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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: ~9,000 this part
For Warnings, Summary and Notes, please see [Part One] | [Part Two]
Part Three
By the time they arrive and it's time to face customs, Charles seems sufficiently recovered for Erik not to feel like an asshole about asking for his help again. He tries not to think about the sight of Charles waking up, the slow, content exhale that Erik had felt across his collarbone, the faintly confused look in Charles' eyes as he'd regained consciousness, eyelids flicking up and down to chase the last remnants of sleep from his lashes, the rounding of his perfectly shaped mouth as he realised just what had made up his comfortable pillow. It had been… Erik doesn't know what it had been, but he isn't likely to forget the sight any time soon.
He is tense as they make their way through the immigration desks, but the well-built African-American man's eyes glaze over for a split second, and then he's stamping Erik's passport and smiling genially. Erik smiles back, trying not to look too relieved, and walks towards the small group waiting for him on the other side. Charles takes his fingers away from his temple with a self-satisfied smirk, looking much more rested even if there is a faint strain around his eyes still.
They rent a car from the airport desk, but as soon as they're in town they switch it for a minivan -- Erik has no idea how many of their kind they are going to find, but an extra five seats will have to do to start with, and they could always swipe transport from the base itself.
"All right then, Charles," Erik says, turning to face him fully. It grates a little that Charles had refused to disclose the location he had pin-pointed, but Erik can respect the need for secrecy even if he doesn't like it. The fewer people who know of it, the better. "Where to?"
"Arkansas," Charles says, and Erik fights not to groan. That's half-way across the country! Still, he can see why a facility would be based there -- it's not particularly densely populated, and the wilderness and forests would provide cover from above and from curious travellers who have taken a wrong turn somewhere. The place isn't on any maps, naturally.
"Fine," Erik says. "I'll drive."
He gets no argument, but the look in Charles' eyes suggests this may not be a permanent state of affairs. As it is, though, he climbs in behind the wheel, takes the time to feel out the vehicle, learn its curves, understand where it ends, exactly how far the bumpers are from his fingertips and toes. Once he's got the feel of it memorised, he twitches his fingers and starts the engine, pulling out onto the road. By that time Alex is already asleep again, exhausted from the pain for which they have no medication, and Emma and Raven are staring out of their respective windows. Charles is restless in the seat to Erik's right, endlessly scanning the road ahead even when they leave the city behind and take to the open countryside. It's early enough yet, and Erik settles down for the ride, lets the rhythm of the tyres hitting the road lull him into a comfortable state of concentration, easily flitting in and out of the light traffic. He doesn't even notice time passing until Charles' voice pulls him out of his thoughts.
"I think it's time we found a place to stop and have something to eat," Charles says. Erik wants to protest, wants to get to the place as soon as it's physically possible, wants to pull those kids out of there and take them somewhere where no one can get to them.
>>As do I, my friend,<< Charles says in his mind. >>But the others are barely hanging in there. They need a break, a distraction.<<
Of course. Trust Charles to have noticed. Alex looks a little green around the edges, holding his arm as still as possible, and Emma's eyes are dark and sunken, looking haunted. Raven seems to be holding up, but when Erik catches her eye in the rear view mirror her lips are pressed tightly together and she has a death grip on Emma's hand.
And Charles. Charles is looking at Erik with a strange sort of concern in his eyes, and Erik isn't quite fluent in 'Charles' yet but he doesn't think he'd know what it meant even if he was. Still. He can't really say no to him, and how the hell did that happen? The only person even remotely close to holding that status is his mother, and he's had decades of conditioning. He's known this man for all of three days, and already he's this involved?
He can't fight the shudder of premonition that slithers down his spine. If this is the result of a three-day acquaintance with Charles Xavier, what might happen after a week? A month?
Could Erik really walk away again?
He has the uneasy feeling that he's setting himself up for some pretty awful heartbreak in the not-too-distant future.
He rubs at his face, only now realising just how damned weary he is, hours of looking at nothing but the empty road, eyes gone gritty and strained.
"All right, okay," he says, and starts looking around. He doesn't know if Charles knew this somehow, but not three miles later they come to a small diner on the side of the road, busy for the lack of traffic they've encountered but scrupulously clean. The five of them fold into the crammed booth, and Erik immediately gulps down half of his obligatory mug of coffee in one go.
"Hey, go easy on the stuff," Charles warns while Raven bargains for a plate of eggs and bacon with the amiable middle-aged waitress. "You'll need to try and get some sleep in a bit, when we get back on the road."
Erik frowns. "Sleep? I'm driving--"
"You were driving," Charles cuts him off with a warning look. "One of us will take over. You need rest too, Erik."
Erik opens his mouth again, eyebrows drawing together. He's fine to drive for a few more hours at least.
"Oh, give over," Emma scoffs, the first time she's spoken to any of them apart from Raven since she got into the car with them back in Oxford. "I'll drive for a while, then Charles can take over, and then, once you've gotten enough rest to not drive the lot of us into a ditch, if you're incapable of managing your control-freak tendencies, you may take the wheel again. Understood?"
Erik shuts his mouth with a snap, scowling. Disagreeing not only won’t work but will piss her off as well, not to mention imply that he doesn't trust her, when after what she'd shown him of herself earlier the thought would be patently ridiculous. He nods curtly when she raises a challenging eyebrow. He’ll manage to contain himself somehow.
Charles watches them, surprise and a flash of something else in his eyes, gone so quickly that Erik is barely sure it was even there, let alone try to decipher it. They eat in silence, shovelling food into their mouths as fast as they can before jumping back into the car. Erik climbs into the back this time, and watches as Emma adjusts her seat and mirrors that couple of inches that she needs to feel comfortable. She pulls away from the diner parking lot with a competency that's reassuring, and quickly gets them up to cruising speed. Charles sits in the front again, and Erik is free to observe, unobserved himself, the line of Charles' throat as he lets his head rest back against the seat, the shifting muscles in his shoulders as he stretches a little and settles again. Erik lets himself relax into his seat, and watches Charles through lowered eyelashes until, without quite realising it, his consciousness slips under.
He manages to sleep through Emma's change with Charles, which is in itself astounding, because Erik is the lightest sleeper he knows. He can only chalk it up to exhaustion and the strange safety he feels in the midst of their makeshift group. It's a strange sensation, having people to watch his back; he hasn't felt this way since his early days in the army, when he had so many others like him to rely on. It's a little nostalgic to remember it now, and to realise that these people invoke the same feeling of 'team' that he thought was long lost to him.
All in all, it's early morning when they reach the state border with Arkansas, when Erik insists he take the wheel again so that Charles and Emma are free to scout the terrain ahead with their minds. It really shouldn't surprise him how little time it takes them to lock onto the trace, but he is a little taken aback at the speed of it, he'll be honest.
He drives, and he worries at the problem over and over in his head, taking into account the information Emma and Charles are feeding him moment by moment -- '28 conscious minds, another five at least partially drugged, several guard dogs.' He tries to think of how best to attack, what kind of formation would be needed, if he can use Raven's ability to fool the guards into letting them pass. Alex is pretty much sitting this one out, Erik doesn't care how much he grumbles. Erik needs to be focused on every little detail, because as powerful as his people are, they still can't stop a speeding bullet headed for them even if they can knock out the shooter a moment later. But Erik can. And he will.
Charles directs him to stop not far from the compound, shielded by a turn in the road and the densely growing vegetation. When the minivan rolls to a halt everyone jumps out and reconvenes in the natural cover provided by a large rock, part of some long-forgotten landslide.
"Okay," Erik says, "so I was thinking--"
"Here's how we're going to do it,” Raven interrupts, and the tone is so calm, unconsciously expecting to be obeyed, that Erik shuts up from sheer surprise. “Emma will send me the image of the head scientist. Then Charles is going to knock him out, and I'll go in disguised as him or her. I'll scout out the place and relay the information to Emma and Charles, who will pass it on to the rest of you. Then I propose Charles freezes everyone, and Erik and I go in to get the prisoners out. And then Charles and Emma will wipe out the staff’s memories while Alex goes to town burning this place the fuck down."
Erik stares at Raven, a mixture of shock, pride and satisfaction warring inside him. He couldn't have thought of a better plan himself. First things first, though.
"You can do that?" he asks Charles. "Freeze them in place while we go in?"
"I can," Charles confirms, but he's not looking at Erik -- he's watching Raven with a worried expression. "Raven, it's too--"
"If you try and tell me it's too dangerous, Charles, you and I are going to have words," Raven growls. "There are lives at stake here! I can do this, goddamn it!"
"Yes, you can, there's no question about that--"
"Then what? You don't trust yourself to do a good job of keeping me safe? That'll be a first." There’s something bitter in her voice that wars with her determination; out of the corner of his eye, Erik sees Charles flinch.
"This is not the time for that," Charles snaps, sounding upset.
"Fuck's sake, Charles. You're going to have to stop watching my every move eventually. Look. I trust you to keep me safe, you and Emma and Erik. Okay? You can trust me to do what I do best in return."
"But--"
Raven glares at him, something at once defiant and vulnerable in her eyes. Erik wonders how many times they have rehashed this argument, how many times Charles' ingrained protectiveness has hindered her, pulled her back, stopped her from being who she was meant to be. Something like that could do more damage than not caring at all -- because if your closest friend does not believe in you, it eats at you until you start to doubt yourself, and it's a slippery slope after that.
Charles gapes at her a moment longer before he deflates, looking hurt and worried half to death. "Okay," he forces out, "fine.” He rubs at his face with fingers pink from the cold. “You'd better make sure you're all right in there," he adds, looking at her again, and for a moment Erik can see something in him that is different, violent, that would scare the fuck out of him if he wasn't Charles, someone he already trusts to an extent that is in itself terrifying.
Raven’s gaze softens. “I’ll be all right. And I’ll have all of you at my back.”
A moment later, Raven looks like a warrior queen at the height of her powers -- she's shed her clothes in a pile on the ground and stands there in nothing but her bright blue skin, watching her brother and Emma calmly. Charles sends her a last look of concern before turning to the compound and lifting his fingers to his temple. At his side, Emma narrows her eyes, flickers into her diamond shape.
Charles nods at Raven, and then she's running, leaping over obstacles like they're nothing, so fast and agile that Erik feels his jaw drop a little. Soon she is nothing more than a flash of blue through the forest, and after a moment that is gone, too.
"She's closing in," Charles says, not losing that unfocused look in his eyes. "Emma, relay the image."
Emma nods, and suddenly all of them can see him, the man who commands the facility, a thick-set, unassuming Caucasian with a fastidiously groomed goatee and wire-rimmed glasses.
"His name is William Stryker," Emma says softly, and then there is silence as the two telepaths follow Raven through the maze of corridors inside.
Erik tries not to fidget; fails. He takes out Shaw's gun instead and disassembles it in mid-air, setting the metal to vibrate so it repels any non-metal particles like dust and water molecules that could have lodged inside. Cleaned, he slides the parts in their proper formation again, and only then notices the awed look on Alex's face.
"I wish I could control my blasts like that," he says wistfully. Erik remembers his promise that they'll find someone to help Alex hone his skills, teach him how to hone that elusive control and not let his powers take over. Erik thinks they have found just the person, but whether or not Charles would be willing to help is another matter. Erik doesn't think he'll say no, but it's Charles' life, his work, his sister, and whether he'll take the time to help out a couple of strangers, fellow mutants or no -- that's something they've yet to find out. It's one thing to free some of their people, and quite another to take an active part in steering their future, giving up his own pursuits so that he can take on teaching and guiding others.
The thoughts leave him unsettled; Erik forces them back, locks them away for the time being until all of his mind is focused on the task before them, getting their kin out of this place and making sure no one will ever think to do something like that to their kind again.
"Okay, commencing freeze. Erik, you're up."
Erik barely spares the time to nod at Charles' instructions before he's running, too, long legs eating up the ground below him. He feels the familiar slight, soft nudge at his mind, and realises Charles is asking to be let inside, to be allowed to guide him. Erik braces himself and peels apart the cold iron shutters he's been using to surround his mind, keep himself safe. Charles slips inside, a warm, easy presence that feels so much like a part of Erik that he falters for a moment before he rights himself again and presses forward, ignoring the nearly overwhelming desire to spread himself open for Charles to settle inside, to never leave him. It terrifies him, and yet at the same time he longs for it. He shakes himself, forces his mind to focus on every step, every twig that breaks in his body and his face, the feel of stones and earth shifting under his feet, until those thoughts are buried so deep that even he can't dig them out again. It has to be enough. He doesn't think he could bear it, for Charles to see them, and for him to have to sit through a "Look, Erik" conversation. He'd take any number of bullets over that.
The gateway to the facility approaches and then falls behind him, and after another few metres Erik is inside. People stand frozen to the spot, holding guns, or with their noses buried in files, or mouths open, clearly mid-sentence to each other. Erik calls all weapons away from the soldiers, breaks them up while they’re still flying at him and lets them drop in harmless pieces behind his back.
Someone moves ahead of him, and he raises one of the still-intact semi-automatics in the direction of Stryker, but then Charles sends him a strong >>NO<< and Stryker's form shifts to let Raven's familiar blue skin to the surface.
"They're not far, come on," she says, leading the way to a reinforced lift that takes them three floors underground.
"Charles can still follow you here?" Erik asks, taking note of the sheet after sheet of insulation applied to the walls of the compound when the doors open again.
"Barely, but Emma helps, I think. I'll bet they didn't expect two telepaths to come at them at the same time," Raven replies smugly.
Now that she mentions it, Erik can only just feel the shape of Charles' thoughts in his head, joined by something else that sends out a shattered reflection, which he surmises is Emma. He and Raven run down the corridor, through several automatic doors whose locks short when Erik glares at them, and then they're in a wider hallway with doors leading off both sides.
"They're here," Raven says. Erik notices for the first time how tightly leashed her voice is, brittle with anger and pain, and he barely has time to brace himself before he unlocks the first door and pushes it open.
"Charles, you have to wake them up," he hears Raven say, but it's like the noise is filtering through deep underwater, because when he sees the small shape curled in on herself, arms and legs pulled tightly in like it could protect her, he's quite sure that by the time he leaves this place there will be nothing left to find.
>>Erik, calm your mind, my friend,<< comes Charles' desperate thought, and Erik becomes aware of how the walls and ceiling are trying to close in over them, drawn by his fury. He breathes in and out deeply, and releases the metal support beams, pushes them back into place.
Just then the figure on the bed moves, uncurls in a snap of limbs and shifts to press her back to the wall, wary black eyes following their every move. She looks Hispanic, with beautiful full lips and high cheekbones that appear sunken because of how gaunt her face is.
"It's okay," Raven says, stretching out a cautious hand. "We've come to get you out."
The girl watches them suspiciously until Erik twitches his fingers and the manacles holding her ankle to the bed frame click open. She starts, but then the suspicion fades from her face.
"I'm Raven," Raven says gently.
"Angel," the girl answers hoarsely, slipping to her feet. "You're here for us? All of us?"
"Yes, all of you. We're here to help," Raven says soothingly, like she’s talking to a spooked animal.
The look on Angel's face shifts from mistrustful to determined. "Finally," she says, grinning a sharp smile so vicious that Erik considers stepping back for a moment. "I knew someone would find out eventually. We can't be the only ones out there."
"You're not," Erik says, unwittingly echoing Charles' words to him from what feels like a lifetime ago. "You're not alone."
Angel cracks her knuckles, and to Erik and Raven's visible shock she whips her white, standard-issue shirt over her head and unhooks the thin strap of her bra from behind her back. Small bruises loom over her ribs, along her sides; Erik feels physically sick when he notices the burn marks that decorate the skin around her beautiful, stunningly intricate tattoo. And then her shoulders shimmer, and the iridescent tattoo comes to life, lifting and spreading into gossamer-thin wings that Angel flexes with a relieved sigh. There’s a neat hole cut out of the left one, around the size of Erik’s fist – the same fist Erik wants to put through a wall at the thought of what had done that, and why.
Angel re-hooks her bra strap in the middle of the wings, where they flow into a ribbed cartilage. "Let's do this thing," she snarls, and fuck yes, they are here for a reason. Let's tear this place to the ground.
There are three other rooms that Erik feels Charles nudge him towards; Erik blasts the locks off all the other doors in the corridor, and the three of them split up. Raven re-emerges bracing a tall boy with skin the colour of mocha, leading him out into the corridor. The boy stands on his own after a moment, testing the strength of his legs. Erik approaches with his own cargo, a ginger boy that looks younger than Raven but probably isn't. Then there's a blast to their left and Erik steps forward, automatically pushing the younger people behind him, bracing himself for an attack -- but the only thing that approaches, like an apparition through the billowing smoke, is Angel and another, taller man not much younger than Erik, who is covering his eyes with a hand and trusting the girl to guide him.
"Angel, what is going on?" the African-American boy asks, throwing Erik and Raven suspicious looks.
"They're here to help," Angel says reassuringly, then turns and points the new additions out one by one. "This is Armando," she says of the latter; the ginger one is Sean, and the confused-looking man is Scott. Raven and Erik introduce themselves; it looks terribly awkward, all of them standing in a circle in the middle of a smoking corridor.
"Have you found Logan yet?" Scott asks, still shielding his eyes.
"You can look now, the smoke is all gone," Raven says kindly.
"It's not that," Armando says, and Scott shakes his head.
"I can't open them. If I do I'm going to blast half of this place to smithereens."
Erik stares at him. "So why haven't you escaped yet?" he asks impatiently.
"Because I can't actually see without blowing things up. I couldn't get any of the others out, and I'm not leaving without..." he trails off, looking embarrassed.
"I'll go get him," Angel promises. "Erik is a metal manipulator," she adds, with the air of a magician pulling a white rabbit out of a hat. For the first time, Scott looks hopeful.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Erik asks, but all of them shake their heads.
"You'll see," Armando says.
Angel beckons him to follow, and with a last glance at the others he leaves Raven to start herding them towards the exit. Angel turns left at the end of the hallway and leads him down a long corridor. He completely loses track of Charles this far underground, and for the brief second that he can spare he admits to himself that he misses his soothing presence.
Then Angel turns again, coming to a dead end barred by several inches of thick steel. She nods at the doors, looking expectant, and Erik tumbles the lock (not without effort), then pushes the wings apart.
And then they're standing in a room straight out of some horror film, thin metal instruments laid carefully in trays all over the counters, like this is an operating theatre prepped for surgery. There is an exceedingly strange contraption in the middle of the room, something like a concrete bath with a vat of metal bubbling hellishly behind it. And on the other side of the room...
Erik’s teeth clench painfully; he hears dimly all the free-standing metal in the room clattering to the floor as he sends it vibrating with his fury. At his side he sees Angel, pale but determined, grab a huge mallet from the display on the wall, and follows her lead. Together they smash in the glass tank bolted to the wall; the greenish liquid inside drains immediately through whatever cracks they make into the reinforced glass. Erik helps by yanking on the metal supports, tearing the tank from inside out.
"Careful," Angel yelps, throwing an arm across Erik's chest like that would stop him. "Make sure it's just the case you're targeting."
Erik is about to ask her what the hell she means when the man behind the glass snaps his head up, eyes flicking open and focusing on Erik with murder etched in their depths. The impression is only a little spoiled by the choking cough that expels whatever that liquid was out of the man’s lungs.
"Hey, Logan, it's okay. This is Erik. He's here to help. They've come for us," she says, and the hope in her voice makes Erik's chest clench tightly. It's just four words, but there's volumes of meaning packed inside -- hopelessness, resignation, desperate wishing, and suddenly, inexplicably, someone come to help at last.
Again Erik goes to snap the metal bands that hold Logan's arms contorted unnaturally, fists pointing towards his shoulders, and again Angel tenses, like she knows something he doesn't. Okay, so it's obviously to do with metal; Erik focuses... and actually takes a step back in shock.
"What the fuck?"
"Are you gonna help me out or what?" Logan rasps now that he’s finished coughing, flexing his arms uselessly. Beneath his skin, grafted onto his bones, the adamantium shifts to follow his every movement.
Erik targets the common metal much more carefully this time, snapping the manacles at his wrists and ankles in two.
"Thanks," Logan says dismissively, stepping carefully over the broken glass and onto the floor. He sways, but when Erik goes to hold him up, the guy levels such a glare at him that Erik automatically steps back.
"You all right?" Logan asks Angel once he’s propped himself up on the counter by the tank, and she nods.
"Everyone else is out, you're the last one. We just have to get Hank and Dr MacTaggert."
Erik frowns. "Charles said there were only five of you kept under light sedation."
"Who the fuck's Charles?" Logan demands, but before Erik can snap back Angel is shaking her head and beckoning them towards the exit.
"We don't have time for this. We have to move. Whatever your friend did, it cancelled out the sedatives they gave us three hours ago, so this is our chance. I'll go get the others."
Erik grits his teeth. "You have to tell me who they are so Charles can unfreeze them," he says reluctantly.
But it seems the other group is already on it, because as they emerge from the elevator up above there are a man and a woman in white lab coats running towards them, and only Angel's quick reactions stop Erik from putting a few holes in them with a slumped guard's Browning.
"Wait!" she yelps even as the two people freeze in their tracks. "They're with us."
"They work here," Erik growls, more than ready to mete out some retribution.
"They helped us as much as they could. And Hank is one of us," she insists.
Under Erik's furious glare, Hank is quick to kick off his shoes and display a pair of extremely impressive feet, opposable toes and all.
"What about her?" Erik asks, switching his aim to the slight dark-haired woman with the worried expression.
"She's been sabotaging their research from the inside," Logan says grudgingly, and he and the woman share a loaded look. Erik sees her wince, but she remains tall and sure, looking him right in the eye, calmly expecting him to judge her. Erik gives her points for having a pair of balls bigger than those of most of the men all around him, at least.
"Okay, now can we go?" he snarks, feeling Charles' urgency inside his mind.
>>Hurry, Erik. We can't hold them much longer, there are too many.<<
Erik leads the way out into the open, where the rest of the group is waiting. Charles, Emma and Alex have slunk closer, and now stand with the others. Alex looks paler than Erik has ever seen him, and he can't take his eyes off the guy with the laser gaze.
"Alex? You all right?" Erik asks, taking a few more steps towards him.
Alex looks up at him helplessly, lips pressed tightly together. "I will be," he says.
Scott's head lifts and turns towards Alex, but then Logan is closing in on him, saying something quiet and indistinct, and all of Scott's attention switches to him so completely that it's palpable.
Erik's about to suggest they head back towards the minivan when he looks around properly for the first time. Charles is talking to Armando, fingers still at his temple, and Emma and Raven are conferring quietly in one corner, and there's seven people joining their crew, two more than there are seats for in the minivan.
"We're never going to fit," he mutters to himself. How is he going to get all these people away from this place?
A moment later he becomes aware of someone hovering beside him, and he turns his head to face the scientist, Hank. "Yes?"
"I--I might be able to help with that," Hank stutters, wilting a little under Erik's frown.
Ten minutes later Erik's frown melts into a smile of grim appreciation as he looks up at the sleek black jet housed in one of the hangars away from the main building.
"Can you fly this thing?" Erik asks, calculating how much faster they can make their escape in a machine like this.
"Of course," Hank says simply. "I designed it."
Erik rounds up everyone, leaving Raven in charge of getting them inside. Alex stays behind; so does Scott, at Raven's request -- and so does Logan. Erik's getting the feeling that where one goes, the other follows.
"We are going to march out everyone that is still inside," Charles reports, voice tight. "Then Emma and I are going to wipe their memories of their research and everything to do with mutants. And then Scott and Alex are going to blow this place up."
"We shouldn't leave them alive," Erik says darkly. "Not after what they've done."
Logan looks inclined to agree; Erik cannot even imagine what these people must have put him through.
"No!" a voice comes from behind them, and he sees Dr MacTaggert lingering close by. "They're just scientists!'
"And they tortured these kids for their own gain," Erik says forcefully. "And what about the soldiers who kept them prisoners? How many more people went in there and were never heard of again?"
"Erik, no," Charles pleads. "We can't just kill everyone. This isn't the way! Emma and myself are taking all their memories. Every sign of their research will be destroyed. Is that not enough?"
Erik looks at Charles, and doesn't know whether to be disgusted or unsurprised. Charles has never struck him as someone who could take drastic measures to ensure their safety. But Charles is also right -- a bunch of bodies would be even more suspicious than thirty-odd people wondering confusedly through the forest with no memory of what they're doing there. And as long as the facility is completely obliterated--
"Fine," Erik grunts. "Alex? What do you think? Can you take the whole thing out from here?"
But Alex is paying zero attention to Erik. Instead, he is standing in front of Scott, hand clenched tightly on Scott's arm.
"Alex?" Erik prompts, only to be ignored yet again.
"Is that really you?" Scott asks, forces the words out like they're painful, like he might fall apart any moment just from saying them. Logan, even though he’s still wet and shivering in the cool air, is plastered to Scott's side, looking like he wishes he could do something to take away whatever is making Scott sound like that.
"It is, Scotty," Alex says hoarsely.
"Alex!" Erik barks. They don't have time for this right now, whatever is going on between the two men.
Alex jumps, but Erik notices he hasn't let go of Scott's arm.
"We have to go. Can you do it from here or not?"
Behind them, people start shuffling out of the compound, zombie-like. Charles and Emma are glaring at them, strain written all over both of them as they fight to finish their job quickly.
"That won't be necessary," Dr MacTaggert says calmly. She withdraws something from her pocket that looks an awful lot like a remote control, with some kind of dial on one end and numbers on the other. It's small and sleek, chrome surface reflecting the dim light of the cloudy day.
"Is that what I think it is?" Erik asks.
"If you're thinking it's a remote detonator, then yes. It is."
"Hot damn," Logan says, looking impressed.
"Will that take out the whole building?" Erik demands.
"It's connected to C4 built into the bottom two floors. It will bring the whole structure down on top of itself. It was meant to be a self-destruct mechanism in case of infiltration – well, I guess it will serve its purpose today." Dr MacTaggert's fingers linger on top of the dial. "Say the word, Charles."
Charles looks around, eyes dazed and far-away. "Stryker isn't on the premises," he says, concern colouring his voice.
Dr MacTaggert's mouth twists, lips thinning. "No, he's in DC today."
"Damn!" This is a setback Erik hasn't considered. "Well, we'll have to work with what we have. Charles, where are you and Emma at?"
"Just finishing now," Charles says, sounding tense and exhausted. Erik is going to have to insist on him sleeping again on the way to--
Fuck.
"Where are we actually going from here?"
"Home," Charles says, taking his hand away from his temple at last. "We're going home." He nods to Dr MacTaggert.
She twists the dial, and a deep rumble shakes the ground under their feet. Within moments the compound is collapsing onto itself, taking some of the surrounding area with it. By the time the dust settles and there is a group of people peering at the destruction with a confused look in their eyes, a single black airplane is getting smaller and smaller in the distance, entirely unnoticed.
---
Erik is somewhat taken aback by the mansion they land outside. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, enormous. He climbs out of the jet along with the others, and they stand there in a small huddle and stare up at it for a long moment.
"Damn," Armando says while the rest of them blink at the property.
Charles looks a strange mixture of sheepish and proud, and something else, something not so easily identified, small and quickly hidden away as Erik looks on. Erik watches him closely, but Charles’ face smoothes over and now there’s nothing to be found in it but satisfaction. Raven at his side is a little easier to read, and again there’s that something in her eyes... Erik wonders what must have happened in this house to make them both so ambivalent about coming home.
“All this is yours?” Alex asks with his usual lack of tact.
“No,” Charles says, and now there’s finally warmth infusing his voice again. “It’s ours.”
“Time for the tour,” Raven says, smacks a kiss onto Charles’ cheek in passing and leads the way inside, trailed by everyone but Charles and Erik himself. Erik knows that he’ll spend much of the late evening and the night prowling through the place anyway, marking out exits and choke points and outlining a defensive strategy in his head. And probably making lists of recommendations for strengthening the mansion’s security, too, although he doesn’t know if Charles will want to carry out any of those.
Charles is quiet beside him, face slipping back into a pensive expression now that their audience is gone.
“How long has it been since you were last back?” Erik asks.
Charles takes a deep breath through the nose, and Erik watches recognition replace the far-away look in his eyes. “Almost ten years. Once I moved to Oxford and knew what I was missing—well, it was hard even thinking about leaving again.”
“What about Raven? When did she come to live with you?”
“Oh, she came along pretty early on.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. Erik waits him out patiently, something he’s become pretty good at after years of honing his skills on reluctant witnesses.
Charles sighs and looks at him ruefully. “We weren’t exactly welcome here, not after my mother remarried. Raven and I figured we’d take our chances together.”
“And now?”
Charles shrugs. “And now they’re both dead, and we have other people to care for. This can become a home for them, for all of us, in a way that it never was before.”
Erik watches Charles look away from him, back at the house, and he can spot it now, the reluctance, yet still the hope.
“It would be great if you would help us,” Charles says, startling Erik. He’s trying for nonchalance, but it’s not working, or else Erik has somehow learned to read him a lot better than he expected. “You know so much about defending and securing a place, and we’ll need to make sure that the house is up to scratch. It’s been some time since anyone has lived here.”
Erik gives that some thought. Stay here? What would he do? Look after the kids, help them adjust, keep them safe; maybe even help them train, teach them? To his surprise, it’s not at all a disagreeable thought, doing this for the rest of his life.
And that’s before he even takes Charles into account. Charles with his boundless capacity for compassion, the way he cares at people, the way he stretches himself too thin making sure the others are all well, happy, content, without sparing a thought for himself. The way he’s obviously choosing to put his promising career on hold to make sure the others get all the help they need. The way he could still be so naive despite everything he must know about human nature – or, rather, that he chooses to believe that people can be better than themselves. Because Erik isn’t an idiot – he could not imagine what Charles has seen throughout his life, and to still be this amazing, caring, kind man—it's beyond Erik. Even before all that has happened this week, the policeman in Erik is all too aware of the darkness in the world.
And yet Charles stands there, trying to look unbothered, like he isn’t hanging on Erik’s answer. Every thought, every impulse of the past few days snaps into focus, and for a moment Erik can’t breathe for what Charles is offering him – a place to belong, to be himself without having to hide, to spend his life amongst people of his kind; to spend his life with Charles at his side.
And of course he knows that there’s nothing concrete between him and Charles, apart from his own feelings that are sometimes too intense to put into words, that frighten him with how much he wants them returned. Charles has given no indication that he does, beyond his clear interest the first time they met, what seems months ago but is only five-odd days; and Erik has been around the block enough times to know that checking someone out in a bar is worlds away from choosing to share your life with them.
He’s let the silence stretch too long.
“Of course you’re under no obligation to remain; I know you have a life back in Germany. But I would appreciate the help for as long as you can give it, and I will be happy to offer you anything you need in return.”
A life back in Germany. His mother. A house with its windows shattered by bullets, no longer safe; misappropriating evidence and going off on his own with his junior officer; stealing out of Germany in the middle of the night, and into a country halfway across the world without a scrap of paperwork; a case that he has no idea how he’s going to close, if they even let him back into his department. His life lies spread out before him, and Erik has no idea where or how to pick it up again.
Of one thing only he is completely sure – he can’t leave his mother behind. He won’t.
But then again, his mother is safe for the time being, and he can’t walk away from this just yet. Hadn’t he started on this path searching for answers, for someone to help him understand and develop his abilities? Charles is offering him just that.
And even if it’s only this that Charles is offering, it’s still not something Erik can pass on, the chance to spend time with Charles on an equal footing, to see whether this thing that seems to be shimmering between them can crystallise, or if it will fade away.
“Okay,” he says, smiling tentatively. “I’ll stay, at least for a while. But I can’t promise anything.” He presses his lips together, but makes himself force it out. He can trust Charles, if nothing else. “When I told you that my mother is Edie Lehnsherr, you didn’t seem surprised. You saw her in my head when you looked that first time, didn’t you?”
Charles winces imperceptibly. “Edie? Yes, I did. I mean, we have never officially met, but when you mentioned her name I put the pieces together.”
“How much did you see about what happened to us, before I came looking for you?
“Not much. There was—the attack you told us about? By Shaw’s men? And she showed you her wood manipulation abilities?”
Erik nods. "I know you've been corresponding ever since that European Society of Human Genetics conference when she came to hear your lecture on mutations and decided to write to you, but she only told me about it after we were attacked."
"She didn't want you to look at her differently, Erik. She was afraid that if you knew about what she could do, you might—"
Erik scowls, and Charles shakes his head quickly. "No, she knows you love her. She was just—people do stupid things when they're afraid of losing the ones they love, my friend. I’m sure you know something of the way she felt."
Erik sighs, remembering the blinding fear that had burned through him at the thought of his mother turning away from him, back in the bullet-ridden kitchen of her house. “I hate that she thought she had to hide from me all those years.”
Charles nods, a vague sadness coming off him in waves. "You can't change the past. But you can make the future better for her, for all of us."
Erik smiles at him, strangely comforted and even more determined to make sure that no one will have to hide like his mother, not again.
---
That night Erik does indeed prowl through the property, walking down passage after passage, mapping out the layout, checking every room he walks inside first for metal and then for weak points that can and should be reinforced.
At one point he runs into Logan, who growls in surprise and snaps out foot-long, vicious-looking metal claws from his knuckles, falling into a defensive crouch before he realises who it is. When he does, he grunts and re-sheathes them with a disgusted look on his face. Looks like Logan is doing much the same thing as Erik; Erik recognises that look in his eyes, has seen it enough times during his army days to know that he’s looking at another soldier. They pass each other in the hallway, keeping sights on each other until they turn the opposite corners.
Some time later, when he slips inside one of the seemingly hundreds of rooms on the ground floor, he’s stopped in his tracks by the sight of Emma, sitting in a plush armchair turned to face the darkened window with her feet tucked under her, staring out into the night. There’s a half-full bottle of Dalwhinnie on the small table to the side, and she’s cradling a tumbler with an inch or so of liquid in it in her lap. She’s changed out of the stiff tailored clothes she’s worn so far, and into a pair of white sweatpants and shirt with the Dartmouth logo on the front. Her eyes are ever-so-slightly pink-rimmed when she turns her head and raises an immaculately groomed eyebrow in his direction, daring him to comment. Erik doesn’t make that mistake; he merely nods to her and leaves her to it.
Later still, the house has gone quiet at last, hours after a make-shift meal from whatever tins there had been in the larder (he lives in a house that has its own larder now; he can barely fathom it). The kids had been exhausted, especially the ones he and Raven had pulled out of the locked rooms. Dr MacTaggert (“Call me Moira”) had quietly checked each and every one of them over, together with Hank. Charles had run himself and Raven ragged making up rooms for everyone, getting them aired out and supplying them with clean sheets and blankets and pillows. Erik’s own room is down a corridor on the third floor, not far from Charles’. He tries not to think too hard about what that might mean.
Erik’s thinking about rounding off his tour already, continuing in the morning. He’s exhausted; it’s been a long few days for everyone, and he’s had his fill of worrying and focusing and generally being on high alert. Now that things seem to have settled down, at least for tonight, he can feel the adrenaline crash approaching like a freight train, and knows it’s going to hit him hard and vicious sometime in the next hour. Just one more room to check, near the foot of the stairs that lead up to his bedroom.
He pushes the door open, surprised to see bookcases lining all the walls, only breaking for the windows on the other end of the room. The light is dim but warm, bathing the expensive furniture in a honeyed glow. Someone’s obviously been here—and still is, Erik realises when he looks around and spots Charles’ familiar shape sprawled on the leather sofa, with paperwork strewn across the low table in front of it and an arm thrown over his eyes. He looks like he’s sleeping, chest rising and falling steadily, other arm hanging limp, his usually nimble fingers trailing towards the floor. Erik smiles softly and turns to leave, thinking to check this room out tomorrow so he doesn’t disturb Charles’ rest (although he would certainly sleep better in a proper bed).
And then he has to push thoughts of Charles, stripped of his shirts and trousers and cardigans, pale skin shining in the dim light under crisp, freshly-laundered cotton sheets, far, far away from the front of his mind. Just as he’s about to slip out of the door again, Charles’ soft, drowsy rumble reaches him and pulls him up short.
“No, don’t leave, Erik,” he says, and when Erik looks back, Charles has lifted his arm off his face and is rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “I was just about to pack it in for tonight as well.”
Erik wants to close his eyes and shake his head at himself when he finds the display equal parts alluring and adorable. God, why is this happening to him?
“How was your surveillance?” Charles asks, sounding irrepressibly fond.
“Good enough,” Erik allows. “There’s a few ground floor rooms that could use reinforcement. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.”
“All right.”
“Met Logan while I was at it. Looked like he was doing the same thing.”
Charles hums. “Not one but two security experts; well, that’s a more than welcome happenstance.”
Erik’s stomach twists a little, but he squashes it ruthlessly. It’ll be good for Charles to have someone else with Erik’s skills around when Erik leaves, so he should be pleased he’s not the only one who can do the job. Why it makes him feel bereft is beyond him.
Charles stands and stretches his arms up towards the ceiling, twisting his back a little, giving that little shudder that means he’s tensed and relaxed every muscle in his body simultaneously. Erik feels his mouth water as his eyes follow the long line of Charles’ body even underneath the shapeless cardigan he’d donned. There’s a sliver of skin exposed by his loose t-shirt riding up, and the jolt of electricity Erik feels is enough to have him at half-mast just from that sight alone. He doesn’t look away fast enough when Charles drops his arms and turns to face him, and he feels his face flush a little when Charles meets his gaze with eyebrows lifted in question.
“I’m off to bed,” he says, a cowardly excuse if there ever was one, but he’s exhausted and his barriers appear to be gone down altogether if just the tantalising hint of bare skin can leave him straining against the flap of his trousers.
“All right,” Charles says mildly, though he doesn’t take his pensive eyes off Erik. “Sleep well, my friend.”
A wave of warmth and fondness flows over him, and he realises that Charles must be more tired than he appears if he’s projecting like this.
“You should, too,” Erik says, unwilling to leave it there.
“I will,” Charles replies wearily, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “As soon as I’ve made sure everyone is settled, and all the doors and windows are locked, and figure out what we’re going to do for breakfast tomorrow morning—“
“Charles.”
Charles stops, looking at Erik enquiringly.
“I shan’t presume to tell you what to do or not do in your own house, but you are obviously exhausted. No one’s come looking for you, and I’ll bet that you’ll be able to feel it just fine if anyone’s having problems. I’ve checked all the doors and windows downstairs already, and I seem to remember seeing flour and yeast in the pantry, so we’ll bake something for breakfast. Go to bed.”
Charles stares at him like he’s grown a second head, but Erik stands there and doesn’t move. Charles needs rest, and if he’s too daft to take care of himself, well, Erik is going to have to do it for him.
“I’m not a bloody child,” Charles protests, but if he’d meant to reassure or reproach Erik, it backfires spectacularly when he yawns and sways a little before he’s even finished speaking.
“So don’t act like one. Come on. Bed.”
“I won’t argue that it doesn’t sound good, because god, does it ever, but there just seems to be so much to do…”
“And we’ll do it. Tomorrow’s another day, if you haven’t noticed. And—“ Erik hesitates, but he’s made his decision now. No reason to be ambivalent about where he stands. “You don’t have to do it alone. We’ll all help.”
The smile Charles gives him is brilliant, so much so that it lights up the entire room.
“All right. Bed it is.”
And of course it’s now that Charles has agreed that Erik starts to feel self-conscious about ordering him around in his own house, and walking up the stairs with him, like they’re headed for the same place even if their rooms are on opposite sides of the corridor. It’s strange, and not entirely comfortable, not with the way his skin is still humming with awareness under his clothes, and the way Charles’ proximity seems to set off some kind of signal inside him that wants to follow this man through the door of his bedroom, press him down onto the bed, kiss him and kiss him until neither of them can breathe – or worse, tuck him into bed, make sure his own windows are locked, pull the blanket up to his chin and press a kiss to his forehead in parting.
It’s driving him insane. By the time he closes his own bedroom door, leans his back on it and bows his head, Charles’ soft “Good night” ringing faintly in his ears, he has no idea how he’s going to survive this without forgetting himself and jumping Charles. He takes off his clothes, stifling a groan in relief when he finally unzips his trousers and relieves the pressure on his cock, so much harder than it should be after merely a touch of Charles’ hand, a murmured word. He feels like some dirty old man, hogging those favours like treasures to take out and gloat over at night.
Still, when he’s in the shower, hand wrapped snugly around his length, squeezing and rubbing just so, it’s Charles’ eyes he sees, Charles’ lips he thinks about, the small of Charles’ back he kisses, Charles’ ass that his phantom fingers dip into, Charles’ shattered moans that he feels in his mouth as he comes.
This is unacceptable, but he’ll be damned if he knows what to do about it.
[Part Four]
Pairing/characters: Charles/Erik, Erik/Alex BFFS, hints of Logan/Scott, Raven/Emma, Alex/Darwin, Janos/Azazel, ensemble cast.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~9,000 this part
For Warnings, Summary and Notes, please see [Part One] | [Part Two]
Part Three
By the time they arrive and it's time to face customs, Charles seems sufficiently recovered for Erik not to feel like an asshole about asking for his help again. He tries not to think about the sight of Charles waking up, the slow, content exhale that Erik had felt across his collarbone, the faintly confused look in Charles' eyes as he'd regained consciousness, eyelids flicking up and down to chase the last remnants of sleep from his lashes, the rounding of his perfectly shaped mouth as he realised just what had made up his comfortable pillow. It had been… Erik doesn't know what it had been, but he isn't likely to forget the sight any time soon.
He is tense as they make their way through the immigration desks, but the well-built African-American man's eyes glaze over for a split second, and then he's stamping Erik's passport and smiling genially. Erik smiles back, trying not to look too relieved, and walks towards the small group waiting for him on the other side. Charles takes his fingers away from his temple with a self-satisfied smirk, looking much more rested even if there is a faint strain around his eyes still.
They rent a car from the airport desk, but as soon as they're in town they switch it for a minivan -- Erik has no idea how many of their kind they are going to find, but an extra five seats will have to do to start with, and they could always swipe transport from the base itself.
"All right then, Charles," Erik says, turning to face him fully. It grates a little that Charles had refused to disclose the location he had pin-pointed, but Erik can respect the need for secrecy even if he doesn't like it. The fewer people who know of it, the better. "Where to?"
"Arkansas," Charles says, and Erik fights not to groan. That's half-way across the country! Still, he can see why a facility would be based there -- it's not particularly densely populated, and the wilderness and forests would provide cover from above and from curious travellers who have taken a wrong turn somewhere. The place isn't on any maps, naturally.
"Fine," Erik says. "I'll drive."
He gets no argument, but the look in Charles' eyes suggests this may not be a permanent state of affairs. As it is, though, he climbs in behind the wheel, takes the time to feel out the vehicle, learn its curves, understand where it ends, exactly how far the bumpers are from his fingertips and toes. Once he's got the feel of it memorised, he twitches his fingers and starts the engine, pulling out onto the road. By that time Alex is already asleep again, exhausted from the pain for which they have no medication, and Emma and Raven are staring out of their respective windows. Charles is restless in the seat to Erik's right, endlessly scanning the road ahead even when they leave the city behind and take to the open countryside. It's early enough yet, and Erik settles down for the ride, lets the rhythm of the tyres hitting the road lull him into a comfortable state of concentration, easily flitting in and out of the light traffic. He doesn't even notice time passing until Charles' voice pulls him out of his thoughts.
"I think it's time we found a place to stop and have something to eat," Charles says. Erik wants to protest, wants to get to the place as soon as it's physically possible, wants to pull those kids out of there and take them somewhere where no one can get to them.
>>As do I, my friend,<< Charles says in his mind. >>But the others are barely hanging in there. They need a break, a distraction.<<
Of course. Trust Charles to have noticed. Alex looks a little green around the edges, holding his arm as still as possible, and Emma's eyes are dark and sunken, looking haunted. Raven seems to be holding up, but when Erik catches her eye in the rear view mirror her lips are pressed tightly together and she has a death grip on Emma's hand.
And Charles. Charles is looking at Erik with a strange sort of concern in his eyes, and Erik isn't quite fluent in 'Charles' yet but he doesn't think he'd know what it meant even if he was. Still. He can't really say no to him, and how the hell did that happen? The only person even remotely close to holding that status is his mother, and he's had decades of conditioning. He's known this man for all of three days, and already he's this involved?
He can't fight the shudder of premonition that slithers down his spine. If this is the result of a three-day acquaintance with Charles Xavier, what might happen after a week? A month?
Could Erik really walk away again?
He has the uneasy feeling that he's setting himself up for some pretty awful heartbreak in the not-too-distant future.
He rubs at his face, only now realising just how damned weary he is, hours of looking at nothing but the empty road, eyes gone gritty and strained.
"All right, okay," he says, and starts looking around. He doesn't know if Charles knew this somehow, but not three miles later they come to a small diner on the side of the road, busy for the lack of traffic they've encountered but scrupulously clean. The five of them fold into the crammed booth, and Erik immediately gulps down half of his obligatory mug of coffee in one go.
"Hey, go easy on the stuff," Charles warns while Raven bargains for a plate of eggs and bacon with the amiable middle-aged waitress. "You'll need to try and get some sleep in a bit, when we get back on the road."
Erik frowns. "Sleep? I'm driving--"
"You were driving," Charles cuts him off with a warning look. "One of us will take over. You need rest too, Erik."
Erik opens his mouth again, eyebrows drawing together. He's fine to drive for a few more hours at least.
"Oh, give over," Emma scoffs, the first time she's spoken to any of them apart from Raven since she got into the car with them back in Oxford. "I'll drive for a while, then Charles can take over, and then, once you've gotten enough rest to not drive the lot of us into a ditch, if you're incapable of managing your control-freak tendencies, you may take the wheel again. Understood?"
Erik shuts his mouth with a snap, scowling. Disagreeing not only won’t work but will piss her off as well, not to mention imply that he doesn't trust her, when after what she'd shown him of herself earlier the thought would be patently ridiculous. He nods curtly when she raises a challenging eyebrow. He’ll manage to contain himself somehow.
Charles watches them, surprise and a flash of something else in his eyes, gone so quickly that Erik is barely sure it was even there, let alone try to decipher it. They eat in silence, shovelling food into their mouths as fast as they can before jumping back into the car. Erik climbs into the back this time, and watches as Emma adjusts her seat and mirrors that couple of inches that she needs to feel comfortable. She pulls away from the diner parking lot with a competency that's reassuring, and quickly gets them up to cruising speed. Charles sits in the front again, and Erik is free to observe, unobserved himself, the line of Charles' throat as he lets his head rest back against the seat, the shifting muscles in his shoulders as he stretches a little and settles again. Erik lets himself relax into his seat, and watches Charles through lowered eyelashes until, without quite realising it, his consciousness slips under.
He manages to sleep through Emma's change with Charles, which is in itself astounding, because Erik is the lightest sleeper he knows. He can only chalk it up to exhaustion and the strange safety he feels in the midst of their makeshift group. It's a strange sensation, having people to watch his back; he hasn't felt this way since his early days in the army, when he had so many others like him to rely on. It's a little nostalgic to remember it now, and to realise that these people invoke the same feeling of 'team' that he thought was long lost to him.
All in all, it's early morning when they reach the state border with Arkansas, when Erik insists he take the wheel again so that Charles and Emma are free to scout the terrain ahead with their minds. It really shouldn't surprise him how little time it takes them to lock onto the trace, but he is a little taken aback at the speed of it, he'll be honest.
He drives, and he worries at the problem over and over in his head, taking into account the information Emma and Charles are feeding him moment by moment -- '28 conscious minds, another five at least partially drugged, several guard dogs.' He tries to think of how best to attack, what kind of formation would be needed, if he can use Raven's ability to fool the guards into letting them pass. Alex is pretty much sitting this one out, Erik doesn't care how much he grumbles. Erik needs to be focused on every little detail, because as powerful as his people are, they still can't stop a speeding bullet headed for them even if they can knock out the shooter a moment later. But Erik can. And he will.
Charles directs him to stop not far from the compound, shielded by a turn in the road and the densely growing vegetation. When the minivan rolls to a halt everyone jumps out and reconvenes in the natural cover provided by a large rock, part of some long-forgotten landslide.
"Okay," Erik says, "so I was thinking--"
"Here's how we're going to do it,” Raven interrupts, and the tone is so calm, unconsciously expecting to be obeyed, that Erik shuts up from sheer surprise. “Emma will send me the image of the head scientist. Then Charles is going to knock him out, and I'll go in disguised as him or her. I'll scout out the place and relay the information to Emma and Charles, who will pass it on to the rest of you. Then I propose Charles freezes everyone, and Erik and I go in to get the prisoners out. And then Charles and Emma will wipe out the staff’s memories while Alex goes to town burning this place the fuck down."
Erik stares at Raven, a mixture of shock, pride and satisfaction warring inside him. He couldn't have thought of a better plan himself. First things first, though.
"You can do that?" he asks Charles. "Freeze them in place while we go in?"
"I can," Charles confirms, but he's not looking at Erik -- he's watching Raven with a worried expression. "Raven, it's too--"
"If you try and tell me it's too dangerous, Charles, you and I are going to have words," Raven growls. "There are lives at stake here! I can do this, goddamn it!"
"Yes, you can, there's no question about that--"
"Then what? You don't trust yourself to do a good job of keeping me safe? That'll be a first." There’s something bitter in her voice that wars with her determination; out of the corner of his eye, Erik sees Charles flinch.
"This is not the time for that," Charles snaps, sounding upset.
"Fuck's sake, Charles. You're going to have to stop watching my every move eventually. Look. I trust you to keep me safe, you and Emma and Erik. Okay? You can trust me to do what I do best in return."
"But--"
Raven glares at him, something at once defiant and vulnerable in her eyes. Erik wonders how many times they have rehashed this argument, how many times Charles' ingrained protectiveness has hindered her, pulled her back, stopped her from being who she was meant to be. Something like that could do more damage than not caring at all -- because if your closest friend does not believe in you, it eats at you until you start to doubt yourself, and it's a slippery slope after that.
Charles gapes at her a moment longer before he deflates, looking hurt and worried half to death. "Okay," he forces out, "fine.” He rubs at his face with fingers pink from the cold. “You'd better make sure you're all right in there," he adds, looking at her again, and for a moment Erik can see something in him that is different, violent, that would scare the fuck out of him if he wasn't Charles, someone he already trusts to an extent that is in itself terrifying.
Raven’s gaze softens. “I’ll be all right. And I’ll have all of you at my back.”
A moment later, Raven looks like a warrior queen at the height of her powers -- she's shed her clothes in a pile on the ground and stands there in nothing but her bright blue skin, watching her brother and Emma calmly. Charles sends her a last look of concern before turning to the compound and lifting his fingers to his temple. At his side, Emma narrows her eyes, flickers into her diamond shape.
Charles nods at Raven, and then she's running, leaping over obstacles like they're nothing, so fast and agile that Erik feels his jaw drop a little. Soon she is nothing more than a flash of blue through the forest, and after a moment that is gone, too.
"She's closing in," Charles says, not losing that unfocused look in his eyes. "Emma, relay the image."
Emma nods, and suddenly all of them can see him, the man who commands the facility, a thick-set, unassuming Caucasian with a fastidiously groomed goatee and wire-rimmed glasses.
"His name is William Stryker," Emma says softly, and then there is silence as the two telepaths follow Raven through the maze of corridors inside.
Erik tries not to fidget; fails. He takes out Shaw's gun instead and disassembles it in mid-air, setting the metal to vibrate so it repels any non-metal particles like dust and water molecules that could have lodged inside. Cleaned, he slides the parts in their proper formation again, and only then notices the awed look on Alex's face.
"I wish I could control my blasts like that," he says wistfully. Erik remembers his promise that they'll find someone to help Alex hone his skills, teach him how to hone that elusive control and not let his powers take over. Erik thinks they have found just the person, but whether or not Charles would be willing to help is another matter. Erik doesn't think he'll say no, but it's Charles' life, his work, his sister, and whether he'll take the time to help out a couple of strangers, fellow mutants or no -- that's something they've yet to find out. It's one thing to free some of their people, and quite another to take an active part in steering their future, giving up his own pursuits so that he can take on teaching and guiding others.
The thoughts leave him unsettled; Erik forces them back, locks them away for the time being until all of his mind is focused on the task before them, getting their kin out of this place and making sure no one will ever think to do something like that to their kind again.
"Okay, commencing freeze. Erik, you're up."
Erik barely spares the time to nod at Charles' instructions before he's running, too, long legs eating up the ground below him. He feels the familiar slight, soft nudge at his mind, and realises Charles is asking to be let inside, to be allowed to guide him. Erik braces himself and peels apart the cold iron shutters he's been using to surround his mind, keep himself safe. Charles slips inside, a warm, easy presence that feels so much like a part of Erik that he falters for a moment before he rights himself again and presses forward, ignoring the nearly overwhelming desire to spread himself open for Charles to settle inside, to never leave him. It terrifies him, and yet at the same time he longs for it. He shakes himself, forces his mind to focus on every step, every twig that breaks in his body and his face, the feel of stones and earth shifting under his feet, until those thoughts are buried so deep that even he can't dig them out again. It has to be enough. He doesn't think he could bear it, for Charles to see them, and for him to have to sit through a "Look, Erik" conversation. He'd take any number of bullets over that.
The gateway to the facility approaches and then falls behind him, and after another few metres Erik is inside. People stand frozen to the spot, holding guns, or with their noses buried in files, or mouths open, clearly mid-sentence to each other. Erik calls all weapons away from the soldiers, breaks them up while they’re still flying at him and lets them drop in harmless pieces behind his back.
Someone moves ahead of him, and he raises one of the still-intact semi-automatics in the direction of Stryker, but then Charles sends him a strong >>NO<< and Stryker's form shifts to let Raven's familiar blue skin to the surface.
"They're not far, come on," she says, leading the way to a reinforced lift that takes them three floors underground.
"Charles can still follow you here?" Erik asks, taking note of the sheet after sheet of insulation applied to the walls of the compound when the doors open again.
"Barely, but Emma helps, I think. I'll bet they didn't expect two telepaths to come at them at the same time," Raven replies smugly.
Now that she mentions it, Erik can only just feel the shape of Charles' thoughts in his head, joined by something else that sends out a shattered reflection, which he surmises is Emma. He and Raven run down the corridor, through several automatic doors whose locks short when Erik glares at them, and then they're in a wider hallway with doors leading off both sides.
"They're here," Raven says. Erik notices for the first time how tightly leashed her voice is, brittle with anger and pain, and he barely has time to brace himself before he unlocks the first door and pushes it open.
"Charles, you have to wake them up," he hears Raven say, but it's like the noise is filtering through deep underwater, because when he sees the small shape curled in on herself, arms and legs pulled tightly in like it could protect her, he's quite sure that by the time he leaves this place there will be nothing left to find.
>>Erik, calm your mind, my friend,<< comes Charles' desperate thought, and Erik becomes aware of how the walls and ceiling are trying to close in over them, drawn by his fury. He breathes in and out deeply, and releases the metal support beams, pushes them back into place.
Just then the figure on the bed moves, uncurls in a snap of limbs and shifts to press her back to the wall, wary black eyes following their every move. She looks Hispanic, with beautiful full lips and high cheekbones that appear sunken because of how gaunt her face is.
"It's okay," Raven says, stretching out a cautious hand. "We've come to get you out."
The girl watches them suspiciously until Erik twitches his fingers and the manacles holding her ankle to the bed frame click open. She starts, but then the suspicion fades from her face.
"I'm Raven," Raven says gently.
"Angel," the girl answers hoarsely, slipping to her feet. "You're here for us? All of us?"
"Yes, all of you. We're here to help," Raven says soothingly, like she’s talking to a spooked animal.
The look on Angel's face shifts from mistrustful to determined. "Finally," she says, grinning a sharp smile so vicious that Erik considers stepping back for a moment. "I knew someone would find out eventually. We can't be the only ones out there."
"You're not," Erik says, unwittingly echoing Charles' words to him from what feels like a lifetime ago. "You're not alone."
Angel cracks her knuckles, and to Erik and Raven's visible shock she whips her white, standard-issue shirt over her head and unhooks the thin strap of her bra from behind her back. Small bruises loom over her ribs, along her sides; Erik feels physically sick when he notices the burn marks that decorate the skin around her beautiful, stunningly intricate tattoo. And then her shoulders shimmer, and the iridescent tattoo comes to life, lifting and spreading into gossamer-thin wings that Angel flexes with a relieved sigh. There’s a neat hole cut out of the left one, around the size of Erik’s fist – the same fist Erik wants to put through a wall at the thought of what had done that, and why.
Angel re-hooks her bra strap in the middle of the wings, where they flow into a ribbed cartilage. "Let's do this thing," she snarls, and fuck yes, they are here for a reason. Let's tear this place to the ground.
There are three other rooms that Erik feels Charles nudge him towards; Erik blasts the locks off all the other doors in the corridor, and the three of them split up. Raven re-emerges bracing a tall boy with skin the colour of mocha, leading him out into the corridor. The boy stands on his own after a moment, testing the strength of his legs. Erik approaches with his own cargo, a ginger boy that looks younger than Raven but probably isn't. Then there's a blast to their left and Erik steps forward, automatically pushing the younger people behind him, bracing himself for an attack -- but the only thing that approaches, like an apparition through the billowing smoke, is Angel and another, taller man not much younger than Erik, who is covering his eyes with a hand and trusting the girl to guide him.
"Angel, what is going on?" the African-American boy asks, throwing Erik and Raven suspicious looks.
"They're here to help," Angel says reassuringly, then turns and points the new additions out one by one. "This is Armando," she says of the latter; the ginger one is Sean, and the confused-looking man is Scott. Raven and Erik introduce themselves; it looks terribly awkward, all of them standing in a circle in the middle of a smoking corridor.
"Have you found Logan yet?" Scott asks, still shielding his eyes.
"You can look now, the smoke is all gone," Raven says kindly.
"It's not that," Armando says, and Scott shakes his head.
"I can't open them. If I do I'm going to blast half of this place to smithereens."
Erik stares at him. "So why haven't you escaped yet?" he asks impatiently.
"Because I can't actually see without blowing things up. I couldn't get any of the others out, and I'm not leaving without..." he trails off, looking embarrassed.
"I'll go get him," Angel promises. "Erik is a metal manipulator," she adds, with the air of a magician pulling a white rabbit out of a hat. For the first time, Scott looks hopeful.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Erik asks, but all of them shake their heads.
"You'll see," Armando says.
Angel beckons him to follow, and with a last glance at the others he leaves Raven to start herding them towards the exit. Angel turns left at the end of the hallway and leads him down a long corridor. He completely loses track of Charles this far underground, and for the brief second that he can spare he admits to himself that he misses his soothing presence.
Then Angel turns again, coming to a dead end barred by several inches of thick steel. She nods at the doors, looking expectant, and Erik tumbles the lock (not without effort), then pushes the wings apart.
And then they're standing in a room straight out of some horror film, thin metal instruments laid carefully in trays all over the counters, like this is an operating theatre prepped for surgery. There is an exceedingly strange contraption in the middle of the room, something like a concrete bath with a vat of metal bubbling hellishly behind it. And on the other side of the room...
Erik’s teeth clench painfully; he hears dimly all the free-standing metal in the room clattering to the floor as he sends it vibrating with his fury. At his side he sees Angel, pale but determined, grab a huge mallet from the display on the wall, and follows her lead. Together they smash in the glass tank bolted to the wall; the greenish liquid inside drains immediately through whatever cracks they make into the reinforced glass. Erik helps by yanking on the metal supports, tearing the tank from inside out.
"Careful," Angel yelps, throwing an arm across Erik's chest like that would stop him. "Make sure it's just the case you're targeting."
Erik is about to ask her what the hell she means when the man behind the glass snaps his head up, eyes flicking open and focusing on Erik with murder etched in their depths. The impression is only a little spoiled by the choking cough that expels whatever that liquid was out of the man’s lungs.
"Hey, Logan, it's okay. This is Erik. He's here to help. They've come for us," she says, and the hope in her voice makes Erik's chest clench tightly. It's just four words, but there's volumes of meaning packed inside -- hopelessness, resignation, desperate wishing, and suddenly, inexplicably, someone come to help at last.
Again Erik goes to snap the metal bands that hold Logan's arms contorted unnaturally, fists pointing towards his shoulders, and again Angel tenses, like she knows something he doesn't. Okay, so it's obviously to do with metal; Erik focuses... and actually takes a step back in shock.
"What the fuck?"
"Are you gonna help me out or what?" Logan rasps now that he’s finished coughing, flexing his arms uselessly. Beneath his skin, grafted onto his bones, the adamantium shifts to follow his every movement.
Erik targets the common metal much more carefully this time, snapping the manacles at his wrists and ankles in two.
"Thanks," Logan says dismissively, stepping carefully over the broken glass and onto the floor. He sways, but when Erik goes to hold him up, the guy levels such a glare at him that Erik automatically steps back.
"You all right?" Logan asks Angel once he’s propped himself up on the counter by the tank, and she nods.
"Everyone else is out, you're the last one. We just have to get Hank and Dr MacTaggert."
Erik frowns. "Charles said there were only five of you kept under light sedation."
"Who the fuck's Charles?" Logan demands, but before Erik can snap back Angel is shaking her head and beckoning them towards the exit.
"We don't have time for this. We have to move. Whatever your friend did, it cancelled out the sedatives they gave us three hours ago, so this is our chance. I'll go get the others."
Erik grits his teeth. "You have to tell me who they are so Charles can unfreeze them," he says reluctantly.
But it seems the other group is already on it, because as they emerge from the elevator up above there are a man and a woman in white lab coats running towards them, and only Angel's quick reactions stop Erik from putting a few holes in them with a slumped guard's Browning.
"Wait!" she yelps even as the two people freeze in their tracks. "They're with us."
"They work here," Erik growls, more than ready to mete out some retribution.
"They helped us as much as they could. And Hank is one of us," she insists.
Under Erik's furious glare, Hank is quick to kick off his shoes and display a pair of extremely impressive feet, opposable toes and all.
"What about her?" Erik asks, switching his aim to the slight dark-haired woman with the worried expression.
"She's been sabotaging their research from the inside," Logan says grudgingly, and he and the woman share a loaded look. Erik sees her wince, but she remains tall and sure, looking him right in the eye, calmly expecting him to judge her. Erik gives her points for having a pair of balls bigger than those of most of the men all around him, at least.
"Okay, now can we go?" he snarks, feeling Charles' urgency inside his mind.
>>Hurry, Erik. We can't hold them much longer, there are too many.<<
Erik leads the way out into the open, where the rest of the group is waiting. Charles, Emma and Alex have slunk closer, and now stand with the others. Alex looks paler than Erik has ever seen him, and he can't take his eyes off the guy with the laser gaze.
"Alex? You all right?" Erik asks, taking a few more steps towards him.
Alex looks up at him helplessly, lips pressed tightly together. "I will be," he says.
Scott's head lifts and turns towards Alex, but then Logan is closing in on him, saying something quiet and indistinct, and all of Scott's attention switches to him so completely that it's palpable.
Erik's about to suggest they head back towards the minivan when he looks around properly for the first time. Charles is talking to Armando, fingers still at his temple, and Emma and Raven are conferring quietly in one corner, and there's seven people joining their crew, two more than there are seats for in the minivan.
"We're never going to fit," he mutters to himself. How is he going to get all these people away from this place?
A moment later he becomes aware of someone hovering beside him, and he turns his head to face the scientist, Hank. "Yes?"
"I--I might be able to help with that," Hank stutters, wilting a little under Erik's frown.
Ten minutes later Erik's frown melts into a smile of grim appreciation as he looks up at the sleek black jet housed in one of the hangars away from the main building.
"Can you fly this thing?" Erik asks, calculating how much faster they can make their escape in a machine like this.
"Of course," Hank says simply. "I designed it."
Erik rounds up everyone, leaving Raven in charge of getting them inside. Alex stays behind; so does Scott, at Raven's request -- and so does Logan. Erik's getting the feeling that where one goes, the other follows.
"We are going to march out everyone that is still inside," Charles reports, voice tight. "Then Emma and I are going to wipe their memories of their research and everything to do with mutants. And then Scott and Alex are going to blow this place up."
"We shouldn't leave them alive," Erik says darkly. "Not after what they've done."
Logan looks inclined to agree; Erik cannot even imagine what these people must have put him through.
"No!" a voice comes from behind them, and he sees Dr MacTaggert lingering close by. "They're just scientists!'
"And they tortured these kids for their own gain," Erik says forcefully. "And what about the soldiers who kept them prisoners? How many more people went in there and were never heard of again?"
"Erik, no," Charles pleads. "We can't just kill everyone. This isn't the way! Emma and myself are taking all their memories. Every sign of their research will be destroyed. Is that not enough?"
Erik looks at Charles, and doesn't know whether to be disgusted or unsurprised. Charles has never struck him as someone who could take drastic measures to ensure their safety. But Charles is also right -- a bunch of bodies would be even more suspicious than thirty-odd people wondering confusedly through the forest with no memory of what they're doing there. And as long as the facility is completely obliterated--
"Fine," Erik grunts. "Alex? What do you think? Can you take the whole thing out from here?"
But Alex is paying zero attention to Erik. Instead, he is standing in front of Scott, hand clenched tightly on Scott's arm.
"Alex?" Erik prompts, only to be ignored yet again.
"Is that really you?" Scott asks, forces the words out like they're painful, like he might fall apart any moment just from saying them. Logan, even though he’s still wet and shivering in the cool air, is plastered to Scott's side, looking like he wishes he could do something to take away whatever is making Scott sound like that.
"It is, Scotty," Alex says hoarsely.
"Alex!" Erik barks. They don't have time for this right now, whatever is going on between the two men.
Alex jumps, but Erik notices he hasn't let go of Scott's arm.
"We have to go. Can you do it from here or not?"
Behind them, people start shuffling out of the compound, zombie-like. Charles and Emma are glaring at them, strain written all over both of them as they fight to finish their job quickly.
"That won't be necessary," Dr MacTaggert says calmly. She withdraws something from her pocket that looks an awful lot like a remote control, with some kind of dial on one end and numbers on the other. It's small and sleek, chrome surface reflecting the dim light of the cloudy day.
"Is that what I think it is?" Erik asks.
"If you're thinking it's a remote detonator, then yes. It is."
"Hot damn," Logan says, looking impressed.
"Will that take out the whole building?" Erik demands.
"It's connected to C4 built into the bottom two floors. It will bring the whole structure down on top of itself. It was meant to be a self-destruct mechanism in case of infiltration – well, I guess it will serve its purpose today." Dr MacTaggert's fingers linger on top of the dial. "Say the word, Charles."
Charles looks around, eyes dazed and far-away. "Stryker isn't on the premises," he says, concern colouring his voice.
Dr MacTaggert's mouth twists, lips thinning. "No, he's in DC today."
"Damn!" This is a setback Erik hasn't considered. "Well, we'll have to work with what we have. Charles, where are you and Emma at?"
"Just finishing now," Charles says, sounding tense and exhausted. Erik is going to have to insist on him sleeping again on the way to--
Fuck.
"Where are we actually going from here?"
"Home," Charles says, taking his hand away from his temple at last. "We're going home." He nods to Dr MacTaggert.
She twists the dial, and a deep rumble shakes the ground under their feet. Within moments the compound is collapsing onto itself, taking some of the surrounding area with it. By the time the dust settles and there is a group of people peering at the destruction with a confused look in their eyes, a single black airplane is getting smaller and smaller in the distance, entirely unnoticed.
---
Erik is somewhat taken aback by the mansion they land outside. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, enormous. He climbs out of the jet along with the others, and they stand there in a small huddle and stare up at it for a long moment.
"Damn," Armando says while the rest of them blink at the property.
Charles looks a strange mixture of sheepish and proud, and something else, something not so easily identified, small and quickly hidden away as Erik looks on. Erik watches him closely, but Charles’ face smoothes over and now there’s nothing to be found in it but satisfaction. Raven at his side is a little easier to read, and again there’s that something in her eyes... Erik wonders what must have happened in this house to make them both so ambivalent about coming home.
“All this is yours?” Alex asks with his usual lack of tact.
“No,” Charles says, and now there’s finally warmth infusing his voice again. “It’s ours.”
“Time for the tour,” Raven says, smacks a kiss onto Charles’ cheek in passing and leads the way inside, trailed by everyone but Charles and Erik himself. Erik knows that he’ll spend much of the late evening and the night prowling through the place anyway, marking out exits and choke points and outlining a defensive strategy in his head. And probably making lists of recommendations for strengthening the mansion’s security, too, although he doesn’t know if Charles will want to carry out any of those.
Charles is quiet beside him, face slipping back into a pensive expression now that their audience is gone.
“How long has it been since you were last back?” Erik asks.
Charles takes a deep breath through the nose, and Erik watches recognition replace the far-away look in his eyes. “Almost ten years. Once I moved to Oxford and knew what I was missing—well, it was hard even thinking about leaving again.”
“What about Raven? When did she come to live with you?”
“Oh, she came along pretty early on.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. Erik waits him out patiently, something he’s become pretty good at after years of honing his skills on reluctant witnesses.
Charles sighs and looks at him ruefully. “We weren’t exactly welcome here, not after my mother remarried. Raven and I figured we’d take our chances together.”
“And now?”
Charles shrugs. “And now they’re both dead, and we have other people to care for. This can become a home for them, for all of us, in a way that it never was before.”
Erik watches Charles look away from him, back at the house, and he can spot it now, the reluctance, yet still the hope.
“It would be great if you would help us,” Charles says, startling Erik. He’s trying for nonchalance, but it’s not working, or else Erik has somehow learned to read him a lot better than he expected. “You know so much about defending and securing a place, and we’ll need to make sure that the house is up to scratch. It’s been some time since anyone has lived here.”
Erik gives that some thought. Stay here? What would he do? Look after the kids, help them adjust, keep them safe; maybe even help them train, teach them? To his surprise, it’s not at all a disagreeable thought, doing this for the rest of his life.
And that’s before he even takes Charles into account. Charles with his boundless capacity for compassion, the way he cares at people, the way he stretches himself too thin making sure the others are all well, happy, content, without sparing a thought for himself. The way he’s obviously choosing to put his promising career on hold to make sure the others get all the help they need. The way he could still be so naive despite everything he must know about human nature – or, rather, that he chooses to believe that people can be better than themselves. Because Erik isn’t an idiot – he could not imagine what Charles has seen throughout his life, and to still be this amazing, caring, kind man—it's beyond Erik. Even before all that has happened this week, the policeman in Erik is all too aware of the darkness in the world.
And yet Charles stands there, trying to look unbothered, like he isn’t hanging on Erik’s answer. Every thought, every impulse of the past few days snaps into focus, and for a moment Erik can’t breathe for what Charles is offering him – a place to belong, to be himself without having to hide, to spend his life amongst people of his kind; to spend his life with Charles at his side.
And of course he knows that there’s nothing concrete between him and Charles, apart from his own feelings that are sometimes too intense to put into words, that frighten him with how much he wants them returned. Charles has given no indication that he does, beyond his clear interest the first time they met, what seems months ago but is only five-odd days; and Erik has been around the block enough times to know that checking someone out in a bar is worlds away from choosing to share your life with them.
He’s let the silence stretch too long.
“Of course you’re under no obligation to remain; I know you have a life back in Germany. But I would appreciate the help for as long as you can give it, and I will be happy to offer you anything you need in return.”
A life back in Germany. His mother. A house with its windows shattered by bullets, no longer safe; misappropriating evidence and going off on his own with his junior officer; stealing out of Germany in the middle of the night, and into a country halfway across the world without a scrap of paperwork; a case that he has no idea how he’s going to close, if they even let him back into his department. His life lies spread out before him, and Erik has no idea where or how to pick it up again.
Of one thing only he is completely sure – he can’t leave his mother behind. He won’t.
But then again, his mother is safe for the time being, and he can’t walk away from this just yet. Hadn’t he started on this path searching for answers, for someone to help him understand and develop his abilities? Charles is offering him just that.
And even if it’s only this that Charles is offering, it’s still not something Erik can pass on, the chance to spend time with Charles on an equal footing, to see whether this thing that seems to be shimmering between them can crystallise, or if it will fade away.
“Okay,” he says, smiling tentatively. “I’ll stay, at least for a while. But I can’t promise anything.” He presses his lips together, but makes himself force it out. He can trust Charles, if nothing else. “When I told you that my mother is Edie Lehnsherr, you didn’t seem surprised. You saw her in my head when you looked that first time, didn’t you?”
Charles winces imperceptibly. “Edie? Yes, I did. I mean, we have never officially met, but when you mentioned her name I put the pieces together.”
“How much did you see about what happened to us, before I came looking for you?
“Not much. There was—the attack you told us about? By Shaw’s men? And she showed you her wood manipulation abilities?”
Erik nods. "I know you've been corresponding ever since that European Society of Human Genetics conference when she came to hear your lecture on mutations and decided to write to you, but she only told me about it after we were attacked."
"She didn't want you to look at her differently, Erik. She was afraid that if you knew about what she could do, you might—"
Erik scowls, and Charles shakes his head quickly. "No, she knows you love her. She was just—people do stupid things when they're afraid of losing the ones they love, my friend. I’m sure you know something of the way she felt."
Erik sighs, remembering the blinding fear that had burned through him at the thought of his mother turning away from him, back in the bullet-ridden kitchen of her house. “I hate that she thought she had to hide from me all those years.”
Charles nods, a vague sadness coming off him in waves. "You can't change the past. But you can make the future better for her, for all of us."
Erik smiles at him, strangely comforted and even more determined to make sure that no one will have to hide like his mother, not again.
---
That night Erik does indeed prowl through the property, walking down passage after passage, mapping out the layout, checking every room he walks inside first for metal and then for weak points that can and should be reinforced.
At one point he runs into Logan, who growls in surprise and snaps out foot-long, vicious-looking metal claws from his knuckles, falling into a defensive crouch before he realises who it is. When he does, he grunts and re-sheathes them with a disgusted look on his face. Looks like Logan is doing much the same thing as Erik; Erik recognises that look in his eyes, has seen it enough times during his army days to know that he’s looking at another soldier. They pass each other in the hallway, keeping sights on each other until they turn the opposite corners.
Some time later, when he slips inside one of the seemingly hundreds of rooms on the ground floor, he’s stopped in his tracks by the sight of Emma, sitting in a plush armchair turned to face the darkened window with her feet tucked under her, staring out into the night. There’s a half-full bottle of Dalwhinnie on the small table to the side, and she’s cradling a tumbler with an inch or so of liquid in it in her lap. She’s changed out of the stiff tailored clothes she’s worn so far, and into a pair of white sweatpants and shirt with the Dartmouth logo on the front. Her eyes are ever-so-slightly pink-rimmed when she turns her head and raises an immaculately groomed eyebrow in his direction, daring him to comment. Erik doesn’t make that mistake; he merely nods to her and leaves her to it.
Later still, the house has gone quiet at last, hours after a make-shift meal from whatever tins there had been in the larder (he lives in a house that has its own larder now; he can barely fathom it). The kids had been exhausted, especially the ones he and Raven had pulled out of the locked rooms. Dr MacTaggert (“Call me Moira”) had quietly checked each and every one of them over, together with Hank. Charles had run himself and Raven ragged making up rooms for everyone, getting them aired out and supplying them with clean sheets and blankets and pillows. Erik’s own room is down a corridor on the third floor, not far from Charles’. He tries not to think too hard about what that might mean.
Erik’s thinking about rounding off his tour already, continuing in the morning. He’s exhausted; it’s been a long few days for everyone, and he’s had his fill of worrying and focusing and generally being on high alert. Now that things seem to have settled down, at least for tonight, he can feel the adrenaline crash approaching like a freight train, and knows it’s going to hit him hard and vicious sometime in the next hour. Just one more room to check, near the foot of the stairs that lead up to his bedroom.
He pushes the door open, surprised to see bookcases lining all the walls, only breaking for the windows on the other end of the room. The light is dim but warm, bathing the expensive furniture in a honeyed glow. Someone’s obviously been here—and still is, Erik realises when he looks around and spots Charles’ familiar shape sprawled on the leather sofa, with paperwork strewn across the low table in front of it and an arm thrown over his eyes. He looks like he’s sleeping, chest rising and falling steadily, other arm hanging limp, his usually nimble fingers trailing towards the floor. Erik smiles softly and turns to leave, thinking to check this room out tomorrow so he doesn’t disturb Charles’ rest (although he would certainly sleep better in a proper bed).
And then he has to push thoughts of Charles, stripped of his shirts and trousers and cardigans, pale skin shining in the dim light under crisp, freshly-laundered cotton sheets, far, far away from the front of his mind. Just as he’s about to slip out of the door again, Charles’ soft, drowsy rumble reaches him and pulls him up short.
“No, don’t leave, Erik,” he says, and when Erik looks back, Charles has lifted his arm off his face and is rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “I was just about to pack it in for tonight as well.”
Erik wants to close his eyes and shake his head at himself when he finds the display equal parts alluring and adorable. God, why is this happening to him?
“How was your surveillance?” Charles asks, sounding irrepressibly fond.
“Good enough,” Erik allows. “There’s a few ground floor rooms that could use reinforcement. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.”
“All right.”
“Met Logan while I was at it. Looked like he was doing the same thing.”
Charles hums. “Not one but two security experts; well, that’s a more than welcome happenstance.”
Erik’s stomach twists a little, but he squashes it ruthlessly. It’ll be good for Charles to have someone else with Erik’s skills around when Erik leaves, so he should be pleased he’s not the only one who can do the job. Why it makes him feel bereft is beyond him.
Charles stands and stretches his arms up towards the ceiling, twisting his back a little, giving that little shudder that means he’s tensed and relaxed every muscle in his body simultaneously. Erik feels his mouth water as his eyes follow the long line of Charles’ body even underneath the shapeless cardigan he’d donned. There’s a sliver of skin exposed by his loose t-shirt riding up, and the jolt of electricity Erik feels is enough to have him at half-mast just from that sight alone. He doesn’t look away fast enough when Charles drops his arms and turns to face him, and he feels his face flush a little when Charles meets his gaze with eyebrows lifted in question.
“I’m off to bed,” he says, a cowardly excuse if there ever was one, but he’s exhausted and his barriers appear to be gone down altogether if just the tantalising hint of bare skin can leave him straining against the flap of his trousers.
“All right,” Charles says mildly, though he doesn’t take his pensive eyes off Erik. “Sleep well, my friend.”
A wave of warmth and fondness flows over him, and he realises that Charles must be more tired than he appears if he’s projecting like this.
“You should, too,” Erik says, unwilling to leave it there.
“I will,” Charles replies wearily, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “As soon as I’ve made sure everyone is settled, and all the doors and windows are locked, and figure out what we’re going to do for breakfast tomorrow morning—“
“Charles.”
Charles stops, looking at Erik enquiringly.
“I shan’t presume to tell you what to do or not do in your own house, but you are obviously exhausted. No one’s come looking for you, and I’ll bet that you’ll be able to feel it just fine if anyone’s having problems. I’ve checked all the doors and windows downstairs already, and I seem to remember seeing flour and yeast in the pantry, so we’ll bake something for breakfast. Go to bed.”
Charles stares at him like he’s grown a second head, but Erik stands there and doesn’t move. Charles needs rest, and if he’s too daft to take care of himself, well, Erik is going to have to do it for him.
“I’m not a bloody child,” Charles protests, but if he’d meant to reassure or reproach Erik, it backfires spectacularly when he yawns and sways a little before he’s even finished speaking.
“So don’t act like one. Come on. Bed.”
“I won’t argue that it doesn’t sound good, because god, does it ever, but there just seems to be so much to do…”
“And we’ll do it. Tomorrow’s another day, if you haven’t noticed. And—“ Erik hesitates, but he’s made his decision now. No reason to be ambivalent about where he stands. “You don’t have to do it alone. We’ll all help.”
The smile Charles gives him is brilliant, so much so that it lights up the entire room.
“All right. Bed it is.”
And of course it’s now that Charles has agreed that Erik starts to feel self-conscious about ordering him around in his own house, and walking up the stairs with him, like they’re headed for the same place even if their rooms are on opposite sides of the corridor. It’s strange, and not entirely comfortable, not with the way his skin is still humming with awareness under his clothes, and the way Charles’ proximity seems to set off some kind of signal inside him that wants to follow this man through the door of his bedroom, press him down onto the bed, kiss him and kiss him until neither of them can breathe – or worse, tuck him into bed, make sure his own windows are locked, pull the blanket up to his chin and press a kiss to his forehead in parting.
It’s driving him insane. By the time he closes his own bedroom door, leans his back on it and bows his head, Charles’ soft “Good night” ringing faintly in his ears, he has no idea how he’s going to survive this without forgetting himself and jumping Charles. He takes off his clothes, stifling a groan in relief when he finally unzips his trousers and relieves the pressure on his cock, so much harder than it should be after merely a touch of Charles’ hand, a murmured word. He feels like some dirty old man, hogging those favours like treasures to take out and gloat over at night.
Still, when he’s in the shower, hand wrapped snugly around his length, squeezing and rubbing just so, it’s Charles’ eyes he sees, Charles’ lips he thinks about, the small of Charles’ back he kisses, Charles’ ass that his phantom fingers dip into, Charles’ shattered moans that he feels in his mouth as he comes.
This is unacceptable, but he’ll be damned if he knows what to do about it.
[Part Four]
