Chapter Four

"Don't shut me out anymore. I want you to see me."

"I've forgotten how."

"I wanted a place where the students could practice their powers and I wouldn't have to worry about them breaking the good china or burning holes in the drapes."

Erik looks around the large, empty space, taking in the smooth metallic walls and the futuristic blue-grey tiles of the floor. "Well, it's certainly big."

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Not impressed, are we?"

"It just doesn't seem to be anything special. Are we ordering new equipment?"

"Not exactly." The telepath grins. "Watch this."

He taps a series of buttons and leans back in his chair expectantly. He studies Erik's face with barely held-back glee, watching as his expression morphs from boredom to astonishment.

He presses his hands to the glass in front of him. "My God!"

Charles turns his gaze to the view. The previously empty, sterile room is now a jungle, heavy vines hanging from the dark trees and misty fog hovering in the air. He feels a surge of pride. "I had Hank build it. He says they're 'hard light holograms'. It's completely interactive; you can go down and see for yourself. If you touch something, it feels completely real." He's feeling slightly smug. "I call it the danger room."

Erik heads to the elevator, then pauses. "You're not coming?"

Shaking his head, Charles taps the console. "I'll stay here, make sure nothing goes wrong."

"If that's what you want."

"It is."

Erik stares at him for a long moments before getting in. "I'll be back in a minute," he says, closing the metal doors with a wave of his hand.

Out the window, Charles watches as Erik steps into the simulated jungle. It's been nearly three months since he first sat in the wheelchair, since he last read Erik's mind. He's been staying away on purpose, partly because it feels to intimate now, and partly because… Hell, he doesn't know. Because he's afraid of what he'll see in Erik, maybe, or because he's afraid of what Erik will see in him. He feels like eh should have forgiven him by now, and some days he can convince himself that he has, but then every time he wakes up in a cold sweat wondering why he can't feel his legs all the anger and pain comes flooding right back.

He wants to trust Erik, he wants it more than anything, but it's so hard after what he did. He feels like such a hypocrite, but no matter how miserable it makes him, he can't bring himself to go back into Erik's mind.

So it's been rough. They play chess together and train the students, but where they were inseparable before they are now wary and tense around each other, circling. The students don't really want anything to do with Erik anymore, their trust shattered and fragmented, and he's spending more and more time in his room, retreating into himself.

Moira is outside, trying to decide whether to knock or ring the doorbell. Charles allows himself a small smile. He likes Moira. She's smart and loyal, compassionate- she's a good friend. He knows that she's attracted to him (it's hard to miss, really, one doesn't have to be a mutant to see it), and he probably would have slept with her back when they first met, but now… well. Charles just can't see it.

She decides to ring the doorbell. Charles closes his eyes and sends a message to the game room.

Sean. Can you answer the door?

Sean jumps, banging his shin on the pinball machine. "Geez, Professor, a little warning next time?" He says, rubbing his leg.

Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Agent McTaggart is about to ring the doorbell. Can you let her in?

"Sure, no problem." He bounds downstairs just as she presses the button.

Charles turns back to the window and turns on the intercom, leaning forward to speak into the microphone. "Erik, I'm going to end the simulation."

Erik's voice crackles over the speakers. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He's quick to say, fiddling with a dial, a switch. "It's just... Moira's here, and I have to go talk to her."

The metal-bending mutant frowns up at the observation booth as the tropical forest fades around him. "Why is she here?"

Charles shrugs. "Does she need a reason?"

Erik's silence is enough of an answer by itself. Charles sighs.

"She needs some files of mine. The ones on the Hellfire Club."

"And why should we give them to her?" Erik's voice raises, anger badly contained. "So that they can cut them open, find out what makes them tick?"

"So that they don't have to." The angrier Erik gets, the harder it is to block out his thoughts. Charles taps the rim of his wheel anxiously. "We're co-operating with the government on this one, Erik. It's safer for everyone with them in custody, and they can't expect to keep them in jail unless they know their weaknesses."

Erik looks like he's about to yell, but he deflates instead. "Right. Sorry. I…" He passes a hand over his face. "Sorry."

"It's fine." It's not, of course, but that's practically Charles' catchphrase now, and saying it one more time won't hurt. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Right." He's wheeling towards the elevator when the microphone lets out one last burst of static. "Charles? Why did you use the intercom? Why didn't you just speak into my mind?"

Charles bows his head and grits his teeth. "I have to go. Don't trouble yourself."

And then Erik is alone in the cold metal room.