Present Perfect, Chapter 5
Title: Present Perfect
Author: Skull Bearer
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: R
Warnings: Dark, pretty explicity sex, violence in later chapters
Word Count: 3,956
Summary: Sequel to Past Tense, which was my take on 'what if Charles Xavier was in Auschwitz'.
Rebuilding in Palestine, Erik and Charles begin to learn how to live, together, in the outside world. Coming to terms with their past, their powers, and the changing and sometimes treacherous world around them. A mix of comic and movieverses.
Sorry for the wait. I have in fact been taking an MA in Holocaust Studies, and am still recovering. NONE OF THESE STORIES HAVE BEEN ABANDONED. I hope to have a new Diaspora chapter done soon, and the final chapter of Of Needles is already half done. Apologies and hope you enjoy the fic!
(ps, for those wanting to know what the motorcycle looks like: http:/www.vintagebike.co.uk/pictures/1930-ariel-model-f/)
Present Perfect
Part Five
Erik would have liked to pull the mouth of the petrol tank wider, the flimsy can wobbled and splashed petrol down the sides of the motorcycle. Charles leant on to handlebars, keeping it upright, and Allens watching, meaning that Erik didn't dare use anything but his hands to fill the tank.
Finally. Erik recapped the can, and then the tank. They'd wheeled the Ariel through the ground floor to the entrance, and got it out into the road. Allens leans on the banister, watching curiously, holding an old Weiss camera he picked up from a flea market.
"Do you mind if I-" He lifts the camera.
Erik shrugs and shakes his head. He can feel how much Charles likes the idea, a reassurance that everything here is real, isn't about to be ripped away - look, they have photographs to prove it!
Erik smiles and swings a leg over the motorcycle. The leather is cracked and ragged, and there's not much either of them can do to fix that. There's a second saddle on the rear wheel, and Charles gets on behind him. He puts a hand on Erik's shoulder to steady himself.
It's odd, sitting like this the Ariel feels more like a living animal, living metal. He sinks his mind into the works, the bolts and gears and the heavy dead area in the tank- he won't even need the petrol, just a push here with his mind and the pistons will grind and the wheels will turn.
He doesn't need his powers to feel Charles' heart beating where he's leaning against him, eager to be off. They won't have to depend on their legs any more to escape, they have a machine to do it for them. If everything goes wrong, they can climb on and just go, where to isn't an issue, as long as they can escape the from as quickly as possible.
On the side away from Allens, Erik reaches a hand and touches Charles' thigh. Yes.
"Smile." Snap, click, whirr. "I'll get you both a copy. When can we expect you back!"
"The evening?" Charles suggests. It's their day off after all, and they've got something for lunch packed.
And maybe it's the fact they've got food that makes Erik turn and look over the street towards the east. They don't have to come back, if they don't want to. They've got food, and between what both of them can do Erik's reasonably certain they can find more. They don't need petrol, they could just keep going through the desert to- anywhere. To India, or China, and then they could cross the sea to America and-
And then they'd have to stop- Charles - because if they went any further, they'd start coming back on themselves and reach Europe. He never wanted to go to Europe again.
Erik smiles. It doesn't matter. This time, they'll come back. This time, maybe not next time, and they'd come back not because they had to but because they wanted to. The freedom lifts a heavy weight from his shoulders. The Ariel feels so light it could almost fly.
Charles found the place from the mind of one of the night nurses. It might be nostalgia from the place she grew up, but it looked wonderful to Charles, and he'd thought it worth trying.
The machine vibrates under them like a living thing. With Erik's mind in it, it almost is. Charles wonders if Erik can feel his weight on it.
Then there's a jolt and Charles throws his arms around Erik's waist as they wobble off. The wheels kick up dust and he's vaguely aware of Allens waving them off.
It's bumpy and Charles grits his teeth at every wrench, terrified he'd going to be thrown off. They swing around into the street and now there's carts and cars to contend with. Charles closes his eyes and buries his head in Erik's jacket.
It's fine. Amused. He can feel the cars and the nails in the carts, it's fine. Are you going to tell me where to go?
I told you. Please concentrate on the road.
Shh, look.
Charles cracks his eyes open. The brickwork of the houses is passing at terrifying speed and he shuts them again quickly. Instead, he peeks out through Erik's, careful not to jostle any thoughts. Erik smiles. A car comes rushing towards them and he doesn't even blink, just a pull to the side and they're passing, the whiplash blowing Erik's hair out of his face. They might as well be toy cars for all the danger they're in.
Charles pulls out, and opens his eyes again. They're just passing along the seafront now. The pavements are full, no one looks at them. Why would anyone look at them? Charles hugs Erik and smiles, and Erik opens the throttle, the motorcycle roars and they speed on faster, wind lashing their faces and throats.
They're out of the city in little time, and Erik doesn't even bother with the controls anymore, he pushes his mind into the gears and bolts and tell them to turn and pull and move just so. He made them, they obey.
The machine jumps forward like a startled horse and Charles hangs on with all his strength as they blast down the dirt side road out of Tel Aviv. The countryside is shockingly green after the dusty sand of the city, olive groves and thick grass and no one on this neglected road to the coast.
Exhilaration spikes and Erik orders faster! Faster than the Ariel should have been able to stand but that's fine because the cogs don't stick or wear down with Erik and Charles is frightened for a moment he's going to be pulled off, but then Erik pulls him closer by his belt and it's good.
They pass a farmer and his cart coming the other way, and Charles has just time to catch a shocked What- from him before they're past and roaring away in a cloud of dust. He couldn't have stopped them if he tried. Charles starts to laugh and gets a mouthful of gritty air for his troubles. He hugs Erik instead, caught up in wild joy of sheer speed.
Then Erik lets go of the handlebars like a schoolboy on a bicycle, and crosses his arms over his chest. He turns to look at Charles, and grins.
"Look-!" Out. The motorcycle jumps the sudden bank and Erik throws himself on the handlebars, landing with a bang and managing to hold the bucking machine until it levels out. Charles tries to catch his breath from the sudden shock and the deceleration. Erik gasps and slows to the point he can put a foot down and edge the Ariel back onto the road.
"Don't do that." Charles coughs.
"Do you want to drive?" Erik turns around again, his face is a mask of dust, eyes half-squinted and lashes clogged with it. "You know where we're going."
Charles hesitates, and Erik sees what he's thinking. He grins. "Yes."
Charles lifts his hands. "Not fast."
"We're safe."
And if we end up in a ditch with broken necks- it's probably a sign of something that the thought just engenders a profound sense of annoyance. Although a sign of what, Charles has no idea. He covers Erik's eyes with his hands. He can feel the muscles shift as Erik smiles again.
Show me where we're going then.
Charles sits up and looks over Erik's shoulder and opens his mind. The Ariel starts off again, much slowly this time, bumping off ancient cart tracks and weaving around corners as Erik drives from behind his own shoulder. They hit a rock and sway, and Charles gives a bark of laughter at how absurd they must look at that moment.
There. That was the turn off he'd seen in the woman's mind, half obscured by dead bracken. He hadn't shown Erik what he'd seen, in case it was a disappointment, and now he makes sure his hands are covering his friend's eyes. "Do you trust me?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
And off they bounce again, Erik with one hand up to ward off low-hanging branches, Charles' hands are hot and slipping, but every time he puts them back he feels closed eyes, so hopefully Erik's not peeking.
They drove away from the coast in leaving the city, but they must be close now, Charles can hear the waves. through the trees. The track is barely there now and the Ariel is rattling along grassy hillocks and bare riverbeds. The ground is getting sandier, turning to dunes ahead.
The motorcycle grinds to a stop. "I don't want sand getting into the joints." Erik's lips brush against the skin of Charles' wrist. It makes him shiver and bring is home that they are here miles from anywhere or anyone by what Charles can feel.
Charles shuts off the link, but doesn't remove his hands.
"Charles."
Shh, Charles brushes his lips against the back of Erik's neck. A nuzzle, a lick. He brushes his hair aside and nips at his right ear. I'll show you when we get there, I've heard it's beautiful.
Erik keeps his eyes closed anyway as they dismount and leave the Ariel. Charles keeps his hands over Erik's eyes and guides him up a rough sandy hill, Erik tripping over twigs and loose roots, then up another, this one looser, in which their feet sink. The sound of the sea is very close, and the smell of salt sharp. They must be out of the trees, because Erik can feel the heat of the late morning sun. Charles drops his hands, but Erik doesn't open his eyes at once.
He reaches out with his mind, but there's not much to feel. There's the motorcycle behind them, Charles' belt and buttons, and something large and dense out to sea, but everything else is the calm, warm thrum of the world, reassuring him that it's still there, that it's the same world he wakes up to every morning, and not the one that he remembers.
Erik opens his eyes, and it's so bright he immediately closes them again. He squints and tries again, shielding his face with one hand as the world comes into focus.
There's so close to the sea that they're practically in the surf. It's high tide and the waves come lapping almost to the tree line. The sea is the same dazzling blue, the sand rough and soft at once, the trees cast comfortable shadows and there's no one for miles in any direction.
"I didn't think it would be like this." Charles murmurs, "People tend to exaggerate in memories, so I thought-"
Erik turns, blocks out the view of paradise around them and pulls Charles' head up to a kiss that burns shock want lust though his head.
Charles' fingers thread through his hair- there's enough of it now to them to knot in twice to keep his head in place- and the contact is enough to send the chanted litany of god I want you god so beautiful god you taste wonderful god more sweet want yes-
Erik legs buckle and Charles shifts his hands to his shoulders, and they both ease down to the sand. Charles' lips press harder, demanding and the moment he opens his mouth it's so full and hot and slick and his own hands on Charles' bare head.
Want, want you, I want, so much- "Do you know what I want?" Charles pulls back, licks his lips, one hand on each side of Erik's head. He's wound so tight it's almost like despair. "I wish - god- I wish it was always-" Erik sits up and presses their mouths together none-too gently - "mmm I wish I could make everyone just disappear. Just you and me, and the world. Nothing else. Just us." Wouldn't that be-" Erik kisses him again, pulling him back down on top.
Charles' hands scrabbles for his belt until Erik takes pity on them both and just undoes it, an ungraceful wrench that'll need to be fixed before he can use it again. Charles doesn't complain, sliding a hand along Erik's stomach to his cock and giving it a hard stoke that has Erik arching and gasping for air against his mouth. All hands and lips, hot slick flesh and Erik's bare feet - he'd kicked off his shoes at some point - kicking grooves in the sand. He's thrashed a hollow under his head and Charles presses him back into in with one bruising kiss after another until their mouths just taste of each other.
Warm hands against his skin, cool hands like water in his mind, Charles curling up inside him, all yesyesyesy loveyou wantyou wanttobeinsideyoualways and broadcasting to the glorious emptiness around them. Charles strokes him faster, guides Erik's hands to his own cock, and it's just too much, and he doesn't have to muffle anything, groaning and crying out and Charles pants his own release against his cheek.
They eventually have to move because however used they are to the Palestinian sun it's not wise to stay out too long at midday, and besides, soon the tide has risen enough to lap at their feet. They retreat into the shade of the trees, but it's not worth going any further. It's warm here, they're alone, there's food and water and they're alone. Erik wonders if they will ever require more from the world than just that. Life stripped down to its bare essentials. A simple way of living.
Charles kisses him. He's still stretched out, making sure there's no one.
"How far can you go?" There are no landmarks in the mind.
Charles shrugs. Far enough. His reach is like a whirlpool, spread out over however many - what? Feet, meters? Miles? - everything down back into the vortex that is Charles. Erik the lone point of light.
Erik sits up, then gets up. Charles blinks, and obediently gives Erik a leg up into the overhanging tree. It's lean and wiry, but quite tall, and the lowest branch is still high enough Erik has to lie flat on it and grab for Charles' hand to get him up. He catches Charles' arm, and they grapple a moment and Erik has to pull until the muscles on his no longer quite so thin arms stand out like ropes, and Charles managed to get hold of the branch. It's stupidly satisfying.
Charles manages to get both hands on the branch and levels himself up. Erik's right, it is absurd. He's had a year and they're both far too light, but being able to do anything physically taxing and succeeding has been an alien feeling for too long. And doing something frivolously taxing as climbing a tree... Like reaching through the last four years (if not longer) and touching the child he had been, so long ago. For a moment, Charles just sits on the branch, resting his head against Erik's shoulder, the memories mixing.
A night on the school roof with binoculars, a spring spent climbing trees to find bird's nests. The constellations spread out across the sky so bright as to be almost dazzling. The tiny naked birds, black eyes like pin-pricks. Straddling a gabled roof, arms outstretched, pretending to fly. Standing on the top of the highest tower in the mansion, wind in his face to drive away the noise downstairs.
Erik kisses him again. Charles' lips are raw with it. "Come on."
It's not like climbing before, all daring jumps and convinced invincibility of youth. They climb carefully, mindful of uncertain muscles and bones still too brittle to stand a fall. The memory of pain is still far too close to take risks. They climb one branch at a time, pushing each other up the difficult bits. And on one particularly irritating climb Erik just reaches out a hand, concentrates, and a chunk of rusted iron the length of his arm appears in it, called up from somewhere out to sea. He drives it into the bark and now they have a handhold. His mind throws out satisfied triumph like sunlight look what I did!
Finally, it's as far as they can go, heads just poking out of the broad leaf cover. They're not that high up, only about twenty feet. But it's still enough Charles would rather not look down. Erik, on the other hand, is as good as a Red Indian, completely fearless. Charles hugs the branch and looks out over the sea. The fishing fleet is out, little white dots on sail on the horizon.
"Well, come on." Erik points.
Charles quirks a smile, unwinding one hand from its white-knuckled grip on the branch to reach out towards the ships. He reaches out, pushes. Nothing.
He looks at Erik, who raises an eyebrow. Charles sighs, and looks down at the leaves. He's fooling himself, and that never works with Erik there to poke holes in his delusions. He doesn't want to find anyone. The world is perfect as it is, with the silence of the two of them and no other human thoughts. What if someone noticed what he was doing, and came to find them-
He'd make them forget, or sail away, or jump overboard if he wants to. It's good, what he can do. As good as Erik's powers. He can keep them safe, and well, and happy, ever bit as well as Erik can.
A rueful smile and Charles reaches out again. It's not far, because there's nothing like distance here. He can reach out his hand and pick up the tiny ships out of the water like so many paper boats. Perception is reality here.
The minds pour in like a flood, languages he doesn't understand, calling for rope, for sail, for fishing nets. The rough scrape of the nets underhand, the heavy slippery weight of the fish, the joy of it bright as the sun. The sun on weather-beaten skin, in eyes shadowed by decades. The cry of gulls, the roar of the men from their own throats to scare off the thieving birds.
"You felt them?" Erik's voice breaks in and the moment ends.
"You didn't?" Charles blinks. At Erik's shake of the head he grabs his hand and raises their hands to the ships again. "Here."
And this time Erik is with him, skipping over the wave like gulls, like flying fish, from mind to mind sliver sharp and invisible. They watch the catches hauled in, hear the wet slap of fish being poured into the bowels of the boats, the wallowing weight of the fishing fleet as it grows heavier and heavier, more difficult to turn and slower to sail as the men follow the shoals out to deeper waters. The joy of the fishermen as they revelled in their catch.
Charles laughs. "Do you think we brought them luck?" His skin feels as though it should be wet and salt-worn.
Erik grins, "What about the fish? You could make them come to the nets?"
The thought makes Charles giddy. It's a lovely idea. It's a matter of moments to sink his mind down from that of the fishermen into the simple eat/breed/flight mind of the fish shoals. He point them at the boats, then, on an impulse, orders them to jump into the boats.
They jump. One, two, three, ten, fourteen. The fishermen shriek in surprise and delight as the fish literally throw themselves into the boats. They shout and pick up the fish and wave it at each other, laughing as the little boats fill themselves. Some call out thanks to their gods, Allah/Jesus/G-d. Wave at the clouds and shout for joy. Minds full of the money they'd make, the good that would come of it. Pictures of dresses for wives, presents for children, a new house, a new boat, an outboard motor. Their happiness fills the sky.
Erik is laughing too, eyes shining and his hand grasping Charles's shoulder. Charles hugs him and they laugh until they almost fall out of the tree. Charles cannot ever remember being this happy. Not since early childhood, he's sure, and he has no memories of that. This is the apex, the glory. This is as good as it gets. Crystallise this moment forever, hold it in his heart for the rest of his life. A beacon for the darkness.
Erik kisses him, and they laugh against each other, breath and lips warm. Charles holds on, hands linked behind Erik's back, resting his head against his chest as the euphoria drains out, leaving a bone-deep contentment that, if anything, is even better.
It's drawing on for afternoon by the time they get out of the tree, their skin already red from the sun. Charles runs a hand over his head and winces.
They sit back in the shade and watch the waves lapping at the treeline, unpack their little picnic and settle in for a late lunch. Erik's just about to bite into one sandwich before he decides to bring up something he'd been wondering, in the back of his mind where Charles might not have seen it.
Charles looks at him, raises an eyebrow.
"Those men." Erik starts, peeling the bread back from his sandwich to inspect the contents. Chicken. "They thought god did that."
Charles smiles, and shrugs. "It's the sort of thing you'd expect, isn't it? It's all very loaves and fishes, and-" He waves a hand to indicate his lack of knowledge of theological comparisons.
Erik nods, bites into the sandwich - it goes crunch. The sand really does get everywhere - chews, swallows. "What if we are?"
"What, gods?" Charles blinks. His thought give an odd jump. He'd never considered that. It's a bit heretical-
Erik raises his hands and looks around theatrically. If god decides to show up now, to punish them, after everything- Erik might commit deicide.
Charles shakes his head, amused. "Maybe we're to look after the place while he's away." He says drily.
Erik looks down at the sandwich. If god thought he could clear out and let the Nazis- well, that- and then come back and everything would be okay - that would almost be worse than sitting around and not doing anything. If god was even there, which seems unlikely.
"Maybe we should." He challenges.
He can feel Charles try and decide if he should be taking this seriously. If he were to do the trick with the fish every day, it would quickly become a chore, and they'd soon run out of fish-
"Not like that." Erik still feels he's interrupting, in the silence. "With-" His hands trace invisible shapes in the air, creating a space in which memories of the camps can fit as he sends them in lieu of speech. Charles flinches. "Someone has to."
Charles considers this. The idea isn't a bad one, he likes it. Not hiding, not running, not trying to save themselves. Not the ragged, cowering image of them from the last four years. They stand tall with the sun behind them, powerful and fearless and not scared.
Not prisoners.
Not the result of some freak experiments.
"Gods." Charles says thoughtfully.