Chapter 5
Erik thought that the kiss would change things, and it did but didn’t at the same time. They were — if not back together, something, a tension between them every time they were in the same room. But Charles hadn’t mentioned the future, their future, and every time Erik tried to bring it up, Charles changed the subject. Such as right now, when Charles used Erik asking about the coming months to tell him about the Russian literature class he was adding next semester.
Erik reached his arm out and pressed his hand onto Charles’ shoulders, digging his fingers into the soft material of the cardigan. Charles finally looked up from his tea, letting out a low exhale, frown tight at the corners. Erik raised an eyebrow, giving Charles a pointed look, because he really didn’t need to hear about what classes Charles was planning to add to the curriculum. Not until Erik knew if he was still going to be there, if the Brotherhood could be, if not welcomed, at least tolerated. “You’re avoiding the conversation.”
“I just remembered you a few days ago. I might not know which conversation you mean.” Charles murmured airily, brushing a hand through his hair and tilting his head back. Charles didn’t meet his gaze as he reached for his cup of tea, feeling oddly distant despite his mind still being present in the corners of Erik’s own, warm and whispering. Erik could feel his nervousness there, sharp and crackling, little shots of static energy going through them both. Charles took a long sip of his tea, and Erik watched the lean muscles of his neck shift as he swallowed. Charles eventually sat the cup back down, licking his lips a few times as he finally met Erik’s gaze across the table, his own soft and almost pleading. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it, and you clearly do.”
“Usually it’s the other way around.” Erik smiled in spite of the tension in his air, shaking his head fondly. Charles wanted to talk about everything, rather it be a book he read or why Erik looked more tired than usual, would spend hours rhapsodizing about Hank’s research or cheerfully debating philosophy. Words spilled out of his lips and across Erik’s mind with an ease he’d never have, an ease he’d wanted to protect. Apparently he might have failed in that too, and the thought made him press his mouth into a thin line, reaching for his coffee.
“Usually we’re talking about your feelings, not mine.” Charles let out a low exhale, giving Erik an abashed look. He bit his lip and tapped his fingers along the edge of the table, gaze tight and considering. “You’re not interested in giving me time to process, are you?”
“No, because you’ll overthink it. You overthink everything.” Erik told him kindly, reaching over to tap his wrist with his right hand a few times patronizingly, though not without affection. Charles rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, tilting his head down so he wasn’t meeting Erik’s gaze anymore. Erik always liked how Charles looked when he teased him, the put out smile and the way his gaze lit up in delight, almost in spite of himself. “Besides, we don’t have time. You know what’s coming, Charles.”
“I know what you think is coming, and it isn’t any closer than it was after Cuba.” Charles said dryly as he brushed his own hand against Erik’s, though he can hear the sharpness underlying ‘Cuba’. Hear it and feel it in his mind, a crescendo of emotion rising before Charles could tamp it down, agony and rage and fear, blinding and yellow for the seconds it flared to light. It was gone after a second, along with the white hot rage and the murky blue of his suffering. Erik hated them and savored them at the same time, because he’d forgotten how intimate seeing Charles’ emotions was, how each thought came with flavors and colors and a thousand little details Erik couldn’t even put into words. He wondered if his own were the same, or if Charles’ mind was as uniquely beautiful as the rest of him.
“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t have invited me to stay in the first place.” Erik gave Charles a sharp smile, his gaze knowing. Erik might have been allowed to stay because Charles wanted him, but Magneto had been invited because Charles wanted the school to be under his protection. Charles had the good sense not to deny it, just giving Erik a helpless little sigh as he pursed his lips. Erik grinned even more widely than before, squeezing Charles’ hand and letting his hope bleed out across both their minds. “You said before you admired the Brotherhood.”
“I think that’s a bit more effusive than I actually was.” Charles smiled crookedly at him, shaking his head a few times. Erik raised an eyebrow and shot Charles a curious look, because he hadn’t expected him to admit that much. “I respect your rescue efforts and peaceful protests.”
Erik scoffed before he could think better of it, because of course Charles liked those things. It was the same thing he was sending Hank and Alex and his other teachers off to do, and he’d seen Charles’ photo at protests in New York City a few times. It was a start, certainly, but it was never going to be enough. It might move the needle forward a few scant inches, before something else pushed it back, but it would never be the future they wanted. Not unless they fought for it. “It’s when the protests stop being peaceful that you have a problem.”
“Yes, but you already knew that.” Charles gave him a knowing smile, pressing his free hand under his chin, tilting his head to the right. There was a sharpness to his gaze, warily curious, as though he knew it was a trap, but still couldn’t help swallowing the bait whole. Charles never could. “What are you getting at, Erik?”
“What happens when I break the law, Charles? When I give the government a reason to come after me?” Erik asked harshly, the metal in the room shaking and bending with each word, some of the wrought iron along the garden wall coming undone and stretching out toward them both. Erik took a deep breath, trying to calm the swell of emotions rising in his chest. He needed to know that Charles was on his side, that if it came down to it, he’d pick Erik. It wasn’t fair of him, not when he hadn’t picked Charles when it counted most, but he wasn’t concerned with fair right now. He was concerned with Charles, who brushed a thumb across his knuckles and gave him a pleading look, as though begging Erik not to make him answer. “Charles.”
“It depends.” Charles didn’t meet his gaze, eyes flicking across the table as though he were looking at imaginary chess pieces, or maybe one of those maps he and Hank used to spread out across the table, Charles sticking pins in different states and tying their mutant brothers and sisters together with tiny pieces of thread. The one in his mind was better, each person a bright light, each string filled with purpose and emotion, with life. Erik wondered if Charles showed that to someone else now, and then quickly pushed the thought aside. Charles’ powers were his to share as he pleased. Charles ran his thumb over the rim of his tea cup, gaze thoughtful and just a touch sheepish. His grip was oddly lax, and Erik felt a tremor run across his mind that could only be him. It was uncertain, but no, that wasn’t it exactly. Charles was sure of something, but he didn’t want to be, and then the thought shuttered, Charles’ hand stilling against his own.
Erik tightened his own grip around Charles slender fingers, running his thumb against his pulse. He gave Charles a fixed stare, not able to stop the hope rising in his chest. “What on?”
“If you put my students in danger or not.” Charles answered with a brilliant smile, arrogant and just a little dangerous, and Erik had to resist the urge to devour his mouth. He could feel the protectiveness behind each word, the promise that Charles would set his precious ideals aside and raze cities to the ground to protect his children, if it came to that. And for Erik too, and that thought was only half-realized, more raw emotion than words, as though Charles had only just remembered. Erik swallowed at the thought, could feel the shaking in his own hands as he shifted his chair closer to Charles’ own. He slid a hand down the side of Charles’ face until he was cupping his cheek, and Charles’ smile turned a little sad. “Otherwise, it’s not wrong to break an unjust law.”
“And you know that all the ones governing people like us are just that.” Erik said plainly, and for once it wasn’t a question. Charles just gave him a short nod, and the wariness in his gaze made Erik think there was a longer conversation to be had, when Charles was more settled in his memories and himself. Right now Erik pressed a kiss to Charles’ mouth, lingering and sweet, brushing a few strands of hair from his face. Charles would choose him, and Erik would make sure he never had to. Not like that, not when Erik felt the sorrow behind Charles’ thoughts, a vague sense that breaking those men would break Charles too, rob him of some essential part of himself. Erik wouldn’t allow that. The world had taken enough from him, he wouldn’t let it have Charles.
“You don’t have to sound so smug about it.” Charles snapped without any real heat behind it, grinning sheepishly as let go of Erik’s hand so he could reach for his tea again. Charles moved his hand a little too quickly though, and the cup went flying across the table. It hit the floor with a loud crash, and Charles flinched at the sound, hands, and then his gaze went blank.
Erik watched, transfixed and terrified, Charles' skin growing paler by the second, clearly too lost in his own mind to hear anything Erik was saying, to feel the hand once again resting against his cheek. Charles shuddered against him, closing his eyes and letting out a wretched noise. Then he fell silent again, awareness back in his gaze when he finally looked up at Erik. Awareness and a fear that poisoned the air around them. “Charles, what happened?”
“I remembered something I’d rather have left in the past.” Charles’ voice words were strangled, and now that Erik looked closely he could see the watery sheen to Charles’ eyes, the way his mouth trembled and how his hands were gripping the rims of his chair like a lifeline. Charles gave Erik a strange look then, eyes wide and far away, even as he reached a hand out to bury it in the front of Erik’s shirt, breath coming out in uneven pants. “I was wrong, to tell you not to kill Shaw. It was selfish of me.”
Erik blinked a few times, because he hadn’t expected that. He let his hands fall to his sides and waited for Charles to slowly unclench his fingers one by one, until he wasn’t touching Erik anymore. Erik swallowed tightly, meeting Charles’ eyes with a careful gaze of his own, letting his hands ghost over Charles’ wrists. “Because you thought you’d lose me?”
“Because you’re a better man than me.” Charles told him in the same choked off voice from before, wretched in a way Charles never should be. Charles opened and closed his mouth a few times, hands trembling as he reached out, only to pull his hand back at the last minute. “I need some air. Don’t follow me.”
Charles turned and went out the kitchen doors, agony and fear still radiating off of him. Erik took a step toward him and stopped, watching as Charles made his way toward the garden. This time he listened.
Charles felt a bit like a coward, abandoning Erik and their conversation, but the cup shattered into so many pieces, and Charles had seen them all dipped in blood. Kurt Marko’s blood, because that was what had covered his mother’s fine white vase the night he died. He remembered Raven scrubbing the floor now while he sat on the ground, arms wrapped around his legs, terrified of himself until he forgot he should be.
Kurt had died when Charles touched his mind, and he didn’t know if it was because he made him fall or because gravity did them a favor. He still didn’t know now. Charles supposed that was why he’d erased the memory, locked it away where it couldn’t fester and poison the rest of him. But now, Charles remembered and he still didn’t know. He supposed it didn’t matter. If Kurt fell because he’d been afraid of what Charles had done to him, because of the pain he was in, it was as good as if Charles had told him to throw himself down the staircase.
Charles still hoped it was the former, that it had been an accident and not an impulse, that he wasn’t - But maybe he was. Maybe he was the exact sort of monster he’d always been afraid of becoming. Maybe he’d been one for over a decade and didn’t even know, blood-soaked hands covered with the thin veneer of compassion. Maybe he shouldn’t be here with all these students, clutching a bottle of whiskey and looking harmless in a way he never could be. Not while he had his mind.
Charles felt her mind, the shape of it as familiar as his own, even if he’d never gone past those carefully constructed walls. He turned to face Raven with a shaky smile when she finally appeared in the doorway, hand still clasping the bottle of whiskey, while the other ran across the rim of his chair over and over again, hoping that maybe the feel of metal against his skin would bring him back into the present.
She sat down next to him, turning the chair around to face him, the unsteady legs scraping against the ground. She gave him a weak smile in return, her hands reaching out toward the bottle. Charles just shook his head and Raven sighed but didn’t try to take it again, resting her hand on his shoulder instead. She gave him another quick once over, and a knowing came into her gaze, like she’d been waiting for this moment. “You didn’t just remember Erik.”
“At first I did, but eventually the floodgates opened up.” Charles told her as he let out a laugh that was wet around the edges, harsh and shaky. He wondered how he looked right now, what would happen if Jean or Scott or even Hank came across him now, halfway to drunk in the middle of the day, eyes red-rimmed and not able to keep his hands still. He suspected he looked rather like his mother, and the thought killed whatever was left of the laugh.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Charles thought her voice sounded rather far away, and he wondered if his mind was finally drifting off and leaving his body behind. Raven squeezed his shoulders a bit tighter than before, meeting his gaze with a firm one of her own, yellow eyes warm with concern. She shook her head a few times, mouth set into a thin line.
Charles let out another huff of air, too weak to be a sob, his lips twitching. He reached for the bottle again, taking another long gulp, feeling the alcohol burning against his tongue and throat. It was better than everything else he was feeling right now. This time he set the bottle aside so he could reach a hand out toward Raven instead, fingers curling together before he could make contact. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, rough from crying and alcohol, dreamy and nightmareish at the same time. “I felt him dying, you know. Kurt.”
“Charles.” Raven murmured and he could hear the warning in her voice, pleading with him not to go down a path he’d started on long before she’d found him. He had to, couldn’t resist the urge to replay the memory over and over again in his mind, new details becoming crisper each time, the smell of his mother’s perfume Raven had stolen or the taste of blood in his - Kurt’s - mouth. Charles knew that if stayed in the memory long enough, he’d find his own mind, be able to look past the veil of fear and know what he’d done. He hadn’t managed yet, the memories after he pulled free from Kurt’s mind the first time still muddled, like a mural where the paint had started to peel because of neglect.
“It was different from what I felt with Shaw. Slower. I don’t have Erik’s finesse I’m afraid.” Charles gave her another wan smile, voice shaking a little more with each word. He could feel himself slipping into the memory, slipping into Kurt’s thoughts and emotions, the way the white heat in his mind sent little waves of electricity down his body, the loss of control. How he tried to scream but couldn’t find a way to form words, his throat closing up because Charles didn’t want to hear him. The shock of his mind suddenly being free, the feeling of his legs giving out beneath him. He swallowed a few times, one hand coming out to grasp Raven’s shoulder to try and steady himself. He felt like he was the one falling now, not able to gain purchase no matter how hard he tried. “He was so terrified when he felt his airways start to close. It’s a unique kind of horror, the slow death -
“Stop it.“ Raven said, voice steady and a bit louder than it had been a second, practically digging her fingers into his shoulder so it almost hurt. Charles took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on Raven, her gaze blurred with tears and mouth trembling a little. It reminded him of Cuba, except this time he didn’t take her hand between his own, and she didn’t leave. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I killed someone and I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” Charles’ voice lacked any emotion, shoulders slumping as the hope in his chest went cold. It didn’t matter if he’d told him to fall or not. Kurt was still dead because of him, because of his lack of control. He’d destroyed someone without even realizing it, burned through his synapses. He thought of what he’d told Erik yesterday, who’d only ever acted out of love. Erik who had known what he was doing when he killed Shaw, who’d been sure of his every act. Charles remembered, because he’d heard every word, seen the pain in Erik’s gaze when he remembered his mother, felt the justice in how that coin sliced through sinew and bone and - he was losing the thread again. “At least Erik knew what he was doing when he killed Shaw. At least he did it out of love.”
“It wasn’t your fault!” Raven hissed as she bit her bottom lip, clenching her hands into fists as she finally let go of his shoulder. She let out a low exhale, some of the fight going out of her as she took in his expression. She shook her head, smile warm and a few tears finally broke free and slid down her face. “But if you did it, it would’ve been because you love me.”
“Maybe.” Charles opened and closed his mouth at her words, blinking owlishly and feeling his eyes start to burn, wiping at them with his sleeve. He hadn’t - he’d been so afraid, and of course he’d been afraid Kurt would hurt her, that he’d take her away from him - but wasn’t that selfish too? He’d wanted to save her for himself, because he didn’t want to be alone, and it wasn’t any different than he’d been later, too protective and she’d left - but if he hadn’t been protective then, she might be dead or worse and - None of that mattered. He didn’t know what he’d felt in those moments before Kurt fell down the stairs, couldn’t find himself in the memory. He might have done it because he loved Raven, or out of fear. But he might have done it because he wanted Kurt gone, because he wanted him to suffer the way he’d made Charles suffer. “I don’t. I don’t know.”
“You should talk to Erik about it.” Raven took his hand between hers this time, squeezing it softly and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Charles watched her and felt exhaustion start to seep in, and he wondered if he had enough time before his next class to take a nap. He didn’t stop her when she took the bottle this time, finding that the burn didn’t help the pain anymore.
****
Charles knew Raven was right, that Erik deserved to know him as fully as he knew himself. He still didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t want Erik to look at him and see what Charles saw. A murderer. A monster. On some level, where Charles was still capable of rational thought, knew Erik wouldn’t think those things. Not the way Charles did. But a larger part of him kept seeing the love fade from those eyes, watching them grow murky and disappointed.
So he didn’t tell him when Erik woke him up from when he’d fallen asleep on top of his books, face pressed against the spine of MadameBovary. Nor did he tell him when Erik walked him to his next class, running his thumb up and down the length of Charles’ spine with each step he took. And especially not when Erik had kissed him by the door, sweet and lingering, a promise of things that might never come. Instead he waited until all the students were asleep or holed up in the common room, until he could convince Cecilia and Hank and the other teachers to have dinner without him. That was how Charles found himself sitting outside on the grounds, by the same bit of the stone wall where he’d told Erik he was good. It seemed a fitting enough place to tell Erik that he wasn’t.
Erik found him there when the temperature started to drop, a chill that spoke of rain, with the first hints of winter heavy in the air. Charles glanced over at him and drank in the lean lines of his body, the strong jaw and brilliant eyes, clouded with worry. Every time he saw Erik felt like it was the first and the last. Charles didn’t know if that was because of the memories he’d thrown away, or if it had always been that way, a dichotomy of the familiar and the new when it came to Erik. He sat down on the bench near Charles, taking one of his hands between his own, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Are you going to keep staring at me, or are we going to talk?”
“I think I killed my step-father.” Charles felt a bit like someone else was saying those words, his own voice distant. They were surprisingly steady, even though Charles could feel his lips trembling, knew that his eyes were red-rimmed and tears were threatening to fall any given second. Erik gave him a blank look for a second, lips pursed, and Charles wondered if this was the first time he’d ever surprised Erik. It only lasted for a second, and then Erik’s expression shifted, gaze careful not to give away anything. Charles shrugged a bit, shaking his head and glancing at the cracks in the stone wall, little imperfections he’d never gotten around to fixing. “I think it’s why I didn’t want you to kill Shaw.”
“You don’t know if you did?” Erik’s voice was even, almost curious in a way that was far too casual for the conversation at hand. Charles shivered and closed his eyes, flashes of the broken vase and broken bones coming to mind, but himself still unclear. No, he didn’t know. He couldn’t seem to make himself know.
“I’m not entirely sure.” Charles admitted with a little huff of laughter, and this time his voice wasn’t quite as steady. Really, his mind was the best thing about him and it was constantly failing him. He smiled at Erik a bit helplessly, rolling his shoulders and swallowing the urge to pull his hand away. Not when it might be the last time Erik held it like this, his thumb brushing over Charles’ pulse and those strong fingers holding him steady. Erik leaned in a bit, narrowing his gaze, a tightness to the corner of his lips. Charles wanted to kiss it away, and then remembered he was the one who put it there this time, and probably the last few dozen as well. Or he thought he was. He’d have to go through his old-new memories to be sure, and right now he was stuck in the time before Erik, searching for the boy he used to be and not feeling him anywhere. “I can’t find myself in the memory.”
“Can you project the memory without your current feelings getting in the way?” Erik asked with a raised eyebrow, tapping his wrist a few times until Charles met his gaze. Charles glanced up at him and swallowed tightly, giving an almost imperceptible nod. He’d done as much with other memories of Erik, even if he hadn’t been conscious of it at the time. “Let me see it then. Let me feel it.”
Charles blinked owlishly a few times, pressing his mouth into a thin line, because he didn’t especially want to go back to that terrified child. Especially not when he had blood on his hands and the feeling of death seeping into his pores. It wasn’t the only time he’d been in someone’s mind while they were dying, and it was far from the last. But it was different when he was so fully in the mind, when he could feel their synapses shut down one by one, feel the way their heart beat slowed. He’d only experienced that twice, with Kurt and then Shaw. Erik pursed his lips then, gaze filling with agony as he squeezed his hand a bit tighter than before. Oh. He hadn’t met to project that thought. “Why?”
“Humor me?” Erik asked softly, reaching the hand not drawing careful patterns against his wrist to cup his cheek instead. Charles gave another tiny nod and closed his eyes, letting his mind spread out and around both of them, swallowing them whole. And then Charles wasn’t there at all.
Charles was on the landing above the front door, clutching his chest, the soft skin on the underside of his jaw still burning from where Kurt had dug his fingernails in. He scrambled on the floor, wincing as each moment started another swell of pain. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Kurt had his hands around Raven’s throat. Charles tried to roll to his feet, ignoring the lurch of his stomach and the blood in his mouth, stumbling halfway and then collapsing back to his knees. Raven - her skin was changing shades, her mind was growing weaker. Kurt was - he wasn’t letting go and -
Charles felt Kurt’s mind, the blinding rage, the hatred for him and Raven for being born, the fear. He was terrified of her, even a little scared of Charles and then - then he wasn’t. Kurt wasn’t because he stopped feeling anything. There wasn’t pain, not at first. Just empty space, an eerie silence that made his fingers uncurl from where they were wrapped around Raven’s neck one by one. That was when the pain started, the blinding white flashes that shot through his brain, drenched with terror and hurt, Charles’ hurt, ugly and cruel. Charles felt it too, felt the way Kurt’s synapses snapped, the way his mind grew weaker with every passing second.
Charles wondered for a second what would happen if he didn’t stop, if the synapses kept snapping until and weakening until there was nothing left. Would he die too? He shuddered at the thought, at himself for wondering, and let go of Kurt’s mind.
Kurt let out a sound that was something like a whine, clutching the sides of his head, his gaze bloodshot. Charles sucked in a breath and took a step toward him. Kurt stumbled, haze wild as he leaned over the railing. Charles wished he’d throw himself over it. And just like that Kurt was falling, flying through the air before his head connected with an end table. A resounding thud reverberated throughout the front hall, ugly and final. Charles could feel the impact, could hear his mother’s vase shattering into pieces all around Kurt’s head. The blood pooling beneath his skin, his mind grew weaker and weaker, the fight for air slipping away -
Charles gasped and found himself back on the grounds, clutching the front of Erik’s shirt in his hand and tears sliding down his face in earnest. He took a few harsh breaths, gasping and feeling like he couldn’t get enough air. Eventually that passed, the physical sensations of the memory fading from his mind and the slightly scratchy material of Erik’s sweater taking focus. It was a little wet, and when Charles looked up he found that it had started to rain at some point. He took in another haggard breath, loosening his grip little by little, until his hands were simply spread across Erik’s chest rather than clinging to him. Charles blinked a few times, trying to stop the tears in the back of his eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop coming though. “And now you know everything about me.”
“Now I do.” Erik agreed in a low voice as he pressed their foreheads together, wiping away a few of the tears from Charles’ cheek with the pad of his thumb. He held Charles’ gaze and there was no anger there, no smug disgust at Charles for being a lie. There was just concern, quiet and steady and infuriating.
“Why aren’t you mad?” Charles hated how small his voice sounded, the way his chest kept rising and falling a bit too quickly, breaths coming out uneven and panicked. Erik held him steady, breathing in and out with exaggerated slowness until Charles matched his breathing, some of the panic in his chest disippiating. Erik smiled at him fondly, gaze still heavy with concern as he brushed some of Charles’ hair out of his face. A few drops of rain slid down his cheek, almost in a mimicry of the tears on his own face. Or maybe more like a mockery, given how calm Erik was. “You should be mad.”
“Why would I be?” Erik asked as he held his gaze, pulling his head away so they were no longer touching. Charles could still feel his breath on his cheek and see the warmth in his gaze, so unnervingly kind when Charles deserved nothing of the sort.
“Because I’m a hypocrite?” Charle hissed as he twisted his face into a snarl, vaguely aware that it must have looked faintly ridiculous alongside the tears. Charles flexed his hands a few times, grimacing as he felt the little burst of rage slowly fade back into the shame and regret. He’d thought so highly of himself, preached to Erik about pacificism and serenity, when he’d never achieved either. Not without burying parts of himself, and God. his powers were - He’d always known they were dangerous. But he’d forgotten how tied to his emotions they were, how his suffering turned him into the kind of monster he’d always feared becoming. And Erik - whose suffering had only made him stronger and more sure, even if Charles didn’t agree with the things he was sure on - was holding him like he was something precious. It was too much. “You had convictions.”
Erik shook his head a few times, mouth pressed into a thin line and something unbearably sad to his gaze as he took Charles’ hands in his own. He entwined their fingers together, holding Charles’ gaze the entire time, steady and affectionate. Charles felt a flicker of anger, but he knew it wasn’t for him. It was for Kurt and the world and everything else that had ever hurt Charles. Erik let go of one of his hands to run his fingers along his cheeks instead, thumb resting at the corner of his mouth. Charles let out another sob without knowing why, leaning into the touch. Erik’s voice was firm, almost harsh as he pulled back just enough to look Charles in the eyes again. “You aren’t a hypocrite. You were a terrified child trying to protect his sister with the only weapon he had.”
“Don’t make light of this, Erik!” Charles wanted to sound angry, but his words were desperate to his own ears. He shivered a little, pulling his right hand free of Erik’s and running his hand through his hair, noting idly that it was soaked. It must be raining harder than he thought. Charles brought his hand back down to his lap, tilting his head to the right as he glanced up at Erik, biting his lip so hard he thought the skin might break. Charles shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes as he pressed his head against Erik’s chest. He didn’t deserve so much kindness, not when he’d failed, when his weakness had led to a man’s death. If he’d been better then - but if he hadn’t made him fall - but then, he hadn’t tried to stop it either, had he? Charles shivered again, pulling his head back and hanging it in the air between them, knowing he was breathing a little harder than before again. “I - I may have killed someone. If I’d had a little more control I could’ve -”
“You’re going to catch a cold.” Erik chided softly as he let go of Charles, standing up so he could take off his jacket, the brown leather already wrinkled and discolored from the rain. He wrapped it around Charles shoulders instead, sliding it across his chest and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Charles opened his eyes at the touch, the fight going out of him little by little.
“Thank you for your concern.” Charles said dryly after a second, and this time the hint of laughter in his voice was real. A few wet pieces of hair fell in his face as he reached over and grabbed one of Erik’s hands again. Erik’s jacket slid off his right shoulder a bit, but Charles couldn’t be bothered. Not when Erik laced their fingers together again as he sat down on the very edge of the bench, so there was almost no space left between them. “You should at least hate me for my weakness. All those pretty ideals, and I couldn’t even follow the simplest one.”
“Always so forgiving of everyone except yourself.” Erik sighed as he squeezed Charles’ hands, and the look he gave him was almost painfully fond. Charles had to look away, down to where the rain was slowly collecting in his lap. Erik lifted Charles’ hand up to his face, kissing one of the scars along his palm almost reverently. Charles let out a low exhale, pursing his lips as he slowly opened his eyes, meeting Erik’s gaze with a shaky one of his own. Erik gave him a rather sad smile, squeezing his hands a few times. Then he brought them back down to their sides and let go, leaning over Charles more fully so he could tug the jacket back over his shoulders. “Don’t you ever get tired of playing the martyr?”
“I’m not! Erik, what happened was wrong.” Charles’ words sounded weak to his own ears, exhausted but with just a little bit of hope. Hope because he’d shown Erik the worst part of himself, his arrogance and his fear, his weakness, and Erik didn’t look at him any differently. He didn’t stop pressing kisses against his knuckles like Charles was worthy of them. He shivered again, and this time when Erik tugged on his arm, he let him lead him toward down the pathway and toward ramp up to the house.
“You protected yourself and someone you loved. That’s all you did, Charles.” Erik said firmly when they finally came to a stop by Charles’ bedroom door, gaze intent in that way it was only when he said something he believed in his bones, fiery and beyond reproach. And this time, when Charles met his gaze with a watery one of his own, he believed him.
Erik had stayed near Charles that night, sleeping in one of the downstairs guest rooms and convincing Hank to take over his Saturday morning classes. He watched Charles come back to himself little by little, the agony of his memory slowly displaced by the thoughts of his students and the memories of Erik that came back to him. It had all led to them sitting in Charles’ bedroom, playing chess like the past few months never happened.
Erik moved his pawn, glancing over at Charles out of the corner of his eye. He sucked in a breath, watching as Charles ran his tongue over his bottom lip, the skin even redder than usual. He swallowed down another sip of his wine, savoring the taste. He couldn’t help noticing that Charles hadn’t touched his, clearly too distracted by whatever was going on in his mind. Erik got flashes of his emotions, nerves that were an electric blue, a wave of genuine excitement over Scott’s science homework, little things like that. But Charles kept whatever had him biting his lip every few seconds to himself, picking up his glass and putting it down without taking a sip. He moved his pawns without any of his usual care. Erik cleared his throat, and Charles looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking owlishly. “The elevators are almost done.”
“When are you and Raven leaving, then?” Charles asked softly, picking up one of his pawns, but moving it anywhere near the board. Instead he simply moved it back and forth between his thumb and index finger, gazing past Erik and toward the door. His melancholy colored the room a dull blue, the air feeling a bit thinner than it had a second ago.
“Do you want me to leave?” Erik gave Charles a pointed look, because it certainly didn’t feel like Charles wanted him to go. That didn’t mean Charles wouldn’t send him away, either because he didn’t think he deserved to be happy anymore, or because he thought Erik and his Brotherhood was too dangerous to allow near his students. Erik wouldn’t accept the first. Charles deserved to be loved, was loved rather he wanted to be or not, and Erik refused to let him punish himself for someone else’s crimes.
The latter … Erik sighed and took another sip of his wine. Erik and the Brotherhood did come with a certain level of risk, the exact type of risk Charles didn’t like to take. But he also knew Charles understood more now, had heard the same rumors as Erik, seen the same labs. Even he couldn’t ignore a threat when it was a whisper away from his door.
“I never did, Erik.” Charles reminded him with a slow shake of his head, brushing his thumb up and down the pawn a few times. Erik tasted salt instead of wine for a second, a cool ocean breeze on his face. Charles blinked a few times, giving him an apologetic smile, his free hand reaching out to rest against Erik’s wrist. He knocked over Erik’s knight, and then he flushed, gaze quickly flicking back to the board. Erik got a flash of them from a year ago, Charles pressed up against the chessboard, elbows knocking Erik’s knight over in his attempt to drag Erik down on top of him. Erik grinned rather smugly, holding his glass up in cheers. Charles gave him a flat look, finally taking a rather long swig of his wine. “As lovely as that memory was, things are more complicated now. I’m more complicated.”
“I beg to differ. You’ve always been just like you are right now. It’s part of what makes you so charming.” Erik teased him with a warm smile, shaking his head when Charles just pursed his lips and finally put his pawn down. Erik shifted it with his powers so it was on the right square. Charles had always been complicated; pragmatic and naive, compassionate and arrogant, sensitive and stubborn. Perfect, and always, always what Erik wanted.
“I’m not charming, I’m dignified.” Charles told him with an impish smile and a slightly sheepish look, running a hand through his hair. Erik scoffed as he moved one of his knights, because Charles was wrong, and not just because he was decades too young to be calling himself dedicated. Charles was charming, adorable even. That thought made Charles look up at him and scrunch up his nose with his lips pursed, as though trying to prove Erik’s point. Charles just rolled his eyes, moving another pawn across the board, lips thinning out into a grimace. He glanced up at Erik, gaze just a touch melancholy, and Erik pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You shouldn’t want to stay. We don’t want the same things.”
“Yes, we do! We always have. We just had different means, but we don’t have to.” Erik said as he reached a hand out across the table, catching Charles’ wrist with one hand. Charles didn’t pull away, so Erik laced their fingers together and rested them across the board. Charles might have been too optimistic, but he’d been wrong too. They needed to prepare for the revolution, to inspire and teach people, to show their mutant brothers and sisters that it was a battle worth fighting, not just a necessary one. They could do that together, inspire their mutant brothers and sisters, build networks and communities, prepare. Apart, Charles could have his school and Erik his fight, but together they were so much more.
“So what, you stay here and we go on like before, and then one morning you wake up and remember that you want a war and I don’t?” Charles let out a low exhale, glancing down at his wine and running his index finger around the rim of the glass. Charles' gaze was almost wistful as he finally looked up at Erik, biting his lip as he pulled his hand away from his glass. “Who is that better for, Erik?”
“I’m hoping to change your mind before that day comes.” Erik gave a quick roll of his shoulders, casual and loose, letting go of Charles’ hand and moving one of his knights across the board. And even if he didn’t, whatever time they could have would still be better than not being together at all.
“You don’t want me to change my mind.” Charles told him with a wan little smile, flicking one of his pawns over with his index finger. Erik watched it fall and his mind flashed with an image of Charles collapsing on the sand, eyes wide with pain and mouth hanging open. The image changed shape and suddenly it was Charles now, collapsed in an entirely different way, the warmth gone from his eyes, replaced with something far colder. Erik shivered and found himself looking at the real Charles again, mouth pressed into a thin line and gaze pleading for understanding. “It will destroy me. You know it will.”
“Except that it didn’t, Charles.” Erik corrected him as he reached over and clasped his hand firmly, brushing his thumb across his pulse to remind himself of the fact. Charles might be afraid of losing himself to his anger and his hurt, but Erik wasn’t. Charles might not have always had the healthiest coping methods, but he had coped. And this time he wouldn’t have to do it alone. Neither of them would. “It won’t.”
Charles bit his lip as he met Erik’s gaze, a spark of hope in his gaze. He swallowed a few times as he clasped Erik’s hand a bit tighter than before. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know you. I know your mind. I see all the things you can’t.” Erik squeezed his hand and held his gaze, and let what he saw in Charles’ memory of Kurt Marko flash across their minds. The fierce protectiveness he felt for Raven, the way he dragged himself across the floor toward her broken ribs. The courage, entering that mind even though he was terrified of the skeletons there, of not finding his way out. The fact that he worried about Kurt’s life at all, when he didn’t deserve his concern at all. And more than anything, Charles’ love, shining brighter than anything else. The memory faded away, and Erik found Charles had tangled their fingers together. Erik smiled softly, brushing some of his hair out of his face with his free hand. “Everything you do is out of love, no matter how misguided.”
“Erik, you were almost being nice before you ruined it.” Charles murmured with a little sigh, gaze warm and amused as he squeezed Erik’s hand for good measure. Erik just shrugged, a familiar spark in his gaze as he captured another one of Charles’ pawns. Charles gave him a flat look, picking up his glass and taking a small sip, the wine staining his lips an even deeper shade of red than usual. Charles licked his lips a few times, and Erik resisted the urge to lean over and capture that lush mouth in a lingering kiss. He wondered if the wine would taste differently on Charles, if the notes of citrus would be stronger on his lips than Erik’s own. Charles glanced up at him, gaze soft and yearning for something that was already his, if he’d just get out of his own way.
“I’m not the one being cruel this time.” Erik gave him a pointed look and ran his thumb across his palm. Erik held his gaze, shifting his chair a bit closer to Charles’ so they were almost pressed together against one side of the board. “Last time I left and it was a mistake. Sending me away won’t be less of one.”
“What about your Brotherhood?” Charles asked with a raised eyebrow, lips pursed and the perfect image of incredulity. But Erik could see the cautious optimism in his gaze, feel his hope start to fill the room, and somehow the air felt lighter than it had a second ago.
“Like I said, we don’t live together. My base being here wouldn’t change things.” Erik waved a hand through the air, dismissing the question out of hand. He’d much rather stay here with Charles and his children and the staff that didn’t trust him than have anywhere else if Charles would let him. He wanted to share their old bed, to wake up and see Charles buried under a comforter, his bed head sticking out in three different directions. Charles let out a huff of laughter, pressing his free hand against Erik’s chest and burying his hand in his sweater.
“It wouldn’t change things for you.” Charles said wryly, eyes bright but still a little wary. Charles let out a low exhale and glanced over at Charles, gaze soft and considering. Then Charles smiled crookedly, something decided in his gaze. Charles let go of shirt, bringing his hand up to cup Erik’s cheek instead. “You’d have to teach German. And French. Actually, how many languages do you speak?”
“Four.” Erik answered, blinking owlishly. He couldn’t help the grin that came over his face a second later, earnest and relieved. Erik leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Charles’ wine stained mouth, and then another and another. He pulled away long enough to press their forwards together, bringing his hands up to cup Charles’ jaw. “Does that means you want me to stay?”
“Of course. Hank’s French is terrible.” Charles murmured softly, and then he kissed Erik again, hands clutching in the front of his sweater. Erik grasped his shoulders and devoured his mouth, and the wine was indeed sweeter on Charles’ lips.