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Good-natured approach would have worked better, thought Charles, observing their interrogation room, currently empty, through the one-way mirror. It's a pity though that Erik won't let him participate. Besides, the fingerprint on the knife, and who would have guessed, didn't fit the drug dealer's fingerprints due to the peculiar vindictive nature of this investigation. Once convinced that circumstances and deliberate study of the evidence, if perceived and analyzed correctly, always led in the right direction, Charles would mold the case. True, some new matters were unveiled lately and thus seemed more significant and life-changing and, therefore, maybe, he had let himself miss something.
There was a barely audible click of the opening door.
"Charles? Why are you standing in the dark?" Angel turned on the switch next to the doors and came closer. The small light blinked on and off for a few seconds, before stabilizing.
"Well, what are you thinking about?" she asked, focusing her attention on the empty room as well.
"That you should be more sympathetic," hummed Charles, being slightly disoriented since early morning. And yes, he was still mainly absorbed in his inner monologue.
"Excuse me?"
"It's nothing. Never mind," he said. Good that she didn't hear that — came a relieved thought.
"Fine," she shifted, trying to peer at him closer. "About that stalker of yours…"
"Have you found anything?"
"Um, sorry. I've never done something like this before. And you should install a proper security system in your flat, you know. The one you have is really crappy. My step-dad, the second one, works for a firm responsible for office security. I can't guarantee his honesty when it comes to money, but he may give a sound advice. I hope. After all, this is his business."
"Thanks, dear. I'll think about it."
"Jesus!" she chuckled, effectively feigning shyness, "Stop with the endearments, I've told you."
"Shall try," smiled Charles halfheartedly, "but can't promise anything."
"We'll see," she winked at him and got serious again. "I'd checked people from your list of primary suspects. Majority has the solid alibi — I mean, speaking of the night when someone broke in your apartment. Those who don't, um, just don't seem crazy to me… Charles, I repeat, that I'm not sure. I don't specialize in," she made a vague gesture, "in this stuff."
Charles couldn't force out any words of reassurance which would sound sincere enough in this situation. And in his current mental state. Instead, he said.
"I'll probably move out in any case… find someplace safer and closer to the precinct."
"Maybe closer to Lehnsherr's place then," Angel suggested slyly, playfully. "Since you're his personal chauffeur anyway. Oh? Hey, did I say something I shouldn't have? Forgive me. My tongue has just moved on its own," quickly reacted she when Charles grimaced, unable to keep his expression neutral.
"No, you're absolutely right," said Charles and turned to leave. "I'll probably speak to my neighbors myself one more time, if you don't mind."
"But, it's, it won't be…" she faltered.
"It'll be all right, Angel."
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Presently, Charles was in the process of making himself tea. To put it simply, he was waiting for some water to boil as he cautiously ripped open the tea bag and emptied its contents into the yellow mug. He heard the snicker behind his back. Solemn, he paid no attention to Logan. And he did not linger. Instead, he silently grabbed the mug, and went back to his desk.
Hank, mumbling something under his nose, has nearly collided into him. Charles stepped aside in time but a splash of hot liquid landed on his hand nonetheless.
"Charles! I'm so sorry," Henry flushed, slumping in embarrassment, and actually made it tough for Charles to continue on his interrupted route, seeing as he was standing in his way.
"Now I realize why Erik made up this no drinking and eating rule in here," sighed Charles, shifting his grip on the mug. Though the room seemed fairly big at first sight, the place was incredibly crowded. As if the space was shrunk by some eerie magical spell and, as time went by, it was getting gradually smaller.
"Is he back?" immediately asked him Hank, wildly looking around. Now Charles noticed that he was not wearing his glasses.
"As far as I know, he is not," calmly answered Charles and felt it would be prudent to ask a question in his turn. So he did.
"What's the matter?"
"I think, I've solved the Pirson's case. I'm ninety percent sure I found the right car!" said Hank. The ends of his ears turned red at the words. Hank, oh Hank.
"That's amazing, Hank! Great job! But, do you mind if I go and put down this bloody mug at last?"
Apparently, Hank hasn't noticed that Charles was holding something at all. He went all apologetic at him again. Trying to be civil, Charles shushed him quickly, finally sitting at his desk and taping in his password. To tell that he expected to be greeted by the sight of Raven, wearing Erik's shirt early in the morning, casually opening the doors of Erik's house, would be the understatement of the year. His wannabe mature attitude for contented acceptance of their relationship crumbled like a house of cards and lay in pathetic disarray. Heavyhearted but utterly sobering experience needed to be processed. That's why after coming here Charles realized that he was as good as useless today, meaning that he wasn't able to get back to actual work. Fortunately, Erik was away, tutoring Sean, and, as practice showed, everyone could relax a little, expecting their boss back only in the afternoon.
Soon, he was assaulted by an obligatory lousy headache, but went on writing the report and wondering what was taking Erik so long. Finally, Sean appeared, announcing his displeasure to everyone willing or unwilling to hear. Seeing as Charles and Hank were the only people present, he could have turned down the volume.
"He left me! Lehnsherr, that son of," Sean met Charles' gaze and obediently coughed, awkwardly swallowing the insult.
"Sean, where is Lehnsherr?" stepped in Hank, "I'd called him five or six times already. Why isn't he available?"
Charles perked up, a tight knot of great concern twisting in his chest.
"That's what I'm trying to say," grumbled Sean aiming for his chair and kicking wall instead. "Damn! Ouch, it hurts! He left me there, you know. That place where the taxis refuse to go to, because it's so damn far. I had to run from the pack of wild dogs, can you believe it?"
"Sean, let's get straight to the point," said Charles, registering unpleasant dryness in his mouth. Words got unnaturally heavy. "When exactly did he left? What happened before he left? Was he acting strange?"
"Wow! Hold on, Charles! " Sean raised both hands in defeat, "What's going on?"
"I do hope that nothing in particular," Charles rubbed his temples — increasing worry induced the arrival of stabbing ice picks jabbing right there.
"I remember, that he'd got a call," said Sean. "And he left, let me think, at two, no, maybe earlier," he looked at Charles sharply. "I don't know whether he was acting strange per se. If you ask me, he's got one emotion he bestows upon people. Anger. Under different sauce every time. That didn't change at all."
"Well, thank you, Sean," and Charles meant it.
He immediately took his mobile and pressed the speed dial. After the third unanswered call, he started to count seconds, inwardly listing all possible, and very legitimate, reasons why Erik would not be able to answer his phone. Charles looked up and found both Hank and Sean exchanging some weird gestures.
"Charles," ventures Hank, fidgeting. His voice tore down the abrupt, uneasy silence, "Could you tell us what's wrong?"
He shook his head and hoped that the motion conveyed appropriate amount of apology. These were not his secrets to share. Fortunately.
"If you decide to go looking for him, think one more time," Sean said meaningfully.
"You mean…"
"I mean, it's going to rain and what not. The storm? Hello there!" exclaimed Sean and Charles manages a smile at his emotional outburst.
"I'm not sure," he confesses, "where he might be."
And then he recalled that fatal day last winter. The smell of sweet perfume, headache, an accident in the corridor, his tweed jacket, whose miserable fate he will never ever find out. Right. And there was Raven; Raven, who had slipped her card with phone number in his pocket. He remembered that he had taken it out and… Charles opened the lowest drawer of his desk and his eye caught the small paper box, which used to be full of chocolate candies. How and when did it appear in his drawer he had no idea, maybe Amy bought it for him, but he was too lazy to do anything with it at the time and didn't enjoy sweets that much; he offered them to Sean and Angel, and, instead of throwing it away, he somehow developed a habit of putting little notes, business cards and all tiny important things in this box. His mother would have had a fit if she had seen it.
Plain, white piece of paper was on the bottom of the box.
He went out, quietly shutting the doors. Charles decided to walk down the corridor, his feet carrying him to the eastern wing where the parking lot was, as he pressed the phone to his ear.
"Hello," he said when somebody picked up. "I'm sorry to…"
"Charles!" Raven instantly recognized him. "Good afternoon to my favorite police officer."
"Miss Darkholme, um, Raven," he struggled, assaulted by exuberance, "I need your help."
"Well," she said, business-like, "go on then."
"Erik isn't picking up," started Charles, "and I have no idea where he is. Maybe, there's nothing to worry about, but with this recent murder," he paused, "and he told me that a decade ago you two were involved in…"
"Understood," interrupted him Raven briskly. "It's not wise to speak about it on the phone. Write down the address and meet me there in an hour."
Charles scowled, — glad that she wasn't able to see him. That commanding manner was easily recognizable. Although, beggars can't be choosers.
"Thank you," he said, but Raven had already ended the call.
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Erik had an officially shitty day. It didn't start off particularly well. Firstly, he'd had an awful morning. Secondly, Charles was practically radiating anguish, and, as usual, refused to tell him what the hell had gotten into him again. So, everything had been already peachy when he got a call from Emma, and had to abandon Cassidy, the chatterbox, at the crime scene and drive through the entire city, which was a traffic nightmare at this hour. Emma sounded a hint shaky and very persistent on the phone. She told him that she left her cottage due to the storm warning and was waiting for him in her apartment.
Outside, this frigging storm was taking its time too. Erik wanted it to start already. While sitting in the relative comfort of his car, waiting for the green light, he, sort of, felt sorry for everyone crossing the road, as wind was getting stronger and colder — it blew dust, litter and tiny droplets of water, overwhelming people and tearing umbrellas from their hands. Windscreen wipers were working like mad.
When Erik got out of the car, he finally understood the extent of the unpleasantness he observed from the interior so far. Fuck, it felt as if wind, the horseman of the storm, was trying to ambush and also blind him for good.
Before taking the elevator he stopped in the lobby, thinking. A dicey situation. Unfortunately, foul mood often deafens the voice of reason and he is aware of that because more often than strictly necessary Erik experienced consequences. He must inform someone of his whereabouts. No, not Charles, denied Erik the first name he came up with. There's no need to drag him deeper into this shit. But, he knows one person who has already come to a sticky end. No harm done — decided Erik and texted Raven, adding in the post scriptum that she was not welcomed into his house, ever. There are missed calls: McCoy, well, Erik hopes that he made a breakthrough this time, and, anyway, he will call him back later.
Emma opened the doors quickly. Amazingly so. As if she was standing in the corridor the whole time, waiting for the bell to ring.
"I was afraid, you'd change your mind," she said.
"I was going to," replied Erik. And he wasn't lying. If not for the fact that Erik was indirectly responsible for her brother's death — Shaw killed him before he had a chance to shoot the bastard, — he would have never come. Being the manipulative bitch, Emma knew it and used it today. Eat your heart now, Machiavelli.
"Are you coming in?" she asked, impatient. She looked like she always did, but, now, the vague feeling of danger transformed into something else. It was sharper; it was alive and breathing down his neck, almost like a beast, ready to rip him to shreds. Definitely a set up. And, they were close; he could feel eyes trained on him. So, not in the flat, then. Where?
"Not a chance," said Erik and stepped back.
It was deep-rooted instinct that saved him: Erik ducked before the bullet hit him, grabbed his gun and if not for Emma, who suddenly lashed out at him, he could have taken out two suits appearing from the door of the flat opposite Emma's. Maybe. But, whilst pushing her away, he'd lost a precious second, needed to open fire. Stupid, stupid mistake worthy of one of his rookies. With back to the wall and his gun picked by one of men he had no choice but to raise his hands, and did it very carefully, seeing as one of the henchmen, who tried to shoot him, was noticeably shaking. Shit, these scared newbies are worst of all. The second one, with immaculate stance and grim face, didn't even blink once. Fuck, Leland did him proud and hired a killer.
"Stop shooting! Dumb motherfuckers," he heard a gruff voice accompanied by fast steps, coming from the still open door to Emma's flat.
Meanwhile, Emma has leaned on the opposite door and crossed her arms, meeting his eyes with resolution.
"No offence, Lehnsherr. They have my daughter. And they said that Leland only wanted to talk," the last sentence was bordering on apologetic.
Erik didn't want to acknowledge her, too busy staring at the man, his former captain, who showed up in the doorway. It seems that even spent material has crawled out of some dirty dust hole as soon as the cash draught got steadier.
"Surprised, Lehnsherr?" asked him the asshole.
"No, just disgusted," retorted Erik, keeping his face carefully blank. Fuck this, he shouldn't have sent that message to Raven.
He expected the punch and was ready for it. Knowing old Frank, he was really surprised that none followed.
"Talk first, abuse later — that's the motto of mister Leland," grunted a former officer with a contemptuous smirk.
I'll sooner die from annoyance than from whatever they have in store for me — groaned Erik inwardly.
"Where is she?" gritted out Emma, and tried to come closer, but one of the henchmen has pushed her back.
"Like promised, lady," Frank tossed her a mobile, which she caught in midair, throwing him an icy look. "In ten minutes, you'll get a call. No calling the police or alerting anybody by any means, you hear me?"
"Clearly."
"If someone asks about the shooting, you don't know anything, but you've seen two men running down the stairs. You can't remember their faces," instructed he.
Emma just nodded this time, averting her gaze.
"As for you, Lehnsherr, you're coming with us."
Feeling cornered and trapped was not something he appreciated. And yet, Erik felt the great wave of gloomy self-satisfaction. Let them think that they have outsmarted him, let them believe it. And then he'll kill the fat bastard just like he killed Shaw — his lackeys be damned — the very instant he lowers his guard. Upon making the decision, Erik got a grip over his anxiety. He was ready.
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There is a narrow, filthy street, shut in between grey, lofty houses, with an abundance of garbage and occasional stray dogs with evil, hungry eyes. Under the darkening sky, a dingy building with innumerable windows in it, the very number Raven gave him, seems animated, moaning and groaning, or, is it just the trick of wind. Charles arrived a bit earlier than it was arranged and was cautiously monitoring his surroundings. Tired of useless staring around and wary of cold he got back into the car. Worry, deep and dark, is eating him alive. Besides, Charles heaves a sigh, he needs to regain his composure before Raven sees him in this state. Asking for her help was painful enough, but bearable, and Charles hates to admit that he still has less knowledge about Erik than he originally thought. This is your pride talking, don't listen to it he repeats again and again. Focus, he tells himself, because this is not important right now.
He flinched when the ringtone hindered on him. Charles looked at the phone screen and felt a pang of surprise mixed with unease. Jason? What could have happened?
"Hi, Charles!" greets him his neighbor, "I hope, I'm not interrupting anything important."
"No, you are not," reassures him Charles. "How have you been?"
"Good, thank you, Charles. And you? No, that's not a nice question considering the circumstances. Um," stuttered Jason, agitated, "well, sorry, I'm a little nervous. That girl came, your co-worker, I guess, and asked questions."
"You mean Angel Salvatore, right?"
"Yes, that's right. I think. I do remember faces better than I remember people's names," apologizes Jason. "Dark hair, dark eyes, very pretty. Correct?"
"Jason, you are not calling me to ask her phone number, are you?"
"No, no," vehemently denied Jason, "I, just, forgot to mention one detail, although probably very important, when she was asking about that day. You know, damn, it's complicated," he lowered his voice and Charles was going to ask him to talk louder, when the knocking at his windscreen startled and interrupted him.
Good. Raven was already here, wearing a black jacket and holding a large, black umbrella. Anticipated pouring rain has just begun.
"I'm very sorry, Jason. I need to go now," quickly said Charles, getting out of the car to meet her. Due to the furious wailing of wind he missed Jason's reply completely.
"I'll call you back, sorry again."
Raven motioned him to join her under the umbrella. Actually, the thing was so large that it was probably designed for two, like a family umbrella or an umbrella for couples.
"Why don't we get into the car?" immediately asked Charles.
"Because we don't want to attract any attention," she looked at him and then at his car. "It's too expensive for this neighborhood. As well as your suit, of course."
"Well, sorry, that I don't carry around the homeless disguise in the bag, just in case," returned the jab Charles.
"You are a bit vain," she observed, thoughtfully, "but I like it. Come on, we need to go. Lehnsherr is with Leland now," she clarified, and Charles' heart missed a beat at that. It appears, his fears came alive.
Raven huffed, and hooked her arm round Charles' elbow. Strangely enough, Charles became rather comfortable with her, especially now. She was obviously pretty tough and ruthless, and though he couldn't find it in himself to trust her, he was almost glad that Raven was nearby. They turned at the corner and found themselves in the wider street, with less dirt and more cars.
"I suppose, they are in Shaw's former quarters," went on Raven. "One block ahead there is an old hotel; that's where we can find them. Leland's people are watching the premises though, so I will try to go in first, since I've been there before. Charles, watch out!" he dimly felt that she grabbed his injured arm, right there the stitches stung, and pulled him back. Pain flared up instantly. Wind had torn umbrella from Raven's hand and away. And Charles was immediately soaked to the bone.
The very car, which had nearly killed them both, and on the sidewalk, mind that, has dissolved down the road, under the heavy curtain of rain.
"Thanks," got out Charles, "Goodness, please, let go of me."
They were pressed so close that the proximity was a touch obscene. Charles could feel the lines of her body with his own, and wet clothes were not helping the matter. He hastened to back away. Raven, long blond hair plastered to her face and looking as drenched as he felt, still had her back to the iron fence and she had the nerve to leer at him.
"I'm offended," she raised her voice against rain. "You should see your face. I've seen corpses looking livelier. It's unusual for a man to look like that when we fall into each others arms."
"My apologies," Charles felt a distant urge to lose his temper. "I thought, we were going to rescue my best friend and your," oh no, he can't even say the word, "Why are you so careless, enlighten me, please? Erik's life is at stake now."
"Why shouldn't I be," she replied. "And we've never been whatever you were trying to imply we were. It, just, was never an option, just an eclipse of the mind, like the bastard used to say. Never," defeated, she leaned on the iron bars and closed her eyes.
Could she be in love with Erik? Did he even know about it?
All that sadness, all the hurt he could feel seeping from angry words was familiar. Charles had ears and eyes for sorrow, yet every time it was so hard to watch it blossom and encompass human hearts. Mindful, he moved closer and gently touched her cheek, tracing the delicate skin with light and he hoped soothing stroke. Raven breathed in and opened her eyes, the expression guarded and unreadable.
"You're wonderful, Raven," he said confidently. "Don't ever let yourself have any doubts about that. And immensely beautiful and formidable, and if I knew you any better I'd find more words."
She smiled, a little, — not her usual smirk or grin, he was used to.
Charles smiled in response. The only thing which was warming him now was the selfish, but nevertheless gratifying realization that Erik and Raven were not together and the second, nor less gratifying — that he managed to cheer her up.
"So, now that you know that I'm so wonderful and so lonely…"
"Sorry, but no."
"Damn," she scowled.
"Raven," he scolded her with a look, "show the way. The rain is getting stronger and if we don't find cover soon…"
"I get it! Look here, we need to go to Shaw's safe-house now. It's not in use anymore but there is an old tunnel which connects it to the hotel," she clasped his hand and they started to run in the direction pointed by Raven.
Running was sort of pointless now, seeing as they have lost their umbrella and were actually already soaked from head to toe. At least, a little warming up was in order. Charles was so going to catch a cold during this adventure. In case he survives, of course. Raved led them to some two-storied, massive brick house with windows blocked by wooden panels, seemingly abandoned. Stone steps were leading to the heavy, wooden doors. At the doors she pushed aside the flower-pot, the single inhabitant of which was something dry and convoluted, and swore. There wasn't any key, in the most obvious place imaginable. Of course, not. Charles rolled his eyes in exasperation, using her fit of rage to examine the doors. Upon coming closer, Charles noticed that the lock was shiny, read new, and hence, this place may not be as empty as it seems.
"Do you by chance have a pick-lock or something which can be used as such?"
Raven shrugged.
"You have a gun, detective Xavier. Why don't you just zing it through? Nobody will pay attention to the shot in this storm."
She was right.
Charles pulled out a gun and did as she advised. After all, Raven assured him that in the house there is a secret storage of weaponry only she was aware about. Together, they pushed open the doors and finally stumbled into dark, dusty hall. Raven took out her mobile and turned on the flashlight. Charles tilted his head up and was met with the canopy of spider-webs decorating the ceiling. House smelled of loneliness and death, like a mausoleum.
"This way," urged him Raven and gestured to the left. "If I know about the passage, Leland knows too. There will be guards. Let's gear up."
"Let's," echoed her Charles.
House watched them disdainfully.
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