Second Mutations

As Erik neared the ninth month of pregnancy, he could feel his body changing more and more.

Walking was becoming increasingly difficult, and even the simplest movements left him exhausted. Most days, he either stayed in bed or retreated to Charles’s study, finding some comfort in the familiar space.

And then there was the moodiness.

Granted, Erik had always been moody—but the pregnancy had amplified those feelings to an unbearable degree. He found himself irritated over the smallest things, snapping at Charles or the students for no real reason. Worse, he had started crying over nothing. A book left slightly askew, a cup of tea that had gone cold too fast—utterly trivial things, and yet his body insisted on betraying him with tears.

He hated it. Hated crying over nothing, hated that his own hormones were dictating his emotions.

But what annoyed him most of all was the fact that he had, on more than one occasion, cried in front of Charles.

It was a couple days ago when Erik sat on the couch in Charles’s study, a book in his lap, his expression tense. Charles had been focused on a report at his desk when he heard an abrupt sniffle.

He looked up.

Erik was glaring down at the book, his jaw tight, his hands gripping the pages as if the paper had personally offended him.

“Erik?” Charles asked carefully.

Erik inhaled sharply, his eyes suspiciously red. “This book is stupid.”

Charles blinked, glancing at the novel in Erik’s hands. The Count of Monte Cristo. Not exactly an easy read, but certainly not something he expected Erik to be this upset over.

“What… happened?” Charles asked, suppressing a smile.

Erik let out a shaky breath, his glare intensifying. “He waited years for his revenge. Years, Charles! And now he’s just leaving? Walking away?” His voice wavered, and he hastily wiped at his eyes. “I—It’s ridiculous!”

Charles bit his lip to stop the chuckle threatening to escape. “It’s meant to be a story of growth, love. Letting go of—”

“I don’t care,” Erik snapped, throwing the book onto the couch beside him. “I wanted him to destroy them.” His breath hitched slightly, and to Charles’s endless amusement, Erik grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest as if to compose himself.

Charles nodded solemnly. “I see. A tragic injustice, truly.”

Erik sniffed again, narrowing his eyes. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I would never,” Charles said, failing miserably at keeping his amusement in check.

“You are!” Erik groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “I hate this. I hate these hormones. I hate you.”

Charles chuckled, rolling himself closer and resting a gentle hand on Erik’s knee. “You don’t mean that.”

Erik peeked at him from behind the pillow, his expression still sulky but his tears already drying. He grumbled something unintelligible before adding, “This is your fault.”

Charles squeezed his knee affectionately. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

Erik huffed but didn’t push his hand away.

After that, Erik felt immensely embarrassed and did the only logical thing—he hid in his room.

He refused to let Charles in, snapping a sharp “Go away, Charles.” when he heard the familiar sound of wheelchair wheels outside his door. But locking Charles out physically didn’t mean he could keep him out mentally.

Charles, of course, found the whole ordeal absolutely hilarious.

“You know, love, there’s no shame in crying over a book.”

Erik groaned, rolling onto his side and shoving a pillow over his head. “Get out of my head.”

“I can’t help it. You’re broadcasting your sulking rather loudly.”

Erik growled under his breath. “I am not sulking.”

Charles chuckled, the warmth of his amusement pressing gently against Erik’s mind. “Oh, you absolutely are. And it’s adorable.”

Erik groaned even louder. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Erik scowled into his pillow. He really, really did.

…But he also didn’t.

And that only made him more annoyed.

After a couple of days, Erik’s embarrassment had finally begun to fade. In hindsight, he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal—though he would still prefer not to think about it too much.

But if he was being honest with himself, he had missed Charles’s presence.

The telepath had kept his distance, respecting Erik’s self-imposed isolation, but Erik could still feel him—always lingering at the edges of his mind, patient and waiting. It wasn’t the same, though. He missed the warmth of Charles’s hand on his, the way he always found a reason to roll just a little closer, as if proximity alone was enough to tether them together.

Erik shook off those thoughts. That had happened days ago, and though he tried to push it from his mind, he couldn’t help but cringe at himself whenever it resurfaced.

But that was then. This was a new day.

Erik woke to a sharp, stabbing pain in his side. A hiss escaped his lips as he instinctively clutched his stomach. The pain came in waves, each one stronger than the last, tightening like an iron grip around his body.

He had no idea what was happening.

Slowly, he tried to sit up, but the moment he shifted, the pain flared, stealing his breath. He bit down on a curse, his fingers curling into the sheets.

It was still early—too early. The mansion was quiet, most still lost in sleep, and Erik doubted Charles was awake.

At first, he tried to bear it alone. He could handle pain; he always had. But this… this was different.

This was too much.

With effort, he reached out with his mind, searching for the familiar presence that had always been his anchor.

"Charles?"

He immediately heard Charles’s voice, filled with concern. “Erik? What’s wrong? You sound out of breath.”

Erik clenched his jaw as another wave of pain hit. “I don’t know… I’m feeling sharp pains, and—fuck—they hurt.”

There was a brief pause before Charles’s voice returned, sharper now, more urgent. “Erik! Those are contractions.”

Erik blinked, his breath hitching. “What?”

“Love, you’re in labor.” There was a shuffle on Charles’s end, followed by a rush of movement. “Oh gosh, I’m coming right away—I’ll wake Hank.” 

It wasn’t long before two people burst into Erik’s room—Charles and Hank.

Charles rolled up to Erik’s bedside immediately, his expression tight with concern. Without hesitation, he reached into Erik’s mind, a wave of soothing energy brushing against the pain. It didn’t erase it, but it dulled the sharpest edges, enough for Erik to unclench his jaw and take a shuddering breath.

Hank, on the other hand, looked frazzled, eyes darting between Erik and Charles as he tried to compose himself. He took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses before speaking. “Where do you want to give birth? The lab would be the safest option—more equipment, better conditions—but if you’d prefer, we can do it here in the comfort of your room.”

Erik squeezed his eyes shut as another contraction tore through him, his fingers gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wanted to answer, but the pain stole his words.

Charles, sensing his struggle, quickly spoke up. “The lab,” he said firmly. “Let’s go to the lab.”

Hank nodded, already moving to prepare. Charles brushed a gentle hand over Erik’s arm, his voice softer now. “We’ll get you there as quickly as possible, love. Just hold on.”

It took time and effort to get Erik down to the lab, but once they arrived, everything was set in motion. He lay on a hospital-like bed, his breaths uneven as Hank moved around the room, gathering supplies and preparing for the birth.

Erik turned his head to the side, his gaze landing on Charles.

Charles was already watching him, his eyes filled with warmth—love. It was a look Erik hadn’t seen in so long, one he had once believed he would never see again. And yet, here it was, right in front of him. After months—years—of believing he didn’t deserve it, it was still there.

A lump formed in Erik’s throat.

Charles reached out, his hand wrapping gently around Erik’s arm. “I’m right here,” he murmured, his voice steady and full of reassurance.

Erik tightened his grip, holding on as if Charles were the only thing tethering him to the moment.