Kindred Spirits

Erik woke up to a slight weight pressed against his chest, Charles' face pressed into the crook of his neck. He brushed his fingertips through his short hair, Charles sighing into his shoulder blade. Erik wrapped his arm more firmly around his waist, and Charles merely curled into him more, shifting a little so Erik had a better view of his face. His expression was serene, and not the faked complacency he put on when he was awake. His mouth was soft, the tension that clung there gone, his breath even rather than erratic.

Charles shifted under his weight, mumbling something Erik couldn't make out, his body stretched out languidly across their bed. Erik swallowed and flexed his hands a few times, wishing he could stay in this moment a little longer. He wondered if Charles would wake up if he moved. He never used to, before Cuba. Erik slipped out of bed and would go for his morning run and come back to find Charles just waking up, his mind projecting sleepy affection across the room.

Now Erik slowly unwound his arm from around Charles' waist, sliding back inch by inch. Charles chased his warmth, shuffling towards him, the sinewy muscles of his shoulders and chest shifted beneath the thin material of his shirt. Erik closed his eyes and took several deep breaths and shifted so he was leaning against the headboard, wondering if he might spend the morning watching Charles sleep. The Brotherhood would survive without him for a day. He was terrified Charles might not, or at least not how he was. All those little cracks Erik made would be filled up with regret and self-hatred, Charles becoming more and more brittle until he shattered.

Erik tried to push his anguish down, his fear, not wanting to wake Charles. But it was too late, and Charles whimpered as the emotions bled into his drowsy contentment. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze heavy with sleep and his hand curling in the space between them. Erik pressed a kiss to his knuckles, Charles letting out a painful little sigh as he pulled his hand away. Erik sat up more fully, their sheets pooling around his waist and tugging across Charles' body. He met Charles' uneasy gaze with a careful one of his own. "We still need to talk."

"Why haven't you left yet?" Charles asked with a tremor to his voice, and Charles blinked owlishly at the sound, wrinkling his nose up. He pushed himself into a seated position, his emotions roaring to life as the last bit of sleep ebbed away. His guilt and shame washed over them, his terror wrapping around them both like a vice.

"You can make me leave if you don't want me here, Charles." Erik reminded him as he twisted around, so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Charles stared at him flatly, lips curling into a sneer without any real malice behind it. He propped himself up against the headboard, taking a few deep breaths and trying to force his emotions down beneath his tattered shields. Erik shook his head, reaching a hand out and resting his palm against Charles' shoulders, his thumb darting out toward his collarbone.

"We both know I'm not going to do that to you." Charles said as he stared back at Erik, his words clipped. It didn't matter. Erik caught the fear in his gaze, the ruefulness Erik still could not decipher. Charles closed his eyes and scowled, his frustration with his own powers and their apparent limit coming to the forefront. The barrier surrounding Charles' emotions might as well have been gossamer, for how much protection it offered him. Charles shot him a tired smile, his gaze apologetic and bruised. "Not yet, anyway."

Erik wondered if he pushed too far, if maybe he was not the one to push at all. Charles was already so fragile, and Erik always was better at breaking things than fixing them. "If you don't want me here -"

"My not wanting you here has never been the issue, Erik." Charles reminded him with a wan smile, every word lined with a heady regret. He shivered a little and flicked his gaze down to where the sheets were pooling around his hips. Erik reached a hand out toward him, skimming the sharp lines of his jaw. Charles tilted his head to the right and gave him a weak imitation of his coy smile, a ghost of so many other mornings behind both their eyes. "What I don't understand is why you're wasting your morning in my bed. You have a meeting with Azazel on the Friends of Humanity in Boston at 9:00 am."

"I'll cancel it. This is more important." Erik insisted as he dropped his hand to his side, mouth pressed into a thin line when Charles' mind lit up in disbelief. Erik wrapped his fingers around Charles' right wrist, his fingers resting against his pulse. Charles pursed his lips, shaking his head and both his longing and his conviction that he did not matter made Erik's heart twist in his chest. "You are important."

"Hmm, I'm not, and we both know it. You wouldn't have left the first time otherwise." Charles rolled his shoulders, grinning playfully as he ducked his head so Erik could no longer meet his eyes. Erik wanted the words to be shaded in anger and bitterness, in hurt and frayed trust. Anything but the resigned acceptance there, as though the idea of Erik loving him was nothing more than a childish fantasy.

Erik shook his head, because leaving Charles in Cuba was a mistake, not a judgment. He was not sure Charles would forgive him or that he could forgive himself, or that their beliefs could ever be reconciled. He had a year to realize he wanted Charles by his side, that wars were fought on many fronts, though Charles denied the world was waging one against them. Erik needed Charles as he was, not as a conduit for Erik's own ambitions. Erik ran his thumb along the inside of Charles' wrist, smiling crookedly when Charles finally met his gaze. "I'm here now and I won't leave again."

"We don't need to talk. Your concern is noted, but it is also unwarranted." Charles' voice was firmer this time, the uncertainty faded as a certain smug self-righteousness washed over the fear and shame, turning them into a kind of unbearable martyrdom. Of course Charles would try to destroy himself and justify it as the right choice, the only choice. Even in this, he was hopelessly himself.

Erik let out a huff of bitter laughter, a sharp contrast to the softness of his gaze or the way he laced their fingers together against the sheets. Charles scowled at him, but his eyes lacked the hardness, and so did the way he drew little circles against his palm. Erik reached his free hand up and pressed it under Charles' jaw, tilting his head up so he had to meet Erik's gaze. "Charles, you barely felt anything before yesterday and you have been surviving off of tea and whiskey unless Raven forced it on you. You gave up everything you care about -- your research, your students, in favor of locking yourself up on Cerebro all day obsessing over what if's without any clear vision for the future. Your ideals -"

"Those ideals did nothing but get three young men murdered, while the others went missing." Charles said listlessly, though his despair threatened to drown them both under its weight. Charles blinked a few times, confusion bubbling under the surface, almost imperceptible if you were not looking for it. But Erik chased after the emotion, at the way Charles kept blinking, as though he only now realized his eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Staying on Cerebro has saved dozens of lives, and prevented issues you don't know about. Surely you can't deny the effectiveness."

"No, not in the short term. But you can do all of that work in an hour or two, and still have time for your students and your school, for a life." Erik winced at his tone, harsh when it was meant to be gentle. Charles always understood the emotion behind his words though, and this time was no different, save the hollow regret in Charles' gaze. "You are either going to crash more fully than you did last night, or you are going to find a way to make yourself fade away, and neither is acceptable."

"It is what you wanted. What you always wanted." Charles murmured, the tremor back in his voice, his gaze pleading this time. Erik let go of Charles' hand, his fingers ghosting over his skin, how brow furrowed as the words hung in the air between them. They choked Erik with their remorse, but more so with their hope, their love. Charles gave him a dull smile, and a few of the holes in his walls started to fill again, his conviction driving him. "Everything you hated about me, everything we disagreed on, all the parts you thought were so damnably weak. They're gone, Erik."

"So is everything else." Erik hissed as he reached for Charles again, his frustration bleeding out into the air around them. Charles let out a huff of laughter, bitter and wet, and the sound made Erik's blood turn to ice.

"There was nothing else. We just both wanted there to be." Charles' voice shook a little more with every word, his shame weighing Erik down and pinning him in place. Charles reached for his chair and transferred himself to it neatly, not once glancing back at Erik. His voice was calm when he spoke again. "Now go get dressed, everyone is waiting on you."

Erik went, because Charles was right, and it was too late to cancel the meeting without explanation. More than any of that though, was how Erik needed to sit with this new facet of Charles' self-hatred, to study his shame until he found the roots. Then they would work on pulling each weed up from the ground, so Charles was no longer hidden underneath their thorns.

Charles swore at himself after Erik, rubbing viciously at his tear-stained cheeks and trying to strengthen what was left of his battered defenses. He should never have let Erik get so close, let alone back into their -- his bed.

It was so easy though, when Erik stared at him like he was precious, like he was worth saving. Charles wanted to let himself be coddled and held, for Erik to gaze at him with breathless wonder, like he had never seen anything quite so beautiful. It made Charles desperate for everything they had before Cuba, to be the kind of man Erik might keep -

But no. That man never existed in the first place. He was what Charles pretended to be, wanted to be and convinced himself and Erik he already was. Three months in his own little hell taught him that. He was selfish and unforgivably short-sighted, playing at being wise when he was little more than a fool. It would have been alright, if he paid the price. But he never did, not really, not in the ways that mattered.

How could he be, when he was still alive, and Calvin Rankin was gone? Madison Jeffries was buried alive somewhere, surrounded by the plastic and metal which was once his domain. Guido Carosella carried more and more weight until his powers could no longer handle the strain. He showed them a better future that was mere fantasy, convinced them to trust in humanity's innate goodness, because Charles understood people better than they understood themselves.

And they died one by one because of his hubris, his weakness and misguided compassion. Never again. Charles would keep everyone else here safe, not let himself be misled by his arrogance and his unbearable softness, the naivete disguised as optimism.

He needed to destroy himself from the inside out, to build up walls to protect the world from his emotions until he erased them more fully. That was impossible if he allowed himself indulgences like this one, letting Erik wrap an arm around his waist, his breath hot against his neck and sending shock waves down Charles' spine.

Erik, who deserved everything and would do the work to have it, who could have anyone he wanted. Someone who deserved those furtive glances and crooked smiles, his passion and his trust. Charles never had, and he did not remember how he thought he did before.

Charles swallowed, his shame acidic as it rose in his stomach and burned through his esophagus, and he gagged on all his broken promises. Better than the tears, he supposed. Charles needed to get out of bed and away from this room with all its reminders of the past. He stretched his mind out, finding an empty corner in the gardens, none of the students anywhere near the small bench along the hedges. He suspected the statue of cherubs put them off, and the idea made him smile to himself.

Charles hurried through his morning routine, running the razor across his face without paying attention to if he left any stubble behind. The rest of his routine took a bit longer -- so many things he used to take for granted took so long now -- but he still made it out fifteen minutes earlier than he usually did. The hazy quiet of sleep still lingered in the corridors, and he made it outside without being approached by a single person.

Except for Erik, his mind brushing against Charles' own every second, concerned about all the wrong things. Charles bit the inside of his lip because he could make Erik focus on what mattered, on his mission and on Azazel's rambling instead of worrying about Charles, but no. He would not control people -- control Erik -- unnecessarily. He might erase everything else about himself, but those morals he would keep.

Charles wondered if making himself invisible counted, but Erik was coming around the hedge. He glanced up at him, the bright sun of the early morning bringing out the hints of red in his hair, the sharpness of his gaze. "I thought your meeting would take longer."

"I was distracted." Erik admitted with a quick roll of his shoulders, circling him slowly and giving him a careful once over, mouth pressed into a thin line. Charles wondered what he was trying to find. Erik came to a stop after a moment, apparently satisfied because he sat on the edge of the bench, his smile unbearably fond. "You're in the gardens. I thought you would be with Cerebro."

"You sound so pleased. Does this mean you'll stop fussing and leave me alone?" Charles kept his tone dry, the waver from this morning replaced with a cultivated indifference he learned from his mother. It did not put Erik off in the least, his gaze considering as he shifted toward him, one hand resting in the space between them. Charles sighed and met Erik's gaze with a tight one of his own, his breath catching in his throat when he caught the concern there. Charles hoped his eyes were as dull as his mother's used to be, but he doubted it. Another failure to add to his tally then, and Charles smirked without any mirth behind it. "Ah, too much to hope for."

"What do you think I hate about you, Charles?" Erik asked in a clipped voice, each word carefully neutral, his usual passion contained neatly in the back of his mind. Erik was even better than him at that. Charles let out a huff of laughter, bitter and a little wetter than he wanted.

"Are you still on that? I suspect you know full well what you hate about me, so I don't see the point in making a list." Charles stretched his arms up in the air carelessly, rolling his wrist a few times to relieve the pressure. Erik followed the lines of his arms, desire springing to life along the edges of his sorrow. Charles did not deserve that either. Certainly not anymore.

Erik gave him a pointed stare, his gaze a dagger cutting through his barriers as if they were cobwebs. He slid one hand under his chin and shifted, so they were eye to eye, Charles' breath warm against his cheek. "Indulge me."

"I indulged you plenty before, and it didn't end well for either of us." Charles reminded him with a coy smile, tilting his head to the right, his posture shifting into something more playful. Maybe if he mimicked his old self a bit, reminded Erik he was not missing anything he needed, he would leave him alone.

" Charles ." Erik snapped in a heated voice, his gaze narrowing as he pressed a hand to his shoulder and held him steady. No, not steady because Charles was stronger now, not the fragile, cracked doll Erik kept imagining him as.

"You thought I was an arrogant little fool, so used to his privilege and his easy life he couldn't see the truth. And you were right." Charles let out a huff of bitter laughter, shaking his head as he remembered himself before Cuba. The images were all fractured now, a cruel mosaic filled with shades Charles never noticed before Cuba and his imprisonment. His compassion now came off as condescension, his coy teasing callow and unappealing. He wasn't sure what Erik ever saw in him worth touching."I was cruel to you and Raven, refusing to listen, to try to understand how harshly the world treated both of you or how I added to it."

"I don't think you understand why I loved you at all." Erik's voice was oddly kind, his fingers digging into the soft material of Charles' sweater. The sensation made Charles shudder, his hands flexing against the rims of his chair. He needed to repair the holes Erik made in his barriers, but it seemed they were more hole than wall now.

"You never loved me at all, Erik. You loved a fantasy. One I was happy enough to go along with, because I wanted to believe I was what you needed." Charles expected his tone to be cool and controlled, so he was surprised by how strangled his words sounded, how raw and wretched his voice was. The way his hands shook-- had they been shaking all along? God, but Erik must think him pathetic. Charles gave him a wan smile and glanced down at the grass so Erik would not glimpse the tears building in his eyes. "I know better now."

"You don't get to decide how I feel for me, Charles." Erik hissed, every word coated with fear, the emotion nearly as heady as his concern. Fear for him, not of him, and that was still wrong. It was all wrong, and it was his fault and --

And Charles needed Erik to understand, to realize the old Charles, emotional and weak, has no place in his future. Not anymore.

"Of course not, but I know what you loved about me, what parts of you wanted to keep. And I'm sorry, but they were never real." Charles pleaded, reaching one hand up to clutch the front of his shirt, fingers digging into the firm muscle there and finding no give. Charles brought his other hand up to wipe at his treacherous eyes, damp with in shed tears. "The reality is that I was a haughty, selfish man who hurt the people I was supposed to protect. Nothing more, nothing less."

Erik simply wrapped a hand around his wrist and gently pulled Charles hand away from his chest, linking their fingers together and holding his hands in place until they stopped trembling. He smiled at Charles so softly, not at all matching the turmoil of his mind, the terror. "And now?"

"I'm a weapon." Charles gave him an empty smirk, his hands finally stilling against Erik's own. A few tears slid down his cheek this time, and Charles closed his eyes, his own weakness burning in his chest. He tried to strengthen the barrier around his emotions, to block them off, but it crumbled halfway. He was still too weak to overcome them. "I'd like to be alone for a bit."

"Alright." Erik murmured as he let go of his hand, his gaze harsher than it had been a second ago. Erik pressed a kiss to his forehead, absolution and damnation given in the same breath.

Charles was not surprised when Erik only went to the edge of the gardens, his mind a protective weight Charles liked far too much for anyone's good.

Erik allowed Charles nearly an hour alone, hovering at the edge of the garden for a little while, before forcing himself inside the mansion. The distance did not matter. Charles' mind flared to life in his own, his grief and his shame unbridled now. What was left of his barriers no longer kept anything at bay, at least not from Erik. Charles was shocked by his own emotions, their strength and his own physical reactions to them. Charles' walls kept him from understanding what he was feeling, muted the emotion and empathy that used to define him. He was closer to himself than he had been in weeks, but he was not the Charles from before.

Erik supposed he might never be again, not exactly as he was at any rate. Too much had happened since those early days, Cuba and his torture, dying over and over again alongside every mind he touched in his temporary hell. Erik missed Charles' easy smiles and wry jokes, the way he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, soft and affectionate.

But he would keep going if he never got those back, if Charles treated him as little more than a stranger. He had before and after Charles, even if he would rather have him by his side.

The school, these students, would not. They deserved Charles' compassion and his dedication, needed those eager smiles when they answered a question and careful reprimands delivered with a kindness no one else could imitate. These children needed Charles' structure and his guidance, the brilliance but also the pragmatism hidden in his coyness.

Erik believed they could have that Charles back, in time.

No, he knew they could, witnessed Charles in the little hedgehog family he made yesterday. It was a small gesture, the barest his abilities. But to Erik, it was everything. All the best parts of Charles were in that moment, his kindness and passion for teaching, his easy use of his powers and inventive solutions.

If all those things were still there, then so was Charles. Maybe not for Erik, and if the idea made his stomach turn, he dutifully ignored it. Their love was secondary to loving Charles.

Eventually he gave up his vigil by the garden in favor of wandering through the hallways, ignoring the curious stares of the students and more fearful ones of the staff. He found his way to the bunkers, to Cerebro, the metal helmet and handrails covered in Charles' fingerprints.

Erik sensed Charles' mind coming closer, and wondered if Charles subconsciously wanted him to, if some part of him wanted Erik to stop him before he buried himself in Cerebro. Wishful thinking, possibly, but enough for Erik to detach every wire from the helmet. Charles came into the room seconds later, his expression falling as he took in his broken toy. He wrinkled his nose as he glanced at the machine and then back at him, lips pursed and frustration and relief bubbling over in his mind in equal measure. "You broke Cerebro?"

"I found a way to turn Cerebro off until it's safe for you to use it again." Erik corrected him in a clipped voice, and with a flick of his wrist the wires receded until they hung out of their reach. Charles gave him a flat stare, his lips thin and hands digging into the cushion of his chair. Erik merely shrugged carelessly, sauntering past him and the now useless machine. "You can fight me if you want, though I warn you, Hank is on my side."

"He'll adjust. They all will." Charles pleaded with him, a waver to his voice as he gazed back at the broken machine. Suddenly Erik understood. Cerebro helped him bury his emotions, let him build walls around his own heart. Without using the machine to bolster his powers, it was much more difficult for Charles to deceive himself long-term. Charles shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes and flexing his hands a few times. "So will you, given enough time."

Erik scoffed in bitter disbelief as he glanced at Charles, sliding one hand under his chin and tilting his head up, thumb brushing along his jaw. Charles slowly opened his eyes, his gaze disoriented and distressed.

Erik gave him a crooked smile, his own gaze far more sure. He might not need Charles, but that did not mean he would ever stop wanting him. Loving Charles was no different than breathing. "That amount of time doesn't exist."

"You despise me, Erik. You'll move on once you get past your guilt." Charles murmured with a painful little smile, titling his head to the right playfully. Erik suspected Charles believed his own words, if only because they reinforced the revulsion and shame he wore like a vice. It didn't make them sting any less." Besides, you have nothing to be guilty about, darling."

"I'm here because I want to build a future with you by my side, like before." Erik hissed as he slid his hand up so it rested against his cheek, his thumb lingering at the corner of his mouth. He held Charles' rueful gaze with a fixed one of his own, pushing his love for Charles, his faith in his goodness to the forefront of his mind. Charles let out a shaky exhale, his entire body trembling. But he did not close eyes. Erik decided that was a start.

"Those days are over." Charles reached a hand up and ran it over his hair, still short enough to give the imitation of sharpness, but Erik knew better. There had never been anything harsh about Charles. Not until now, because this was cruel to both of them, this denial of who he was, of what they had been or might yet be. Charles punished himself for what happened, but his penitence left Erik and Raven and all of his children just as bruised. Charles' expression crumpled then, shaking his head a few times, his gaze utterly despondent.

"They don't have to be." Erik said in a steady voice, reaching his other hand up and cradled Charles' face between his hands, to keep him in place before he hid from them both again. Erik realized he couldn't stop Charles from disappearing into his own mind, not really, but he had to try.

"Yes, they do!" Charles' voice rose with every word, each one a little more furious than the last. His grimaced at Erik, his mouth shaking and gaze wretched. With pain yes, but also guilt, so much guilt that belonged to far worse men than Charles. Charles let out a huff of laughter, though it sounded more like a sob. "The man you loved never existed, Erik. Sooner or later you'll need to accept the truth and let go of your fantasies."

"You weren't a fantasy." Erik snapped with more heat than he intended, his lips bordering on a sneer. Anger might not be the right emotion here, but it was the one Erik understood best. And the idea of Charles being an illusion, that Erik would make such an impossible man up, was infuriating. "I love you , Charles."

Charles opened and closed his mouth a few times, shaking his head pitifully. His gaze was softer when he spoke, hopeful, though Erik suspected Charles didn't realize that yet. "What do you love about me, Erik?"

"I don't have a list." Erik admitted before he could think better of it, furrowing his brow as he tried to come up with one. Loving Charles was easy, he has never stopped to question the why of it. Maybe he should have.

"How funny, I do for you. Braver than anyone else I've met, so willing to fight for your beliefs and to protect those who can't protect themselves. Passionate in the loudest of ways and the quietest of whispers. How you used to drag me away from my desk for dinner, or how you stopped by Alex's room after training to give him advice. You're so much kinder than you think you are." Charles started his little speech with indifferent words, but affection bled into his words little by little, yearning and shame. Shame because Erik was passionate and strong and good, and he did not think he was anymore. They both shuddered as the thought passed between them. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

"To feel something? You've made that clear for the last few hours." Erik assured him with a tight smile, and this time he let himself brush his hand across Charles' mouth. Charles turned his face away from Erik's touch, and let go, an apology on the tip of his tongue. Charles shook his head, his own mind spreading out around Erik's soothing and remorseful, before it receded back into his grief.

"I don't want -- I can't let myself." Charles pleaded, his tone desperate as his hands trembled where they hung in the air. Erik suspected Charles didn't have much choice in the matter now, but he kept that to himself. Charles swallowed tightly, his panic rising and falling around them, but never fading. Charles took several deep breaths, not able to get enough air. His mind pressed against Erik's, overwhelmed and terrified. "I am not the man you want me to be. I never was. I'm arrogant and selfish, temperamental and pathetic -"

"You are more than any of those things, Charles." Erik tentatively reached a hand toward him again, his fingers ghosting across his cheeks, the circle under his eyes. Charles was arrogant and brilliant, selfish and benevolent, temperamental and passionate. He was everything all at once, except the one thing he believed himself to be at the moment. Erik needed Charles to understand that, to see his own worth again. He brushed his hand over his bottom lip again, his thumb resting at the corner of his mouth. This time Charles did not turn away. "And you were never -"

Yes, I am! I let myself think I wasn't once, and people died for it." Charles howled as he buried his hands in the front of Erik's shirt again, his hands shaking. Every inch of him was trembling, his gaze wet. Erik sensed the last of Charles' barriers crumble, and leaned over to press another kiss to his forehead. Charles shuddered and glanced up at him with a painful sort of hope, as though Erik might fix what was never broken. "I can protect them better as a shell than I ever did as a man."

"You're crying again." Erik murmured back to him softly as he laid a hand against his cheek, not an answer and the only answer. Charles took a few shaky breaths, trying and failing to rebuild his walls one last time. Erik tugged him into his arms, one hand around his back and the other around his waist, carrying the weight of his suffering like an honor.

Charles stopped trying to hide, his tears coming in earnest as he clutched the front of Erik's shirt. He allowed Erik to brush his hands through his hair and press gentle kisses to his eyelids. Their storm was not over, but at least they were passed the uncertainty of the eye of it, Charles finally back in his own mind.

Charles hated himself for not being able to stop his tears as he crumpled against Erik, fingers digging into his shirt and holding on for dear life. He couldn't find enough air, every breath raw and gasping as they ripped free from his throat. Charles shuddered, his grasp strong and weak at the same time, not finding any purchase.

Erik wrapped an arm across his shoulders and the other around his waist, holding him steady. His grip was firm. Erik murmured comforting words, or he assumed they were -- He could not make them out over the sound of his own tears, or the roar of his own emotions.

And they were so much louder than before, his shame a tortured scream, his grief a pulsing through his mind. Charles wondered why Erik wanted him like this, so thoroughly useless and drowning in his guilt. He tried to reach for his walls, for his vaunted serenity, but his telepathy abandoned him when he needed it most.

Memories of Calvin and Madison and Guido flooded his mind, no dam to hold them back. When Guido taught Warren how to climb a tree, lifting him up with one finger while he spread his wings out and laughed, joy and contentment radiating off of them. Those moments Madison turned plastic bags and broken toys into swing sets and scraps of paper into blankets for nervous new students. How Calvin imitated the younger students, patiently showing Roberto how to make a fireball over and over again, his smile so proud when he figured it out.

How Guido stole Alex's orange juice in the mornings, how Madison insisted on playing the same Beatles record every Thursday night, those times Calvin would mess around with the piano despite not being able to play a single note. Those and a dozen other moments, times they made him laugh and times they frustrated him to no end.

The memories were saturated with grief, even if Charles only had them as part of his little family for a few months.

And then Charles' mind shifted to that terrible little cell, surrounded by glass walls and alone in his head for the first time in over a decade. He lost track of time quickly, days and nights blending together, only interrupted by showers and the occasional small meal. Those became the good days.

The bad days, he was drugged up with a concoction that left him out of control and drowsy, mind spreading out against his will. Charles was with Guido when they broke his legs to test if he had a healing factor. He screamed alongside Madison when they stabbed him with needles. He and Calvin both bled when the doctor was purposefully sloppy.

And they must have suffered alongside him, experienced the same soreness of his wrists hanging from the ceiling and the needles piercing his skin. And who was to say that he never lashed out with his mind, unwittingly broke them down further. Had his suffering become theirs, did his shame burn in their chest, or Oh god. When he was tortured --

"Stop it." Erik's voice cut through the chaos in his mind, his fingers digging into his shoulders and grounding him in body. Charles tried to dig into his memories, to find the exact moment when he failed them, but Erik's mind pushed his own back each time. Eventually Charles gave in, his body lax against Erik's chest as his tears started to ebb. Erik let go of him little by little, his expression oddly hopeful. "I think you could use some sleep."

Charles nodded as he sank back into his chair, giving himself a hard push. Erik said nothing, but his hand found its way to his shoulder, thumb dipping down so it brushed against Charles' collarbone. He leaned into his touch in spite of himself, and let Erik follow him to his bedroom. Charles made his way to the dresser, and Erik sat on the edge of their -- his -- their bed, long limbs folded up underneath him. He started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Charles sighed and flicked his gaze away from him. "You're staying here again?"

"It's our room, Charles." Erik reminded him, and Charles didn't need to turn around to see the grin on his face, protective and tender. Charles swallowed, knowing he no longer deserved shelter. Not by someone like Erik, resolute and visionary, his austere beauty almost as overwhelming as the brilliance of his mind.

"People don't usually share a bedroom after they break up." Charles kept his words short, frustration and fondness bleeding into his voice as he shuffled through his top drawer, hoping to find pajamas that covered every inch of him. He showed Erik enough of his weaknesses today as it was, no reason to reveal anymore.

Charles slid through the bathroom door and took several deep breaths, trying to catch his bearings before he finally glanced at the mirror. He was unsightly, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, the circles underneath more like bruises. The rest of his skin was pale and a little waxy, though little by little he was gaining back the healthy glow of before.

The thought made his stomach churn, because he deserved to look as he felt, a pallid caricature of the man he once thought himself to be. Even his hair was starting to grow back in earnest, just long enough to stick up again, threads of gray artfully woven through the brown.

Charles turned his gaze away from the mirror, afraid of what other weaknesses he might find there, and also what strengths. He went through the motions of his nightly routine, though he suspected it was the early afternoon. Charles tried to keep his mind focused on brushing his teeth and not the rawness of his grief, the past month having done nothing to dull its intensity.

Besides, he was less bothered by that than by the desperate yearning rising in his chest every time he heard metal rattle on the other side of the door. Charles swallowed down his guilt and reminded himself it was alright for him to love Erik, expected.

The issue was Erik loving him back, and that would pass. Charles ignored the way his sorrow rose in his chest at the idea, filling his lungs and making it so he could not breathe, no matter how much he gasped.

Charles slipped out of the bathroom and was not surprised to find Erik stretched out on the bed, the sheets pooling around his waist and gazing at Charles like he had all the answers.

He bit the inside of his lip and transferred himself from his chair to their bed, adjusting his legs and propping himself up against his pillows. Erik stared at him, gaze fixed and his concern heavy in the air between them.

"Technically we never broke up." Erik murmured softly, and it took Charles a second to understand he was answering his question from before. Charles pursed his lips, his gaze flicking to where his hands were pressed against the starch white sheets. No, they never broke up, but Erik left all the same.

Charles swallowed and brushed a hand over his face, suddenly choking on sand and the taste of ocean air. At least it was some variety from all of the flashbacks to his glass prison. Guilt surrounded them and Charles realized it was Erik's rather than his own, the emotion a dagger, rusted with time, but no less sharp for it.

"I don't know, I think Cuba was a pretty definitive ending." He said in a dry voice, playing at the cold haughtiness of before. Still, Charles could not help curling a hand into the space between them, fingers ghosting near Erik's shoulder blades. He was no longer angry at Erik, not for Cuba anyway, and he spread his forgiveness like a balm. Erik gazed at him in a wonder Charles did not merit, reaching one arm out and wrapping it around his waist. Charles thoughtlessly pressed his face into the crook of his neck.

Charles should pull away, but he found he did not have the strength to do so. Not when he was surrounded by Erik, a sense of safety he both longed for and despised himself for wanting in equal measure lulling him to sleep.

When Charles next woke up, it was to a pleasant weight against his back, Erik's breath a steady warmth on his shoulder. Charles whimpered as the first hint of sunlight reached him, curling more toward Erik. Erik, who should not be here. Not now. Charles opened his eyes and blinked owlishly, his hands curling into sheets as the past year came back to him little by little. He pulled in on himself and Erik gently shifted them both, so they were eye to eye, one hand resting against his cheek. "Good morning, Charles. How are you feeling?"

"More than I would like." Charles admitted with a huff of laughter, giving Erik a crooked grin he belatedly realized was genuine. Charles forced the smile off his face, focused on the overwhelming grief that permeated every inch of him. The grief Erik had been carrying for him for nearly a month, when Erik already bore so much suffering than anyone should, with far more grace than Charles managed. He glanced up at Erik, his lips pursed. "I am sorry about all the projecting."

"I'm not." Erik assured him as he pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, a swell of protectiveness and relief wrapping around Charles like a blanket. Erik then kissed the other corner, one hand cradling his jaw. Charles closed his eyes, shivering at the affection in his touch, the inexplicable love. "You need to let yourself mourn, Charles, but you also need to allow yourself to heal, to hope."

"I don't deserve--"" Charles never got to finish his sentence, his words swallowed up by Erik's mouth, his morning scruff brushing against jaw. Charles kissed him back, lost himself in the familiar sensation. Erik broke the kiss off after a second, brushing his thumb along Charles' bottom lip. Charles huffed and forced himself to turn his head away from Erik, shooting him an exasperated glare over his shoulder. "And you're one to talk."

"Maybe, but that just means you're not taking your own advice." Erik slid his hand under his jaw, tilting Charles head back toward him. Charles swallowed at the understanding he found there, the hope. "I needed my revenge, and if you need the same, I will help you get it. But you were never meant to be a weapon, Charles. You're so much more than that."

"So are you." Charles murmured as he rested his hands mere inches away from Erik's own, glancing up at Erik and letting his emotions flow toward him. Not his pain or his shame, but his love for Erik, his faith in his devotion and his compassion, in how he survived and grew stronger as the world -- as even Charles -- tried to tear him down.

"Yes, and you made me believe that, who made me want to forge a better future." Erik tangled their fingers together, his thumb making little circles against his palm. Charles bit his lip, because if he had, they were just lucky Erik found a different one. Otherwise, who knew how many of them would end up locked in those glass cages? Charles' vision blurred, the bed underneath him turning to concrete, the blankets growing thin-- And Erik squeezed his hand tightly, his thumb pressing down on his pulse. "Stay here. Stay with me. I need you in our future, Charles."

"I don't know how to be anymore." Charles closed his eyes and shuddered a little, flexing his hand against the sheets. He focused on the softness of the cotton, and the warmth of Erik's hand in his own. Charles shuddered against both, the simple luxuries he no longer deserved. Not when so many of his people would never game them again. Charles glanced up at Erik, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, letting his shame spread through the room and sully everything. "The man I was -"

"The man you are is necessary to our cause, Charles." Erik cut him off, his voice harsh with frustrated concern, his free hand resting on his cheek again, his fingers splayed out along his jaw. Erik held his gaze with a steadfast one of his own, his eyes too fervent for Charles to turn away from them. "Your compassion and your brilliance, your gentle counsel -- all of it will help shape our future and guide the next generations. You believe your empathy and your optimism are weaknesses now, but I never have."

"So you did have a list." Charles whispered before he could think better of it, his voice unbearably soft. Erik grinned at him, gaze softening as he leaned over and kissed him. Erik's love spread between them like a salve, and this time Charles let it wash over him, clearing the debris of his own mind little by little.