"I— yes," Erik said from the doorway, now too taken aback to bother trying to hide the frustration in his voice. "And if you know about the Nexus, that means I have more questions for you than you could possibly have for me."

He'd drifted after Charles almost in a daze, and now felt like the doorjamb might actually be propping him up. It had been so long since Erik had seen him— seven months, eight or nine at most. Charles looked as though he'd aged years in that span, and those years hadn't been kind. He watched, dumbfounded, as Charles took a healthy slug from his glass, knocking back a long swallow of scotch like it was water. He'd been drinking heavily that night in the Smoking Room, too; Erik remembered the whole thing with scalding clarity. He'd behaved badly— really, all three of them had— and he and Charles hadn't parted on any better terms than they'd been on before.

At least they hadn't shouted at each other that time. Erik had counted that a victory, but with the months of silence culminating here— in the unexplained phenomenon of Charles walking unassisted, Charles who in spite of this apparent miracle still refused to meet Erik's gaze and gripped his rocks glass like he was afraid of what might happen if he let go— he wondered if he'd been a fool to take it at face value.