"Thank you. We did. Mystique was a few cycles later. There were others -- Alex, long before us, one of my students. Hank, after, another--"

But he's interrupted, prompting him to glance up.

"Charles," he gamely corrects anyway.

(Maybe it's rude; it's at least well-meaning. There is a sense, already, that David is adapting from something he was, to something he now is. If he can help, in his way, he will.)

Charles pauses a fraction late, but pause he does, peering after David's gesture. He experiences a slight tickle down the back of his neck, visceral and fleeting. "I suppose it was a matter of time." His tone remains normal. He's quieter than he was a second ago. There's a beat, before a decision is made, and he continues onwards.

It's right there, anyway.