pull in the dark, surround me
If there is one thing Charles is thankful for, it’s that Erik had removed the helmet and hasn’t considered wearing it again since.
They have remained silent the past few hours. Charles, guiding the first class through the wreckage. Erik, making a path through the forest with a makeshift blade. At first it was welcoming to not speak. Then it was necessary.
Now, it is only deafening.
Nightfall forces them to stop, enveloping the world in hues of indigo. Even then, after the children are asleep and Moira is still incapacitated, Charles feels something potent rise in him. He digs at the soil of the riverbank some meters from where the others sleep. Erik sits next to him, ruminating. Together they watch moonlight glisten off the water.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Charles asks, breaking the quiet.
Erik closes his eyes. Almost as though he is pretending the world does not exist to collect himself. When they open, that steely gaze remains fixed on Charles with a sort of intensity that makes Charles want to look away.
“Have you..." begins Erik. He pauses. Hesitance replaces his characteristic certainty. "Have you ever taken a life? Before today?”
Charles’ reply catches in his throat. The words refuse to form against the stifling, humid air. Years ago, decades ago, he buries something away. Something he has tried desperately to forget. A life not taken, but corrupted beyond repair.
“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” Erik amends. “You’ve given me that courtesy—”
“No,” Charles cuts in. He wishes it doesn’t sound like a lie. "Not before."
Silence looms. The chatter of nocturnal life and the rush of water seem to grow louder in the stillness. Erik has pressed his lips together in a thin line. Almost as though he doesn't know Charles anymore.
“I’m sorry,” is all Erik can say.
“I am too.”
Sorry does not nearly encompass what had transpired. Charles has the disturbing urge to laugh. They have no room to contemplate the past like this, anyway. Even if he wants to, there is simply not enough time.
“We’ve played our hand,” insists Erik. “At least now we have nothing left to lose.”
And then Charles does laugh, ribs aching at the sudden movement. “My friend, quite the contrary, we have everything to lose.”
“I thought you were an optimist.”
“I was.”
A wave of emotion hits Charles the second the words leave his lips. Regret. Anger. Guilt. All belonging to Erik, who is fighting the shake in his voice. He never wanted Charles to agree with him like this.
“Would it have made a difference, had I been the one to do it?” Erik asks. Would you never have hurt like this? he doesn’t ask.
“Either way, one of us would have killed hundreds of men in an instant. Their families, children, wives, neighbors, anyone they have ever met will have lost someone,” Charles reasons. I’m not the one who matters in this equation, he doesn’t say.
“You know they would have taken ours. There wasn’t much else we could do bar dying.”
“I’m not afraid of taking lives. I’m afraid of how—”
How it felt. The cold, dispassionate understanding of what he had to do. The fact that even now, he feels numb. That he feels...justified. It makes his skin crawl. Capability of evil without remorse, of twisting a mind until it snaps without considering an alternative.
“Afraid of becoming desensitized?” Erik asks. “Or afraid of becoming like me?”
The question stings, filling Charles with a sharp twist of anger. Rather than respond, he stands, turning back to the encampment.
“So this conversation is over,” Erik calls.
“I’m not afraid of being like you,” Charles snaps, refusing to look back. “We’re two very different people.”
“Not by much,” says Erik.
“You would have killed those men without a second thought.”
“You did kill those men.” The foliage rustles as Erik stands.
Charles whips around. “I had no choice.”
“If I had merely stopped the missiles, they would have shot at us again. Would you have allowed us all to die?” Erik steps forward.
Charles steps back. “I don’t know, Erik!”
The haze is almost suffocating as the space between them narrows.
“Then what? No one was going to help us.” Another step. “Not Moira, not the CIA, not a single human on those ships.” Another. “They would have kept firing until they were sure we were dead.”
They stand nose to nose. Erik exhales, the warmth of his breath as palpable as the thought he sends.
“You need to let go of your anger before it consumes you,” says Erik. And unsaid, If you have to fight me to achieve that,go right ahead.
And Charles succumbs.
Blinded by a bitter disgust with himself he cannot name, he grabs the harness of Erik’s suit with more strength than even he expected.
“You know how hard that decision was for me,” he whispers.
“I know that I am not a monster, and neither are you,” asserts Erik.
In a swift movement, Erik follows the momentum of Charles’ pull and offsets his balance. The ground comes rushing to meet them.
“You are not a monster for wanting your people to be safe,” Erik continues.
And just like hours prior, Erik sits over Charles, straddling his torso and staring down with a mirthless expression. There is no victory here. No matter the outcome, the situation is fueled only by loss.
“Necessity doesn’t make it right!” Charles protests.
In another rush of anger, he pulls the harness of Erik’s suit again, dragging him to the ground and flipping their position.
Raw, broken, possibly whispering, possibly screaming—Charles finally lets go.
“How am I supposed to lead them when I can’t even trust myself?”
Charles knows that he is shaking. That tears, unbidden, fall from stinging eyes. The heat of his anger fades into empty helplessness. He is going to die in Cuba, dehydrated and estranged. A man who killed thousands with a single thought.
“You don't have to carry the burden alone,” Erik insists, voice far quieter now.
“I never asked for this," says Charles, weakly.
"I know." Erik reaches a hand out, without malice. "I'm sorry."
"You've said that already."
"I mean it."
And Erik, gentle and quiet, brushes away the moisture on Charles’ cheek.
“There are no right answers to situations like these,” he says. “Someone was going to lose. That doesn’t change who you fundamentally are.”
The words reverberate true conviction, leaving Charles speechless. He wants to pull away from the unwavering faith in Erik’s gaze. He wants to believe him.
“Charles,” Erik murmurs. “Let me show you.”
He draws Charles close to press their foreheads together. An open invitation to look. Still the same trust from before.
“It’s okay,” says Erik. “You can come in.”
Charles lets out a quiet gasp, and the floodgates open.
Erik, pulled out of the water by a force unknown. Finding a man unpredictable in a way that startles him. One of the few unpredictable people he has ever met who doesn’t seem to want to use him.
Erik, turning to see this man, Charles, giving him a choice. When no one else would. If he asked, he is sure that Charles would admit his reasons are both altruistic and selfish. Sincerely, Erik knows, this man he had just met would miss him if he left.
Erik, returning just to see the same wide smile from the day they met. The same hope burning that Erik only wishes he could somehow share where he has none. Seeing the capabilities of a force in the hands of someone kind. Power and compassion. Erik doesn’t know what to make of it. He has never seen someone contain both.
Erik, traveling for the first time with a companion. Knowing the meaning of not being alone. For even with others there was a loneliness in his ultimate battle. He learns Charles’ habits. His favorite food. His (quite frankly bizarre) chess strategies.
Erik, searching for answers in the Soviet Union. Charles follows him when no one else would. He would follow Charles too, if given the chance. Charles is more powerful than he thinks.
Erik, training alongside a team of bright young mutants. Proud of what Charles has built. What they both have built. Charles, asking Erik to train with him.
Erik, remembering what he thought he had forgotten.
Erik, on the beach, praying that Charles will understand that there is no other way. Hoping Charles will forgive him.
Erik does not know how to name what he feels for Charles Xavier, but he knows that the Charles Xavier sitting above him is the very same man. Wiser, perhaps. But never broken.
This is no slip. No room for denial like Erik’s desperate message from the beach. This is real.
Because I want you by my side. Erik had thought. Because I need you with me, whether our people end in peace or flame. Because I love you.
Oh, Charles realizes. How did I miss this?
It is one thing for Erik to love him. It is a very different thing for Erik to be in love with him.
“Erik,” Charles breathes.
“It's alright, you don't need to say anything.”
Their foreheads are still pressed together. Charles can only surrender to the weight in his chest, leaning until his face buries into Erik’s shoulder. Erik smells of ocean air and metal, earthy and real. He has a cut on his jaw. He clings to Charles as though he, too, is falling.
“Thank you,” Charles says anyway, voice muffled and hoarse.
“You’ve saved me more times than I can count,” Erik replies, pressing his lips to Charles’ temple. “It’s the least I can do.”
Tomorrow, a war is coming. Charles expects a search of the beach and the surrounding area. American and Soviet armies ruthlessly trying to hunt them down. But for tonight, for now, they remain.