Chapter 2
Erik cannot help but grin at Charles' frustrated face. “What's that grump for?”
Charles widens his eyes momentarily at him then sighs and rubs his forehead. “I can't find anything on our new… intake. That new boy has a blanket over the five of them, sick or not, and there are zero records from the facility about who they are.”
“Maybe they don't have families to be contacted,” Erik reasons soberly.
“We get plenty of outcasts and orphans, Eric. These kids don't trust us enough to tell us who to contact. They're terrified.”
“Yes, well, you'll do your lefty liberal nonsense on them for a bit and they'll thaw to you and you can all play happy families,” Erik says in an underwhelming but genuine attempt to reassure the other man.
Charles blinks flatly and almost resents the smirk that creeps up his face. “You're a monster, Erik.”
“Yes. Your monster,” Erik agrees easily. “This is not news.”
Charles rolls his eyes. “I don't need you to be facetious. I need you to help me figure out how to help them.”
Erik puts a hand on the back of Charles' neck. “You have considered that they vocally don't want your help?”
“And I can hardly just let them fend for themselves with no identification or contacts or clean bills of health,” Charles grumbles softly.
“They're adults,” Erik points out.
“Abused, tortured, young mutant adults,” Charles amends.
“So you can understand their lack of trust,” Eric reasons.
Charles sighs. “Of course, but-”
Eric tugs the other man's ear. Charles looks up, startled. Eric suggests, “The sickest kid, with the hair? He's Scottish. I'll bet you a drink. Get your clever things searching for a Scottish lad born in the last… seventeen? Seven and twenty? years who had a reason to pick up a lot of German. Possibly military. The only one who's told us his name, Remiel, he's an army brat if ever I saw one.”
Charles processes. Nods. “How do you know he's Scottish?”
Eric grins mockingly. “Aw, Charles, is that kid's blanket reaching you all the way up here? You must hate that.”
“It doesn't, actually,” Charles grouches mildly. “I just didn't want to waltz into your head after… well, everything.”
Eric blinks and squeezes the other man's shoulder tightly. “You're always welcome, you fool.”
Charles gives him that soft smile that Eric does not know how to deal with.
“It's the accent,” Eric huffs. “Scots adapt to a German accent very naturally because of the way their language forms. Loch not lake and so on. You can tell a Scot from an Englishman a mile off.”
“He didn't sound Scottish to me,” Charles muses.
“He sounded well-travelled,” Eric pointed out. “Ergo, military.”
“What have I doing without your brain all these years?” Charles teases.
“Your hand, probably,” Eric quips.
Charles snorts, and it evolves into the sort of laughter which relieves some of the past few days' tension, but not all, because few things are that humorous. Eric stares at him. It was a throwaway joke, out of his mouth before he had even really thought about it, but its impact is striking.
Just for a moment, Charles looks at ease.
Then then moment is gone, and Charles' face is twisted again, full of pain and stress and trepidation.
“I always loved your laugh,” Eric says to the room. He pushes away and turns towards the door.
He pauses. He does not have the freedom to roam here.
Eric turns and steps towards the window, looking out and down and frowning. Charles stares at the broader man's tense back. Charles feels woefully inept.
Erik curls his head back a little, feeling the other mutant brush his mind.
'Hello,' Erik thinks. His inner voice is warmer than Charles expected from such tired posture.
Charles closes his eyes and realises he does not know what to think. Sometimes 'I love you I love you I love you,' reverberates within his skull as constant as Charles' pulse, but that's no good. They're grown men now and the chant does not change a thing.
Except Erik turns as though Charles' thoughts are terribly, tellingly loud. Charles breathes deeply, his fingers tightening on his chair.
“Charles,” Erik sighs. His voice is oddly sympathetic and Charles cannot help but frown with confusion as he looks up into the other mutant's face.
Erik's movements are strong and graceful. Charles feels a tug of something in his naval at the sight.
Erik grips Charles' shoulder and the touch feels warm all the way to the bald mutant's fuzzy head. Ridiculous that it is so hard to think. The sick teen downstairs must-
“Charles,” Erik repeats with odd gentleness.
Charles looks up. He's supposed to be saving Erik's character, but sometimes the bigger man seems like the only constant in a world that shifts like sand over cracked earth.
“I would not be here if it was not mutual,” Erik says slowly.
The days pass in irregular rotations of crisp, passionate moments and long, difficult silences. Charles is glad for the distraction the new intake create. He fears he might live in Erik's brain if not suitably grounded.
Erik's familiar touch on Charles' arms or neck feels like…
Stop it.
Erik gives Charles a look: handsome face pursed and puzzled as though he can see what Charles is thinking and does not quite believe it of him.
Charles looks away and tells the knuckles on his chair that he does not feel flustered. He wills something -anything- to appear as a diversion, and feels both relieved and disappointed when his wish is granted.
Hank looks pleased. “Come see this,” is all he says, then he turns and leads away from Charles' room.
Erik gives Charles a questioning look. 'May I?' The man's expression is mocking but the query sincere.
Charles jerks his head and follows Hank. Something feels warm in his chest as Erik walks alongside.
The five new mutants are housed in four rooms. Except… Two of them are missing. The Russian sisters have vacated their room.
Erik gives Beast a bemused look for the way the big man smiles.
Hank leads on to the room Erik and Charles have visited before. Voices drift just barely from the bedroom.
“They'll notice your absence. You should go,” grumbles a low voice.
Erik gives Charles a look as his lips spread into a smirk. Now that it's been pointed out, Charles can hear the Scot in the young mutant's accent.
One of the girls makes a disparaging noise, but audibly stands and steps away from the young man's bed. “Fine,” she mutters in heavily accented English. “We just wanted to know you were alive, Chief.”
“Don't call me that,” Chief warns quickly. He takes a deep breath. His next words sound like a guilty attempt at reassurance. “It takes a lot more than that to kill me, okay?”
“You should remember that your power is not healing,” the other sister says in a crisp voice.
“Likewise, so keep your heads down and stop drawing attention to yourselves,” Chief scolds.
The first young woman makes another sneering noise. “Remy's already fucked it. Told them his name.”
“Remy's not like us,” Chief says in a mild, reasonable voice.
“He's been hurt too; he shouldn't be so stupid!”
“Be kind,” Chief says sedately. “Now fuck off before you get yourselves noticed.”
“Anyone would think you haven't missed us,” a young woman sniffs.
“I'm very glad you're both alive, but I'm also exhausted and sore. Go away so I can sleep,” Chief responds bluntly.
There are footsteps, then the voices stop.
Erik steps towards the door, but Charles puts a restraining hand gently on the other man's arm.
“If you go in there now you'll put his back up,” Charles reasons.
Erik looks down at the fingers still on his sleeve. “He'll talk more if he's panicked.”
“Let them come around in their own time,” Charles says. He takes away his hand.
Erik can still feel the touch. “As you like, Charles,” he says.
Beast ushers them from Chief's door. “That's the first time any of them have used a power since they've gotten here, that I've witnessed.”
“They'd have to have visited Remiel to know he gave a name, no?” Erik says.
Beast shakes his head. “We dormed them together at first; we thought they would be more comfortable together in a strange place.”
“Then they started backbiting,” Eric supplies.
“Yes,” Beast agrees.
“You might be right yet, Charles,” Eric muses.
Charles looks up in confusion. “Hardly unusual. Why this time?”
“They don't trust us,” Erik says. “They don't want to be played against each other.”
“We've done nothing to suggest-”
“What's a very efficient way of getting a mutant to do what you want?” Erik says pointedly.
Charles presses his lips together. “Quite.”