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The moment he opened his eyes, Charles felt something was off. No, it wasn't the lack of mental activity in the house due to their futuristic time travelling guests disappearing one by one back to their respective homes. Yet, a few remained, and with them, the threat of Stryker and his need to sabotage the existence of mutants was still very real.

Not long after waking, Charles was down in the kitchen preparing his usual morning cup of tea. His eyes trained on a select view of the bushes at the far end of the Xavier property; his mind equally attentive on the thoughts of two men beyond what he could see. Two men obviously sent out by Stryker for reasons that had since grew tiresome. Two men who must have been told that there was a mutant with telepathic abilities and another with the power of controlling anything made of metal. What sort of fools did they all think they were?

Today, however, felt different than any other and as time wore on, Charles increasingly grew more anxious.

There was something in the air that didn't feel quite right.

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Erik wandered into the kitchen in a v-neck undershirt and fleece trousers, glancing at the cup in Charles hand with a small amount of distaste, remarking "That's tea, isn't it?" as he turned towards the fridge.

If a man wanted a cup of coffee around here, he had to make it himself.

He glanced over the potential breakfast ingredients, then looked over his shoulder. "What do you want to eat?"

His eyes glanced to his friend, and then to the tea he had been stirring for God knew how long, before glancing back out the window.

"I think Stryker is planning something again." he said, ignoring the question Erik asked him. This was far more important anyway.

Erik's expression became severe and he turned.

A frown.

"Same number of guns. What makes you think so?"

He took a sip before moving towards the large oak table.

"Usually I can hear the men and their thoughts. Now it is nothing more than hushed whispers, if so to speak. And there is a feeling that something is not quite right."

It was a ominous feeling, and so far displaced from the attack on them that it wasn't just fear. It was more caution; a need to stay alert. More so than what they had been doing up until then.

Erik looked towards the window, then at Charles again.

"Are they nervous?" he asked. "Do they remember what happened the last time they stepped in this house?" His expression became distant as he focused on something far away. "If all their guns suddenly went off in their holsters would they shit themselves?"

His focus returned to the room and he looked at Charles. "Either of us could make all the men out there shoot each other any time we wanted. They don't see it, do they? That we're playing nice?"