Kindred Spirits

Erik stayed up half the night thinking about Charles, which was not unusual.

Except this time his mind was not stuck on the white-hot sands of Cuba. No, his thoughts kept him squarely in the mansion, contrasting the easy smiles and bright eyes of their early days with the crooked ones and empty stares of the present. Charles was so muted now, his movements stilted, his words carefully chosen instead of the occasionally tactless man from before. His heart no longer showed on his sleeve, or much at all, save the snatches of emotion underneath.

They were worse at night, when Charles slept and his guard dropped a bit. Erik got flashes of needles and men with uncaring hands, the sensation of a mind growing dimmer by the second, Charles too drugged up to do anything to stop it. Charles waking up in the empty glass room, the same tiny plate of food and cups of water placed at his feet day in and day out, the artificial lights causing him to lose time. The constant terror whenever they took him out of his cell, not knowing if he'd be stabbed with needles or wires, or forced to experience another prisoner's injuries so they could study the effect his drugged mind. Usually a combination of both.

Charles' memories were shaded in ugly shades of chartreuse and a red Erik suspected didn't exist in nature, each one consuming him until his insides burned and his skin was covered in a layer of invisible grime.

Erik wanted to take Charles in his arms, to assure him he was home, he was safe. That they couldn't save the people he lost there, but they would avenge them, find and protect other young mutants in their honor. But Erik didn't know if he would still be welcome there anymore, if Charles still wanted him romantically. So he settled for making his way to the bunkers.

Charles was hooked up to Cerebro, his helmet casting harsh shadows, highlighting the circles under his eyes and creating severe lines across his face. Erik stared at the machine for a moment, took in the thrum of metal, the way the wires bent for him. He flicked a hand out toward them, Cerebro's helmet slowly lifting off of Charles' head, suspended in the air above him.

Charles blinked at him owlishly a few times, his lips pursed, the only color on his face the reddish brown of his beard. Erik sauntered across the room until he was right in front of Charles, a hint of a smirk in the corners of his mouth. "What are you looking for in there, Charles? I thought you'd want to wait until the repairs were finished to scout new students."

"Not students, potential enemies and allies." Charles corrected him with a quick huff, wrinkling his nose as he reached one hand up to grip the side of the helmet. Erik simply shrugged, the metal not moving an inch despite Charles' increasingly frustrated tugging. His annoyance sparked in his mind, a brilliant crimson quickly buried under the colorless shelter of his indifference. The moment was lost, Charles' expression dulled and his gaze empty once again. Erik held onto the momentary life he saw in his eyes, to the sound of his scoff, annoyed and fond and so much like Charles it hurt.

"And finding a way to turn the former into the latter?" Erik scoffed as he tapped his fingers along Cerebro, staring at Charles flatly. He almost hoped Charles would duck his head sheepishly, or give Erik a wry smile, gaze far too smug for someone so wrong. Anything would be better than the blank stare Charles gave him in response.

"Not anymore. I'm keeping tabs on them, making sure they don't come close to any of us." Charles explained in a steady voice, gesturing at the list Cerebro generated, a seemingly endless list of names and numbers. He grinned up at Erik, tilting his head to the right as he folded his hands and rested them against the edge of the table. Erik bit back a shudder when Charles' bitterness reared up and slipped past Charles' barriers, an unforgiving gray among the drab beige and frosty white. "It is simple, Erik. Remove a memory here, change a whim there, make someone forget how to use a computer."

"You could just remove the threat entirely." Erik reminded him, tapping the helmet with a smirk, the wires dancing in the air around them. Charles closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, as though steadying himself.

"Thousands of anti-mutant activists and politicians dying at once would be suspicious. We would have to space it out." Charles said with a wry smile, tapping his own hand along the rim of his chair. For a second Erik imagined he caught a teasing quality to his voice, though it was not at all the type of thing Charles would joke about normally. Erik supposed three months in hell changed some things. Charles shook his head, lips pursed as he reached for Cerebro again. This time Erik didn't stop him. "We need to try and make allies where we can. Your so-called army is only a handful of men and women."

"Are you willing to let your students fight in my war?" Erik asked with a raised eyebrow, trying to keep his tone as even as Charles' own, though he doubted he managed. Erik swallowed as fear swelled up in the room, born from love and all the more powerful for it. Charles met his gaze with a fixed one of his own, gaze almost calculating, likely flicking over probabilities in his mind.

"That depends on if they want to or not." Charles finally said, his gaze flicking away from Erik and back to Cerebro. It was the answer Charles would've given before, respecting his students' autonomy, while also making it clear they would never choose war once he finished showing them a better way. Charles' voice had none of that easy assurance now. Instead, his words were indifferent, the possibility of war given as much consideration as the lunches Charles skipped.

"Don't you think it's about time you got off of Cerebro? You look hungover." Erik gave him a quick once over, taking in the circles under his eyes and the change to his complexion, having turned from pale to spectral at some point. Erik thought he needed to eat or sleep, or scream at someone, to lash out in whatever way was easiest. So far it seemed to be indifference and whiskey, and Erik wished he chose more productive means. He missed Charles' focus and passion for his causes, his ambition. Now he merely supported Erik's own, without any sign he believed in the same future. Erik worried Charles didn't believe in much of anything these days.

"I can do more for you when I'm using Cerebro. I can keep track of thousands of minds, control what they know, what they do." Charles smiled at him serenely this time, gaze still as he reached for the helmet again. Erik made no move to stop him, too busy choking down his own hubris. Unbridled, Charles' powers were the truest definition of the sublime, impossibly beautiful and utterly terrifying. But the expression on his face lacked any of joy, any of the unnerving beauty he associated with Charles using his powers.

"Keep track of, yes, control I doubt." Erik's voice was dry, one hand coming up to rest on Charles' shoulder, a challenge to his gaze. Erik suspected Charles would be able to control that many people, if he ever let himself experience the full scope of his abilities. Maybe with less finesse than usual, but Charles didn't need finesse to put a city to sleep. But he refused to explore his limits, insisted on making himself safe. Erik doubted that had truly changed now, especially not when nearly all of his mental energy was spent repressing the very thing which gave his telepathy its strength. "I can call Emma back. You can take turns."

"Her range is more limited than mine." Charles said dismissively, sliding the helmet back on, his hands shaking against the cool metal. Erik bit the inside of his lip to keep from sighing, the words so close to his Charles. Cocky, but right to be, fully aware of everyone else's limitations and already prepared for how to manage each one. Charles flicked his gaze away from Erik and up toward the ceiling, gaze lost to a thousand lights Erik couldn't see. "Besides, she's more useful to you on the ground."

Erik's reverie was broken. He hadn't heard confidence in Charles' voice, merely fact. Charles was not proud he was stronger than Emma, not being pragmatic or thoughtful, or any of the dozen of other things he might have been once. He was nothing, his words and gaze empty, the only signs of life buried underneath the surface.

And Erik found he didn't like what he sensed in Charles' mind then, the rueful loneliness, the frayed confidence subsumed beneath the indifference and the self-hatred. The genuineness of his words, as though he truly believed he served the cause better as a cog in the machine he and Hank created than as a man. Erik bit his tongue and took a few deep breaths, careful not to make any of the metal near Charles move an inch. He settled for leaning over, resting one hand on Charles' shoulder, the other hovering near his cheek. "So are you."

"I don't see how." Charles let out a huff of laughter, his breath warm against Erik's skin, as though mocking him with how cold Charles was now. Erik recoiled when he experienced the wave of sorrow in Charles' mind, the regret which was different than before, though Erik couldn't place why. He suspected Charles would understand the difference, and resented him a little for not sharing it. Charles' laughter faded after a moment, his smile complaisant and perfunctory as he met Erik's gaze. "You have a meeting with Azazel and Janos soon. You shouldn't be late, it sets a bad precedent."

"Come with me." Erik pleaded as he let go, his voice softer than it had been in months. He needed Charles at his side, arguing with his every point, challenging him and pushing him to be better. Erik wanted Charles' gaze to light up with passion, for him to argue for his causes fervidly even when he was utterly in the wrong. He missed those sides of Charles too, thorny and all the more intriguing for it.

"That's your world. Mine is right here." Charles said as he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting his mind spread out until Erik barely felt him. Erik sensed a tinge of regret, and swallowed back the rest of his questions.

If Charles needed time, Erik could give him time. Just not too much.

*****
Erik believed he showed great restraint in giving Charles space. He didn't push as Charles gave them a wan smile as he skipped breakfast for another round of Cerebro. He pressed his mouth into a thin line after Charles did every exercise during physical therapy rotely, expression blank even when Hank pushed him to his limit. Erik nodded and let it go when Melody approached Charles, and he sent her away with a gentle smile and a flare of guilt, buried underneath his makeshift apathy the moment Charles was back on Cerebro.

But when Charles skipped dinner in favor of grabbing a bottle of whiskey and locking himself in his study, he decided enough was enough.

He wanted Charles to open up to him willingly, not because Erik forced the issue. For Charles to come to him first, to let Erik in, let him see the agony and grief and rage consuming him. He would settle for Charles admitting he needed help, but he should've known better. Charles would sooner fade away into this nothingness than ask for that.

But he also didn't want Charles to drown in his guilt, for his questionable habits to become self-destructive. They were on the verge of it already, more and more empty glasses added to the collection on his desk and the circles under his eyes getting worse with each passing day. But Erik wouldn't allow Charles to hurt himself anymore than the world already had, not when had a chance of cutting him off at the heels.

Erik needed an ally though. So far approaching Charles one on one like he was fragile had done nothing but push him further away. Maybe annoying him would work better. He glanced at Raven in the kitchen, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he flicked his gaze away from her and down the hallway toward Charles' study. She turned away, hands clenched into fists, her nose wrinkled in the same way Charles did when he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. He came over to her side, tilting his head as he took in the spread laid out for the students. Soups and salads, simple food Charles should be able to choke down. "He needs to eat."

"We can't force him to." Raven murmured in a defeated voice, not meeting Erik's gaze as she pushed some of the salad around on the platter with a fork. Erik merely nodded, because no one could ever force Charles if he didn't want to do something, as stubborn and powerful as he was. Once, Raven could bring Charles out of his more melancholy moods, steal his research out from under him or disguise herself as one of his professors, and a dozen other little things that made Charles let out a huff of laughter or roll his eyes in fond derision. Now he barely paid attention to her.

Where Hank at least got cordial if empty greetings, and Erik got a semblance of emotion every so often, Charles regarded Raven with a cool politeness. He spoke with her more than he did Sean or Alex, but they both got more warmth from, even if was paper-thin.

Every attempt to bring up their past, the scattered happy memories of their childhood, or the more tumultuous last few months before she left in Cuba met with the same tepid dismissal. Erik suspected she sensed his agony and his affection underneath, his love and his hurt, just as he did.

But Charles showed none of it in his expressions or his words, treated Raven with as much care as he would a stranger. Erik imagined that stung worse than any rejection ever could.

"We can try." Erik reached over to grab a plate, mouth pressed into a thin line as he reached for the salad tongs. Erik hoped if they pushed Charles together, reminded him of how things were from before, he might start coming out of his shell. And barring that, he would remember Cuba and curse them both out. Any reaction was preferred to none these days. "We can't just let him go."

"We're not the ones letting go." Raven snapped, her yellow eyes flashing an amber gold, little flakes of blue in the corners. Still, she grabbed one of the bowls, filling it with a tomato soup Sean made and which Erik was sure had far too much salt to be healthy. Still, better than the whiskey and tea Charles subsisted off of lately. Raven stole a few saltine crackers off someone else's plates and slid them next to the salad, before snatching the tray from Erik's hands.

He merely shrugged and followed her down the hallway. He hoped she used her annoyance to fuel her, either in helping Charles or in focusing on the mission, if he was not to be helped. Wallowing in her frustration would either make her lash out, or worse, lead her into the same trap as her brother. Erik needed her here, needed someone he could trust and confide in, who shared not only his work but was something close to family for him.

Erik flicked his wrist and the study door flew open, crashing against the wall with a dull thud. Charles glanced at them and waved them off dismissively with one hand, his gaze already back on the papers in front of him. Erik scoffed and shifted his hand so the tray floated out of Raven's hands and crossed the room, landing on top of Charles' research. He wrinkled his nose at the meal, running one thumb along the edge of his spoon before pushing it away entirely. Charles stared at them flatly, and Erik returned to expression with his most winning smile. "Was there something either of you needed? I'm busy."

"You didn't come to dinner." Raven's voice cracked on the last word as she stormed across the room, pursing her lips. Charles tilted his head to the side, his eyes far away, as though he had far more important things to occupy his mind with. Erik appreciated the hint of smugness that slipped through, though he imagined Raven didn't, going by how she pushed the food back at Charles. She held his gaze with a steady one of her own, expression softening as she slid a hand to his shoulder. "You haven't in days. The children are starting to worry"

"Well, tell them I have work to do to keep them all from having to worry about much else." Charles smiled wanly at them, glancing at his food with a more than a little trepidation, as though the salad and soup might hurt him somehow. The emotion faded away, buried beneath his ever thinning barrier he built around his emotions. Charles glanced up at them, tone unbearably polite. "Besides, their concern will fade once they have dessert."

"You need to eat." Erik snapped as he lifted up one of Charles' cups from the table, ignoring the brief affront that rose up in Charles' mind. Erik took a sip of the drink, curling his lips when he tasted a hot toddy topped off with earl gray. "Whiskey and tea don't count as a meal, Charles."

"I think you'll find that both are quite filling." Charles cocked his head to the right, flashing a bright grin, one hand resting under his chin. It was almost like they were back on the road, save Charles' much shorter hair and the emptiness in his gaze. Erik merely gave him a flat stare in return, and Charles dropped the pantomime, smile fading as a rush of tiredness curled at the edges of his mind. He flicked his gaze over to Raven, and narrowed his gaze at the bowl next to her. "I'm not hungry. Besides, tomato soup is your favorite, not mine."

"Just try and eat something, okay? You can't help anyone if you waste away." Raven reminded him as she pressed both her hands against the edge of the desk. She swallowed and gave Charles a quick once over, her grip on the wood growing tighter with each passing second. Erik wondered if she was only just now noticing how deep the circles under his eyes had become, or how he wasn't gaining a healthy glow back at all. She smiled at him crookedly and let go of the desk, giving the tray another tiny nudge with her right hand. "It would make using Cerebro easier."

"I'm not a child who needs to be bated into eating, Raven." Charles's words were clipped and his tone was weaker than before. Erik felt a swell of frustration and embarrassment in his mind. Charles never was good at being the one who needed help, and Erik supposed him finally needing some wouldn't change that. But Erik noticed he didn't push the tray back this time. Progress. Charles bit his lip, most of the emotions swallowed beneath his indifference, but not all of them. "Leave the plate here, and I'll get to it when I have the time."

"We thought we could all eat together." She grinned as she gestured towards the two chairs across from his desk, and then glanced at the couch opposite them. Rave was trying to take the inch Charles gave and pushed for a mile, and if anyone would succeed, Erik imagined it would be her.

Erik merely flicked his gaze across the room, took in the couch with its throw pillows and the armchairs, much cozier than anything that had been in here before Cuba. Erik wondered if the room used to be filled with teachers and students, coming in with questions for him to answer and problems to solve. He wondered if it ever would be again.

"I'm not in the mood for company, I'm afraid." Charles told them with another small smile, and this time it almost reached his gaze. Erik drank the sight in, despite the emotions behind it, the ruefulness and regret Erik couldn't make sense of beneath Charles' shields. Charles' easy smiles were like a balm to him before, and this more pained one was all the more beautiful for being so hard won.

"If we waited until that day came, I doubt any of us would ever see your face again." Erik said dryly as he gave Charles a pointed stare, daring him to push back, to fight, to do something. Charles merely rolled his shoulders and held Erik's gaze, his own more empty than ever. Erik raised an eyebrow and the soup spoon spun around so it was facing Charles, before lifting up to press against his palm. "At least have some of the soup. It will grow cold otherwise, and Roberto helped make it."

"If I agree to eat the soup, will you leave me alone, so I can get back to my paper?" Charles asked in a clipped voice, wrapping his hands around the spoon primly. He always had strong hands, broad palms and elegant fingers, and Erik suspected the sensation of his new callouses pressing against his skin would only add to their beauty. Charles coughed, a choked off sound as he flicked his gaze down to his soup, and Erik bit back a smirk. He had not meant to project the thought, but if that was what it took to get a reaction out of Charles ...

"You sound like me during our little road trip." Erik mused as he gave Charles a knowing grin, gaze lazy and affectionate. He remembered those stolen mornings, wrapped around each other in bed, of Charles coming back upstairs with coffee and croissants he stole from the continental breakfast. He remembered how the mansion was always stocked with scones, and how he called Charles an indulgent thing as he stole one off of his plate. There were no scones anymore. "You said I needed to take better care of myself, remember?"

"Yes, and like with everything, it turned out you were right, and I was wrong." Charles scoffed as he tightened his grip on the spoon, and for a moment his emotions consumed them both. Erik leaned over and reached a hand out toward his cheek, and Charles let out a shallow breath. Then the emotion ebbed, replaced with Charles' shields, bruised and full of holes, but enough to keep Erik from understanding what any of those feelings he experienced had been. Charles dug his spoon into the soup, getting mostly broth, and took a rather pointed sip. "See? Eating the soup. You don't need to watch over me. I'm fine."

"We want you to be better than fine." Raven whispered, leaning over and picking up the salad Charles clearly had no intention of eating. She wrinkled her nose up before she took a few of the crackers off and laid them back down on the tray. She reached her hand up as though to rest it on Charles' shoulder, and he shifted away from her touch. Raven dropped her hand to the side and took a few steps back, her yellow eyes watering.

"I'm afraid we don't always get what we want. Good night, Mystique." Charles' voice was cold as he reached for the soup spoon again. Erik half expected them to find themselves on the other side of the house with no idea how they'd gotten there. Instead, Charles simply kept eating his soup, and Erik decided to take a victory where he could.

*****
After that, Charles stopped by the kitchen at 7:00 pm for the next two days, pointedly making a small plate of food before he retreated back to his study or to Cerebro. The sense of triumph soon faded, replaced with the gnawing concern and frustration that had become Erik's closest companions. Raven followed him every night, but Charles barely said more than five words to her and always locked the study door.

Erik couldn't tell if it was out of fear or hurt or just pettiness, and found himself afraid it was none of them at all.

So Erik decided to try Hank, if Raven wasn't able to help Charles open up. The two men were close, going by how Charles dutifully went to every physical therapy session, never once sneaking away from Hank. And Hank kept a careful eye on Charles, visited their room nearly as often as he and Raven did, often bringing a cup of tea or a Twinkie of all things. He was turned away every time, but he still kept coming back every day without fail. That meant something.

Erik followed Hank after dinner one night, down the winding hallway to Charles' study, empty of anything besides old papers and mugs. Charles was with Cerebro, lost to them both. Hank took a seat in one of his armchairs, a tight frown on his face as he shifted through some of Charles' writings before setting them aside. He glanced up at Erik over the rim of his glasses and raised an eyebrow, and Erik met his gaze with a heavy one of his own. "He's depressed. Charles."

"I'm aware. I'm just not sure what to do about it. I'm not a real medical doctor, let alone a psychiatrist." Hank sighed as he set the papers aside, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb. His yellow eyes flicked over the desk, half-written notes and half-empty tea cups covering every inch of wood. Hank shrugged helplessly, his grip so tight he nearly broke Charles' pen in half. "Maybe being numb is easier for him."

"Except he's not actually numb." Erik corrected him with a wave of his hand. True numbness would be worse, no matter how much Charles' pain hurt Erik, because it meant he had not given up. Erik flicked his wrist, and the cups floated past them and down the hallway. He could at least clean up, since Charles couldn't be bothered. "His grief is there, under the surface."

"Then he's only projecting it to you." Hank mused as he turned his gaze away from Erik and over to the window, his gaze sharp and curious. It reminded Erik of Charles a little, the careful consideration and sharp focus, though Charles lost both along with everything else. Hank glanced back at him and the mugs traveling out the study door, something decided in his gaze. "I didn't feel anything from him, and Raven would have said something if she did. So would Alex and Sean."

Erik raised an eyebrow, lips pursed as he took in Hank's words. Charles was baring his soul for Erik and Erik alone, sharing the uncertain and ugly parts of himself he usually hid with so much diligence. For Charles to still trust him after everything, after they abandoned each other -- Well that was everything. Erik closed his eyes and took a few measured breaths, pushing down the hope swelling in his chest. Hank was instead granted a crooked smile, shark-like and a little mean. "Does it bother you, that he only trusts me?"

"He's not the sibling I'm in love with, so no." Hank said dryly as he shuffled some of the papers, his gaze knowing when he met Erik's own across the desk. Erik let out a huff of laughter, short and less bitter than he expected it to be. Hank folded his hands under his chin, tilting his head to the right, gaze considering. "Is he aware he's sharing his emotions with you, or is it subconscious?"

"He doesn't realize he has them, so I would guess the latter." Erik pressed his mouth into a thin line, brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. Everything would be so much simpler if Charles shared his agony on purpose, because then Erik could push him until he opened up, help Charles heal. But he remembered Charles' words from last night, the way he rejected himself. "The layer of polite indifference is in his mind as well, keeping his suffering from his own consciousness."

"And you think sooner or later it will shatter?" Hank asked in a neutral voice, belied by the way his gaze flickered away from Erik to the half written notes spread out on Charles' desk. Erik followed his eye line, trying to make sense of the unfinished equations and something about wing development in young mutants that trailed off mid-sentence. Sooner then.

"Yes, and I suspect the aftermath will hurt all of us if he's not in a good place." Erik furrowed his brow, frown sharpening into a grimace. Charles' agony would spread through the mansion, permeating his students' minds and hearts. The sensation of being poked and prodded, of being bruised and left in isolation. Charles' memories would become their waking nightmares. Every Charles experienced shared, their pain and his regret weaving together until they were indistinguishable. The damage might set both the school and the Brotherhood back by months, and the younger students might never fully recover.

Charles would never forgive himself, and Erik suspected his guilt would truly consume him this time. They needed to wake him up before his nightmares became vivid instead of faded, spread beyond Erik.

"Then we need to get him in the right head space." Hank snapped as he slammed one hand down on the desk, the wood shuddering under his weight, his gaze heavy with concern. Erik wondered when Hank and Charles became so close, how or when Charles won such loyalty from the other man. So many things changed in the year he was gone, not the least of which was Charles himself. He was dimmer somehow, the shine which so entranced Erik before dull. Erik wanted to find out when he lost his shine, if it was the three months Charles spent in hell alone, or if he veiled everything since Cuba, hid his agony in polite dismissals and careful smiles. "If his subconscious trusts you, Charles must think you can help him somehow."

"I'll try, but this is new for me." Erik admitted as he shook his head a few times. Erik showed his love through action, fighting for Charles, protecting him even when he didn't want to be protected, through gentle kisses to his forehead and brushing the hair out of his eyes. Words were Charles' domain, encouraging his students and easing Erik's pain, his voice as gentle as his mind. Erik didn't know how to be gentle for him, or if Charles needed him to be gentle in the first place. Charles thrived on having a cause to fight for, people to support. Erik didn't understand what he needed anymore, what would shatter his walls enough for someone to reach him.

"Charles is a telepath, this is new altogether. If he was still Charles, he would find the implications of his telepathic suppression quite fascinating." Hank smiled with a hint of fondness, reaching over and grabbing a few of the unfinished equations off of the desk. Erik leaned over and snatched one of the unfinished paragraphs off the table, most of Charles' points still coherent. Charles would want to finish it, when he was more himself. Hank rolled to his feet with an easy grace Charles couldn't help but be jealous of, his smile fading as he straightened out the papers crumpled between his fists. "I brought the science of his powers up to him, and he gave me another list of names for you to hunt down."

"At least he's being productive." Erik said dryly as he turned on his heel. Hank gave him a flat stare, but he didn't say anything else. Hank might not agree with his methods, but he understood they needed to keep tabs on these men. Otherwise, what happened to Charles and his fellow mutants might happen to all of them.

"For now." Hank murmured him in a clipped voice, gaze steady as he met Erik's gaze across the room. Erik merely rolled his shoulders and turned to walk out of the room, reading a few sentences Charles wrote about telekinesis, tracing each letter with his index finger. Maybe what Charles needed was to be reminded of where exactly his talents were best used, of what he had to give instead of lose.

*****
Ideally, Erik wanted to drag Charles back into one of his classrooms and lock the door behind him, let his students remind him of who he truly was. But Charles required a more precise touch, not the least because he could send Erik away without batting an eye. Hell, Charles could make Erik forget he was ever concerned in the first place.

Of course, normally Charles would never do something like that, used his powers with careful control and forced scruples. But that was before he started losing himself. Erik couldn't trust his better judgment to win out there, not when it was failing Charles everywhere else.

Erik shuddered and pushed those thoughts aside, coated with shame as they deserved. He was Magneto, he believed all mutants should embrace and use their powers to their full potential, no matter how terrifying those powers might be. Charles especially, whose powers were so glorious, who was so majestic when he let himself be. Erik would not allow his fear snuff that out, especially not when Charles still employed his telepathy with such care, even at his lowest.

More fractured than usual, given how much he projected to Erik, but he kept the children and his sister from his agony. That meant something.

And with that knowledge secured, Erik stopped by Charles' study first, hoping he was in there grading papers or finishing some of the research scattered across his desk. Unfortunately, he was not there. Erik swallowed back a sigh and reached out with his mind, followed the agony and aloofness down the hallway and to the elevator. Cerebro then. Erik considered following him and trying to drag him off of Cerebro, but then he thought better of it.

That hadn't worked before. Charles suspected it wouldn't now, not unless Erik pushed harder than he had to just yet. Besides Charles' mind was woven throughout his own, his presence there rather he wanted it to be or not. Erik decided to use his thoughts to his advantage.

Erik could remind Charles how much he loved teaching by doing it himself, let him experience the satisfaction of the children learning, listen to all the questions he was not there to answer. Charles would see all their bright smiles and curious gazes, know which ones had skinned knees and whose powers had developed in the time he was away.

Everything he was missing, everything Charles missed, was in the one part of the estate Erik had yet to set foot in.

Erik crossed the building, following Sean and ignoring the way he kept glancing back at him suspiciously. He swept past him and Sean bit his lip, blinking owlishly. Sean glanced at the door and the back at Erik. "So, this is the younger kids' classroom, not for training. Like, they're still learning how to read."

"And luckily I know how to better than you." Erik said flatly, his lips turning up at the corners. Sean rolled his eyes, shaking his head so a few of his unruly curls fell across his eyes. It reminded Erik disconcertingly of Charles, and he had to turn his gaze back to the door before the specters of the past came after him. He wondered how many students there were, how many of them were abandoned by terrified parents? Those children, more than anyone else, needed Charles to be who he used to be. Sean cleared his throat and Erik glanced over at him, taking in the uncertain gaze. "I'm doing this for Charles."

Sean swallowed tightly, scrunching his nose up as he glanced away from Erik back to the door. A shriek of laughter broke out then, boisterous and excited, followed by the sound of a crash. One of them needed to go in there. Sean finally let out a sigh and took a step away from the door, holding his hands up so his palms faced out. Erik raised an eyebrow, and Sean shot him a crooked smile. "Fine, but go easy on them, okay? They're tiny."

"I promise I won't push any of them off the roof." Erik promised as he clasped Sean on the shoulder, a sharp grin on his face. Sean shook his head and gave him a lopsided smile, something like relief in his eyes. Sean slipped away after that, giving Erik a thumbs up when he got to the end of the hallway. Erik scoffed under his breath, flicking his wrist so the door flew open.

One of the children came to a dead stop in front of him, her hair a mess of messy red curls. She glanced up at him, her mouth forming a little 'o' as she stumbled back toward a boy who had wavy black hair who was clutching a book with both hands.

Erik narrowed his gaze and the girl ran across the room, before finally sitting next to the rest of her class on the blanket. A small boy gave him a toothy grin and reached a hand up, and Erik stared back at him blankly for a second. "You can sit by me at reading time."

"Thank you, but I'm actually here to teach it." Erik corrected him with small smile, though he still let the boy take his hand and guide him towards the pile of blankets and pillows in the corner of the room. Roberto. He's five and a half and loves to read. Angelica likes to take his books. Erik stumbled at the sound of Charles, nearly taking Robert down with him. Erik swallowed and glanced at the six children gathered on the blankets, giving them his friendliest smile. "I heard the professor normally teaches this class. I thought I might take over." Erik explained "I'm an old friend of his."

"You run the other team. The one that fights with everybody!" A little boy with white blonde hair and a missing tooth cried, his eyes bright and his gigantic white wings flapping in the air. Warren. I'm afraid he's quite taken with your Brotherhood. Charles' voice was wryly amused, and quickly followed by a flash of bemusement, as though his own words confused him. Warren leaned over and tugged on the edge of Erik's sleeve, tilting his head up so they were nearly eye to eye. "Do you know a lot about science too?"

"Not as much as Professor Xavier, but this is reading." Erik assured him as he reached for one of the books on the shelf, something called The Tale of Mrs. Tiggly-Winkle. The children moved closer to him, a little girl, her hair in pigtails- Monet, she's quite clever -- sat the closest to him, frowning when Erik held the book out toward her. He sighed, glancing around the students, who stared back at him blankly. "Who wants to start?"

"Professor Xavier usually does." A girl with dark brown curls -- Amara -- said quite seriously, pursing her lips as she crossed her arms against his chest. She's right, I usually read the first paragraph and then choose someone at random. The guidance came without emotion, cool and precise, as if the words came from a teaching handbook instead of Charles. Erik raised an eyebrow, and Amara met his gaze with a very serious one of her own. "He's good at reading."

Erik suppressed a grin, both at the declaration and from the warmth that spiked in his mind, escaping Charles' walls and suffusing them both with a quiet contentment. Charles shrunk back, not quite gone from Erik's mind, but quieter than before. He pressed his mouth into a thin line, brow furrowing as he handed the story to Amara. "I'm aware. Now, how about you start the next chapter?"

Amara started to read, going over each word with care, holding the book out so the other children saw the garden drawn at the top of the page. Erik only half listened, more focused on the weight in the back of his mind. I'm surprised you're teaching the younger children, I would've thought you would stick to training. Possibly languages, if you were bored enough. His mental voice was laced with a fondness which pushed through the heavy cloud of indifference, a hint of regret there as Charles slipped back inside his empty mask.

It's not my first choice, but someone needs to teach them. Erik sent back with a quick roll of his shoulders, an incisiveness behind each word. Charles didn't rise to the bait though, his rigid walls still intact. Erik bit back a sigh and turned his attention back to the children. At some point Amara must have handed the book off to Warren, who was struggling with his R's. "Sound it out. Follow the letters."

You're not half bad. We should let you take over as the professor, and I can be the general. Charles' words were light and playful, bordering on coy, but it lacked the warmth or the affection Charles used to tease him with. Worse, Erik sensed a genuineness behind his words, a ruefulness which bordered on the obscene. Erik scoffed and tried to focus on the story, noting how Monet read confidently, her gaze bright as she glanced up at Erik.

You would be terrible at it. You might be a leader, but not the kind who leads armies. Erik kept his tone neutral, as if stating fact rather than opinion. Besides, he never wanted Charles on the battlefield, he wanted him to strategize, to fight from Cerebro and his precious school. Maybe a little selfish of him, but Charles made Erik want to be.

Charles stiffened in the back of his mind, though he couldn't tell if it was because he was insulted or because he caught the rest and was offended by that instead. Erik bit the inside of his lip, so he didn't curse. Charles would be mad if he ended up being a bad influence this early into his teaching career.

Instead, he reached for the book, gently taking it from Monet's hands, because he suspected she would keep reading until class was over otherwise. Erik furrowed his brow at the idea, and then smiled crookedly as he brushed his consciousness against Charles' suspiciously quiet one. "Good. Now Roberto, start with the next sentence. Everyone should read two."

What happened to wanting me by your side? Charles' chuckled in his head, a bit too sharp to be his real laugh, his indifferent barrier starting to grow thorns. He decided the sharpness was a positive, a sign Charles was not able to keep everything quite as bottled up as he would like.

You are the one who keeps refusing me, Charles, not the other way around. Erik's mental voice was piercing, each word like a dagger. His hurt and his aggravation brushed up against Charles' thorns, both of them cutting into each other, their pain bleeding into each other and becoming one. Erik shuddered, his mind preparing for a fight -- Then he felt a hand tugging on his sleeve again, and glanced down to find Amara pouting at him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"What does a real hedgehog look like?" Amara asked as she waved her free hand in his face, scrunching her face up in frustrated confusion. Erik glanced at the other children, taking in Monet's curious gaze and Warren's bright grin, how Angelica was bouncing one leg up and down in boredom, while Roberto stared up at him like he held all the answers.

"It is a small animal, covered with quills. Sharp on the outside, but kind enough if you leave them alone." Erik told them with a tight smile as he reached for the book, pointing to the version there. She was dressed up like a Victorian, tiny glasses perched on her nose, a sense of calm to her which somehow reminded him of Charles. "They walk on four feet, not two, and they hunt using their sense of hearing and scent, not their sight."

"The professor would've made one with his head and showed us." Roberto cried as he crossed his arms against his chest, gaze put out as he took the book. Erik gave it back to him and clocked the disappointment in the room at his lack of telepathy. He swallowed and pushed against Charles' mind, pushed the children's disappointment to the forefront. Erik was about to start a fight when his mind was filled with the image of a hedgehog on the grounds, cozy in their nest beneath one of the hedges along the back of the house. The hedgehog shifted in her nest, revealing a few babies just growing quills nestled beneath her.

The image faded away and Erik found himself surrounded by huge smiles and excited gazes, Amara leaning over to whisper something to Angelica, who kept glancing at the door hopefully. Erik knew Charles was not coming, understood it from how he retreated to the corners of his mind, no longer communicating anything except a faint presence. Normally Charles was like this, his own shields and walls carefully curated, so he and Erik only shared what they each chose to.

But nothing was normal anymore, and Erik needed Charles to project. His heart was no longer anywhere near his sleeve.

"Professor Xavier is still a bit under the weather, but I'll be sure to thank him for you. The next sentence please." Erik murmured as he sensed Charles in the edges of his mind, his presence oddly hollow. He forced himself to concentrate for the rest of class, ignoring the lack of Charles in his mind and in the room, because he still won. Charles had been here, cheerful and kind, the most himself he'd been in weeks.

*****
Erik expected Charles to start being more himself after the incident in his classroom, if not with him, then at least with his students. He should have known better. Charles was much too stubborn for that. Instead, he pulled in on himself more, brandishing his shields and trying to repair the ever widening gaps in his walls of aloofness. Erik took heart in the fact Charles was not successful, his emotions still spiraling in the back of his mind. Erik drowned in Charles' frustration with himself, the flashes of guilt that slipped through his barriers, the bitterness every time he took another sip of his drink.

But Charles still pretended not to have any emotions, or maybe his powers still protected him from understanding what simmered beneath his indifference. He kept giving them blank stares and empty smiles for the rest of the day, barely saying more than two words. He drifted through the halls like a shadow of the man he was supposed to be. Erik tried to reach out to him, but his mind was met with steel walls and daggers. Apparently Charles' subconscious believed Erik deserved his suffering, but not his love or tenderness.

Erik could live with the lack of Charles' warmth, his easy smiles, his adoring gazes. He survived without his softness for years, and then almost another after he lost it. He wanted Charles, but he didn't need him. The children did, however, sought him out even as Charles ignored them time and time again, pushing them away with stiff smiles and stony gazes. Erik suspected Charles didn't realize how cruel he was being. Grief and rage had a way of clouding what was most important.

Erik gave Charles most of the next day to come to him, to admit he needed help, or at least explain why he refused to experience the world outside of the haze of alcohol and Cerebro. If not to him, than to Raven or Hank or one of his students. Someone he still believed deserved affection, if Erik was only to receive his pain from now on.

Charles refused though, so Erik would have to push this time. He hoped he used the right amount of force, to wake Charles up without shattering him entirely. Erik attempted to plan as he made his way through the mansion and toward Cerebro, to come up with a strategy Charles would not head off. But then, Charles understood him both better than anyone else in his life and not at all, so how could Erik ever hope to surprise him?

Erik swallowed tightly, closing his eyes as he flicked his wrist and the metal doors slid open, Charles exactly where Erik had left him before. His hands wrapped around the rims of his chair, expression eerily serene, his helmet and his wires wrapping around him like a snake. His mind roared with guilt and shame, burning through all the softest parts of them both and leaving them charred. Charles, as far as Erik could tell, felt nothing.

Erik tilted his head to the left as he tried to catch Charles' eye. Charles kept his gaze stubbornly blank, and Erik bit back a sigh. The bottle of whiskey in his hand started to shake in warning, and then flew across the room until it landed in Erik's waiting hand. Charles blinked owlishly, lips pursed and glancing up at Erik like he had only now realized he was in the room. Erik pressed his mouth into a thin line, glancing at the half empty bottle in disgust. "You've had enough. You need to keep your head on straight, if you're going to be playing on your little machine."

"I think I know what state I can use Cerebro in better than you, Erik." Charles said after a moment, the confusion in his gaze was replaced with a sly amusement, a sharp contrast to the wounded sensation of Charles' mind. Erik glared, and the wires receded from Charles' body, the helmet suspended in the air above him languidly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I can't make you sober, but I can keep you from using Cerebro until you are." Erik snapped as he gave Charles a pointed stare, the wires and helmet receding back further, until they strained the machine. Erik did not care. Hank could always fix Cerebro later. Charles needed to be helped now. Erik took two steps forward until he was right in front of him and slid two fingers under his chin, tilting Charles' head up so they were eye to eye. "We need to talk."

"You hate talking. You're a man of action." Charles cocked his head to the right, smirking in a way Erik suspected was meant to be playful, but came off as bitter instead. Erik glared at him and reached his other hand up so he was cradling Charles' face. Charles dropped the coy demeanor in favor of a blank stare, his smile much too severe. "I don't need you to take care of me, Erik. I was doing that just fine all the months you were gone. You should focus on your mission."

"I can multitask." Erik corrected him dryly, not letting go of his face. He brushed his hand down his jaw line. Charles shivered and closed his eyes, and Erik's mind flashed with longing and guilt, interwoven and inseparable. "You may have been fine, though I doubt it. You certainly aren't anymore."

Charles opened his eyes, gaze tight, and Erik swore he caught something close to frustration. Charles took a few deep breaths and gave him a tepid smile, his emotions evening out in his mind and in his expression. "Erik, I feel -"

"Nothing. Yes, I picked up on that, but I do. Your grief is overwhelming Charles. I wear your remorse and shame like an anchor and it is far too heavy." Erik grimaced as he tried to push some of Charles' emotions to the forefront, but he came up against the same walls as before, ironclad and covered in thorns. 

"I didn't protect them." Charles murmured as he shook his head, gaze far away and more than a little wild. Charles' mind drifted to screams and a shame which burned -- himself and Erik, and he couldn't allow that. Erik reached for his right hand, brushing his thumb in little circles along his pulse. Charles came back to him bit by bit, the rifts in his walls growing a bit wider. Erik ran one thumb over his lip, the other still resting against his cheek. "Erik, what are you doing?"

"Stop it. Stop burying your emotions under a haze of alcohol and apathy. Stop hiding on Cerebro and in papers I doubt you're actually writing." Erik hissed as he leaned in, and he hoped the harshness in his tone was belied by the concern in his eyes. Charles held his gaze, but his breath came back faster now, and the indifferent barrier of his mind was covered with little cracks. Erik just needed to nudge him in the right direction. Erik brushed his palm over his hair, short and growing unevenly, still as soft as it always was. Maybe with a bit more gray, but still very much Charles' own. Erik brought his hand back down and tilted Charles' chin up again, meeting his gaze with a steady one of his own. "You are in pain, let me help you."

"Why would you want to?" Charles asked with a slight tremor to his voice, his eyes finally betraying him. Erik saw the confusion there, the shame and the guilt, the indecision. Charles bit his lip, gaze flicking down to where his hands were pressed against the rim of his chair. "I thought you would be happy."

"How was this ever going to make me happy? You're barely a person." Erik said bluntly, furrowing his brow when Charles' confusion and his remorse only roared to life. His frigid wall crumbled a little more with each second, the thorns along his walls receding inch by inch. Charles' agony was heady in both their minds, his guilt threading in the air around them. Erik brushed his thumb against his bottom lip, and Charles shuddered and pulled away.

"Better than the person I was before." Charles pleaded softly, his expression growing more and more wounded with every passing second. Erik frowned at his words, let go of his face and took a step back, trying to parse out Charles' shame, figure out what led him to think an empty doll was better than the man he used to be. Erik cursed himself when the thorns started to wrap back around his walls, the tattered aloofness trying to take hold once again. Charles gave him a wan smile. "I'm going to sleep. We can talk about this in the morning if you still don't understand."

"Can I stay in our room tonight?" Erik asked quietly, meeting Charles' gaze with a hopeful one of his own. He wanted to take care of Charles, to be part of his life again. He suspected Charles wanted that too, if the way he leaned in toward him and how the dullness failed to overtake the fondness in those blues eyes meant anything. Erik hoped it did. "Only to be near you. Not anything else."

"Why would you want to?" Charles asked again as he wrinkled his nose up, and the ruefulness from before was back in his eyes, alien to the Charles Erik knew before. Erik swallowed and held Charles' gaze, let his own longing and desire to protect Charles spread in the room around them. Charles swallowed and his own longing flickered to life, along with a warm affection Erik feared might have died in Cuba. But his love was surrounded by shame and fear -- fear Erik would reject him, when Erik was doing the exact opposite. Charles met his gaze and gave him a crooked grin, pulling away from Cerebro at least. "I suppose it doesn't matter. If you snore too much I can always go to my study."

"To bed then." Erik whispered as he walked alongside Charles, one hand resting on his shoulder. No more words were said as they made their way up the stairs, nor as Erik changed for bed and Charles went through his nightly routine, though this time without the whiskey.

Erik focused on the rhythms of Charles' breath and the way his aloofness never quite managed to overcome his emotions before he fell asleep. Erik gazed at him, sighed as Charles' face evened out in his sleep, gentle rather than blank. Tomorrow he would talk to Charles, find out -

Tomorrow would make it two weeks short of a year since Cuba.