As for the poll question: No matter how you want to break the story up, it's going to have the exact same story in either format. The three to four different stories would just be the split version of the entire 60+ chapter thing. I'm not changing anything plot-wise, just the location. As for the plot itself, there are already natural breaks in the story where I could break it off and start again in a new story as a continuation, because that's just how I write. Hopefully that helps clears things up a bit.

Also, I may be increasing updates to twice a week. One on Friday and maybe another one on Tuesday. I realized the other day that I have enough chapters to last me for at least five months if I continue on this one chapter a week span, and it's still growing... and I'm also starting to get confused as to what you guys are talking about when you're reviewing, because I'm so far ahead now.

This isn't normal for me, so expect maybe two chapters a week from here on out. At least for a little while.

Warning: This one gets depressing.

For the record, I think in XMFC, the agent Stryker in the CIA was supposed to be the Stryker in all of the other movies' father. Charles even mentioned it at one point… but all the fics I've read have just assumed it's the same person. Which, is impossible, seeing as he isn't even an old man until the second X-Men movie.

…And don't I feel like a nerd for knowing that.

The Perks of Being a Telepath

Chapter 5: Rain

The CIA was rebuilding Cerebro.

Charles caught a glimpse of the plans in a moment of lucidness, where the latest round of drugs had finally exited his system and he could get a better handle on his emotions.

Erik had been taken away for questioning an hour ago. Charles wasn't concerned—the agents questioning him were terrified of the tattoo on his arm and all that it implied. It would be shocking if the humans got Erik to do anything outside of glare at them.

Charles had been trying to forge a telepathic connection with some of the other mutants, but it was proving to be impossible. Even amongst mutants, telepaths were mistrusted, even feared. Charles knew and even understood—how could he not, after Emma Frost had betrayed them all?—but it still hurt to feel the sufferings of fellow mutants and be unable to help them.

Charles had been focusing so much of his power on monitoring Erik and trying to contact the mutant in the cell next to him that he almost didn't notice the two agents walking down the hallway with a handful of guards. If it hadn't been for the fact that Erik was still being questioned—always the same, nothing Erik couldn't easily ignore with an air of contempt—Charles wouldn't have thought anything of it.

But it was out of the ordinary. No one ever roamed the halls in this cell block—it was home to the more powerful and terrifying mutants.

Are we ever going to be able to rebuild that mutant finding device?

Charles knew that Hank was the only one with the knowledge of how to build Cerebro—he had made sure to destroy the plans for it in their first act of government vandalism just in case a situation like the one at hand happened.

We finally caught the mutant responsible for it in the first place.

No. Please, god, no.

That furry blue lion built it? That's impossible.

Hank. They had caught Hank and they were going to force him to rebuild Cerebro.

It was raining as Charles and Erik settled themselves into the library. Upon first glance, the wooden shelves, the desk, and the furniture hadn't changed. Closer inspection, however, revealed there was no longer a chess board on the table, some of the books on the shelves were missing, and the large leather chair behind the desk had been removed.

"No one has been in the mood for chess in a while."

Erik tore his eyes away from the empty table and looked at Charles. The lamp behind him cast dark shadows on his face, making him look years older. A pinched, sorrowful look was plain on his face. Erik didn't need telepathic abilities to know that Charles was hurting.

"I'm sorry about Alex."

It was the wrong thing to say. Charles' face blanked and he rolled over to the window.

Erik stood motionless in the middle of the library, uncertain what to do.

"I'm surprised your telepath didn't tell you."

Bitterness and sarcasm tempered with the barely detectable sadness twisted Charles' face, visible only in the window reflection.

"So am I."

The real meaning in Erik's casual statement was impossible to ignore.

Charles sighed.

"I was talking about the dazzling Emma Frost."

"I wasn't."

They shared a heavy silence, where their memories of the last six months drifted between them.

"You weren't surprised about the chair."

"I pulled a bullet out of your back. Forgive me if I thought it a possibility you wouldn't walk again."

He had hoped that Charles would, but he knew realistically that it would have been impossible.

"You are annoyed by the plastic."

"Not annoyed. Curious, yes, but not annoyed."

"Why is that?"

"You're the telepath, you figure it out."

"Why you insist on creating double standards will forever be a mystery to me."

The anger Erik never expected from Charles radiated off of the telepath in hot waves as he wheeled around to look at Erik.

"What do you want me to say, Charles?"

"I don't want you to say anything."

Silence.

"Let me ask you something, Erik. Why did you kill Shaw?"

More silence, followed by an incredulous look.

"You know why."

"No, I can honestly say I don't. I thought I knew why, but then it turns out, I was wrong."

"That must have been enlightening for you."

"You found me. I didn't find you. Cut the sarcasm."

"I don't know."

"Know what? Why you killed Shaw?"

"Why I found you."

The look on Charles' face said that he knew differently. Erik longed to ask, but he didn't think the intrusion would be welcome.

"You killed Shaw because he killed your mother."

"And?"

"I thought it would have been a far more noble reason that that."

"Don't make me into a hero that I'm not, Charles."

"Don't ask me to help you murder someone in the name of vengeance."

"What did you think I was after?"

"I thought you wanted to rid the world of Shaw, not become him."

"I have not become Shaw."

"Shaw wanted to rule the human race through fear and pain. Tell me, how have you done any different?"

Erik scowled, but was unable to say anything.

"Had I known that by allowing you to destroy Shaw I would be creating another monster—."

"You would have what? Let Shaw kill me? You don't have that in you."

"I let you kill Shaw."

"That's different, Charles. You knew what Shaw was capable of."

"And now, I know what you're capable of."

Another memory flashed through Erik's mind. White hot pain radiated from the base of his spine, filling his mind. Sand clung to his hands and he fell face first onto a white beach. What should have been a beautiful sight was marred by a wrecked plane, a destroyed submarine, and a beautiful woman being choked by her dog tags. Then there was a girl in blue with tears sliding down her face that was leaving, a sudden crack, and then he was alone, abandoned by the two people he had grown to count on the most.

The memory was broken with a gasp from Erik and a look of disappointment from Charles.

"What—what was that?"

"My memories from that day."

Erik shuddered as pain ghosted through him. He couldn't begin to understand how Charles could sit there so quietly after everything he went through.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault."

"That's not what you said."

Please. She didn't do this, Erik. You did.

Charles pressed his fingers to his temple out of habit as he widened his mental powers, searching for Hank. He hadn't needed the gesture to focus his powers in well over a year and a half, but it still brought him a small amount of comfort.

He didn't find a trace of Hank anywhere outside of what he had overheard in the CIA agents' conversation, which meant that Hank wasn't there.

"Charles?"

He hadn't heard Erik's return. He glanced up, shocked to find blood seeping steadily out of Erik's nose and his slowly fading bruises reforming with a vengeance.

"What happened?"

Erik grimaced as he sat down on the cot next to Charles.

"They switched agents midway through the interrogation. William Stryker was there."

Cold dread seeped over Charles like mud. Stryker was the one name in the CIA that Charles actually feared. Before he had wiped her memory, Moira had always spoken with fear of the Stryker family—both the older agent Charles had met during the good old days, and his son, William, who had a sadistic mind and a hatred toward the mutant race.

"Bloody hell, Erik."

Charles reached out with one hand and gently touched Erik's injured nose.

"They are getting impatient, Charles. They want answers."

"They should know by now using physical force on you isn't going to get them anywhere."

"I don't think it's me they want, Charles. Not this time."

They're rebuilding Cerebro. Of course they want a telepath to be able to use it.

"It's been nearly two months. Surely Raven and the others have come up with a rescue plan by now."

Erik was talking again, but Charles barely heard him.

"Charles? Damn it, Charles, look at me."

Charles closed his eyes and opened his mind once more, ignoring Erik's concern as he brushed against Stryker's mind. Horror crashed over him as he realized what was going to happen.

No. Please, no.

"Charles!"

His hand fell from his temple and everything faded to black.

"I didn't—I don't blame you, Erik."

"You should."

"I don't. Not for that. I don't blame you anymore than I blame Raven for choosing you. You were protecting yourself and I stood up at the wrong moment. There is nothing wrong with what you did."

"I don't—you honestly believe that."

"Does that really surprise you?"

They stared at each other again. Erik, with incredulity in his eyes, and Charles, with sadness and the barest hints of anger visible on his face.

"Then what are you mad about?"

Charles closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Opening his eyes again, he wheeled himself toward the bookshelves.

"The books that are missing—they were all of Raven's or yours. I meant to send them to you, but you didn't leave a forwarding address."

Erik was silent.

"You know, Erik, you took everything from me that day on the beach. My sister, my legs, my family. But I don't hate you for it."

"You should."

"I don't have it in me to hold a grudge like that."

"But you're mad at me anyway."

"There is that."

"I never meant to become like Shaw."

"I don't believe that."

"Excuse me?"

Charles glanced at Erik and then amended himself.

"You probably didn't consciously decide to become like him, but you share the same ideas. Have similar practices."

"I have never tortured other mutants."

That's debatable.

"What about humans?"

Silence. Erik looked away, unable to answer.

"Erik, don't you see what you're becoming?"

More silence.

"Of course not. You're blinded by your hatred of the human race."

"I think I'm quite justified by that. They did fire missiles at us."

"Please. You stopped them quite easily enough. You have nothing to fear from them and you know it. You are creating this war between us and them because it's all you've ever known. Like Shaw."

Erik's mouth tightened into a thin line and his hands clenched into fists. What little metal remained in the room began to rise.

"You believe you are a god amongst men."

"I am."

Charles let out a short, bitter laugh.

"No, Erik. You're not."

"I have powers no other human—or mutant, for that matter—has."

"That doesn't make you a god. That doesn't give you the right to decide who lives and who dies, Erik. By choosing this path, you have become the people who killed your mother."

Erik turned on his heel and stormed out of the library. Charles let him go.