Author's Note: It has come to my attention that readers see this as the final chapter of this story. Not true! I have another part outlined that still falls within the King piece. However, I won't swear that after that there won't be more. I have to listen to Erik and Charles and figure out what they want. ;)

Charles wheeled himself into the familiar kitchen fighting all of the memories that the room always opened up. Raven was inextricably tied to this room in Charles' mind. She had loved to eat and to cook, once she was old enough and tall enough to reach the stove. And the large cabinets were perfect for finding a quiet, dark place to hide away.

To hide away and be blue.

Pushing these memories back down, Charles continued on his quest for some tea. Everything was more difficult now that he had to sit at most people's waist level. His shoulders ached from reaching above his head to the sinks, to bookshelves, and to the liquor cabinet. Would his upper body strength ever catch up to its use and stop the incessant muscle cramps, he wondered.

It had been months since Charles had returned from the hospital and convalescent home to his own home. And he had tried not to waste a moment in the establishment of his school for young mutants. Well, no sober moments anyway.

Hanging the kettle from the faucet, Charles moved over to the lower cabinet that now held all of his teas. No need to keep them up and out of anyone's reach anyway. He doubted many of the new students would steal tea. Charles chuckled to himself at the notion.

Hearing the water overflowing the kettle, Charles sighed and rolled back to the sink. He unhooked the kettle, dumped out excess water, and moved to the stove to start heating. The things he used to take for granted-bending over to pick the dish towel off the floor, closing doors without thinking about it, using the toilet effortlessly-crowded into his mind as he looked around at the relative mess of the once pristine room.

I should really try to find a housekeeper/cook who is a mutant, he thought. Hank's too wrapped up in his projects and the school planning to pay attention to these details.

When the kettle began to whistle, Charles turned himself in a tight circle and froze.

Erik stood imperiously in the same doorway that he and Charles had once defiled in the middle of the night. Charles could still feel the edges of the door trim where his fingers had clung for purchase against Erik's thrusts. Those thrusts had threatened to knock Charles off of his feet at the time. Now, Erik gave no indication whether he remembered the encounter, standing there in that damnable helmet, hiding from Charles in plain sight.

The irony of never being able to keep to his feet again washed over Charles in a wave of anguish.

"Is Raven with you?" Charles asked sharply, compensating for the pain.

"No," Erik replied flatly.

Charles tried not to squirm uncomfortably in his wheelchair under the other man's gaze. It was the first time Erik had seen him like this. Charles was ashamed to admit even to himself that he also felt embarrassed not to be able to stand tall and look Erik directly in the eye (mostly). He felt inadequate. He felt . . . unattractive. And that led him to wonder if Erik thought the same thing about him.

Charles' eyes cut sideways, and his cheeks flushed. Erik observed these events with hawk-like eyes. He had missed little about Charles six months ago when they had first come to the mansion. The German would expend a great deal of energy every day cataloging Charles' facial expressions and muscle movements. He had been so deeply in love . . .

Now, Erik sensed Charles' discomfort. But he was having trouble placing its origin. Was it because Erik had surprised him? Was it because Raven wasn't with him? Was it anger or grief? Keeping his face impassive, he stood in the doorway waiting for Charles to invite him further in or dismiss him outright.

Charles felt deep fatigue creeping into his body as his adrenaline ebbed. He really didn't have the energy for this encounter this late in the evening. He should already be in bed. He should already be resting his weakened body. He sighed and slumped a little in his shoulders, admitting defeat of his pride. He wanted to talk to Erik more than he wanted to punish the man. He turned away from the doorway and moved to finish his tea.

"Want some help?" Erik asked, taking a tentative step into the light.

Charles shot him a dirty look and replied tersely, "No. Thank you."

At that tone, Erik was pretty sure that Charles was pissed at him. And he had to admit that the telepath had every right to be so. Erik had no illusions about the extent to which he could be a prick. Just the same, Charles had always-from the start-managed to look beyond that.

Before Erik had betrayed him most cruelly.

"Is she all right?" Charles voice wafted softly through the interior air punctuated with the smells of countless meals, hastily prepared and cleaned up after. He still refused to look at Erik since the first unexpected glance. Charles sipped his tea.

"Yes," Erik responded. So far, so good. Two questions asked and answered, he thought.

Erik debated with himself for a moment about removing the helmet. He didn't really distrust Charles. But he had wanted the element of surprise to ensure that his old friend didn't prevent him from his visit entirely. Erik admitted that Charles' attitude and reactions tonight weren't all that surprising to him after what he had done-and continued to do.

He decided an olive branch was in order. Reaching up, he slid the helmet gracefully off of his head. Charles stiffened immediately.

Erik placed it on the countertop next to the saucer Charles had abandoned in his quest for distance between the two men. Erik's fingers lightly traced the edge of the fine china, and Charles felt the touch in his mind. He clamped his eyes shut to prevent the tears that sprang immediately to his ducts. That touch, that softness, those fingers . . . he remembered them all too well.

"Stop," he whispered harshly. Erik withdrew his fingers. Charles turned himself around so quickly that his wheelchair went up on one wheel for a moment. But he felt the telltale vibrating of the metal as Erik effortlessly righted him.

"If you're here to talk, let's at least go into the relative privacy of the library," Charles directed. He would be damned if he would let anyone else see how he was in front of his former confidante. Better to hide that side of him in the same way he hid the drinking. Or thought that he did.

On the way to the library, Charles remembered the disheveled state of the room only a moment before snapping on the light. Too late now, he thought. He would accept the consequences of his actions. That's what leaders did, didn't they?

Good leaders. Good, sober leaders.

Erik took in the bottles strewn across desk, table, bookshelves, and floor. He made no comments, but his posture said everything. He stiffened at the sights. He pulled himself back from the warmth he had been radiating in the kitchen. He was displeased.

Cleaning old newspapers and empty plates from his customary seat, he noted the shabby state of the furniture as if he could read the past six months in the upholstery. Perhaps he could. Stains, dust, crumbs, and smells all clung to the chair suggesting that Charles had sat here more than anywhere else.

Perhaps to feel close to Erik? Or perhaps just to be closest to the liquor cabinet. Erik decided not to choose one or the other.

"How are you getting on?" he asked Charles as he sat with a flourish of his cape and watched the other man wheel himself around the room with surprising ease. So, Erik thought, he has spent a great deal more time in this room, pacing as it were, than in the kitchen. And by the look of the room, he's spent that time alone.

Charles shrugged noncommittally and continued to roll around Erik's stationary chair. Erik waited politely if a little impatiently for Charles to be honest with him. The thoughts were rolling around in Charles' head, just waiting for the correct form before pushing out through his red lips.

The thoughts and the wheelchair halted at the same time, not exactly facing Erik but not turned away either. Charles ran a hand distractedly though his hair. He needs a cut, Erik thought. It's not like Charles to not care for his appearance.

"Sort of pointless now, keeping up appearances, with this thing," Charles said hitting the arm of the wheelchair lightly. His tone sounded ironic, but Erik sensed the bitterness beneath. "I find that I'm less charming now that I cannot look into anyone's eyes directly." He looked at his folded hands that had come to rest in his own lap. Clenching them together tightly, Charles fought against tears.

"Charles," Erik pronounced. "Self-pity isn't like you." He took a more stern attitude to try to lend Charles his own strength. He had talked more than one mutant out of a funk in the past few months in his quest to position himself at the forefront of a mutant organization.

When Erik silently cast about for other words and phrases that he had used-'brotherhood' and 'solidarity' and 'superiority'-he quickly discarded them all. He knew they were hollow platitudes that would only work on lesser minds. Charles was still Charles even if he was drinking a little too much and had lost the use of his legs. He was too bright to be played.

And Erik cared too much for him to try to do so. Instead, he offered a hand to his friend. Charles looked grateful. They caressed each other's hand for a moment, sunk into thoughts of who each of them used to be.

You are always beautiful and strong in my eyes, he thought toward Charles.

After a moment, Erik broke the silence again. He really didn't have an unlimited amount of time to spend here.

"And how is the school getting on?" he asked, genuinely interested.

Charles brightened measurably at the question. "Oh, well, actually. We've-Hank and I, and sometimes Sean lends a hand-been working non-stop since I returned-" Charles stopped at the almost-mention of his injury and lengthy recuperation. He didn't want to discuss any of that with Erik. He knew intellectually that it was Erik's fault even if emotionally, he had probably forgiven the man. Probably.

And that was Charles struggle on a daily basis now-his intellect versus his emotions. When the intellect won out, he was a force of nature for his school and his students. When the emotions, he was paralyzed from any productive activity but spun into the alcohol drinking. It was a dizzying high and low from which Charles felt relatively unequipped to same himself. Of course, he knew Erik couldn't do it either.

Charles had lived some hard truths since the last time he had laid eyes on his former lover. Not the truths of paralysis and academy administration, but the truths of the consequences of not considering the viewpoint of others more carefully. Again, he was grateful for his timely erasing of Moira's mind to save them all from more trouble.

Charles felt that he had aged ten years in the past six months. Part of that was advantageous in his estimation. He was less naive. He took less for granted. But the downside was less determination in the face of frustration and obstacles. Too many times, he had said to himself, what difference will it make, just before he gave up. He was slipping farther and farther away from the man he used to be. And he didn't care.

"It's moving along as expected," Charles finished after pausing and thinking about his spinal injury.

"Good," Erik intoned, sounding wary and unconvinced. He really had hoped that the project would have been good for Charles. New children to teach, new possibilities to explore in his petrie dishes. And new opportunities for him to move on from their admittedly heated relationship. Erik had known in the midst of it that the heat of their arguments, their polar opposite views, and their carnal lust would burn them both badly.

Why hadn't he warned Charles? He didn't know the answer to that question.

Erik thought back over his last six months of struggles and victories. The Brotherhood was moving forward, but Erik felt that something was missing. Sitting here in this closed room, smelling the distinctive combination of alcohol, sweat, and unhappiness, Erik knew that what he had been missing was Charles.

And not just Charles, but Charles' unbridled optimism.

He shook his head minutely at the thought. He never guessed that he would miss Charles' incessant need to look to the bright side of any situation-Shaw's attack on the CIA, Erik's background, Alex's attitude, even the occasional kiss-off they had received from the mutants they had contacted. Especially that asshole in the bar smoking a cigar. What a self-important prick, Erik thought.

Sighing heavily, Erik released Charles' hand.

Charles took the cue. "Why are you here, Erik?" he asked folding his hand back into his own lap and angling himself toward the other seated man.

Erik lowered his eyes. "I'm here to let you know that my teleporter was killed. Azazel," he said.

Now, it was Charles' turn to sigh. "I wondered. I had thought there was someone missing in your circle," he returned. He slumped in his chair again, bringing his hand up to rub his thumb and index finger at the bridge of his nose. "Was it an accident?"

Erik hesitated for a split second. "Ultimately. It wasn't supposed to have happened that way-" Erik's tale was cut short by Charles' hand shooting out and gripping Erik's bicep with all of his anger-fueled strength.

"Just what was 'supposed to have happened,' then," he asked through gritted teeth. Damn him, Charles thought.

Erik scowled at him. He knew that Charles would react like this, without all of the facts and the imperatives on top of that. Charles wasn't willing to do just whatever it took to meet his goals. Not like Erik.

"He was supposed to infiltrate quickly and depart, as he has dozens of times. But we miscalculated how many times he could do so without arousing suspicion and ultimately countermeasures. He was caught. Before we could get to him, he was turned over to some butchers who killed him performing 'exploratory surgery'. Raven-" Again, he was interrupted by the grip on his arm which began to clamp down impossibly tighter.

"What. About. My. Sister?" Charles ground out.

"She was the one sent in to get him out. Instead, she found him. She was . . . upset," Erik concluded and crossed his legs, measurably more relaxed now that he had said what he had come to say.

With a loud huff, Charles turned away from Erik and rolled. He couldn't stand to look at his friend for a moment. Erik was so imperious in his recitation-no emotional strain at all. How could he be so cold when Charles knew first-hand that he could be so warm?

"But she didn't want to at least talk to me, or come here? I could meet her somewhere else," he offered, not even trying to disguise the desperation from his plea. He hung his head knowing that Raven didn't seek him out for comfort like she did as a child. Even before she had left him bleeding and crippled to follow Erik's crusade, she had been pulling away from him. He had realized it too late to repair the breach.

Erik replied gruffly, "No." He was more affected by the tone of Charles' voice than he liked to admit.

He wouldn't try to curry favor with Charles by telling him how he had gone round and round with Raven to try to convince her to come with him. She had stonewalled him from the first-never wavering even once with so much as a 'maybe' or 'I'll think about it'.

She was starting to live on her anger the way Erik used to. Before Charles. Before he had known he could live on something else. Erik was trying mightily not to feel guilty about that development. He had known that he would have to stoke her anger to get her to join him when he had struck out after dispatching Shaw, but the depth of her resentment was astounding even him, given her relatively innocuous background.

She had been alone for a while, he knew, but Charles had protected her for years, pampered and spoiled her even. Apparently, Erik had unleashed something when he had convinced her to embrace her inner self and outer self together. True, she was a mighty ally and tool for his grander vision, but he vaguely feared the day that they truly disagreed about something important. He already suspected that she was questioning him and forming her own agenda where other mutants were concerned.

Erik cleared his throat of emotion, "No, she was firm. Just to give her love, but she didn't have anything else to say. And she definitely was against seeing you." His tone had softened by the end to lessen the blow of her refusal without admitting any room for Charles to hope again.

The strain of holding back so much emotion was starting to overwhelm Charles. He hiccuped his sob and rolled farther away from Erik. This rejection just topped the week and the month and the year he was having. He wasn't going to deny himself the opportunity for a good cry. Not now.

As soon as Erik felt Charles really release, he knew that he had accomplished his true reason for visiting. He needed to open Charles up and peer inside to know how he really was handling everything that had befallen him. He slowly engaged the wheelchair and rolled Charles within his grasp.

Swiftly kneeling before the chair-bound man, assuming a penitent posture, Erik paused, awaiting permission to speak again. Charles wouldn't look him in the eye at first, but eventually he couldn't resist the physical looking to go along with his mind that had not stopped looking from the moment the helmet had been lifted in the kitchen.

Damn him twice, Charles thought. He is my greatest weakness.

Reaching a shaking hand tentatively to brush along Erik's forehead and up into his hairline, Charles looked at his lover through glassy eyes awash in regret and salty tears. Erik lifted a hand to wipe at a few drops with a calloused thumb. Charles started to take big gasps of air, obviously trying to slow down his sobbing.

"No, no," Erik soothed with his voice low and velvety. "Don't hold in your tears, my love. I came to see them, to help you shed them. I knew that you were trying to hold them. But I'm here now, you can give them to me to carry for you."

At the longed-for truth of the words, Charles leaned forward into Erik's embrace. He felt that he had fallen so far, he would never be the person he had been. But Erik's insight and presence shifted the grief and regret out of Charles' heart where it had been festering for months. His frame shook with the release, and Erik held him gently but firmly, lending the strength he had promised.

Erik understood Charles' complete collapse as only another man who held himself to the highest standards imaginable could. Each of them was his own worst critic and each other's biggest champion. Invariably, each came up short in his own eyes. But the struggle had always continued, if not for themselves, then for others and other objectives.

Charles had begun to doubt that he could go on at all for anything.

Not until he had laid eyes on Charles in the wheelchair, struggling to complete his tea ritual, had Erik realized they had both been diminished by their separation. Where Charles was now dealing with physical challenges, Erik was struggling with the emotion paralysis that came from severing himself from Charles on a daily basis. He had become accustomed to the openness he could share with Charles.

Realizing that there would never be another time or place for such an experience again poured ice through his veins.

They stayed in this posture for a long time, breathing and warming each other, listening to each other's thoughts as they passed between the two with little form and big meaning.

Missed . . .

Tried . . .

Abandoned . . .

Couldn't . . .

Didn't . . .

Wanted . . .

Erik apologized for everything he had ever done to cause Charles any pain. Sincerely. Charles apologized for not truly understanding Erik's motives and needs. They both apologized for not listening well enough to the other, for letting other people, other actions, other ideas get between the truth that was the two of them and their affection and need for each other.

When they felt a small amount of calm return to both of their minds, Charles let go and sat back, laughing quietly at the tear stains on Erik's shoulder. He brushed at them fastidiously until Erik caught the hand and held it fast.

"Raven sends her love but didn't feel she could return here. Too many memories, she said," Erik informed Charles. "I, on the other hand, wanted to immerse myself in my memories of this place, of you." He tried the smile again.

Charles began to feel silly sitting there with cooling tea and drying tears. "I know," he said tearfully. "I understand. Tell her I understand." He squeezed his eyes shut another moment.

Erik rubbed at the back of Charles' upper arms. "I already did. I knew you did," he assured Charles. Then he tucked Charles' head under his chin and added, "I told her we've all made sacrifices. She has seen people come and go with us in just the six months we've been abroad."

Erik continued to rub at Charles' back with his brown curls tickling his chin, but Charles had stiffened. "Sacrifices?" he questioned Erik quietly. "What sacrifices?"

Not sensing anything amiss, Erik replied, "Well, you know, brothers and sisters have been caught. They have been sent into no-win situations. The burden of leadership, Charles. You know what it's like. The decisions are never easy, but you have to live with them."

Charles extracted himself from Erik's embrace. When he was fully disentangled, he took hold of his wheels and pushed himself back a foot. Then he folded his hands demurely in his lap, tilted his head to the left, and pronounced, "I don't think I catch your meaning, brother. What situations? What decisions?" He narrowed his eyes to let Erik know that he would be listening very carefully for lies.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Erik leaned back into the chair and crossed his legs. His hands gripped the armrests as he tamped down his natural reaction to being questioned about his actions. This was Charles, after all, his equal. He could discuss this calmly and rationally, just as Charles seemed to be behaving.

For now.

Waving a hand abstractedly in the air, Erik quietly offered, "We are an underground group fighting against governments and other entities that are trying to exterminate mutants before we even find each other. This is war, Charles. And foot soldiers usually sustain the heaviest casualties." His posture and eyes dared Charles to contradict him.

The young professor refused to back down.

"And just how many of these no-win situations have you sent my sister into, dear Erik?" he asked with sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

Rolling his eyes, Erik replied, "A few. But she made them work. She's very smart and resourceful, your sister. I have been pleasantly surprised on a number of occ-"

Damn him thrice, Charles thought.

But the sound he made out loud was very akin to a snarl. Erik was so taken aback by the sound that he actually startled in his seat. In even the deepest moments of passion, he had never heard Charles utter such a guttural noise. He didn't really think him capable of such a thing.

"Erik!" Charles growled out. "How dare you! How dare you treat her like she's disposable? She's-" and his words failed him. He was dumbfounded that his influence over Erik's compassion and empathy had worn off so completely so quickly. He was a blood-driven cold-hearted monster again.

Maybe he was more of a monster than I let myself see before, Charles admitted to himself before shuddering at the thought of encouraging his sister to accompany said monster.

He tried again. "I know that I had to, and still have to, let her live her own life," Charles said. "But I didn't have to entrust her to someone who would simply write her off as collateral damage while he awaited her return from some dangerous assignment. What, did you have an office from which you worked? Or were you just ensconced in some secure location while you planned your next move, General?" Charles couldn't help scowling at the other man and 'pacing' around the room in his chair as he remonstrated.

Erik stood abruptly, gathering his considerable gall and dignity around himself like a cape. "I don't have to explain myself to you of all people," he retorted, clearly keeping a short rein on his own temper in light of Charles' berating of him.

"Oh, no, certainly! You don't owe me anything after destroying most everything I have held dear in this world. You are paid in full there!" he yelled.

Erik turned toward Charles who had stopped as far away from the German as he could in his circuitous route around the large room. The cool sea green eyes narrowed and shot precise laser hits into Charles' remaining hope for 'Magneto' as he was now known, ignoring his friends' pleas for no more destruction.

"As long as the ledger is balanced, I'll leave you then," Erik managed without any discourtesy.

"Balanced!" Charles let out loudly.

But Erik cut him off before he could utter another sound. "Yes, Charles. I have accomplished what I came here to do, and I believe you have gained what you needed as well. I will show myself out."

Charles let him leave without another word.

Erik made it to the kitchen for his helmet without meeting another living creature. As he was just donning the cranial apparatus, a very clear image of Charles the first time he used Cerebro was projected directly into his cortex. He halted the descent of the helmet to see if there was any more to the message from the library.

There was.

Sacrificing all of your pawns and knights will not necessarily win you the game, my King. There are other strategies.

Erik carefully formed his reply: But if the King surrenders, the game is lost. Protect your king at all costs. You taught me that, Charles. I was much more reckless about it before your instruction.

Erik slid the helmet over his ears and left.

Back in the library, Charles was bereft again. I? he thought. I taught you to protect yourself, yes. But I also told you that you didn't have to be alone on the field of battle. You could protect others as well as yourself.