Chapter Seven: The Cold Light of Sunday

When Charles awoke, the sunlight was blaring in his face, and he could hear music playing, albeit softly, from of the neighbouring flats. For a moment he listened to the song, before someone started speaking and he realised it was a radio station. It was probably someone sitting out on their balcony, enjoying the nice weather. His window was open, allowing a breeze to flow through, and not one to remain in bed when it wasn't gloomy and raining, Charles threw off his duvet and made his way into the shower, navigating his way over last night's clothes on the floor.

Feeling more alive after standing under some scorching water, Charles checked the time. It was one in the afternoon, and apart from the dull headache, he didn't feel half bad. The headache's cause however was another matter, either alcohol induced or the result of pushing his powers too fast and too quickly last night. Either way, he needed paracetamol, coffee and a bacon sandwich, preferably in that order.

Erik wasn't around when Charles made his way to the kitchen, his bedroom door was firmly closed and there was silence from behind it. Charles flicked the kettle on to boil, and pulled out the emergency drug supply from the cupboard. After searching through half empty packets of ibuprofen and diclofenac, from the time Erik did his back in playing rugby, Charles found what he was looking for and resolved to go pain-relief shopping sometime soon. Their emergency supply was socking bad for people who abused their livers on a regular basis.

The smell of bacon soon filled the flat, and as Charles' stomach growled he knew that getting up early had been the right choice. With his sandwich in hand, Charles considered taking one in for Erik, but debated whether or not his interruption would be welcome, then decided to let the man sleep. It would only take a few minutes to cook up another should Erik decide to join him later. Setting everything down by the computer, Charles returned to his room to find all his grading-work he still had left to do and brought it back out to his workspace. Every spare moment this weekend, he had been spent working on these, and Charles had been impressed by the answers his students had given. They had obviously been paying attention in his lectures, which was more than flattering. He supposed now was as good as any to attack some of his emails also.

There were quite a few emails from Hank, who seemed to have gotten himself into a panic over the weekend. They were supposed to be working on an essay, in general the topic was genetic mutation from single cells and beyond, but Charles had left it open for interpretation. He liked receiving essays that agued from different points of view, or discussed varying topics, reading the same thing over and over became mind numbing after a time. But Hank was fastidious, and although he was clearly extremely gifted, he lacked the confidence to strike out on his own, and trust his own intuition. Most of Charles' tutorial time was spend with Hank, discussing his ideas, and helping the young man put them in some sort of logical order.

He found the emails that Erik must have seen, Hank's requests for further discussion and typed back.

Hank there is plenty of time to discuss your essay, we will meet Tuesday at 5pm, in the lecture theatre. Bring all of your drafts.

Charles shook his head, and made a note of the meeting in his diary. Next he opened what appeared to be an empty email sent by Sean, until scrolling through blank space, he found the word: Wasssssup?Typed at the bottom. Charles checked the time the email was sent, Sunday 03:16. Honestly, had the kid nothing better to do? Charles really needed to set some boundaries.

The rest of the emails Charles either deleted, or made notes of their content in his diary. Most were generic mass email alerts, which required no reply. The feeling of accomplishment overtook him, and he sat back in his chair intending to finally enjoy his sandwich, then he noticed the collapsed page at the bottom of the screen. Expanding it, he realised Erik had been doing early morning recognisance on him courtesy of Google.

Having acquired his PHD in genetics, Professor Charles Xavier decided to remain with Oxford University and continue his research in our world leading science department. Xavier joined the teaching staff in September 2010, and is currently lecturing in human genetics and mutation. A topic, which has proven to be wildly popular with current Oxford students, with lecture places being over subscribed, a trend hoped to continue in the future.

Professor Xavier has proven himself more than competent in his chosen field, despite his young age. He is widely credited by his peers, and his published works are recommended for worldwide consideration, by being at the forefront of scientific study and advancement.

(See below full list of published works)

Charles rolled his eyes. He sounded like a pompous ass. Maybe they ought to add that their expert in mutation was also a closet mutant himself, and had a penchant for sambuca and messy weekends. He wouldn't sound so boring then. But if that wasn't bad enough, there were a series of pictures underneath the text, of him, standing about with his students. A sappy group shot from the beginning of the academic year, one of him and Hank looking into a petri dish, and finally one where he wasn't wearing a white coat and goggles, but still the epitome of a science nerd.

Well, at least Erik knew he hadn't been lying now, as weird as the explanation of how he earned his money might have been. He knew people had an idea of what professors looked like, and he never seemed to fit the bill. Most people thought he was one of his students, when they came to see him, and looked sceptical when he introduced himself. But Charles was used to it. He shouldn't have expected anything else.

Erik's door clicked open.

"Why are you up?" he asked gruffly, walking into the room, then stopping to rub the back of his neck.

Charles pointed at his stack of papers.

"I have work to do," Charles answered. He was used to working with a hangover, and was sure he'd still be feeling it tomorrow as well, but he always managed to make it through the day.

Erik looked at the pile of papers, and turned even paler. He looked at Charles as if he thought he was crazy and walked past him towards the kitchen. Charles heard him flick the kettle on, and throw some bread into the toaster. After a few minutes he stood in the doorway, toast in hand and watched Charles work. Charles ignored him as he finished reading a question answer, marking it correct, but then turned the computer screen to face Erik.

"Doing some research were you?" Charles asked, showing Erik the web page he'd left loaded. It was the page Erik had found about Charles, detailing his publications and pictures of him teaching his students.

Erik grinned, before heading back into the kitchen to collect his coffee.

"Is that a picture of your boyfriend Hank?" he called back. When he reappeared, Charles was scowling at him.

"Very funny," Charles said closing the page.

"I'm only teasing you Charles, I know he isn't your type. You like the scary, creepy older guys," Erik said with a smirk.

Charles ignored him and returned to his grading. Erik sighed, Charles was really tetchy this morning, and was still refusing to look at him, even when he was now walking towards him. Erik placed his coffee next to Charles' mug, and stood looking over his shoulder, leaning close to his ear. He stayed like that for a long time, breathing along the side of Charles' face. He wondered how long Charles could ignore him, especially when there were now goosebumps all along Charles' bare arms. But apparently Charles could play chicken for a long time, because it was Erik that broke the silence. He'd given up on trying to make sense of the test questions, let alone the answers Charles was marking.

"We should decide what to do about Shaw. Because I need to go back to work at some point, and he's going to ask me what happened to you."

Charles straightened in his chair, but still said nothing. He ticked something on the page, then crossed out a number and wrote 72 in its place. "If I know Shaw, he'll already be looking through the security cameras. He'll have seen us leaving together like best pals," Erik continued.

Charles made a few more corrections before he turned to look at Erik. They were so close that Erik had to take a step back in order to keep Charles in focus.

"I am so sorry for involving you in this Erik."

"I'm not frightened of Shaw, Charles. I've been working with the man too long to be intimidated by him. But I am worried for you; I know what he's like. He isn't going to drop this. If he thinks I know something, then he isn't going to rest until he gets what he wants. You know I am prepared to lie for you, so all I want is the official line. What do you want me to say?"

Charles gave an indifferent shrug of his shoulders.

"When I froze him, I tried to make him think the night had lasted longer than it had. That we'd all continued drinking, and he'd passed out," he explained, as if this was some sort of common occurrence.

"Tried?" Erik asked. This seemed a very vague description of a potentially dangerous situation. Had Charles been successful or not? It was a very fine line between Shaw believing a lie, and Erik being caught out in one.

"I'm out of practice," Charles admitted. "Or rather I was never really in practice."

"So, you're done it before then?" Erik pressed. Charles had been holding back on so much, and the truths being confessed stretched beyond any imaginings.

"Once or twice," Charles said, looking away. "Erik I shouldn't be doing it at all, it's wrong to interfere with people's free will."

Erik supposed Charles had a point, albeit a very high morale one. He was sorry to say that he didn't share Charles' scruples, and wondered exactly how Charles could bare to keep something so amazing a secret, or prevent himself from indulging at every opportunity. He let it go, it was a discussion for another time.

"The cameras will have the times on them," Erik said. "The story wont add up."

Charles shook his head.

"Again, I am sorry Erik. But I'll think of something, when I see him again," Charles said, pulling his papers closer to him, and setting back to work. He knew he had said the wrong thing, because Erik suddenly became very still. He leaned in close to Charles' ear once more.

"What do you mean, when you see him again?" Erik asked, his voice steely and low. His hand pressed down hard on Charles' shoulder, keeping him firmly in place.

"It isn't over Erik," Charles answered, refusing to look up and meet Erik's eye. "I have to end it properly."

"You don't end things with man like Shaw. He ends things with you."

"I know that!" Charles countered, shrugging Erik's hand from his shoulder.

"So, how exactly…"

"Erik, I've survived this long without your help, just trust me on this alright," Charles said, standing and picking up his papers.

"Where are you going?"

"I have work to do," Charles muttered.

Without looking at Erik, he returned to his room, and shut the door firmly. He didn't want to argue with Erik, but that was exactly what was going to happen if he remained in his company.

Erik didn't have much faith in Charles' abilities to convince Shaw that his current obsession as a bad idea. Then again, Charles wasn't exactly normal; he did have the upper hand, if he could be convinced to use it. But Erik knew Charles wouldn't walk up to Shaw with an unfair advantage, unless he intervened. He didn't trust Charles to deal with this on his own. He would feel guilty for using his powers, even if they were being used on Shaw and technically for self-defence. Erik knew Charles was going to end up getting hurt, or overpowered.

Erik took his coffee and returned to his room also. He supposed he ought to get dressed, since his conversation with Charles had sufficiently woken him up. After a few hours of lazily showering, and then reading a book, Erik decided he should go and make the peace with Charles. The other man was right after all, it was his problem, and Erik shouldn't be telling him what to do. He just wanted to make it clear, that his help was there, should Charles need him.

"Charles, I'm sorry. It's your call, I'll tell Shaw whatever you like," Erik said from outside Charles' door. "Charles? Can you hear me?"

He opened the door after receiving no reply, and was met with an empty room. The clothes from the floor had gone, as had Charles' other belongings. There was no note, and there had been no goodbye, but then there never was. Erik rolled his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. He sincerely hoped Charles had decided to go home to Oxford, at least that way he was as far away from Shaw as he could be. Only, it left Erik behind in the firing line.