London, England 1975

Erik stared out the window of an old apartment building across the Big Ben. The tower's looming frame looking over the city, it's large hands ticking from one second to the next, seemingly mocking the powerful mutant. Half past four was the time, an hour early from his appointment, Erik knew, but he was anxious. Cuba, the beginning of the war, then the fiasco at the White House. It had been a long time since it all began, Erik thought. Looking back at everything that had happened, and the moments he shared with those people at the Xavier mansion, he was happy then, he admitted, the happiest he had ever been in a long time.

He regretted it sometimes, throwing it all away for his selfishness, in a sense, and losing the happiness he unknowingly craved for all this time. But, he kept thinking, his existence wasn't for his own happiness. It was for the hope and future of his kind. For this dream, he would sacrifice anything, even himself for the cause that he had set forth for himself and all those who joined him. Yes, he would regret and think of the past but he would hold his head high and continue to look on into the future. Of what he can achieve with his powers and of what could become of the world when his kind were put in their rightful place.

But, looking at the busy street below him and the looming tower's mocking face, Erik was still so painfully human. He so desperately wanted her to come with him that day in Cuba. To take his hand and stand with him and the Brotherhood for the good of their kind. Maybe then, there would still hope for them. There was always hope, he would reassure himself sometimes. She will see eventually, he would think as he created more plans, what I am doing is right. This is for the good of mutants, for the good of all, good for her. He would think about it restlessly as he lay in bed some nights. He felt for her, he knew, and she, him. But why, Erik would sigh remembering her quivering voice over the static of the radio, her rejection, her decision to stay with Charles and persist his methods were wrong. But there was no other way, he pleaded, no other way to make them see who we are.

He would think of her every now and then in his time at the correctional facility, fleeting images and moments with her he refused to forget. At times he would think if she ever thought of him. He knew he was no longer her priority, the ties between them, although never cut, thinning over their years of separation. He would sometimes ask Azazel, a time ago, to bring him to where she was, just to watch her. He would always stay away, never really crossing paths with her, but he was close enough to see her. Occasionally hear her laugh as she looked after the younger children in the school. His actions were cowardly, he knew, and it wasn't like him at all, but he didn't know how else he could see her at the time, given all that had happened.

Erik, against Raven's protests and his own, sent her a letter the other day, to meet with her. He had no helmet, no armor, no cape. Just a large black overcoat and a cream sweater and dark jeans underneath. Just Erik. This was a weakness that he knew had to be fixed. He was vulnerable, as his power grew so did Charles'. But, in the irony of it all, he wanted to feel human again. To escape reality just for a moment with her would be enough.

Soft steps creaked against the floor boards behind him, as a figure stood to his side, looking out the window as he did, at the large tower's hands hovered over the hour. They were quiet, neither saying anything as Erik inconspicuously looked over to the woman. She had cut her hair, once again at the same length he had first met her, he observed. "You look older." She spoke in his native tongue. Erik's lip twitched "As do you." he replied, noticing her look up at him. "That's no way to speak to a lady." She teased, a soft smile gracing her lips. "You weren't one for social standards, what's changed?" Erik retorted, looking back at her, their eyes finally meeting.

They've been though a lot for the past three years, the both of them. So much was left unsaid between, the pair knew. The smile on Lara's face fell as she rested a palm against the dusty window. "Why did you ask me to come here?" She whispered, looking out the glass. Erik stared at her. Why did he ask her to come. Her ears were dusted with a light pink, due to the cold, he deduced. Raising a hand over to one ear, he rubbed his fingers against it for warmth. "I don't know." Lara sighed, "You always know." She held his outstretched hand and squeezed, "You're just not telling me."

"Maybe." Erik said, "Maybe not." His hand squeezed back.

There was no use pleading, both knew. He had tried and failed. She had tried and failed. Both in miserably numerous times. He wanted her to go with him. She wanted him to return to her. Both wishes were and never will be granted. But here they both were, at a dingy apartment building at an unknown street in London, Lara's hand now stained with dust and grime from the window and Erik's hands resting against her cheeks as he savored her lips for as long as he could.

"You still have it." He breathed, parting from her, only to smother her senses again. "For luck." She replied, lacing her fingers against his now disheveled hair. A small plate of metal floated from her pocket and hovered in between them. "I could kill you." He said with a tone, locking her head in place so she couldn't look away. So he could look at her eyes. "At any time, any where I wished, I could kill you." Lara stared back calmly, using her fingers to gently scrape against his scalp. "You won't." Erik replied, "I could kill Charles, or anyone in that school, even the children." Lara, without pause, repeated "You won't."

"How can you be so sure."

"Because I trust you."

"After everything, why do you still remain so naive?"

"... I don't know."

"You always know." Erik relaxed, dipping his head once more to grace her lips. "You're just not telling me."