Oneshot

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This morning, like every other morning, sitting on the terrace of the café downstairs from his small apartment, Charles was waiting for his usual coffee while watching the bustle of the street. Delivery men unloading their vans at the grocery store on the corner, the bookstore owner unpacking his shelves, a tourist couple having their picture taken with the view of Montmartre in the background. The passers-by, people going to work, others walking their dogs. All this lively and colorful world coming and going, talking, laughing, reminded him of the hallway of a certain school, in the mornings just before the students entered their classrooms.

And like every morning, Charles was acutely aware of his loneliness. He had voluntarily closed his mind to all other thoughts than his own.

Thoughts that were enough to torment him.

More often than not, they were memories which he forced himself to face. His mistakes, what he should or should not have done. Searching, dissecting when he had lost sight of his values. At what point he had let down those he had sworn to protect since the day he had discovered Raven in his kitchen so many years ago.

But appeasement never came.

At the beginning, Hank gave him news of the school, of the progress of the students, news of each one and then little by little the messages had spaced, Charles put more and more time to answer, letting the distance grow voluntarily. It was now 3 months that he had no news and it was good like that.

Raven, Jean, Alex... and the names of all the others were spinning in his head, like a macabre dance, a torture he was inflicting on himself to atone.

There was only one name that he refused to pronounce, that he refused to think about. The one name that had always been able to read him without having any telepathic powers.

"You're always sorry, Charles. And there's always a speech. But nobody cares anymore."

"Will that be all sir?"

The waitress, pulling him out of his musings, put his coffee on the table.

"Yes, thank you," Charles replied.

"Mutant and proud."

Raven had always been right,

"Or is that only with pretty mutations or invisible ones, like yours. But if you're a freak, better hide."

Mutant yes, but proud he was no longer. He was the freak who had to hide.

He took a sip of his coffee and ran his hand over his face.

He suddenly felt a presence behind his back, and a shiver went through him at the sound of the voice with such familiar inflections,

"How's retirement treating you Charles?"

Erik sat down and placed a small case containing a chess set at his feet. Why was he there? To taunt him? To provoke him? Charles resisted the temptation to read his mind. He clenched his fist on his knee. Erik was the only one to provoke this storm of emotions in him. The only one who had the capacity to unsettle him.

So as always he chose the attack,"What are you doing here, Erik?"

He finally dared to meet Erik's eyes, and he almost gasped, because, in the blue-gray eyes, there was nothing of the harshness, of the disappointment from their last meeting. Erik's gaze was kind and open as he replied with a slight smile, "I came to see an old friend. Fancy a game?"

Erik showed him the chess set at their feet. Their usual chess game, the moment when their minds clashed. That space outside of time, where despite the fights and conflicts, they always managed to find each other. But this time Charles wasn't sure he had the strength to offer Erik a worthy opponent. So he shook his head and replied, "No, not today. Thank you."

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