Fic: The third who walks always beside you 5/18
Title The third who walks always beside you 5/18
Fandom X-Men First Class
Pairings Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier/Gabrielle Haller, in all possible combinations.
Beta cicero_drayon
World count of chapter 6678
Word count of entire fic 94 000
Rating/warnings NC-17. Sexual situations, mental illness, professional misconduct, period homophobia, ableism and racism as well as casual misogyny, discussion of genocide and sexual abuse.
Disclaimer Marvels owns it, not I.
Summary After a chance meeting, the recently reunited mutant school-master and leader of the Brotherhood both become fascinated by Gabrielle Haller, a human who has demons of her own to fight. As Erik finds himself pulled between his mutant identity and his human heritage, Charles wrestles with his own ethical code and his attraction to his friend. The innocent distraction between the three of them rapidly grows more complicated and, ultimately, altogether more sinister.
The kiss lingered in Charles’ mind. Over the next few days, he reexamined it from every angle, as it had seemed to Erik and as it had seemed to Gaby. To his frustration he could not quite figure out what he felt about it. Suddenly pleasure, jealousy and envy seemed very similar.
Then there was the issue of Erik. When they had dinner together three days after the kiss, he reflected on how used they had grown to each other. It was less than three weeks since they met again, but things seemed very simple. Perhaps their talk in the park and the decision to simply be friends had helped, even if it did not mean that some things lay between them. Among them was the kiss. Once during the meal, Erik stopped suddenly and smiled to himself.
‘Why are you smiling?’ Charles asked, glancing up at him.
‘Nothing,’ Erik said and schooled his face. ‘I’m merely content.’
Had he not watched the kiss, Charles would still have known it was a lie. Contentment was nothing he associated with Erik, and even if he felt it, he would not sincerely admit to it. He reflected on how Erik thought of this almost like something new. “It was a long time since I kissed a woman”, he had said. How long? Charles wondered. Since he kissed Raven, the night before Cuba? He had rejected her after that, but he had had no way of knowing then that his involvement with Charles would end the next day. Against his better judgement, he wondered...
‘Is Mystique in New York?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.
‘Yes, although you probably won’t see her. As you know, the Brotherhood only meets when we liaise. We have no other contact - it’s safest that way.’ Charles sipped his wine to stall for time.
‘You must miss her.’ Erik cast him an odd glance.
‘She’s by far my most trusted associate,’ he said guardedly. Charles kept his eyes intent on the wine in his glass and the way the light shone through it.
‘Associate?’
‘Yes,’ Erik said firmly. He looked around, to see if anyone was watching, and then leaned closer. ‘Only associate,’ he repeated and touched Charles’ arm. ‘Do you honestly think that I would jump straight into bed with your sister after all the two of us experienced together?’
‘My sister makes an excellent impersonation of me,’ he said off-handedly and picked up his wine-glass. Erik rolled his eyes.
‘Not good enough for me,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask? I thought you didn’t care.’ Charles put down the glass again and sighed. It would be easy to admit knowing about the kiss - he would not even have to say that he had read their minds. He could simply point out the obvious attraction between them. But how could he, without sounding like he judged them? He had dismissed Erik so definitively that he could not really admit that his attraction was still present, and he felt far too protective of Gaby to give in to the feelings he undeniably had. The situation was undoubtedly ridiculous. He had more opportunities for romance than he had had for years, and yet he felt infinitely lonely.
‘Nothing,’ he said and forced a smile. ‘I don’t know where I was going with it.’
Erik’s eyes lingered on him a little longer, but let the matter was dropped. Charles’ sense of loneliness lingered. Still when he went to bed, the feeling of isolation was there, along with a gnawing sense of guilt. How could he be jealous of them, when they of all the people he knew were the loneliest? He should be happy for their sake. Instead, he could not let go of the memory of how Gaby’s eyes had lit up when he had kissed her hand, or the of the way Erik constantly looked at him. His worries kept him awake. The last time he remembered reading off the alarm clock before finally drifting off was half past twelve.
His sleep was not undisturbed long. A shrill, trilling noise roused him suddenly. Bewildered, he looked around, wondering what had woken him. The telephone rang again, cutting through the silence. Quickly, he turned the bedside lamp on - it was just after half past one - and transferred himself into the wheelchair, as the telephone rang a third time. At the fourth ring, he picked up the receiver, still blinking sleep out of his eyes.
‘Hello?’ He heard the crackle of an open line, but no sound. ‘Hello? Charles Xavier speaking.’ Over the background sound he heard someone breathing - no, sobbing. ‘Who is this?’
‘Charles?’ It was little more than a whisper, but it was enough to make the speaker identifiable.
‘Gaby!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is that you?’ He heard her breath hitch. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I... I.... please, will you come?’ she stuttered, fighting to speak.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as he looked around the room to locate where he had left his clothes.
‘I don’t know,’ she sobbed. ‘Please, I don’t want to disappear...’
‘Are you in your flat? It’s on the ground-floor, isn’t it?’ All he could hear was her shaking breaths. He had to take it as a yes. ‘Gaby, just stay where you are. Unlock your door, and stay exactly where you are.’ There was no reply, but he could still hear her sobbing. ‘Gaby, tell me you can do that.’
‘Yes - yes,’ came the trembling reply.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ he told her. ‘Don’t do anything rash - I’ll be there in a jiffy.’ He thought he could hear her nod. ‘Good - take care until I get there.’ Not waiting for a reply, he flung the receiver down and started finding clothes. He exchanged his pyjama jacket for his shirt of the previous day and pulled a jumper over it, and retrieved his blanket for his legs - there was no time to change his pyjama trousers. He was half-way through the door when he realised his feet were still bare. Deciding to ignore socks, he pushed his brogues on and did not bother to tie the shoe-laces. In that half-dressed state, he left his room and wheeled himself out onto the street as fast as he could.
It was not until he started down the street that the reality of what was happening was obvious to him. He had no way of knowing what kind of crisis Gaby was in. Through the din of the millions of minds around him, he could not pick out her specifically, but it had been obvious on the telephone that she had been very agitated. “I don’t want to disappear”, she had said - what did it mean, “disappear”? As he stopped at a zebra crossing, waiting for the traffic to pass, he felt a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach. She might be about to harm herself - she might be suicidal. It must already be ten minutes since her phone call, which was ample time... He stopped himself. No, thinking like that was not going to help. He simply had to concentrate on the task of getting to her as quickly as possible. Besides, when he had read her mind that first time they met, she had made a distinction between dying and disappearing. He still did not know what that meant, but it implied that there was no immediate danger for her life.
Even if Charles moved so fast that he thought he would strain the muscles in his arms, it still took him well over twenty minutes to reach Gaby’s address. No-one was awake at this time of night to stop the dishevelled half-dressed man in a wheelchair and ask what he was doing there as he entered the house. Not knowing on which side of the house her flat was, he picked a direction at random. Furthest down the corridor was a door bearing the name Haller. When Charles pressed down the handle, it creaked open. Composing himself, he entered.
The narrow hallway inside was thick with cigarette-smoke and panic. A shoe haphazardly thrown onto the floor hit one of the wheels. With a wrench, he managed to drive over it.
‘Gaby?’ He could sense her through the darkness - close, very close. He passed through the hallway and glanced into the adjoining rooms. It was a little way into the kitchen he found her, curled up and cowering against the wall. ‘Gaby.’ When he spoke her name, she looked up from her knees. Her eyes shone with tears. ‘I’m here - it’s alright.’ A sob ripped through her, and she hid her face in her hands. ‘There, there, come here.’
Precariously he reached towards her, took her arm and managed to coax her to stand. It was not until then she seemed to realise who he was.
‘Charles,’ she said between sobs and threw her arms around his neck. ‘You’re here, you came, I thought you wouldn’t...’
‘I’m sorry it took a bit of time,’ he said, a little embarrassed by her effusions. He had expected her to let go of him, but instead she shifted and sat down in his lap, arms still around his neck. He returned the embrace. The fabric under his fingers was thin, and through the darkness he realised that she was only in her night-gown. Carefully, he made her let go around his neck. He tried to catch her gaze, but her head hung and her eyes were unfocused.
‘What set this off?’ he asked. It seemed an effort to answer.
‘I do- don’t know,’ she stuttered, and her hand clamped down painfully on his wrist. ‘It just happened - I felt a little sad and then it got worse and suddenly...’ She made a choked sound and buried her face in her hands.
‘I think you should lie down,’ Charles said. This position was not making his bedside manner easy to fall into. He took her by the shoulders and heaved her onto her feet. She stood, moving simply because she was instructed to. When he took her hand and put it on his shoulder, she clasped it as if by reflex. His progression to the bedroom was slow, and the room itself was cramped and difficult to maneuver. Nevertheless, Gaby held his pace. When Charles helped her into bed, it was as if all that was making her move was muscle memory. He turned on her bedside lamp, and saw how blank her eyes were.
‘Gaby?’ The blankness vanished, and her eyes pushed open so that the whites were visible.
‘No, no, not that,’ she whispered, and she started trembling. She raised her arms and shielded herself with them.
‘Gaby, calm down, you don’t have to be frightened,’ he said and reached out towards her arms. One of her hands flung out of the way and connected with his jaw, just hard enough to make his teeth close painfully. In surprise, he drew back. Gaby rolled onto her side, drew her legs up and clamped her arms around them. A steady stream of whispers could be heard. When he reached out to her, she screamed. He did not understand the words, but the way her mind was screaming at him not to touch her, he gathered what they must mean. But there was something else in her mind - the way she saw the place was not right. It was shifting, turning into something else, and then hovered back to reality again. As she perceived her surroundings change, so did Charles, and through her eyes he saw himself transform into a face from a twisted memory. That closed place in her mind was open, threatening to unleash its demons. In desperation, Charles called out with his mind.
Gaby, it’s me, Charles. I just want to help you. You can trust me. You know me. Trust me.
It was such a small push, but it was enough. The presence beside her bed was no longer a nightmarish creature, but someone familiar to her in a way that she could not understand herself. She sat up suddenly and stared at him for a moment, confused at his being here and at this sudden sense of trust. Then she started crying, wrapping her arms around her thin body. Charles knew that touching her was not appropriate, but it was too difficult to simply watch. Now he edged closer and put an arm around her. She leaned against him and said his name between sobs. In the half-obscured lamplight inspected her arms and her exposed shoulders.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’
Gaby shook her head against his shoulder.
‘I’m scared,’ she admitted weakly. ‘I don’t want to disappear. I almost did it again, and I don’t want to...’
‘Don’t want what?’ Charles asked and drew away to look at her. ‘What do you mean, “disappear”?’ She leaned against the bed-board, curling up around herself, and looked at him. Her eyes shone with tears, but they had none of the blankness they had had before. She was evidently upset, but the delusions he had sensed before were gone.
‘After the war,’ she started slowly. Whatever she was about to explain was obviously difficult to put into words. ‘After the war... I can’t remember anything after they liberated the camp. It’s all a blank. All there was was... the memories. It was all I knew.’ She paused and tried to dry the tears off her cheeks, but only smeared them over her face. Charles offered her his handkerchief. She took it, but did not use it, only clasped it in both hands. A shiver ran through her body. He drew the covers tighter around her.
‘Go on,’ he said softly. She bit her lip and gathered her thoughts.
‘I disappeared,’ she explained. ‘That was what happened. They said later that it was a way of surviving, that I shut myself away from the rest of the world. They sent me to hospital, and there, I simply was. I slept, I woke, I sat and stared. But I never spoke. I never moved. I wouldn’t eat. It was as if I didn’t have a soul. All I was was a body. I didn’t notice anything - I was locked inside. I locked myself inside, they said, to keep everything else out.’ Charles fought the instinct to take her hand to comfort her. He should have realised what she had meant when she had talked about disappearing, but he had never imagined such a complete withdrawal as catatonic schizophrenia.
‘How long were you like that?’
‘Ten years.’
‘What changed?’ he asked. ‘How did they bring you out of it?’ Gaby swallowed noisily.
‘Electric shocks,’ she explained weakly. ‘They thought it’d be better for me to be awake Nothing else had worked, so they decided to try pain...’ She pressed her eyes close for a moment, remembering the sensations. Then her face relaxed again.
‘Was waking a relief, as they thought?’ She shook her head.
‘It was terrifying. I didn’t recognise myself. I was a child one moment, and then the next time I knew, I was twenty-one.’
‘It must have been a very big shock,’ Charles said gravely.
‘I don’t want to be like that again,’ she said, her voice urgent. ‘I don’t want to lose any more time.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ he said and touched her shoulder. ‘Has it ever happened after that?’
‘Not properly... but sometimes I feel it coming closer, like tonight. It’s different from the panic-attacks. It’s much worse.’
‘But you’ve had the panic-attacks ever since this?’ Gaby nodded. ‘What happened after you woke up?’
‘First, very little changed,’ she said. There was no emotion in her voice, as if she was only stating facts. ‘I was still committed. The only difference was that I was awake. I remember it very clearly. It was terrifying, because nothing seemed the way it should. Everything was twisted and crooked.’
‘I assume you were still psychotic.’ She nodded.
‘It took very long before that started to go away. Sometimes it’s still there, but usually not. After a while, I wasn’t a danger to myself anymore. I could do without most of the medicines.’
‘So they discharged you?’
‘I’d been there for over a decade, they were glad to get rid of me,’ she sighed. ‘My aunt came over to fetch me. She had not had the money to move to be with me in France - all the old family money went to the hospital. She’d come over once a year for my birthday, even if I was not conscious. She’d write me letters - I still have them. They’re almost like a diary. One-sided conversations.’
‘So you went to America with her?’ Charles asked.
‘Yes. I lived with her in Boston. I tried to learn to live. Everyday things, like cooking and cleaning. How to talk to people. All the things I had missed out on when I had been unconscious. When I was strong enough, I took classes - I learned English and typing and shorthand. I worked there for a few years, and then I got the job I have now. Auntie Hannah hated the idea of me moving, but I was so sick of it - being treated like I was going to break. Being on my own after so long at the mercy of others... it was horrible, but so... liberating.’
‘It must have been,’ Charles said. Even if his case was very different, he could sympathise.
They sat in silence for a while, and he considered what he had heard. It had been apparent to him from the first time they met that Gaby was deeply scarred by her experiences, but a nervous disposition was very different from full-blown schizophrenia. On the other hand, it explained much. Twenty years was enough time to recover from starvation, but being more or less unconscious through her entire teens was bound to leave traces. Perhaps this was also the reason why she seemed so young - even if she was thirty, she had only lived twenty of those years. She had never been eased into her body. The chagrins of puberty or the joys of approaching adulthood had been lost to her.
Then he thought of the things he had seen in Erik’s memories, and barely suppressed a shudder. Even if he told himself that he should not wonder, as it was not professional interest but only curiosity for the horrifying details, he could not resist asking.
‘What happened to you, Gaby? What did you see that made you so ill?’ The gaze that met his was not that of the sickly girl, but of her other side, the keen-minded woman.
‘What would happen, Charles?’ she asked, her tone suddenly scathing. He frowned.
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow...’
‘What happens to women in war?’ she clarified. Charles swallowed uncomfortably.
‘Gaby, surely you don’t mean...’ She cut him off, and even if it quivered with tears, her voice was strong.
‘Do you know what they told me - the guards?’ she asked. ‘They said that I was too beautiful to gas. So they kept me. They locked me in a shed - I was their entertainment.’
Charles was suddenly afraid that he might be sick.
‘You were ten years old,’ he choked.
‘They didn’t care,’ she exclaimed. It was anger rather than grief making the tears fall down her cheeks now. ‘Many of them were delighted at the opportunity. I can’t ever remember anyone being disgusted by it - all that disgusted them was me. They thought that the fact that I wasn’t dead showed that I must enjoy it somehow. Not that any of that mattered to them. They wanted to make us suffer. I think they wanted to see how much I could endure.’
And as quickly as her anger had come, she pushed the covers off her, unbuttoned her night-gown and pulled it down from her shoulders. The thin cloth fell away and pooled around her waist. Charles looked away, shocked by this sudden exposure.
‘Look at it, Charles,’ she urged him. He fought down his reluctance and turned towards her. She had raised her left arm, closest to him, so that it stretched out her side. In the lamp-light, he saw the round marks of cigarettes, shaping an irregular pattern, on the inside of her arm, in her armpit, down her ribcage and her side. One scar on her breast had been stretched; the burn had happened before her breasts had started growing. There might be a scar of some kind over her right nipple, but Charles did not dare look closer.
‘Gaby, cover up,’ he said and averted his gaze. He kept it fixed on the corner of the room as he listened to her putting her gown back on and buttoned it. When he was certain she was decent again, he turned back. In that brief time, it was as if she had shrunken. The anger was gone, and exhaustion was catching up. She was shaking, and looked like she might collapse. Quickly, Charles reached out and steadied her by the shoulders. ‘Look at you, you’re exhausted. You need to get some sleep.’ She shook her head.
‘I don’t want to. I don’t know if I could,’ she said, but the objection sounded weak. ‘The nightmares...’ If she had been in a better state, he would have simply asked, but now he briefly read her mind and learned that she had no tranquilizers in the flat - not unexpected, if she did not have a doctor to prescribe them for her. He had not had the mind to bring any with him in the rush to get here, but his psychic abilities would do just as well.
‘You’ll feel much better if you rest,’ he assured her. ‘Then tomorrow morning, we can talk about this properly.’
Gaby let him help her to lie down and draw the covers over her. Her hair was still let out, and Charles had a sudden impulse to reach out and draw the lock from her shoulder. He leaned back in his chair so that he could not reach, lest the temptation be too great. The alarm clock on her bedside table showed that it was past two. As he sensed Gaby slipping into an unsteady sleep, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. There was a dull ache in his back, and now he felt the consequence of his mad dash, set deep in the muscles of his arms. For a brief moment, he imagined circling the bed and lying down on it beside Gaby. Perhaps she would nestle close and put her head on his chest, or let herself be enfolded in his arms...
Charles shook himself. The sudden sleepiness must be muddling his mind. Not only was it no way to treat a patient - there was no way of telling how Gaby, with the memories of her childhood lying in wait, might react. He leaned his chin in his hand and watched her form in the bed. She was so slight and looked so breakable, yet when she had told him what had happened to her in the camp, it had been the overwhelming anger at the outrage that had been most palpable. There was no way of doubting that there was strength in her. Despite that, he wanted to hold her and keep her from harm, but the threat was from within, and even if he could shield her from it, he could never keep it from hurting her. How foul it seemed, that such horrors had kept her from being alive. Still it was fouler that they were a part of her, so without them she would not be whole. He wished he could cut it out of her mind, but she would bleed and scar, and he did not want that.
Resigning to sitting by her bedside, Charles pulled his blanket up a little and gave into sleep.
***
He woke at first light, not many hours after falling asleep. His chin had rested on his chest when he slept, which had left him with a stiff neck and a painful back. His arms felt worse than they had before sleeping.
Gaby was still lying on her side, asleep under a fan of hair. The morning light which streamed through the window made her look very peaceful. Charles smiled to himself, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. Disturbing her rest would be criminal, and staying at her bedside was bound to wake her.
He knew that he should get back to the comfort of the hotel, for his morning medication and some proper sleep, but he did not want to leave without speaking to her first. Deciding to delay his departure a little, he headed to the kitchen. It took much concentration to get out of the cluttered bedroom without making much noise, and the kitchen was equally crammed. It was only by nudging the table to the side that he could reach the stove. Making coffee seemed like the right thing to do, so painstakingly slowly, he started finding the things he needed. Both the coffeepot and the grounds were on the workbench, and if he locked the wheels and pushed himself up, he could turn the tap on. The cups seemed to be in one of the upper cupboards, which one could only reach standing.
As the water on the stove came up to boil, his gaze was drawn to the books on the kitchen table. He had somehow expected novels, but instead, they seemed all to be about international law. Most were library books, but some of the particularly well-thumbed ones did not have any classmarks on the back. He considered looking closer, but then decided against it - he did not want to intrude more than he already had.
The coffee was brewing when he heard the padding of naked feet against the floor, and Gaby appeared. Her hair was tousled and her eyes only half-open. The way she huddled in a blanket draped across her shoulders made her look particularly sleepy.
‘Good morning,’ she murmured.
‘Good morning,’ Charles said. ‘How are you feeling?’ She rubbed her eyes and said:
‘Better, I think. I’ve got a headache.’
‘It’s probably the tension,’ he said. ‘Take an aspirin, and a glass of water. I made some coffee. Couldn’t find any cups, though.’
‘They’re in that cupboard,’ she said and pointed to one of the overheard cupboards. ‘If I could, eum, pass...’
‘Oh,’ Charles said, realising suddenly that he was blocking her way. ‘Just a moment.’ He wheeled himself backwards, and she slipped past him. Neither of them spoke when she took down cups and poured the coffee. He accepted the cup, but did not taste it. Gaby did not seem particularly concerned by the drink either, but only clasped it between her hands. By the way her head was bowed, she seemed to compose herself.
‘Thank you,’ she said finally. ‘For coming. It was silly to call you like that, but...’
‘It was not silly at all,’ Charles said gravely. ‘I’m very glad you did.’ She looked at him apologetically.
‘I don’t even have a sofa you could sleep on.’
‘It’s alright,’ he assured her. ‘I was glad I could be there to keep you company.’
‘I’m glad too.’ As if pretending she had not said anything, Gaby sipped her coffee and then crossed to the window, cup still between her hands.
‘How much do you remember of yesterday?’ Charles asked.
‘Most of it,’ Gaby said. ‘I didn’t really black out, did I?’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘But there were.... lapses.’ She sighed.
‘Yes. I do remember that.’
‘And you know what you told me?’
‘Yes,’ she said and looked over at him.
‘I asked simply if...’ He cleared his throat and rearranged his blanket. ‘...if you actually hadn’t meant to tell me.’
‘I trust you,’ she said earnestly. ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t know.’ He nodded, but did not understand. Gaby turned back to watching the street outside.
‘Gaby...’
‘Hm?’
‘How often does this kind of thing happen?’ She did not turn to look at him, but remained by the window. For a moment, he imagined that the sun shone through her thin body like through the curtains.
‘It depends,’ she said finally. ‘A few times every year. Sometimes when I’m not feeling well, more often.’ Charles sighed and rubbed his eyes.
‘Gaby, you need to do something about this,’ he said. ‘I can’t always be here.’
‘I’m not asking you to be,’ she said and stared resolutely at her hands.
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Charles said. ‘But... God, the thought of you alone, when you’re like that...’
‘It’s worked this far,’ she objected.
‘It’s dangerous,’ he exclaimed.
‘I haven’t wanted to hurt myself for years,’ Gaby said and glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘I don’t think it’ll come back.’
‘There is no way of knowing that,’ he said, struggling to express his frustration. ‘Gaby, you need to go see a doctor. Talk to someone. There are ways to make these things better...’
‘I don’t want more medicines,’ Gaby whispered, suddenly humbled. She leaned her face against the glass. All Charles could see of her face was the reflection of her tightly shut eyes. ‘They gave me so many drugs when I was in hospital - at last I wasn’t certain if I was human anymore. If I’m not human, what is the point with me? What will stop anyone from hurting me?’
Charles sat still, trying to think of what to say.
‘But if it stopped you from hurting yourself - directly or indirectly?’
‘I’d rather be like this and still myself than sane and not a person.’
‘I still think...’ Gaby turned around very suddenly, and he broke off in surprise. There were tears in her eyes, but from anger, not sorrow.
‘I can’t just explain it,’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s too much... Besides, what would they do? What if they lock me up, Charles?’
He inhaled slowly and answered:
‘They wouldn’t do anything that they did not think was for your own good...’
‘I don’t want to be a prisoner - in an asylum or in my own body,’ she continued. ‘I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.’ Charles joined his hands and considered it.
‘If it’s an issue of money...’
‘I told you, I don’t want to go to a doctor about it,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want to be branded as insane anymore.’
‘Leaving it will only make it worse,’ he pressed on. ‘You’re neglecting yourself, Gaby - this in itself is self-destructive. And not just the mental part, which is alarming enough. It’s your physical health too. Mind and body are interconnected, and if one fares ill...’
‘Yes, I know,’ Gaby sighed. ‘I suppose that’s why I went mad in the first place.’
‘You’re not mad, Gaby,’ he told her. ‘You’re ill.’ The coffee cup clanged against the window-pane as she put it down. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she said:
‘It adds up to the same thing.’ Where she stood, she at once looked tiny, and Charles felt an overwhelming need to protect her.
‘What if I were to do it?’ She looked at him, puzzled. ‘I haven’t practiced for some time, but if that’s what it’d take...’ It was not an ideal solution; he did not know how he would go about getting instruments or having samples tested or writing prescriptions. But if it was what it took to help her, he was prepared to find ways of doing it.
Gaby nodded.
‘I would rather it was you than anyone else.’ Charles nodded back with a sigh of relief. They lapsed into awkward silence, and he tried to think of something to say which was not quite as compromising.
‘Eum, these books...’ Gaby’s cheeks flushed, but when she answered she looked at him more steadily.
‘It’s my hobby,’ she explained.
‘Hobby?’ Charles repeated and picked up one of the tomes. ‘I’m... I’m impressed.’
‘Didn’t you think I could handle anything more complicated than typing?’ she said with a wicked grin. Charles chuckled as he leafed through the book. It was one of her own, and the margins were full of annotations.
‘Certainly not,’ he assured her. ‘You should pursue this, Gaby.’
Her shoulders slumped suddenly.
‘How could I?’ she asked and sat down. ‘I don’t have money to go to university.’
‘You could get a scholarship,’ Charles suggested.
‘I’m probably too old,’ she said. ‘Besides, even if I somehow managed, I couldn’t do any of this. I find the office oppressive. How would I manage a court-room? I’d go to pieces.’ Charles put back the book carefully.
‘You could get better,’ he said emphatically. ‘If you have a goal, something you really want... that could help you.’ Gaby simply hung her head. Seeing her so dispirited was heartbreaking. On sudden impulse, he reached out and took her hand. Now she looked up at him. ‘I can help you.’ She smiled weakly, not believing him. Once again she looked down, and then asked:
‘Charles, why aren’t you wearing socks?’ Charles looked down on his feet, not properly covered by the blanket.
‘I, eum, left in a bit of a hurry.’ Gaby laughed. She put her hand to her mouth to stop it, but continued to giggle a little hysterically.
‘Sorry,’ she said after a while and wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Just... no socks.’ Charles’ reluctance broke, and he laughed too. When the laughter subsided, they smiled at each other, as if they somehow understood each other.
The moment ended, and Charles looked away.
‘I should go,’ he said. Gaby rose.
‘I shouldn’t keep you,’ she said, but there was regret in her voice. Charles looked up at her; the way he had to angle his head to meet her eyes felt suddenly awkward.
‘May I use your phone?’ he asked. She nodded and crossed to the small table in one of the corners where the telephone stood. She pulled it his way and handed it to him. Perching the phone in his lap, Charles dialed the number of the hotel. As the tone rang, he was aware of her watching him. He could not decide whether to look at her or not. The things she had told him the previous night seemed at once written in front of him, and he wondered if he would be able to look at her without thinking about the humiliation she had suffered and the scars she bore. Equally, he would also think of the way her body had felt against his when she curled up in his lap or how she had shed her nightgown and shown him her chest. At the time, he had been too shocked to think about it, but now he remembered her narrow ribcage, her pale skin, her small, red-tipped breasts. The thought left an itch in his palms, a physical manifestation of the urge to touch. He balled up his free hand into a fist.
The hotel’s telephone operator finally picked up, and he stated Erik’s room number. There was a long pause as the operator patched him through, and Charles looked up at Gaby with an apologetic smile. She smiled back, blanket drawn tightly around her where she stood leaning against the door-frame.
On the other side of the line, the receiver was picked up, and Erik’s hoarse voice was heard through the buzz.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Erik - it’s Charles. Sorry if I woke you.’
‘You didn’t. Why are you calling? You’re two floors away from me...’
‘No, not at the moment,’ he explained. ‘I’m at Gaby’s flat.’ He gave him the address. ‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but could you take a cab and come and pick me up?’ A long silence fell. When Erik finally answered, the word was drawn out, and held all his scepticism:
‘Right.’
‘Thank you - you’re a darling. Bye for now.’ He put the receiver down and handed the phone back to Gaby.
‘Did you wake him?’ she asked.
‘Most certainly,’ Charles answered. ‘It’s very early, so it’s not that odd.’ They stood in silence for a while, then Charles asked: ‘Will you be alright on your own now?’ Gaby nodded.
‘Yes, I feel much better,’ she said.
‘You seem it,’ he answered. ‘I’ll be in touch about, eum, arranging something for you.’
‘Thank you,’ Gaby said sincerely.
‘My pleasure,’ Charles said and smiled. She smiled back, obviously entertained by the irony of the phrase. It felt as if as they smiled at each other, something shifted. For a short, dizzy moment, he imagined taking her hand, pulling her down and kissing her. He would push the blanket off her shoulders and pull down her nightgown to expose her delicate breasts. He would lean in...
The door-bell rang. Gaby moved to answer it, and Charles tried to shake off the fantasy as he heard Erik outside.
‘Good morning, Erik.’
‘Good morning. I understand Charles is lurking here?’ At that, Charles straightened his blanket and wheeled himself into the hallway. Erik was standing outside, looking newly awake and quite annoyed.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Charles said. Gaby stepped aside to let him pass. Once out of the door, he smiled up at her. ‘Take care, Gaby.’ She smiled back hesitantly.
‘See you.’ Erik raised his hat to her; Charles sensed her blushing. The door closed, and Erik turned to glare at him.
‘You’d better have a good reason for all this,’ he said under his breath and pushed him down the corridor and to the cab. Once Erik got in as well, he eyed what could be seen of his pyjama trousers under the blanket. ‘So what happened between you and Gaby?’ he asked curtly.
‘Nothing happened between us,’ Charles objected. ‘I was there in a strictly professional role.’
‘And did you stay the night in your strictly professional role?’ Erik retorted. Charles wondered towards whom this jealousy was directed. Suddenly he was afraid that he was intruding on something between him and Gaby, even if it was only through his wayward fantasies.
‘Look, Erik,’ he said under his breath. ‘I rushed over last night to take care of Gaby in the role as her doctor. I then stayed to look after her. She’s very ill, and I didn’t want her to be on her own.’ Erik’s anger stalled, and was slowly replaced with embarrassment.
‘I assumed...’
‘I’d wear something else than pyjama bottoms and no socks for a date, Erik,’ he pointed out dryly.
‘Why aren’t you wearing socks?’ Erik asked.
‘I didn’t have time to put any on,’ Charles sighed, a little frustrated at having to explain it a second time within ten minutes. They were silent for a little while, and as they drew close to the hotel, Charles said: ‘Thank you for coming to get me. It’s just beastly hard to get a taxi on my own. Just flagging one down is a chore.’ Erik almost smiled, but remembered himself before it had time to grow. The cab stopped. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any money on me, either,’ Charles continued. ‘I’ll pay you back.’ Erik sighed, but there was something theatrical about his annoyance as he took out his wallet and paid the driver.
‘It’ll have to be in wine,’ he then said, got out and brought the chair around. He steadied him as he transferred into it, and pushed him into the foyer.
‘I’ll be fine from here,’ Charles assured him. Erik let go of the handles and came around to face him.
‘Get some sleep, Charles,’ he told him. ‘You look awful. That wine will have to be this evening, though.’ Charles smiled.
‘Of course, my friend.’ Erik doffed his hat at him and left him to make his way back to the comforts of his suite.
Next chapter
Fandom X-Men First Class
Pairings Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier/Gabrielle Haller, in all possible combinations.
Beta cicero_drayon
World count of chapter 6678
Word count of entire fic 94 000
Rating/warnings NC-17. Sexual situations, mental illness, professional misconduct, period homophobia, ableism and racism as well as casual misogyny, discussion of genocide and sexual abuse.
Disclaimer Marvels owns it, not I.
Summary After a chance meeting, the recently reunited mutant school-master and leader of the Brotherhood both become fascinated by Gabrielle Haller, a human who has demons of her own to fight. As Erik finds himself pulled between his mutant identity and his human heritage, Charles wrestles with his own ethical code and his attraction to his friend. The innocent distraction between the three of them rapidly grows more complicated and, ultimately, altogether more sinister.
The kiss lingered in Charles’ mind. Over the next few days, he reexamined it from every angle, as it had seemed to Erik and as it had seemed to Gaby. To his frustration he could not quite figure out what he felt about it. Suddenly pleasure, jealousy and envy seemed very similar.
Then there was the issue of Erik. When they had dinner together three days after the kiss, he reflected on how used they had grown to each other. It was less than three weeks since they met again, but things seemed very simple. Perhaps their talk in the park and the decision to simply be friends had helped, even if it did not mean that some things lay between them. Among them was the kiss. Once during the meal, Erik stopped suddenly and smiled to himself.
‘Why are you smiling?’ Charles asked, glancing up at him.
‘Nothing,’ Erik said and schooled his face. ‘I’m merely content.’
Had he not watched the kiss, Charles would still have known it was a lie. Contentment was nothing he associated with Erik, and even if he felt it, he would not sincerely admit to it. He reflected on how Erik thought of this almost like something new. “It was a long time since I kissed a woman”, he had said. How long? Charles wondered. Since he kissed Raven, the night before Cuba? He had rejected her after that, but he had had no way of knowing then that his involvement with Charles would end the next day. Against his better judgement, he wondered...
‘Is Mystique in New York?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.
‘Yes, although you probably won’t see her. As you know, the Brotherhood only meets when we liaise. We have no other contact - it’s safest that way.’ Charles sipped his wine to stall for time.
‘You must miss her.’ Erik cast him an odd glance.
‘She’s by far my most trusted associate,’ he said guardedly. Charles kept his eyes intent on the wine in his glass and the way the light shone through it.
‘Associate?’
‘Yes,’ Erik said firmly. He looked around, to see if anyone was watching, and then leaned closer. ‘Only associate,’ he repeated and touched Charles’ arm. ‘Do you honestly think that I would jump straight into bed with your sister after all the two of us experienced together?’
‘My sister makes an excellent impersonation of me,’ he said off-handedly and picked up his wine-glass. Erik rolled his eyes.
‘Not good enough for me,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask? I thought you didn’t care.’ Charles put down the glass again and sighed. It would be easy to admit knowing about the kiss - he would not even have to say that he had read their minds. He could simply point out the obvious attraction between them. But how could he, without sounding like he judged them? He had dismissed Erik so definitively that he could not really admit that his attraction was still present, and he felt far too protective of Gaby to give in to the feelings he undeniably had. The situation was undoubtedly ridiculous. He had more opportunities for romance than he had had for years, and yet he felt infinitely lonely.
‘Nothing,’ he said and forced a smile. ‘I don’t know where I was going with it.’
Erik’s eyes lingered on him a little longer, but let the matter was dropped. Charles’ sense of loneliness lingered. Still when he went to bed, the feeling of isolation was there, along with a gnawing sense of guilt. How could he be jealous of them, when they of all the people he knew were the loneliest? He should be happy for their sake. Instead, he could not let go of the memory of how Gaby’s eyes had lit up when he had kissed her hand, or the of the way Erik constantly looked at him. His worries kept him awake. The last time he remembered reading off the alarm clock before finally drifting off was half past twelve.
His sleep was not undisturbed long. A shrill, trilling noise roused him suddenly. Bewildered, he looked around, wondering what had woken him. The telephone rang again, cutting through the silence. Quickly, he turned the bedside lamp on - it was just after half past one - and transferred himself into the wheelchair, as the telephone rang a third time. At the fourth ring, he picked up the receiver, still blinking sleep out of his eyes.
‘Hello?’ He heard the crackle of an open line, but no sound. ‘Hello? Charles Xavier speaking.’ Over the background sound he heard someone breathing - no, sobbing. ‘Who is this?’
‘Charles?’ It was little more than a whisper, but it was enough to make the speaker identifiable.
‘Gaby!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is that you?’ He heard her breath hitch. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I... I.... please, will you come?’ she stuttered, fighting to speak.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as he looked around the room to locate where he had left his clothes.
‘I don’t know,’ she sobbed. ‘Please, I don’t want to disappear...’
‘Are you in your flat? It’s on the ground-floor, isn’t it?’ All he could hear was her shaking breaths. He had to take it as a yes. ‘Gaby, just stay where you are. Unlock your door, and stay exactly where you are.’ There was no reply, but he could still hear her sobbing. ‘Gaby, tell me you can do that.’
‘Yes - yes,’ came the trembling reply.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ he told her. ‘Don’t do anything rash - I’ll be there in a jiffy.’ He thought he could hear her nod. ‘Good - take care until I get there.’ Not waiting for a reply, he flung the receiver down and started finding clothes. He exchanged his pyjama jacket for his shirt of the previous day and pulled a jumper over it, and retrieved his blanket for his legs - there was no time to change his pyjama trousers. He was half-way through the door when he realised his feet were still bare. Deciding to ignore socks, he pushed his brogues on and did not bother to tie the shoe-laces. In that half-dressed state, he left his room and wheeled himself out onto the street as fast as he could.
It was not until he started down the street that the reality of what was happening was obvious to him. He had no way of knowing what kind of crisis Gaby was in. Through the din of the millions of minds around him, he could not pick out her specifically, but it had been obvious on the telephone that she had been very agitated. “I don’t want to disappear”, she had said - what did it mean, “disappear”? As he stopped at a zebra crossing, waiting for the traffic to pass, he felt a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach. She might be about to harm herself - she might be suicidal. It must already be ten minutes since her phone call, which was ample time... He stopped himself. No, thinking like that was not going to help. He simply had to concentrate on the task of getting to her as quickly as possible. Besides, when he had read her mind that first time they met, she had made a distinction between dying and disappearing. He still did not know what that meant, but it implied that there was no immediate danger for her life.
Even if Charles moved so fast that he thought he would strain the muscles in his arms, it still took him well over twenty minutes to reach Gaby’s address. No-one was awake at this time of night to stop the dishevelled half-dressed man in a wheelchair and ask what he was doing there as he entered the house. Not knowing on which side of the house her flat was, he picked a direction at random. Furthest down the corridor was a door bearing the name Haller. When Charles pressed down the handle, it creaked open. Composing himself, he entered.
The narrow hallway inside was thick with cigarette-smoke and panic. A shoe haphazardly thrown onto the floor hit one of the wheels. With a wrench, he managed to drive over it.
‘Gaby?’ He could sense her through the darkness - close, very close. He passed through the hallway and glanced into the adjoining rooms. It was a little way into the kitchen he found her, curled up and cowering against the wall. ‘Gaby.’ When he spoke her name, she looked up from her knees. Her eyes shone with tears. ‘I’m here - it’s alright.’ A sob ripped through her, and she hid her face in her hands. ‘There, there, come here.’
Precariously he reached towards her, took her arm and managed to coax her to stand. It was not until then she seemed to realise who he was.
‘Charles,’ she said between sobs and threw her arms around his neck. ‘You’re here, you came, I thought you wouldn’t...’
‘I’m sorry it took a bit of time,’ he said, a little embarrassed by her effusions. He had expected her to let go of him, but instead she shifted and sat down in his lap, arms still around his neck. He returned the embrace. The fabric under his fingers was thin, and through the darkness he realised that she was only in her night-gown. Carefully, he made her let go around his neck. He tried to catch her gaze, but her head hung and her eyes were unfocused.
‘What set this off?’ he asked. It seemed an effort to answer.
‘I do- don’t know,’ she stuttered, and her hand clamped down painfully on his wrist. ‘It just happened - I felt a little sad and then it got worse and suddenly...’ She made a choked sound and buried her face in her hands.
‘I think you should lie down,’ Charles said. This position was not making his bedside manner easy to fall into. He took her by the shoulders and heaved her onto her feet. She stood, moving simply because she was instructed to. When he took her hand and put it on his shoulder, she clasped it as if by reflex. His progression to the bedroom was slow, and the room itself was cramped and difficult to maneuver. Nevertheless, Gaby held his pace. When Charles helped her into bed, it was as if all that was making her move was muscle memory. He turned on her bedside lamp, and saw how blank her eyes were.
‘Gaby?’ The blankness vanished, and her eyes pushed open so that the whites were visible.
‘No, no, not that,’ she whispered, and she started trembling. She raised her arms and shielded herself with them.
‘Gaby, calm down, you don’t have to be frightened,’ he said and reached out towards her arms. One of her hands flung out of the way and connected with his jaw, just hard enough to make his teeth close painfully. In surprise, he drew back. Gaby rolled onto her side, drew her legs up and clamped her arms around them. A steady stream of whispers could be heard. When he reached out to her, she screamed. He did not understand the words, but the way her mind was screaming at him not to touch her, he gathered what they must mean. But there was something else in her mind - the way she saw the place was not right. It was shifting, turning into something else, and then hovered back to reality again. As she perceived her surroundings change, so did Charles, and through her eyes he saw himself transform into a face from a twisted memory. That closed place in her mind was open, threatening to unleash its demons. In desperation, Charles called out with his mind.
Gaby, it’s me, Charles. I just want to help you. You can trust me. You know me. Trust me.
It was such a small push, but it was enough. The presence beside her bed was no longer a nightmarish creature, but someone familiar to her in a way that she could not understand herself. She sat up suddenly and stared at him for a moment, confused at his being here and at this sudden sense of trust. Then she started crying, wrapping her arms around her thin body. Charles knew that touching her was not appropriate, but it was too difficult to simply watch. Now he edged closer and put an arm around her. She leaned against him and said his name between sobs. In the half-obscured lamplight inspected her arms and her exposed shoulders.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’
Gaby shook her head against his shoulder.
‘I’m scared,’ she admitted weakly. ‘I don’t want to disappear. I almost did it again, and I don’t want to...’
‘Don’t want what?’ Charles asked and drew away to look at her. ‘What do you mean, “disappear”?’ She leaned against the bed-board, curling up around herself, and looked at him. Her eyes shone with tears, but they had none of the blankness they had had before. She was evidently upset, but the delusions he had sensed before were gone.
‘After the war,’ she started slowly. Whatever she was about to explain was obviously difficult to put into words. ‘After the war... I can’t remember anything after they liberated the camp. It’s all a blank. All there was was... the memories. It was all I knew.’ She paused and tried to dry the tears off her cheeks, but only smeared them over her face. Charles offered her his handkerchief. She took it, but did not use it, only clasped it in both hands. A shiver ran through her body. He drew the covers tighter around her.
‘Go on,’ he said softly. She bit her lip and gathered her thoughts.
‘I disappeared,’ she explained. ‘That was what happened. They said later that it was a way of surviving, that I shut myself away from the rest of the world. They sent me to hospital, and there, I simply was. I slept, I woke, I sat and stared. But I never spoke. I never moved. I wouldn’t eat. It was as if I didn’t have a soul. All I was was a body. I didn’t notice anything - I was locked inside. I locked myself inside, they said, to keep everything else out.’ Charles fought the instinct to take her hand to comfort her. He should have realised what she had meant when she had talked about disappearing, but he had never imagined such a complete withdrawal as catatonic schizophrenia.
‘How long were you like that?’
‘Ten years.’
‘What changed?’ he asked. ‘How did they bring you out of it?’ Gaby swallowed noisily.
‘Electric shocks,’ she explained weakly. ‘They thought it’d be better for me to be awake Nothing else had worked, so they decided to try pain...’ She pressed her eyes close for a moment, remembering the sensations. Then her face relaxed again.
‘Was waking a relief, as they thought?’ She shook her head.
‘It was terrifying. I didn’t recognise myself. I was a child one moment, and then the next time I knew, I was twenty-one.’
‘It must have been a very big shock,’ Charles said gravely.
‘I don’t want to be like that again,’ she said, her voice urgent. ‘I don’t want to lose any more time.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ he said and touched her shoulder. ‘Has it ever happened after that?’
‘Not properly... but sometimes I feel it coming closer, like tonight. It’s different from the panic-attacks. It’s much worse.’
‘But you’ve had the panic-attacks ever since this?’ Gaby nodded. ‘What happened after you woke up?’
‘First, very little changed,’ she said. There was no emotion in her voice, as if she was only stating facts. ‘I was still committed. The only difference was that I was awake. I remember it very clearly. It was terrifying, because nothing seemed the way it should. Everything was twisted and crooked.’
‘I assume you were still psychotic.’ She nodded.
‘It took very long before that started to go away. Sometimes it’s still there, but usually not. After a while, I wasn’t a danger to myself anymore. I could do without most of the medicines.’
‘So they discharged you?’
‘I’d been there for over a decade, they were glad to get rid of me,’ she sighed. ‘My aunt came over to fetch me. She had not had the money to move to be with me in France - all the old family money went to the hospital. She’d come over once a year for my birthday, even if I was not conscious. She’d write me letters - I still have them. They’re almost like a diary. One-sided conversations.’
‘So you went to America with her?’ Charles asked.
‘Yes. I lived with her in Boston. I tried to learn to live. Everyday things, like cooking and cleaning. How to talk to people. All the things I had missed out on when I had been unconscious. When I was strong enough, I took classes - I learned English and typing and shorthand. I worked there for a few years, and then I got the job I have now. Auntie Hannah hated the idea of me moving, but I was so sick of it - being treated like I was going to break. Being on my own after so long at the mercy of others... it was horrible, but so... liberating.’
‘It must have been,’ Charles said. Even if his case was very different, he could sympathise.
They sat in silence for a while, and he considered what he had heard. It had been apparent to him from the first time they met that Gaby was deeply scarred by her experiences, but a nervous disposition was very different from full-blown schizophrenia. On the other hand, it explained much. Twenty years was enough time to recover from starvation, but being more or less unconscious through her entire teens was bound to leave traces. Perhaps this was also the reason why she seemed so young - even if she was thirty, she had only lived twenty of those years. She had never been eased into her body. The chagrins of puberty or the joys of approaching adulthood had been lost to her.
Then he thought of the things he had seen in Erik’s memories, and barely suppressed a shudder. Even if he told himself that he should not wonder, as it was not professional interest but only curiosity for the horrifying details, he could not resist asking.
‘What happened to you, Gaby? What did you see that made you so ill?’ The gaze that met his was not that of the sickly girl, but of her other side, the keen-minded woman.
‘What would happen, Charles?’ she asked, her tone suddenly scathing. He frowned.
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow...’
‘What happens to women in war?’ she clarified. Charles swallowed uncomfortably.
‘Gaby, surely you don’t mean...’ She cut him off, and even if it quivered with tears, her voice was strong.
‘Do you know what they told me - the guards?’ she asked. ‘They said that I was too beautiful to gas. So they kept me. They locked me in a shed - I was their entertainment.’
Charles was suddenly afraid that he might be sick.
‘You were ten years old,’ he choked.
‘They didn’t care,’ she exclaimed. It was anger rather than grief making the tears fall down her cheeks now. ‘Many of them were delighted at the opportunity. I can’t ever remember anyone being disgusted by it - all that disgusted them was me. They thought that the fact that I wasn’t dead showed that I must enjoy it somehow. Not that any of that mattered to them. They wanted to make us suffer. I think they wanted to see how much I could endure.’
And as quickly as her anger had come, she pushed the covers off her, unbuttoned her night-gown and pulled it down from her shoulders. The thin cloth fell away and pooled around her waist. Charles looked away, shocked by this sudden exposure.
‘Look at it, Charles,’ she urged him. He fought down his reluctance and turned towards her. She had raised her left arm, closest to him, so that it stretched out her side. In the lamp-light, he saw the round marks of cigarettes, shaping an irregular pattern, on the inside of her arm, in her armpit, down her ribcage and her side. One scar on her breast had been stretched; the burn had happened before her breasts had started growing. There might be a scar of some kind over her right nipple, but Charles did not dare look closer.
‘Gaby, cover up,’ he said and averted his gaze. He kept it fixed on the corner of the room as he listened to her putting her gown back on and buttoned it. When he was certain she was decent again, he turned back. In that brief time, it was as if she had shrunken. The anger was gone, and exhaustion was catching up. She was shaking, and looked like she might collapse. Quickly, Charles reached out and steadied her by the shoulders. ‘Look at you, you’re exhausted. You need to get some sleep.’ She shook her head.
‘I don’t want to. I don’t know if I could,’ she said, but the objection sounded weak. ‘The nightmares...’ If she had been in a better state, he would have simply asked, but now he briefly read her mind and learned that she had no tranquilizers in the flat - not unexpected, if she did not have a doctor to prescribe them for her. He had not had the mind to bring any with him in the rush to get here, but his psychic abilities would do just as well.
‘You’ll feel much better if you rest,’ he assured her. ‘Then tomorrow morning, we can talk about this properly.’
Gaby let him help her to lie down and draw the covers over her. Her hair was still let out, and Charles had a sudden impulse to reach out and draw the lock from her shoulder. He leaned back in his chair so that he could not reach, lest the temptation be too great. The alarm clock on her bedside table showed that it was past two. As he sensed Gaby slipping into an unsteady sleep, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. There was a dull ache in his back, and now he felt the consequence of his mad dash, set deep in the muscles of his arms. For a brief moment, he imagined circling the bed and lying down on it beside Gaby. Perhaps she would nestle close and put her head on his chest, or let herself be enfolded in his arms...
Charles shook himself. The sudden sleepiness must be muddling his mind. Not only was it no way to treat a patient - there was no way of telling how Gaby, with the memories of her childhood lying in wait, might react. He leaned his chin in his hand and watched her form in the bed. She was so slight and looked so breakable, yet when she had told him what had happened to her in the camp, it had been the overwhelming anger at the outrage that had been most palpable. There was no way of doubting that there was strength in her. Despite that, he wanted to hold her and keep her from harm, but the threat was from within, and even if he could shield her from it, he could never keep it from hurting her. How foul it seemed, that such horrors had kept her from being alive. Still it was fouler that they were a part of her, so without them she would not be whole. He wished he could cut it out of her mind, but she would bleed and scar, and he did not want that.
Resigning to sitting by her bedside, Charles pulled his blanket up a little and gave into sleep.
***
He woke at first light, not many hours after falling asleep. His chin had rested on his chest when he slept, which had left him with a stiff neck and a painful back. His arms felt worse than they had before sleeping.
Gaby was still lying on her side, asleep under a fan of hair. The morning light which streamed through the window made her look very peaceful. Charles smiled to himself, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. Disturbing her rest would be criminal, and staying at her bedside was bound to wake her.
He knew that he should get back to the comfort of the hotel, for his morning medication and some proper sleep, but he did not want to leave without speaking to her first. Deciding to delay his departure a little, he headed to the kitchen. It took much concentration to get out of the cluttered bedroom without making much noise, and the kitchen was equally crammed. It was only by nudging the table to the side that he could reach the stove. Making coffee seemed like the right thing to do, so painstakingly slowly, he started finding the things he needed. Both the coffeepot and the grounds were on the workbench, and if he locked the wheels and pushed himself up, he could turn the tap on. The cups seemed to be in one of the upper cupboards, which one could only reach standing.
As the water on the stove came up to boil, his gaze was drawn to the books on the kitchen table. He had somehow expected novels, but instead, they seemed all to be about international law. Most were library books, but some of the particularly well-thumbed ones did not have any classmarks on the back. He considered looking closer, but then decided against it - he did not want to intrude more than he already had.
The coffee was brewing when he heard the padding of naked feet against the floor, and Gaby appeared. Her hair was tousled and her eyes only half-open. The way she huddled in a blanket draped across her shoulders made her look particularly sleepy.
‘Good morning,’ she murmured.
‘Good morning,’ Charles said. ‘How are you feeling?’ She rubbed her eyes and said:
‘Better, I think. I’ve got a headache.’
‘It’s probably the tension,’ he said. ‘Take an aspirin, and a glass of water. I made some coffee. Couldn’t find any cups, though.’
‘They’re in that cupboard,’ she said and pointed to one of the overheard cupboards. ‘If I could, eum, pass...’
‘Oh,’ Charles said, realising suddenly that he was blocking her way. ‘Just a moment.’ He wheeled himself backwards, and she slipped past him. Neither of them spoke when she took down cups and poured the coffee. He accepted the cup, but did not taste it. Gaby did not seem particularly concerned by the drink either, but only clasped it between her hands. By the way her head was bowed, she seemed to compose herself.
‘Thank you,’ she said finally. ‘For coming. It was silly to call you like that, but...’
‘It was not silly at all,’ Charles said gravely. ‘I’m very glad you did.’ She looked at him apologetically.
‘I don’t even have a sofa you could sleep on.’
‘It’s alright,’ he assured her. ‘I was glad I could be there to keep you company.’
‘I’m glad too.’ As if pretending she had not said anything, Gaby sipped her coffee and then crossed to the window, cup still between her hands.
‘How much do you remember of yesterday?’ Charles asked.
‘Most of it,’ Gaby said. ‘I didn’t really black out, did I?’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘But there were.... lapses.’ She sighed.
‘Yes. I do remember that.’
‘And you know what you told me?’
‘Yes,’ she said and looked over at him.
‘I asked simply if...’ He cleared his throat and rearranged his blanket. ‘...if you actually hadn’t meant to tell me.’
‘I trust you,’ she said earnestly. ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t know.’ He nodded, but did not understand. Gaby turned back to watching the street outside.
‘Gaby...’
‘Hm?’
‘How often does this kind of thing happen?’ She did not turn to look at him, but remained by the window. For a moment, he imagined that the sun shone through her thin body like through the curtains.
‘It depends,’ she said finally. ‘A few times every year. Sometimes when I’m not feeling well, more often.’ Charles sighed and rubbed his eyes.
‘Gaby, you need to do something about this,’ he said. ‘I can’t always be here.’
‘I’m not asking you to be,’ she said and stared resolutely at her hands.
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Charles said. ‘But... God, the thought of you alone, when you’re like that...’
‘It’s worked this far,’ she objected.
‘It’s dangerous,’ he exclaimed.
‘I haven’t wanted to hurt myself for years,’ Gaby said and glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘I don’t think it’ll come back.’
‘There is no way of knowing that,’ he said, struggling to express his frustration. ‘Gaby, you need to go see a doctor. Talk to someone. There are ways to make these things better...’
‘I don’t want more medicines,’ Gaby whispered, suddenly humbled. She leaned her face against the glass. All Charles could see of her face was the reflection of her tightly shut eyes. ‘They gave me so many drugs when I was in hospital - at last I wasn’t certain if I was human anymore. If I’m not human, what is the point with me? What will stop anyone from hurting me?’
Charles sat still, trying to think of what to say.
‘But if it stopped you from hurting yourself - directly or indirectly?’
‘I’d rather be like this and still myself than sane and not a person.’
‘I still think...’ Gaby turned around very suddenly, and he broke off in surprise. There were tears in her eyes, but from anger, not sorrow.
‘I can’t just explain it,’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s too much... Besides, what would they do? What if they lock me up, Charles?’
He inhaled slowly and answered:
‘They wouldn’t do anything that they did not think was for your own good...’
‘I don’t want to be a prisoner - in an asylum or in my own body,’ she continued. ‘I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.’ Charles joined his hands and considered it.
‘If it’s an issue of money...’
‘I told you, I don’t want to go to a doctor about it,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want to be branded as insane anymore.’
‘Leaving it will only make it worse,’ he pressed on. ‘You’re neglecting yourself, Gaby - this in itself is self-destructive. And not just the mental part, which is alarming enough. It’s your physical health too. Mind and body are interconnected, and if one fares ill...’
‘Yes, I know,’ Gaby sighed. ‘I suppose that’s why I went mad in the first place.’
‘You’re not mad, Gaby,’ he told her. ‘You’re ill.’ The coffee cup clanged against the window-pane as she put it down. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she said:
‘It adds up to the same thing.’ Where she stood, she at once looked tiny, and Charles felt an overwhelming need to protect her.
‘What if I were to do it?’ She looked at him, puzzled. ‘I haven’t practiced for some time, but if that’s what it’d take...’ It was not an ideal solution; he did not know how he would go about getting instruments or having samples tested or writing prescriptions. But if it was what it took to help her, he was prepared to find ways of doing it.
Gaby nodded.
‘I would rather it was you than anyone else.’ Charles nodded back with a sigh of relief. They lapsed into awkward silence, and he tried to think of something to say which was not quite as compromising.
‘Eum, these books...’ Gaby’s cheeks flushed, but when she answered she looked at him more steadily.
‘It’s my hobby,’ she explained.
‘Hobby?’ Charles repeated and picked up one of the tomes. ‘I’m... I’m impressed.’
‘Didn’t you think I could handle anything more complicated than typing?’ she said with a wicked grin. Charles chuckled as he leafed through the book. It was one of her own, and the margins were full of annotations.
‘Certainly not,’ he assured her. ‘You should pursue this, Gaby.’
Her shoulders slumped suddenly.
‘How could I?’ she asked and sat down. ‘I don’t have money to go to university.’
‘You could get a scholarship,’ Charles suggested.
‘I’m probably too old,’ she said. ‘Besides, even if I somehow managed, I couldn’t do any of this. I find the office oppressive. How would I manage a court-room? I’d go to pieces.’ Charles put back the book carefully.
‘You could get better,’ he said emphatically. ‘If you have a goal, something you really want... that could help you.’ Gaby simply hung her head. Seeing her so dispirited was heartbreaking. On sudden impulse, he reached out and took her hand. Now she looked up at him. ‘I can help you.’ She smiled weakly, not believing him. Once again she looked down, and then asked:
‘Charles, why aren’t you wearing socks?’ Charles looked down on his feet, not properly covered by the blanket.
‘I, eum, left in a bit of a hurry.’ Gaby laughed. She put her hand to her mouth to stop it, but continued to giggle a little hysterically.
‘Sorry,’ she said after a while and wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Just... no socks.’ Charles’ reluctance broke, and he laughed too. When the laughter subsided, they smiled at each other, as if they somehow understood each other.
The moment ended, and Charles looked away.
‘I should go,’ he said. Gaby rose.
‘I shouldn’t keep you,’ she said, but there was regret in her voice. Charles looked up at her; the way he had to angle his head to meet her eyes felt suddenly awkward.
‘May I use your phone?’ he asked. She nodded and crossed to the small table in one of the corners where the telephone stood. She pulled it his way and handed it to him. Perching the phone in his lap, Charles dialed the number of the hotel. As the tone rang, he was aware of her watching him. He could not decide whether to look at her or not. The things she had told him the previous night seemed at once written in front of him, and he wondered if he would be able to look at her without thinking about the humiliation she had suffered and the scars she bore. Equally, he would also think of the way her body had felt against his when she curled up in his lap or how she had shed her nightgown and shown him her chest. At the time, he had been too shocked to think about it, but now he remembered her narrow ribcage, her pale skin, her small, red-tipped breasts. The thought left an itch in his palms, a physical manifestation of the urge to touch. He balled up his free hand into a fist.
The hotel’s telephone operator finally picked up, and he stated Erik’s room number. There was a long pause as the operator patched him through, and Charles looked up at Gaby with an apologetic smile. She smiled back, blanket drawn tightly around her where she stood leaning against the door-frame.
On the other side of the line, the receiver was picked up, and Erik’s hoarse voice was heard through the buzz.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Erik - it’s Charles. Sorry if I woke you.’
‘You didn’t. Why are you calling? You’re two floors away from me...’
‘No, not at the moment,’ he explained. ‘I’m at Gaby’s flat.’ He gave him the address. ‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but could you take a cab and come and pick me up?’ A long silence fell. When Erik finally answered, the word was drawn out, and held all his scepticism:
‘Right.’
‘Thank you - you’re a darling. Bye for now.’ He put the receiver down and handed the phone back to Gaby.
‘Did you wake him?’ she asked.
‘Most certainly,’ Charles answered. ‘It’s very early, so it’s not that odd.’ They stood in silence for a while, then Charles asked: ‘Will you be alright on your own now?’ Gaby nodded.
‘Yes, I feel much better,’ she said.
‘You seem it,’ he answered. ‘I’ll be in touch about, eum, arranging something for you.’
‘Thank you,’ Gaby said sincerely.
‘My pleasure,’ Charles said and smiled. She smiled back, obviously entertained by the irony of the phrase. It felt as if as they smiled at each other, something shifted. For a short, dizzy moment, he imagined taking her hand, pulling her down and kissing her. He would push the blanket off her shoulders and pull down her nightgown to expose her delicate breasts. He would lean in...
The door-bell rang. Gaby moved to answer it, and Charles tried to shake off the fantasy as he heard Erik outside.
‘Good morning, Erik.’
‘Good morning. I understand Charles is lurking here?’ At that, Charles straightened his blanket and wheeled himself into the hallway. Erik was standing outside, looking newly awake and quite annoyed.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Charles said. Gaby stepped aside to let him pass. Once out of the door, he smiled up at her. ‘Take care, Gaby.’ She smiled back hesitantly.
‘See you.’ Erik raised his hat to her; Charles sensed her blushing. The door closed, and Erik turned to glare at him.
‘You’d better have a good reason for all this,’ he said under his breath and pushed him down the corridor and to the cab. Once Erik got in as well, he eyed what could be seen of his pyjama trousers under the blanket. ‘So what happened between you and Gaby?’ he asked curtly.
‘Nothing happened between us,’ Charles objected. ‘I was there in a strictly professional role.’
‘And did you stay the night in your strictly professional role?’ Erik retorted. Charles wondered towards whom this jealousy was directed. Suddenly he was afraid that he was intruding on something between him and Gaby, even if it was only through his wayward fantasies.
‘Look, Erik,’ he said under his breath. ‘I rushed over last night to take care of Gaby in the role as her doctor. I then stayed to look after her. She’s very ill, and I didn’t want her to be on her own.’ Erik’s anger stalled, and was slowly replaced with embarrassment.
‘I assumed...’
‘I’d wear something else than pyjama bottoms and no socks for a date, Erik,’ he pointed out dryly.
‘Why aren’t you wearing socks?’ Erik asked.
‘I didn’t have time to put any on,’ Charles sighed, a little frustrated at having to explain it a second time within ten minutes. They were silent for a little while, and as they drew close to the hotel, Charles said: ‘Thank you for coming to get me. It’s just beastly hard to get a taxi on my own. Just flagging one down is a chore.’ Erik almost smiled, but remembered himself before it had time to grow. The cab stopped. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any money on me, either,’ Charles continued. ‘I’ll pay you back.’ Erik sighed, but there was something theatrical about his annoyance as he took out his wallet and paid the driver.
‘It’ll have to be in wine,’ he then said, got out and brought the chair around. He steadied him as he transferred into it, and pushed him into the foyer.
‘I’ll be fine from here,’ Charles assured him. Erik let go of the handles and came around to face him.
‘Get some sleep, Charles,’ he told him. ‘You look awful. That wine will have to be this evening, though.’ Charles smiled.
‘Of course, my friend.’ Erik doffed his hat at him and left him to make his way back to the comforts of his suite.
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