A\N: I haven't gotten a chance to post in a bit so here's a little Cherik drabble. It takes place during DoFP right after the plane scene (my favorite!) cuts off. This may or may not turn into a series of drabbles. We'll see...

"You have the first move," Charles said, leaning intently over the chess board.

Erik stared at him, and kept on staring—which wasn't hard, considering that staring at Charles had once been one of his favorite pastimes. Ten years had done a lot to him. There were deep grooves between his brows and permanent creases along the edges of his mouth, which he'd vainly tried to hide beneath scruff and a shaggy mane of hair. Trust Charles to try and suffocate his pain instead of actually allow himself to feel it. Erik wondered if he was fooling anyone other than himself.

With a small flick of his index finger, Erik's pawn glided forward. "I want to play another game with you."

Charles' eyes flicked up, and they were the same unnatural blue they had always been. It was almost unsettling, seeing that blue again in a place other than his dreams. "What sort of game?" Charles picked up his own white pawn and placed it. "A game of truths."

"A game of truths."

"Erik…after what just happened, I'm not sure it would be wise to—"

"I'll start." Erik moved his second pawn. "I never loved her."

Charles' breath caught in his throat, and his already dewy eyes threatened to spill over. "Raven?"

Silently, Erik nodded.

"I shouldn't have brought Raven up before," Charles said, his bottom lip catching under his teeth. "It was stupid of me to think that you wouldn't move on after…" he struggled for a moment, "after Cuba."

The pang of guilt that shot through Erik's chest was worse than any physical torture he'd ever endured. He leaned forward, his hand longing to extend a gesture that had once been easy. "She was the closest thing I had to you. And after what I'd done—"

"Stop." The subtle jerk of Charles' head was enough to stay Erik's tongue. "I don't want to hear any more about it. I can't…" he broke off again, his lungs rattling as he breathed. Charles' pale, delicate hands moved along his thighs, his fingers squeezing every so often as if he had to remind himself he could still feel them. The silence between them was filled with unspoken grief. Erik would have given anything to take back that gunshot the CIA agent had fired. He didn't know how many times he'd dreamed up different scenarios where he'd been able to stop the blow instead of cause it—where they'd left the beach together, victory seeping into the breadth of their exchanged smiles, and their hands clasped in a symbol of hope for the future of mutants all over the world.

Slowly, Charles reached forward, sliding another pawn across two squares. "There are days that I wish I had gone with you and Raven."

Erik released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish you had come with us." He freed the last needed space for his bishop without looking, not daring to take his eyes off of Charles even for an instant. There was so much more he wanted to say. How much he'd wanted to force Charles to come with him—sling him over his shoulder and steal him away from the world that sought to destroy them. How he'd wanted to press their lips together in a tender farewell. How he'd wanted to remove his helmet and feel the tender caress of Charles' mind one last time. But he wouldn't say anything else…not unless Charles wanted him to.

Charles only nodded, trying to appear separated from the words Erik had spoken. Again, Erik wasn't fooled. Charles moved yet another pawn, to which Erik raised a concerned brow. It was a bad move. Apparently he really was rusty.

"I am…an addict," Charles said.

Erik, who had been preparing to take Charles' lone pawn with his bishop, froze. "What?"

Charles' gaze remained resolutely fixed on the board.

"Charles?" Erik tried again, demanding to be acknowledged.

"Quiet," Charles whispered. He glanced up for the briefest of moments. "Logan is sleeping."

"An addict, Charles? You can't be serious. Is that why—"

"You said we were playing a game of truths, Erik, not questions."

Erik swallowed. "Charles…"

Charles' eyes were a hard and unforgiving blue, the color of forgetmenots. "Do you want to keep playing or not?"

For a moment Erik hesitated, his pulse pounding against the base of his throat. Anger washed over him, hot and familiar, made all the worse because he knew that Charles would've been able to feel it once. Sighing, he let out a begrudging, "Yes," and took Charles' pawn with his bishop. "I don't like you as much without your powers."

The following pause was a touch too long. "Was that supposed to be a truth?"

"You shouldn't have to ask to know," Erik replied, frowning.

"I wouldn't have to ask if you hadn't…" Charles huffed, his shoulders folding in and his brows coming together. He stared at the board for a long moment. "You took one of my pawns." He said it incredulously, as if he'd been personally insulted by the maneuver.

Erik shook his head but was unable to stamper the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Well spotted, Charles."

"I can't believe you already took one of my pawns."

"You did say you were rusty."

"I didn't think I was that rusty," Charles said, and for a moment he sounded like his own self—posh with a bit of mocking laughter in the back of his throat. Unfortunately, Charles seemed to realize it just as Erik did, and Erik had to watch the light leave Charles' face just like he'd watched it leave that day in Cuba. "Anyway," He repositioned his knight to challenge Erik's bishop, "I take a serum that Hank invented. That's my addiction. It helps my spine so that I can walk, and if I take enough of it," he gestured vaguely at his head.

Erik heard the words that Charles couldn't speak aloud. If he took enough of it, he could be alone inside his skull…just like everyone else. The notion made Erik cringe. He'd had never met a mutant with a more beautiful power, or one who was so confident and trusting in his own abilities. Charles' power defined him as much as he defined it. What could've been so bad that he would give up the thing he loved most? Not his legs. Surely not his legs. Charles was not so dull a creature as that. Erik frowned, his mind turning.

So he could sleep, Charles had said. So he could sleep…

Instead of pulling back his endangered bishop, Erik moved a pawn up to challenge the knight. "I worried about you while we were apart."

"That's a little vague, considering we've been apart for nearly ten years."

"Indeed," Erik replied shortly, throwing out the bait knowing very well that Charles wouldn't bite.

"I'm not going to ask you, Erik," Charles said, pressing his lips together to hide their curve. "You're not going to make me a hypocrite."

Erik laughed lightly. The rules were set now. No questions allowed. This could be more interesting than he'd hoped.

Charles withdrew his knight. "I used Cerebro a couple of times to look for you." He paused, his tongue running over his teeth. "You wore your helmet often."

"In the beginning, yes I did."

Why? The question was written on Charles' face plain as day, though he dare not ask it. Erik's smile held only a touch of mirth as he studied the board for his next move. Because I couldn't bare the thought of you feeling my guilt.

"It was much harder than I thought it would be without you." Erik moved another pawn to free a space for his own knight. "I never was able to talk to them like you could. They never loved me like they loved you."

"But they respected you."

Erik grimaced. "They respected my power."

Charles stared down at the board without really seeing it. His blue eyes had hazed over, thoughts Erik wished he could hear hidden behind a mask of stone. "Raven loved you," he said quietly. "The real you. I knew her well enough to know that much."

Erik looked at him with a bitter twisting in his gut. "I think she believed she did…for a while. It was an illusion that was quickly shattered once we were on our own."

"Maybe, but I doubt it," Charles said with a sardonic chuckle.

"You always thought too much of me, Charles," Erik replied.

Charles lifted one shoulder in the imitation of a shrug and Erik felt his stomach give a painful lurch at the implicated, not anymore, hidden within the gesture. After a moment, he settled for moving another pawn to make room for his rook. "For a while I thought you'd both come back. I thought that after the real killing started that you'd…" he trailed off, trembling and unable to finish.

Erik let out a low sigh. "We could have saved them, Charles. Together, we could have—"

"But we never really were together," Charles looked up at him, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "Were we. No matter how we tried we could never get that part right."

"Because you would never do what was necessary."

"And you would never do what was right." Charles' gaze shifted as Logan grumbled in his sleep behind them, stirring in his chair. When his eyes shifted back to Erik they were like a storm at sea. "I gave what I could," he whispered. "You know that I did. And it wasn't enough."

The game lay forgotten between them. Erik wasn't even sure whose turn it was anymore, or when the other game between them had stopped. "You gave up," he seethed between bared teeth.

"So what if I did? I lost everything when you left, Erik. Everything. And there are pieces of me that broke that simply don't fit back together anymore."

"But you're here," Erik said. "Broken or not, you're here. And I am too."

Charles scoffed, his upper lip curling as he leaned back in his chair and wiped his face with the breadth of his palm. "For very different reasons I suspect."

"Charles…" Erik leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him to keep from reaching out. "My feelings towards you—"

Charles shifted uncomfortably. "Don't, Erik."

"—They haven't changed. There's nothing in this world that I care about more than you, but—"

"Erik."

"—I'm not going to stop doing what's necessary." He watched Charles go rigid. "If it means saving our kind—saving you—then I'll do whatever I have to do."

Charles' hands slid down to rub at his legs once more, a deep groove pulling his brows together. And Erik had never wished more that Charles would let him glimpse what was going on in that brilliant mind of his. He remembered the feeling of it like he remembered breathing—soft and fluid and ceaselessly mesmerizing. Charles was still that man, Erik knew, even if he had lost his way. Erik only wished that he had the words that could bring him back again.

"I know you will, old friend," Charles said.

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