FIC: "The Future Is A Faded Song" 1/1 X-Men: First Class (Erik/Charles)
Title: "The Future Is A Faded Song" 1/1
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr (Hank McCoy, Raven Darkholme)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Marvel Comics and Fox Studios, not me.
Summary: After a year apart from Charles, Erik comes back to Xavier mansion to find that the more things have changed, the more some things are still the same. (Post-beach.)
Notes: Written for the erik_charles Summer Fic Exchange. My prompts were:
Erik never had a partner, and thinks about what it'd be like to have a family with Charles, there's a swimming pool somewhere, and they meet there in less frenzied times with realistic dialogue, no real drama or angst, and the 'kids' playing a large role.
Thanks to idiosyncratic for the beta.
"That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened.
And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back."
- "The Dry Salvages" (T.S. Eliot)
"What are we doing here, Erik?" Raven - Mystique now, Erik told himself (he still had trouble remembering sometimes, even after a year of proof that things were different; she was different) - asked, clutching his arm with deceptively strong fingers. She was in her natural form (still more beautiful to him than any face he'd ever seen her wear), but had thrown on an overcoat and sturdy boots in deference to the weather. The Xavier mansion loomed before them like a benevolent mountain crafted by the gods of old, with weather-faded stone walls and welcoming light from the windows, promising refuge and protection from a world that would never accept them. Safety, in a time when safety had little meaning.
Not that the concept had ever held much meaning for Erik in his life. He knew better than anyone how deceptive and capricious of an idea it was. But, still, for a brief time, he'd allowed himself the illusion. Charles, with his boundless optimism and almost omniscient power, had made it entirely (terrifyingly) too easy to believe.
"You know why," he finally said, even though he, himself, had wondered the exact same thing. He'd built his entire life around self-sufficiency and self-reliance, and yet, when the call from Charles - both finally, and far too soon - had come, he'd wasted no time packing. It had to mean something that he couldn't quite bring himself to take that all-important first step forward.
Mystique sighed, and Erik watched as a white puff of air escaped into the chill wind. "We don't even know what he wants."
He shivered under his own coat. Upstate New York this time of year was a far cry from the warmth and sun of Balneário Camboriú. He gave a longing thought to their spacious beach house and its balmy, tropical breeze. "Does it matter?"
"No." Her smile was faint, but genuine. "I guess it doesn't."
Then she looked around again, seeming to drink in every detail of the house and grounds and forest beyond. Erik wondered if she had any regrets about joining him (abandoning Charles, his traitorous mind supplied), about leaving the only true home she'd ever known to fight alongside strangers for a cause that seemed impossibly helpless. Humans would never accept them (no matter what Charles argued) and they were far too out-numbered (for now, he told himself) for a full-frontal assault. But Erik could be patient. He'd waited almost twenty years for his revenge on Shaw. Biding his time until the right moment was nothing new.
"Go on inside." She nudged him ahead, her yellowed eyes shuttered, unreadable. "I'll be a minute. I just want to...look around, I guess."
"Take your time," Erik said, and patted her hand before heading across the snow-sprinkled lawn towards the front door.
***
The spacious library looked exactly the same - from the dark paneling and Oriental carpets strewn across the gleaming hardwood floor, to the shelves overflowing with well-read books lying in haphazard piles, to the cozy armchairs, chessboard on a small table between them, in front of the roaring fire blazing in the spacious fireplace. Even the bar was stocked with the same brandy and cognacs and crystal-cut glasses and tumblers. Charles, for all his love of adventure and exploring the latest in scientific fields and studies, had a deep-seated respect for tradition.
Erik could almost hear the echoes of a thousand conversations and debates over games of chess and well-earned drinks after long days of training, could practically see Charles' animated smile and the flash in his eyes as he'd sat forward in his chair, raptly giving Erik his complete and undivided attention. Erik had never quite gotten used to having all of that focus solely on him - he'd been too used to being poked and prodded and experimented like a guinea pig in a lab for it to ever feel truly comfortable; but, with Charles, the scrutiny had never felt like an intrusion.
But then, Charles had always had a preternatural knack for getting Erik to react in unexpected ways.
The door opened on well-oiled hinges, and Hank stepped inside the room on nimble feet, in spite of his now considerable size. It was still a shock to see blue fur where pale skin used to be (although Erik still privately thought that Hank looked much better now), but Hank's lab coat and black-rimmed glasses were exactly as he'd remembered.
"I thought I'd find you here," Hank said, his voice now a deep, rich rumble. "Jonas said he'd let you in."
Jonas, the Xavier family butler for years without numbering, who'd given Erik a gracious smile and taken his coat and welcomed him home like he'd been away on a business trip for a week instead of living on the run for the last year, cutting himself off from any reminder of Charles. (Running away from Charles, his mind oh-so-helpfully supplied, and he couldn't argue. He'd known, from the second he'd put on the helmet that day at the beach, that it was the act of a coward.)
Erik returned the greeting with an arched eyebrow. "I thought it would be Charles welcoming me, not you."
"Believe me, I don't want to be in the same room with you, either."
Which wasn't what Erik had meant, but he accepted the barbed words as his due. Hank had every right to his bitterness. "I suppose you know the reason I was asked here."
Hank nodded. "Yeah, but I can't say I’m too thrilled. I told the Professor this wasn't a good idea, but he doesn't see it that way."
"Charles has never seen things quite like anyone else," Erik replied, drily. An understatement if there ever was one.
"You're telling me." Hank shook his head, resembling nothing so much as a mournful dog, if the dog was a deep shade of indigo. "Although, I gotta say, I'm surprised you came. Alex and Sean had a bet that you'd ignore the invite."
"And had it been anyone else extending it, you'd be right."
"Yeah." Hank huffed out a growl that Erik thought was supposed to be a laugh. "The Professor's got a way of making people want to do things for him."
Unbidden, he remembered Charles once telling him I won't stop you leaving...I could, but I won't - of terrifying power benignly disguised as a choice, designed to put him at ease, to urge him to let down his guard. He took a deep breath, gathered the hum of energy around him like a cloak, the metal calming his thoughts, if not his temper. "I assure you, he's not making me do anything."
"Oh, I didn't mean..." Hank stopped, flustered, and under the imposing physique, Erik could see the teenage boy he still was. "Not like that, I mean, I know he wouldn't. He swore he'd never..." He paused, seemed to compose himself. When he spoke again, he sounded a little more like himself, if still slightly nonplussed. "Besides, it'd be hard to do with the helmet on. Except you're not wearing it now, of course. Which is weird, I mean. I guess."
"I'd think it'd be far more odd if I did wear it all the time, don't you," Erik drawled, feeling the corners of his lips quick upwards. It was strangely nice to see that Hank hadn't changed that much.
"Right, of course, that, uh, makes sense," Hank nodded, pushing his glasses up with a clawed-fingernail. "Probably need it more around Emma anyway. She's a little scary. So I've heard," he added, with a helpless shrug.
"She has her uses." She wasn't Charles - she wasn't even close - but she also never made him long for things he knew would never be. Around Charles, the ground shifted under his feet entirely too easily. But, with Emma, Erik always knew where he stood and who he was. (Liar, a voice in his head whispered, but he ruthlessly ignored it. He'd gotten rather good at that in the last year.)
Hank tugged on his lab coat, another habitual nervous gesture that Erik remembered from before. "Hey, look, this might not be any of my business or anything -"
"So don't say anything."
Hank ignored the pointed warning and plowed on. "Things are different around here these days. The Professor's different."
Erik ignored the immediate pang in his chest. Everything was different. And he had only himself to blame. (Not that he'd change it if he could - and that was, perhaps, his greatest shame.) "I understand."
"No, you really don't. But you will. I'm just saying..." He trailed off as Mystique - sans coat and boots - strolled into the room as if she owned the place. (For all Erik knew, she still did. Charles had told him once that the house had been left to both of them when his step-father had died.)
Hank crossed his arms over his chest, fur all but rippling with agitation. He (pointedly, Eric thought) didn't look any lower than Mystique's face. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I grew up here," Mystique reminded him, in an aloof, haughty voice that reminded Erik sharply of Emma. "It's my home."
"Not anymore. Not after -" Hank cut himself off abruptly, head cocked like he was hearing something the rest of them couldn't, then sighed. "The Professor said to tell you he's at the pool." He glared at Mystique. "And that he'd like to see Erik. Alone."
"Thank you," Erik replied in a clipped voice, barely resisting the urge to growl right back at Hank. He knew Mystique could take care of herself (and had proved it admirably over the last year), but old habits died hard.
"Raven - Mystique -" Hank corrected when Mystique narrowed her eyes, looking as if it pained him to say it, "the Professor would like you to know that your rooms are still as you left them and if you need anything, you know, ask. And he's happy you're here."
Mystique smiled softly, and visibly relaxed. "Thanks, Hank."
Hank shrugged, the motion somehow young and coltish. "Alex and Sean are, um...I think they said something about going into town for the night to show some of the new students around, if you wanted to say hi. I'll, uh, be in the lab. Running some tests for, um, an experiment for the Professor. It's...well...it's complicated."
"Do you mind if I join you?" Mystique asked. "I'd love to see what you're working on." Erik knew it was her way of offering amends for the way she and Hank had parted at the beach.
"Sure." Hank pushed his glasses up again. Erik wondered if he really still needed them or if they were simply a crutch by this point. "That'd be fine, I guess. If you don't think you'd be too bored or anything."
"Great." Mystique smiled brightly, then turned to Erik. "Erik, I'll, um..."
"It's alright," Erik assured her. "Go on."
Hank paused when he and Mystique were at the door. Erik couldn't quite discern the look on his face. "I just want you to know...and this isn't a threat," Hank said, his voice a steady rumble. "But if you hurt him, in any way..."
"I understand," Erik replied, inclining his head in a gesture of a respect. He and Hank had never had an easy relationship, but they both had one thing in common. "I'll treat him with care."
"See that you do."
Then they were gone, leaving Erik alone in the library. He brushed the tips of his fingers across one of the few remaining pawns on the chessboard, closing his eyes as memories threatened to overtake him. He recognized the game in progress, of course. A silent, tangible reminder of happier times - short-lived though it was - when he'd allowed himself the comfort of partnership. Of family and laughter, everything bright with possibility and promise, and a connection that could never be truly severed.
He may not have lived here as long as Mystique, but he knew the best part of himself had remained behind when he'd left.
He looked at the board again. If he recalled correctly, it was his turn. He moved the piece - Rook to F5, he thought, loud enough that Charles could pick up on it if he so chose, and left the room.
The next move would be up to Charles.
***
The house was quiet as he walked down the hallways, making his slow way to the indoor pool that Charles' step-father had installed when Charles and Raven had still been children. It should feel strange being back here - back in enemy territory, in a way (even if the only enemy was his own weakness in considering the place home) - but he couldn't seem to muster the energy for anything other than a soul-deep sense of melancholy.
What he had with Charles...it was never meant to last, and he'd known it at the time. To think otherwise would have been the height of naiveté, and Erik hadn't been naïve since the day he'd met Shaw. But, for a little while, Erik had thought that maybe there could have been a future for him and Charles, side by side.
When he got to the pool, he stopped just inside the spacious, high-ceilinged room, eyes drawn to the familiar figure gliding cleanly through the water. Charles was a pale shape - too pale - arms moving as he steadily swam lap after lap, but looking every bit as graceful as he'd ever been. His legs, however, were far too still - Charles' nervous energy was every bit a part of him as his considerable gifts and that quicksilver mind - and to see it brought to even a partial standstill was the worst sort of torture. Water splashed, cutting through the silence, but it couldn't drown out the words repeating in Erik's head like a record needle stuck in a groove.
It was never supposed to end like this.
With both of them broken, battered, lost and drifting without the other. Erik could see the wheelchair on a lift at the shallow end, another explicit reminder that everything was different.
Not everything.
After a year of silence in his head, hearing Charles again was like an electric shock to his system. Everything inside him seemed to come alive in an instant. When Erik glanced down, he saw Charles hugging the concrete edge of the pool, dark hair flung back from his face, arms glistening with moisture. His wide, open grin was unexpected, a punch that finished knocking Erik completely off his axis. "Hullo, Erik."
"Charles."
Erik couldn't stop himself from hungrily looking over Charles' face, seeking changes. There were a few more lines around Charles' generous mouth and deep circles under those remarkable blue eyes that spoke of more than a few sleepless nights, but other than that, he still looked the same. He still looked whole - and so beautiful, it hurt.
"It was good of you and Raven to come," Charles said, and his voice still held the same soothing note, each word rounded and lilting.
"You asked," Erik replied, simply, aching inside for something he had no right to. Not anymore.
"If you'll give me a few minutes, I'm almost finished..."
"Of course." Erik cleared a suddenly clogged throat, shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out. "Take your time."
"Thank you."
Erik stood where he was, unable (unwilling) to move, and watched as Charles finished his laps. Once upon a time, he would have had no hesitation about joining Charles, challenging him to a friendly race. A lifetime ago, or so it seemed, he'd basked in the warmth of Charles' smile and unfurled like the first flowers of spring under the surety of Charles' touch.
The sharp stab of grief for all that he'd lost - for all that had been taken from them by humans and their blind hatred - threatened to bring him to his knees.
Humans didn't do this to you, my friend.
Charles again, strolling back inside his mind like he'd never left, like nothing between them had changed when everything had. I didn't leave the helmet behind so you could crawl back inside my head, Charles.
Charles' gaze seemed to pierce through him, even across the pool. Then why did you?
He half-thought of lying, but knew it would be a pointless exercise. I don't know.
I think you do, Charles replied, then busied himself with lifting his body out of the pool and arranging himself back into his wheelchair. It seemed to take far too much effort for such a simple thing, but Erik forced himself to remain where he was. Charles hadn't needed his help for the last year - he wouldn't insult the man by offering it now.
Instead, he watched as Charles dried himself off, methodical and slow, rubbing the towel over his too-thin, wasted legs - legs that had once had the strength to hold Erik in place on both the wrestling mat and in the bedroom - then up along his chest and arms and back. He'd gained quite a bit of muscle in his upper body - compensation, Erik knew, but it was still disconcerting to see.
His fault. If only he'd been faster, deflected left instead of right...
"Don't," Charles said, looking pained. The word was soft, but it had the same effect as a shout.
"How can you not hate me?" Erik asked, a year's worth of pent up emotions all vying for dominance, exhaustion and anguish overwhelming him.
Charles finished scrubbing his hair and set the towel aside. His gaze was direct, unwavering, sliced Erik open like a surgeon's scalpel. "I feel a great many things for you, Erik, not all of them good or even emotions I'm proud of, but the one thing I've never felt is hatred. How could I, when you're still so much a part of me?"
A choked sound escaped Erik's lips before he could stop it, and the next moment, he was on his knees in front of Charles, a supplicant asking penance. He brought Charles' limp, unresisting hand to his lips, the kiss violent, its own vow between them. "Charles, I -"
"Shhh, it's alright." Charles cupped Erik's cheek, the touch achingly tender, as welcome as the first sweet drops of rain after a long drought. "You don't have to say it. I know."
"I don't deserve your forgiveness."
"It's not forgiveness I'm offering." Charles let out a small huff of air. "I won't lie to you and tell you I don't feel resentment. That I haven't lain awake at night and cursed the night I met you, wondered if you'd simply been using me the entire time simply to ensure your revenge."
"It wasn't -" Erik stopped himself. If Charles was offering the gift of honesty, then Erik could do no less. "Not entirely," he added. "Not in the end." Not when it mattered.
"I know," Charles answered. He let his hand drift down to cup Erik's neck, the touch warm, familiar, missed. "What I never felt, not once, was regret. Whatever we've done to each other, whatever we will do to each other, I don't regret you."
"Never," Erik affirmed, something fierce and wild in his chest breaking free. "I couldn't."
"I'm not asking you to stay. Either of you," Charles added. "But Hank has his heart set on creating another Cerebro, and we could use the help in rebuilding it. That's why I asked you here."
Erik didn't bother to suppress his snort of disgust. "You know how I feel about what it can do. Identification is only the first step, we both know this."
"Yes, but this time, it will be ours, not the government's," Charles replied, sounding every inch the confident man he'd been when Erik had first met him. "And I think we can both agree that it's far better if we find those of our kind before the Americans or even the Russians get to them."
Erik conceded the point with a nod, then considered the offer. A truce, just for a little while. A respite from plotting and planning, and days and nights without end of constantly being on his guard. Of once again sleeping under the roof of the only place he would ever call home. Of building something with Charles, partners once again, united. "Two conditions."
"Of course."
"We never speak of the Brotherhood or what I've been doing the last year, and every recruiting mission you go on from now on, I go with you. To offer our people a choice."
"Fair enough," Charles replied, "and in return, you must do something for me." His eyes seemed to glow blue for a second, and Erik caught his breath at the sight. "You must never ask me about Shaw and his final moments. You may have his blood on your hands, but his death is mine alone."
As a punishment (even if Charles would never label it as such, Erik knew what it was - payback for a deflected bullet and a year of solitude), it was ingenious, cruelly so. In a few short words, Charles had reminded Erik that he would have never killed Shaw without Charles' help, then denied him the opportunity to savor Shaw's last, desperate breaths, to revel in his helpless pain. But it was a punishment Erik knew he deserved, and a penance he'd gladly pay. "Agreed."
He leaned in, sealed the deal with a soft, slow kiss. Everything between them may be different, and they still stood on opposite sides of a divide that could never be bridged, but this - this connection holding them together, grounding them to each other despite all obstacles in their way - was still the same. Erik clung to that as he lost himself in the clear, sharp taste of Charles' lips, gifting himself with this small reprieve. It was enough.
***
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr (Hank McCoy, Raven Darkholme)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Marvel Comics and Fox Studios, not me.
Summary: After a year apart from Charles, Erik comes back to Xavier mansion to find that the more things have changed, the more some things are still the same. (Post-beach.)
Notes: Written for the erik_charles Summer Fic Exchange. My prompts were:
Erik never had a partner, and thinks about what it'd be like to have a family with Charles, there's a swimming pool somewhere, and they meet there in less frenzied times with realistic dialogue, no real drama or angst, and the 'kids' playing a large role.
Thanks to idiosyncratic for the beta.
"That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened.
And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back."
- "The Dry Salvages" (T.S. Eliot)
"What are we doing here, Erik?" Raven - Mystique now, Erik told himself (he still had trouble remembering sometimes, even after a year of proof that things were different; she was different) - asked, clutching his arm with deceptively strong fingers. She was in her natural form (still more beautiful to him than any face he'd ever seen her wear), but had thrown on an overcoat and sturdy boots in deference to the weather. The Xavier mansion loomed before them like a benevolent mountain crafted by the gods of old, with weather-faded stone walls and welcoming light from the windows, promising refuge and protection from a world that would never accept them. Safety, in a time when safety had little meaning.
Not that the concept had ever held much meaning for Erik in his life. He knew better than anyone how deceptive and capricious of an idea it was. But, still, for a brief time, he'd allowed himself the illusion. Charles, with his boundless optimism and almost omniscient power, had made it entirely (terrifyingly) too easy to believe.
"You know why," he finally said, even though he, himself, had wondered the exact same thing. He'd built his entire life around self-sufficiency and self-reliance, and yet, when the call from Charles - both finally, and far too soon - had come, he'd wasted no time packing. It had to mean something that he couldn't quite bring himself to take that all-important first step forward.
Mystique sighed, and Erik watched as a white puff of air escaped into the chill wind. "We don't even know what he wants."
He shivered under his own coat. Upstate New York this time of year was a far cry from the warmth and sun of Balneário Camboriú. He gave a longing thought to their spacious beach house and its balmy, tropical breeze. "Does it matter?"
"No." Her smile was faint, but genuine. "I guess it doesn't."
Then she looked around again, seeming to drink in every detail of the house and grounds and forest beyond. Erik wondered if she had any regrets about joining him (abandoning Charles, his traitorous mind supplied), about leaving the only true home she'd ever known to fight alongside strangers for a cause that seemed impossibly helpless. Humans would never accept them (no matter what Charles argued) and they were far too out-numbered (for now, he told himself) for a full-frontal assault. But Erik could be patient. He'd waited almost twenty years for his revenge on Shaw. Biding his time until the right moment was nothing new.
"Go on inside." She nudged him ahead, her yellowed eyes shuttered, unreadable. "I'll be a minute. I just want to...look around, I guess."
"Take your time," Erik said, and patted her hand before heading across the snow-sprinkled lawn towards the front door.
***
The spacious library looked exactly the same - from the dark paneling and Oriental carpets strewn across the gleaming hardwood floor, to the shelves overflowing with well-read books lying in haphazard piles, to the cozy armchairs, chessboard on a small table between them, in front of the roaring fire blazing in the spacious fireplace. Even the bar was stocked with the same brandy and cognacs and crystal-cut glasses and tumblers. Charles, for all his love of adventure and exploring the latest in scientific fields and studies, had a deep-seated respect for tradition.
Erik could almost hear the echoes of a thousand conversations and debates over games of chess and well-earned drinks after long days of training, could practically see Charles' animated smile and the flash in his eyes as he'd sat forward in his chair, raptly giving Erik his complete and undivided attention. Erik had never quite gotten used to having all of that focus solely on him - he'd been too used to being poked and prodded and experimented like a guinea pig in a lab for it to ever feel truly comfortable; but, with Charles, the scrutiny had never felt like an intrusion.
But then, Charles had always had a preternatural knack for getting Erik to react in unexpected ways.
The door opened on well-oiled hinges, and Hank stepped inside the room on nimble feet, in spite of his now considerable size. It was still a shock to see blue fur where pale skin used to be (although Erik still privately thought that Hank looked much better now), but Hank's lab coat and black-rimmed glasses were exactly as he'd remembered.
"I thought I'd find you here," Hank said, his voice now a deep, rich rumble. "Jonas said he'd let you in."
Jonas, the Xavier family butler for years without numbering, who'd given Erik a gracious smile and taken his coat and welcomed him home like he'd been away on a business trip for a week instead of living on the run for the last year, cutting himself off from any reminder of Charles. (Running away from Charles, his mind oh-so-helpfully supplied, and he couldn't argue. He'd known, from the second he'd put on the helmet that day at the beach, that it was the act of a coward.)
Erik returned the greeting with an arched eyebrow. "I thought it would be Charles welcoming me, not you."
"Believe me, I don't want to be in the same room with you, either."
Which wasn't what Erik had meant, but he accepted the barbed words as his due. Hank had every right to his bitterness. "I suppose you know the reason I was asked here."
Hank nodded. "Yeah, but I can't say I’m too thrilled. I told the Professor this wasn't a good idea, but he doesn't see it that way."
"Charles has never seen things quite like anyone else," Erik replied, drily. An understatement if there ever was one.
"You're telling me." Hank shook his head, resembling nothing so much as a mournful dog, if the dog was a deep shade of indigo. "Although, I gotta say, I'm surprised you came. Alex and Sean had a bet that you'd ignore the invite."
"And had it been anyone else extending it, you'd be right."
"Yeah." Hank huffed out a growl that Erik thought was supposed to be a laugh. "The Professor's got a way of making people want to do things for him."
Unbidden, he remembered Charles once telling him I won't stop you leaving...I could, but I won't - of terrifying power benignly disguised as a choice, designed to put him at ease, to urge him to let down his guard. He took a deep breath, gathered the hum of energy around him like a cloak, the metal calming his thoughts, if not his temper. "I assure you, he's not making me do anything."
"Oh, I didn't mean..." Hank stopped, flustered, and under the imposing physique, Erik could see the teenage boy he still was. "Not like that, I mean, I know he wouldn't. He swore he'd never..." He paused, seemed to compose himself. When he spoke again, he sounded a little more like himself, if still slightly nonplussed. "Besides, it'd be hard to do with the helmet on. Except you're not wearing it now, of course. Which is weird, I mean. I guess."
"I'd think it'd be far more odd if I did wear it all the time, don't you," Erik drawled, feeling the corners of his lips quick upwards. It was strangely nice to see that Hank hadn't changed that much.
"Right, of course, that, uh, makes sense," Hank nodded, pushing his glasses up with a clawed-fingernail. "Probably need it more around Emma anyway. She's a little scary. So I've heard," he added, with a helpless shrug.
"She has her uses." She wasn't Charles - she wasn't even close - but she also never made him long for things he knew would never be. Around Charles, the ground shifted under his feet entirely too easily. But, with Emma, Erik always knew where he stood and who he was. (Liar, a voice in his head whispered, but he ruthlessly ignored it. He'd gotten rather good at that in the last year.)
Hank tugged on his lab coat, another habitual nervous gesture that Erik remembered from before. "Hey, look, this might not be any of my business or anything -"
"So don't say anything."
Hank ignored the pointed warning and plowed on. "Things are different around here these days. The Professor's different."
Erik ignored the immediate pang in his chest. Everything was different. And he had only himself to blame. (Not that he'd change it if he could - and that was, perhaps, his greatest shame.) "I understand."
"No, you really don't. But you will. I'm just saying..." He trailed off as Mystique - sans coat and boots - strolled into the room as if she owned the place. (For all Erik knew, she still did. Charles had told him once that the house had been left to both of them when his step-father had died.)
Hank crossed his arms over his chest, fur all but rippling with agitation. He (pointedly, Eric thought) didn't look any lower than Mystique's face. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I grew up here," Mystique reminded him, in an aloof, haughty voice that reminded Erik sharply of Emma. "It's my home."
"Not anymore. Not after -" Hank cut himself off abruptly, head cocked like he was hearing something the rest of them couldn't, then sighed. "The Professor said to tell you he's at the pool." He glared at Mystique. "And that he'd like to see Erik. Alone."
"Thank you," Erik replied in a clipped voice, barely resisting the urge to growl right back at Hank. He knew Mystique could take care of herself (and had proved it admirably over the last year), but old habits died hard.
"Raven - Mystique -" Hank corrected when Mystique narrowed her eyes, looking as if it pained him to say it, "the Professor would like you to know that your rooms are still as you left them and if you need anything, you know, ask. And he's happy you're here."
Mystique smiled softly, and visibly relaxed. "Thanks, Hank."
Hank shrugged, the motion somehow young and coltish. "Alex and Sean are, um...I think they said something about going into town for the night to show some of the new students around, if you wanted to say hi. I'll, uh, be in the lab. Running some tests for, um, an experiment for the Professor. It's...well...it's complicated."
"Do you mind if I join you?" Mystique asked. "I'd love to see what you're working on." Erik knew it was her way of offering amends for the way she and Hank had parted at the beach.
"Sure." Hank pushed his glasses up again. Erik wondered if he really still needed them or if they were simply a crutch by this point. "That'd be fine, I guess. If you don't think you'd be too bored or anything."
"Great." Mystique smiled brightly, then turned to Erik. "Erik, I'll, um..."
"It's alright," Erik assured her. "Go on."
Hank paused when he and Mystique were at the door. Erik couldn't quite discern the look on his face. "I just want you to know...and this isn't a threat," Hank said, his voice a steady rumble. "But if you hurt him, in any way..."
"I understand," Erik replied, inclining his head in a gesture of a respect. He and Hank had never had an easy relationship, but they both had one thing in common. "I'll treat him with care."
"See that you do."
Then they were gone, leaving Erik alone in the library. He brushed the tips of his fingers across one of the few remaining pawns on the chessboard, closing his eyes as memories threatened to overtake him. He recognized the game in progress, of course. A silent, tangible reminder of happier times - short-lived though it was - when he'd allowed himself the comfort of partnership. Of family and laughter, everything bright with possibility and promise, and a connection that could never be truly severed.
He may not have lived here as long as Mystique, but he knew the best part of himself had remained behind when he'd left.
He looked at the board again. If he recalled correctly, it was his turn. He moved the piece - Rook to F5, he thought, loud enough that Charles could pick up on it if he so chose, and left the room.
The next move would be up to Charles.
***
The house was quiet as he walked down the hallways, making his slow way to the indoor pool that Charles' step-father had installed when Charles and Raven had still been children. It should feel strange being back here - back in enemy territory, in a way (even if the only enemy was his own weakness in considering the place home) - but he couldn't seem to muster the energy for anything other than a soul-deep sense of melancholy.
What he had with Charles...it was never meant to last, and he'd known it at the time. To think otherwise would have been the height of naiveté, and Erik hadn't been naïve since the day he'd met Shaw. But, for a little while, Erik had thought that maybe there could have been a future for him and Charles, side by side.
When he got to the pool, he stopped just inside the spacious, high-ceilinged room, eyes drawn to the familiar figure gliding cleanly through the water. Charles was a pale shape - too pale - arms moving as he steadily swam lap after lap, but looking every bit as graceful as he'd ever been. His legs, however, were far too still - Charles' nervous energy was every bit a part of him as his considerable gifts and that quicksilver mind - and to see it brought to even a partial standstill was the worst sort of torture. Water splashed, cutting through the silence, but it couldn't drown out the words repeating in Erik's head like a record needle stuck in a groove.
It was never supposed to end like this.
With both of them broken, battered, lost and drifting without the other. Erik could see the wheelchair on a lift at the shallow end, another explicit reminder that everything was different.
Not everything.
After a year of silence in his head, hearing Charles again was like an electric shock to his system. Everything inside him seemed to come alive in an instant. When Erik glanced down, he saw Charles hugging the concrete edge of the pool, dark hair flung back from his face, arms glistening with moisture. His wide, open grin was unexpected, a punch that finished knocking Erik completely off his axis. "Hullo, Erik."
"Charles."
Erik couldn't stop himself from hungrily looking over Charles' face, seeking changes. There were a few more lines around Charles' generous mouth and deep circles under those remarkable blue eyes that spoke of more than a few sleepless nights, but other than that, he still looked the same. He still looked whole - and so beautiful, it hurt.
"It was good of you and Raven to come," Charles said, and his voice still held the same soothing note, each word rounded and lilting.
"You asked," Erik replied, simply, aching inside for something he had no right to. Not anymore.
"If you'll give me a few minutes, I'm almost finished..."
"Of course." Erik cleared a suddenly clogged throat, shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out. "Take your time."
"Thank you."
Erik stood where he was, unable (unwilling) to move, and watched as Charles finished his laps. Once upon a time, he would have had no hesitation about joining Charles, challenging him to a friendly race. A lifetime ago, or so it seemed, he'd basked in the warmth of Charles' smile and unfurled like the first flowers of spring under the surety of Charles' touch.
The sharp stab of grief for all that he'd lost - for all that had been taken from them by humans and their blind hatred - threatened to bring him to his knees.
Humans didn't do this to you, my friend.
Charles again, strolling back inside his mind like he'd never left, like nothing between them had changed when everything had. I didn't leave the helmet behind so you could crawl back inside my head, Charles.
Charles' gaze seemed to pierce through him, even across the pool. Then why did you?
He half-thought of lying, but knew it would be a pointless exercise. I don't know.
I think you do, Charles replied, then busied himself with lifting his body out of the pool and arranging himself back into his wheelchair. It seemed to take far too much effort for such a simple thing, but Erik forced himself to remain where he was. Charles hadn't needed his help for the last year - he wouldn't insult the man by offering it now.
Instead, he watched as Charles dried himself off, methodical and slow, rubbing the towel over his too-thin, wasted legs - legs that had once had the strength to hold Erik in place on both the wrestling mat and in the bedroom - then up along his chest and arms and back. He'd gained quite a bit of muscle in his upper body - compensation, Erik knew, but it was still disconcerting to see.
His fault. If only he'd been faster, deflected left instead of right...
"Don't," Charles said, looking pained. The word was soft, but it had the same effect as a shout.
"How can you not hate me?" Erik asked, a year's worth of pent up emotions all vying for dominance, exhaustion and anguish overwhelming him.
Charles finished scrubbing his hair and set the towel aside. His gaze was direct, unwavering, sliced Erik open like a surgeon's scalpel. "I feel a great many things for you, Erik, not all of them good or even emotions I'm proud of, but the one thing I've never felt is hatred. How could I, when you're still so much a part of me?"
A choked sound escaped Erik's lips before he could stop it, and the next moment, he was on his knees in front of Charles, a supplicant asking penance. He brought Charles' limp, unresisting hand to his lips, the kiss violent, its own vow between them. "Charles, I -"
"Shhh, it's alright." Charles cupped Erik's cheek, the touch achingly tender, as welcome as the first sweet drops of rain after a long drought. "You don't have to say it. I know."
"I don't deserve your forgiveness."
"It's not forgiveness I'm offering." Charles let out a small huff of air. "I won't lie to you and tell you I don't feel resentment. That I haven't lain awake at night and cursed the night I met you, wondered if you'd simply been using me the entire time simply to ensure your revenge."
"It wasn't -" Erik stopped himself. If Charles was offering the gift of honesty, then Erik could do no less. "Not entirely," he added. "Not in the end." Not when it mattered.
"I know," Charles answered. He let his hand drift down to cup Erik's neck, the touch warm, familiar, missed. "What I never felt, not once, was regret. Whatever we've done to each other, whatever we will do to each other, I don't regret you."
"Never," Erik affirmed, something fierce and wild in his chest breaking free. "I couldn't."
"I'm not asking you to stay. Either of you," Charles added. "But Hank has his heart set on creating another Cerebro, and we could use the help in rebuilding it. That's why I asked you here."
Erik didn't bother to suppress his snort of disgust. "You know how I feel about what it can do. Identification is only the first step, we both know this."
"Yes, but this time, it will be ours, not the government's," Charles replied, sounding every inch the confident man he'd been when Erik had first met him. "And I think we can both agree that it's far better if we find those of our kind before the Americans or even the Russians get to them."
Erik conceded the point with a nod, then considered the offer. A truce, just for a little while. A respite from plotting and planning, and days and nights without end of constantly being on his guard. Of once again sleeping under the roof of the only place he would ever call home. Of building something with Charles, partners once again, united. "Two conditions."
"Of course."
"We never speak of the Brotherhood or what I've been doing the last year, and every recruiting mission you go on from now on, I go with you. To offer our people a choice."
"Fair enough," Charles replied, "and in return, you must do something for me." His eyes seemed to glow blue for a second, and Erik caught his breath at the sight. "You must never ask me about Shaw and his final moments. You may have his blood on your hands, but his death is mine alone."
As a punishment (even if Charles would never label it as such, Erik knew what it was - payback for a deflected bullet and a year of solitude), it was ingenious, cruelly so. In a few short words, Charles had reminded Erik that he would have never killed Shaw without Charles' help, then denied him the opportunity to savor Shaw's last, desperate breaths, to revel in his helpless pain. But it was a punishment Erik knew he deserved, and a penance he'd gladly pay. "Agreed."
He leaned in, sealed the deal with a soft, slow kiss. Everything between them may be different, and they still stood on opposite sides of a divide that could never be bridged, but this - this connection holding them together, grounding them to each other despite all obstacles in their way - was still the same. Erik clung to that as he lost himself in the clear, sharp taste of Charles' lips, gifting himself with this small reprieve. It was enough.
***