Chapter Six

Erik stares at the blinking lights of Cerebro falling over Charles' forehead. "He's a genius, you'd think he'd be able to make it at least fit you." The alterations Hank has made increased the size of the helmet as well as extending the chord, so that it's long enough to reach down to Charles' new height.

Charles laughs. "Well, it's not my fault he had to make it so much shorter." The moment after he's said it, he wishes he could take the words back. The look on Erik's face is gut wrenching, and Cerebro's power boost makes sure that even though he's still got his block up he feels the jolt of pain that stabs out from him.

"Oh, Erik, I didn't mean-"

"No, I should leave." He starts to back away but Charles grabs his hand, pinning it to the railing.

"Stay, please." He holds fast, trying to anchor Erik there, to keep him in one place. "I didn't mean it like that."

The lights flicker between them, throwing Charles' pleading eyes into shadow. He's sure that if another telepath were to come into the room they would be bowled over by the sheer force of their emotions. Maybe it's the influence of Cerebro, amplifying his emotions as well as his powers, but the guilt that's been building in him for months is starting to leak out. They're both waiting to see who will make the first move.

"We need to talk." Charles says finally. Erik raises an eyebrow.

"I thought everything was fine."

"Yes, well." He removes Cerebro's headpiece with his free hand. "Obviously it's not."

"Obviously." Erik's voice is sarcastic, but his face is pale and drained. "When were you planning on actually talking to me?"

Charles frowns with one half of his mouth and smiles with the other. I wasn't, truthfully, but I suppose there's no time like the present."

Erik kneels and leans forward, pressing his brow against the cool, comforting metal. "I don't know what to say. I've already apologized, Charles, I don't know what I can do to make this better."

Neither of them do. They've reached a stalemate: Not sure where to go from here, they hang in limbo. Charles closes his eyes.

"I blame you."

The look on Erik's face is pained but unsurprised. "Yes, I know. It's not exactly as if your feelings are unfounded."

Charles shakes his head. "But I shouldn't blame you. I know that it wasn't your fault."

Erik laughs bitterly. "You've made it abundantly clear that it was."

"If I could take back what I said on the beach…" Charles winces. "I wouldn't. You were going to kill people, I had to say something."

"It was the truth."

"It wasn't. You were only defending yourself."

"But that doesn't change a thing, does it? We both know it doesn't, Charles."

They can hear the kids outside, yelling and laughing. They're playing football in the early evening air, working up an appetite before dinner, and they sound so happy and carefree that it makes Charles' chest ache. His and Erik's knuckles are white, their hands squeezing each other so tightly it hurts.

"No." He whispers. "You're right. It doesn't." He pulls his hand away and feels his heart drop into his stomach. "I'm so sorry, Erik, but I can't forgive you. I know I should; I want to, but I just can't."

Erik straightens, fists by his sides. When he speaks his voice is measured and the tremor in his hands is well hidden from years of careful practice. "I understand." The door beckons and he turns to go.

Charles wants to scream, but he doesn't.