Second Mutations

As the taxi rolled up the long driveway, Erik’s nerves twisted into a tight, unbearable knot.

This was a mistake.

The thought hit him like a hammer, cold and absolute.

His fingers curled against his thighs, gripping the fabric of his pants as doubt clawed its way up his throat. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have thought this was a good idea.

What had he been thinking? That he could just show up, pregnant, and expect things to be fine? That Charles and Hank wouldn’t look at him differently? Wouldn’t stare at him like he was some strange, unnatural thing?

Would they be disgusted?

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he considered telling the driver to turn around. To disappear again, to figure this out on his own like he always had.

But it was too late.

The mansion loomed ahead, grand and unchanging, and Erik’s heartbeat pounded so violently in his chest that he thought it might break free.

Even as the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, Erik remained frozen in his seat.

His fingers curled into fists against his thighs as he forced himself to breathe—slow, measured inhales that did little to calm the storm inside him. He knew Charles was already aware of his presence. Of course he did. And yet, the fear remained, clinging to him like a second skin.

The driver glanced back, brow quirked in mild impatience. Erik had no more excuses.

With a sharp exhale, he reached for the handle, pushing the door open with more force than necessary. The night air was crisp against his overheated skin as he stepped out, pulling a few bills from his pocket and handing them over.

The taxi didn’t linger. Within seconds, the taillights disappeared down the driveway, leaving Erik alone in front of the towering doors.

He stared up at them, his heart hammering.

Too late to turn back now.

And yet, his feet refused to move.

He didn’t know how long he stood there in the dark.

The night stretched around him, silent and heavy, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional flicker of light from inside the mansion. The world felt still, as if holding its breath alongside him.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He should move. He should knock. But his body refused to obey, locked in place by the weight of everything that had led him here.

The longer he stood there, the more his doubts festered. Would Charles welcome him? Would he turn him away? Would he see Erik as something lesser now?

A sharp gust of wind sent a shiver down his spine, but he barely noticed.

Still, he hesitated.

Still, he stood there—caught between the past he had run from and the future waiting just beyond those doors.

He swallowed hard, debating whether to turn around, to disappear before—

The door creaked open.

Erik tensed, his breath catching in his throat as light from the entryway spilled onto the stone steps. And there, standing in the doorway, was Charles.

His expression was unreadable at first, but his eyes—deep, knowing, gentle—searched Erik’s face with quiet intensity.

“I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there,” Charles murmured, his voice soft but laced with something deeper. Concern. Understanding.

Erik’s mouth went dry. He had no words, no explanation, no defense.

Charles tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering down—just briefly—before returning to Erik’s face. There was no shock, no judgment. Only quiet patience.

“…Come inside, Erik.”

For a long moment, Erik didn’t move.

The warmth spilling from the open door brushed against his skin, a stark contrast to the cold that had settled in his bones. Charles’s presence—steady, unwavering—wrapped around him like a tether, grounding and suffocating all at once.

He should say something. He should explain.

But the words lodged in his throat, too heavy, too tangled with everything he wasn’t ready to face.

Charles, as always, seemed to understand. He didn’t press, didn’t demand answers Erik wasn’t prepared to give. He simply waited, his expression open, patient, welcoming.

That, more than anything, made Erik’s chest ache.

With a sharp inhale, he took the first step forward. Then another. And another—until he was crossing the threshold, until the warmth of the mansion surrounded him, until the door clicked shut behind him, sealing him inside.

He was home.

But god, it didn’t feel that simple.

Erik kept his arms wrapped around himself, as if bracing for whatever came next. His stomach—once hidden beneath layers of clothes—felt heavier than ever. He could feel Charles’s gaze on him, assessing, piecing things together, but still, he said nothing.

Finally, Charles broke the silence.

“Would you like to sit?”

The question was gentle, giving Erik an out, a choice. And maybe that was why Erik nodded, letting Charles guide him toward the sitting room. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the walls. It was warm. Safe. Too safe.

Erik sank onto the couch, his fingers twitching against his knee. 

Still, he didn’t ask the obvious question.

He just waited.

And somehow, that was worse.

Erik swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Charles’s gaze. The concern there was too much, too open, too kind, and it made something inside him snap.

“I—” His voice cracked, raw and uncertain. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply before trying again. “I need your help.”

Charles’s expression softened, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but he didn’t rush Erik.

Erik’s hands unconsciously drifted to his stomach, fingers curling over the fabric of his coat. His heart pounded so loudly he could hardly hear himself think.

He couldn’t run from this.

Not anymore.

With great effort, he forced out the words that had been suffocating him for months.

“…I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

A mix of emotions crossed Charles’s face—shock, confusion, disbelief—one after the other, each one fleeting yet unmistakable. Erik saw every single one, watching them play out like a reel he couldn’t look away from.

He waited.

Waited for the disgust. For the repulsion. For something to confirm his worst fears.

But it never came.

Charles didn’t recoil. He didn’t avert his gaze. He just stared, his mouth slightly open, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that made no sense.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Charles exhaled softly and said, “I… what.”

He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if that would help clear the confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m just—how?”

The sheer bewilderment in his voice would’ve been almost amusing if Erik weren’t so wound up, his nerves stretched to the breaking point.

Taking a deep breath, Erik forced the words out, his voice quieter than he intended.

"I have a second mutation."

He didn’t dare look at Charles as he continued, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. "I don’t know how or why it decided to develop, but it did. And, because the universe enjoys its cruel little jokes at my expense…" His jaw clenched, his breath shuddering as he forced the next words past the lump in his throat. "I’m fucking pregnant."

The last word nearly broke on a choked sob, but Erik swallowed it down, his throat burning. He would not cry.

Not now.

His entire body was tense, every muscle locked as he braced himself for whatever came next—for laughter, for disbelief, for pity. He didn’t know which would be worse.

But Charles said nothing.

Erik could feel his gaze on him, piercing and unreadable, but he refused to look up. If he did, he wasn’t sure he could keep himself together.

The silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable.

Erik’s nails dug into his palms. He hated this. Hated feeling so exposed.

Finally, Charles spoke, his voice softer than Erik expected.

"Erik…"

That was all it took.

His composure wavered, the weight of everything pressing down on him, suffocating, inescapable.

He didn’t know what he wanted—what he needed—but god, he hoped Charles wouldn’t push him away.

Not now.

"Erik."

Charles said his name again, softer this time, coaxing.

Still, Erik kept his head down, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. But after a long moment, he forced himself to look up, meeting Charles’s impossibly blue eyes.

Charles held his gaze, his expression warm, steady. And then—he smiled. Just slightly.

"Well, this is certainly extraordinary," he murmured, tone filled with genuine wonder. "I always knew a second mutation was possible, but for it to actually manifest like this… it’s unbelievable."

Erik simply stared at him.

That was it? No disgust? No accusations? Just fascination?

Charles must have realized how that sounded because he cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting slightly in his chair. "Sorry. Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you."

Erik exhaled through his nose, nodding for him to continue.

For the first time since opening the door, Charles looked… flustered. He hesitated, searching for the right words, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against the arm of his chair.

"If I may ask… how did this happen?—No, I know it’s a second mutation, and I understand the mechanics of pregnancy, I just—" Charles let out a short breath, shaking his head before finally spitting it out.

"What I’m asking is… who got you pregnant?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Erik didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Erik just stared.

Then, out of nowhere, a choked laugh escaped him—dry, hollow, devoid of any real humor.

Charles blinked, clearly taken aback.

The laughter died just as quickly as it had come, leaving only the ghost of something unreadable on Erik’s face. He shook his head, exhaling sharply.

"I’d like for you to guess, Charles."

Charles’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly trying to piece things together.

Erik watched him, waiting.

Daring him.

And then, slowly, understanding dawned in Charles’s eyes. His lips parted, his breath hitching ever so slightly as the realization settled in his chest.

Erik didn’t need to say anything else.

He simply held Charles’s gaze, unflinching, as the weight of the truth crashed down between them.

"I… I’m a father."

Charles’s voice was barely above a whisper, his breath unsteady. His mind reeled, the realization crashing into him all at once. "I was the one who got you pregnant… Oh my—"

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

His gaze dropped to the floor as memories surged forward—the plane.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look back up at Erik.

"I’m so sorry."

Erik arched a brow, his expression unreadable. "Sorry for what?"

Charles hesitated, shame tightening in his chest. "For what I did to you on the plane. For making you feel like you were being dehumanized. I never should have—"

He trailed off, searching for words that could somehow make up for it.

But Erik didn’t respond right away. He simply studied Charles for a long moment before giving a small nod, accepting the apology without lingering on it.

Silence stretched between them, heavy with all the unspoken things neither of them knew how to voice.

Finally, Charles exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair. "So… what now?"

"Well," Erik started, his voice steady, "I’m planning on keeping the baby."

A quiet sigh of relief escaped Charles, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"And are you planning on staying here?"

Erik hesitated for just a second before answering softly, "Yes, Charles. I’m staying." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Besides, it wouldn’t do any good for me to live—and give birth to a baby—in a small hotel room."

Charles nodded, a smile threatening to break through, though he tried to suppress it.

"Then… what about us?"

Erik’s gaze flickered to Charles’s, and the hope in his eyes made his chest ache. He wanted this—he wanted Charles—but things couldn’t simply fall back into place as if nothing had happened. If they were going to try again, it wouldn’t be the same as before. It couldn’t be. They had hurt each other too deeply, and if they wanted to make this work—not just for the baby, but for themselves—it would take time. Effort.

"What do you want us to be, Charles?"

"I want us to be together again."

The words were so simple, yet they held so much weight.

Erik swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. "How could you still want to be with me after—"

"Erik." Charles cut him off, his voice firm but gentle. "I forgave you a long time ago. It’s time you start forgiving yourself too."

A rush of emotions surged through Erik—guilt, longing, fear, hope—but he kept his expression guarded, unwilling to show just how deeply those words affected him.

Instead, he inhaled sharply and said, "It’s going to take a lot of work. It won’t be easy. I’m… I’m willing to try, if you are."

Charles’s face lit up, the hope in his eyes turning into something real. "I’m willing." He leaned forward slightly, his voice almost a whisper. "I don’t want to lose you again."

And for the first time in a long while, Erik let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—they had a chance.

After a beat of silence, Erik spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “There’s something else I should tell you.”

Charles hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes still studying Erik intently.

Erik hesitated for just a second before exhaling sharply. “The baby is a telepath.”

Charles’s entire body went still. His eyes widened, his mouth falling slightly open as if his brain had momentarily short-circuited.

"What!?"

The sheer disbelief in his voice might have been amusing if Erik weren’t still processing it himself.

Erik sighed, rubbing at his temple. "I felt it. Their mind… it wrapped around mine, just for a moment. It was—" He exhaled, shaking his head. 

Charles blinked rapidly, as if trying to catch up with reality. "You’re telling me—our child is already showing signs of telepathy? Before they’re even born?"

"Yes."

For a moment, Charles just stared at him, and then—his expression softened, wonder overtaking the shock.

"Incredible."

Erik scoffed, rolling his eyes. "That’s one word for it."