Author's Note: So, this is my love/hate relationship chapter. On one hand, it's got Erik/Miranda action. Yay. On the other hand... Azazel is freaking impossible to write for with his stupid (awesome) Russian accent! So, yes, that's a spoiler. Keep reading to find out, since it's a new subplot that should be interesting. I didn't plan that. Sadly, it write itself, and whether or not I like it remains to be seen. No going back now though.

I do not own X-Men. I wish. I seriously wish. Do you know how many movies we would have? The whole Marvel Industry would just be about the X-Men. Except Thor and Iron Man would be there, because they're just that awesome.

Thanks for the reviews, favorites, alerts, and everything. :) Especially thanks for the person who added this to an OC community. Please review again, and let me know what you want to see, suggestions, and your thoughts on Miranda and Erik's budding (bickering) relationship. Please leave a review on your way out.

Turning Tables
Erik glared at her. "You haven't even heard my plan yet." "I don't need to. It involves boats and a sociopathic doctor. It won't end well." With a partner in his vendetta against Shaw, Erik Lensherr thought things would change. He was right. Erik/OC

Chapter 3

Atlantic Ocean
1962

They had been on this plane for over two hours, and she had maybe said one word since then. Of course, considering the fact that Miranda had dozed off almost as soon as the plane had taken off, Erik wasn't very surprised. She always tried to sleep during overseas flight, since any body of water larger than a bathtub made her nervous.

It was almost amusing in a way. Miranda was a woman who would rather spit in her enemy's eye than give an inch. And yet, a pond could terrify her. The woman refused to get a shower without him in the room. Miranda claimed that she might end up getting electrocuted, though Erik often laughed at that excuse.

To be honest, he didn't mind doing that small favor for her. She was his only ally in this crusade they both carried, and they looked after each other. No one else would if they didn't. Miranda had admitted to Erik once that she always had a piece of metal in her pocket, just in case he needed one. Not to mention her constantly nearby gun, now hidden in a suitcase in the cargo hold of the plane. Erik would stay in the hotel room whenever she got a shower, just to make sure she felt comfortable and sure that she wouldn't get electrocuted.

Throughout their traveling, Erik and Miranda had gone on planes, boats, and even a few car rides. This plane was smaller, with only two seats in a row on each side of the plane. Despite Miranda being much smaller than Erik, he had agreed to let her have the aisle row just to keep her calm. Actually, she hadn't even asked him. He had seen the slight panic in her green eyes, sighed, and had sat in the window seat, being rewarded with a grateful grin from his long-time partner.

Most likely, Miranda would tease him about being a sweet gentleman after all. He would be able to claim it was for entirely selfish reasons. If she was forced to sit next to the window and see the ocean below them, she was never going to be any use to him, and he would have to deal with a panic attack on a cramped airplane, when the panicking person in question could electrocute them all without even thinking about it.

Miranda's breathing was as slow and steady as it had been a few hours ago. She had been sleeping upright for a while, but around an hour ago, her head had lolled to the side and came to a rest on Erik's shoulder. Moving slowly as to not to wake up, Erik glanced at her peaceful face. They still had quite a ways to go, and he prayed that she wouldn't wake up again.

But right now, he had a few smaller problems to deal with. The biggest one being the fact that his arm had long ago fallen asleep. He was going to have to do this quietly, and if she woke up and saw what he was about to do, he would never hear the end of it.

He lifted his arm up as slowly as he could, finally managed to slip it around Miranda's back. To Erik's surprise, Miranda still didn't wake up, instead murmuring quietly in her sleep and sighing before relaxing against him. He rolled his eyes before resting his arm around her shoulders, getting himself into as comfortable position as he could.

Erik closed his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing. This flight was making him anxious, and as Miranda would tell him, if he didn't sleep, he'd be of no use when they got to Argentina. Within a few minutes, Erik's breathing had steadied, and his head was resting on Miranda's.

A few hours later, Miranda's eyes fluttered opened. She was still somewhat dazed from waking up, but she could feel a weight on the top of her head. As she glanced as carefully as she could at Erik, she couldn't stop the grin that came over her face when she realized that he looked completely adorable at the moment. His arm was around her shoulders, and his head was resting on hers.

She was never going to let him hear the end of this.

Forcing her gaze not to go to the window, Miranda sighed and let herself relax. She had been sleeping since the very beginning, but there couldn't be much longer. Soon, they would be in Argentina, and they'd be closer than every to finding Schmidt at long last. It was about time.

Miranda's thoughts turned to the man sitting next to her. In the past two years, since their meeting in Barcelona, he had been the one constant in her life. They had watched each other's backs, learned about each other, and in the end, they ended up becoming the closest thing they had to a friend.

But above all, Erik was always going to be her partner. Someday, when Schmidt was dead, and they went back to their lives, Erik was still going to be her partner. If he ever needed her, she would be there for him, and she would hurry back to his side at a moment's notice. She liked to think he'd do the same for her.

That brought up her own thoughts. What was she going to do after Schmidt was dead? Her life had been about the hunt for him since David's death, and she had abandoned everything in the process. Maybe she could start over somewhere, teaching, like she had before David's death. She had always loved New York.

Against herself, Miranda glanced at Erik, still sleeping. Even in sleep, he was tense. Sure, he said that he relaxed when he slept. This coming from one of the stiffest men alive. He was always tense, and he never looked at rest when he sleep. More often than not, the nightmares came through. She had been awaken more than once from him sitting up in bed, ramrod straight, breathing heavily from a nightmare.

He'd told her about them eventually, during one of those drunk nights, when they had drowned themselves in alcohol and self-pity. They were few and far between, but it had been something to keep them human and remind them that they weren't all-powerful, despite the gifts that they had been given. She had told him her nightmares in turn.

Truth be told, she was going to miss him horribly if and when Schmidt died. He was a good friend. They argued a lot, complained about the lack of personal space that was between them, and groaned about each other's quirks, but in the end, they were loyal to each other. She would trust him with her life, and she already had. He had trusted her with his, several times.

She was going to miss him more than she ever knew.

Miranda felt a gaze on her, and then turned with a slight frown towards the aisle. A pretty, older woman with black hair and sun-kissed skin sat, watching them. Miranda gave a cautious smile towards her. She was a lot more friendly than Erik, but she knew to be cautious sometimes. The most innocent person could end up your worst enemy.

"I apologize," the woman said quietly, the smile still on her face. Her English was heavily accented, but Miranda could understand it easily. "I did not mean to stare. You two remind me of my husband and I." She gestured to the sleeping man behind her.

Miranda chuckled. "Thank you," she said quietly. She thought for a moment, and then froze. "Oh, wait, you don't think that-"

"Are you married already, or are you planning to be?" the woman asked.

"We're business partners," assured Miranda quickly, incredibly glad that she didn't blush easily. "Unfortunately, we've worked so long together than we've forgotten the meaning of personal space." She glanced at Erik before looking back at the lady. "We're not together."

"I denied it to, my dear," the woman said. She smiled in a knowing way. "But you'll find that destiny has its own plans. It rarely takes your opinions into account." She turned away, that knowing smile still planted permanently on her face.

Miranda leaned her head back against Erik's arm, trying not to wake him. She didn't think of Erik that way, did she? Oh, she hoped not. They were partners. She could not deal with a relationship more complicated than their actual partnership. It could only get worse from there. They were both too stubborn, too independent, and too tough to ever get anyway.

Would Miranda ever deny that she had felt an attraction to Erik? Absolutely not. A third of their relationship was them flirting with each other. The second third was insulting and belittling each other. And the last third was them actually getting somewhere, actually doing something that helped their quest to find Schmidt. It wasn't a typical relationship, but it worked for her. She didn't want to change it.

Miranda was broken out of her thoughts by Erik shifting and grumbling as he woke up. "We're not there yet, are we?" he muttered as his head lifted up, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"I wish," muttered Miranda, shooting a furtive glance towards the window. She shuddered, and Erik glanced down at her in surprise. "I really, really wish. I hate water. Stupid water."

"Calm down," Erik murmured, not ungently. "The plane isn't going to crash. And if it did, you wouldn't live long enough to hit the water, which means you wouldn't be electrocuted."

Miranda shot him a horrified look. "That makes me feel so much better," she growled, hitting him on the arm with a scowl. "Wait a minute." Her voice lit up as her voice lowered. "You control metal. This plane is metal. We won't die even if we crash! Yes!"

Erik raised an eyebrow. "I'm flattered by your faith in me, but what makes you think that I could actually keep a giant, heavy airplane above the ocean?" he asked, glancing at her with a teasing smirk.

Miranda chuckled, knowing he was only teasing her. "Because," she said as she gently removed Erik's arm around from around her shoulders. "You'd be so pissed that you didn't kill Schmidt before you died that you'd actually manage to keep us floating long enough to get us safely to land."

Erik smirked, shaking his head. He glanced out the window. "We've got the location," Erik murmured quietly, not taking his gaze away from the ocean below. "We just don't have the contacts who know where he would be. We need to find information on where he is, and if he's there now, we need to be ready."

Miranda nodded, leaning back against the headrest. "So, to the bars?" she asked.

Erik nodded. "To the bars."

Miranda smiled. "I could do with a brandy. Though honestly, I feel like we do more drinking than actually searching for Schmidt."

"I disagree," Erik replied. He frowned as he thought of what actually was a truth in their complicated relationship. "We do get a lot done."

Miranda scoffed, "While drinking. A lot. It has its upsides, though."

"Oh?" Erik questioned, shooting her a half amused half curious look.

"If it wasn't for beer and brandy, I wouldn't be aware of most of the things I know about you." She smirked cheerfully as a scowl came over his face. "Don't deny it."

"Shut up, Hanson."

"Make me, Lensherr."

Erik only rolled his eyes.

Geneva, Switzerland
1962

The moment that Daniel entered his apartment, he knew that something was wrong. His body stiffened instantly as he sensed a presence nearby, one that honestly scared the crap out of him. There were no good intentions with the intruder, that much Daniel could tell from his powers. The teenager leaned down, placing his backpack on the floor. He stood up slowly, walking into the kitchen.

He reached the counter, and grabbed the first weapon he could find. It was the largest kitchen knife he and his roommate had, and it was currently the only weapon he had. His powers weren't active at all. The ability to sense emotions, intentions, the future, and presences were useful, but they were pretty useless when it came to any physical fight.

He walked slowly through the apartment, his footsteps silent as he made his way across the floor. Faintly, Daniel caught the smell of sulfur. His body was stiff as a board, and the knuckles of the hand clutching the blade went white as he made his way, glancing around at every shadow, hoping to find the intruder.

"You told her."

Daniel whirled, his eyes harder and narrower than they ever had been. The knife remained in his hand, and his body didn't relax as he saw the red-skinned creature leaning against the wall. Daniel swallowed hard.

He was tall, and if it wasn't for the red skin and the wicked scar on his face, he could almost be considered handsome from any female perspective. But then again, the tail might drive off any potential female suitors. The dark smirk on his face would also probably intimidate more than a few people. The tell-tale accent told Daniel that this intruder was Russian.

Daniel, for one of the first times in his life, was afraid. This guy could kill him probably just by thinking about it, never mind the fact that he had a sword in his hand and a freaking tail. He wasn't going to last a second against this thing, and if he was going to die, then he was going to die.

"I am not here to kill you," the red-skinned creature assured him.

Daniel sensed out for a second, wondering if the emotions he was sensing were true. If his powers were working, then he wasn't in any immediate harm. Sure, this guy could kill him just as easily as a fly, but for now, his life was in no jeopardy. Daniel's body didn't tense, but his grasp on the knife lightened.

"You did not tell her that you are a mutant as vell," the red-skinned creature mentioned, watching him with a curious frown on his face. "Vhy?"

Daniel shook his head. "She doesn't need to know," he said in a rough voice, setting the knife down on the kitchen table. He took a good look at him. "Azazel, right?"

Azazel nodded. "Da, comrade."

Azazel faintly heard Daniel mutter something that sounded suspiciously like 'damn communist'. He chuckled quietly. "By comrade, I mean mutant."

"If you're here to get me to Shaw, you're wasting your time. I'm useless to him, and we both know it," Daniel replied sharply. He watched him. "Besides, I'm not going to join my brother's murderer."

"And yet, you vish to discover vhy he vas murdered," Azazel murmured, watching him carefully. "Curious. But you know as vell as I do that you are far from useless to him."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "You want to know whether he's going to die, right?" he asked Azazel. He gave a sharp laugh, shaking his head in disbelief before answering his own question. "Of course you do. I'm still alive, I can see the future, so you still need me. Shaw still needs me."

Azazel frowned. "You know if he vill live or die. Da?"

"Yes." Daniel raised an eyebrow at him. "So, are you going to kill me, or take me to the crazy psychopathic telepath you have? Or should I call her Shaw's second-choice telepath?" he asked. He smirked at the scowl on Azazel's face. "I know more than you thought, don't I?"

Azazel muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ' damned teenagers'. "I vill be back," he promised. "By then, Shaw vants your choice to be made. Choose vhere you vill stand, comrade, and choose soon. And remember. You are not your brother." In a cloud of sulfur-smelling red smoke, Azazel disappeared.

Daniel swallowed hard as the red-skinned mutant disappeared, a troubled look on his face as he realized that his time was running out. "God, what have I done?" he whispered.

His only reply was silence.