The sun had started to set, casting long shadows into the orange tinted light, and my stomach was rumbling loudly. Charles was still out cold, despite the fact that not one but three trains had thundered their way past the window in the space of a few hours. I had nearly forgotten about the freight line that ran past the apartment, necessitating a pillow clamped firmly over one's head at night to block the noise, and I almost jumped out of my skin when the photos on the end table started quivering, the chairs and shelves rattling as the dingy silver bullet tore its way by. Somehow Charles had slept through the racket and was continuing to murmur and sigh on the couch, the springs underneath him creaking ominously as he shifted, dreaming. I had long since abandoned my magazine in favor of pacing anxiously and monitoring Charles' breathing. He had buried his face in the cushions, and I crossed the room to stare out the window as the grey city was doused in gold.

I was having a hard time figuring out how to refer to Charles. Was he my friend? I wasn't sure, we had only spent two days together before it all went to Hell. Was he a former employer? While it was true that Charles had hired me in the first place to find his missing sister, the term seemed too cold, too professional. An ex-lover, maybe? We had spent the night together. My last act in the city before my self-imposed exile had been to kiss him a final time. Glancing back at his sleeping form my gaze lingered on his lips, still as red as if they had been painted on like a China doll. But then again, I thought, was two days enough time to really become anything to this man? He probably hardly remembered my name. In his mind I was probably just the detective friend of Moira's, good for one job and one night and then forgotten forever. He was a rich boy, after all, comfortably situated in between a healthy trust fund and all the dames that high society could offer.

Except he didn't exactly look like a rich boy now. The upper-class sheen that had coated him back when we met was missing, replaced by a shabby suit and five o'clock shadow. There had been rough edges poking out from under the appearance of a gentleman even at our first introduction, but it looked now like he had been doused in a bucket of paint thinner, sloughing away the layers of gloss that years of dinner parties and a private school education had shellacked onto him.

I wondered, not for the first time, why I cared. It wasn't like we knew each other, not really. I didn't know anything about his hobbies, his fears, what he loved or hated. His middle name was a mystery. I had never met his parents. We didn't know each other's birthdays. All I knew about Charles was that he was the handsomest man I'd ever met, my skin tingled when he touched me, and he'd been willing to shoot a man in the kneecap for me less than forty-eight hours after we'd been introduced.

That, and that he was waking up.

A low groan emanated from the sofa. Turning my back on the window I grabbed a relatively clean glass from the chipped kitchen counter and turned on the tap, filling it halfway with sputtering lukewarm water. I settled into the armchair, watching as Charles rolled over and groaned again, more loudly, covering his face with one hand.

"How're you feeling?" I said softly. He squinted at me from behind his fingers.

"It tastes like something died in my mouth."

"Only your dignity, don't worry."

He snorted, then winced as he sat up slowly and laboriously. "Yes. Well. I'm lucky that wasn't my first impression, eh?" He reached out and took the water from me, his short, blunt fingernails scraping against my knuckles. He downed it in one gulp and wiped the slippery condensation from the glass across his forehead with a sigh. "Sorry about that. I'm not having my best day."

"I can sympathize." My eyes followed the journey of his damp fingers to his face. The trail of water shined on his brow in the fading light, glinting from under the shadows. I flicked on the table lamp.

"So." Charles shifted his weight, not quite meeting my eyes as he straightened his hideous tie. "This is unexpected."

"That's what Moira said."

He shrugged, standing up. "Well, you know her. She's easily surprised. D'you know, one time when we were kids I jumped out at her from behind a corner, nearly scared her to death. As it was she ended up with quite a nasty scrape on her knee." The tap squeaked as he twisted it, re-filling his glass. "I'll be back in a moment, I just have to raid Alex's medicine cabinet and figure out where he's hiding the aspirin this week."

I turned in my chair, raising an eyebrow at Charles as he retreated into the bathroom. The door stayed open. "He hides it?"

"Not really, he's just not very organized. He might as well." There was a clatter and a muffled curse. A hairbrush rolled across the floor. "Ah, here, found it." There was a moment of silence, the sound of running water, and then another few minutes without noise. Charles emerged from the bathroom with the glass empty and his suit buttoned correctly, looking considerably fresher than he had upon waking. "That's a bit better. Now," He crossed his arms over his chest, "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question. You're not friends with Alex."

"Ah." He held up a finger. "I wasn't friends with Alex when we met. You introduced us, remember? We're friends now." Charles sniffed. "I'd taken a few pictures for him, following around a woman who's been having an affair with her horse riding instructor. I've been working as a photographer lately, taking some snaps here and there for the cheaper papers, things like that. Alex doesn't pay much, but he always pays on time and he's a friend." He caught my confused look. "I have to make a living somehow."

"What, did the family fortune run dry?"

The laugh that tore itself from his lips was ugly and rough. "Hardly. No, I had a little fight with step-daddy. I'm afraid I'm no longer welcome at the Xavier Estate." His blue eyes softened a little and his voice dropped in volume. "Alex and Moira have been very kind. I've been sleeping on sofas quite a bit recently."

"Good to know I bring people together."

Charles picked at a loose string on his sleeve. "Yes, well, only after you've torn them apart first."

I cringed. The banter well had finally run dry, like I had known it would eventually. Now came the unpleasantness. "I never meant to hurt anyone."

Charles snorted. "Oh yes, except Shaw of course."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, obviously. But you knew that. There were no other options, Charles, he had to pay for what he'd done."

"I understand that." His voice had gotten higher pitched, his eyes flashing angrily as he hissed at me. "I understand that he was a monster, I understand that you did what you had to do but that doesn't excuse the fact that you murdered a man and then ran away without another thought!"

The words stung like a handful of nettles and I straightened my shoulders defensively, resentment rearing its fanged head. "I didn't run away."

"You just left, Erik!"

"I wanted you to come with me, Charles. I asked you, but you said no!"

"Of course I said no!" He fumed. "My sister had just spent a week being held captive by a psychotic sadist and I had just seen you shoot a man in cold blood! There were still bits of brain on your suit! Did you really expect me to come with you after all that had happened? I had duties, Erik; duties to Raven, to my family, to the company. I couldn't run off with you and leave that behind!"

"You know I couldn't have stayed in the city. I'd have been put in handcuffs the minute the police arrived!"

"Then you should have let them handcuff you! You should have turned yourself in, Erik! You should have taken responsibility for your actions instead of running away and leaving everyone behind!" He pointed to the office, to the photo of Alex and his brothers. "There are people here who would do anything for you, Erik. People who have done anything. For Christ's sake, I'm one of them! I would have waited for you in jail, Erik, I would have stayed by your side for as long as you wanted me!" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "And who are you? You're no one! You're just a guy I knew for forty-eight hours three years ago. I don't know you, you aren't important. I haven't spent my life with you; I haven't even spent a week with you! But for some reason every night for the past three years I've spent lying in my bed, tossing and turning and dreaming about you." As he ranted he had been moving steadily closer, until our faces were only inches away. Looking down at him I could still smell the alcohol on his breath, see the sweat trickling down the back of his collar. He raised his hand jerkily but I caught it in mid-poke, my fingers wrapped around his wrist and his fingertip almost touching my chest. We stood there for a second in silence, his shoulders heaving as he panted, winded from his tirade. He stared up at me, his lips parted and glossy.

"You're going to be the death of me." I croaked, my voice too loud in the stagnant air of the apartment. Charles laughed darkly.

"You've been killing me piece by piece for three years."

His lips tasted the same as I remembered.

Charles did up the buttons of his shirt, his nauseatingly green tie hanging loose off the arm of the couch as I picked the pillows up from the floor and ran a hand through my hair, trying fruitlessly to neaten it. We studiously avoided each other's eyes.

When Charles cleared his throat I nearly jumped out of my skin, I was so busy being engrossed in anything but the other man in the room. I glanced up, caught sight of his kiss-swollen mouth, and ducked my head back down so fast I almost got whiplash.

"That was a mistake." Charles grabbed his tie like it was a snake, knotting it around his neck and tugging tightly. "It won't happen again."

"Right."

"I'm probably still a bit drunk."

"Right."

He sighed. "You confuse the Hell out of me."

"The feeling is mutual." I smiled fleetingly, despite my conflicting feelings. Charles didn't return the gesture.

"Look, I don't think we should be here alone together, but I have to stay until Alex gets back from work to give him these photos, and I'm sure you're not going anywhere, so I'm just going to go into the office and tidy up the mess I made earlier." The vague flip of the hand Charles used to gesture to the room he had trashed while drunk was forced-casual, too affected to be truth. While the disarray certainly needed cleaning, it was obvious that he just wanted to get away from me as much as possible. I didn't blame him; I felt much the same way myself. Left to our own devices, we had already proved that the temptation was too heady to avoid. I nodded.

Charles lifted his camera up from the side table, carefully pulling it over his head. "Well. All right, then. I'll be inside." He crossed the room, his gaze trained on his target. His feet shuffled on the maroon carpet and he glanced back when he was firmly inside the office, his hand on the door. "Don't take this personally, Erik, but it's very difficult for me to be around you right now."

"That seems awfully personal to me."

"Yes, I suppose it does." His face twisted a little, mirth liquor mixed with a dash of sardonic lime. "How silly of me."

And then he slammed the door.

I could see his shadow moving behind the shuttered blinds from my perch on the sofa, bending and straightening and lifting, collecting the scattered photographs from the floor. The manila envelope was outlined by the setting sun as he shoved pictures into it roughly. He cursed and dropped it back to the desk, moving out of sight for a moment. When he re-appeared in my line of vision, I could hear the faint strains of The Andrews Sisters coming from the record player, singing in oblivion.

I buried my head in my hands and wished that the day would end soon.