Brief Lives (1/?)
Title: Brief Lives (1/?)
Author: monstrousreg
Word count: 2539
Warnings: Slightly Dark!Charles. In the coming chapters there will be violence, probably will be NC-17 if I can muster the courage.
Pairing: Erik/Charles.
Summary: Erik thinks he's going to seduce, interrogate and murder some nondescript CIA intelligence agent, and winds up biting more than he can chew. Charles is not keen on being murdered, he doesn't favor interrogations, and he's certainly not willing to be seduced. That he's not cooperating is midly put.
Notes: Title comes from Neil Gaiman's The Sandman. Brief Lives is the 7th volume in the saga, and its basic message is: if you go looking for Destruction, that's precisely what you'll find. Unbetaed, and stuff.
The door falls closed behind Erik, pulled by a tight, newly-installed spring. Erik can feel the coiled metal, shiny and young.
He looks around, sliding his hands in the pockets of his black slacks and communicating vague, idle pleasantness as he makes his way to the bar. He knows how to manipulate body language to make people feel what he wants them to feel, and right now he wants them to feel like he’s nothing special to look at. This he has achieved by wearing a simple, blue polo shirt over black slacks, and a non-descript black leather jacket. Nothing remarkable at all.
It’s a typical Oxford bar, filled to the brim with students unwinding after a long week of finals. Erik’s timed this just right-if he does this correctly, his prey should be falling right into him, drunk and seeking distraction after a period of stress. It should be easy a breathing, but he has to be careful-the bar is a University bar and therefore open-minded enough, rather favorable to experimentation, but still he shouldn’t overdo it. He’ll have to snare his prey as subtly as possible.
He doesn’t know exactly what this boy looks like-all he could get out of his source was that he was slender, more a dancer than an athlete, and he had red lips and startlingly blue eyes, ‘impossible to miss’.
But Erik looks around as he waits for his pint and no one strikes out as peculiar to him at all. He makes a round of the bar, looking and assessing the patrons as well as making sure to know the terrain. There are some rather beautiful girls that stand out to him, but he is certain he is looking for a boy, and he can’t risk losing this lead now. He’s come a long way following breadcrumbs-nearly all the way from Argentina.
This boy, though, his Charles Xavier-he could prove to be uniquely useful, if he can twist him around right. What the project he’s actually in with the CIA consists of, Erik is unsure. But there’s a branch of it he is very much interested indeed; the one dedicated to searching out what they call gifted people.
The word ‘mutants’ is not on the official reports.
Erik knows for sure this branch has not yet yielded any results, for which he is grateful, but he also knows that the people working on this project know where one Sebastian Shaw is.
Shaw is who Erik is after-but taking Xavier out of the way in the meantime, to make sure he doesn’t locate any mutants, is not at all a loss of his valuable time. There’s no reason to allow some meddling human to go unchecked.
It’s not until about an hour and a half later, when Erik is beginning to lose his patience and suspect that perhaps his mark decided to stay in tonight after all, that Xavier actually shows up.
There is one thing to be said: the boy is impossible to miss.
Dark, wavy hair tumbles freely over his forehead, a stark contrast against his pale skin and his eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue, wide and open, glinting with intelligence borderline dangerous. There is a soft smile curving too-red lips-and it widens as soon as the boy spots his friends, across the room not far from Erik.
Perfect.
Xavier makes his way to the table where his friends are waving their hands and cat-calling him, noticing his seemingly unusual clothes-black slacks, a dark-blue button-up beneath a dark-grey sweater and a well-cut, elegant tweed coat.
“Quiet down,” Xavier laughs, brushing hair out of his ridiculous eyes. “You know Professor Maxwell likes his assistants sharply dressed for finals, yes? I’m officially off-duty now, though.”
“You heart-breaker,” one of his friends laughs loudly. “I can see the headlines tomorrow, ‘trail of dead girls found near OU, seemingly dead of heat-stroke’. Whoa, watch where you point those!” he brings up his hands in defense when Xavier gives him a look, protecting himself from the man’s eyes.
“You look good,” a redheaded girl says with a smile, flipping back her long braid flirtatiously.
“I look better with a pint,” Xavier replies, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it on his friends’ face. “I look positively dashing with a martini. And if you give me a single-malt, I’ll have the world at my feet in no time flat. Which is it, then?”
“Single-malt, I think,” the girl smiles.
This is trouble-if Xavier is all for women it will complicate things. He doesn’t behave at all like someone who might be interested in what Erik has to offer, although looks can most certainly be deceiving. Besides, students are given to experimentation, and Erik knows exactly what to do to attract a man with Xavier’s mannerisms-he’ll like someone with a commanding presence, sure of himself, firm and imposing, but with a sharp mind and tongue. Erik’s superior height is also an asset.
“Ah, and so I am ordered and must therefore obey,” Xavier says dramatically, though his eyes are glinting. “Anything for you, darling?”
“Guinness, please,” his male friend says cheekily, and laughs when Xavier slaps the back of his head.
“If I’d been talking to you, I’d have called you little girl,” Xavier said with a contemptuous look, too soon fractured by a wide, boyish grin.
“Stop that, Charles, our love can never be, you know that. I’m a prince and you’re a beggar.”
“You’re more a princess,” Xavier shifts his head to get a stray lock of hair out of the corner of his eye, where it has apparently tangled with his lashes, and really, who puts those kinds of eyes on a man?
Erik realizes he might be developing a fixation, and is somewhat grateful this night witll most definitely end with Xavier dead.
The man in question glances around casually, taking in the patrons just as Erik did earlier. His eyes linger a bit on Erik, which is nothing short of a good sign. He would have him yet.
Xavier makes his way to the bar, arms himself with the single-malt and the pint, and returns to the table with his friends, where he stubbornly remains for another hour and a half, allowing his friends to take turns brining the drinks. It’s clear enough he’s not giving Erik any room to maneuver, and Erik must admit he’s bewildered. He would expect a man that is as outgoing as Xavier appears to be to be comfortable with at least making the first move, throwing a smile his way or looking at him repeatedly enough Erik notices the interest.
He does none of these things. In fact, he ignores Erik with a graceful, elegant nonchalance that makes it look as though he’s forgotten he exists entirely, rather than be too aware of his presence.
Erik moves to the bar to get a fresh pint, wondering what he might do to attract the man’s attention that won’t be much too obvious. Approaching him while in the company of his group of friends is out of the question-not only because Xavier is using them as shield, but also because he cannot risk them remembering his face.
He is working out how to get Xavier on his own when, lo and behold, the man finally makes his move, appearing in the bar next to him quite unexpectedly.
“You can either keep staring at me,” he said, voice soft and quiet, eyes vibrant and unbelievable. “Or you can buy me a drink and tell me what you want.”
“Quite forward, are we?” Erik arches a brow.
“Your glare is making my head ache,” Xavier shrugs.
“I’m not glaring, I’m taking in the view.”
“For one and a half hours? The view is not about to change. We haven’t met.”
“Erik Lehnsherr,” Erik introduces himself, offering his hand. Xavier takes it, shakes it firmly and dryly and immediately releases it, as if the physical contact is not something he can readily bear.
“Charles Xavier.”
Erik calls the bartender and orders two glasses of fine scotch. As they wait for the drinks he gives Xavier an appraising look.
“I’m going to go with the cliché and say your eyes are shocking.”
“Thank you, I quite like them myself. My mother gave them to me. You have remarkable eyes yourself-the EYCL1 gene located in chromosome 19 has given you blue-green eyes. They shift with the light. Quite memorable.”
Erik feels a tendril of cold down his pine, and smiles. Memorable. Recognizable. Best be quick about it, then.
“I gather you like it?”
“Blue eyes, ginger, tall. What’s not to like?”
Xavier’s blasé attitude is off-putting. Erik hadn’t expected to have to deal with someone as self-assured as himself. Usually men as straightforward as Xavier is showing to be look for kinder, softer types, and there’s a lot Erik can fake-but not that.
“So then what are we waiting for?” he asks bluntly, swiftly deciding if this is the road Xavier wants to go down, then he’s going to be the one taking the lead. He can play rough. Rough is his game.
“My single-malt, obviously,” Xavier replies, looking at him out the corner of his eye, dark, heavy lashes obscuring the irises. There’s something sharp about those eyes, something dangerous prowling behind the astonishing color, and Erik finds the threat draws him in.
He smiles like a wound.
“Drink up, then, and be fast about it.”
Xavier’s lips curl in something resembling a smile, but there’s something sinister lurking at the edges of his full lips. Something familiar and comfortable and dangerous, something Erik is well acquainted with-now if only he could pin-point it precisely.
The bartender sits the glasses in front of them. Erik takes hold of his and downs it in one gulp, relishing the bur of it as it slides down his throat. Xavier gives him an amused look, and really, this is as far from flirting as Erik can think of. But Xavier obligingly downs his own shot, shutting his eyes tightly as he swallows. Then he tosses his head to shake hair out of his eyes, and very carefully but deliberately hooks a finger in one of Erik’s belt loops, tugging.
“Let’s go, then,” he says like a man on a mission.
This is really much too easy. Erik obliges, disentangling himself easily and making his way to the door, knowing Xavier is following him like a fox follows a chicken-and isn’t that the wrong analogy. It’s really the other way around.
Isn’t it?
They’re outside in the cold and Erik turns down the street into an alley, a dark narrow place where his superior height and strength will give him the advantage once he’s done getting what he wants. Once well out of sight of hearing he reaches forward and curls his hand on the nape of Xavier’s neck, bringing him roughly into his own body and crushing him deliberately against the wall.
“How about you get on your knees?” he asks gravelly.
Xavier grins. The sharp, dangerous glint in his eyes solidifies abruptly, and Erik realizes what it is-understanding. The harsh light of the faraway streetlamp throws Xavier’s face in strange relief, obscuring half his features into an inky darkness and hitting his left eye at an angle that makes it look almost transparent.
“I don’t think so, Erik. You don’t really want me to suck you, and I’d much prefer we don’t waste any more of each other’s times, yes?”
Erik stills.
“Oh, I know you don’t want to have sex with me, yes. I’ve known all along. You see, one of the fascinating things my mutation allows me to do” is read your mind.
His lips don’t move with the last part.
Xavier shifts and Erik instinctively withdraws, intending to get out of striking distance; but Xavier holds into his arms with deceptively strong fingers, so instead Erik twists sharply, pressing his own back to the wall for leverage and protection.
Only Xavier isn’t attacking him. He allows him to move and fluidly goes along for the ride, dropping Erik’s arms to press his hands to the walls at the sides of his shoulders, whole posture menacging and feline.
You ought to be more careful what hornet’s nest you kick, my friend, you are not by any means the meanest shark in the ocean.
“You’re in my head,” Erik murmurs, shocked. “How?”
You’ve got your tricks, I’ve got mine.
“You knew what I wanted since the beginning-why come along?” Erik is quickly growing furious. He’s been toyed with, lead like a lamb to slaughter, like a helpless child by the guiding hand of someone who knows more than he does. Xavier’s soft, quiet tone in his mind irks him and irritates him-it feels invasive and wrong, though it’s not actively aggressive.
I could be, though, Xavier’s mind whispers. Your mind is easy to unravel. I need only pull on the right memory and you’ll crumble.
“Then why not do it?” Erik hisses venomously.
Because unlike some of us, I value life.
Erik huffs out a bitter laugh.
I have seen so much in the last few years, Xavier’s tone is sad and thoughtful now. I used to be so full of hope and mercy. But no longer, I’m afraid. I will let you off with a warning now, Erik. You will walk away from this bar tonight and you will not return seeking to take my life. If you will, I will be forced to help you understand that while one may condition a creature to tolerate physical pain, mental pain is unbearable.
There is a shine like a blade in the blue of Xavier’s eyes, and Erik knows this man doesn’t lie or make empty threats.
“Just give me Shaw’s location and I’ll leave,” he insists urgently, unsure and upset on his footing.
Xavier straightens, slips his hands in his pockets and gives him a level look.
I won’t be a participant in your suicide. The horrors in which Shaw is entangled aren’t as easily solved as to simply cease his existence. Listen to me carefully now, Erik Lehnsherr.
Xavier tilts his head to look at Erik from the corner of his eye.
You will never get Shaw. You run along behind him like a newborn babe, guns blazing and knives unsheathed, killing anything and everything that crosses your path. You should know better than that, Erik. Shaw is no moron, nor is he without friends. You won’t catch a rat by setting fire to a house-you will catch it by laying a trap.
Erik is stunned speechless.
We want the same thing, you and I, Xavier continues coolly. We might even want it equally as bad. I am going after Sebastian Shaw, Erik. And if you have a lick of sense in your broken mind, you will stay well out of my path.
Xavier gives him a last, heartbreakingly boyish, ice-cold smile that is wrong all over the place and in every single possible sense, turns on his heel and leaves without another single word or backwards glance.
Chapter 2
Author: monstrousreg
Word count: 2539
Warnings: Slightly Dark!Charles. In the coming chapters there will be violence, probably will be NC-17 if I can muster the courage.
Pairing: Erik/Charles.
Summary: Erik thinks he's going to seduce, interrogate and murder some nondescript CIA intelligence agent, and winds up biting more than he can chew. Charles is not keen on being murdered, he doesn't favor interrogations, and he's certainly not willing to be seduced. That he's not cooperating is midly put.
Notes: Title comes from Neil Gaiman's The Sandman. Brief Lives is the 7th volume in the saga, and its basic message is: if you go looking for Destruction, that's precisely what you'll find. Unbetaed, and stuff.
The door falls closed behind Erik, pulled by a tight, newly-installed spring. Erik can feel the coiled metal, shiny and young.
He looks around, sliding his hands in the pockets of his black slacks and communicating vague, idle pleasantness as he makes his way to the bar. He knows how to manipulate body language to make people feel what he wants them to feel, and right now he wants them to feel like he’s nothing special to look at. This he has achieved by wearing a simple, blue polo shirt over black slacks, and a non-descript black leather jacket. Nothing remarkable at all.
It’s a typical Oxford bar, filled to the brim with students unwinding after a long week of finals. Erik’s timed this just right-if he does this correctly, his prey should be falling right into him, drunk and seeking distraction after a period of stress. It should be easy a breathing, but he has to be careful-the bar is a University bar and therefore open-minded enough, rather favorable to experimentation, but still he shouldn’t overdo it. He’ll have to snare his prey as subtly as possible.
He doesn’t know exactly what this boy looks like-all he could get out of his source was that he was slender, more a dancer than an athlete, and he had red lips and startlingly blue eyes, ‘impossible to miss’.
But Erik looks around as he waits for his pint and no one strikes out as peculiar to him at all. He makes a round of the bar, looking and assessing the patrons as well as making sure to know the terrain. There are some rather beautiful girls that stand out to him, but he is certain he is looking for a boy, and he can’t risk losing this lead now. He’s come a long way following breadcrumbs-nearly all the way from Argentina.
This boy, though, his Charles Xavier-he could prove to be uniquely useful, if he can twist him around right. What the project he’s actually in with the CIA consists of, Erik is unsure. But there’s a branch of it he is very much interested indeed; the one dedicated to searching out what they call gifted people.
The word ‘mutants’ is not on the official reports.
Erik knows for sure this branch has not yet yielded any results, for which he is grateful, but he also knows that the people working on this project know where one Sebastian Shaw is.
Shaw is who Erik is after-but taking Xavier out of the way in the meantime, to make sure he doesn’t locate any mutants, is not at all a loss of his valuable time. There’s no reason to allow some meddling human to go unchecked.
It’s not until about an hour and a half later, when Erik is beginning to lose his patience and suspect that perhaps his mark decided to stay in tonight after all, that Xavier actually shows up.
There is one thing to be said: the boy is impossible to miss.
Dark, wavy hair tumbles freely over his forehead, a stark contrast against his pale skin and his eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue, wide and open, glinting with intelligence borderline dangerous. There is a soft smile curving too-red lips-and it widens as soon as the boy spots his friends, across the room not far from Erik.
Perfect.
Xavier makes his way to the table where his friends are waving their hands and cat-calling him, noticing his seemingly unusual clothes-black slacks, a dark-blue button-up beneath a dark-grey sweater and a well-cut, elegant tweed coat.
“Quiet down,” Xavier laughs, brushing hair out of his ridiculous eyes. “You know Professor Maxwell likes his assistants sharply dressed for finals, yes? I’m officially off-duty now, though.”
“You heart-breaker,” one of his friends laughs loudly. “I can see the headlines tomorrow, ‘trail of dead girls found near OU, seemingly dead of heat-stroke’. Whoa, watch where you point those!” he brings up his hands in defense when Xavier gives him a look, protecting himself from the man’s eyes.
“You look good,” a redheaded girl says with a smile, flipping back her long braid flirtatiously.
“I look better with a pint,” Xavier replies, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it on his friends’ face. “I look positively dashing with a martini. And if you give me a single-malt, I’ll have the world at my feet in no time flat. Which is it, then?”
“Single-malt, I think,” the girl smiles.
This is trouble-if Xavier is all for women it will complicate things. He doesn’t behave at all like someone who might be interested in what Erik has to offer, although looks can most certainly be deceiving. Besides, students are given to experimentation, and Erik knows exactly what to do to attract a man with Xavier’s mannerisms-he’ll like someone with a commanding presence, sure of himself, firm and imposing, but with a sharp mind and tongue. Erik’s superior height is also an asset.
“Ah, and so I am ordered and must therefore obey,” Xavier says dramatically, though his eyes are glinting. “Anything for you, darling?”
“Guinness, please,” his male friend says cheekily, and laughs when Xavier slaps the back of his head.
“If I’d been talking to you, I’d have called you little girl,” Xavier said with a contemptuous look, too soon fractured by a wide, boyish grin.
“Stop that, Charles, our love can never be, you know that. I’m a prince and you’re a beggar.”
“You’re more a princess,” Xavier shifts his head to get a stray lock of hair out of the corner of his eye, where it has apparently tangled with his lashes, and really, who puts those kinds of eyes on a man?
Erik realizes he might be developing a fixation, and is somewhat grateful this night witll most definitely end with Xavier dead.
The man in question glances around casually, taking in the patrons just as Erik did earlier. His eyes linger a bit on Erik, which is nothing short of a good sign. He would have him yet.
Xavier makes his way to the bar, arms himself with the single-malt and the pint, and returns to the table with his friends, where he stubbornly remains for another hour and a half, allowing his friends to take turns brining the drinks. It’s clear enough he’s not giving Erik any room to maneuver, and Erik must admit he’s bewildered. He would expect a man that is as outgoing as Xavier appears to be to be comfortable with at least making the first move, throwing a smile his way or looking at him repeatedly enough Erik notices the interest.
He does none of these things. In fact, he ignores Erik with a graceful, elegant nonchalance that makes it look as though he’s forgotten he exists entirely, rather than be too aware of his presence.
Erik moves to the bar to get a fresh pint, wondering what he might do to attract the man’s attention that won’t be much too obvious. Approaching him while in the company of his group of friends is out of the question-not only because Xavier is using them as shield, but also because he cannot risk them remembering his face.
He is working out how to get Xavier on his own when, lo and behold, the man finally makes his move, appearing in the bar next to him quite unexpectedly.
“You can either keep staring at me,” he said, voice soft and quiet, eyes vibrant and unbelievable. “Or you can buy me a drink and tell me what you want.”
“Quite forward, are we?” Erik arches a brow.
“Your glare is making my head ache,” Xavier shrugs.
“I’m not glaring, I’m taking in the view.”
“For one and a half hours? The view is not about to change. We haven’t met.”
“Erik Lehnsherr,” Erik introduces himself, offering his hand. Xavier takes it, shakes it firmly and dryly and immediately releases it, as if the physical contact is not something he can readily bear.
“Charles Xavier.”
Erik calls the bartender and orders two glasses of fine scotch. As they wait for the drinks he gives Xavier an appraising look.
“I’m going to go with the cliché and say your eyes are shocking.”
“Thank you, I quite like them myself. My mother gave them to me. You have remarkable eyes yourself-the EYCL1 gene located in chromosome 19 has given you blue-green eyes. They shift with the light. Quite memorable.”
Erik feels a tendril of cold down his pine, and smiles. Memorable. Recognizable. Best be quick about it, then.
“I gather you like it?”
“Blue eyes, ginger, tall. What’s not to like?”
Xavier’s blasé attitude is off-putting. Erik hadn’t expected to have to deal with someone as self-assured as himself. Usually men as straightforward as Xavier is showing to be look for kinder, softer types, and there’s a lot Erik can fake-but not that.
“So then what are we waiting for?” he asks bluntly, swiftly deciding if this is the road Xavier wants to go down, then he’s going to be the one taking the lead. He can play rough. Rough is his game.
“My single-malt, obviously,” Xavier replies, looking at him out the corner of his eye, dark, heavy lashes obscuring the irises. There’s something sharp about those eyes, something dangerous prowling behind the astonishing color, and Erik finds the threat draws him in.
He smiles like a wound.
“Drink up, then, and be fast about it.”
Xavier’s lips curl in something resembling a smile, but there’s something sinister lurking at the edges of his full lips. Something familiar and comfortable and dangerous, something Erik is well acquainted with-now if only he could pin-point it precisely.
The bartender sits the glasses in front of them. Erik takes hold of his and downs it in one gulp, relishing the bur of it as it slides down his throat. Xavier gives him an amused look, and really, this is as far from flirting as Erik can think of. But Xavier obligingly downs his own shot, shutting his eyes tightly as he swallows. Then he tosses his head to shake hair out of his eyes, and very carefully but deliberately hooks a finger in one of Erik’s belt loops, tugging.
“Let’s go, then,” he says like a man on a mission.
This is really much too easy. Erik obliges, disentangling himself easily and making his way to the door, knowing Xavier is following him like a fox follows a chicken-and isn’t that the wrong analogy. It’s really the other way around.
Isn’t it?
They’re outside in the cold and Erik turns down the street into an alley, a dark narrow place where his superior height and strength will give him the advantage once he’s done getting what he wants. Once well out of sight of hearing he reaches forward and curls his hand on the nape of Xavier’s neck, bringing him roughly into his own body and crushing him deliberately against the wall.
“How about you get on your knees?” he asks gravelly.
Xavier grins. The sharp, dangerous glint in his eyes solidifies abruptly, and Erik realizes what it is-understanding. The harsh light of the faraway streetlamp throws Xavier’s face in strange relief, obscuring half his features into an inky darkness and hitting his left eye at an angle that makes it look almost transparent.
“I don’t think so, Erik. You don’t really want me to suck you, and I’d much prefer we don’t waste any more of each other’s times, yes?”
Erik stills.
“Oh, I know you don’t want to have sex with me, yes. I’ve known all along. You see, one of the fascinating things my mutation allows me to do” is read your mind.
His lips don’t move with the last part.
Xavier shifts and Erik instinctively withdraws, intending to get out of striking distance; but Xavier holds into his arms with deceptively strong fingers, so instead Erik twists sharply, pressing his own back to the wall for leverage and protection.
Only Xavier isn’t attacking him. He allows him to move and fluidly goes along for the ride, dropping Erik’s arms to press his hands to the walls at the sides of his shoulders, whole posture menacging and feline.
You ought to be more careful what hornet’s nest you kick, my friend, you are not by any means the meanest shark in the ocean.
“You’re in my head,” Erik murmurs, shocked. “How?”
You’ve got your tricks, I’ve got mine.
“You knew what I wanted since the beginning-why come along?” Erik is quickly growing furious. He’s been toyed with, lead like a lamb to slaughter, like a helpless child by the guiding hand of someone who knows more than he does. Xavier’s soft, quiet tone in his mind irks him and irritates him-it feels invasive and wrong, though it’s not actively aggressive.
I could be, though, Xavier’s mind whispers. Your mind is easy to unravel. I need only pull on the right memory and you’ll crumble.
“Then why not do it?” Erik hisses venomously.
Because unlike some of us, I value life.
Erik huffs out a bitter laugh.
I have seen so much in the last few years, Xavier’s tone is sad and thoughtful now. I used to be so full of hope and mercy. But no longer, I’m afraid. I will let you off with a warning now, Erik. You will walk away from this bar tonight and you will not return seeking to take my life. If you will, I will be forced to help you understand that while one may condition a creature to tolerate physical pain, mental pain is unbearable.
There is a shine like a blade in the blue of Xavier’s eyes, and Erik knows this man doesn’t lie or make empty threats.
“Just give me Shaw’s location and I’ll leave,” he insists urgently, unsure and upset on his footing.
Xavier straightens, slips his hands in his pockets and gives him a level look.
I won’t be a participant in your suicide. The horrors in which Shaw is entangled aren’t as easily solved as to simply cease his existence. Listen to me carefully now, Erik Lehnsherr.
Xavier tilts his head to look at Erik from the corner of his eye.
You will never get Shaw. You run along behind him like a newborn babe, guns blazing and knives unsheathed, killing anything and everything that crosses your path. You should know better than that, Erik. Shaw is no moron, nor is he without friends. You won’t catch a rat by setting fire to a house-you will catch it by laying a trap.
Erik is stunned speechless.
We want the same thing, you and I, Xavier continues coolly. We might even want it equally as bad. I am going after Sebastian Shaw, Erik. And if you have a lick of sense in your broken mind, you will stay well out of my path.
Xavier gives him a last, heartbreakingly boyish, ice-cold smile that is wrong all over the place and in every single possible sense, turns on his heel and leaves without another single word or backwards glance.
Chapter 2