Always Alright- fic
A quiet shadow lurked in the doorway of the sleeping man's hospital room. Dark hair spilled across the pillow, his breathing tight and uneven. The surgery he'd gone through early this morning had been unsuccessful, and he'd been faced with the awful truth that he would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Though really he ought to be grateful. After being shot and stranded on the lonely island of Cuba, it had been a close call. He was lucky just to be alive.
Currently, though, he looked anything but grateful. He was fast asleep, yes, but clearly locked in a nightmare. His breath caught and he stirred, murmuring feverishly.
It was a name repeated several times over, one syllable that made the shadow shift and make a tiny sound, almost a whimper.
The paraplegic fidgeted again in his sleep, this time violent enough to send a shock of pain up his spine. He woke with a cry and stifled it quickly in his pillow. There was no need to alert anyone, after all, just a nightmare.
He lay gasping in his bed for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling as he fought back the agony. The surgery had only sharpened the pain, made it worse, but he refused to complain. It was clear he needed a fresh dose of painkillers, but it was late, and the Brit hated to ring the bell that would summon assistance. He could do this on his own.
Eventually he became aware of the shadow cast over his bed, the dim light just barely outlining the shape in the doorway. He sighed softly, eyes flickering over to rest on the man there.
"At least come over where I can see you."
The figure didn't move. "I should go. I didn't want to disturb you."
The patient laughed, a sound slightly marred by pain and heartache. It didn't sound right. It didn't even feel right. "Please come in. I do get bored of sleeping."
There was a long pause, until finally the shadow moved, and it was with sadness that the patient noted he didn't walk the same anymore. Instead of that proud stride, now he moved with a heavy, guilt-ridden tread.
The paraplegic reached over with a sharp wince and flicked on his bedside lamp, relaxing back against his pillows with a quiet gasp. For a long moment, neither of the two moved. The visitor looked different somehow, lines of tiredness and stress etched into his face. Those proud cheekbones were more sunken than before, his dark eyes cold and expressionless. Yet neither did the patient look as good as he had in happier days. Dark circles ringed slightly bloodshot eyes, wavy brown hair messy and unkempt, yet his eyes were just as soft and open as ever.
"Erik," the patient said softly, the name almost a whisper on his lips. It was the same name he'd spoken in his sleep, and it was a relief to say it out loud again after what must have been weeks of silence.
"Charles," came the equally quiet reply.
There was another long pause, then Charles spoke again, his words uttered in a soft Oxford accent. "I hoped you would come. Raven was here just last night." He indicated a card on his bedside table, and Erik gave an impatient nod.
"Yes, I know," he answered. His words were clipped and overly formal.
Charles sighed and shifted slightly, a fresh wince crossing his face before he could disguise it. Erik's expression tightened into a frown.
"I wanted--" Erik began, but he couldn't seem to finish his sentence. It stuck in his throat and he forced it out with an effort. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."
The young Brit laughed again, but it was almost fake, tinged with grief. "Oh, my friend, I am always alright." The words cracked slightly at the end, and his smile was too tight, eyes glistening with moisture.
The visitor swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the floor, unable to keep eye contact. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he said in a rush, looking anywhere but at Charles. His own eyes were shiny now. "I never wanted to hurt you. Charles I--"
Once again his voice failed him, and his companion waited quietly, watching him. Erik finally wrenched his gaze back to his bedridden friend, a single tear running slowly down his cheek. "I am sorry," he whispered. "It's my fault. You were right. I did this to you."
Charles was silent for a moment before reaching out to Erik, fingers twining lightly around his and tugging him closer to his bedside. He smiled tightly, a different kind of pain etched into his face this time. "Erik," he murmured softly, and the Jew stirred slightly to look at him, a fresh tear slipping down his face.
Charles gently wiped it away. "It's alright," he continued, voice quiet and shaking slightly. "I know. And it's alright."
"Don't say that." Erik shook his head. "It's not alright, Charles. Why can't you understand that? The world is not as sweet as you think, and neither am I."
"Erik." This time his voice was firmer than before and he squeezed the other's hand. "This isn't about the world. This is about you and me. And I am telling you that it is alright." Erik met his gaze, finally letting his guard down. It killed Charles to see him like this, so hurt and frightened.
"I forgive you," Charles said firmly, each word slow and deliberate. "Erik, look at me. I forgive you."
Erik met his friend's gaze for only half a moment, lip trembling, then simply shattered. Deep, shuddering sobs racked his frame and he buried his face in Charles' lap. The telepath sighed softly, pressing a soft kiss to Erik's hair before rubbing his back reassuringly. He let his own tears fall unashamedly, silently moved by the emotion Erik was displaying. Charles had certainly dreamed of this moment, hoped for it, because he knew, perhaps better than his friend did, how badly he would need to hear the words only Charles could provide.
It took a considerable amount of time for Erik to calm, even with Charles stroking his back and murmuring soft reassurances to him. It was hard to tell if the words were spoken aloud or if Charles had slipped into his mind, but at this point it hardly mattered. Eyes red and slightly puffy, he didn't move from his spot, breathing slow and a little shaky as he took in the quiet comfort that his friend provided.
"Better?" Charles asked quietly, hand coming to rest atop Erik's head.
Erik nodded silently, feeling his friend's horribly lifeless legs beneath his cheek. Finally he sat up, sniffling slightly and wiping at his face. The telepath smiled affectionately at him.
"So what now?"
Erik sighed, feeling much more calm now. At Charles' question, however, a slight frown creased his face. "I don't want to fight you," he replied softly. "Never. Not even when we're both old and going grey."
"Or bald," his companion tacked on with a smile.
He couldn't help but smile slightly at that. How long had it been since he'd smiled, really smiled? Not since he'd been with Charles, surely. "What happened...on that beach..." he began, hesitating slightly. "I was foolish. I made a poor decision. I know our philosophies differ, but...perhaps we can still be friends? Especially now, with what's happened..." He gestured vaguely to his friend's useless legs. "I want to help. If you'll have me."
His dark eyes were soft with nervousness and silent desperation. It made Charles ache for the old days. How could he ever refuse that?
"Of course," he replied warmly, reaching for Erik's hand. The other allowed it for a few moments, gently tracing a pattern across the telepath's palm with such concentration that it made Charles smile.
"I should go," Erik said finally, giving Charles a tiny smile and squeezing his hand lightly before getting to his feet.
Charles nodded "Do what you need to do, my friend."
Erik was nearly gone before he paused in the doorway, hand resting lightly on the frame. He offered a rare, brilliant smile, one that the other secretly liked to refer to as his shark smile. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
Currently, though, he looked anything but grateful. He was fast asleep, yes, but clearly locked in a nightmare. His breath caught and he stirred, murmuring feverishly.
It was a name repeated several times over, one syllable that made the shadow shift and make a tiny sound, almost a whimper.
The paraplegic fidgeted again in his sleep, this time violent enough to send a shock of pain up his spine. He woke with a cry and stifled it quickly in his pillow. There was no need to alert anyone, after all, just a nightmare.
He lay gasping in his bed for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling as he fought back the agony. The surgery had only sharpened the pain, made it worse, but he refused to complain. It was clear he needed a fresh dose of painkillers, but it was late, and the Brit hated to ring the bell that would summon assistance. He could do this on his own.
Eventually he became aware of the shadow cast over his bed, the dim light just barely outlining the shape in the doorway. He sighed softly, eyes flickering over to rest on the man there.
"At least come over where I can see you."
The figure didn't move. "I should go. I didn't want to disturb you."
The patient laughed, a sound slightly marred by pain and heartache. It didn't sound right. It didn't even feel right. "Please come in. I do get bored of sleeping."
There was a long pause, until finally the shadow moved, and it was with sadness that the patient noted he didn't walk the same anymore. Instead of that proud stride, now he moved with a heavy, guilt-ridden tread.
The paraplegic reached over with a sharp wince and flicked on his bedside lamp, relaxing back against his pillows with a quiet gasp. For a long moment, neither of the two moved. The visitor looked different somehow, lines of tiredness and stress etched into his face. Those proud cheekbones were more sunken than before, his dark eyes cold and expressionless. Yet neither did the patient look as good as he had in happier days. Dark circles ringed slightly bloodshot eyes, wavy brown hair messy and unkempt, yet his eyes were just as soft and open as ever.
"Erik," the patient said softly, the name almost a whisper on his lips. It was the same name he'd spoken in his sleep, and it was a relief to say it out loud again after what must have been weeks of silence.
"Charles," came the equally quiet reply.
There was another long pause, then Charles spoke again, his words uttered in a soft Oxford accent. "I hoped you would come. Raven was here just last night." He indicated a card on his bedside table, and Erik gave an impatient nod.
"Yes, I know," he answered. His words were clipped and overly formal.
Charles sighed and shifted slightly, a fresh wince crossing his face before he could disguise it. Erik's expression tightened into a frown.
"I wanted--" Erik began, but he couldn't seem to finish his sentence. It stuck in his throat and he forced it out with an effort. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."
The young Brit laughed again, but it was almost fake, tinged with grief. "Oh, my friend, I am always alright." The words cracked slightly at the end, and his smile was too tight, eyes glistening with moisture.
The visitor swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the floor, unable to keep eye contact. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he said in a rush, looking anywhere but at Charles. His own eyes were shiny now. "I never wanted to hurt you. Charles I--"
Once again his voice failed him, and his companion waited quietly, watching him. Erik finally wrenched his gaze back to his bedridden friend, a single tear running slowly down his cheek. "I am sorry," he whispered. "It's my fault. You were right. I did this to you."
Charles was silent for a moment before reaching out to Erik, fingers twining lightly around his and tugging him closer to his bedside. He smiled tightly, a different kind of pain etched into his face this time. "Erik," he murmured softly, and the Jew stirred slightly to look at him, a fresh tear slipping down his face.
Charles gently wiped it away. "It's alright," he continued, voice quiet and shaking slightly. "I know. And it's alright."
"Don't say that." Erik shook his head. "It's not alright, Charles. Why can't you understand that? The world is not as sweet as you think, and neither am I."
"Erik." This time his voice was firmer than before and he squeezed the other's hand. "This isn't about the world. This is about you and me. And I am telling you that it is alright." Erik met his gaze, finally letting his guard down. It killed Charles to see him like this, so hurt and frightened.
"I forgive you," Charles said firmly, each word slow and deliberate. "Erik, look at me. I forgive you."
Erik met his friend's gaze for only half a moment, lip trembling, then simply shattered. Deep, shuddering sobs racked his frame and he buried his face in Charles' lap. The telepath sighed softly, pressing a soft kiss to Erik's hair before rubbing his back reassuringly. He let his own tears fall unashamedly, silently moved by the emotion Erik was displaying. Charles had certainly dreamed of this moment, hoped for it, because he knew, perhaps better than his friend did, how badly he would need to hear the words only Charles could provide.
It took a considerable amount of time for Erik to calm, even with Charles stroking his back and murmuring soft reassurances to him. It was hard to tell if the words were spoken aloud or if Charles had slipped into his mind, but at this point it hardly mattered. Eyes red and slightly puffy, he didn't move from his spot, breathing slow and a little shaky as he took in the quiet comfort that his friend provided.
"Better?" Charles asked quietly, hand coming to rest atop Erik's head.
Erik nodded silently, feeling his friend's horribly lifeless legs beneath his cheek. Finally he sat up, sniffling slightly and wiping at his face. The telepath smiled affectionately at him.
"So what now?"
Erik sighed, feeling much more calm now. At Charles' question, however, a slight frown creased his face. "I don't want to fight you," he replied softly. "Never. Not even when we're both old and going grey."
"Or bald," his companion tacked on with a smile.
He couldn't help but smile slightly at that. How long had it been since he'd smiled, really smiled? Not since he'd been with Charles, surely. "What happened...on that beach..." he began, hesitating slightly. "I was foolish. I made a poor decision. I know our philosophies differ, but...perhaps we can still be friends? Especially now, with what's happened..." He gestured vaguely to his friend's useless legs. "I want to help. If you'll have me."
His dark eyes were soft with nervousness and silent desperation. It made Charles ache for the old days. How could he ever refuse that?
"Of course," he replied warmly, reaching for Erik's hand. The other allowed it for a few moments, gently tracing a pattern across the telepath's palm with such concentration that it made Charles smile.
"I should go," Erik said finally, giving Charles a tiny smile and squeezing his hand lightly before getting to his feet.
Charles nodded "Do what you need to do, my friend."
Erik was nearly gone before he paused in the doorway, hand resting lightly on the frame. He offered a rare, brilliant smile, one that the other secretly liked to refer to as his shark smile. "I'll see you tomorrow night."