Okay, so this is the chapter where I gradually start to plant the seeds of new plots… because 20 chapters later, it's time for a plot twist. Enjoy! …And this one doesn't end on nearly as big of a cliffhanger as the past few did.

The Perks of Being a Telepath

Chapter 20: Satellites

Charles had disappeared out of the kitchen in search of clean clothes and scotch over an hour ago. Erik had already searched everywhere he could think of, short of waking up Raven and demanding to know where her brother might be.

Frustrated that Charles had once more successfully evaded a conversation about how idiotic he was, Erik stormed outside, intent on finding something metal that he could take his frustrations out on.

He stopped dead when he caught sight of someone sitting on top of the satellite dish.

You can join me, if you want.

Charles sounded amused. That might have been a good sign, had it not been for the overwhelming feeling of pain Erik got coming through their link.

Erik stood at the bottom of the satellite dish, staring at the ladder that would take him up to the top. His broken arm ached as a reminder that climbing ladders would not be in his best interest.

How the hell was he supposed to get up to the top?

An image of a submarine and his floating through the air on a magnetic field came unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

You think of everything, don't you, Charles?

There was a faint hint of sad laughter that held no humor.

Erik didn't blame the telepath.

I thought you weren't supposed to be using your powers.

Yes. Well. What Hank doesn't know won't hurt him.

Don't you think hiding things from Hank might be detrimental to your health?

There was no response.

Erik took a deep breath and called on his abilities to create himself a magnetic field.

He floated to the top of the satellite dish, remembering the last time he had been up here.

"I don't think Sean has quite forgiven you for that."

Charles was sitting with his back against the railing and his legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes were half open and he looked like he was fighting a monster headache.

"I am."

"Would you stop doing that?"

Charles closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, my friend. My control is practically nonexistent right now."

Erik sat down so that he was facing Charles and said nothing.

Off in the distance, the sun began to rise.

Charles opened his eyes again and sighed heavily. He folded his arms against his chest and studied Erik intently. The metal-wielder shifted uncomfortably underneath the weight of the telepath's steady gaze.

"I owe you an apology, my friend."

Erik raised an eyebrow. Out of all the things he had been expecting Charles to say, that was not one of them.

"For what?"

"For not being entirely honest with you. With any of you, really."

Charles shifted his eyes to the rising sun and uncrossed his arms. He started fiddling with a stray twig on the ground.

"What is it, Charles?"

The telepath was quiet, which only served to annoy Erik even more.

"You've asked us to trust you, Charles. You've asked me to trust you. And we do. I do. But you're going to have to decide if you want to trust us."

"I do."

The answer was a little too quick, a little too defensive for it to be entirely true. Erik gave Charles a pointed look, which caused the telepath to close his eyes and sigh again.

"I honestly do trust you. All of you. It's me I don't trust."

Erik froze mid-sentence as he caught sight of Moira and the gun.

"I'm so sorry."

Fear and horror twisted her apology. Tears were streaming down her face. Erik looked to Hank, who was staring at the CIA agent with a mixed expression of hatred and confusion.

"Beast?"

Hank blinked, not taking his eyes off the gun.

"She shot Charles."

Shock crashed over Erik in, sharp, hate filled waves. The gun in Moira's hand slowly began to turn.

"Wait."

Charles' soft whisper surprised Erik more than anything else did that evening. He looked down, stunned to find agonized blue eyes staring back at him.

"Charles?"

"It's okay. She's not going to shoot me."

Erik could barely make out what the telepath was saying.

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"She already has."

Charles glanced at Moira before looking back at Erik.

"She remembers. Everything."

Charles shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable on top of the satellite dish. He distantly realized this was probably a bad idea as his back throbbed.

"You don't trust yourself."

Erik's irritation was understandable, but Charles didn't want to deal with it. Not today.

"If you had the power that I did, you wouldn't trust yourself either."

You'll have a power no one can match. Not even me.

The words hung between them. Charles predicted Erik's question moments before it formed in the metal wielder's mind.

"Were those words a lie?"

"No. Telepathy and metal wielding are two vastly different powers. I assure you, my friend, yours is still infinitely more powerful than mine."

Erik raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"And why is that?"

Charles looked away, deciding that was one question he would rather not answer. He didn't want to drive Erik away again, not so soon after they had rekindled their friendship. Especially not when the answer lay in the reason why they had been forced to end their friendship.

What was this between them, exactly? Was it friendship? It didn't feel like it, not at the moment. It felt as though they were once more beginning their dangerous dance around each other that they had started in Cuba.

"Charles."

Erik moved from skeptical irritation to flat out aggravation so quickly it gave Charles mental whiplash.

"You do not want the answer to your question. Trust me, my friend."

"How can I when you refuse to trust me?"

"I already told you, I do trust you, Erik."

"I hardly doubt that. If you can't trust yourself, then how in the world can you trust others?"

It took the telepath a minute to realize that for once, he didn't have an answer.

"I don't know."

Erik sighed heavily, running his uninjured hand through his hair. It was only then that Charles remembered that his friend wasn't as all right as he wanted everyone to believe. That the man had been tortured for God knew how long and hadn't slept since he regained consciousness.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

"Don't be."

Charles hated the fact that the metal wielder meant it. It was vastly unfair to him, that Charles knew so much about him, and yet Erik knew absolutely nothing about Charles. Or at least, nothing that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

"I was ten when we moved to America."

Erik looked back at Charles, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"What?"

"My father was killed in the war and my mother wanted to get away from England. This mansion has been in my family for decades, so my mother moved us here."

Erik still looked highly puzzled. Charles pressed on.

"We had been here for a couple of weeks when Raven joined the family. It was a few months after that when my mother got remarried to a man named Kurt Markos.

"Kurt had a son named Cain, who was a year or two older than I was. At first, I thought it'd be great. We could be one big happy family. Me, Raven, and Cain…"

Charles trailed off, looking away from Erik. He really didn't want to see his friend's reaction to the next part of the story.

"What happened, Charles?"

Charles closed his eyes.