How Ardently I Admire

It was now a week since the party at the McTaggarts’. The Xavier household was, for the most part, quiet. Hank had been spending the greater part of his time either reading or going out riding, sometimes with their father; he had mentioned Mr Howlett only a few times, mostly relating some relevant comment or opinion, and he blushed whenever the name came up, always ready to agree with anyone who praised him. Charles was quite sure that Hank was still decidedly taken with Mr Logan Howlett.

Westchester was only so quiet because it was very often empty of late. There was a militia regiment newly arrived in Meryton, using the village as their base; naturally, Raven was now determined to visit their aunt in Meryton every day of the week, often bringing their mother with her. She returned home each day with a little more information on one officer or another, their names and connections, ready to describe the handsomest of them to Charles. He was a willing listener, for the most part, and so was their mother; the fortune and  consequence of Mr Howlett, to her mind, was hardly even glamorous at all when compared with the many attractive and elegible alphas of an ensign.

Charles had taken advantage of the quiet in the house to attend to some correspondence. One letter was for Jean Grey; she was a friend of the family - the Xaviers had made her acquaintance a few years ago while holidaying at Bath. She and Charles, particularly, had become closely acquainted, and kept up a correspondence. Their shared many interests, and their minds seemed to work along similar lines. Jean was married now, and lived in London with her omega husband, Scott. Charles enjoyed the letters they exchanged; he hoped that he and Jean would meet again someday. Perhaps, when he was married, he could travel – although, he thought, this was his third year as an eligible omega, and he hadn’t yet met an alpha with whom he really felt he could be content.

~ ~ ~

Charles loved his sister dearly, but since returning from a visit to their aunt this morning, she had spoken of nothing but a captain named LeBeau, and Charles found his patience steadily declining.

“He is uncannily skilled at cassino and commerce,” Raven said, “or so our aunt says; some other officers were telling her about their fortunes at the card-tables.”

Happily, Charles was granted a reprieve from this detailed account of Captain LeBeau, in the form of a letter which a servant had brought in for Hank.

“Who’s it from?” he asked, watching Hank read it.

“Miss Frost,” Hank replied, eyes scanning the page.

“What does she say?” Raven asked, trying to snatch it off him.

Hank moved it out of her reach. “She asks me to visit, as soon as I receive this, to be her guest for lunch. Mr Howlett and Mr Lensherr are to dine with the officers, and Yuriko and the Worthingtons are returned to London.”

“Dining with the officers! Today! Our aunt did not mention that to me,” Raven interrupted. “Where will they dine, I wonder?”

“It is unlucky that Mr Howlett will not be there to see you himself, Henry,” Mrs Xavier added.

Hank folded the letter, and looked at Charles, with a small, quiet smile which meant that he was pleased to have been invited. “I suppose I will have to go on horseback; Father cannot spare me the carriage.”

Their mother, naturally, was delighted to confirm that the carriage could not be spared. “The weather is set to be terrible today! It will rain and you will be forced to spend the night there.”

“That would be a very good scheme of yours, Mother, if they were not likely to just send Hank back in their own carriage,” Charles replied.

“But Mr Howlett and Mr Lensherr might stay in Meryton, and keep the carriage with them!” Raven suggested, delighted. “Then Hank would certainly have to stay, and wait for Mr Howlett’s return!”

Charles sighed. “We do not live in a romantic novel, Raven, only Hertfordshire. Hank will be back for dinner.”

They all went to the door to farewell him; Charles, privately, hoped that Hank would fare well enough when alone with Miss Frost; Hank could be painfully shy sometimes, and although Miss Frost had never been rude to either of them, Charles could not warm to her, and did not entirely like her. But Hank had a sweeter disposition than Charles, really, and Charles could at least hope that Miss Frost would be kinder to Hank because of this.

As Mrs Xavier pulled Hank close to kiss his cheek, she continued to remark, cheerfully, on what a dreadful day it was certain to be; she seemed very sure that she would not see Hank until the next day, at least, and reminded him to smile at Mr Howlett at every opportunity.

It started to rain not five minutes after they’d settled back into the parlour. "What luck for Henry!” their mother exclaimed, delighted.

Charles bit his tongue, and took himself off to finish his letter to Jean.

It rained all night.

~ ~ ~

The rain had stopped by the morning. Charles had barely finished his breakfast when a servant from Netherfield arrived, bringing him a note from Hank.

“My dear Charles,
I find myself a little unwell this morning; I am afraid I was caught in the rain yesterday, and now I have a chill. Miss Frost will not hear of my returning home until I am better, and has insisted that the doctor come as well, to see me. Do not be alarmed, though; I have only a slightly sore throat, and a headache, nothing terrible, and Miss Frost has been unfailingly kind and hospitable.
Yours, Henry.”

Charles read the note aloud to his mother and Raven, and finished by saying, “Well, I must go and see him. As soon as I can.”

Their mother seemed delighted that her son had been thrown into Mr Howlett’s path in this manner, rather than concerned at the news that he was unwell. “Oh, Charles, he will not die of a head-cold. It will be very well for him to stay at Netherfield!” she exclaimed. “We may be able to have the carriage tomorrow, and so we might go and see Henry then.”

Charles shook his head. “I will see him this morning. I will walk there myself.” He could not help feeling anxious for Hank; his note sounded cheerful enough, but Hank was given to aggressively understating – or entirely dismissing – any of his own illnesses or misfortunes, out of a sort of misplaced consideration for others.

Their mother exclaimed in horror. “Walk! All that way to Netherfield! Charles, how can you be so silly! I wish you had learned to ride better, and then you might go on horseback. I forbid you to walk, in all this dirt. You will not be fit to be seen when you arrive!”

“I don’t want to be seen, I just want to see Hank,” Charles said, angered by her priorities. “I shall be fit enough to see him, mother, which is all I want.”

“Surely you can’t mean to walk,” Raven said. “It really is a dreadfully long way.”

“It’s hardly more than three miles, and I will not be put off by your exaggerations, Raven, thank you,” Charles replied, trying not to snap. “In fact, I will set out presently.”

“Well then,” Raven said after a moment, “I will come with you as far as Meryton.”

Charles immediately regretted the sharp tone he had taken with her. “Thank you, Raven. It will be a much more enjoyable walk for your company. Mother, I am sure I will be back by dinner, it is not such a long way as you would both like to suppose, and then I can tell you how Henry is.”

Mrs Xavier accepted this, albeit with many murmurings about how reckless Charles was, and how his conduct would certainly one day cause her to have some sort of nervous fit. Many replies about Raven’s conduct around members of the recently-arrived militia regiment came to mind, but Charles held his tongue.

~          ~          ~

Their walk to Meryton was peaceful enough; Charles listened with amusement to Raven’s chatter about the officers currently there. He had not yet met any of them, and he found that hearing about them was almost like reading a novel, like hearing an account of fictional characters. Raven was absolutely preoccupied with the regiment.

“You know, Charles, if we were to hurry just a little, I expect I could meet Captain LeBeau before he goes. He and a few of his men are due to depart today.”

“I suppose we should hurry, then.”

When they reached the main road which stretched up to Meryton, Raven departed, and Charles continued his walk alone, cutting through the fields instead of taking the road that ran around the outside. This was a much shorter route, he knew. Charles often walked, with Moira or Hank, or by himself; he was familiar with the land between Westchester and Meryton, and the surrounds of the village. He made good time, and did not bother to walk around puddles or to avoid the stretches of longer grass; he was anxious to see Hank, and impatient to get out of the sun. At last, he found himself with a clear view of Netherfield; he slowed as he approached, becoming every minute more of how weary his legs were, and how dirty his trousers. Although he now felt a little trepidation about coming to Netherfield uninvited, Charles did not find himself at all concerned about whether he was ‘fit to be seen’.

~ ~ ~

Erik was alone in the drawing room, reading the newspaper, when a “Mr Charles Xavier” was announced by a servant. Startled, Erik put the paper down, just in time to see Charles being shown in. The servant closed the door behind him.

"Oh," Charles said. "Mr Lensherr."

Charles was breathing heavily, and his cheeks were flushed pink. Erik stared at him for a moment, and then tried not stare, looking at the floor instead. He cleared his throat. "Mr Xavier," he said, and then released he was still seated. Abruptly, he stood. "Please, come in"

Charles frowned. "I believe I am already in the room."

Feeling exceedingly pleased that Emma was not here to witness his utter stupidity, Erik struggled to gather his thoughts. Charles’ eyes were very bright; they looked even more blue than Erik had recalled. Forcing himself to converse like a competent adult, he said, "Of course. By all means, be seated, then."

Charles looked unimpressed. "Thank you, Mr Lensherr, but I am content to stand; I will not inconvenience you by staying much longer in your company. I only wish to see my brother."

Erik faltered. "Certainly." He wished that Logan would hurry up and join them.

The door opened behind Charles. "Mr Xavier!" Emma exclaimed, entering the room.

Charles jumped, surprised, and stepped aside for her.“Miss Frost,” he said.

She smiled at him, eyes glinting. “This is certainly a surprise; we have hardly finished breakfast.”

“I apologise for arriving without notice,” Charles replied, not looking at all apologetic. “I was impatient to see Hank.” He paused, still trying to catch his breath. “You will excuse me if my conversation leaves a little to be desired; I am a little out of breath from the walk.”

“From the walk?” Emma asked.

“Yes,” said Charles. “I walked.”

“From Westchester?” Emma exclaimed.

“Yes,” Charles said again.

“How far is Westchester, from here?” Erik asked.

Charles looked over at him. “Three miles or so.”

Erik could hardly believe this. To come such a long distance, unaccompanied, and at such an early hour – surely Henry was not ill enough to warrant such actions. He was not sure if he admired Charles’ devotion to his brother, or if instead he condemned this sort of rash behaviour. He tried very hard not to become further conflicted by Charles’ distractingly appealing complexion; Charles’ face was flushed pink from the exercise. It contrasted with the still-white skin of his neck. Charles had lovely skin.

Logan, when he entered, did not seem very surprised to see Charles there. “Mr Xavier. Good morning.”

“Mr Howlett. Forgive me making this visit without an invite. I set out as soon as I received Hank’s letter.”

“It must have been a very troubling letter,” Emma observed, hardly even trying to sound sincere.

“Hank is never willing to deliberately alarm or inconvenience anyone, even those who love him best,” Charles replied coolly, looking over at her. “So, you will understand that I did not wish to take him at his word. I instead wanted to be satisfied, myself, that his symptoms were only as mild as he claimed.” He paused, and looked to Logan. “How is he?”

Logan’s mouth tightened. “Less well than he seems to have let you believe. His throat is swollen, and paining him, and he has a fever. He slept very poorly; he was waking constantly in the night.”

Erik couldn’t help but notice how Charles’ lips thinned, how his shoulders slumped minutely.

Charles sighed. “I see.”

“I’ll take you to him now,” Logan said, and Charles nodded, following him out of the room.

“Quite extraordinary,” Emma remarked, sitting down. “Did you see the state of his clothing?”

“I didn’t look closely, no.” Erik's attention had been entirely held by Charles' countenance, but he would not mention that to Emma.

“Mud everywhere. Like a little savage. He’ll be lucky to find himself an alpha if he continues to behave with such disregard for propriety.”

Erik, sitting back down in his chair, opened his newspaper but found himself entirely uninterested in it. “Admirable, really,” he said after a moment, “to come so far out of concern.”

Emma laughed a little. “Are you just trying to disagree with me, or is he truly something more than just a fine pair of eyes, now?”

Erik made no reply; it was often the wisest course of action with Emma.

“Did that hurt you, Erik?” she asked. “To compliment someone else’s character? It is so unlike you that I am sure you have injured yourself doing; it, I might have to ask the admirable Mr Xavier to nurse you back to health.”

“He will have enough work in nursing his brother. Let me read the paper, Emma.”

“Very well,” she said, smirking at him.

Again, Erik elected to ignore her. She would tire of this teasing in time, he was sure.

~          ~          ~

“Thank you, Mr Howlett, for receiving me at such an early hour, without notice,” Charles said, as they climbed the stairs.

“Not at all, Mr Xavier. And please, call me Logan.”

“Then you must call me Charles.”

“I will, Charles,” Logan replied, smiling briefly at him. “Henry is just down here…” Logan paused at a door near the end of the hall, and knocked gently. “May I come in?” he asked. Hank must have answered him, because he turned back and smiled at Charles, before opening the door and beckoning Charles with a jerk of his head.

“Charles!” Hank said, voice rasping, as he tried to sit up in bed.

Charles went straight to him. “Don’t get up,” he said, reaching out to touch Hank’s face with the back of his hand. “Oh, Hank, you look dreadful. You feel as though you’re burning.”

“I’ll be alright, Charles,” Hank replied. “Did you walk here? You really shouldn’t have. I’ve already been such a demand on Mr Howlett’s time and energy; I’d hate to demand yours, too.”

“My time was freely given,” Logan corrected, in his low growl of a voice. “I’m sure your brother is here out of concern rather than duty, just the same as me.”

Hank smiled a little at that, albeit weakly. He looked quite unwell.

“You would do well to listen to him,” Charles said. “The only inconvenience you could cause me would be through an understatement of your discomfort. I only want to be properly informed of how you are, Hank, so that I may care for you adequately.” He looked up at Logan.

Logan’s gaze was on Hank, but after a moment he looked back to Charles, and nodded his head. “Charles is right, Henry. I only ask that you allow me the privilege of providing you with everything I’m capable of giving.” He cleared his throat, and gave Hank another lingering glance before saying, “I will leave the two of you alone. Please don’t hesitate to ring for anything.” He nodded to both of them, and left.

Charles could not help but smile at Hank. “Logan is remarkably attentive.”

Hank smiled too. “I woke often in the night, and one of the housemaids attended to me – brought me water, a compress, laudanum for the headache – and I could hear him in the hall sometimes, asking her questions and pacing up and down. I really wish that he would have slept, instead, but perhaps he was too anxious.”

“How is your headache?”

“A little better, for now.”

“You are very warm,” Charles said, putting a hand on Hank’s brow. “You seem very weak, Hank. How is the fever? Do you think you could sleep again?”

Hank frowned. “The fever – I don’t know, Charles – it seems to come and go, it was worse in the night.”

“Try to sleep again,” Charles told him. “I’ll be here. Look, there are some books here by the window; I will be well able to pass the time until you wake again.”

Hank fell asleep after only a minute or two, certainly looking as though he would benefit from it.

Charles sat and read; he was quite content to do so, having at least been able to see for himself how his brother was, and having also been assured that Logan would provide Hank with the best of care.

Logan checked on them almost hourly; he seemed to be trying to conceal his anxiety, but Charles noticed the way that he scowled if Hank shifted in his sleep, the way his hands were never still. Charles felt very flattered on Hank’s behalf as he observed these little signs, and glad that if Hank had to be unwell while away from home, that he was in a place where no effort would be spared to aid his recovery.

“It will be time for dinner in a few hours,” Logan said, the fourth time he came past the room. He had been regarding Hank from the doorway for a full minute, and seemed to come back to himself.

Charles shifted in his chair. “I suppose I should really make my way back to Westchester,” he said, entirely unwilling to do so but not wishing to impose at Netherfield.

“Charles, I would… I would very much like for you to stay here for the present, if you would consent to,” Logan replied. “I know you would be a great comfort to Henry.”

Charles smiled widely, making no attempt to disguise his relief at this. “There is nothing I would appreciate more. Thank you, Logan.”

Logan sent one of his servants to Westchester to inform Mrs Xavier that Charles would stay at Netherfield that night; the same servant brought back fresh clothes for him, and showed him to a room of his own.

As he dressed for dinner, Charles despaired a little; he was already exhausted from his walk and still worried for Hank’s health. Of course, Logan was a cheerful and pleasant man, and his attentions to Hank were very reassuring. The prospect of an entire evening spent in the company of the unfriendly Mr Lensherr, however, filled him with a kind of dread; despite all his joking with Moira and the others, he still felt a little sting of resentment at Mr Lensherr’s cruel dismissal of him. Miss Frost could be a little disparaging at times, but Charles did reluctantly admire her sharp wit, and knew that he could deflect or return her cutting remarks well enough.

“At least,” Charles thought to himself, “as Mr Lensherr has already made it clear that I am not pleasing to look at, and frivolous besides, I need not worry about compromising his view of me. He is already decided in his opinion of me as an omega not worth his notice, so I am sure that I must be free to ignore him or antagonise him as I wish. I suppose it would be entertaining if I could provoke him into quarreling with me at dinner; and it would make an amusing story for Moira, too.”

Feeling heartened by the prospect of at least collecting an anecdote for his friend, and reminding himself that he was here for Hank’s benefit, Charles made his way downstairs. He was now firmly resolved to employ any means to enjoy, or at least endure, his evening with Mr Erik Lensherr.