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sirona_ficsTitle: I'll see your heart (and I'll raise you mine)
Pairing/characters: Charles/Erik, Erik/Alex BFFS, hints of Logan/Scott, Raven/Emma, Alex/Darwin, Janos/Azazel, ensemble cast.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~9,800 this part
For Warnings, Summary and Notes, please see [Part One].
Part Two
Charles Xavier proves harder to find than Erik expects, when they finally drive into Oxford proper. The receptionist at the lab promises to pass on a message if he comes back, and his quarters at Hertford College are quiet and still when Erik makes his way there. The porter is very polite, but very firm in his refusal to allow Erik to wait inside. Instead, he points Erik to a certain pub not too far away, hinting that he might find the Professor there.
Darkness is falling quickly, so Erik leaves Alex to sit on the College anyway, in case the Professor comes back before Erik can find him. It is a bit worrying that they don't know what he looks like, but both he and Alex agree that tweed will likely be involved, as well as a certain age group. Possibly thinning hair, Erik isn't sure. It would perhaps have been useful to ask the porter, but the fellow was already getting suspicious, so they chose the better part of valour.
Erik makes his way to the pub in question, slipping through the doors and into the welcome heat of a well-lit room. It smells -- not unpleasant, of brew and warm bodies, most of which are even showered. The crowd is younger than Erik expects, though, and most of them have the studious air of an underground dweller being let out into the light for a pint or three. The music is not quite loud enough to mask the buzzing of lively conversation. Erik finds himself relaxing for the first time since the night before.
He looks around, but spots no one that might fit the mental picture he's developed for this man Xavier. Still, it would be prudent to wait a while, in case he comes in. With that in mind, Erik orders a pint of lager and takes a seat at the end of the bar, turning back to take in the view.
Seeing people relaxed like this, settled into their environment, with people who know them for who they are and accept them as such, sends a sharp edge of longing through him. He shakes it off, an unnecessary distraction. He's happy where he is. He likes his job. He loves his mother, and feels lucky to have her by his side every day of his life. He has Alex. He doesn't need anyone like that, who would take the time to get to know him, who would look inside him and see him for who he is and want him regardless. It's fine, it's not something he wants, anyway.
Still, it doesn't hurt to unwind a little, allow himself to take a moment to breathe. He watches the students mingle, listens to snippets of near-incomprehensive speak that seems to make perfect sense to those discussing it, and lets his eye linger to appreciate the slope of a shoulder, the line of a throat, muscles bunching in arms as a pint is lifted to a finely-shaped mouth. Just because he can't afford the distraction doesn't mean he's blind, or doesn't appreciate beauty where he finds it.
A young man about his age pushes off from a small table, making his meandering way towards the bar. The blonde girl he left at the table is stunning, but he spares her nothing more than a fond glance. She laughs at his parting shot and turns her head back towards the room. It takes the man a while to reach the bar -- the room is busy, and he finds himself waylaid several times by women and men both. The sounds of conversation that reach Erik over the noise of the crowd showcase the man's abysmal flirting abilities and ridiculous pick-up lines, which, however amazingly, actually seem to work. A woman bats her eyelashes coyly at him, and another man lets his hand linger on the guy's arm, toned under his rolled-up shirtsleeve.
He makes his way to the bar at last, leaning on his elbow right next to where Erik is sitting.
"Pint of bitter, please, Dave," the man says, brushing his wavy hair back and letting his eyes drift over Erik for a long moment, from head to toe. Erik tries not to flush, but the interest in the man's gaze is all too obvious, and well, it's been a long time since someone who looked like this guy had looked at Erik like that. Erik lets his mouth curl up at one corner.
The man smiles back, lazy and sure, eyes half-lidded where they rest on Erik. There is something strangely compelling about him, as if Erik should know him, which makes no sense whatsoever, but it's a feeling Erik can't shake. It's ridiculous, the way a fine shudder goes through him when the man's gaze locks with his and his smile widens and turns positively filthy.
"Here you go, Prof," the barkeeper says, plopping a pint before the man and breaking their staring contest.
"A Professor, hm? You don't look like one at all," Erik drawls, taking in the man's youthful features and bright eyes.
"Thanks, I think," the man says with a smile. He offers Erik a hand. "Charles Xavier."
Erik almost falls off his stool. "You're Charles Xavier?" he croaks, has to pause to clear his throat.
Xavier's smile turns questioning, but he doesn't drop his hand, and Erik takes it out of sheer confusion. His palm is dry and warm, and feels like coming home.
"That I am," Xavier says, holding on a moment too long. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"Kriminalhaupkommissar Erik Lehnsherr," Erik responds automatically, before realising what an idiot he sounds like and shakes himself. "I'm sorry, Professor, forgive me. You are--not what I expected."
Xavier lets go at last and waves a hand. "Oh, no, please, do call me Charles. Were you looking for me specifically?"
"I was. I would like to speak with you, if you have the time."
"For a fellow mutant, I have all the time in the world," Charles responds with a sly smile, and Erik is so badly thrown off balance that he almost shrinks back. How could this man possibly know?
Charles is looking at him oddly. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong? I was merely referring to your lovely blue eyes. They are quite breathtaking."
He obviously means it to be light and flippant, but Erik doesn't miss how shrewdly Charles' own startlingly-blue eyes assess him. He brings a hand to his temple, massaging it with two fingers like he's nursing a bit of a headache -- and then his eyes widen and his mouth falls open. "Oh my god," he breathes.
Erik has never been so rattled in his entire life, and that includes finding out about his affinity for metal in the first place. He feels the wild urge to turn around and run as fast as his legs will carry him, but at the same time he feels frozen to the spot, held by Charles' endless cerulean gaze. He feels a slight sinking sensation in his head, and resolves to stay off the alcohol when he hasn't eaten much all day.
Charles drops his hand from his temple to his pint and downs half of it in one go. "Come with me," he directs briskly when he's done, slamming the more-than-half-empty glass back on the counter. He turns and pushes through the crowd, darting glances at Erik over his shoulder to make sure he follows. He shoulders his way to the table he’d been sitting at, catching the blonde girl's eye and holding what looks like a conversation with no more than a lift of their eyebrows and the wave of their heads. In the end, the girl huffs and gets up, fetching their coats. Erik follows again when Charles leads the way out of the pub.
"Erik, this is my sister, Raven," Charles says when they're away from the noise at last.
Raven looks Erik up and down; her eyebrows climb almost up to her hairline. "Hi," she drawls, a little challenging, a lot interested. Erik nods, still feeling shaken.
"We'll go up to our flat, shall we? It'll give us a safe space to talk," Charles declares, raising a questioning eyebrow Erik's way. It's not like Erik has a better idea.
They turn right and walk away from Hertford College -- and that's when Erik remembers he has something to pick up.
"Just one moment, please. I won't be long," he says, and jogs away towards the Bridge of Sighs. When he catches sight of Alex, he focuses and tugs on the metal zip in the sleeve of his leather jacket. Alex looks up, startled, and turns in Erik's direction. Erik crooks two fingers at him and Alex trots over, bemusement written all over his face when Erik nods towards the waiting siblings.
"That's Professor Xavier?" Alex asks, sounding remarkably like Erik had when the realisation had dawned.
"Evidently."
"Who's the chick?"
"His sister, Raven. Tread carefully, we need his help."
"Hey, no worries. I'd like to get to know her better, is all I'm saying."
"Alex," Erik says warningly, and Alex's leer fades until he looks nothing but professional.
"Fine, chill, Jesus. The Prof doesn't look half bad, either."
"Alex," Erik warns again, and is surprised to hear a distinctive growl in his voice this time round. Alex's eyebrows shoot up and he gives Erik a disbelieving look.
"Now you choose to get territorial about a guy? Now, Erik?"
Erik doesn't dignify that with an answer, but leads the way towards the Xaviers instead. They have their heads together, pretty much of a height, and seem to be conferring furiously. Their expressions smooth out into blank politeness when Erik and Alex near.
"Charles, Raven, my assistant, Alex Summers."
"Pleased to meet ya," Alex says, shaking hands quickly and sending Raven another interested look. She smiles at him. Alex flushes, and Erik fights not to laugh at the blown-away expression on his face.
"This way," Charles inserts, and leads off past a circular building with busts on top of the columns and into a wide square with another circular building in the middle. They pass a large cathedral-style church and come out onto one of the main streets, where they turn left. Less than five minutes later they nip into a narrow alleyway and Charles pulls out a set of keys, turning to a tucked-away door in the stone wall of the building. He unlocks it and leads the way inside, up several flights of stairs to the top floor, where he unlocks yet another door. The room they enter is wide and airy, even if the dark furnishings give it a closed-off look.
"Tea? Coffee? I think I have a packet of biscuits somewhere; Raven, where are the Custard Creams?"
Raven looks guilty. Charles doesn't look surprised.
"Dare I hope we have some HobNobs left?"
"Yeah, you know I don't like those," Raven says, wrinkling her nose.
"Small mercies," Charles mutters under his breath, flicking the electric kettle on.
"Coffee for me, please," Erik asks, and Alex echoes him.
Charles spoons coffee grounds into a French press and pours boiling water over them, and then does the same for a bright yellow teapot, only with tea leaves. He puts cups, sugar, milk, a packet of biscuits and the teapot and French press onto a metal tray and brings it all to the table. Erik tries not to stare at the muscles bunching in his forearms.
They let their drinks steep in silence while Charles stares at Erik and Alex with a fascinated look on his face.
"I owe you an apology, my friend," he tells Erik sheepishly. Erik frowns -- he's only just met the man, and he can't remember him doing anything that would make him sound so remorseful. "I don't normally do it, not without asking, but you were just so--" he stops, flushing a little and avoiding Erik's eyes. "It won't happen again, not without your permission, I promise you that."
"What won't?" Erik gives up and asks.
Charles watches him, blue eyes open, earnest and appealing, fingers massaging his temple again. "You're not the only one with secrets," he says -- except he doesn't. His lips don't move, but Erik hears him loud and clear, the words arriving in his mind without the assistance of his ears. At his side, Alex flinches; a glance his way shows him frowning as deeply as Erik.
Then Alex's face clears abruptly, as it starts making sense to both of them. "Awesome, you're one of us," Alex breathes.
Erik is reeling, the new revelation just one too many in the past 24 hours. "I thought I was the only one," he whispers.
The look on Charles' face is an indescribable mixture of sadness, regret, compassion, affection. "Oh, my friend," he says, and Erik feels his words and voice and thoughts like a balm soothing his jumbled mind. "You're not alone."
As if as an afterthought, Raven stands up and takes a step back from the table. Her smile is part kind and part mischievous as she looks at the two of them and--shimmers, it looks like. In her place stands Erik, a perfect rendering down to the three inches in height he has over the siblings and the small scar on the patch of skin over his upper lip, a farewell present from his Army days.
Erik knows gaping isn't dignified. It doesn't stop him from doing so, even as Raven shimmers again and her skin transforms to a gorgeous deep blue that Erik can't look away from.
"Holy shit," Alex chokes at his side. For the first time, Raven looks apprehensive; it's quickly dispelled by the way Alex starts laughing, full-out, incredulous and joyous before he leaps off his chair and rushes over to Raven, looking at her in amazement. "That was fucking amazing," he says, still blinking at her yellow eyes.
"I concur. That was quite something," Erik says, looking from brother to sister and back.
"We are all of us unique and incredible in our own ways," Charles says, slipping into what must be his lecturing voice. It's still tinged with wonder, though, as Erik proceeds to pour coffee for both himself and Alex -- without using his hands. Raven laughs in delight, clapping her hands.
“I’d show off, too, but I’m guessing by the looks of it you like this flat,” Alex says as the two of them retake their seats. Erik is the only one who’s known him long enough to hear the apprehension underneath his words; Raven and Charles merely look intrigued.
They drink in silence for a moment, sharing curious, conspiratorial glances. Charles sets his cup down after he's drained it and looks squarely at Erik.
"Now then. How can I assist you?"
Erik lifts the briefcase he's been keeping a tight hold onto all night and snaps its locks open. "Before I show you, I think a little background is in order. I was pointed in your direction by my mother, Edie Lehnsherr; she thought you could help me--us. Alex and I are detectives with the Kriminalpolizei Homicide division in Berlin. Thirty-nine hours ago a young geneticist by the name of Hanna Rilke was murdered, shot dead--" he stops at the look of shock on Charles' face.
"Hanna is dead?" Charles mutters, clearly distraught. Erik wants to hit himself for not anticipating that Charles would have known her, especially since she had indirectly pointed them towards Xavier herself.
"Yes, I'm sorry. There's something I need to show you -- it will probably be distressing, but I think you need to see it." He withdraws the enlarged photographs of Rilke's stomach and arm and places them one by one onto the table.
Raven makes a wounded sound when she sees the cuts covering the bare skin, and claps her hands over her mouth. Charles' lips thin and a small frown appears between his eyebrows, but he leans in to look closer.
"We believe she was trying to get a message to you in particular, Charles." Erik points out the large XCFBP1 sequence on the back of the woman's forearm, then shares a look with Alex. " Frau Rilke was murdered using extreme fire power, and her research was destroyed or stolen, depending on its nature. We're trying to find out what she must have been working on, so we can track her killers. Also, last night both Alex and I were attacked, likely by the same people that came after her. We suspect the organisation behind both hits is after people like us -- mutants, I think you call them. So we need to know – was Frau Rilke a mutant? Or was she simply working on a project connected with mutants?"
For the first time since he started speaking he takes in the look on Charles' face. Charles is running his eyes over both him and Alex, looking for injuries; he relaxes imperceptibly when he finds none, and looks back down at the pictures.
"Hanna was one of us," he confirms quietly, subdued. "She had magnified eyesight -- when she focused, she could see things down to their submolecular composition. She was working on isolating the mutant gene with me, and it looks like she made the leap just before she was murdered. Those letters," he indicates the sequence carved in Rilke's arm, "signify the nomenclature and the family a particular gene is a member of, as well as its location. She used my initials for the designation, see – XCF, for Charles Frances Xavier. I would assume that this is the key to unlocking the mutant genome."
"So as soon as she figured this out, she was murdered. How did they find out?" Alex wonders out loud.
"They must have been monitoring her," Erik muses. "I've known scientists who get so absorbed they forget to eat and drink, let alone be aware of their surroundings beyond their research."
Charles smiles sheepishly. "I'm afraid you're quite right, Detective."
Erik feels a surge of fondness at the way Charles looks, lost and sad but determined. The urge to lean over the table and press a reassuring kiss to his temple is shockingly strong; Erik tries to put it out of his mind immediately.
Charles sighs tiredly, but squares his shoulders. "What do you need from me?"
"First of all, a list of people who were aware what you were working on, and with whom you communicated. It would be very helpful if you could tell us of the people who knew of Frau Rilke's research and its connection to your own. Also, I'm sorry to say that if there is a connection, whoever knows about Frau Rilke's work knows of your involvement, too. It may not be safe for you here, not until we find the ones responsible and apprehend them."
"You want me to leave the city?" Charles asks, startled.
"Yes, I'm afraid it's probably prudent, to keep you and your sister safe. If I found my way to you, they might, too."
Charles shares a look with Raven. She looks more angry than frightened, and there's a militant glint in her eyes that should teach anyone who tries to underestimate her the error of their ways.
"Charles, you must listen to them. If you're in danger, we have to leave. Maybe even go back to the mansion," she says tentatively.
Charles makes a face, but nods. He shoots Erik a quick look from under his eyelashes. >>Is she in danger?<< he speaks directly in Erik's mind.
>>Anyone who is associated with you may be in danger, especially if they suspect whoever it is knows about your research. As your sister, Raven will certainly be one of the targets,<< Erik thinks at him. He can feel a low-level wave of distress coming off Charles, but he won't mince his words if they're the difference between danger and safety.
"Very well," Charles agrees, "but we expect our colleagues from New York to arrive tomorrow evening. We must wait for them, they might well be able to help."
Raven shrugs, but doesn't argue. "They might," she confirms when Erik switches his gaze to her.
"All right. But pack your bags, and let's move to wait for them in London. We'll take up a couple of rooms in a random hotel, and it'll be safer in the midst of a crowd."
Charles shrugs, and Raven nods. The two of them push away from the table and go in opposite directions to pack, while Erik and Alex finish their coffee and Erik floats the tray to the counter by the small sink. They don't have to wait long -- within a quarter of an hour both brother and sister reappear with their luggage. The bags are bigger than Erik had expected, and he nods approvingly, seeing that both take the threat seriously. Alex reaches to take Raven's case for her, but she raises a mocking eyebrow and picks it up like it weighs nothing. Charles smirks at the surprised look on Alex's face, and Erik gathers that Raven is quite a bit stronger than she looks.
Erik leaves them to wait in the vestibule while he fetches the car -- or tries to; Charles insists on coming with him, arguing that he knows the twisting streets around here like the back of his hand. Since Erik and Alex had almost got themselves lost trying to find Hertford College alone, Erik agrees. Alex, however, will be staying put.
"Look, I know you're strong and you can change into whomever you need to, but Alex has the kind of instincts that take years to develop. He might be young, but he's a good police officer," Erik tells Raven when she tries to argue. "And besides, the two of us out for a stroll is much less conspicuous than the four of us plus your bags, I don't care what Charles can make them think. You can't be too careful right now."
Alex fairly glows under Erik's praise, while Raven scowls but hangs back.
"Be right back," Charles says jovially, like he's going for a pleasant walk, not preparing to flee the city. Erik is in half a mind to take him to task over it before Charles flashes him another warning look.
>>I don't want to worry her needlessly,<< he projects while they walk away.
"She needs to be worried. It might save her life," Erik tells him when they're out of hearing distance. "Think less like a big brother and more like the brother of a powerful mutant."
"It's not that I don't trust her to watch our backs," Charles bristles. "I know she can. I just wish she didn't have to."
"This situation isn't of your choosing. You can't do anything about it but help us take care of it," Erik says kindly. "And you can help. Focus on that."
Charles stays quiet for a moment while their legs cover the ground quickly in the chilly evening air. "You're very good at this," he admits after a moment.
Erik shrugs. "I've had to learn to be."
"I suppose you never had much use for your empathy in the army."
Erik stills. After a second, Charles freezes, too, and turns to him with wide eyes.
"How much did you read, exactly, when you rummaged inside my head?" Erik says ominously.
"Er. Quite a bit, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't know."
Erik seethes for a few moments, lengthening his strides. They're almost at the side street where he and Alex stashed their car when he speaks again. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stay out of my head from now on, unless it's to communicate."
"I promise," Charles says, looking subdued and guilty from the way his shoulders have slumped.
Erik is still burning with anger, yet he is very much aware that it's more to do with Charles invading his privacy than having Charles in his mind at all, which is what he should be wary of, all things considered. It's… mildly worrying, that he trusts this man so much already, within hours of meeting him. It's damned unnatural. He resolves to be more on his guard from now on.
He unlocks the door as soon as they reach the car, and folds himself into the driver's seat. Charles climbs in next to him as Erik spares a moment to check the car over, from engine to underside, before he slips the key in and starts it.
"So since you were in there, did you see the research facility I destroyed?" he asks while he eases out into the empty street.
Charles looks startled, then thoughtful. "I didn't go into much detail. I know you caused an explosion of some kind, and there were a lot of-- um. Dead, but I didn't get the details."
"It was a base I found when my squad and I were sent to South America. They had mutants there, Charles. They were 'studying' them, but by the amount of instruments involved I don't think it was test results they were after."
Charles looks pale in the streetlight streaming through the side window. "Oh," is all he says, pressing his lips together.
"I took the base out, as you saw. But it can't have been the only one. Knowing what I do now, I wouldn't be surprised if the attack team was part of another such facility somewhere, hellbent on appropriating Frau Rilke's research for their use."
"We'll find them," Charles says immediately, conviction steeling his voice. "Erik, we'll find them, and we'll get our people out of there, I promise you."
Erik had had no idea he'd needed to hear those words so badly until Charles says them. Erik wouldn't put it past Charles to have known to make the point, but he's not complaining right now.
"Turn right here, then take the next left," Charles directs him through the maze. Erik complies, and in a few moments they're pulling up outside the door to the Xaviers' flat that Erik unlocks with a flick of his fingers. Alex looks out, spots them, then disappears back inside. Then he and Raven walk out, carrying both hers and Charles' cases. Erik pops the trunk and they load the bags inside, then climb into the car.
Half an hour later they're speeding away on the M40 down to London, and hopefully safety.
---
Erik wakes up early, more out of habit than necessity. He spares a look for Alex on his way to the bathroom, sprawled out on his stomach and dead to the world. Erik lets him sleep -- no need for all of them to be stepping on each other's toes wondering what to do all day. He changes out of his sleeping pants into his usual uniform -- tailored slacks and a turtleneck. They make him feel protected, put a layer between himself and the world, let him face what is to come with at least equanimity behind his armour.
He walks downstairs to the breakfast room to find a still-sleepy Charles sitting at one of the small round tables, reading a thick leather-bound journal and holding his mug of tea to his face, propped on his cheek. For all he looks immaculately put together, there's a ruffled quality to him -- it could be the way his hair is ever so slightly out of place, like he's been running his hand through it, or it could be the skin under his eyes, thin and faintly bruised. He doesn't look like he's had a restful night. Erik wonders what Charles spent it fretting about -- Hanna Rilke's death, or the imminent danger, or having to rely on two people he's never met before to keep him and his sister out of harm's way. Erik bets it grates, with Charles' undisputed level of power. A telepath can't do a damned thing about the barrel of a gun, though, or the spark of trigger touching bullet.
"Erik! Good morning! The coffee on the side table is still hot."
"Thanks," Erik murmurs, taking in the genuine amiability lighting Charles' face. Perhaps not so much that last one, then.
He helps himself, then piles a plate high with scrambled eggs and bacon, a few slices of toast and a pack or two of butter, and brings everything to the table. He has no idea what the day will bring; might as well be fed when the shit hits the fan.
Charles eyes the plate with a distinctly covetous gaze. Erik feels a smirk curl his lips. He's been around a few academics in his time, and he bets Charles clean forgot about food as soon as he had his tea.
"What's on the agenda for today, then?" Charles asks as Erik forks some eggs onto a piece of toast and bites into it with every sign of enjoyment.
"Keep a low profile. That's about it," Erik answers when he's done chewing. Charles hums, sipping his probably-cold tea.
"You want to go for a walk? Visit a museum, maybe?"
Erik barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Of course. Although, now that Charles has mentioned it, the proposition is surprisingly attractive, and it'll keep them in plain sight of a crowd of people. Not even those mercenaries would open fire on a closed space with so many potential variables, not to mention security guards.
"The National Gallery?"
"Sounds great," Charles says, perking up. "It's been--actually, it's been years since I've last been, how did that happen?" He sounds amused and faintly bewildered.
Charles is eyeing his toast again. Erik sighs, put-upon, and butters a slice, handing it over. Charles takes it with a surprised look, like no one has ever done anything like that for him before.
"You're putting me off my breakfast with all the staring," Erik says defensively. Charles smiles brilliantly, a barely-there pink tinge to his cheeks, but humours him and says nothing. He crunches his toast happily, stealing a piece of Erik's bacon to go with it and ignoring Erik's glower. Erik considers the possibility that his action may have just declared open season on his plate. He shrugs. There's always more where that came from, and Charles needs to eat. He can't subsist on tea alone, much as he probably believes he could.
They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Raven stumbles into the room, bleary-eyed despite the fact that she could smooth the evidence away with no more than a thought.
"Coffee," she groans, making a beeline for the pot. Charles lifts his nose out of his journal with a fond "Morning to you, too."
"Shut up, Charles, just because you don't feel the need to sleep," Raven grumbles.
Charles looks vaguely uncomfortable, a haunted expression taking over his face for a fraction of a second before it's gone again like it's never been. Erik narrows his eyes at him. If there's something going on, he needs to know about it to be able to keep them safe. He makes a mental note to get it out of Charles as soon as they find themselves alone.
Alex follows Raven fifteen minutes later, looking irritatingly rested, if still a little sleepy. Erik briefs them on their plan for the day, magnanimously ignoring all the resultant moaning. "It makes for a good cover," is all he says. "Bring a book, or your iPod, or whatever you need to occupy yourselves."
Their hotel is a bus-ride away from Trafalgar Square, and for the first time Erik wonders whether Charles planned it that way. Charles makes no indication of anything of the sort, and they troop inside the Gallery just after ten a.m. The halls are already filling, so they decide to split and meet up at the Cafe at one p.m. for lunch. Erik sends Alex with Raven to wherever the two of them decide to go, giving him a meaningful look that says 'Keep your guard up or else'. Alex nods soberly.
Erik lets Charles drag him around; he'd be blind not to notice how much Charles is enjoying himself, how eagerly he moves from painting to painting, finding old favourites and delighting in discovering them again. Blind Erik isn't. Charles' face is alive with animation, blue eyes wide and dancing, lips tugged into a perpetual half-smile. Erik can't help but be swept up by Charles' enthusiasm, even if he finds watching Charles' face much more entertaining than a few specks of paint on the wall. He keeps his focus half on what Charles is telling him and half on the surroundings, cataloguing every larger piece of metal he comes across. Before long he knows the position of every steel bolt in the walls, every defensive mechanism. He amuses himself with planning how he's going to steal that Rossetti Charles is admiring vociferously at his side. It would be laughably easy for someone with his abilities.
An hour later he leaves Charles in a spirited discussion with a curator over a Monet painting, and walks to the other side of the large room to peruse Tiger in a Tropical Storm (Surprised!), allowing himself a huff of amusement at the title. He feels a little like that tiger, always cautious, his environment shifting, the jungle where he spends his days suddenly drenched by rain and unfamiliar, having to make his way through it when every shadow could be a hunter intent on collecting his pelt. The surprise on the tiger's face feels strangely familiar, a visual representation of the way Charles has him surprised, off-balance, checking himself.
"Figures that's where you'd gravitate," Charles says at his shoulder. Erik doesn't jump -- he'd followed the progress of Charles' metal watch all the way across the room as Charles made his way over. He shrugs.
"I sympathise, is all."
Charles hums, but doesn't push for more, even though Erik knows Charles could lift it right out of his mind if he wanted.
"I promised I wouldn't," Charles murmurs, and Erik turns, startled. Charles sighs. "I wasn't poking around. You're just thinking very loudly. I can't help it; I can't tune out noises that strong."
"Huh," Erik says, adding that to his mental 'What is Charles up to' sheet. "It’s fine. I can't blame you for who you are."
Charles looks surprised at that, like it's more than he expected. Erik shrugs again. It would be like asking him not to know that there is a four-inch steel gate ready to cut the painting in front of him off from the room if a threat is spotted.
"So you want to tell me about last night?" Erik asks, disinclined to pander to Charles’ sensibilities. Charles opens his mouth, and Erik doesn't have to be a telepath to know that he's going to try and deny anything and everything. Erik lifts an eyebrow.
Charles deflates, pressing his plush lips together and throwing him an irritated look. Instead of annoyance, Erik feels nothing but amusement for Charles' antics.
"I was scanning the city for hostile minds, if you must know," Charles admits ungraciously.
Erik is, yet again, taken aback. He should really stop underestimating this man.
"You can do that? The whole of London?"
"Well, not all of it, that would probably drive me insane. Just the fifteen mile radius around the hotel."
"Oh, just the fifteen miles, eh?" Erik teases, a strange feeling curling inside him. It feels an awful lot like affection, and like relief – that he doesn't have to do it alone anymore. There's someone besides Alex watching his back, someone who can actually give him the heads-up before the bullets start flying.
"I could go to thirty if we need to," Charles says earnestly. Something in Erik turns over.
"Charles. You don't have to. I've got you, both you and Raven. I won't let anything happen to you if I can help it," he says. It sounds suspiciously like a pledge of allegiance or something equally stupid.
Charles gifts him one of his startlingly bright smiles again, and Erik feels his heart start to beat faster. "I want to, though. You can't do it all by yourself. I can help."
"I know you can. And I appreciate it. But don't kill yourself while you're at it, okay?"
"I won't," Charles promises. "Besides, I have you to make sure I eat, right?"
"Right," Erik says, bemused. He has no idea how the conversation got to this minefield of a subject.
Charles just grins at him again, looking boyish and not a day over twenty. Certainly not like an Oxford-educated genetics professor that could mindfuck everyone in the city if he put his mind to it.
Erik is still reeling when they reconvene with the other two for lunch. Raven looks terminally bored, and Alex isn't looking much livelier.
"I enjoy art as much as the next not-obsessed person, but three hours, Charles?" Raven complains.
Charles shrugs sheepishly. Erik would bet his lunch he'd barely noticed the time passing. "We could do something else this afternoon?" Charles offers in supplication.
"When are your friends arriving?" Erik wants to know.
"Their flight arrives at half-four. They should be in the hotel by six at the latest."
"Right. Another four hours to kill, then."
Alex and Raven groan in unison.
---
They don't actually stay out for that long. When they finish lunch, they spend over an hour holed up in the huge Virgin Music shop next door to the Gallery, and all of them manage to find something to spend their money on, even Erik. (He likes EUROPE, okay? It's -- energetic. He can spar to it.) Then Erik herds the three of them back onto the bus, and they troop into the hotel a little worse for wear, but pleasantly exhausted.
Since Charles and Raven's room is bigger, they decide to hold the meeting there. Raven flops over the bed with a deeply satisfied groan, while Alex throws himself on one of the armchairs in the corner of the room and stretches out his tired legs. Charles and Erik elect to sit at the small table on the other side of the room, spreading their papers out over the narrow surface. Charles is back to perusing his journal, while Erik opens Hanna Rilke's file and starts looking for a connection again, any connection that can bring him closer to the organisation that is after them. The information inside is frustratingly unhelpful -- he and Alex have managed to gather more in the past day than the entire police department had before they fled the city.
Charles leaves him to it, and a few minutes later the room is full of silence, the shuffling of pages and Raven and Alex's soft exhales the only background noise. Erik lets them doze -- they will need to be on their guard soon enough. Time stretches, slow and languid, and Erik finds his attention drifting away from his file and onto his companion. Charles looks focused, as if the fact that he'll be interrupted shortly is no excuse not to get some work done. But then he shifts a little in his chair and covers a yawn with the back of his hand, and Erik realises he isn't half as focused as he's pretending to be. Charles rubs at his eyes, dark circles still prominent underneath, a testament to his nightly vigil. The thought warms Erik just like before, the way Charles obviously spreads himself too thin, taking on more than he needs to, more than he should. Charles props an elbow on top of the table and rests his cheek on his hand, long eyelashes fluttering closed, a sigh carrying to Erik's ears. Charles is clearly no better off than the younger crew, but much more stubborn than them.
"You should rest, too," Erik says quietly. Charles starts, blue eyes lifting to Erik's.
"Oh, no, I'm all right. Besides, Sebastian and Emma should arrive within the hour, and it would be much worse if I were to sleep now and be groggy later."
Erik shrugs. That's what he'd do in the circumstances, so he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on.
"No surveying tonight, however," he warns instead. We need you fresh tomorrow."
"Yes, all right," Charles agrees, far too readily. He must be more exhausted than Erik imagined.
A half hour passes, then forty-five minutes, before there is a knock on the door. Charles sits up, focusing for a moment, before his face breaks out in a relieved smile.
"It's them," he tells Erik. Erik nods and rouses Raven and Alex, both looking instantly alert.
The door opens, and Erik hears Charles' welcome before it closes again and Erik turns to meet their visitors.
His vision swims and his legs feel shaky when he sets eyes on the man, about the same height as him, his haircut somewhat old-fashioned, his suit impeccable. It doesn't detract from Erik's memory of that face, hazy through the smoke, blasting his sergeant back as if he were made of straw.
"What the fuck?" Erik croaks, immediately calling everything metal that could constitute a weapon to him. "Those are your friends? You work with them?" he demands furiously. Charles just looks at him like he's gone insane, and Erik shoves his memory of when he last saw the man so forcefully at Charles that he sees him wince and lift his hand to his head.
"Oh dear," Sebastian says, eyeing Erik consideringly. "It appears I missed one. How... unfortunate. Emma," he says, and Erik's head explodes with pain. He screams, metal raining around him as he falls to the ground, clutching at his temples as if it would help.
"What are you doing?!" Charles yells, bringing two fingers to his temple only to clench his teeth in frustration and stare at Sebastian's companion, who is standing back and regarding the mayhem coolly. "Emma! Stop it!"
"So sorry, Charles," Emma says, not unkindly from what Erik can determine through the agony that is his brain. "It is necessary."
"But--but--I work with you," Charles splutters, looking at the both of them in horror. "I give you information about other mutants! You said you were helping them!"
"And we are," Sebastian says, like he's speaking to a small child. "We help them reach their potential."
"By torturing them?"
Erik thinks he's the only one that sees Emma's head snap to Sebastian, eyes wide with shock and face paling. Sebastian shoots her a sharp look and waves a hand. "You know that's not what we do anymore," he says to her, dismissive. "But sometimes it's the only way."
“Did you have something to do with Hanna’s murder?” Charles demands, looking distraught.
Sebastian sends him such a condescending look that Erik’s rage redoubles. “Her death was really all your fault, Charles, I hope you realise. You should not have withheld information from me about her abilities and the nature of her research; Rilke could have been a useful addition to my team – she got so much farther than the people I have working on the project before it became necessary to remove her. What a waste of such a fine brain.”
Charles’ face twists, part-furious and part-devastated. “You fucking bastard,” he snaps, mouth twisted in repugnance.
Behind Sebastian something darts towards them, and Erik has a split second to feel smug about how easy this takedown is going to be before Alex is blasted back into the wall, landing with a sickening crunch. It's like he ran into some kind of force field. Sebastian smirks, shaking his head. "Young people today," he says despairingly.
Erik keeps a careful eye on Emma, who seems to be struggling with something. Charles, meanwhile, has those fingers of his to his temple, lips thinning in concentration as he glares at Sebastian. Emma's eyes narrow with what looks like effort. Dimly, Erik realises Charles is trying to fight his way through Sebastian's defences, and failing. Emma must be putting up some kind of shield.
Raven chooses that moment to launch herself onto Emma’s back, body shifting into her natural blue, sharp, vicious nails extended and aimed at Emma's throat. Before his eyes Emma shimmers, and where woman stood a second ago there is now only sparkling light, reflecting off a body of pure diamond. The pain in Erik's head redoubles, and he's distantly aware that he's retching onto the floor, desperately trying to keep his brain from leaking out of his ears.
"No," he hears Charles scream, and watches Emma close her hands around Raven's throat, sees those unyielding fingers tighten and Raven start to choke.
"Now, are you going to be reasonable?" Sebastian asks, insufferably smug and condescending.
Erik stretches a hand.
Behind Emma, the metal bedframe comes to life, ribbons of wrought iron lashing through the air to wrap themselves around Emma's diamond throat. Screaming from the pain, Erik squeezes his fist. The iron tightens. Emma's fine neck starts to splinter, a spiderweb of cracks spreading over her diamond skin. She doesn't even try to fight it -- she shifts back immediately, looking furious, Raven falling from her chokehold and starting to cough like she's trying to spit out a lung. Charles' eyes narrow, and Erik sees Emma stagger back. The pain in his head falters, then disappears.
And then he stops breathing, because he physically senses it when Sebastian pulls out a gun, and trains it squarely on Charles' head.
"Charles," Erik yells, panicked and frantic as he feels Sebastian’s finger curl around the trigger. Erik is still on the floor, Alex is out of commission, arm twisted unnaturally underneath him, and Raven can only watch with horrified eyes as Charles turns, and focuses on Sebastian that fraction of a second too late. Erik can't move, can't get up, can't throw himself in front of Charles like he wants to, because the bullet is out of the chamber already, and even if Charles has frozen Sebastian into immobility, that bullet is still flying through the air.
Time slows down. Erik feels his focus expanding, taking over the room, narrowing down on the bullet destined to fracture Charles' incredible, beautiful, astonishing mind and take him from Erik.
This cannot happen.
It will not happen.
Erik 's hand clenches.
The bullet ricochets, like it's met with an invisible barrier -- which, to all intents and purposes, it has. It flies straight back, burrows its way through skin and bone and brain matter until it skewers through Sebastian's head and buries itself in the wall behind him.
Charles and Emma scream in the same breath, and fold to the floor like puppets without strings.
Erik's heart stops in his chest.
He doesn't know how he gets there, only that one second he's frozen with gut-wrenching terror and the next he's kneeling next to Charles, pressing two fingers to his neck, holding his breath and praying to any divine being out there that would listen that he hasn't just killed Charles with his ignorance. Charles was in Sebastian's head when the bullet he'd deflected bore through his brain, and Erik hasn't the faintest idea how Charles' telepathy works, and Erik's just killed a man while he and Charles were connected, and he's never been so afraid in his life.
He's never been so knee-shakingly relieved, either, when he feels Charles' pulse flutter under his fingertips, fast but steady. Charles opens his (blue, so blue) eyes, staring dazedly at the ceiling for a moment before he lifts his head and fixes them on Erik. Erik looks back helplessly, heart still in his throat. He expects anything from recrimination to disappointment to fury, but what he gets instead blindsides him and dazzles him and awes him and makes him fall a little bit in love.
"I know where the research centre is," Charles says, before letting his head fall back down, a determined look on his face.
---
The research centre, it transpires, is in America. Charles of course knows the exact co-ordinates, but he's keeping them close to his chest until they've packed all their stuff and disposed of Sebastian Shaw's body. Emma, still shell-shocked, follows them without a word. The one time Erik had questioned her motivations, the blast of fearpainterrordespair, coupled with images of her younger self in a cell, strapped naked to a table with electrodes attached everywhere and a man in a medical coat leaning over with a lit blowtorch in his hand, puts paid to any and all of Erik's possible objections. From that moment on, for him Emma is a part of their group, hell-bent on revenge, the only way she can reconcile working for the very maniac who had condoned her torture and then had the nerve to let her believe he'd rescued her from the facility.
It's barely seven p.m., still early enough to catch a flight out if they leave now. Erik and Alex wrap Shaw's body in black bin bags while Raven and Emma pack everyone's luggage hurriedly and follow them out of the door. Charles leads the way, two fingers to his temple, lips pressed together. Erik wonders how long it's been since he last slept properly, and makes a mental note to insist Charles naps on the plane, no matter what it takes.
No one looks at them twice as they load the body into the trunk of the car, and Erik fashions a luggage rack out of the car roof where they load all their bags, securing them with thin metal straps. They pile inside, Charles, Raven and Emma squeezing together in the back while Alex takes shotgun with his arm strapped tightly to his chest, to minimise the jolting to what had been a nasty dislocated shoulder. Erik takes the wheel again, and drives quickly and silently to a stretch of land outside London, on their way to Gatwick. There they unload Shaw's body and unstrap Alex's arm for long enough to burn it into its component molecules.
"Plasma blast," Alex explains while Erik, Raven and Emma stomp down on the errant flames erupting all over the now-charred ground, and Charles stares at Alex in fascination. When he sways, Charles catches him gently and helps him to the car, pours him into the front seat. There's fine sweat beading all over Alex’s face and neck while Charles straps the arm back down, and Erik resolves to keep him out of whatever fighting they will have to do at the research facility. Alex is going to hate him for it, but he's not getting himself killed on Erik's watch.
The rest of the trip to the airport is as sedate as possible under the circumstances. Alex dozes a little, and Erik notices Charles doing the same in the rear view mirror. The motorway lights paints half-circles over his tired features; Erik has to force himself to watch the road. The girls, on the other hand, have their heads close together and are whispering furiously. Erik would bet his dinner that the rest of them are going to be presented with a plan of action as soon as they land in the States. He’s surprised and not a little curious about their instant camaraderie, considering that just a short while ago they had been trying to kill one another – but if Emma had shown Raven what she had shown him, he doesn’t think Raven would have been better equipped to handle the instant wave of empathy the thoughts had evoked than Erik had been himself. And of course, with Charles for a brother, and being who she is, Raven would be more inclined than most to understand, to forgive -- or so Erik imagines.
Which really brings him to the next impossible task -- he does not have an American visa. He knows that German citizens can travel to the States on some kind of visa waiver programme from a case he and Alex worked last year, but he also knows that to do so he must have some kind of authorisation letter, which he does not. He tries not to think too hard about that. They have two telepaths on their team; somehow he doesn't think convincing the authorities is going to be a problem, but it's yet another thing to task Charles with.
He parks the car in a long-term parking slot, fixes the roof as an afterthought when all the bags are down and tosses the keys in the passenger seat. The five of them troop inside the terminal, weary and staying close to each other. Charles visibly makes an effort to shake his exhaustion, squares his shoulders.
"I'm going to get our tickets on my card," he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking up. "Let me have all your passports."
"I can get mine and Alex's," Erik argues, because he doesn't need Charles to pay for him like he can't take care of his own.
"I'm sure you can, but I think you'll agree we're going to need running cash when we get there. So keep your money for then, yes?"
Erik shrugs. Fair enough. The others hand their passports over, and it's here, the moment Erik has been dreading. Alex got his American citizenship when he lived with his Aunt, and Emma, Raven and Charles are all technically American, except Charles, who has dual citizenship. Which leaves Erik, who really has no legal way of entering the States.
"Charles, a word?" he asks, nodding to the side. The others make vague motions to indicate they're going to get coffee while they wait, so Alex can sit down before he falls down.
Charles sighs. "Look, Erik, honestly, I know you can pay me back--"
"It's not about the money," Erik interrupts, watching him gravely. He grits his teeth and just says it -- "I don't have a US visa. I'm a German citizen. We need some sort of authorisation to travel to the States."
Charles' brows, which had knitted as he was listening, straighten. "Oh. Well. Thanks for letting me know. I'm sure it won't be a problem."
"Are you going to mind-bend them?"
"Mind-bend? Erik, what on earth--no, I'm just going to... place a suggestion, so to speak. It'll be fine, no one will look at you twice." He smiles tiredly. Erik hates that he's placing an even bigger strain on him.
"Don't be silly, Erik. It's not a problem. You were thinking very loud again," he explains when Erik frowns at him. There's a faint smile floating on his lips that makes Erik feel too hot all of a sudden.
Charles sends him another reassuring look before walking away, headed for the British Airways ticket desk. Erik considers going with him, but he reasons that the less people there are around the easier it would be for Charles to do his thing. Instead, he goes upstairs to the Starbucks where the others have taken refuge and gets a coffee for himself and the biggest cup of tea they have for Charles. It looks more like a bucket. Charles will love it. While he waits for the sleepy barista to sort himself out and make their drinks, his mind worries over the next predicament -- Charles' skills or not, they are leaving a paper trail. It's all right for the Americans, he supposes -- they are simply flying home. It's a German with no legal record that he's worried about. And what if those shadowy figures trace them and attack them again before they can prepare themselves? Anyone can hack into an airline's flight manifest these days. No, it would be best if it were to simply disappear, but how to do that without rousing suspicion?
He ponders this as he sips his coffee and keeps an eye on the escalator for Charles, even though he's probably still chatting to the sales assistant, raising those fingers to his temple and smoothing away their questions. Erik can almost see it in his mind, Charles leaning casually on the counter and smiling charmingly. Although maybe not, because here is Charles now, bracing his forearm on the side of the escalator and trying not to look as exhausted as he undoubtedly feels. He slumps into the seat across from Erik when he reaches them, taking the proffered bucket of tea with a grateful look.
"All sorted," he says after he's taken a long sip of the still-steaming liquid. "Flight's in an hour, so we should probably go check in our bags and find our gate."
It's only Charles and Raven's bags that are too big to qualify as hand luggage, so check-in takes all of ten minutes. The walk to the gate itself is exhausting; the airport is huge, even if no one has the energy to do more than dip into WH Smith’s and grab some papers and magazines to occupy their time – and even a book or two ("I can't spend the next eight hours doing nothing, Erik, I'd go mad"), and they make it in time for the start of boarding. The whole thing is surprisingly fast, but that's probably due to the lateness of the hour, even if the flight is almost full.
The flight attendant fusses over Alex, making sure he's comfortable and getting him a pillow to brace his arm. Raven and Emma sit next to him, Raven shrinking her frame unobtrusively so Alex would have more space without them bumping elbows and jarring his arm. Charles and Erik take their seats in the row behind them, Erik in the aisle seat because he feels trapped when he's crammed with two people between him and the escape route, and Charles taking the seat in the middle, leaving a twenty-something strawberry-blonde girl in the window seat on Charles' other side.
Actual take-off takes forever, and Erik can feel Charles drooping, desperately trying to stay awake for whatever reason.
>>It's all right to sleep, you know,<< Erik thinks wryly at him. Charles' head lifts and he sends Erik a sheepish look. >>You're exhausted, and we're as safe as we can get. Besides, don't tell me you haven't already scanned every single person's mind for danger.<<
>>You know me so well already,<< Charles thinks back weakly, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He lets his head drop back onto the headrest and closes his eyes.
Erik takes out his freshly purchased copy of The Hare With Amber Eyes and opens it to page one, settling back into his seat to read. Sometime later, when the plane has taken off at last and Charles' head comes to rest on his shoulder, Erik merely settles him more comfortably and turns the page.
[Part Three]
Pairing/characters: Charles/Erik, Erik/Alex BFFS, hints of Logan/Scott, Raven/Emma, Alex/Darwin, Janos/Azazel, ensemble cast.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~9,800 this part
For Warnings, Summary and Notes, please see [Part One].
Part Two
Charles Xavier proves harder to find than Erik expects, when they finally drive into Oxford proper. The receptionist at the lab promises to pass on a message if he comes back, and his quarters at Hertford College are quiet and still when Erik makes his way there. The porter is very polite, but very firm in his refusal to allow Erik to wait inside. Instead, he points Erik to a certain pub not too far away, hinting that he might find the Professor there.
Darkness is falling quickly, so Erik leaves Alex to sit on the College anyway, in case the Professor comes back before Erik can find him. It is a bit worrying that they don't know what he looks like, but both he and Alex agree that tweed will likely be involved, as well as a certain age group. Possibly thinning hair, Erik isn't sure. It would perhaps have been useful to ask the porter, but the fellow was already getting suspicious, so they chose the better part of valour.
Erik makes his way to the pub in question, slipping through the doors and into the welcome heat of a well-lit room. It smells -- not unpleasant, of brew and warm bodies, most of which are even showered. The crowd is younger than Erik expects, though, and most of them have the studious air of an underground dweller being let out into the light for a pint or three. The music is not quite loud enough to mask the buzzing of lively conversation. Erik finds himself relaxing for the first time since the night before.
He looks around, but spots no one that might fit the mental picture he's developed for this man Xavier. Still, it would be prudent to wait a while, in case he comes in. With that in mind, Erik orders a pint of lager and takes a seat at the end of the bar, turning back to take in the view.
Seeing people relaxed like this, settled into their environment, with people who know them for who they are and accept them as such, sends a sharp edge of longing through him. He shakes it off, an unnecessary distraction. He's happy where he is. He likes his job. He loves his mother, and feels lucky to have her by his side every day of his life. He has Alex. He doesn't need anyone like that, who would take the time to get to know him, who would look inside him and see him for who he is and want him regardless. It's fine, it's not something he wants, anyway.
Still, it doesn't hurt to unwind a little, allow himself to take a moment to breathe. He watches the students mingle, listens to snippets of near-incomprehensive speak that seems to make perfect sense to those discussing it, and lets his eye linger to appreciate the slope of a shoulder, the line of a throat, muscles bunching in arms as a pint is lifted to a finely-shaped mouth. Just because he can't afford the distraction doesn't mean he's blind, or doesn't appreciate beauty where he finds it.
A young man about his age pushes off from a small table, making his meandering way towards the bar. The blonde girl he left at the table is stunning, but he spares her nothing more than a fond glance. She laughs at his parting shot and turns her head back towards the room. It takes the man a while to reach the bar -- the room is busy, and he finds himself waylaid several times by women and men both. The sounds of conversation that reach Erik over the noise of the crowd showcase the man's abysmal flirting abilities and ridiculous pick-up lines, which, however amazingly, actually seem to work. A woman bats her eyelashes coyly at him, and another man lets his hand linger on the guy's arm, toned under his rolled-up shirtsleeve.
He makes his way to the bar at last, leaning on his elbow right next to where Erik is sitting.
"Pint of bitter, please, Dave," the man says, brushing his wavy hair back and letting his eyes drift over Erik for a long moment, from head to toe. Erik tries not to flush, but the interest in the man's gaze is all too obvious, and well, it's been a long time since someone who looked like this guy had looked at Erik like that. Erik lets his mouth curl up at one corner.
The man smiles back, lazy and sure, eyes half-lidded where they rest on Erik. There is something strangely compelling about him, as if Erik should know him, which makes no sense whatsoever, but it's a feeling Erik can't shake. It's ridiculous, the way a fine shudder goes through him when the man's gaze locks with his and his smile widens and turns positively filthy.
"Here you go, Prof," the barkeeper says, plopping a pint before the man and breaking their staring contest.
"A Professor, hm? You don't look like one at all," Erik drawls, taking in the man's youthful features and bright eyes.
"Thanks, I think," the man says with a smile. He offers Erik a hand. "Charles Xavier."
Erik almost falls off his stool. "You're Charles Xavier?" he croaks, has to pause to clear his throat.
Xavier's smile turns questioning, but he doesn't drop his hand, and Erik takes it out of sheer confusion. His palm is dry and warm, and feels like coming home.
"That I am," Xavier says, holding on a moment too long. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"Kriminalhaupkommissar Erik Lehnsherr," Erik responds automatically, before realising what an idiot he sounds like and shakes himself. "I'm sorry, Professor, forgive me. You are--not what I expected."
Xavier lets go at last and waves a hand. "Oh, no, please, do call me Charles. Were you looking for me specifically?"
"I was. I would like to speak with you, if you have the time."
"For a fellow mutant, I have all the time in the world," Charles responds with a sly smile, and Erik is so badly thrown off balance that he almost shrinks back. How could this man possibly know?
Charles is looking at him oddly. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong? I was merely referring to your lovely blue eyes. They are quite breathtaking."
He obviously means it to be light and flippant, but Erik doesn't miss how shrewdly Charles' own startlingly-blue eyes assess him. He brings a hand to his temple, massaging it with two fingers like he's nursing a bit of a headache -- and then his eyes widen and his mouth falls open. "Oh my god," he breathes.
Erik has never been so rattled in his entire life, and that includes finding out about his affinity for metal in the first place. He feels the wild urge to turn around and run as fast as his legs will carry him, but at the same time he feels frozen to the spot, held by Charles' endless cerulean gaze. He feels a slight sinking sensation in his head, and resolves to stay off the alcohol when he hasn't eaten much all day.
Charles drops his hand from his temple to his pint and downs half of it in one go. "Come with me," he directs briskly when he's done, slamming the more-than-half-empty glass back on the counter. He turns and pushes through the crowd, darting glances at Erik over his shoulder to make sure he follows. He shoulders his way to the table he’d been sitting at, catching the blonde girl's eye and holding what looks like a conversation with no more than a lift of their eyebrows and the wave of their heads. In the end, the girl huffs and gets up, fetching their coats. Erik follows again when Charles leads the way out of the pub.
"Erik, this is my sister, Raven," Charles says when they're away from the noise at last.
Raven looks Erik up and down; her eyebrows climb almost up to her hairline. "Hi," she drawls, a little challenging, a lot interested. Erik nods, still feeling shaken.
"We'll go up to our flat, shall we? It'll give us a safe space to talk," Charles declares, raising a questioning eyebrow Erik's way. It's not like Erik has a better idea.
They turn right and walk away from Hertford College -- and that's when Erik remembers he has something to pick up.
"Just one moment, please. I won't be long," he says, and jogs away towards the Bridge of Sighs. When he catches sight of Alex, he focuses and tugs on the metal zip in the sleeve of his leather jacket. Alex looks up, startled, and turns in Erik's direction. Erik crooks two fingers at him and Alex trots over, bemusement written all over his face when Erik nods towards the waiting siblings.
"That's Professor Xavier?" Alex asks, sounding remarkably like Erik had when the realisation had dawned.
"Evidently."
"Who's the chick?"
"His sister, Raven. Tread carefully, we need his help."
"Hey, no worries. I'd like to get to know her better, is all I'm saying."
"Alex," Erik says warningly, and Alex's leer fades until he looks nothing but professional.
"Fine, chill, Jesus. The Prof doesn't look half bad, either."
"Alex," Erik warns again, and is surprised to hear a distinctive growl in his voice this time round. Alex's eyebrows shoot up and he gives Erik a disbelieving look.
"Now you choose to get territorial about a guy? Now, Erik?"
Erik doesn't dignify that with an answer, but leads the way towards the Xaviers instead. They have their heads together, pretty much of a height, and seem to be conferring furiously. Their expressions smooth out into blank politeness when Erik and Alex near.
"Charles, Raven, my assistant, Alex Summers."
"Pleased to meet ya," Alex says, shaking hands quickly and sending Raven another interested look. She smiles at him. Alex flushes, and Erik fights not to laugh at the blown-away expression on his face.
"This way," Charles inserts, and leads off past a circular building with busts on top of the columns and into a wide square with another circular building in the middle. They pass a large cathedral-style church and come out onto one of the main streets, where they turn left. Less than five minutes later they nip into a narrow alleyway and Charles pulls out a set of keys, turning to a tucked-away door in the stone wall of the building. He unlocks it and leads the way inside, up several flights of stairs to the top floor, where he unlocks yet another door. The room they enter is wide and airy, even if the dark furnishings give it a closed-off look.
"Tea? Coffee? I think I have a packet of biscuits somewhere; Raven, where are the Custard Creams?"
Raven looks guilty. Charles doesn't look surprised.
"Dare I hope we have some HobNobs left?"
"Yeah, you know I don't like those," Raven says, wrinkling her nose.
"Small mercies," Charles mutters under his breath, flicking the electric kettle on.
"Coffee for me, please," Erik asks, and Alex echoes him.
Charles spoons coffee grounds into a French press and pours boiling water over them, and then does the same for a bright yellow teapot, only with tea leaves. He puts cups, sugar, milk, a packet of biscuits and the teapot and French press onto a metal tray and brings it all to the table. Erik tries not to stare at the muscles bunching in his forearms.
They let their drinks steep in silence while Charles stares at Erik and Alex with a fascinated look on his face.
"I owe you an apology, my friend," he tells Erik sheepishly. Erik frowns -- he's only just met the man, and he can't remember him doing anything that would make him sound so remorseful. "I don't normally do it, not without asking, but you were just so--" he stops, flushing a little and avoiding Erik's eyes. "It won't happen again, not without your permission, I promise you that."
"What won't?" Erik gives up and asks.
Charles watches him, blue eyes open, earnest and appealing, fingers massaging his temple again. "You're not the only one with secrets," he says -- except he doesn't. His lips don't move, but Erik hears him loud and clear, the words arriving in his mind without the assistance of his ears. At his side, Alex flinches; a glance his way shows him frowning as deeply as Erik.
Then Alex's face clears abruptly, as it starts making sense to both of them. "Awesome, you're one of us," Alex breathes.
Erik is reeling, the new revelation just one too many in the past 24 hours. "I thought I was the only one," he whispers.
The look on Charles' face is an indescribable mixture of sadness, regret, compassion, affection. "Oh, my friend," he says, and Erik feels his words and voice and thoughts like a balm soothing his jumbled mind. "You're not alone."
As if as an afterthought, Raven stands up and takes a step back from the table. Her smile is part kind and part mischievous as she looks at the two of them and--shimmers, it looks like. In her place stands Erik, a perfect rendering down to the three inches in height he has over the siblings and the small scar on the patch of skin over his upper lip, a farewell present from his Army days.
Erik knows gaping isn't dignified. It doesn't stop him from doing so, even as Raven shimmers again and her skin transforms to a gorgeous deep blue that Erik can't look away from.
"Holy shit," Alex chokes at his side. For the first time, Raven looks apprehensive; it's quickly dispelled by the way Alex starts laughing, full-out, incredulous and joyous before he leaps off his chair and rushes over to Raven, looking at her in amazement. "That was fucking amazing," he says, still blinking at her yellow eyes.
"I concur. That was quite something," Erik says, looking from brother to sister and back.
"We are all of us unique and incredible in our own ways," Charles says, slipping into what must be his lecturing voice. It's still tinged with wonder, though, as Erik proceeds to pour coffee for both himself and Alex -- without using his hands. Raven laughs in delight, clapping her hands.
“I’d show off, too, but I’m guessing by the looks of it you like this flat,” Alex says as the two of them retake their seats. Erik is the only one who’s known him long enough to hear the apprehension underneath his words; Raven and Charles merely look intrigued.
They drink in silence for a moment, sharing curious, conspiratorial glances. Charles sets his cup down after he's drained it and looks squarely at Erik.
"Now then. How can I assist you?"
Erik lifts the briefcase he's been keeping a tight hold onto all night and snaps its locks open. "Before I show you, I think a little background is in order. I was pointed in your direction by my mother, Edie Lehnsherr; she thought you could help me--us. Alex and I are detectives with the Kriminalpolizei Homicide division in Berlin. Thirty-nine hours ago a young geneticist by the name of Hanna Rilke was murdered, shot dead--" he stops at the look of shock on Charles' face.
"Hanna is dead?" Charles mutters, clearly distraught. Erik wants to hit himself for not anticipating that Charles would have known her, especially since she had indirectly pointed them towards Xavier herself.
"Yes, I'm sorry. There's something I need to show you -- it will probably be distressing, but I think you need to see it." He withdraws the enlarged photographs of Rilke's stomach and arm and places them one by one onto the table.
Raven makes a wounded sound when she sees the cuts covering the bare skin, and claps her hands over her mouth. Charles' lips thin and a small frown appears between his eyebrows, but he leans in to look closer.
"We believe she was trying to get a message to you in particular, Charles." Erik points out the large XCFBP1 sequence on the back of the woman's forearm, then shares a look with Alex. " Frau Rilke was murdered using extreme fire power, and her research was destroyed or stolen, depending on its nature. We're trying to find out what she must have been working on, so we can track her killers. Also, last night both Alex and I were attacked, likely by the same people that came after her. We suspect the organisation behind both hits is after people like us -- mutants, I think you call them. So we need to know – was Frau Rilke a mutant? Or was she simply working on a project connected with mutants?"
For the first time since he started speaking he takes in the look on Charles' face. Charles is running his eyes over both him and Alex, looking for injuries; he relaxes imperceptibly when he finds none, and looks back down at the pictures.
"Hanna was one of us," he confirms quietly, subdued. "She had magnified eyesight -- when she focused, she could see things down to their submolecular composition. She was working on isolating the mutant gene with me, and it looks like she made the leap just before she was murdered. Those letters," he indicates the sequence carved in Rilke's arm, "signify the nomenclature and the family a particular gene is a member of, as well as its location. She used my initials for the designation, see – XCF, for Charles Frances Xavier. I would assume that this is the key to unlocking the mutant genome."
"So as soon as she figured this out, she was murdered. How did they find out?" Alex wonders out loud.
"They must have been monitoring her," Erik muses. "I've known scientists who get so absorbed they forget to eat and drink, let alone be aware of their surroundings beyond their research."
Charles smiles sheepishly. "I'm afraid you're quite right, Detective."
Erik feels a surge of fondness at the way Charles looks, lost and sad but determined. The urge to lean over the table and press a reassuring kiss to his temple is shockingly strong; Erik tries to put it out of his mind immediately.
Charles sighs tiredly, but squares his shoulders. "What do you need from me?"
"First of all, a list of people who were aware what you were working on, and with whom you communicated. It would be very helpful if you could tell us of the people who knew of Frau Rilke's research and its connection to your own. Also, I'm sorry to say that if there is a connection, whoever knows about Frau Rilke's work knows of your involvement, too. It may not be safe for you here, not until we find the ones responsible and apprehend them."
"You want me to leave the city?" Charles asks, startled.
"Yes, I'm afraid it's probably prudent, to keep you and your sister safe. If I found my way to you, they might, too."
Charles shares a look with Raven. She looks more angry than frightened, and there's a militant glint in her eyes that should teach anyone who tries to underestimate her the error of their ways.
"Charles, you must listen to them. If you're in danger, we have to leave. Maybe even go back to the mansion," she says tentatively.
Charles makes a face, but nods. He shoots Erik a quick look from under his eyelashes. >>Is she in danger?<< he speaks directly in Erik's mind.
>>Anyone who is associated with you may be in danger, especially if they suspect whoever it is knows about your research. As your sister, Raven will certainly be one of the targets,<< Erik thinks at him. He can feel a low-level wave of distress coming off Charles, but he won't mince his words if they're the difference between danger and safety.
"Very well," Charles agrees, "but we expect our colleagues from New York to arrive tomorrow evening. We must wait for them, they might well be able to help."
Raven shrugs, but doesn't argue. "They might," she confirms when Erik switches his gaze to her.
"All right. But pack your bags, and let's move to wait for them in London. We'll take up a couple of rooms in a random hotel, and it'll be safer in the midst of a crowd."
Charles shrugs, and Raven nods. The two of them push away from the table and go in opposite directions to pack, while Erik and Alex finish their coffee and Erik floats the tray to the counter by the small sink. They don't have to wait long -- within a quarter of an hour both brother and sister reappear with their luggage. The bags are bigger than Erik had expected, and he nods approvingly, seeing that both take the threat seriously. Alex reaches to take Raven's case for her, but she raises a mocking eyebrow and picks it up like it weighs nothing. Charles smirks at the surprised look on Alex's face, and Erik gathers that Raven is quite a bit stronger than she looks.
Erik leaves them to wait in the vestibule while he fetches the car -- or tries to; Charles insists on coming with him, arguing that he knows the twisting streets around here like the back of his hand. Since Erik and Alex had almost got themselves lost trying to find Hertford College alone, Erik agrees. Alex, however, will be staying put.
"Look, I know you're strong and you can change into whomever you need to, but Alex has the kind of instincts that take years to develop. He might be young, but he's a good police officer," Erik tells Raven when she tries to argue. "And besides, the two of us out for a stroll is much less conspicuous than the four of us plus your bags, I don't care what Charles can make them think. You can't be too careful right now."
Alex fairly glows under Erik's praise, while Raven scowls but hangs back.
"Be right back," Charles says jovially, like he's going for a pleasant walk, not preparing to flee the city. Erik is in half a mind to take him to task over it before Charles flashes him another warning look.
>>I don't want to worry her needlessly,<< he projects while they walk away.
"She needs to be worried. It might save her life," Erik tells him when they're out of hearing distance. "Think less like a big brother and more like the brother of a powerful mutant."
"It's not that I don't trust her to watch our backs," Charles bristles. "I know she can. I just wish she didn't have to."
"This situation isn't of your choosing. You can't do anything about it but help us take care of it," Erik says kindly. "And you can help. Focus on that."
Charles stays quiet for a moment while their legs cover the ground quickly in the chilly evening air. "You're very good at this," he admits after a moment.
Erik shrugs. "I've had to learn to be."
"I suppose you never had much use for your empathy in the army."
Erik stills. After a second, Charles freezes, too, and turns to him with wide eyes.
"How much did you read, exactly, when you rummaged inside my head?" Erik says ominously.
"Er. Quite a bit, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't know."
Erik seethes for a few moments, lengthening his strides. They're almost at the side street where he and Alex stashed their car when he speaks again. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stay out of my head from now on, unless it's to communicate."
"I promise," Charles says, looking subdued and guilty from the way his shoulders have slumped.
Erik is still burning with anger, yet he is very much aware that it's more to do with Charles invading his privacy than having Charles in his mind at all, which is what he should be wary of, all things considered. It's… mildly worrying, that he trusts this man so much already, within hours of meeting him. It's damned unnatural. He resolves to be more on his guard from now on.
He unlocks the door as soon as they reach the car, and folds himself into the driver's seat. Charles climbs in next to him as Erik spares a moment to check the car over, from engine to underside, before he slips the key in and starts it.
"So since you were in there, did you see the research facility I destroyed?" he asks while he eases out into the empty street.
Charles looks startled, then thoughtful. "I didn't go into much detail. I know you caused an explosion of some kind, and there were a lot of-- um. Dead, but I didn't get the details."
"It was a base I found when my squad and I were sent to South America. They had mutants there, Charles. They were 'studying' them, but by the amount of instruments involved I don't think it was test results they were after."
Charles looks pale in the streetlight streaming through the side window. "Oh," is all he says, pressing his lips together.
"I took the base out, as you saw. But it can't have been the only one. Knowing what I do now, I wouldn't be surprised if the attack team was part of another such facility somewhere, hellbent on appropriating Frau Rilke's research for their use."
"We'll find them," Charles says immediately, conviction steeling his voice. "Erik, we'll find them, and we'll get our people out of there, I promise you."
Erik had had no idea he'd needed to hear those words so badly until Charles says them. Erik wouldn't put it past Charles to have known to make the point, but he's not complaining right now.
"Turn right here, then take the next left," Charles directs him through the maze. Erik complies, and in a few moments they're pulling up outside the door to the Xaviers' flat that Erik unlocks with a flick of his fingers. Alex looks out, spots them, then disappears back inside. Then he and Raven walk out, carrying both hers and Charles' cases. Erik pops the trunk and they load the bags inside, then climb into the car.
Half an hour later they're speeding away on the M40 down to London, and hopefully safety.
---
Erik wakes up early, more out of habit than necessity. He spares a look for Alex on his way to the bathroom, sprawled out on his stomach and dead to the world. Erik lets him sleep -- no need for all of them to be stepping on each other's toes wondering what to do all day. He changes out of his sleeping pants into his usual uniform -- tailored slacks and a turtleneck. They make him feel protected, put a layer between himself and the world, let him face what is to come with at least equanimity behind his armour.
He walks downstairs to the breakfast room to find a still-sleepy Charles sitting at one of the small round tables, reading a thick leather-bound journal and holding his mug of tea to his face, propped on his cheek. For all he looks immaculately put together, there's a ruffled quality to him -- it could be the way his hair is ever so slightly out of place, like he's been running his hand through it, or it could be the skin under his eyes, thin and faintly bruised. He doesn't look like he's had a restful night. Erik wonders what Charles spent it fretting about -- Hanna Rilke's death, or the imminent danger, or having to rely on two people he's never met before to keep him and his sister out of harm's way. Erik bets it grates, with Charles' undisputed level of power. A telepath can't do a damned thing about the barrel of a gun, though, or the spark of trigger touching bullet.
"Erik! Good morning! The coffee on the side table is still hot."
"Thanks," Erik murmurs, taking in the genuine amiability lighting Charles' face. Perhaps not so much that last one, then.
He helps himself, then piles a plate high with scrambled eggs and bacon, a few slices of toast and a pack or two of butter, and brings everything to the table. He has no idea what the day will bring; might as well be fed when the shit hits the fan.
Charles eyes the plate with a distinctly covetous gaze. Erik feels a smirk curl his lips. He's been around a few academics in his time, and he bets Charles clean forgot about food as soon as he had his tea.
"What's on the agenda for today, then?" Charles asks as Erik forks some eggs onto a piece of toast and bites into it with every sign of enjoyment.
"Keep a low profile. That's about it," Erik answers when he's done chewing. Charles hums, sipping his probably-cold tea.
"You want to go for a walk? Visit a museum, maybe?"
Erik barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Of course. Although, now that Charles has mentioned it, the proposition is surprisingly attractive, and it'll keep them in plain sight of a crowd of people. Not even those mercenaries would open fire on a closed space with so many potential variables, not to mention security guards.
"The National Gallery?"
"Sounds great," Charles says, perking up. "It's been--actually, it's been years since I've last been, how did that happen?" He sounds amused and faintly bewildered.
Charles is eyeing his toast again. Erik sighs, put-upon, and butters a slice, handing it over. Charles takes it with a surprised look, like no one has ever done anything like that for him before.
"You're putting me off my breakfast with all the staring," Erik says defensively. Charles smiles brilliantly, a barely-there pink tinge to his cheeks, but humours him and says nothing. He crunches his toast happily, stealing a piece of Erik's bacon to go with it and ignoring Erik's glower. Erik considers the possibility that his action may have just declared open season on his plate. He shrugs. There's always more where that came from, and Charles needs to eat. He can't subsist on tea alone, much as he probably believes he could.
They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Raven stumbles into the room, bleary-eyed despite the fact that she could smooth the evidence away with no more than a thought.
"Coffee," she groans, making a beeline for the pot. Charles lifts his nose out of his journal with a fond "Morning to you, too."
"Shut up, Charles, just because you don't feel the need to sleep," Raven grumbles.
Charles looks vaguely uncomfortable, a haunted expression taking over his face for a fraction of a second before it's gone again like it's never been. Erik narrows his eyes at him. If there's something going on, he needs to know about it to be able to keep them safe. He makes a mental note to get it out of Charles as soon as they find themselves alone.
Alex follows Raven fifteen minutes later, looking irritatingly rested, if still a little sleepy. Erik briefs them on their plan for the day, magnanimously ignoring all the resultant moaning. "It makes for a good cover," is all he says. "Bring a book, or your iPod, or whatever you need to occupy yourselves."
Their hotel is a bus-ride away from Trafalgar Square, and for the first time Erik wonders whether Charles planned it that way. Charles makes no indication of anything of the sort, and they troop inside the Gallery just after ten a.m. The halls are already filling, so they decide to split and meet up at the Cafe at one p.m. for lunch. Erik sends Alex with Raven to wherever the two of them decide to go, giving him a meaningful look that says 'Keep your guard up or else'. Alex nods soberly.
Erik lets Charles drag him around; he'd be blind not to notice how much Charles is enjoying himself, how eagerly he moves from painting to painting, finding old favourites and delighting in discovering them again. Blind Erik isn't. Charles' face is alive with animation, blue eyes wide and dancing, lips tugged into a perpetual half-smile. Erik can't help but be swept up by Charles' enthusiasm, even if he finds watching Charles' face much more entertaining than a few specks of paint on the wall. He keeps his focus half on what Charles is telling him and half on the surroundings, cataloguing every larger piece of metal he comes across. Before long he knows the position of every steel bolt in the walls, every defensive mechanism. He amuses himself with planning how he's going to steal that Rossetti Charles is admiring vociferously at his side. It would be laughably easy for someone with his abilities.
An hour later he leaves Charles in a spirited discussion with a curator over a Monet painting, and walks to the other side of the large room to peruse Tiger in a Tropical Storm (Surprised!), allowing himself a huff of amusement at the title. He feels a little like that tiger, always cautious, his environment shifting, the jungle where he spends his days suddenly drenched by rain and unfamiliar, having to make his way through it when every shadow could be a hunter intent on collecting his pelt. The surprise on the tiger's face feels strangely familiar, a visual representation of the way Charles has him surprised, off-balance, checking himself.
"Figures that's where you'd gravitate," Charles says at his shoulder. Erik doesn't jump -- he'd followed the progress of Charles' metal watch all the way across the room as Charles made his way over. He shrugs.
"I sympathise, is all."
Charles hums, but doesn't push for more, even though Erik knows Charles could lift it right out of his mind if he wanted.
"I promised I wouldn't," Charles murmurs, and Erik turns, startled. Charles sighs. "I wasn't poking around. You're just thinking very loudly. I can't help it; I can't tune out noises that strong."
"Huh," Erik says, adding that to his mental 'What is Charles up to' sheet. "It’s fine. I can't blame you for who you are."
Charles looks surprised at that, like it's more than he expected. Erik shrugs again. It would be like asking him not to know that there is a four-inch steel gate ready to cut the painting in front of him off from the room if a threat is spotted.
"So you want to tell me about last night?" Erik asks, disinclined to pander to Charles’ sensibilities. Charles opens his mouth, and Erik doesn't have to be a telepath to know that he's going to try and deny anything and everything. Erik lifts an eyebrow.
Charles deflates, pressing his plush lips together and throwing him an irritated look. Instead of annoyance, Erik feels nothing but amusement for Charles' antics.
"I was scanning the city for hostile minds, if you must know," Charles admits ungraciously.
Erik is, yet again, taken aback. He should really stop underestimating this man.
"You can do that? The whole of London?"
"Well, not all of it, that would probably drive me insane. Just the fifteen mile radius around the hotel."
"Oh, just the fifteen miles, eh?" Erik teases, a strange feeling curling inside him. It feels an awful lot like affection, and like relief – that he doesn't have to do it alone anymore. There's someone besides Alex watching his back, someone who can actually give him the heads-up before the bullets start flying.
"I could go to thirty if we need to," Charles says earnestly. Something in Erik turns over.
"Charles. You don't have to. I've got you, both you and Raven. I won't let anything happen to you if I can help it," he says. It sounds suspiciously like a pledge of allegiance or something equally stupid.
Charles gifts him one of his startlingly bright smiles again, and Erik feels his heart start to beat faster. "I want to, though. You can't do it all by yourself. I can help."
"I know you can. And I appreciate it. But don't kill yourself while you're at it, okay?"
"I won't," Charles promises. "Besides, I have you to make sure I eat, right?"
"Right," Erik says, bemused. He has no idea how the conversation got to this minefield of a subject.
Charles just grins at him again, looking boyish and not a day over twenty. Certainly not like an Oxford-educated genetics professor that could mindfuck everyone in the city if he put his mind to it.
Erik is still reeling when they reconvene with the other two for lunch. Raven looks terminally bored, and Alex isn't looking much livelier.
"I enjoy art as much as the next not-obsessed person, but three hours, Charles?" Raven complains.
Charles shrugs sheepishly. Erik would bet his lunch he'd barely noticed the time passing. "We could do something else this afternoon?" Charles offers in supplication.
"When are your friends arriving?" Erik wants to know.
"Their flight arrives at half-four. They should be in the hotel by six at the latest."
"Right. Another four hours to kill, then."
Alex and Raven groan in unison.
---
They don't actually stay out for that long. When they finish lunch, they spend over an hour holed up in the huge Virgin Music shop next door to the Gallery, and all of them manage to find something to spend their money on, even Erik. (He likes EUROPE, okay? It's -- energetic. He can spar to it.) Then Erik herds the three of them back onto the bus, and they troop into the hotel a little worse for wear, but pleasantly exhausted.
Since Charles and Raven's room is bigger, they decide to hold the meeting there. Raven flops over the bed with a deeply satisfied groan, while Alex throws himself on one of the armchairs in the corner of the room and stretches out his tired legs. Charles and Erik elect to sit at the small table on the other side of the room, spreading their papers out over the narrow surface. Charles is back to perusing his journal, while Erik opens Hanna Rilke's file and starts looking for a connection again, any connection that can bring him closer to the organisation that is after them. The information inside is frustratingly unhelpful -- he and Alex have managed to gather more in the past day than the entire police department had before they fled the city.
Charles leaves him to it, and a few minutes later the room is full of silence, the shuffling of pages and Raven and Alex's soft exhales the only background noise. Erik lets them doze -- they will need to be on their guard soon enough. Time stretches, slow and languid, and Erik finds his attention drifting away from his file and onto his companion. Charles looks focused, as if the fact that he'll be interrupted shortly is no excuse not to get some work done. But then he shifts a little in his chair and covers a yawn with the back of his hand, and Erik realises he isn't half as focused as he's pretending to be. Charles rubs at his eyes, dark circles still prominent underneath, a testament to his nightly vigil. The thought warms Erik just like before, the way Charles obviously spreads himself too thin, taking on more than he needs to, more than he should. Charles props an elbow on top of the table and rests his cheek on his hand, long eyelashes fluttering closed, a sigh carrying to Erik's ears. Charles is clearly no better off than the younger crew, but much more stubborn than them.
"You should rest, too," Erik says quietly. Charles starts, blue eyes lifting to Erik's.
"Oh, no, I'm all right. Besides, Sebastian and Emma should arrive within the hour, and it would be much worse if I were to sleep now and be groggy later."
Erik shrugs. That's what he'd do in the circumstances, so he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on.
"No surveying tonight, however," he warns instead. We need you fresh tomorrow."
"Yes, all right," Charles agrees, far too readily. He must be more exhausted than Erik imagined.
A half hour passes, then forty-five minutes, before there is a knock on the door. Charles sits up, focusing for a moment, before his face breaks out in a relieved smile.
"It's them," he tells Erik. Erik nods and rouses Raven and Alex, both looking instantly alert.
The door opens, and Erik hears Charles' welcome before it closes again and Erik turns to meet their visitors.
His vision swims and his legs feel shaky when he sets eyes on the man, about the same height as him, his haircut somewhat old-fashioned, his suit impeccable. It doesn't detract from Erik's memory of that face, hazy through the smoke, blasting his sergeant back as if he were made of straw.
"What the fuck?" Erik croaks, immediately calling everything metal that could constitute a weapon to him. "Those are your friends? You work with them?" he demands furiously. Charles just looks at him like he's gone insane, and Erik shoves his memory of when he last saw the man so forcefully at Charles that he sees him wince and lift his hand to his head.
"Oh dear," Sebastian says, eyeing Erik consideringly. "It appears I missed one. How... unfortunate. Emma," he says, and Erik's head explodes with pain. He screams, metal raining around him as he falls to the ground, clutching at his temples as if it would help.
"What are you doing?!" Charles yells, bringing two fingers to his temple only to clench his teeth in frustration and stare at Sebastian's companion, who is standing back and regarding the mayhem coolly. "Emma! Stop it!"
"So sorry, Charles," Emma says, not unkindly from what Erik can determine through the agony that is his brain. "It is necessary."
"But--but--I work with you," Charles splutters, looking at the both of them in horror. "I give you information about other mutants! You said you were helping them!"
"And we are," Sebastian says, like he's speaking to a small child. "We help them reach their potential."
"By torturing them?"
Erik thinks he's the only one that sees Emma's head snap to Sebastian, eyes wide with shock and face paling. Sebastian shoots her a sharp look and waves a hand. "You know that's not what we do anymore," he says to her, dismissive. "But sometimes it's the only way."
“Did you have something to do with Hanna’s murder?” Charles demands, looking distraught.
Sebastian sends him such a condescending look that Erik’s rage redoubles. “Her death was really all your fault, Charles, I hope you realise. You should not have withheld information from me about her abilities and the nature of her research; Rilke could have been a useful addition to my team – she got so much farther than the people I have working on the project before it became necessary to remove her. What a waste of such a fine brain.”
Charles’ face twists, part-furious and part-devastated. “You fucking bastard,” he snaps, mouth twisted in repugnance.
Behind Sebastian something darts towards them, and Erik has a split second to feel smug about how easy this takedown is going to be before Alex is blasted back into the wall, landing with a sickening crunch. It's like he ran into some kind of force field. Sebastian smirks, shaking his head. "Young people today," he says despairingly.
Erik keeps a careful eye on Emma, who seems to be struggling with something. Charles, meanwhile, has those fingers of his to his temple, lips thinning in concentration as he glares at Sebastian. Emma's eyes narrow with what looks like effort. Dimly, Erik realises Charles is trying to fight his way through Sebastian's defences, and failing. Emma must be putting up some kind of shield.
Raven chooses that moment to launch herself onto Emma’s back, body shifting into her natural blue, sharp, vicious nails extended and aimed at Emma's throat. Before his eyes Emma shimmers, and where woman stood a second ago there is now only sparkling light, reflecting off a body of pure diamond. The pain in Erik's head redoubles, and he's distantly aware that he's retching onto the floor, desperately trying to keep his brain from leaking out of his ears.
"No," he hears Charles scream, and watches Emma close her hands around Raven's throat, sees those unyielding fingers tighten and Raven start to choke.
"Now, are you going to be reasonable?" Sebastian asks, insufferably smug and condescending.
Erik stretches a hand.
Behind Emma, the metal bedframe comes to life, ribbons of wrought iron lashing through the air to wrap themselves around Emma's diamond throat. Screaming from the pain, Erik squeezes his fist. The iron tightens. Emma's fine neck starts to splinter, a spiderweb of cracks spreading over her diamond skin. She doesn't even try to fight it -- she shifts back immediately, looking furious, Raven falling from her chokehold and starting to cough like she's trying to spit out a lung. Charles' eyes narrow, and Erik sees Emma stagger back. The pain in his head falters, then disappears.
And then he stops breathing, because he physically senses it when Sebastian pulls out a gun, and trains it squarely on Charles' head.
"Charles," Erik yells, panicked and frantic as he feels Sebastian’s finger curl around the trigger. Erik is still on the floor, Alex is out of commission, arm twisted unnaturally underneath him, and Raven can only watch with horrified eyes as Charles turns, and focuses on Sebastian that fraction of a second too late. Erik can't move, can't get up, can't throw himself in front of Charles like he wants to, because the bullet is out of the chamber already, and even if Charles has frozen Sebastian into immobility, that bullet is still flying through the air.
Time slows down. Erik feels his focus expanding, taking over the room, narrowing down on the bullet destined to fracture Charles' incredible, beautiful, astonishing mind and take him from Erik.
This cannot happen.
It will not happen.
Erik 's hand clenches.
The bullet ricochets, like it's met with an invisible barrier -- which, to all intents and purposes, it has. It flies straight back, burrows its way through skin and bone and brain matter until it skewers through Sebastian's head and buries itself in the wall behind him.
Charles and Emma scream in the same breath, and fold to the floor like puppets without strings.
Erik's heart stops in his chest.
He doesn't know how he gets there, only that one second he's frozen with gut-wrenching terror and the next he's kneeling next to Charles, pressing two fingers to his neck, holding his breath and praying to any divine being out there that would listen that he hasn't just killed Charles with his ignorance. Charles was in Sebastian's head when the bullet he'd deflected bore through his brain, and Erik hasn't the faintest idea how Charles' telepathy works, and Erik's just killed a man while he and Charles were connected, and he's never been so afraid in his life.
He's never been so knee-shakingly relieved, either, when he feels Charles' pulse flutter under his fingertips, fast but steady. Charles opens his (blue, so blue) eyes, staring dazedly at the ceiling for a moment before he lifts his head and fixes them on Erik. Erik looks back helplessly, heart still in his throat. He expects anything from recrimination to disappointment to fury, but what he gets instead blindsides him and dazzles him and awes him and makes him fall a little bit in love.
"I know where the research centre is," Charles says, before letting his head fall back down, a determined look on his face.
---
The research centre, it transpires, is in America. Charles of course knows the exact co-ordinates, but he's keeping them close to his chest until they've packed all their stuff and disposed of Sebastian Shaw's body. Emma, still shell-shocked, follows them without a word. The one time Erik had questioned her motivations, the blast of fearpainterrordespair, coupled with images of her younger self in a cell, strapped naked to a table with electrodes attached everywhere and a man in a medical coat leaning over with a lit blowtorch in his hand, puts paid to any and all of Erik's possible objections. From that moment on, for him Emma is a part of their group, hell-bent on revenge, the only way she can reconcile working for the very maniac who had condoned her torture and then had the nerve to let her believe he'd rescued her from the facility.
It's barely seven p.m., still early enough to catch a flight out if they leave now. Erik and Alex wrap Shaw's body in black bin bags while Raven and Emma pack everyone's luggage hurriedly and follow them out of the door. Charles leads the way, two fingers to his temple, lips pressed together. Erik wonders how long it's been since he last slept properly, and makes a mental note to insist Charles naps on the plane, no matter what it takes.
No one looks at them twice as they load the body into the trunk of the car, and Erik fashions a luggage rack out of the car roof where they load all their bags, securing them with thin metal straps. They pile inside, Charles, Raven and Emma squeezing together in the back while Alex takes shotgun with his arm strapped tightly to his chest, to minimise the jolting to what had been a nasty dislocated shoulder. Erik takes the wheel again, and drives quickly and silently to a stretch of land outside London, on their way to Gatwick. There they unload Shaw's body and unstrap Alex's arm for long enough to burn it into its component molecules.
"Plasma blast," Alex explains while Erik, Raven and Emma stomp down on the errant flames erupting all over the now-charred ground, and Charles stares at Alex in fascination. When he sways, Charles catches him gently and helps him to the car, pours him into the front seat. There's fine sweat beading all over Alex’s face and neck while Charles straps the arm back down, and Erik resolves to keep him out of whatever fighting they will have to do at the research facility. Alex is going to hate him for it, but he's not getting himself killed on Erik's watch.
The rest of the trip to the airport is as sedate as possible under the circumstances. Alex dozes a little, and Erik notices Charles doing the same in the rear view mirror. The motorway lights paints half-circles over his tired features; Erik has to force himself to watch the road. The girls, on the other hand, have their heads close together and are whispering furiously. Erik would bet his dinner that the rest of them are going to be presented with a plan of action as soon as they land in the States. He’s surprised and not a little curious about their instant camaraderie, considering that just a short while ago they had been trying to kill one another – but if Emma had shown Raven what she had shown him, he doesn’t think Raven would have been better equipped to handle the instant wave of empathy the thoughts had evoked than Erik had been himself. And of course, with Charles for a brother, and being who she is, Raven would be more inclined than most to understand, to forgive -- or so Erik imagines.
Which really brings him to the next impossible task -- he does not have an American visa. He knows that German citizens can travel to the States on some kind of visa waiver programme from a case he and Alex worked last year, but he also knows that to do so he must have some kind of authorisation letter, which he does not. He tries not to think too hard about that. They have two telepaths on their team; somehow he doesn't think convincing the authorities is going to be a problem, but it's yet another thing to task Charles with.
He parks the car in a long-term parking slot, fixes the roof as an afterthought when all the bags are down and tosses the keys in the passenger seat. The five of them troop inside the terminal, weary and staying close to each other. Charles visibly makes an effort to shake his exhaustion, squares his shoulders.
"I'm going to get our tickets on my card," he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking up. "Let me have all your passports."
"I can get mine and Alex's," Erik argues, because he doesn't need Charles to pay for him like he can't take care of his own.
"I'm sure you can, but I think you'll agree we're going to need running cash when we get there. So keep your money for then, yes?"
Erik shrugs. Fair enough. The others hand their passports over, and it's here, the moment Erik has been dreading. Alex got his American citizenship when he lived with his Aunt, and Emma, Raven and Charles are all technically American, except Charles, who has dual citizenship. Which leaves Erik, who really has no legal way of entering the States.
"Charles, a word?" he asks, nodding to the side. The others make vague motions to indicate they're going to get coffee while they wait, so Alex can sit down before he falls down.
Charles sighs. "Look, Erik, honestly, I know you can pay me back--"
"It's not about the money," Erik interrupts, watching him gravely. He grits his teeth and just says it -- "I don't have a US visa. I'm a German citizen. We need some sort of authorisation to travel to the States."
Charles' brows, which had knitted as he was listening, straighten. "Oh. Well. Thanks for letting me know. I'm sure it won't be a problem."
"Are you going to mind-bend them?"
"Mind-bend? Erik, what on earth--no, I'm just going to... place a suggestion, so to speak. It'll be fine, no one will look at you twice." He smiles tiredly. Erik hates that he's placing an even bigger strain on him.
"Don't be silly, Erik. It's not a problem. You were thinking very loud again," he explains when Erik frowns at him. There's a faint smile floating on his lips that makes Erik feel too hot all of a sudden.
Charles sends him another reassuring look before walking away, headed for the British Airways ticket desk. Erik considers going with him, but he reasons that the less people there are around the easier it would be for Charles to do his thing. Instead, he goes upstairs to the Starbucks where the others have taken refuge and gets a coffee for himself and the biggest cup of tea they have for Charles. It looks more like a bucket. Charles will love it. While he waits for the sleepy barista to sort himself out and make their drinks, his mind worries over the next predicament -- Charles' skills or not, they are leaving a paper trail. It's all right for the Americans, he supposes -- they are simply flying home. It's a German with no legal record that he's worried about. And what if those shadowy figures trace them and attack them again before they can prepare themselves? Anyone can hack into an airline's flight manifest these days. No, it would be best if it were to simply disappear, but how to do that without rousing suspicion?
He ponders this as he sips his coffee and keeps an eye on the escalator for Charles, even though he's probably still chatting to the sales assistant, raising those fingers to his temple and smoothing away their questions. Erik can almost see it in his mind, Charles leaning casually on the counter and smiling charmingly. Although maybe not, because here is Charles now, bracing his forearm on the side of the escalator and trying not to look as exhausted as he undoubtedly feels. He slumps into the seat across from Erik when he reaches them, taking the proffered bucket of tea with a grateful look.
"All sorted," he says after he's taken a long sip of the still-steaming liquid. "Flight's in an hour, so we should probably go check in our bags and find our gate."
It's only Charles and Raven's bags that are too big to qualify as hand luggage, so check-in takes all of ten minutes. The walk to the gate itself is exhausting; the airport is huge, even if no one has the energy to do more than dip into WH Smith’s and grab some papers and magazines to occupy their time – and even a book or two ("I can't spend the next eight hours doing nothing, Erik, I'd go mad"), and they make it in time for the start of boarding. The whole thing is surprisingly fast, but that's probably due to the lateness of the hour, even if the flight is almost full.
The flight attendant fusses over Alex, making sure he's comfortable and getting him a pillow to brace his arm. Raven and Emma sit next to him, Raven shrinking her frame unobtrusively so Alex would have more space without them bumping elbows and jarring his arm. Charles and Erik take their seats in the row behind them, Erik in the aisle seat because he feels trapped when he's crammed with two people between him and the escape route, and Charles taking the seat in the middle, leaving a twenty-something strawberry-blonde girl in the window seat on Charles' other side.
Actual take-off takes forever, and Erik can feel Charles drooping, desperately trying to stay awake for whatever reason.
>>It's all right to sleep, you know,<< Erik thinks wryly at him. Charles' head lifts and he sends Erik a sheepish look. >>You're exhausted, and we're as safe as we can get. Besides, don't tell me you haven't already scanned every single person's mind for danger.<<
>>You know me so well already,<< Charles thinks back weakly, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He lets his head drop back onto the headrest and closes his eyes.
Erik takes out his freshly purchased copy of The Hare With Amber Eyes and opens it to page one, settling back into his seat to read. Sometime later, when the plane has taken off at last and Charles' head comes to rest on his shoulder, Erik merely settles him more comfortably and turns the page.
[Part Three]
