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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: ~6,000 this part
For Warnings, Summary and Notes, please see [Part One] | [Part Two] | [Part Three]
Part Four
Time passes. Erik wakes up one morning to discover that he's used up his last clean pair of underwear, and sets forth on a mission to the laundry room, where he finds a befuddled Sean staring at the washing machine in honest confusion.
"Is it supposed to be sounding like this?" Sean asks the air as the machine makes a good-natured effort to impersonate a tigress in heat.
"Definitely not," Erik says decisively, attempting to glare it into submission. When that doesn't help, he regretfully wakes up the rest of the way and concentrates, unpinning the wayward sock from one of the machine's tumblers. It immediately ceases to make the tortured sound that had Sean clamping his hands over his ears.
"Right. Next time call one of us to show you how to use it properly, yes?" Erik admonishes.
"Still better than Alex trying to light the living room fireplace," Sean mutters mutinously.
Oh dear god, Erik thinks to himself, leaving his laundry for after Sean's clothes have come out of the machine mostly whole, and heading in the direction of whatever disaster awaits him in the living room.
And so it goes. Going into the nearby town is easy, and preferable to Charles' attempts at cooking, having lived here surrounded by servants (Erik gathers), or at university for most of his life, where living on take-out was easy -- nay, preferable to cooking by himself. Still, the deserted house continues to bother Erik in a way he can't quite articulate. There's something bleak about it, dark in a way that even eleven people of assorted ages can't quite overcome. The kids seem to settle easily enough, but Charles and Raven always appear to be on their heels, ready to run if needs be. Sometimes Erik wishes he knew what went on in this house, before.
Sometimes he wishes he never has to find out.
Charles is unsurprisingly generous with his time, be it helping the kids improve, or working with Hank to fashion fairly crude but undeniably efficient deflecting glasses for Scott, so he could see and move about by himself without fear of what he would do to those around him. Alex, once he explains that Scott is the brother with whom he was sent to the States after their parents' deaths, at which point they were separated when their aunt couldn't look after both of them, is normally seen no more than a step or two behind him, to Logan's visible frustration. Not for the first time Erik wonders what the deal is between those two, since all they seem to do is bicker and bait each other incessantly; but he's in no position to judge them, and no one else seems to care, so he tries not to think about it too much.
Especially not when that tends to lead to questions he's not yet ready to consider, whose answers are just too important for idle musings.
Angel seems to take a particular shine to him, although he can’t imagine why. Even after she learns he's a policeman, she doesn't pull away like he expects her to. Instead, they spend many an evening talking about legal issues and policies and jurisdiction, and eventually she relaxes enough around him to confess that she was hoping to attend law school before the masked men came to her workplace and marched her out like some kind of terrorist. Erik understands, of course he does -- it wasn't too long ago that his mother's people were treated in much the same way.
Raven is often present for those conversations, and so is Emma. The three women usually sit together, leaning comfortably against each other as the spirited debates go on well into the night. Moira tries to join them occasionally, but the atmosphere inevitably turns charged, no matter how much she tries. In the end, she chooses to spend the hours Erik spends with the girls with Charles and Hank instead. Erik isn't bitter that Charles never joins them. Not at all.
About a week and a half into the change in his living arrangements Erik drives into town, calls his precinct and puts in a request for another two weeks of leave. His Captain grumbles, but she can't say no to him considering his impeccable personnel records, and it is granted. Erik replaces the receiver and wonders if he's done the right thing, if it would not be better to just go back now and save himself the bitter separation he can feel coming at him like a speeding car.
And then, one evening not long after that particularly unsettling thought, Erik seeks Charles out to ask him something innocuous about next day's training schedule -- and for all he thinks he knows Charles' routine by now, he can't find him anywhere. Hank, whom Erik thought Charles spent all his free time with, tells him absent-mindedly that he hasn't seen Charles in two days. Alex tells him he and Scott saw the Professor -- as all the kids have taken to calling him lately -- that afternoon for an extra session in the fire-proof bunker, but not since. Raven rouses herself out of a rather cosy-looking chat with Emma to tell him that no, she has no idea where her brother is.
As a last resort, Erik swallows his instinctive dislike and goes to find Moira, only to discover her deep in conversation with Armando, of all people.
"No, Lehnsherr, I haven't seen Charles since lunchtime," she says flatly -- the impression of raised hackles is rather mutual.
And so Erik is on his own again, Charles-less, back to square one.
And then he remembers the one place where he knows for a fact that Charles likes to hole up when the world is becoming a bit too much. The doors to the study are heavy, just like Erik remembers from that one night when he had been allowed inside Charles’ inner sanctum. He knocks before he pushes his way in – it’s only polite. But as it happens, he’s not required to, because there’s no one inside, either. Damn it, has he lost Charles now? Where could the man be?
He walks inside anyway, seduced by the smell of books and leather and ink, the library a spot he gravitates to naturally but hasn’t dared invade for fear of overstepping boundaries. The room is vast, every wall lined with bookcases, but for all that there is a veritable cave of knowledge here, it feels strangely empty without Charles’ distinctive presence, and Erik finds himself loathe to linger on his own.
Before he goes, though, perhaps... He steps towards the bookshelves, helpless to resist, not when he spots Erich Kästner’s Das Doppelte Lottchen nestled in between the more venerable-looking volumes, in the original German. He can practically hear his mother reading it to him while he lay in bed under the covers, small and secreted away and safe with her by his side. It had been Lottie and Lisa, and Emil from Emil und die Detektive who had been his childhood friends, much more so than the kids next door, and seeing Das Doppelte Lottchen here, in this house where no one would have ever guessed young children had grown up, cold and austere as it is – it makes something inside him quicken, makes unwelcome tears prickle behind his eyelids, and suddenly he misses his mother so viscerally, so desperately he almost can’t draw breath.
He takes out the slim volume from between the hefty books on either side, opens the pages reverently, reads the familiar words and wants nothing more in the world than to call his mother and make sure she’s safe.
A small sound behind him startles him, and he whirls to find Charles’ eyes on him, looking more tired than Erik has perhaps ever seen them.
“Of course you should call her, my friend,” Charles says kindly, and slightly apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t know it was you before I took a peek inside.” He taps two fingers to his temple. Strangely, Erik no longer finds the prospect of Charles wandering inside his head abhorrent, or repulsive, or unwelcome, but he isn’t going to tell Charles that -- he’s made himself vulnerable enough as it is. And he’s quite certain that Charles doesn’t really want anything this intimate – why else would he have been avoiding Erik so very thoroughly the past three weeks? Erik has barely seen him for twenty minutes together each day; every time Erik enters a room, Charles finds some excuse to leave, looking flushed and unsettled. The message couldn’t be more clear. Erik privately ruminates that Charles must have seen those feelings Erik had so desperately tried to hide, and wanted no part of it.
Erik’s played his role here, anyway. He should think about moving on again. Charles has Logan now, and Scott, and let’s face it, Raven and Emma and Moira and, yes, Alex, too. Erik isn’t blind. Just very, very good at seeing only what he wants to. Well, it’s time he put paid to that unhelpful habit. He’d probably overstepped Charles’ boundaries beyond repair, when he had treated him like a child that first night in the house (like someone precious, someone to be cared for, protected), when Charles had very likely wanted nothing of the sort. Yes, perhaps it’s time he went on his way.
Charles crosses the endless sea of carpet between the doorway and the desk, unearthing an ancient telephone console from under the pile of papers taking up every available surface.
“The bill has been paid, we have a landline again. Take as much time as you need.”
Charles seems sad when he speaks, and Erik can’t for the life of him work out why on earth he should be. Things are settling down; before long everyone in the house should be getting back to their lives, maybe going back to school, maybe getting a job, now that they have a network of support behind them. And then Charles can go back to his research, to helping save the world, and put this interlude behind him.
“Thank you,” Erik murmurs, touching Charles’ arm as he walks past him, daring to squeeze a little, feel the skin and muscles shift beneath his hand. It’s folly, more than unhelpful, prickling his skin with need for something he can’t have. He should really stop doing that. Charles just nods, though, smiling warmly, and leaves the room to give Erik some privacy.
Erik dials the number from memory, lifting his head in time to see Charles slip out of the door, closing it behind him. He contemplates the slumped line of Charles’ shoulders morosely until his aunt’s familiar accented voice answers on the other side.
“Aunt Anna? This is Erik,” he says, smiling at her warm greeting before asking, “Is Mother there? I’d like to speak to her.”
And then his mother's voice is there in his ear again, his mind, his thoughts, and for a long moment all Erik wants is to curl up in a ball and whimper with how much he's missed her.
"Liebling, are you safe?"
"Yes, Mamma. I am."
"Did you find Charles?"
"Yes," he says hesitantly. "I found him. He has been of amazing help. I..." he wonders even now whether it's safe to tell her where they are -- and then decides not to, because he's a paranoid bastard but god knows he's had good reason. "Alex and I are with him now. But I'm going to come and get you very soon."
Edie sighs on the other side of the world, clearly relieved. "I'm so happy," she says haltingly. "You do not need to rush. I am safe, and quite content here with your aunt. You stay there as long as you need to."
It's everything Erik had wanted to hear, but it tastes like ashes in his mouth when he thinks of Charles' avoidance, of Charles' eyes sliding away from his own, of Charles fleeing when Erik appears; of the one stilted, eventually aborted chess game they played the night after Erik had cocked things up irreparably, it seems. In light of the ease with which they’d worked together when they’d needed to, hardly requiring to talk at all to know what the other was thinking, the instinctive trust that they would have each other’s back-- this awful polite coexistence rubs Erik raw in the worst kind of way, makes him feel desperate for a glimpse of the other Charles, the one who used to seamlessly fit under Erik’s shields and open himself to Erik in return.
"It's time I came home," Erik says at length. Sure, it'll take him a little while, and there's still leaving the country to be accomplished, for which he will have to ask for Charles' help again, but within the week Erik thinks he should be ready to go. "I'll put the house in order. You take all the time you need, though. There's no need for you to rush, either."
"All right, Liebling. If you're sure. How are you getting on with Charles?"
"I--" am in love with him, and he'd rather I wasn't here. "Well enough, I suppose. I daresay he'll be pleased to get me out of his hair, mind. He has so many other things to focus on."
"Oh," Edie says, and she sounds taken aback, but she takes Erik's word for it without argument. "Okay, well. Take care of yourself, my love. I'll see you soon."
Erik's putting down the phone when Charles comes inside the room again, and for a long, paranoia-filled moment Erik wonders whether he's been eavesdropping, and what he might have heard. Charles flinches ever-so-slightly, and Erik feels like a heel.
"Edie's okay, then?" Charles asks.
“She is, thank god, although I think your letters will have to wait to resume until after she’s back at home.”
“I assumed as much.” A moment of uncomfortable silence stretches between them; there’s still that strangely sad, resigned look on his face when he adds, "So. You are leaving, then."
Erik looks away; he can't stand to look at Charles right now, to see what he can't have. "Yes. I think it's time. Besides, you have everyone else here, and you're doing a wonderful job with the kids. You don't need--I mean. I think it's time I went on my way."
Charles suddenly looks inexplicably, thoroughly furious. "What, are you going to tell me what I do and don't need now? Are you going to presume you know what's best for me too, Erik? I've lived this long on my own; I don't need anyone to tell me what I'm feeling now, like I don’t know my own mind -- me! You, you stand there and you tell me it's for my own good, while last night you spent yourself over the sheets to thoughts of me, of what you want to do to me, of what you want me to do to you. Well, fuck you, Erik Lehnsherr. I tried, all right? I tried to make this place a home for you; and I know it’s a horrible old house, and I know it’s not enough, and you probably hate it here, not that you don’t have the right, even I hate it here, but I did my best, okay? What, you think I enjoy avoiding you? You, with your self-righteousness and your denial of every single thing you feel, the way you push me away at every corner -- you've made it perfectly clear that you want nothing to do with this place or me, a fleeting sexual attraction notwithstanding."
Erik stands there, completely blindsided by this outburst of bottled-up emotion, and he does not for the life of him know what to do with all this, all those mistakes on both his part and Charles', all the misunderstandings, all the hurt buried deep in Charles' voice, that Erik put there; and he wants to hit himself for succeeding only too well when he should have never tried to distance himself in the first place, and he wants to hit Charles for being too considerate of what he thought Erik wanted and never setting him straight, and he wants to kiss him and never stop. That Charles thinks--that he could think that Erik didn't want him, all of him, every single part that makes Erik curse and laugh and feel so impossibly tender towards this strange, compelling, ridiculous man – it’s unbearable.
He can't put any of that into words, and he does not want any more misunderstandings, thank you very much. He might have to leave eventually, but not right now. Not this minute. Not for another week at least. He stalks towards Charles, who turns from glowering to apprehensive and back again, but stands his ground and makes no move to stop Erik from doing what he intends. Erik reaches down to take Charles’ hand, lifts his index and middle fingers to Erik's temple, closes his eyes and sends Charles a horribly complicated tangle of emotions, a knot of needwantloveyearningdespair, images of Charles leaving the room and opening a yawning pit at the bottom of Erik's stomach, of quite a bit of hurt stored up until Erik didn't think he could take one more rejection, of desperate fumbling in the night and guilt and want and an ache that has no quenching.
And Charles stares at him, mouth falling open, eyes widening until Erik's drowning in all that blue, until he never wants to surface.
"I do have to leave," Erik says, sending through regretunhappinessdeterminationmother. "But I'm not leaving you. I had hoped that, perhaps we--that is, me and my mother, we might come and live nearby, I mean, I wouldn't want to impose, but I would have liked to--" spendmylifeclosetoyou "--maybe keep in touch. I never wanted to force any of those feelings on you, I didn’t think--you probably don't return them, I didn't know how else to not make you uncomfortable--"
"And it didn't occur to you to talk to me? --I mean, all right, I know it's you I'm talking to, but Erik, for god's sake, there was never any need for all of this, don't you see?"
And then Erik is bathed in warmth, love, a fierce affection that buoys him through all the hopelessness he's been drowning in recently. And Charles is leaning forward, and their lips touch together, and Erik surprises himself by wanting to cry a little with all the feelings beating down his walls, of how much he wants, has wanted, will always want this man.
Charles presses closer with a sob, dragging his fingers away from Erik's temple and burying them in his hair, tugging his head closer, opening his mouth and inviting Erik in, and Erik honestly never thought he'd ever get to feel this way, that anyone would be able to scatter and make him whole again at the same time; that he'd ever want to hold on to a single person like this, the way he desperately wants to keep hold of Charles.
He groans into Charles' mouth, and suddenly there's the desk behind Charles, and Erik boosts him up onto it and presses in; dimly he hears a godawful clatter and realises he's swept the surface of said desk clean, and Charles is laughing and lying back and tugging him closer, and he's never felt more complete in his life than he feels right now, with Charles' mouth on his, Charles' hands on his shoulders and in his hair and clutching at his ass and pulling him in over Charles' body.
>>Erik, Erik,<< Charles says over and over again in his mind, insistent and surprised and desperate, >>god, please<<, and there are hands sliding under his turtleneck where it's riding up from his trousers, sure fingers trailing up his spine and clenching down until he feels nails digging into his skin; and he's opening Charles' shirt, and bending lower to suck a string of biting kisses along Charles' neck and shoulders and clavicle, and Charles' legs wind around his hips and Charles arches up, and their hard lengths rub together, and Erik honestly does not have the faintest clue where is up and where is down anymore. Charles' skin is soft and pale under his hands, his body toned from weeks of daily runs and training with the kids, his mouth and hands and cock insistent where they press along Erik, claiming him in every way possible.
Erik can't quite keep it all in, not when he's wanted this for what feels like months, since the first time he laid eyes on Charles in that Oxford pub, a cheeky, gorgeous, refined young man with long fingers and bitten red lips and floppy hair and blue eyes that had seemed to bore inside Erik's soul and read all his secrets (not an erroneous assumption, as it turned out). And here he is now, under Erik's hands, and Erik is not gentle when he tears at Charles' belt and zip and buttons and everything that keeps Charles apart from him.
The first touch of his hand on Charles' cock sends Charles arching into Erik's body, hips trying to burrow him further inside Erik's grasp.
"Fuck," Charles groans when Erik curls his fingers tightly around him, "fuck, Erik, yes."
He tugs Erik's head down until he's kissing him again, deep and helpless and demanding. Erik takes his time learning the weight of Charles' cock lying across his palm, how pre-come dribbles out of his slit when Erik rubs his thumb just under the head, how Charles' voice goes from hoarse to raw with every stifled yell, how he gives in when Erik scoots down and lowers his mouth over him, and lets the cut-off shout escape at last. The sounds he's making drive Erik a little insane, a lot frantic, and he hollows his cheeks and sucks like all he's ever wanted is the taste of Charles in his mouth and down his throat. It's not long before Charles obliges, panting and choking and trying to weakly paw Erik's head up when it gets too much. Erik licks him clean and tucks him back inside, protective like he's never felt towards anyone, not like this. He gives in to impulse and lays a soft, possessive kiss over the softened bulge when Charles is all zipped up properly again.
Charles tugs at his collar, and Erik indulges him, sliding his way up Charles' body again, helpless to stop his own cock from dragging up Charles' thigh and rubbing firmly over the crease at his hip. Charles looks drugged when Erik reaches his face, eyelids heavy and lips bitten until blood rushes just under the surface, a flush of arousal still lingering over his neck and chest and cheekbones, and he's so gorgeous in that moment that Erik can barely breathe, can't believe he's allowed to touch and take and claim and keep. Charles grins lazily up at him, obviously pleased with that thought that Erik must have broadcasted, and Erik cannot for the life of him stop himself from crowding onto Charles and taking his mouth again, slipping his tongue inside and imagining it's his cock Charles' lips are stretching around, knowing that it won't be long before he sees what that looks like for himself.
He ruts like a hound in heat against the firmness of Charles' hip; Charles, the beast, is far more nimble than he should be when Erik has just sucked him off, and he gets Erik's belt undone and trousers unbuttoned before Erik can blink. One hand sneaks inside to trail teasing fingers over Erik's length, but the other, oh, the other is slipping down the back of his trousers, under his pants, rubbing at the top of his cleft until Erik is all but melting into Charles, legs falling open, back thrown into a perfect curve as those deft fingers flick his cheeks apart to get at his hole, small and tight and pulsing with need. Erik feels like he's going to scream in a moment from sheer frustration, and Charles seems to sense that, because the hand at Erik's cock curls tight and twists, and the fingers at Erik's ass press insistently just over the edge, and Charles' mind does something indefinable, presses some button that Erik never even knew he had, and before Erik realises what's happening he is gasping in Charles' mouth and painting his fingers with come, hips jerking fitfully until it's over.
"Bastard," he murmurs against Charles' lips, and Charles just laughs delightedly, a filthy chuckle that Erik's cock must think is the best thing ever, because it immediately tries to get ready for another go. However, since Erik doubts even Charles can perform miracles, it merely twitches hopefully and settles, dormant for the time being (Erik has a feeling it won't be all that long).
Charles has, of course, noticed, because he smirks smugly and says, "You love me."
"I do," Erik says before he has a chance to think.
Silence spreads through the vast study-cum-library. For a split second, Erik feels abject terror twist his insides, because wasn't Charles just ranting about being told what to feel? As Charles does nothing but lie there, staring up at Erik, quiet even in Erik's head, Erik has the horrible thought that Charles never intimated anything more than making this place a home for Erik, too. Everything else was Erik's desire, his supposition, his assumption, and he gets the feeling that he might have gone a little too far with this.
He opens his mouth to apologise, laugh it off, anything to make this silence goes away; instead, he watches Charles' eyes soften, his mouth curve up at the corners into a smile so sweet and loving that Erik loses what was left of his breath. That wave of affection envelops him again, warms him from the inside out, curls up contentedly in his chest and purrs. Charles' hands trail over his shoulders, up the back of his neck to cup his face, fingers stroking along Erik's mouth and cheeks and temples, tracing his eyebrows wonderingly and smoothing the crease in the middle that Erik wasn't even aware he was sporting.
"I do, too," Charles says quietly, earnestly, like a confession. Erik rears up in shock, but not far enough that it would stop Charles' fingers from stroking his face, the line of his jaw that has fallen open in surprise; he lets Charles' hands tug his head down and place a fond kiss to the corner of his eye, over his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth.
"Oh," Erik says lamely, settling back down, and feels Charles' shoulders shaking under his own. He kisses Charles’ lightly stubbled jaw to try and hide some of his confusion.
"Yes, oh," Charles mocks gently, eyes wide and shining and happy.
"Ah," Erik says, continuing to showcase his stunning erudition while he tries to process the fact that Charles Xavier loves him back.
"Indeed," Charles says gravely, though his lips twitch.
"Right."
"Yep."
Erik shakes some of his daze at the smothered laughter in Charles' voice. Eyes narrowing, he swoops down to kiss him quiet again.
---
The next week is unlike anything Erik has experienced before. He wakes up just before dawn, as is his habit, body contorted around Charles' like some weird bedroom-themed game of Twister, and commences disengaging himself from Charles' grasp without waking him. He fails miserably, but Charles is a dear and lets him go -- after extracting payment in the form of lazy morning kisses, of course. Erik climbs into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and goes running through the grounds, checking the perimeter and trying not to notice the marked neglect in the bushy hedges and the unmowed grass, the signs of wild animals passing through the property scattered here and there. He wonders, but he's not going to ask, not ever, because he's seen the looks Charles and Raven share when someone mentions something about the rooms next to theirs and the unused wings of the mansion. There is not the smallest sign of happiness to be found in them, only sadness and memories that appear to weigh heavily on the siblings.
By the time he's covered the perimeter and jogs back inside the house, a sleepy Raven can usually be found brewing coffee in the kitchen and lazily crunching her way through a piece of toast and jam while she waits for it to be done. Erik smiles at her and she smiles back, happy and relaxed, no ghosts crowding behind her golden eyes for once. Erik helps himself to coffee when it's ready, and flicks the electric kettle on in the far corner of the huge kitchen. It looks much better now, a far cry from the disused, abandoned space that Erik had first clapped eyes on when they moved in. He grabs a mug from the cabinet above him, fetches the tea from the one next to it, and enjoys the silence that isn't a 'So, you and my brother' lecture from an unusually-fierce-looking Raven, like that first morning after the night before. He'd always known that Raven was not someone to be crossed, but never more so than in that quarter of an hour it had taken Erik to allay her suspicions as to his intentions towards Charles. Emma, the minx, had found it endlessly amusing. Erik had been this close to pointing out that the robe Emma was wearing he'd most recently seen on Raven, but he'd been wise enough to hold back. Not that Emma hadn't read him like a book, and smirked smugly in his direction for the whole morning.
It's around this time that Charles usually potters in, looking sleep-soft and rumpled and completely, irresistibly delicious. Erik is quite aware of just how sappy his face probably looks, thanks.
"Morning," Charles murmurs, smiling sweetly at Erik, who tugs him closer as soon as Charles is in range. He ignores the “Oh god, not again” coming from Raven, and kisses him good morning for the second time in the day.
After breakfast Charles goes out with the younger crew for yet another training session, but it's becoming increasingly obvious to Erik that everyone is really coming into their own, and the boys need less and less direction while the girls devise their own routine already. It wouldn't be long before everyone is so comfortable with their powers that they could go on to live as normal lives as it's possible to have, with the threat of other facilities remaining operational and Stryker still out on the loose – although Erik intends to tie up that loose end as soon as he gets back to work, and has access to the department's databases again. It grates on him, that they haven't managed to neutralise the threat Stryker poses; he's going to make sure these kids are safe, no matter what it takes. They should be free to live their lives without fear – and they will, if he has anything to say about it.
He's quite certain that, even after they leave the mansion, not long will pass before they all get together again – most people spend their entire lives looking for the kind of support network that they're forging right now. He'd bet good money that most of them will stick around the NY area, except for perhaps Scott and Logan, because Logan does not really look like the settling type and Scott isn’t going to take getting left behind any definition of well. Still, he doesn't think Scott will mind that much.
Later there is lunch, and a bit more training, and someone gets thrown in the lake by Sean's blast of sound waves, and that someone tugs someone else in, and there is a free-for-all in the mud that results in goo monsters invading the house and the bathrooms. Later still, there are books, and cards, and arguing over what TV channel they're all going to watch, and throwing microwave popcorn at the screen when Angel's Argentinean soap opera comes on and she throws everyone out except Sean, who has inexplicably become just as addicted.
And then there is quiet as the kids go somewhere else, and there is Erik and Charles and fine cognac and the chessboard between them, much more enjoyable now that they aren’t both of them retreating behind their respective walls; and there is Charles' voice in his ear, and Charles' warm presence opposite him, and Charles' smiles, and Charles' impassioned arguments, and Charles' laughter. And as Erik curls around Charles' sated, naked body at the end of the day, he can't help but smile stupidly at the thought that tomorrow morning he'll get to do it all over again.
Said week goes by in the blink of an eye, however, to Erik’s distress, and before he’s at all ready he finds himself staring blankly down at his worn duffel, packed again with everything he’d brought with him on his way to visit some ancient professor that his mother had pointed him to. All that has happened since – he would never have expected it, not even in his weirdest dreams. He scowls down at the innocent bag, and wonders just how badly he's going to miss this place.
Charles waits for him downstairs, a faint sadness emanating from his core; but there's no bitterness, no blame, no recriminations. Charles knows why Erik is going, knows that Erik could never live with himself if he were to leave his mother behind. The others gather in the hallway by the front door, solemn and quiet.
"You're coming back, though, right?" Angel says at last, desperation not quite as hidden as she thinks.
"I hope so," Erik answers honestly. He wants to, but he won't promise something that might not be up to him.
"You'd better," Raven says, aggressive and upset and nothing like what Erik expected.
"I'll do my best," he says through a throat gone tight.
"Take care, man," Alex says, drawing him in a hug, both arms going round him and squeezing him tight. "Give my best to the guys at work."
"Sure," Erik says, gruff in a way that's almost too much. While he's beyond happy that Alex has found his brother and decided to stick close to him this time, he's still going to miss his partner by his side.
Charles drives off slowly, once they've run the gauntlet and Erik is alone with him at last. He's quiet, but Erik feels gentle brushes of warmth against his mind, and it's a comfort he's unspeakably grateful for. Charles doesn't talk much for the two-hour drive, yet the silence isn't awkward -- it does more to reassure Erik than any amount of inane chatter. Because Charles is right there next to him, not turning away, not letting Erik walk off without saying goodbye, without the promise to hurry back. Charles drives, and hums quietly beside him, and loves him, whether it's in Westchester or New York or Oxford or London or Berlin. And wherever Charles is, Erik just wants to be by his side, for as long as they have on this earth.
"So," Charles says when all too soon they're standing at Erik's departure gate, eyes drinking each other in under the harsh light of the terminal.
"So," Erik says back, all the words that have been cramming inside his head on the drive now strangely dried up. And when the silence at last gets too much, he closes the distance between them and dips his head to look Charles in the eye. "I'll come back as soon as I can."
For a split second Charles' face crumples, and then he's composed again, nodding at Erik, and Erik hates it.
"All right," Charles says, like he's sealing a promise, and Erik can't not kiss him, right out in the open, surrounded by strangers and yet just the two of them clinging desperately to each other for a too-brief moment.
And then Erik is walking away, fingers clutching tight onto the strap of his duffel bag, and Charles is bringing his fingers to his temple and mindbending passport control to let him pass without question, and Erik feels a last, light, loving caress at the edges of his mind, and then he's walking through the gates without looking back, and Charles is gone.
[Part Five]
Pairing/characters: Charles/Erik, Erik/Alex BFFS, hints of Logan/Scott, Raven/Emma, Alex/Darwin, Janos/Azazel, ensemble cast.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~6,000 this part
For Warnings, Summary and Notes, please see [Part One] | [Part Two] | [Part Three]
Part Four
Time passes. Erik wakes up one morning to discover that he's used up his last clean pair of underwear, and sets forth on a mission to the laundry room, where he finds a befuddled Sean staring at the washing machine in honest confusion.
"Is it supposed to be sounding like this?" Sean asks the air as the machine makes a good-natured effort to impersonate a tigress in heat.
"Definitely not," Erik says decisively, attempting to glare it into submission. When that doesn't help, he regretfully wakes up the rest of the way and concentrates, unpinning the wayward sock from one of the machine's tumblers. It immediately ceases to make the tortured sound that had Sean clamping his hands over his ears.
"Right. Next time call one of us to show you how to use it properly, yes?" Erik admonishes.
"Still better than Alex trying to light the living room fireplace," Sean mutters mutinously.
Oh dear god, Erik thinks to himself, leaving his laundry for after Sean's clothes have come out of the machine mostly whole, and heading in the direction of whatever disaster awaits him in the living room.
And so it goes. Going into the nearby town is easy, and preferable to Charles' attempts at cooking, having lived here surrounded by servants (Erik gathers), or at university for most of his life, where living on take-out was easy -- nay, preferable to cooking by himself. Still, the deserted house continues to bother Erik in a way he can't quite articulate. There's something bleak about it, dark in a way that even eleven people of assorted ages can't quite overcome. The kids seem to settle easily enough, but Charles and Raven always appear to be on their heels, ready to run if needs be. Sometimes Erik wishes he knew what went on in this house, before.
Sometimes he wishes he never has to find out.
Charles is unsurprisingly generous with his time, be it helping the kids improve, or working with Hank to fashion fairly crude but undeniably efficient deflecting glasses for Scott, so he could see and move about by himself without fear of what he would do to those around him. Alex, once he explains that Scott is the brother with whom he was sent to the States after their parents' deaths, at which point they were separated when their aunt couldn't look after both of them, is normally seen no more than a step or two behind him, to Logan's visible frustration. Not for the first time Erik wonders what the deal is between those two, since all they seem to do is bicker and bait each other incessantly; but he's in no position to judge them, and no one else seems to care, so he tries not to think about it too much.
Especially not when that tends to lead to questions he's not yet ready to consider, whose answers are just too important for idle musings.
Angel seems to take a particular shine to him, although he can’t imagine why. Even after she learns he's a policeman, she doesn't pull away like he expects her to. Instead, they spend many an evening talking about legal issues and policies and jurisdiction, and eventually she relaxes enough around him to confess that she was hoping to attend law school before the masked men came to her workplace and marched her out like some kind of terrorist. Erik understands, of course he does -- it wasn't too long ago that his mother's people were treated in much the same way.
Raven is often present for those conversations, and so is Emma. The three women usually sit together, leaning comfortably against each other as the spirited debates go on well into the night. Moira tries to join them occasionally, but the atmosphere inevitably turns charged, no matter how much she tries. In the end, she chooses to spend the hours Erik spends with the girls with Charles and Hank instead. Erik isn't bitter that Charles never joins them. Not at all.
About a week and a half into the change in his living arrangements Erik drives into town, calls his precinct and puts in a request for another two weeks of leave. His Captain grumbles, but she can't say no to him considering his impeccable personnel records, and it is granted. Erik replaces the receiver and wonders if he's done the right thing, if it would not be better to just go back now and save himself the bitter separation he can feel coming at him like a speeding car.
And then, one evening not long after that particularly unsettling thought, Erik seeks Charles out to ask him something innocuous about next day's training schedule -- and for all he thinks he knows Charles' routine by now, he can't find him anywhere. Hank, whom Erik thought Charles spent all his free time with, tells him absent-mindedly that he hasn't seen Charles in two days. Alex tells him he and Scott saw the Professor -- as all the kids have taken to calling him lately -- that afternoon for an extra session in the fire-proof bunker, but not since. Raven rouses herself out of a rather cosy-looking chat with Emma to tell him that no, she has no idea where her brother is.
As a last resort, Erik swallows his instinctive dislike and goes to find Moira, only to discover her deep in conversation with Armando, of all people.
"No, Lehnsherr, I haven't seen Charles since lunchtime," she says flatly -- the impression of raised hackles is rather mutual.
And so Erik is on his own again, Charles-less, back to square one.
And then he remembers the one place where he knows for a fact that Charles likes to hole up when the world is becoming a bit too much. The doors to the study are heavy, just like Erik remembers from that one night when he had been allowed inside Charles’ inner sanctum. He knocks before he pushes his way in – it’s only polite. But as it happens, he’s not required to, because there’s no one inside, either. Damn it, has he lost Charles now? Where could the man be?
He walks inside anyway, seduced by the smell of books and leather and ink, the library a spot he gravitates to naturally but hasn’t dared invade for fear of overstepping boundaries. The room is vast, every wall lined with bookcases, but for all that there is a veritable cave of knowledge here, it feels strangely empty without Charles’ distinctive presence, and Erik finds himself loathe to linger on his own.
Before he goes, though, perhaps... He steps towards the bookshelves, helpless to resist, not when he spots Erich Kästner’s Das Doppelte Lottchen nestled in between the more venerable-looking volumes, in the original German. He can practically hear his mother reading it to him while he lay in bed under the covers, small and secreted away and safe with her by his side. It had been Lottie and Lisa, and Emil from Emil und die Detektive who had been his childhood friends, much more so than the kids next door, and seeing Das Doppelte Lottchen here, in this house where no one would have ever guessed young children had grown up, cold and austere as it is – it makes something inside him quicken, makes unwelcome tears prickle behind his eyelids, and suddenly he misses his mother so viscerally, so desperately he almost can’t draw breath.
He takes out the slim volume from between the hefty books on either side, opens the pages reverently, reads the familiar words and wants nothing more in the world than to call his mother and make sure she’s safe.
A small sound behind him startles him, and he whirls to find Charles’ eyes on him, looking more tired than Erik has perhaps ever seen them.
“Of course you should call her, my friend,” Charles says kindly, and slightly apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t know it was you before I took a peek inside.” He taps two fingers to his temple. Strangely, Erik no longer finds the prospect of Charles wandering inside his head abhorrent, or repulsive, or unwelcome, but he isn’t going to tell Charles that -- he’s made himself vulnerable enough as it is. And he’s quite certain that Charles doesn’t really want anything this intimate – why else would he have been avoiding Erik so very thoroughly the past three weeks? Erik has barely seen him for twenty minutes together each day; every time Erik enters a room, Charles finds some excuse to leave, looking flushed and unsettled. The message couldn’t be more clear. Erik privately ruminates that Charles must have seen those feelings Erik had so desperately tried to hide, and wanted no part of it.
Erik’s played his role here, anyway. He should think about moving on again. Charles has Logan now, and Scott, and let’s face it, Raven and Emma and Moira and, yes, Alex, too. Erik isn’t blind. Just very, very good at seeing only what he wants to. Well, it’s time he put paid to that unhelpful habit. He’d probably overstepped Charles’ boundaries beyond repair, when he had treated him like a child that first night in the house (like someone precious, someone to be cared for, protected), when Charles had very likely wanted nothing of the sort. Yes, perhaps it’s time he went on his way.
Charles crosses the endless sea of carpet between the doorway and the desk, unearthing an ancient telephone console from under the pile of papers taking up every available surface.
“The bill has been paid, we have a landline again. Take as much time as you need.”
Charles seems sad when he speaks, and Erik can’t for the life of him work out why on earth he should be. Things are settling down; before long everyone in the house should be getting back to their lives, maybe going back to school, maybe getting a job, now that they have a network of support behind them. And then Charles can go back to his research, to helping save the world, and put this interlude behind him.
“Thank you,” Erik murmurs, touching Charles’ arm as he walks past him, daring to squeeze a little, feel the skin and muscles shift beneath his hand. It’s folly, more than unhelpful, prickling his skin with need for something he can’t have. He should really stop doing that. Charles just nods, though, smiling warmly, and leaves the room to give Erik some privacy.
Erik dials the number from memory, lifting his head in time to see Charles slip out of the door, closing it behind him. He contemplates the slumped line of Charles’ shoulders morosely until his aunt’s familiar accented voice answers on the other side.
“Aunt Anna? This is Erik,” he says, smiling at her warm greeting before asking, “Is Mother there? I’d like to speak to her.”
And then his mother's voice is there in his ear again, his mind, his thoughts, and for a long moment all Erik wants is to curl up in a ball and whimper with how much he's missed her.
"Liebling, are you safe?"
"Yes, Mamma. I am."
"Did you find Charles?"
"Yes," he says hesitantly. "I found him. He has been of amazing help. I..." he wonders even now whether it's safe to tell her where they are -- and then decides not to, because he's a paranoid bastard but god knows he's had good reason. "Alex and I are with him now. But I'm going to come and get you very soon."
Edie sighs on the other side of the world, clearly relieved. "I'm so happy," she says haltingly. "You do not need to rush. I am safe, and quite content here with your aunt. You stay there as long as you need to."
It's everything Erik had wanted to hear, but it tastes like ashes in his mouth when he thinks of Charles' avoidance, of Charles' eyes sliding away from his own, of Charles fleeing when Erik appears; of the one stilted, eventually aborted chess game they played the night after Erik had cocked things up irreparably, it seems. In light of the ease with which they’d worked together when they’d needed to, hardly requiring to talk at all to know what the other was thinking, the instinctive trust that they would have each other’s back-- this awful polite coexistence rubs Erik raw in the worst kind of way, makes him feel desperate for a glimpse of the other Charles, the one who used to seamlessly fit under Erik’s shields and open himself to Erik in return.
"It's time I came home," Erik says at length. Sure, it'll take him a little while, and there's still leaving the country to be accomplished, for which he will have to ask for Charles' help again, but within the week Erik thinks he should be ready to go. "I'll put the house in order. You take all the time you need, though. There's no need for you to rush, either."
"All right, Liebling. If you're sure. How are you getting on with Charles?"
"I--" am in love with him, and he'd rather I wasn't here. "Well enough, I suppose. I daresay he'll be pleased to get me out of his hair, mind. He has so many other things to focus on."
"Oh," Edie says, and she sounds taken aback, but she takes Erik's word for it without argument. "Okay, well. Take care of yourself, my love. I'll see you soon."
Erik's putting down the phone when Charles comes inside the room again, and for a long, paranoia-filled moment Erik wonders whether he's been eavesdropping, and what he might have heard. Charles flinches ever-so-slightly, and Erik feels like a heel.
"Edie's okay, then?" Charles asks.
“She is, thank god, although I think your letters will have to wait to resume until after she’s back at home.”
“I assumed as much.” A moment of uncomfortable silence stretches between them; there’s still that strangely sad, resigned look on his face when he adds, "So. You are leaving, then."
Erik looks away; he can't stand to look at Charles right now, to see what he can't have. "Yes. I think it's time. Besides, you have everyone else here, and you're doing a wonderful job with the kids. You don't need--I mean. I think it's time I went on my way."
Charles suddenly looks inexplicably, thoroughly furious. "What, are you going to tell me what I do and don't need now? Are you going to presume you know what's best for me too, Erik? I've lived this long on my own; I don't need anyone to tell me what I'm feeling now, like I don’t know my own mind -- me! You, you stand there and you tell me it's for my own good, while last night you spent yourself over the sheets to thoughts of me, of what you want to do to me, of what you want me to do to you. Well, fuck you, Erik Lehnsherr. I tried, all right? I tried to make this place a home for you; and I know it’s a horrible old house, and I know it’s not enough, and you probably hate it here, not that you don’t have the right, even I hate it here, but I did my best, okay? What, you think I enjoy avoiding you? You, with your self-righteousness and your denial of every single thing you feel, the way you push me away at every corner -- you've made it perfectly clear that you want nothing to do with this place or me, a fleeting sexual attraction notwithstanding."
Erik stands there, completely blindsided by this outburst of bottled-up emotion, and he does not for the life of him know what to do with all this, all those mistakes on both his part and Charles', all the misunderstandings, all the hurt buried deep in Charles' voice, that Erik put there; and he wants to hit himself for succeeding only too well when he should have never tried to distance himself in the first place, and he wants to hit Charles for being too considerate of what he thought Erik wanted and never setting him straight, and he wants to kiss him and never stop. That Charles thinks--that he could think that Erik didn't want him, all of him, every single part that makes Erik curse and laugh and feel so impossibly tender towards this strange, compelling, ridiculous man – it’s unbearable.
He can't put any of that into words, and he does not want any more misunderstandings, thank you very much. He might have to leave eventually, but not right now. Not this minute. Not for another week at least. He stalks towards Charles, who turns from glowering to apprehensive and back again, but stands his ground and makes no move to stop Erik from doing what he intends. Erik reaches down to take Charles’ hand, lifts his index and middle fingers to Erik's temple, closes his eyes and sends Charles a horribly complicated tangle of emotions, a knot of needwantloveyearningdespair, images of Charles leaving the room and opening a yawning pit at the bottom of Erik's stomach, of quite a bit of hurt stored up until Erik didn't think he could take one more rejection, of desperate fumbling in the night and guilt and want and an ache that has no quenching.
And Charles stares at him, mouth falling open, eyes widening until Erik's drowning in all that blue, until he never wants to surface.
"I do have to leave," Erik says, sending through regretunhappinessdeterminationmother. "But I'm not leaving you. I had hoped that, perhaps we--that is, me and my mother, we might come and live nearby, I mean, I wouldn't want to impose, but I would have liked to--" spendmylifeclosetoyou "--maybe keep in touch. I never wanted to force any of those feelings on you, I didn’t think--you probably don't return them, I didn't know how else to not make you uncomfortable--"
"And it didn't occur to you to talk to me? --I mean, all right, I know it's you I'm talking to, but Erik, for god's sake, there was never any need for all of this, don't you see?"
And then Erik is bathed in warmth, love, a fierce affection that buoys him through all the hopelessness he's been drowning in recently. And Charles is leaning forward, and their lips touch together, and Erik surprises himself by wanting to cry a little with all the feelings beating down his walls, of how much he wants, has wanted, will always want this man.
Charles presses closer with a sob, dragging his fingers away from Erik's temple and burying them in his hair, tugging his head closer, opening his mouth and inviting Erik in, and Erik honestly never thought he'd ever get to feel this way, that anyone would be able to scatter and make him whole again at the same time; that he'd ever want to hold on to a single person like this, the way he desperately wants to keep hold of Charles.
He groans into Charles' mouth, and suddenly there's the desk behind Charles, and Erik boosts him up onto it and presses in; dimly he hears a godawful clatter and realises he's swept the surface of said desk clean, and Charles is laughing and lying back and tugging him closer, and he's never felt more complete in his life than he feels right now, with Charles' mouth on his, Charles' hands on his shoulders and in his hair and clutching at his ass and pulling him in over Charles' body.
>>Erik, Erik,<< Charles says over and over again in his mind, insistent and surprised and desperate, >>god, please<<, and there are hands sliding under his turtleneck where it's riding up from his trousers, sure fingers trailing up his spine and clenching down until he feels nails digging into his skin; and he's opening Charles' shirt, and bending lower to suck a string of biting kisses along Charles' neck and shoulders and clavicle, and Charles' legs wind around his hips and Charles arches up, and their hard lengths rub together, and Erik honestly does not have the faintest clue where is up and where is down anymore. Charles' skin is soft and pale under his hands, his body toned from weeks of daily runs and training with the kids, his mouth and hands and cock insistent where they press along Erik, claiming him in every way possible.
Erik can't quite keep it all in, not when he's wanted this for what feels like months, since the first time he laid eyes on Charles in that Oxford pub, a cheeky, gorgeous, refined young man with long fingers and bitten red lips and floppy hair and blue eyes that had seemed to bore inside Erik's soul and read all his secrets (not an erroneous assumption, as it turned out). And here he is now, under Erik's hands, and Erik is not gentle when he tears at Charles' belt and zip and buttons and everything that keeps Charles apart from him.
The first touch of his hand on Charles' cock sends Charles arching into Erik's body, hips trying to burrow him further inside Erik's grasp.
"Fuck," Charles groans when Erik curls his fingers tightly around him, "fuck, Erik, yes."
He tugs Erik's head down until he's kissing him again, deep and helpless and demanding. Erik takes his time learning the weight of Charles' cock lying across his palm, how pre-come dribbles out of his slit when Erik rubs his thumb just under the head, how Charles' voice goes from hoarse to raw with every stifled yell, how he gives in when Erik scoots down and lowers his mouth over him, and lets the cut-off shout escape at last. The sounds he's making drive Erik a little insane, a lot frantic, and he hollows his cheeks and sucks like all he's ever wanted is the taste of Charles in his mouth and down his throat. It's not long before Charles obliges, panting and choking and trying to weakly paw Erik's head up when it gets too much. Erik licks him clean and tucks him back inside, protective like he's never felt towards anyone, not like this. He gives in to impulse and lays a soft, possessive kiss over the softened bulge when Charles is all zipped up properly again.
Charles tugs at his collar, and Erik indulges him, sliding his way up Charles' body again, helpless to stop his own cock from dragging up Charles' thigh and rubbing firmly over the crease at his hip. Charles looks drugged when Erik reaches his face, eyelids heavy and lips bitten until blood rushes just under the surface, a flush of arousal still lingering over his neck and chest and cheekbones, and he's so gorgeous in that moment that Erik can barely breathe, can't believe he's allowed to touch and take and claim and keep. Charles grins lazily up at him, obviously pleased with that thought that Erik must have broadcasted, and Erik cannot for the life of him stop himself from crowding onto Charles and taking his mouth again, slipping his tongue inside and imagining it's his cock Charles' lips are stretching around, knowing that it won't be long before he sees what that looks like for himself.
He ruts like a hound in heat against the firmness of Charles' hip; Charles, the beast, is far more nimble than he should be when Erik has just sucked him off, and he gets Erik's belt undone and trousers unbuttoned before Erik can blink. One hand sneaks inside to trail teasing fingers over Erik's length, but the other, oh, the other is slipping down the back of his trousers, under his pants, rubbing at the top of his cleft until Erik is all but melting into Charles, legs falling open, back thrown into a perfect curve as those deft fingers flick his cheeks apart to get at his hole, small and tight and pulsing with need. Erik feels like he's going to scream in a moment from sheer frustration, and Charles seems to sense that, because the hand at Erik's cock curls tight and twists, and the fingers at Erik's ass press insistently just over the edge, and Charles' mind does something indefinable, presses some button that Erik never even knew he had, and before Erik realises what's happening he is gasping in Charles' mouth and painting his fingers with come, hips jerking fitfully until it's over.
"Bastard," he murmurs against Charles' lips, and Charles just laughs delightedly, a filthy chuckle that Erik's cock must think is the best thing ever, because it immediately tries to get ready for another go. However, since Erik doubts even Charles can perform miracles, it merely twitches hopefully and settles, dormant for the time being (Erik has a feeling it won't be all that long).
Charles has, of course, noticed, because he smirks smugly and says, "You love me."
"I do," Erik says before he has a chance to think.
Silence spreads through the vast study-cum-library. For a split second, Erik feels abject terror twist his insides, because wasn't Charles just ranting about being told what to feel? As Charles does nothing but lie there, staring up at Erik, quiet even in Erik's head, Erik has the horrible thought that Charles never intimated anything more than making this place a home for Erik, too. Everything else was Erik's desire, his supposition, his assumption, and he gets the feeling that he might have gone a little too far with this.
He opens his mouth to apologise, laugh it off, anything to make this silence goes away; instead, he watches Charles' eyes soften, his mouth curve up at the corners into a smile so sweet and loving that Erik loses what was left of his breath. That wave of affection envelops him again, warms him from the inside out, curls up contentedly in his chest and purrs. Charles' hands trail over his shoulders, up the back of his neck to cup his face, fingers stroking along Erik's mouth and cheeks and temples, tracing his eyebrows wonderingly and smoothing the crease in the middle that Erik wasn't even aware he was sporting.
"I do, too," Charles says quietly, earnestly, like a confession. Erik rears up in shock, but not far enough that it would stop Charles' fingers from stroking his face, the line of his jaw that has fallen open in surprise; he lets Charles' hands tug his head down and place a fond kiss to the corner of his eye, over his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth.
"Oh," Erik says lamely, settling back down, and feels Charles' shoulders shaking under his own. He kisses Charles’ lightly stubbled jaw to try and hide some of his confusion.
"Yes, oh," Charles mocks gently, eyes wide and shining and happy.
"Ah," Erik says, continuing to showcase his stunning erudition while he tries to process the fact that Charles Xavier loves him back.
"Indeed," Charles says gravely, though his lips twitch.
"Right."
"Yep."
Erik shakes some of his daze at the smothered laughter in Charles' voice. Eyes narrowing, he swoops down to kiss him quiet again.
---
The next week is unlike anything Erik has experienced before. He wakes up just before dawn, as is his habit, body contorted around Charles' like some weird bedroom-themed game of Twister, and commences disengaging himself from Charles' grasp without waking him. He fails miserably, but Charles is a dear and lets him go -- after extracting payment in the form of lazy morning kisses, of course. Erik climbs into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and goes running through the grounds, checking the perimeter and trying not to notice the marked neglect in the bushy hedges and the unmowed grass, the signs of wild animals passing through the property scattered here and there. He wonders, but he's not going to ask, not ever, because he's seen the looks Charles and Raven share when someone mentions something about the rooms next to theirs and the unused wings of the mansion. There is not the smallest sign of happiness to be found in them, only sadness and memories that appear to weigh heavily on the siblings.
By the time he's covered the perimeter and jogs back inside the house, a sleepy Raven can usually be found brewing coffee in the kitchen and lazily crunching her way through a piece of toast and jam while she waits for it to be done. Erik smiles at her and she smiles back, happy and relaxed, no ghosts crowding behind her golden eyes for once. Erik helps himself to coffee when it's ready, and flicks the electric kettle on in the far corner of the huge kitchen. It looks much better now, a far cry from the disused, abandoned space that Erik had first clapped eyes on when they moved in. He grabs a mug from the cabinet above him, fetches the tea from the one next to it, and enjoys the silence that isn't a 'So, you and my brother' lecture from an unusually-fierce-looking Raven, like that first morning after the night before. He'd always known that Raven was not someone to be crossed, but never more so than in that quarter of an hour it had taken Erik to allay her suspicions as to his intentions towards Charles. Emma, the minx, had found it endlessly amusing. Erik had been this close to pointing out that the robe Emma was wearing he'd most recently seen on Raven, but he'd been wise enough to hold back. Not that Emma hadn't read him like a book, and smirked smugly in his direction for the whole morning.
It's around this time that Charles usually potters in, looking sleep-soft and rumpled and completely, irresistibly delicious. Erik is quite aware of just how sappy his face probably looks, thanks.
"Morning," Charles murmurs, smiling sweetly at Erik, who tugs him closer as soon as Charles is in range. He ignores the “Oh god, not again” coming from Raven, and kisses him good morning for the second time in the day.
After breakfast Charles goes out with the younger crew for yet another training session, but it's becoming increasingly obvious to Erik that everyone is really coming into their own, and the boys need less and less direction while the girls devise their own routine already. It wouldn't be long before everyone is so comfortable with their powers that they could go on to live as normal lives as it's possible to have, with the threat of other facilities remaining operational and Stryker still out on the loose – although Erik intends to tie up that loose end as soon as he gets back to work, and has access to the department's databases again. It grates on him, that they haven't managed to neutralise the threat Stryker poses; he's going to make sure these kids are safe, no matter what it takes. They should be free to live their lives without fear – and they will, if he has anything to say about it.
He's quite certain that, even after they leave the mansion, not long will pass before they all get together again – most people spend their entire lives looking for the kind of support network that they're forging right now. He'd bet good money that most of them will stick around the NY area, except for perhaps Scott and Logan, because Logan does not really look like the settling type and Scott isn’t going to take getting left behind any definition of well. Still, he doesn't think Scott will mind that much.
Later there is lunch, and a bit more training, and someone gets thrown in the lake by Sean's blast of sound waves, and that someone tugs someone else in, and there is a free-for-all in the mud that results in goo monsters invading the house and the bathrooms. Later still, there are books, and cards, and arguing over what TV channel they're all going to watch, and throwing microwave popcorn at the screen when Angel's Argentinean soap opera comes on and she throws everyone out except Sean, who has inexplicably become just as addicted.
And then there is quiet as the kids go somewhere else, and there is Erik and Charles and fine cognac and the chessboard between them, much more enjoyable now that they aren’t both of them retreating behind their respective walls; and there is Charles' voice in his ear, and Charles' warm presence opposite him, and Charles' smiles, and Charles' impassioned arguments, and Charles' laughter. And as Erik curls around Charles' sated, naked body at the end of the day, he can't help but smile stupidly at the thought that tomorrow morning he'll get to do it all over again.
Said week goes by in the blink of an eye, however, to Erik’s distress, and before he’s at all ready he finds himself staring blankly down at his worn duffel, packed again with everything he’d brought with him on his way to visit some ancient professor that his mother had pointed him to. All that has happened since – he would never have expected it, not even in his weirdest dreams. He scowls down at the innocent bag, and wonders just how badly he's going to miss this place.
Charles waits for him downstairs, a faint sadness emanating from his core; but there's no bitterness, no blame, no recriminations. Charles knows why Erik is going, knows that Erik could never live with himself if he were to leave his mother behind. The others gather in the hallway by the front door, solemn and quiet.
"You're coming back, though, right?" Angel says at last, desperation not quite as hidden as she thinks.
"I hope so," Erik answers honestly. He wants to, but he won't promise something that might not be up to him.
"You'd better," Raven says, aggressive and upset and nothing like what Erik expected.
"I'll do my best," he says through a throat gone tight.
"Take care, man," Alex says, drawing him in a hug, both arms going round him and squeezing him tight. "Give my best to the guys at work."
"Sure," Erik says, gruff in a way that's almost too much. While he's beyond happy that Alex has found his brother and decided to stick close to him this time, he's still going to miss his partner by his side.
Charles drives off slowly, once they've run the gauntlet and Erik is alone with him at last. He's quiet, but Erik feels gentle brushes of warmth against his mind, and it's a comfort he's unspeakably grateful for. Charles doesn't talk much for the two-hour drive, yet the silence isn't awkward -- it does more to reassure Erik than any amount of inane chatter. Because Charles is right there next to him, not turning away, not letting Erik walk off without saying goodbye, without the promise to hurry back. Charles drives, and hums quietly beside him, and loves him, whether it's in Westchester or New York or Oxford or London or Berlin. And wherever Charles is, Erik just wants to be by his side, for as long as they have on this earth.
"So," Charles says when all too soon they're standing at Erik's departure gate, eyes drinking each other in under the harsh light of the terminal.
"So," Erik says back, all the words that have been cramming inside his head on the drive now strangely dried up. And when the silence at last gets too much, he closes the distance between them and dips his head to look Charles in the eye. "I'll come back as soon as I can."
For a split second Charles' face crumples, and then he's composed again, nodding at Erik, and Erik hates it.
"All right," Charles says, like he's sealing a promise, and Erik can't not kiss him, right out in the open, surrounded by strangers and yet just the two of them clinging desperately to each other for a too-brief moment.
And then Erik is walking away, fingers clutching tight onto the strap of his duffel bag, and Charles is bringing his fingers to his temple and mindbending passport control to let him pass without question, and Erik feels a last, light, loving caress at the edges of his mind, and then he's walking through the gates without looking back, and Charles is gone.
[Part Five]
