"She makes you miserable." Erik said once Gabrielle retreated upstairs with her cup of juice, and a bagel that Charles had reheated for her. He hadn't posed it as a question, simply a statement of fact. Charles shrugged, suddenly too tired to fight this fight.

"Why do you stay with her then?"

Charles scoffed and rolled the familiar path to the liquor cabinet. The gigantic mahogany cupboard was one of his favourite parts of the house. He imagined that by now there were permanent grooves in the floor from the multitude of times he'd wheeled to and from the finely stained doors. "How could I leave?" he asked, as much himself as the man standing behind him, "There's David to think of. Gabby may not be the world's best mother but the courts wouldn't care."

"She doesn't seem like she'd be capable of raising a child on her own to me. Surly you could make them see that. And anyway, couldn't you just," he wiggled his fingers at his head, "convince them?"

Charles selected one of his finest bottles of scotch and pulled it from the shelf along with two low glasses and motioned for Erik to follow him out of the room. The man stalked along beside him, waiting patiently for Charles to speak. "Moral high ground." he replied after a minute. "Personal ethics, yadda yadda. I don't like to influence people unless strictly necessary."

Erik frowned. He obviously had no such sentiments, had probably never had the luxury. He also didn't question the early hour as Charles poured them both a healthy three fingers of scotch; Charles was beginning to grow fond of the man. "Besides," he said, keeping his voice chipper, but not really bothering to disguise the self-deprecating twist of his mouth, "I've spent my whole life living with people who make me miserable, I don't think I'd know how to live any differently." he tossed back a good mouthful of scotch, savouring the smooth burn. "So my friend," Charles ventured forward when Erik didn't comment, "Are you married? Got a wretched wife of your own waiting for you? Oh, is that perhaps what you're running from so determinedly, should I be expecting the missus banging on my door any time soon?"

Erik ignored the underhanded inquiry about his predicament just as smoothly as Charles had expected him to. "Never been married." he said matter-of-factly, "Never had the time to try."

"Oh surly not, an outstanding gentleman such as yourself must have a girl pining away back home, a lovely Ines, or Hilda perhaps...Maeve? Tatiana? Simone? Saanvi? Yoshi?"

"I can tell what you're doing Xavier."

He put his free hand to his throat in a gesture of having been greatly offended, but his eyes were twinkling. "Me sir? I know not what you mean. And I've told you, it's Charles."

Erik rolled his eyes but Charles caught a hum of comfort rolling off him. The man was much more relaxed now, with a glass of fine liquor in his hand, reclined languidly across a plush armchair. Charles even fancied that he might be almost content. It was a nice change to feel another adult so at ease in his presence. Gabby of course spent every minute they spent together counting down the seconds until she could get away. The various workers he employed thought of him as the master of the house, an illusive figure in a plain above them, not an equal. Erik had no such notions, he saw Charles for what he was and that was enough to make him want to cry with relief. He hadn't realized just how starved he'd been for companionship until now. "My friend I might not let you leave." he mused aloud.

That statement, as strange as it was, didn't seem to faze Erik. He smiled wryly and sipped his drink, treating Charles to an intense look that made him shiver, not unpleasantly. "Are you going to keep me locked up in your dungeon Charles?"

"Mmm perhaps. Would you protest very strongly?"

"Depends." Erik's long fingers stroked a path through the condensation on his glass, "On how you treat your prisoners. Do you serve them all such fine alcohol?"

"Only if they behave."

"And if I don't?"

Charles felt his eyes widen, and he was unable to stop the slow smile from spreading across his face. Oh this man was quite something! Quick as a whip and a good conversationalist, talking to him was fast proving to be a delightful way to pass time. "Well I think I have some light beer in the basement from years ago that I could dig up if the need arose."

"What kind?"

"I believe there's still some such American brand name types down there from my college years."

"Oh god that's cruel and unusual torture! I'll just behave myself then."

"Not a fan of American brew?"

"Heavens no, complete waste."

"And what would you prefer then?" Charles asked, leaning forward in his chair and quirking an eyebrow, unashamedly digging for information. Erik wasn't fooled, but he stroked his whiskery cheeks in mock contemplation nonetheless.

"I do enjoy some Canadian beers, and a good Aussie pint has it's time and place." he mused thoughtfully, "I am rather fond of some southern drafts as well, and I've always thought that the Germans can brew a decent one."

Hmm German. The name Erik wasn't particularly exotic, but it was a possibility. He looked like he could be Canadian, but the hint of an accent made Charles inclined to think not. German then, was the best bet.

"Personally I've always been partial to the stronger stuff." Charles announced, saluting with his glass and draining the remaining liquid with a satisfied smack.

"Mmm. I'm a martini man." Erik hummed, rising to refill Charles' glass for him. At the sight of Charles' incredulous face he paused and sniffed, "Don't judge, allow me my preferences."

"To each his own then." Charles agreed amicably .

"Admit it though Xavier," Erik said after a period of comfortable silence in which glasses were refilled and Charles undid the top button of his shirt as the alcohol worked its way into his system.

"Charles." he interjected, determined to break Erik into the familiarity.

"You want to leave her. You've thought about it haven't you."

"...constantly. Not that it's your business."

"It's just, I don't picture you living like this. You're not the sort to just sit by and let the world have its way."

"Well I can't exactly stand."

"But that shouldn't stop you. You're a fighter. You just don't want to admit that you are, for reasons beyond my understanding."

"You've only just met me." Charles said quietly, more shaken by the conversation than he'd like to acknowledge "You can't pretend to know me. That's not how it works."

"Says the mind reader." Erik has moved forward in his seat, elbows braced against his knees, glass forgotten on the end table. "I may not have as powerful resources as you do, 'my friend', but it's my job to know how people think. How they're going to react. It's the only way I stay alive."

"Hmm, maybe you have some latent psychic abilities."

"I highly doubt it. If I did I'd know why you stay. I gauge a persons probable actions based on the way their personality indicates they will deal with any given situation. But with you there is a disconnect. I look, I gauge, but then you turn around and do the opposite to what I would have predicted. If I had your gift I could see the reasoning behind your actions, instead of being baffled by them."

"Hmm I think I see what you mean." he's leaning forward too now, as intrigued as he was frightened of what was coming out of his companion's mouth. "Tell me, Erik, how should I deal with the situation I find myself in? How do I go about living my life according to the man I am?"

Erik grinned, apparently delighted by the challenge. Then his eyes turned thoughtful, his hands twining between his legs as he considered his response. Charles held his own empty glass in a loose grip, no longer interested in drinking. He let the man take time with his response.

"You are young, I'd estimate...twenty-two, twenty-threeish?"

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five. Judging by the age of your son, who is obviously that woman's child, not one from a previous relationship, you've been married for at least three years."

"Nearly four."

"Got married when you were twenty-two then?"Charles nodded. "Married at a young, but respectable age. That tells me that you are sensible and level-headed, but aware of what is expected of you. You are responsible."

"That's good to hear."

"Now, from a purely objective point of view, your wife is very pretty. But she doesn't have the...poise that you do naturally. I feel confident in guessing that she doesn't come from wealth, that all of this around us is yours."

He waited expectantly and Charles realized that he was seeking conformation. He nodded. "So it wasn't a marriage of convenience. Not for you at least, and she doesn't exactly strike me as a gold digger. Maybe it was her family?"

"All of her relations died before we met."

"Then true love? Unlikely, since the spark seems to have fled so completely. Hmm, you had motivation to marry her though, then what about your family? Pressuring you to settle down, produce an heir?"

"Hmm not exactly. Close though, you're doing very well."

"I'm still betting it has something to do with your family. But I'll move forward. You have obviously been in some accident or something that has confined you to this chair. You move confidently, so not a recent occurrence, but not so much so that it happened in your childhood. Within the past five years I would estimate."

Smile and nod old boy, see where this is going.

"Your son, David. It's clear that you love him, cherish him, dote upon him. I haven't seen your wife interact with him yet but from the exchanges I've witnessed between you two I'd say you are the more involved parent despite our disability. You haven't let it get between you and your child, you have strong fortitude, you're proactive when you want something badly enough. And yet you haven't left the woman that makes you miserable."

"So," Erik tapped the index finger of his right hand, "to review I have surmised that you are sensible, responsible, strong of spirit and proactive on occasion. I also know that you are intelligent, kind enough to be warm towards your wife despite the fact that you don't love her, naive enough to take in a stranger you know nothing about, even after I held a knife to you, and yet for some reason you have stuck around for this long. In summery, you sir are a smart, idealistic paradox."

"Ha! I've never been called that before."

"Glad to set the record straight. Now, as far as the most likely course of action for you, this is the best I can give you. You, Charles Xavier, should have ages ago gotten a divorce, setting free not only yourself but your wife as well. It's obvious that neither of you are happy at present, and you, being kind, ultimately want what's best for her."

Erik continued, as if caught by a wave of inspiration the words spilled forth, "Now because you have done nothing to indicate that you are an unfit parent, and also the generous commission you will grant to all included parties, you will be awarded partial custody of David, primary if you bribe large enough. Proactive. You won't mind splitting your assets with Gabrielle because you are, as we've established, kind and idealistic. And also obviously absolutely filthy rich."

"Once you are free of your wife, I see you finding happiness in other places. Maybe you should turn to teaching, it suits an idealist, passing on that 'moral high-ground' of yours. You're intelligent enough to do anything you'd like. You'll meet someone along the way, who'll make you happier than Gabrielle ever did. You aren't the type to look for a trophy wife to decorate your arm, or a meek little thing to stay in your kitchen and pump out babies. You'll find yourself an equal who takes as much joy in you as you do in them. You'll be sickeningly in love, so much so that you'll be that couple who everyone at once adores and envies. You'll grow old together never having run out of things to talk about-"

Charles' glass slipped from his clammy fingers and shattered against the hardwood, cutting Erik off mid rant. "Oh bloody hell." Charles cursed thickly, bending awkwardly to pick up the prices. His hands were shaking and a shard pricked the moist pad of his finger, drawing blood, "Oh shite."

Erik slid from his chair, bending stiffly and pushed him away. "I'll do it." he muttered, plucking up the glass quickly and depositing it in a decorative porcelain dish at his side. Charles hugged his cut hand to his chest protectively, growing increasingly aware of how wet his face was.

"T-thank you my friend," he rasped when Erik had gotten all the pieces, "There's a wastebasket in the corner just throw it there."

Erik did so, then returned to his side and held out his hand. Charles stared at the long, slender fingers blankly until Erik prompted, "Give me your hand Charles, I'll look at your finger." oh, right, injured and bleeding a little bit. Erik's touch was feather light against the back of his hand and he pulled out the small tube of disinfectant and roll of gauze that Charles had put in the pocket of the jeans he'd lent him in case his own wounds opened.

As Erik cleaned and wrapped his finger, Charles wiped his face as best he could trying his hardest to look casual. "That was," he began, his voice breaking awkwardly, "surprisingly poetic." he settled on, safe and accurate.

"And did it sound about accurate?"

"It sounded...lovely." Charles said heavily. It sounded wonderful, perfect, and so nearly tangible. It sounded so possible, yet so ludicrous. It sounded like the life Charles had always wanted, and Erik made it sound so damn easy. It wasn't, he told himself, it's not that simple. It couldn't happen, he'd resigned himself to lie in the bed he'd made. He'd been selfish and this was his punishment. He'd come to terms with that. Now Erik had to come stumbling into the picture and tear at his resolve with tantalizing images of the future he had always dreamed of. Charles had never wanted to revisit having to crush his own dreams all over again, but it was inevitable now that he'd glimpsed it once again.

"I'm sorry." Erik said, not even conscious of what it was he'd done. Charles couldn't exactly say that it was alright because that would be a lie, and he didn't exactly feel comfortable lying to this man at the moment. He nodded mutely in acknowledgment.

First aid successfully administered, Charles tugged his hand out of the other man's grip and backed away. "It's been a...fascinating talk Erik." he croaked, "But I think I'm going to go check on David now, I think he's calling me."

"I didn't hear anything Charles."

"In his mind! He's calling me in his mind." Charles lied, putting his hands to his wheels and bracing to leave, reaching out with his mind to prompt David to come downstairs. "Now, lunch will be in roughly an hour, David and I usually take it in the kitchen, you're welcome to join us. Until then feel free to amuse yourself with whatever. Just remember, locked doors are locked for a reason, moral high ground yadda yadda."

He hoped he didn't sound too rude, but he needed to get away to calm his mind. He needed the comfortable innocence of his son's sweet thoughts against his own, soothing the turmoil with his blissfully childish radiance.