Charles lifted the helmet off his head and blinked away the stars that had gathered on the edges of his vision. Three pairs of curious – and slightly worried – eyes stared back at him. Charles sought out the gaze of the oldest one, trying to reassure him with a smile that he was fine. Erik had been vastly unsuccessful at convincing the telepath that this whole scientific endeavor – with its wires and its experimental nature – didn't bring back unpleasant thoughts.

It was no real surprise to Charles. Immersed in the warm Atlantic waters less than two days ago, he had found countless terrors locked away inside the head of Erik Lehnsherr. At the time, his focus had been on finding the right words to say – the right button to push – to break through the metal bender's fierce determination and concentration; so the memories had drifted through him but not taken hold. In the peaceful moments afterwards though, left alone on the darkened deck of a Coast Guard ship, Charles had allowed his mind to truly pay attention to the new memories spinning through his mind.

Yes. He knew full well that watching an acquaintance –perhaps even a friend – willingly don an untested scientific contraption, could not have been easy for Erik. The metal bender had been forced into his time as a lab-rat, it would be hard to witness someone going voluntarily to that same unknown fate. In truth, it had not been much easier for Charles. With all the images of Erik's life still fresh in his own head, the concept of stepping into an unknown science experiment didn't exactly thrill him.

It was because of all that – because of the evident concern in Erik's eyes – that Charles ignored the agonizing pounding in his head and the weakness in his limbs when he removed Cerebro's helmet. He leaned casually against the railing, trying to project the image of relaxed happiness, when in fact the thin metal railing was supporting the weight his legs refused to hold.

Raven would usually have noticed how pale he looked, but she was far too concerned with admiring Hank so it had hardly registered in her mind. It may also have had something to do with the slight mental suggestion he made encouraging her to ignore the pallor of his skin. Erik and Hank had certainly not known him long enough to be able to tell exactly what level of pale was normal for him. If he could just act fine, Charles was certain no one would suspect a thing.

"That was fantastic!" He said with enthusiasm to the expectant crowd. "I could feel them everywhere. Tens of thousands of people – mutants – just like us. I could hear them all!" The accompanying smile was far from his brightest, but it was also 100 percent genuine and that would have to be enough. Regardless of the apparent physical toll, the machine Hank had created was clearly amazing. It was going to change all of their lives, and the lives of countless more of their kind.

A visible sigh of relief passed through the three huddled mutants as Charles' excited words registered.

Hank turned immediately to the still blinking instrument panels that he had forgotten about in the adrenaline of the moment. He gleefully tore away the top sheet of coordinates and scanned over it with hungry eyes. Each set of numbers was another mutant. It was a heady feeling. "I'll get the data worked out to a specific town or city," He said. "I can get you two your first destination within the day."

Charles nodded gratefully and took a deep breath in – trying to let the oxygen restore energy to his limbs – before pushing away from the welcoming support of the rail. Thankfully, his legs held and he walked with a falsely confident air out of the large metal sphere.

He made it inside the building on his own strength, and then progressed through the hallway with a hand pressed firmly against the cool concrete wall. He recalled with annoyance that his room was on the opposite side of the facility and the task of getting all that distance seemed a bit too much for him.

They'd been given a tour the day before, which Charles tried to remember now as he sought out a nearby place to rest. There was a library nearby. He was certain of it. A quiet location that few people probably wandered into. Was it the fourth door on the right or the sixth on the left? They had been shown so many rooms in their hurried exploration that it all blurred together in his mind. Then again that could simply be the fact that his mind was blurry already with the strain he had forced on it. Charles closed his eyes – cutting off the unwelcome glare of fluorescent lighting drilling into his retinas – and pulled up a mental map of the building. It was easier to remember it that way; without his vision swimming in a haze of exhaustion.

There it was. On the left. He was certain.

Charles dragged his eyes back open and stumbled the last few hundred feet to the entrance he knew to be the library. He shoved open the heavy metal door and made his way clumsily into the room. Books loomed all around him, filling the walls and surfaces and even the floor. Seats were scattered generously throughout and Charles aimed his tired body towards the most comfortable one he could see. A plush armchair at one side of a chess board.

He collapsed into the chair with a groan – massaging his temple as he finally allowed the exhaustion and searing headache to take over. He leaned forward, head in his hands, eyes clenched shut, and fought the pain as he resolved once and for all not to ever stay in Cerebro that long again. At least not until he had built his tolerance up to longer sessions.

He should have started slower and he knew it. Even as the consciousness of the world had flooded past him – stunning him with its beauty – he had known that he should take things slowly. Instead, he let the majesty of the moment overwhelm his logic – and his sense of self-preservation – as he pushed harder and pushed his power far beyond its usual limitations.

Raven would call him an idiot. Hell, even Erik would call him an idiot and the two hardly knew each other. It was hard to imagine him not thinking Charles was stupid for pushing too hard; especially given that their meeting had occurred when Charles had forced Erik to accept his own limitations. Now here was Charles doing exactly what he had tried to get Erik not to do.

It was an hour later that Erik found him, still holed up in the library without the energy to relocate to his quarters. By then, Charles had leaned farther forward and started fiddling with the chess set in front of his chair. He wasn't truly playing a game against himself – though it wouldn't be the first time – instead he was just testing out moves and pondering their advantages. The task was drawing attention away from the dull ache that had settled just behind his eyes.

"Do you play?" the magnetic mutant asked with a gesture towards the game board.

It was a testament to how unfocused he was that Charles hadn't noticed Erik's presence in the room until he spoke. He was relieved to note that the sound of someone speaking did not increase the pain of his headache so he at least took that as a sign or recovery.

"Not anymore," he answered Erik as he moved another piece and knocked over the opposing king. Charles leaned back in the chair and looked at his companion before going on, "It has been a long time since I had anyone to play against."

Erik smoothly sat down in the chair across from him – not breaking eye contact with Charles once – and started clearing the pieces away. "Care to change that?" He asked with a slight quirk of his eyebrow. Even before he got an answer he had begun lining the set back up, ready to start a new game.

Charles did absolutely nothing to hide his surprise, "You aren't afraid that I'll cheat? Raven stopped playing with me years ago because whenever I won she would assume I had been reading her moves before she ever made them."

"Were you?"

"Never," Charles responded firmly.

"Then I will trust you not to cheat." Erik said with a casual tone that in no way hinted that he knew how big of a deal it was to Charles. And it was a big deal. Raven had always known about his telepathy, but had also always been leery of it. She often reminded him not to look in her head – as if he could have forgotten her wishes. When he guessed something about her, she accused him of snooping through her mind. It was a constant battle getting her to understand that he would never use his power against her like that. Then, this veritable stranger walks – or rather gets dragged by a submarine – into his life and within two days he trusts Charles not to abuse his power. It was then that said stranger said softly, "It's your move, Charles."

Charles wondered briefly how his friend had managed to set up the entire board without looking down at it once, because he was positive that at no point in that conversation was eye contact broken. For a few more seconds he stared at Erik searching for some sign that he was going to get up and leave – tell Charles that he didn't want to compete against a telepath – but all he found was trust and a touch of humor. He looked at the chess pieces, feeling an inexplicable joy at knowing that the black set across from him would be moved by someone other than himself, and slowly moved his first pawn forward.

He was rusty when it came to having an opponent so he lost the first two games. He won the third. By halfway through the fourth game he had completely forgotten his headache and the exhaustion of earlier. Instead he was reveling in the thrill of a well matched game. Erik challenged him and fought viciously for every piece on the board, while Charles played the game with more of a calm determination. A peace settled over the two as they spent the day exchanging wins and losses over a checkered board. Few words were spoken but few were needed. All the communication they required was in the smirks when an opposing piece was taken, the questioning looks when a foolish move was made, the narrowed eyes as a new move was planned, and the triumphant grin as another game was won.

Charles found that he quite liked it when Erik grinned.

Their bubble of contentment was disturbed during the seventh (or was it eighth?) game when Hank came rushing in brandishing a piece of paper. "You're headed to Wyoming!" he said as if it was the most exciting place in the world.


The next day dawned bright and clear, perfect weather to start a trip. Erik and Charles met in front of the building, bags in hand, and slid into the car Moira had rented for them. They both breathed just a little easier being away from the constant watchful – and curious – eyes of the CIA.

Charles hadn't invited Raven, and part of him felt bad about that, but he was unsure what they were going into and he was loath to drag her down too if things went bad. She was busy anyway, helping Hank try to develop a cure, so he doubted she minded being left behind.

It was far too early to be up and being productive in Charles' opinion, so for the first hour or so he just stared out the window and occasionally sipped his morning tea out of a travel cup. There had been some good-natured teasing earlier, debating the dominance of coffee over tea, but he and Erik had agreed to disagree and Charles was glad to just relax quietly.

The wild drinking days may have seemed far behind him, but Charles realized that in truth it had been only a week ago that he was drawn away from a bar at three in the morning to look into a fellow mutant. His body was far from accustomed to the hours of being a responsible member of society and he was certainly not used to seeing this hour of the morning.

Erik seemed to take his lead from Charles, not pressing him for conversation at all despite the nervous way his hands drummed the steering wheel. He waited patiently for the time when Charles would speak up on his own.

Finally, when he felt sufficiently ready to face the day, the telepath took the bait, "What's bothering you, Erik?"

Erik glanced his way, "I can't help wondering what kind of lives they live. How horrible has humanity been to our brothers and sisters? You and I have both seen the reactions that people have to unexplained powers, so what other things might these mutants have dealt with?"

Charles pondered it, mulling the topic over in his mind while he felt the tea starting to wake him up properly at last. "I suppose," he began, "I can only hope that they have had happy lives. Being different does not guarantee hatred, my friend."

"No," Erik retorted, "but hatred is not often far away. All it takes is one person deciding that different means threatening. Or that different means power that can be exploited."

"Yes, I suppose you're right, but until I have reason to believe otherwise I will hope for the best."

Charles could tell even without searching Erik's mind that the German found him infuriatingly optimistic. He supposed it would probably be hard to see the good in others when everyone had only ever shown you the bad. Charles added, "Help Erik see the world in a better light," to his list of goals. He affixed extra urgency to the point because he suspected that, without some belief in the good of the world, Erik fully intended for his vendetta against Shaw to be a suicide mission.

The man had spent his adult life chasing after the phantom of his past, figuring out what to do when he eventually defeated it would be a challenge Charles fully intended to help him face.

Little was said as the miles flew past them. They switched driving shifts periodically while the other slept in the passenger seat. With some speeding, and a little bit of luck, they managed to make it to the small town in Wyoming in a little over a day.

"So, we narrowed it down this far, now how do we find the mutant?" Erik inquired after shaking Charles out of his slumber.

"I found her through Cerebro once, so I've connected with her already. Now that she's within range of my normal abilities I can find her and lead you to her. Her mind will be familiar." Charles raised his hand to his temple, pressing two fingers against it as his face screwed up in concentration. "Far end of town. She's in- Oh. Well this should be interesting." Charles turned to Erik with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "We, my friend, are going to a strip club."

Erik nearly crashed the car as he tried not to choke on his surprise. Charles was grinning at him in a frankly alarming way and Erik warily decided that the telepath was going to have far too much fun with this recruitment. I didn't take very long for his humor at the concept to bleed over into Erik as well and, against his better judgment, he found himself looking forward to how exactly they could handle this.

They pulled into the parking lot Charles has pointed towards, neither one choosing to comment on the completely hideous shade of purple that the doors of the club were painted. Charles started for the door first, followed shortly by his friend. Head held high, he pushed open the doors – trying not to think about all the disgusting things that had likely touched that same door – and made a beeline for a seat near the mutant mind he could still feel in his own head.

Erik cautiously sat down beside him, though Charles could see him rapidly adjusting to the unfamiliar territory. So quickly in fact that Charles decided to have him take the lead. With a quick nod in the girl's direction, Charles made it clear who they were here for. Erik seemed to mull his plan over for a bit, just staring into space as the gears turned in his head. Then without any warning his face split into a smirk, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty dollar bill.

Actually, Charles noted, the wallet he had just taken money from was his and not Erik's. He wondered when Erik had found time to pickpocket him. The amused quirk of the metal bender's lips told him that Erik was completely aware Charles had noticed his theft. And quite proud.

You have more money than me anyway. You can afford it.

The thoughts drifted through Charles' head and he smiled at the ease with which Erik chose to project thoughts to him. He would find a way to get back at Erik for the prank, but right now there was a young woman – who Charles knew went by the name Angel – sauntering over to the raised bill in his friend's hand.

She swayed her hips as she knelt down in front of them, her eyes lighting up when she saw the amount of money being offered. "For that daddy-o," she told Erik, "you get a private dance."

The two men looked at each other and some wordless decision was made, Erik waved down the bartender and requested a room. Charles added a request for wine, hoping that they would have a new team member to celebrate soon. The establishment must have been more than used to such demands because within five minutes they were alone in a room with the mutant, each with a glass of fairly expensive white wine in their hands. Charles lifted an eyebrow in challenge, waiting to see how Erik was going to play it from here.

The older man responded by lifting his glass in toast, only turning to face the girl after Charles had obligingly clinked glasses with him.

"You cats know its double for both right?" She said once she finally had their attention. She seemed irritated already and Charles honestly wasn't surprised. He and Erik had been paying far more attention to each other than to her from the moment they walked into the club.

Charles put down his drink and sought to reassure her, "No, that won't be necessary, though I'm sure it would be magical."

Of course Erik had a unique skill in pissing people off even more with just a few words and he completely demolished Charles attempt at lightening the mood, "We were thinking more, we'll show you ours, if you show us yours."

The telepath couldn't help the smile that spread across his face and he barely controlled the laughter threatening to spill out. He knew exactly what Erik meant, but he also knew that Erik knew how it would be taken by the dancer in front of him. The metal bending mutant was definitely enjoying himself too much. Charles wondered idly how long Erik was planning on playing this out before revealing to the girl the real reason they were here.

"Baby, that is not the way it works around here." Angel replied, clearly getting fed up with them.

With a snap of his fingers – which Charles knew was purely for show, Erik didn't need to snap to harness his power – Erik lifted the ice bucket containing the wine. "More tea?" he asked Charles.

Once again the telepath found himself struggling not to laugh. Of course Erik would ask him about tea. It had been a foolish hope that Erik would drop the debate over the superiority of tea.

"Don't mind if I do," he answered as casually as he could, trying not to let the inside joke make him lose composure. That was when he got his own idea for showing his power. One that would get Erik back for his earlier prank with the money. It was far better than any mind reading that could be construed as a parlor trick. With a sneaky smile – which earned him a suspicious glance from Erik – Charles pressed his hand to the side of his head and concentrated on an image.

The surprised giggle he got out of the suddenly much more cheerful young woman was all it took for Charles to start laughing too. "It's good, isn't it?" he asked her as he continued projecting the mental image. It was a fun one, he was quite happy with it. As far as the dancer could tell, Erik was now wearing a sequined blue dress, fishnet stockings and a shockingly red wig.

Erik looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes, realizing that Charles had somehow wrested back control of the situation. "What?" he demanded to know.

The only answer was another laugh from Angel as she asked, "How did you do that?"

Charles didn't answer her; he just leaned closer to Erik and said, "You've never looked more beautiful darling."

"My turn." Their newest mutant ally said as she reached back and unhooked the back of her top. Charles and Erik watched in awe as the graceful tattoo that spread across her arms started pulling away from the skin to reveal thin wings similar to a dragon fly. Erik slowly lowered his glass of wine as he stared in surprise at the sight. All the humor and joking faded away and was replaced by admiration. With a smile, the girl lifted into the air and hovered long enough for the two men to look at each other and wordlessly come to a decision again.

"How would you like a job where you get to keep your clothes on?" Charles offered Angel. The answering grin was response enough.


"Next time, we are flying." Erik insisted as Charles moved another piece on the chess board. "We've been back almost a day and my muscles still haven't recovered from that many hours cramped in a car."

"Yes, I'm sure the CIA will buy us first class plane tickets next time. For right now though, stop trying to distract me from the fact that I'm winning. It won't change the fact that you only have three pieces left."

Erik swore under his breath and Charles shot him a mocking smile.

"Oh, that's wonderful." The telepath said out of the blue as if continuing a conversation that Erik hadn't been a part of. Which was in reality exactly what had happened. He lifted his gaze from the board and told Erik, "Hank tells me we're going to New York City. We leave in the morning."

"I guess you'll want to go pack then. Shame that I won't get the chance to show you how to turn a game of chess around."

Charles laughed, "Oh, no, my friend. You don't get out of losing that easily. We're playing until this is over."

Erik still lost, but he took an astoundingly long time to do it, always managing to keep his pieces just out of Charles' reach. It was the first time Charles had stayed up until 2AM doing something as mundane as playing chess and sipping cheap scotch. It was more fun than any drunken party had ever been.

Erik greeted him the next morning with plane tickets and a cup of tea.


AN: The rest the gang will be collected next chapter when we return to Erik's POV. Also, general bonding time for Charles and Erik, can't ever go wrong with that.