigned himself to conceding yet another point to the telepath. At this rate it would take him an age to even it up.

"Why must you ask questions to which you already know the answer?"

Charles smiled that infuriating, know-it-all, smile and extended a hand to him, "shall we?"

He didn't deserve friendship but maybe he needed it, just for a short while.