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Summary: Charles is becoming increasingly torn between all the different aspects of his life. He has a strange ex (Shaw) who is determined to pursue a relationship with him, a classroom full of students, a disapproving mother, a temperamental sister and a flatmate (Erik) who he is falling more in love with everyday. Also add in there a deep sense of shame at the fact he can read people's minds, and Charles Xavier is well and truly lost.

Now everything is about to collide, at the only way he can save those he cares about, is by forgiving himself for his past mistakes. Only this might be easier if he could stop making new ones.

Parings: Although this is mainly a Charles/Erik fic, there is also a Charles/Shaw storyline.

Wordcount: 3,073

ChapterOne:The Weekend is a Train Away

Charles looked at himself in the mirror and removed his tie, tugging it side to side until it loosened. There were the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumping. It had been a long and tiring week. His students had been busy studying for, (what was supposed to have been) a surprise test today. Charles didn't know how they had managed to find out about it (again), but somehow his pop quizzes never seemed to cause much panic. He suspected it had something to do with the two boys, Sean and Alex, who had taken the seats in the front row at the beginning of the year, and were probably hacking into his electronic lesson plans. Despite the fact that they often seemed to be suffering from post party hangovers, which Charles could often relate to, they had never missed a class. Really it was a small price to pay, at least all his students turned up for his lectures.

Charles looked at the stack of papers on his coffee table, and knew that it would take many hours of work to get through them all, hindered by the fact that Charles had conflicting priorities. It was the weekend and for Charles Xavier that meant only one thing, taking a train in order to escape from Oxford and his respectable life. His destination was London, where his sister Raven had installed herself, determined to make her name for herself in a West End show. Raven spent all her time in dance studios and theatre camps, and always looked forward to the weekend and her brother's visits.

Charles operated a very strict policy on what happens in London staying in London. He always had a good time when he was with Raven, but he would have been a fool not to realise it sometimes impacted upon the rest of his life. More than once he had considered the idea that he might be crazy. Trying to keep his two opposing lives separate was becoming a full time task, and his peers at the university were starting to wonder why he always looked so tired and sometimes ill. Most of the week he spent feeling dreadful, with an appearance to match, especially on Monday mornings. But no one had put two and two together yet, which seemed remarkable since he often smelled like a brewery.

However it seemed that his students were happy enough with him, and in them Charles was immensely proud. They were all achieving excellent grades, helped by the fact that Charles spent so much of his free time encouraging them, and scheduling further tutorials. It made the weekend all the more precious, when his time became solely his own. But when they were so eager to learn, and wanted his opinions and advice, Charles could never refuse to help. As it was, no one appeared to mind that the professor looked as if he'd been at the hard liquor all weekend. Who minded anything when you were getting an A?

Charles grabbed his coat, and stuffed the student's test papers into his usual weekend bag. Looking around his flat one last time, Charles took a deep breath and closed the door. He was finally ready for the weekend, even if maybe his liver wasn't. As he hurried down to the street, to where the taxi was waiting for him, Charles knew the slight fluttering in his stomach wasn't from the anticipation of seeing his sister, but rather a more enigmatic man named Erik Lensherr. Even thinking his name made Charles' heart beat a little faster, but he had no time to be daydreaming, because as soon as he climbed into the taxi, his phone started ringing. Charles knew without even looking who it would be.

"Are you on your way down yet?" Raven asked as soon as he answered. She sounded irritable, and Charles could imagine the displeased expression on her face.

"I'm on my way to the train station."

"You're joking right? I thought you'd be almost here by now," Raven complained. She was speaking in a loud and strained voice. From the background noise Charles supposed she was still at work. He could hear people yelling, and he wondered why Raven had chosen to phone him from the restaurant kitchen.

Although Raven only worked there when they were short, Charles had to admire her ability to juggle dance and drama classes, auditions, work and heavy weekends, whilst remaining fresh faced and full of energy. Charles couldn't remember ever feeling that full of life, not even at her age. Maybe he'd just been born with an older soul? Maybe he ought to quit and just get out his pipe and slippers?

"I'm sorry Raven, but Hank had wanted to discuss some of the test questions with me," Charles explained. He could never excuse himself without feeling guilty, especially from Hank, who always looked as if each question he asked was the most important one of his life. As a result of his philanthropy, Charles was now an hour behind.

"Well, it sounds as if I am going to be drinking tonight without you then," Raven said resolved. "I guess I'll see you on Saturday instead?" She hung up after someone started yelling her name, and Charles stared at the phone for a moment, before tucking it back into his pocket. He felt in his pocket for his keys, checking that they hadn't magically disappeared.

The journey to London was always the same, the train down from Oxford to London Paddington would take about an hour and twenty minutes, providing there were no delays, and then Charles would find a black cab to take him the rest of the way. The room he rented in London made up part of a large flat in the West End, which in turn, belonged the aforementioned man, named Erik Lensherr. He was someone Charles had found via complete chance, having seen a business card attached to a wall in a café, offering a room for rent.

It had been one of the easiest friendships Charles had ever made, Erik fit into his life like there had always been a place for him, just empty and waiting. Sometimes Charles scared himself by imagining what life might have been like if he hadn't found that card, or had never made that call. It left him feeling cold inside. They had known each other for more than a year now, and Charles knew enough about Erik to have his schedule mapped. From the time it was now, Charles knew that when he finally arrived at the flat, Erik would already be out. But since Charles had barely missed a weekend out in London in almost the whole year, he knew Erik would be probably expecting him anyway, and it wouldn't be a surprise to find Charles there when he came home.

Erik smiled, his was feeling ridiculously proud of himself, and couldn't hide it. The club was packed, and the atmosphere was alive, buzzing through the ground and up the walls. It was now a week since opening night, and word of mouth had spread, until the queue to get in was absurd. Erik had worked hard to get publicity for his project, promoting until he felt as if he ate, slept and breathed this club. There had been a point when he would have sold his soul for it, had he thought it would have helped. But as it was, it hadn't come to that. The club had received good reviews already, and was being featured in gossip magazines as the place to be 'spotted' in. Helped along its way by some well-placed invitations to some current reality TV stars. The promise of the press and free alcohol had been all Erik had needed to snare these fame hungry young people, that and a nice appearance fee that they couldn't refuse.

The success couldn't have been sweeter, but unfortunately Erik was forced to share his celebration with Sebastian Shaw. He was the silent partner in this venture, and had bankrolled the project. As a businessman, Shaw had had a lot of success in the city and had made a lot of money over the years. When he had decided that he wanted to open a club, he had wanted the best of everything, and that included Erik.

Erik had made it his business to bring a lot of money into London's night scene. When a club wanted to re-brand itself, it was Erik they called. He was the best in the industry, having worked in and around clubs all his life. He had an eye for detail, a flair for the new and exciting, and whatever he touched seemed to turn into success. The deal Shaw had offered him had been to take his skills to the next level, and create something completely new. Hellfire was not just a club; it was an experience, a destination and an escape from reality. If you had the money, every wish could be taken care of, and if you didn't, you were invited to enjoy yourself, whilst those upstairs looked down and watched.

Erik watched a girl walk past him on stilts. She smiled down at him from on high, and then slipped into the crowd with ease. A little way off a man was entertaining slack mouthed drunken people by pressing grinders onto his metal covered body. Sparks were flying from him, and the show was impressive in its simplicity, it even held Erik's attention for a while. He knew that it was the small unexpected things that kept people happy, and the girls on roller skates with the shot dispensers attached to their backs, ready to fire alcohol straight into the punter's mouth, always went down a treat. All in all, Club Hellfire was a hit, and Erik surveyed his new empire with pride, the heavy bass pounding in time with his heart.

But it was Friday night, and that meant one thing. Charles Xavier would be already installed in his flat for the weekend, and if he went home now, he could probably catch him before he disappeared behind his bedroom door. Or, before he ran out the front door, into the dark night, and to the insanity of London's West End. As the music played, Erik thought back to the first time he had met his unusual flatmate.

Charles Xavier had been the last person Erik had expected to answer his advert. He still remembered the moment he had opened the door, to find the young man standing on the other side, his hand already outstretched in greeting.

"My name is Charles Xavier. I have come about the room," he had said. Erik remembered feeling immediately struck by him, and had been almost ready to offer the room up there and then, but Charles had stopped him from making a fool of himself by continuing to speak. "I have references, and I'll never miss a rent payment. In fact I'll pay by direct debit... if you like?"

Erik remembered them both just standing there, on either side of the door. Charles had continued to look at him with the bluest eyes Erik had ever seen, and a crooked smile on his face. He had been wearing pale chinos and a dark green polo shirt; it had had the little embroidered horse on the top left marking it as designer Ralf Lauren. Erik didn't know how he had managed to recall those details now, but he just supposed that Charles was one of those people, once seen, never forgotten.

"Don't you want to see the room first? Before you offer to give your money away?" Erik had asked.

"I already I know I'm going to like it," Charles had replied, the confident reply was followed by a bright smile. "But, yes, please show me the way."

Charles had been right, he had liked the room, which was good, because Erik wasn't sure he could have let him leave just then. Some months later Erik likened Charles to that one piece of furniture that made the room complete. It became so noticeable; that Erik only felt like this flat was a home when Charles was there for the weekend. Maybe it was because he had a reason to buy milk, or leave a fresh loaf of bread out in the kitchen, and fill the fridge up with something more than beer, microwave-meals and other items of questionable edibility. Erik often felt that on a Friday morning he turned in a housewife for a few hours, grocery shopping, changing sheets and putting towels through the wash. Once he even spring cleaned the bathroom, but had caught himself in his own madness, and resolved to stop being so weird. He had then considered employing a cleaner to do all of this for him, just so he could save face.

Erik didn't know why he bothered. As charming as Charles was, he wasn't the world's tidiest of housemates. He left dirty dishes next to the dishwasher instead of putting them inside. He always squeezed toothpaste out from the top of the tube, and not the bottom, which irked Erik more than it should. He always seemed to be using the last of everything before putting the empty packets back, instead of throwing them away, and then more infuriatingly, denying all knowledge of it. When he washed his hands, he often dried them by wiping them on his trousers, and there were always boring magazines about genetics lying around the flat after he'd gone. Erik hadn't even known there was a magazine devoted to something so singular, and the fact that there were people out there willing to buy it was weirder. All in all, Charles lived as if he was used to people cleaning up after him, and made no apology about the fact.

After walking around once more and surveying his empire, Erik found his head bartender and informed him that he was going home. Tomorrow, Saturday night, was going to taking up all his attention anyway. No sense tiring himself out tonight, he was better off going home and getting some well-deserved sleep. Or at least, this is what he told himself. It had nothing to do with wanting to see if Charles was there. Nothing at all.

Charles unlocked the front door, and flicked the lights on. Like he had expected, Erik wasn't home. By setting his bag down, Charles had the feeling he was already causing disorder in Erik's overly tidy lounge, and headed into the kitchen to open the fridge door. Erik was a big fan of instant meals. Charles didn't argue with him, since back on the Oxford campus, Charles found he depended upon the canteen to keep him alive. Cooking was something that seemed pointless to him, when you were only cooking for one. However, cooking for Erik was different. Charles found it relaxing, and there was pride in having someone enjoy what you made, and a comforting feeling in providing.

Staring into the fridge, Charles shut the door with a snap after removing a beer and picked up the phone instead. He decided to let the microwave have a night off and order some Chinese instead. An hour later, feeling content with a couple of cool beers and good food in his stomach, Charles felt himself starting to doze in front of the TV. He had been watching a rerun of a quiz show, in which the jokes were still hanging on to their topical laughs. He considered turning it off and turning it, but then the lock on the front door clicked open and Erik strode in. For a moment, they seemed caught by each other's unexpected presence. Erik closed the door behind him, but seemed no closer to unfreezing.

"You're back early," Charles remarked, straightening up from his lounging position on the sofa.

"I could say the same. Shouldn't you be out on the town by now?" Erik asked, finally finding the feeling in his body return, and a smile on his face. He unzipped his leather jacket, and placed it over the back of the sofa, near to where Charles was sitting. His eyes raked over Charles, taking in every inch of him, and then drifting towards the cartons of food on the table.

"My date cancelled," Charles replied, he could feel his cheeks flushing slightly, and tried to blame it on the beer, and not the odd look Erik had just given him.

"What a bitch, how dare she," Erik replied in a deadpan voice. "Well, at least you didn't miss Have I Got News For You."

Charles looked back at the TV, completely forgetting he was supposed to be paying it some attention.

"Yeah, thank goodness," Charles replied, grinning as he looked back. "I couldn't have lived otherwise. Are you hungry?"

It turned out that Erik was ravenous. In fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, it had been so long that his stomach had stopped alerting him to the fact, and ceased it's grumbling. Charles watched as Erik picked up the same fork he had been using just moments before, and started demolishing the remains of the noodles. He chose to sit next to Charles on the sofa, but not close enough to be touching. They watched the TV together, sometimes laughing, until Charles couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Stretching, Charles declared that he was off to bed.

"Want to get coffee when you're awake?" he asked Erik suddenly, standing and stretching his arms above his head. "But not before midday alright."

Erik watched the edge of Charles' now crumpled shirt rise up to show an inch of his stomach. Erik's eye caught on Charles' right hipbone.

"Sure," Erik replied, not knowing what he was saying. "I'll be here."