About half an hour after Charles retreated to the office the front door pushed open hesitantly and Alex Summers poked his blonde head in nervously, scoping out the room. I glanced up from my book and waved. Alex gaped.

"I- you- what?"

"Hi Alex. You know, you really shouldn't keep the key above the door: it's too obvious a hiding place."

A wide grin broke out on the young man's face and he surged towards me, clapping a hand on my back excitedly. "Erik! You're back!"

Even though his enthusiasm made me a little uncomfortable, it would have been hard for me to pretend that I wasn't glad to finally find someone happy to see me. I smiled back. "That's the best reaction I've had all day."

"Yeah, well." Alex scratched his head. "I missed you, man. We were starting to think you'd never come back."

"Most people have been saying that was what they hoped would happen."

Alex screwed up his face in disbelief. "What? Who said that? They were probably lying."

"Please, Alex, lying is a sin." Charles drawled. He had somehow managed to creep out of the office without making a sound and was leaning on the wall nonchalantly. "I took the last of your aspirin, by the way."

Alex's smile flagged a little. "Were you drunk again?"

Holding his thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart, Charles squinted at us. "Teensey bit. I'm better now, though." He handed Alex the envelope. "I got those photos you wanted. Your client's wife can do things with that tongue of hers that I've never even heard of."

"Thanks, man." Alex took the pictures gratefully, flipping through them in a flurry of black and white. His eyes widened a little. "Damn, you weren't kidding. The husband's not gonna like this." The envelope ended up on the kitchen counter as Alex sat down on the sofa where Charles and I had been less than an hour ago. I coughed awkwardly. "So, Erik, why are you back?"

"I…" I had managed to avoid the question for most of the day. The answer certainly wasn't going to make me look any better in Charles' and Moira's eyes- they already thought I was a thoughtless fool, a reputation I was doing nothing to disprove. "I don't really know. I missed the city, I guess."

"Just the city?" Charles scoffed. "Not the people in it?"

And for my next trick I will insert my foot into my mouth. I cursed my poor choice of words. "One implies the other, Charles, don't change around my meaning."

"Oh. That's cool." Alex stood up abruptly, looking worried. "Wait, so, do you want the apartment back? Because I can totally go and stay with friends or something if you want to move in again."

I shook my head. "No, of course not! It's pretty much your place now, Alex, I'm not going to make you leave. I'll get a hotel room; I'm sure I can find a new apartment once things die down a little."

The blonde's shoulders slumped in relief. "Great. Thanks." He rubbed his hair sheepishly, his grin lopsided. "Truthfully, this is the nicest place I've ever lived in."

I glanced around the small apartment skeptically. Alex must have lived in some pretty shitty places for this to look like a dream home.

"Do you guys want anything to eat? I think I've got some leftovers in the fridge."

"I don't want to impose." I said, even though there was a sharp hunger pain starting in my stomach. "I should probably meet up with Moira, she offered to find me somewhere to stay."

"Do you mind if I take you up on your offer?" Charles turned to Alex. "I'm afraid I'm out of cash."

"Yeah, of course." Alex pulled a worn leather wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. "Here, I have to pay you for those photos."

Charles took the crumpled dollar bills gratefully, folding them into his jacket. "You're a saint."

The floorboards creaked as I inched towards the door. "I'll see you guys later, then."

"Okay. Come over some time, right? We've gotta catch up; I've got a lot to tell you." Alex said excitedly. I managed a smile.

"I'll call you."

"That's what they all say." Charles called from the kitchen as I slunk out onto the landing. The adrenaline I had been running on since the afternoon had finally run out and I leaned against the railing heavily as I made my way downstairs. Hunger pains curled low in my belly, growling and clawing like a wild animal. It was with great relief that I saw Moira's car pull up to the curb as I left the apartment, her headlights bright in the burgeoning darkness of evening. I pulled open her passenger's side door and slid in. She tossed me a white paper package; as I unwrapped it, it revealed a pastrami sandwich on rye bread. I tore into it hungrily.

"You have impeccable timing." I sighed. She raised an eyebrow.

"Everything all right? Is Charles okay?"

I waved away her concern. "He's fine. He's got an acid tongue on him, though."

She nodded as she nudged the car into gear. "He's always had a way with words."

The sulfur yellow of the street lamps passed over us as they flickered on, their glow flashing through the windows as we drove through pools of light in the black street. "What happened? He mentioned something about a fight with his stepfather…?"

"Ugh, yeah." Moira winced. "Charles' dad died when he was a little kid. The guy his mom re-married, Kurt Marko, is a real creep. I remember when we were in high school Charles used to show up with bruises nearly every day."

My anger flared hot. "He beat him?" What kind of a monster could do that to someone like Charles? Sure, he could be a smartass, but he didn't deserve anything like that. Moira looked disgusted by the memory.

"It was pretty bad. Charles never told anyone, of course, and I'm pretty sure Kurt hasn't hit him since he graduated from Oxford a few years ago and came back here. But then the whole thing happened with Raven, and with Shaw…" Moira shook her head. "Raven is adopted, you probably didn't know that. They've tried to keep it quiet. Kurt never liked her, thought she was trash, but Charles had always been there to keep her safe. You saw how he got at the church."

I remembered the cold glare on Charles' face as he shot Sebastian Shaw in the leg, his calm fury and determination as we drove to rescue his sister. I tried to imagine Charles as a child, those slim arms and legs twig-thin and his huge blue eyes hardened protectively in the looming shadow of his stepfather, Raven hidden behind him. Unbidden, an image came to my mind of a young Charles with a black eye, sitting quietly in class with his face angled down to hide the bruise. I winced at the sting of sympathy that pricked at the backs of my eyeballs.

"He really cares about her."

"He would do anything for her. She's his sister." Moira swerved around a corner, narrowly avoiding a fire hydrant. "Charles was pretty torn up when you left, Erik. I think just the shock of the past few days, plus the fact that he'd pretty much been an accomplice to murder, and then you just disappearing- he wasn't in a good place. Kurt tried to use that against him, get him kicked off the board of the company."

I raised my eyebrows. "Can he even do that? I mean, it's the Xavier Shipping Company, not the Marko Shipping Company. Surely there's some sort of rule against kicking out the cat who owns the place?"

"Normally there would be," The car jolted as Moira raced over a speed bump, the leather seats squeaking in protest, "But unfortunately Charles' mother is a hopeless drunk, and she's technically the one who owns the company. All Kurt had to do was write up a statement saying that she thought Charles was unfit to run his father's business and pry the bottle of gin out of her hand long enough to replace it with a pen." She snorted. "I would guess her signature was very sloppy."

"Shit."

Moira frowned grimly, concentrating on the road. "It was pretty bad. When Charles found out what Kurt had done, he got really drunk and turned up at Kurt's office. He made a scene in the lobby- I'm not going to gloss things over, it was a total shitshow- and Kurt had to get security to drag Charles out. He's completely disowned him, kicked him out of the house, got a restraining order to keep him away, froze his bank account. The last I heard, he'd replaced Charles' seat on the board with his thug son, Cain. I don't think Charles has seen anyone in his family since. And I'm pretty sure the only reason Kurt didn't do the same to Raven was because she had become so high-profile after the kidnapping."

I nodded. "The papers would have crucified him if he so much as yelled at her. How is Raven, anyway?"

"I have no idea. We were never close; it was always Charles I was friends with when we were at school. She's a good five years younger than him."

We turned down a dark side street, the car's engine purring as Moira eased off the gas and crawled along the road. "Why would anyone hate Charles that much?" I asked.

"I'm not the person to ask, Erik. Seriously." She glanced out her window and pressed her foot down on the brake. "We're here. I called and made you a reservation while I was at the office."

I squinted at the sign that swayed above the door of the building, splintered fading blue paint with gold letters, proclaiming it to be The Genosha Arms Hotel. It looked respectable enough, if a bit shabby. I collected my suitcase from the back seat and got out, crossing around to the driver's side of the car. Moira rolled down her window.

"Thank you, Moira. I really appreciate it."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't get all mushy on me, Lensherr. Oh, and speaking of that, you're booked under an alias. I still have to dig your arrest warrant out of the filing cabinet at the office and arrange for it to have a convenient accident with a paper shredder."

I bared my teeth in a grin. I had been told on more than one occasion that my toothy white smile made me look like a shark, and it was a good weapon of intimidation, but Moira had known me for long enough to know that when I turned it on her I genuinely meant it to be friendly. "That's swell. What's my name tonight?"

"Michael Xavier." She rolled her eyes at my incredulous expression. "Don't give me that look, it's the first name that popped into my head. If anyone says anything about Charles, you can always say you're his cousin. Or his wife, I don't know, it's your choice."

I tried to look exasperated, but it was difficult when Moira's sarcastic statement had sent my imagination into overdrive. Still fresh memories of the ill-advised, hastily aborted make-out session that Charles and I had shared back at the apartment weren't helping things, either. I coughed.

"You're blushing, Erik."

"Shut up."

"Whatever you say." She said, smirking. "I'm going home. I'll call you in the morning."

"Alright." I started towards the door of the hotel but paused halfway, turning around. "Thanks again, Moira."

The streetlight illuminated her face from above as she leaned out the window. "Stop saying that, it's wigging me out. I think this is the most times I ever heard you say 'thank you' in the nine years we've known each other." The car reversed down the street, pulling out with a squeal of rubber on asphalt. I watched as it disappeared back onto the main road, and then went to go inside.

The lobby of The Genosha Arms was brown. There was really no other way to describe it. The wallpaper was beige and peeling, the ceiling painted the same shade but spotted here and there with darker spots of damp. The carpet was the color of gutter mud, and I had the sneaking suspicion that it had been chosen specially because it could hide the evidence that proved that it's cleaning had been neglected for long periods of time. The light fixtures were all covered in dark orange lampshades, casting the room in sepia tones. Even the receptionist was brown, her mousey hair done up in a frizzy bun and her hunched shoulders shrouded in a dun-colored shawl as she glanced up at me from the book she was reading. She could only have been in her thirties or forties at the latest, but the way she tapped her fingernails on the arm of her chair impatiently I found myself eerily reminded of my grandmother. She looked bored as I approached the front desk and eyed my rumpled clothes disapprovingly.

"I have a reservation under the name Xavier, Michael Xavier." I stood there awkwardly as she eyeballed me, her gaze sweeping me from head to toe. She frowned, but grabbed a key from the board behind her.

"You're in room twenty." She said in a heavy Eastern European accent, handing me the key.

I took it. "Thanks."

"Whatever." She turned back to the novel in her lap. I slunk off to the stairwell, wondering why I felt chastised. The power to make any man feel like a ten year old who just got caught breaking a window must be some sort of magical ability that only maternal European women have.

Room twenty was the first door on the second floor of the building, and I managed to unlock it with minimal grief from the slightly ill fitting key. I stumbled into the room, dropping my bag on the floor and managing to toe off my shoes before dropping to the bed. The quilt underneath me, though brown and threadbare, smelled like fresh laundry and rubbed soft against my cheek. I closed my eyes, the pastrami sandwich heavy and satisfying in my stomach and my head filled with memory-dreams of Charles' kisses, and drifted off to sleep.