One: This is the story that prompted me to start posting.

Two: Beta read by Hoodoo. Deepest thanks from the bottom of my little, tiny heart.

Three: You have to realize, I love Moira MacTaggert. I like how strong she is...in the comicverse. How she was portrayed in the movie...well, it didn't do her justice. It's not Ms. Byrne's fault. She's a lovely actress and can do an excellent American accent. So, this story, features a lot of Ms. MacTaggert. And I'm not apologetic about it in the least.

Four: I own nothing. I make nothing out of writing this story. The only thing I get out of writing this story is the chance to write.

Erik had been stalking her on and off since he and Shaw's henchmen left that bright, sunny day on the Cuban beach. He followed her movements and kept a meticulous (and hidden) log. He doubted that the others would understand - save Raven (No, Mystique) and he did not care if she knew that he kept a log of Moira's movements.

The days following the Cuban Missile Crisis (How fucking stupid could one be?) he managed to ignore, (mostly) the acute foreign pain in his chest and concentrated on the sharp cutting anger that he was familiar with. He blamed her for hurting Charles (Oh, Charles...why didn't you listen to me). On his worst days, he could barely give the man with the brilliant blue eyes (Charles)his name yet. It hurt him too much.

Moira had hurt him. (No, my friend, you did this.)

Or at least that's what Charles had told him that day on the beach. Erik believed that it was still that bitch Moira's fault. (That infuriating human woman.) What did they need her for anyway? What did they need the human racefor? They caused nothing but problems and served to drive Erik and his telepath further apart. A slight twitch on his face was the only outward sign of Erik's distress regarding that fateful day on the Cuban beach. Erik missed him terribly, but did not feel comfortable going back to Westchester until he had taken care of Moira MacTaggert himself.

Thinking back again, Charles couldn't (Wouldn't, why wouldn't he blame her?) blame Moira because Charles was in so much pain. Erik blamed his tears on the pain not because he finally (Fatally? Emma could not tell if he was dead or alive. This hurt Erik more than anything he thought possible) realized how right (wrong, Charles' voice echoed in his mind) Erik was. It was only after observing Charles' remaining students wheel him out of the hospital that Erik let go of that painful breath that didn't know he held. The fact that Moira was not there somehow made him even angrier.

Emma pointed out to him several days later that yes, in fact, Moira had been there. Erik (Magneto, she called him) had failed to see her. This news, brought to him so matter-of-factly, only served to anger the German more. Emma, naturally, did not care one way or the other. She was rather enjoying the fact of angering Erik whenever she could. Emma felt nothing when she learned about the death of Sebastian Shaw. Shaw had only used her, really for one thing and she was glad to be rid of him.

Erik clenched his teeth again and watched the object of his hatred steely-eyed. He dropped into the shadows of the apartment buildings across the street when Moira felt his stare. Erik did not understand how Moira could afford to live in such a posh looking walk-up. Did the CIA pick up the tab for such accommodations? Erik sincerely doubted it.

Erik fell back further into the alley, hoping that she had not caught a glimpse of him. Moira stopped and looked around, eyes wide.

Erik did not trust that look. She was CIA after all and had successfully infiltrated Shaw's Hellfire Club and escaped Emma Frost's telepathy. No one had asked her how she had managed that after Charles had idly questioned her one day. Moira simply sputtered and turned beet red refusing to say anything. And Charles with all his platitudes of privacy did not read her mind.

"Why won't you tell us," Sean had asked one day after a long day of training. "Is it classified?"

"Um, no, it's not classified," Moria said turning that brilliant shade of red. She started to twist a strand of her dark hair, not looking anyone in the eye. And for some reason, Charles had found this endearing. Naturally, Erik found it the opposite of endearing and had scowled at her. The object of his scorn had cast her large eyes elsewhere and quickly changed the subject.

She may have looked vulnerable and a gamine, but Erik knew better. Who else would have (stupidly) started shooting at him at almost point blank and not flinch? He slipped further into the shadows to give the foolish woman her false sense of safety. Moira gave another look around her, turning up the collar of her coat, before unlocking her car door and getting inside. She drove away without another look back.

Erik stepped out of the shadows of the building. He pulled a cigarette out of his black leather jacket (flinched hurriedly after the beach debacle from the Westchester mansion) and tried to blend in. He pulled on his sunglasses and looked up and down the quiet suburban street in Virginia. Nothing stirred along Moira's street. Everyone had left their apartments for the day and went about their stupidly mundane humanlives.

He quickly stubbed out the cigarette and frowned at it. He had no idea why anyone would voluntarily smoke them, knowing the harm that it could possibly do to them. But it was a human tendency, to continue on doing something reckless despite knowing the effects. Of course, the thought of his own hypocrisy never crossed his mind. One thing you could say about Erik Lehnsherr was his one-track (selfish) mind.

Erik nonchalantly walked to Moira's apartment and causally flicked his wrist, letting himself into her home. Erik frowned at how…simple and clean her apartment was; not too many personal mementos and books about genetics, biochemistry, physics, Euclidean Geometry and what seemed to be books in Japanese (Erik raised an eyebrow at this). On the wall next to a framed poster of Gustav Klimt's The Kiss (which raised another eyebrow from Erik) was a degree from Oxford University (Charles). This stopped Erik in his tracks. Moira MacTaggert was a medical doctor specializing in biochemistry from Oxford University. What the hell are you doing working for the CIA?

He rifled through her apartment looking for something, some part of him wanted to know her before he killed her. Most though, he wanted...what? evidence of her betrayal, her deception? He already knew that she was human and therefore prone to deception and betrayal.

If truth be known, it was Erik who did the deception, was the betrayer. He was the one who left himon the beach, allowing Moira access to his telepath.

His bleeding, broken telepath.

Erik clenched his fist and instantly a spoon on the kitchen counter folded into itself. He closed his eyes and focused on that place between rage and serenity, (I believe love is what lies between rage and serenity, Erik) ignoring hisvoice all the while. Erik opened his eyes again and saw his reflection in a hallway mirror. His dark green eyes stared back at him. His face was haggard and haunted. He looked ten years older than he was.

Two weeks after he left Charles (his heart breaks naturally every time he think of Charles), he disbanded Shaw's followers telling them to leave and not find him again. He didn't care where they went as long as they were not with him while he went on this important hunt…more important than the hunt for Sebastian Shaw ever was. He ignored the protests that rang out and ordered them more forcefully to leave him alone.

Emma coolly left without a backward glance. Erik knew that she would be just fine. Her powers almost rivaled Charles' own. If she wanted, she could have successfully controlled Erik's mind without a qualm.

Azazel, Riptide and Angel left confused and bewildered. They were followers, not leaders. Though Angel was one of the original members that he and Charles had recruited, her pleas to let her follow him fell on deaf ears. Erik did not care about them.

Raven, Charles' own dear sister, was the last to leave his side.

"Why are you doing this?" she demanded, hands on hips. Her anger was barely kept in check. "You were the one who wanted to band together, to be stronger – together, to fight humans before they brought the fight to us," her voice shaking and Erik could almost swear that the girl was bluer, her hair redder, eyes yellower.

"I have always worked better alone," he growled, turning away from her. He held Shaw's helmet in his hands, turning it over and over, idly wondering what it was made of. Truth be known, it was a hideous thing. Erik hated to be in possession of anything that was Shaw's but had found it useful in blocking Emma and later on Charles' probing minds. His thought were always his own.

Raven did not say anything. She huffed, "Charles told me about the first night at the CIA headquarters," she said softly, eyes narrowing. "Of how he convinced you, without his telepathy, to stay. Of how he told you that you needed –"

"Enough!" Erik roared and what metal was around, vibrated dangerously. Raven stood her ground, ignoring the metal being pointed at her. He turned and faced Raven, his face stony and cold. "If you know what is good for you, you will return to him and help him forget me."

"Yes, but who's going to help you forget about my brother?" she said softly and left. Erik did not know where she went, if she went back to Charles and begged his forgiveness. He…didn't care, actually. He thought he might have and in another lifetime, he would have been, but not now.

He was not willing to admit it, but the bullet had shattered more than just one life.

Afterwards, it was easy for Erik to fall back to his old familiar ways: tracking, stalking, researching and sketching his prey. Since mastering his power, Erik felt even more invulnerable than before. But that did not mean his sense of self-preservation was gone. He felt that he had more to live for now than ever. He wanted - no needed - to prove to Charles that he was right about human-kind wanting to wipe the rising mutant-kind off the face of the earth. They mutant-kind was rising. Charles had said so himself the first time he used Cerebro, touching so many mutant minds all at once. How could the average, mundane, human understand how...how...mind boggling it was to find so many with powers just manifesting. It was beautiful and scary and overwhelming. All these mutants would need someone to look up to for guidance and Erik knew that he was not the one for that job.

But Charles Xavier was. And Erik was going to convince him of this.

But first he needed to make amends and in Erik Lehnsherr's mind his first step was to kill Moira.

So, he tracked every one of Moira MacTaggert's moves, researched her daily routines, stalked her intently and sketched her soft little visage while in his room. His hate was only growing worse each day that she lived and he did not plan on having Moira live for much longer.

He felt better working alone (despite what Charles thought - he did not need friends, only the telepath with the bright blue eyes), never having to worry about others and their needs. He would only have himself to blame if he failed.

Erik was the rare great white shark who preferred to hunt alone.

Reviews are Emma Frost. Gentle criticisms are Emma Frost and Moira MacTaggert...interpret that as you will.