FIC: Smoke and Mirrors [3/4]
Title: Smoke and Mirrors
Characters/Pairings: Charles/Erik, light Angel/Raven.
Rating: R
Word Count: 25,000+
Warnings: Language, sex, mention of past trauma, ableism.
Summary: When newly paralysed Charles meets Erik in a coffee shop, a fit of nerves prompts him to project himself standing without need of his wheelchair. It all backfires when Erik asks him out on a date, forcing Charles to deepen his lies and, ultimately, face his fears.
Chapter Three
‘It‘s getting harder just keeping heart and soul together
I‘m sick of fighting, even though I know I should.’
Sunday morning dawned on a weak burst of watery sunlight, dust swirling in thin shafts that slipped between the gaps in horizontal blinds to fall across Charles’ dozing face. He stirred, nose scrunching, gurgling a word that definitely wasn’t found anywhere in the Oxford English dictionary. A truly terrible night’s sleep: Charles had been far too excited and nervous to really fall into anything deeper than a light snooze.
His telepathy was much harder to keep leashed when asleep, often resulting in his spirit slipping in and out of the dreams of those around him. Raven had dreamt of a carrousel, golden horses dressed in jewels, and Angel -- the nursing assistant from Charles’ time in hospital -- there beside her in a shimmering dress of woven silk. Janos, their neighbour one floor below, had only jerked from his nightmare of fire and choking smoke when Charles had had enough, forcing the Spaniard to awaken with a harsh gasp, sweat collecting on his forehead.
He wondered what Erik dreamed of; if that spiked tangle of wire and mesh was enough to save him from his own nightmares.
Charles spent the morning chewing his nails down to stubs, leaving his bowl of cereal to turn to milky mush while he rummaged through what must have been his entire wardrobe. Raven sipped at an overly large mug of coffee, hovering by his elbow to offer suggestions.
“How about this?”
“Raven, we’re going to the park. I’m not wearing a kilt to the park.”
“Why do you even own a kilt?”
“I bought it for a friend’s wedding. A Scottish friend.”
Raven reached past him to pull out a pair of leather trousers, one unimpressed eyebrow sliding high up her forehead. Charles set his jaw defiantly. “They were an experiment.”
Raven held them up against her hips, quite obviously planning to steal them. “Whatever, Charles, just don’t wear the cardigans.”
“Why not? It’s cold out there.”
“Because you’ll look like Erik’s grandpa, not his boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Aware of how childish the statement sounded, Charles quickly turned the tables, peering up at his sister with a mischievous light in his eyes. “So when are you seeing this old friend again? Did you enjoy your date the other night?”
“It wasn’t exactly a date, just drinks.” Raven shuffled from one foot to the other, her well-practised mind closed of even the barest surface thought. “We’re meeting again tonight, actually. Not that you’ll get a chance to see since I’m sure you’ll be too shagged out to come home.”
Charles rolled his eyes in reply, pulling a carefully folded sweater out of the closet. “Hardly. To be honest, I don‘t think it‘ll go anywhere between me and Erik.”
Raven’s teasingly brattish demeanour dropped. She leaned a hip against the open closet door, watching him closely. “Why?”
“We’re just… not well matched.” It hurt to even lie about it, remembering just how wonderfully the two of them had argued and debated over dinner, the way Erik had smiled at him around a mouthful of brandy and dark chocolate. “I’m going to tell him today that I don’t think we should see each other again.”
Raven didn’t seem fooled, her tone soft yet undoubtedly accusing. “Is that the real reason, Charles?”
Charles bristled. “If you’re referring to my chair, Raven, then it really isn’t any of your business.”
Raven frowned. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re wussing out because of your wheelchair.” She flung her hands up in exasperation. “Charles, that’s ridiculous. Has Erik said anything negative about your disability?”
“I - it’s not -” Charles faltered, torn between spilling the truth and clutching the secret tight to his chest. He trusted Raven, of course he did, but this was already embarrassing enough without her scolding him like a naughty child. For someone once so confident in his love life, it was hard for Charles to admit to such a stupid --no, idiotic-- mistake. One moment of panic had dashed his future of a relationship with Erik to pieces, thrown it to the wind before it ever had the chance to flourish. “It’s really not about that. Yes, I feel awkward in the wheelchair, but isn’t that understandable?”
Raven’s lips remained pressed in a thin line, though the tight hold of her shoulders loosened slightly. Charles continued, his tone not yet beseeching, “It’s the first time I’ve tried dating anyone since the accident that wasn‘t one of Moira‘s set ups. Of course my confidence feels knocked. It‘s bloody scary, Raven.”
Laying the sweater across his lap, Charles took Raven’s hand. The scales of her palm were smooth and slightly raised like scar tissue, pleasantly warmed from the coffee mug. “I just don’t see a future with Erik, gorgeous and charming as he is. Let me do this in my own way, at my own pace. Please?”
Raven hesitated, unspoken words on her lips -- then she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Ok. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I appreciate the nagging, really I do.”
If only he had listened to it sooner.
“I worry about you. You haven’t been yourself.” Raven perched on the edge of Charles’ dresser, still holding his fingers in a loose grip. “I know you’ve had to change the way you live and the way you date, but… I don’t want it to change who you are.”
Charles’ answering smile was somewhat wan. “Neither do I.” He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over the curve of her knuckles. “I know I’ve been different, and I’m working on it. You must understand that it’ll take some time for us both to adjust fully. It hasn‘t even been a year yet.”
Raven nodded gently, the burnished touch of her mind like a soft hand on his neck. “I just want you to be happy again, more like the Charles you used to be before all of this. Is that selfish of me?”
“Of course not. I know this has been hard on you, Raven.” He squeezed her knee. “Playing nursemaid to your brother isn’t something either of us wanted from our lives, I know that. You’ve been wonderful. What would I have done without you, hm?”
“You’d have called the fire brigade to fetch your tea down for you.” Raven grinned shyly, tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ear. Charles mirrored the smile, glad of the offered olive branch.
“You’ve done so much for me. I owe you something pretty.”
Raven cuffed him lightly on the side of the head, mussing his carefully combed hair. “Pretty and expensive.” Slipping off the dresser, she tugged Charles into a hug, the scent of coffee on her breath. “Just don’t do anything you’ll regret later, ok? If this guy asked you out for a second date then he obviously likes what he sees. Don‘t forget that.”
She pulled away, tugging a long sleeved, navy blue Henley out from the closet. “Wear this, with one of your blazers. It suits you and it’ll keep you toasty without the grandpa effect. Deal?”
“Deal.”
----
Erik was already waiting by the time Charles arrived, sat patiently on the stone steps of Bethesda Terrace. It had taken Charles longer than he’d expected to reach their meeting place, needing to take the long route around to bypass the Terrace’s staircases, and he was a little out of breath when he finally wheeled past the Angel fountain just after noon. His projection loped alongside him, hands in the pockets of his overcoat.
Erik stood as he approached, the pulse of light flaring from his mind far brighter than the feeble power of the grey-yellow sunshine overhead. Tourists passed them by, blurs of colour and foreign language, pigeons pecking between their feet. The hiss of falling water from the ornately carved fountain behind them mixed with late season birdsong and the beat of a far off radio - Erik smiled at him, and Charles ignored everything else.
Quickly, Charles held out the borrowed gloves before he could do something extraordinarily stupid, like pull the taller man down into a kiss. “I brought these for you.”
“Did you remember your own this time?” Erik’s eyes washed over Charles’ bare hands. Charles inwardly cursed.
“No.” He admitted sheepishly.
Erik pulled a face, shooing the gloves back toward Charles. “Then keep them for today. It‘s quite chilly.”
Freezing, more like, Charles thought to himself as he gratefully dragged the gloves over his cold hands. October was fast drawing to a close, Winter’s bite closing its sharp teeth over the city. A week until Halloween, some neighbourhoods already dressed in garish orange and black decoration, pumpkins and industrial-sized tubs of candy on sale in every store. Charles loved Halloween, the costume parties and the laughter of excited children. He always kept a big bowl of sugary treats by the door for the kids in their apartment block.
He wondered if Erik liked to dress up. There were certainly a few choice costumes Charles would enjoy seeing him in - or taking off, slowly, one button at a time -
Clearing his throat, Charles forced his mind back on track. “So what kind of place are we scouting for, Erik?”
“Preferably one where we can get a crêpe?” Erik grinned and reached out, long fingers curling around Charles’ own. Charles held his breath, feeling the icy air stick in his lungs. The angle was slightly awkward when they began to move, and he had to switch to the electronic controls in order to keep his grip on Erik’s hand -- but oh, it was wonderful, perfect, Erik swinging their arms slightly as he led Charles away from the fountain toward a tree-lined avenue. Since when had such simple an act as holding hands brought him out in goosebumps?
There was a small crêpe stand just beyond the Terrace, around the winding path circling the lake. Even at this chilled time of year there were still some boats out on the water, their oars slicing deep ripples in its glassy surface. The park was always busy, night and day, sunshine and snow. Charles had never really minded in the past, but with Erik’s hand burning his skin even through the thick leather of the borrowed gloves, he found himself craving just a second of real privacy. Projecting to such a large group of people, hundreds of men, women and children running past them, walking alongside the opposite shore, stood above them on the Terrace - to say it was difficult was an understatement. A vast web of pulsing minds that Charles needed to keep a careful eye on, thin golden threads spinning out to catch any new flies that wandered close enough to possibly see the bare bones of truth.
As if picking up on Charles’ distraction, Erik lightly squeezed his fingers. “Is this too soon?”
It took Charles a moment to realise that Erik was referring to their joined hands. He shook his head, a reflexive smile twisting his lips. “Not at all. I like it.”
“I thought maybe, because we were in public…” Erik’s voice trailed away. Charles shook his head again, more insistent this time.
“Really, my friend, I like it. I’m far from shy about my sexuality. Public or not.”
Erik visibly brightened, crows feet creasing the corners of his eyes. “That’s good to know.”
More snippets of thought, Erik’s passion a vibrant slash of red against black:
‘-who cares what people think-’
‘-fuck them-’
‘-proud of this-’
‘-he’s so beautiful-’
Charles flushed, heat prickling his neck. It seemed Erik was a man who gained pleasure in challenging society, fighting fiercely for both mutant and homosexual rights. He revelled in the fact that he was different, despising those that tried to quash and repress his kind. Charles could clearly see the rapid flipbook shuffle of blood-stained memories seeping between cracks in the man’s haphazardly constructed barriers. Erik had put both himself and other people in hospital more than once in the past, so fuelled by his own rage that he turned to blind violence.
Equally impassioned on the subject of rights, Charles had held numerous lectures and meetings at the library after hours, choosing to fight his battles with words and debate rather than his fists. His telepathy wasn’t a weapon, though that wasn’t to say Charles wouldn’t use it as such when pushed. He’d experienced the blunt end of anti-mutant extremists in the past, once overwhelmed by a large group when he was 22 or so, beaten half to death before using his telepathy to knock the attackers unconscious. Rational words hadn’t touched them, every attempt falling upon deaf ears. He’d had no other choice.
Even after witnessing a handful of such distressing memories, Charles couldn’t imagine seeing Erik angry enough to lash out so aggressively. This calm, beautiful man currently tapping a rhythm over Charles’ knuckles and pouting his lips while he perused the crêpe menu, torn between Nutella and chopped banana or raspberry sauce. Charles found himself smiling just watching him, a melancholic sadness weighing heavy on his heart. He needed to stop getting so attached.
Erik went for the Nutella, unable to resist yet another sugar fix. Charles eyed the man’s waist, a spike of hot jealousy souring his mouth. Since becoming paraplegic, Charles had found it increasingly difficult to keep weight off his stomach. Logan had shown him some exercises designed to strengthen his abdominal muscles, mostly using weighted medicine balls, but there was only so much his body could take and so far the exercises weren’t making all that much difference. His questionable addictions to chocolate and alcohol didn’t exactly help matters either.
Choosing a strawberry and banana, Charles cupped the sweet-smelling crêpe in a napkin and followed Erik over to the edge of the lake, nudging the brakes of his chair to keep him steady. “Are you going to celebrate Halloween this year, Erik?”
“Depends what you mean by ‘celebrate’,” Erik replied thickly around a mouthful of pastry. “I don’t really go to parties or anything like that.” He swallowed, shrugged. “My Halloween’s usually consist of marathon re-runs of horror movies and eating any and all candy I have in the house. How about you? Do you dress up, go trick or treating?”
“You know, I probably would, if it wasn’t such a morally grey area to trick everyone into thinking they see a 12 year old child on their front porch then make off with their sweets.”
Erik glanced at him, licking a streak of Nutella off his lips. “You can do that? Make people see things, I mean?”
Charles almost choked on a strawberry, swallowing hard to force it down. “Well, yes, it‘s a part of it. Not that I like to do such a thing, of course.” Anxiety bubbled in his stomach, pushing something bitterly acidic up his throat and into his mouth. “I don’t do it unless I have to, and sometimes when I panic. A knee-jerk reaction, I guess.”
Erik nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. When my emotions become particularly strong I find it harder to control my abilities, too. I’ve melted lamps, ripped electrical wiring out of walls. My superintendent is used to me trashing my apartment by now.”
Charles nodded quietly and picked at his crêpe, appetite lost. That was too close.
“If you’re not doing anything on Halloween, you’re welcome to come over to my apartment and watch some movies with me.” Erik kept his eyes on the lake, taking determined bites out of his crepe and obviously fighting off a blush.
“So long as you don’t tease me if I need to hide behind a cushion. I don’t like gore very much,”
Erik snorted. “The cushions are yours.”
And bugger, had Charles just agreed to another date?
Mentally kicking himself, Charles forced a smile and stuffed the rest of his crêpe into his mouth like a hamster filling its cheeks. This was going too far. Halloween was a full week away - seven whole days of dragging out the lie. Not that he actually needed to see Erik again until then. If they could just keep away from each other until Halloween, maybe he would actually be able to pull this off without hurting him further.
Erik scrunched his empty crêpe wrapper into a ball, plucking Charles’ out of his hands and tossing them both into a nearby waste bin. “So your accent is English, right? What brought you to New York?”
“I was ten.” Dusting his gloves of any lingering crumbs, Charles shared the grainy image of his ten-year-old self: quiet and uncomfortable in knee-high socks and polished shoes. His shorts were just long enough to cover the Band-Aid on his knee, and Sharon Xavier had combed his unruly hair back from his slightly chubby face. “My father passed away when I was nine, and my mum met someone else shortly after. He had an estate in Westchester, so we moved across the pond. I guess I should have lost the accent by now but I’m rather fond of it.”
“What’s it like in England?”
Charles grinned. “Do you want me to tell you it’s full of truncheon-waving policemen skidding on ball-bearings?” He laughed softly, his breath a crystal cloud. “It’s cold. Wet. Beautiful in some parts. I didn’t really remember much, but I have a photo album somewhere at home.”
“Your sister, is she also a mutant?” Erik asked quietly, the burn of his curiosity a weave of smoke in the frigid air.
“Raven, yes. Adopted sister. She’s a shape shifter.” Charles unhooked the brakes of his chair as Erik began to move again, his projection just a few paces ahead of him until he caught up with them. Erik shot him a sideways grin.
“A shape shifter? Then how do I know you’re really you and not your sister in disguise?”
“Raven wouldn’t transform into me again if I begged her.” Gathering the memory, Charles sent it carefully to Erik, watching the man’s grey-green eyes cloud over as he watched the private film reel. Raven had changed into Charles only once, a practical joke that had horribly backfired when she had needed to use the bathroom and found only urinals free in the men’s toilets. Peeing through her brother’s body with her eyes tightly closed had scarred her for life. She’d scrubbed her hands almost to the point of bleeding for days afterwards.
Erik laughed, a wide, genuine smile alighting his face. He really was ridiculously handsome. “Okay, I believe you.”
“Do you have any family?”
And like that, the moment was destroyed.
Flash of searing mental pain, the sudden whiplash strike of barbed wire jerking Charles’ head to the side as though physically slapped. Disorientated, he slammed his eyes shut, wincing at the clamouring assault of unwanted visions. It was though a dam had broken in Erik’s mind, the stream of memory gushing inside, filling Charles up, sweeping him away in a syrupy tide of anguish and yearning. Through the daze he was aware of Erik pulling away from him, shrinking into himself. The smile had vanished from his face.
“Not anymore. Not really.” Erik’s shoulders hunched over into a defensive shell. Charles bit his lower lip, the sharp pain forcing him to concentrate.
“I’m sorry, my friend. I didn‘t mean to pry.”
The weight of Erik‘s sigh seemed to hollow his chest, threads of auburn hair falling to curtain his forehead. “My mother died when I was twelve. A brain tumour. It was very sudden.”
Charles listened, his silence offering more than any words he could possibly muster. Fragile sunlight filtering down through the canopy of trees cast intricate, spider-web patterns over Erik’s shoulders as he sucked a shuddering breath through his teeth. “My father and I left Germany, moved from place to place,” - Poland, Switzerland, France - “until we finally settled here when I was about 17. Soon after, he developed Early-Onset Alzheimer‘s. Rapidly deteriorated. He kept asking me where mother was, over and over, every single day. I could never quite decide if it was a blessing or wickedly cruel that he always forgot she was dead.”
Erik broke off with a shrug, suddenly feigning nonchalance. He slid his hands into the pockets of his coat, chin dipping between folds of the rust-coloured scarf around his neck. “He lives upstate in a Home now. I don’t visit anymore.”
Charles opened his mouth, shut it again, words of comfort drying to sand in his throat. How was he supposed to respond to such a story? Say he was sorry? That he wished things had been different? Tell Erik of his own less-than-ideal childhood? Everything sounded so terribly cliché, even in his own head.
“I wish there was something I could say to lessen your pain, Erik. Nobody should ever have to go through such hardship, especially one so young.” He pressed closer, daring to touch a hand to Erik’s arm.
Erik smiled at that, the barest twitch of his lips. He turned, just as Charles inched closer.
A crunch, a yelp, and Erik jerked back as the heavy aluminium chair rolled smartly over his toe. Charles gasped, his supposedly lead-footed projection flickering in and out of focus -- Erik didn’t notice, too busy folding to one knee to press a wide palm to his aching foot.
Swearing a blue streak, Charles’ hands hovered over Erik‘s shoulders, fingers like anxious butterflies unsure where to land. “Oh, shit, bollocks, I’m terribly sorry. I’m so bloody clumsy sometimes. Are you alright?”
Bizarrely -- miraculously -- Erik began to laugh. A deep rumble that shook his back and shoulders, and when he looked up the two of them were almost eyelevel. It went without saying that Erik saw nothing other than Charles kneeling in front of him, the wheelchair little more than a whisper of restrained senses. “You’re heavier than you look.”
Charles laughed, relieved. “Maybe I should be mildly offended by that.” He squeezed Erik’s shoulders with both hands, noticing the bunch of hard muscle that barely gave under the pressure. “But I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“It’s certainly a new and interesting way to cheer me up.” Gingerly flexing his toe, Erik woefully poked at the side of his shoe. “I’ll live. But keep checking your mail for my hospital bill.”
Charles scrubbed his hands over his face, embarrassment bleeding through his skin in a blotchy rash of itchy red and pink. “I’m so sorry, how embarrassing. Can you forgi-”
The rest of his words were swallowed in the sudden press of Erik’s lips.
Charles’ eyes flew open, body jarring with shock. Erik’s lips were warm and slightly wind-chapped, neither advancing nor retreating -- just waiting, touched to Charles’ mouth in a silent search for consent.
This was it, the moment Charles should seize with both fists. To push Erik away now, to reject his kiss, would finally mean snipping the wings of this fabricated relationship before it ever had chance to get off the ground. He was lying to Erik, plain and simple deceit, and though his actions were brought on through fear and impulse reaction, that was no reason to keep up the charade for any longer than truly needed. He ought to move back. Apologise. Tell the truth.
But, God, that mouth was so hot, so tempting. Electric shivers of Erik’s desire like invisible fingers that tugged Charles by the chin, their whispered words so sweet, so filthy -
- then Erik was licking his lips, scarcely enough to wet the surface, but that brief touch of his tongue to Charles’ lower lip succeeded in snapping the fraying thread of Charles’ restraint. He pushed forward with a soft hitch of breath, sealing their mouths together in a kiss he was sure he felt down to the very tips of his toes.
‘Charles’ and Erik was bringing a hand up to cup the nape of Charles’ neck, fingers threading through the shorter curls there. Brief, shallow kisses became deeper, slow to the point of languid. Erik tasted of creamy chocolate and hazelnuts, icing sugar, the burnt aftershock of coffee. Charles shivered, hands fisting the fabric of Erik’s coat.
The punishment for his moment of weakness was wickedly cruel.
Forced to watch from the sidelines as Erik ringed laps around Wollman Ice Rinkwith the projected image of a man completely in over his head. The vision laughed wildly, clutched Erik’s arms while they spun in giddy circles, Bambi legs flying out from under him when the slip of the ice became too much. Erik pulled him back up with a playful smirk, the glittering world of ice and fairylights narrowing to only them when he kissed him again.
----
Operation: Keep Away From Erik didn’t quite go to plan.
Charles had barely left Erik at the doorstep, the ghosts of kisses still tingling his lips, when his phone buzzed in his coat’s breast pocket.
Grinning despite himself, Charles slipped the phone back into his coat and rolled smoothly to the elevator, pushing the button for the seventh floor. Unforgiving mirrors on the back wall presented him with his own goofy smile, and he quickly forced his lips into a wobbly attempt at a straight line.
Control. One week and counting until Halloween. Then he could sit Erik down and explain, apologise. Leave.
He could do this. He wouldn’t need to see Erik ever again.
Pretending the notion didn’t fill his innards with lead, Charles left the elevator when it rumbled to a stop at his floor and rummaged through his pocket for the cool shape of his keys. He didn’t notice the unfamiliar pair of shoes on the mat when he slipped inside, nor did he catch on to the whisper of another mind until he was framed in the living room door and a pair of big brown eyes were gazing at him over the back of the couch.
“Angel-!” Charles blinked, more than a little taken aback to see his old nursing assistant so casually lounging on his stuffy couch. Immediately his thoughts turned to ice: did he need to go back to hospital again? Had they found something deadly on his scans that they had previously overlooked? Raven - oh God, where was Raven -
“Jeez, Charles, way to be polite.” There she was, padding in from the kitchen with two glasses of pink wine, handing one to Angel as she sank down onto the sofa. Blue and scaled from head to foot, which shocked Charles even further. He’d never seen her show her true form to anyone other than him before. “You remember Angel, don’t you?”
Angel smiled, waggling slim fingers from the stem of her wine glass. “Hey, Charles, good to see you. You’re looking great.”
Shaking himself from his initial bewilderment, Charles laughed apolitically with a shake of his head, gliding further into the room. “Of course. I’m sorry, I was just… surprised. It’s lovely to see you again, Angel, and without a wash cloth this time. How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” She flicked loose strands of wavy brown hair from her shoulder, bringing her knees up to fold beneath her. The air of the room felt odd, almost uncomfortable, as though he’d just strolled into something he shouldn’t.
‘Will you please get out,’ Raven’s voice hissed in his mind, as bright and clear as a bell. ‘We’re trying to have a private conversation.’
‘In the living room? You have a perfectly private bedroom back there. This is my house too, remember.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be home this early. We’re going to watch a movie, alone. And she’s spending the night.’
‘Oh! So… Angel is your old friend?’
‘Get out.’
Charles’ look of open-mouthed surprise quickly melted into a charming smile when Angel’s eyes returned to fix on him. He held out a hand, shaking her tiny fingers over the back of the couch. “Well I‘d love to stay and chat, Angel, but I’m afraid I’m terribly busy. Lots of paperwork to do. Running a library isn’t all reading books and stamping things, unfortunately. Please forgive me. See you again?”
Angel flashed him a thumbs up, sipping her wine. Another mental kick from Raven had Charles retreating, winding his chair through the hall to his room.
Well that was… unexpected.
Charles shut the door behind him, trying to process this onslaught of new information. It had been a long time since Raven had dated anyone. Almost three years, in fact. All of her previous partner’s -- long term or not -- had been male, and never had she revealed her true form to them.
He wasn’t opposed to his sister dating another woman - as a bisexual man that leaned toward other men, it would be a tad hypocritical of him, after all. No, it was just… well, a shock. Raven had never expressed interest in her own gender before.
But wait: hadn’t Raven dreamt of Angel recently? Golden and glowing on a carrousel horse. It could certainly be interpreted into something romantic, even erotic. Why hadn’t Charles realised sooner?
He sighed softly, carefully shielding himself from the gentle shimmer of Angel’s thoughts. He didn’t want to accidentally catch them kissing or… doing other things. He and Raven deeply respected each other’s privacy, and Charles flicked on the TV to obscure the faraway murmur of low voices.
If Raven felt comfortable enough to reveal herself to a lover, then good luck to her. It was certainly a first, and a wonderful sign of something special blossoming between the two women. Raven had always been so painfully self-conscious of her blue form, and to be honest, Charles hadn’t really helped the situation. As a child he had encouraged her to pick a ‘normal’ face for use in the public eye, the two of them hiding their powers from their mother and definitely from their step-father. Kurt Marko had always been wary and untrusting of mutants, even refusing to believe that his own son, Cain, held the gene.
It had started off exciting. A secret they could share, practising their gifts in the privacy of their own rooms. Raven had often morphed into Sharon Xavier, though her impersonations of their tipsy, half-awake mother had quickly become less funny the older they got, understanding settling sharp in their hearts.
Raven hit puberty, and suddenly their games stopped. She began to question him, their parents, the world. Why couldn’t she show her true colours? Why was she like this? Why was she forced to hide in the shadows?
Charles clung to Raven even when she tried to pull away from him, forever harbouring the fear that she would be taken away, categorised, experimented on. A mutation so vivid - she would be met with fear out in the real world, maybe even violence. Charles simply couldn’t handle the thought of his beautiful, sweet, amazing little adopted sister coming to such a fate.
He had jumped at the chance of moving in with her the moment they were both old enough and had scraped together some money of their own. Raven was free to wear her own skin now, away from the oppressive crush of their parents, though the chains of fear and overprotective love from her brother continued to bind her.
Maybe having someone like Angel around was the tonic they both needed.
Buzz of his phone again, shaking the lining of his coat. Charles shrugged out of it, retrieving the phone and draping the coat over the back of a chair.
Charles faltered, absently chewing his lower lip. He did need to collect his contact lenses, and surely watching Erik try on sneakers for a couple of hours couldn’t be classified as a date, right…?
Right.
----
Only it didn’t stop there.
The innocent trip to the Mall turned into drinks at a nearby bar, Charles growing more inebriated with each strong glass of scotch he downed. Huddled around a low table, Erik leaned his elbows on the polished wood while he asked of Charles’ family, his hobbies and personal life. He didn’t even crack a giggle when Charles admitted he quite enjoyed going to the odd science fiction convention now and then, and how he had once dressed up as Jean-Luc Picard. Erik looked at him like he was the only man in the room, their eye contact breaking only when either of them glanced down to swirl the ice in his glass.
After the Mall and the impromptu bar trip came breakfast at Charles’ favourite café.
And after that, a trip to the art gallery for an exhibit on Jewish art and craft. It didn’t surprise Charles to find Erik was Jewish, though he did feel immediately guilty about scoffing a bacon sandwich at breakfast the day before. Erik only laughed when Charles voiced his regret, assuring him he didn’t care about the religious views of others. So long as beliefs weren’t flung in his face, he was fine with Charles eating pork and drinking non-kosher wine and celebrating Christmas, all the usual things. He showed Charles the star of David pendant around his neck, the only heirloom he had left over from his mother.
Charles let his mind wander into the gutter, though thankfully Erik didn’t catch the way stealthy eyes lingered over his crotch. He’d never slept with anyone cut before, surprisingly enough given the statistics of New York’s circumcised men to Charles’ bed partners.
Not that he would be sleeping with Erik. No, he was breaking up with him on Sunday.
Right after the game of chess after work on Friday.
----
Raven managed to avoid Charles for a full three days, her text messages elusively short and to the point. She’d been spending a lot of her free time with Angel, out at the movies or the shopping Mall and staying the night at Angel’s modest little apartment a few blocks from the hospital. Charles had never felt so alone in his own house, unused to the simple company of his shadow. He quickly found himself missing her quiet morning singing and the fond scratch of fingernails through his hair.
It wasn’t until Friday evening that he finally managed to corner her in the kitchen, his chair a heavy blockade between the door and any hope of escape into the living room. Raven delicately ignored him, elbow deep in soapy dishwater. Her mind growled the moment he brushed against it, snapping phantom jaws in warning.
Something didn’t add up. Raven had never actively avoided him like this before, even after the odd blazing argument that left both of them blinking back furious tears. They were siblings, even if not biological: of course they were going to fight. Space was always an issue, especially in such a small apartment. They each had their own little habits that the other despised. Raven hated the way Charles left half-finished mugs of tea lying around the living room and chewed pen caps while he worked. Charles loathed it when Raven would toss her dirty clothes at the laundry basket and not bother to pick them up if they missed. Silly little things that grated on each others nerves - like every other relationship in the world.
But this… Charles forced a steadying breath. The colours of Raven’s mind were loud: angry, resentful. She was cautious.
Charles wracked his brain for anything he could have done or said to upset his sister lately. The last time they’d spoken face to face was when he’d walked in on her and Angel after his date at Central Park. Maybe he hadn’t made enough time for her, had neglected her in favour of another date with Erik. They were in dire need of a movie night, curling up on the couch together with a pizza and giant tub of ice cream. A Saturday night tradition he sorely missed.
Busying himself with the drying up, Charles tugged down a tea towel and began rinsing soap suds from the cleaned plates Raven was stacking on the draining board. “I feel like we haven’t chatted in ages.”
“It’s been three days, Charles. I’ve hardly dropped off the face of the earth.” Another dish, a wave of bubbles washing over the worktop. Charles picked it up, fidgeting with the edge of the towel.
“Are you alright?”
Raven stiffened, her shoulders a tense line. “Fine.”
“How’s Angel? Things seem to be going really well with her, hm? I’m pleased for you.”
Raven finally looked at him, a sidelong roll of her eyes that set prickles of irritation up Charles’ neck. He set the dried plate down on his knee.
“What was that look for?”
Raven scoffed, the next plate hitting the draining board with a clatter. “Forget it.”
A deep furrow settled in Charles’ forehead, the drying up forgotten. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”
“Why doesn‘t that surprise me?” Raven snapped sarcastically, pulling her hands free of the basin to drip water and soap suds across the kitchen tiles. “Yes, things are really great with Angel, thank you very much. Now get out of my face.”
She tried to dodge around him, bare feet quick on the tiles but Charles’ hand shot out to grip the worktop, creating an effective barrier between Raven and the door. “Raven, what on earth are you talking about? I’ve hardly seen you this week, and since I found out about you and Angel you’ve shut yourself away from me. What have I done wrong?”
Raven growled through her teeth, angrily swiping water off her hands. “Angel is good for me, Charles. Did you know she used to be a stripper before she became a nursing assistant?” She folded her arms defensively, expression stony and challenging. “She wasn’t afraid to show her body, her skin. She gives me back all the self-confidence you’ve sucked out of me since we were kids.”
Charles jerked as though punched, torn between guilt and fierce anger. Now things were starting to make sense: this was an argument that had been building for over ten years. “I was trying to protect you, Raven.”
“Did I ever ask for your protection?”
“You’re my sister. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to be there for me, Charles, not hold me back. You smothered me. Even now I feel afraid to go outside like this.” She waved at her dark skin, golden eyes flashing. “And it all stems from you trying so hard to keep me looking normal.”
Charles looked away, the set of his jaw tight. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Who would try and hurt me? You were so afraid of your mom taking you to a mental asylum for hearing voices that you transferred that fear onto me.”
A swell of bitter anger twisted Charles’ face into something ugly. “You have no idea what I’ve had to do to keep you safe.”
“Lying to people isn’t difficult when you believe you have a reason.” Raven sniffed. Charles saw red.
“Is that so?”
Raven staggered back on a gasp, a sudden gush of sepia images crowding her mind like the rustle and tumble of aged papers falling from a forgotten shelf.
There was Charles, a young boy of no older than 12, begging Cain to promise not to tell Sharon or Kurt what he’d just inadvertently discovered. Raven slept soundly in an armchair behind them, red hair swept back from her head, the harsh blue of her skin clashing horribly with the pink dress she wore. Cain pouted his lips in mock thought. A good two feet taller than Charles, he towered over the younger boy, muscles bulging from his arms when he crossed them tight over his chest. A mutant himself, not that he really knew at this point. Big bones, Kurt said. A growth spurt.
“Tell you what, shrimp. You be my slave forever and I won’t tell dad or Sharon that she’s a freak.” He jerked his chin toward Raven. Charles struggled to breathe, his little heart pounding against his ribs. His telepathy wasn’t advanced enough for the intricate action of wiping a single thought from a memory: if he tried, it was entirely possible he would destroy his step-brother’s memory completely, leaving Cain a gibbering wreck of compact muscle and bowl-cut hair.
Defeated, Charles had nodded, standing as straight as possible. Bribery wouldn’t work, money and sweets and possessions nothing when compared to a secret at huge as this. Cain had beat him up for the first time that night. The bruises were explained away easily to Raven, a silly accident involving Charles’ clumsy feet and the tree house.
For nine years he had bowed to Cain, taking the beatings and the extra homework and the chores, only escaping the torture when his step-brother finally left to join the army. He hadn’t seen him since.
Charles ripped himself back from Raven’s head, the creamy white walls of the kitchen suddenly too bright after the wood-panelled hallways of his old home. Fury and guilt swarmed thick in his stomach, battling for dominance over his heart.
Raven was panting hard, supporting herself against the worktop as thick tears tracked navy-blue streaks down her face. Her voice was small when she said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you.” Charles ran a hand over the nape of his neck, coming back damp with sweat. “You know how Kurt would have reacted if he’d found out. You‘d have been taken away from me.”
Raven’s answering words choked off in her throat, and suddenly she was dropping to her knees and folding her arms in Charles’ lap. “Charles. I’m so sorry. I didn‘t--” she broke off on a sob, and the wave of anguish that followed left Charles covered in ice-cold goosebumps. “You should have told me. I could have done something about it.”
“Like what? Fight him? He had a physical mutation built on strength, Raven. At that young stage, we’d have been powerless against him.”
“I could have… I could have turned into mom. I could have made him think she was okay with our mutations.”
“He’d have found out it was you one way or another. Then things would have been ten times worse.” Charles shook his head, a wry smile shaping his lips. “He may have looked dumber than a mule but Cain was surprisingly smart when he wanted to be.”
“But he was a mutant too.” Raven’s fingers tightened on Charles’ unfeeling thighs. “I remember when he found out, when he put his head through the fucking wall because he couldn‘t stop running.” Raven’s voice bubbled with wet laughter, more pained than amused.
“That’s why he left.” Stroking his hands over her hair, Charles blinked hard against the tears threatening to spill. “Do you understand? Even Cain would rather take his chances in the army than face his own father finding out about him. He was just as scared as we were at the end.”
“You sound like you pity him.”
“I do. He had a monster for a father: that could affect anyone.”
Raven snuffled and kissed Charles’ knee. “I’m so sorry. I feel like such a brat. All this time I thought your fear was selfish, and now I see… Fuck, Charles. Forgive me?”
Charles bent double to press his lips to nape of her neck, breathing in the scent of perfume and shampoo. “I’m sorry too. Everything I did was meant to help, and all the while I was just damaging you further.”
A rustle of hair and fabric as she shook her head. “We’re both royal fuck-ups, aren’t we?”
“Quite.”
“It’s going really well with Angel, Charles. She makes me feel… special. Not different.” Raven straightened up, dry tears leaving dark stains on Charles’ trousers.
Charles smiled and stroked his fingers over the pad of her cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve finally found someone to make you see that.”
“Maybe we can double date sometime? I‘d like to meet Erik, give him the ‘hurt my brother and die’ speech.” Raven’s small smile became mischievous.
Charles screwed up his nose. “Remind me never to introduce the two of you.”
Chapter Four
Characters/Pairings: Charles/Erik, light Angel/Raven.
Rating: R
Word Count: 25,000+
Warnings: Language, sex, mention of past trauma, ableism.
Summary: When newly paralysed Charles meets Erik in a coffee shop, a fit of nerves prompts him to project himself standing without need of his wheelchair. It all backfires when Erik asks him out on a date, forcing Charles to deepen his lies and, ultimately, face his fears.
Chapter Three
‘It‘s getting harder just keeping heart and soul together
I‘m sick of fighting, even though I know I should.’
Sunday morning dawned on a weak burst of watery sunlight, dust swirling in thin shafts that slipped between the gaps in horizontal blinds to fall across Charles’ dozing face. He stirred, nose scrunching, gurgling a word that definitely wasn’t found anywhere in the Oxford English dictionary. A truly terrible night’s sleep: Charles had been far too excited and nervous to really fall into anything deeper than a light snooze.
His telepathy was much harder to keep leashed when asleep, often resulting in his spirit slipping in and out of the dreams of those around him. Raven had dreamt of a carrousel, golden horses dressed in jewels, and Angel -- the nursing assistant from Charles’ time in hospital -- there beside her in a shimmering dress of woven silk. Janos, their neighbour one floor below, had only jerked from his nightmare of fire and choking smoke when Charles had had enough, forcing the Spaniard to awaken with a harsh gasp, sweat collecting on his forehead.
He wondered what Erik dreamed of; if that spiked tangle of wire and mesh was enough to save him from his own nightmares.
Charles spent the morning chewing his nails down to stubs, leaving his bowl of cereal to turn to milky mush while he rummaged through what must have been his entire wardrobe. Raven sipped at an overly large mug of coffee, hovering by his elbow to offer suggestions.
“How about this?”
“Raven, we’re going to the park. I’m not wearing a kilt to the park.”
“Why do you even own a kilt?”
“I bought it for a friend’s wedding. A Scottish friend.”
Raven reached past him to pull out a pair of leather trousers, one unimpressed eyebrow sliding high up her forehead. Charles set his jaw defiantly. “They were an experiment.”
Raven held them up against her hips, quite obviously planning to steal them. “Whatever, Charles, just don’t wear the cardigans.”
“Why not? It’s cold out there.”
“Because you’ll look like Erik’s grandpa, not his boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Aware of how childish the statement sounded, Charles quickly turned the tables, peering up at his sister with a mischievous light in his eyes. “So when are you seeing this old friend again? Did you enjoy your date the other night?”
“It wasn’t exactly a date, just drinks.” Raven shuffled from one foot to the other, her well-practised mind closed of even the barest surface thought. “We’re meeting again tonight, actually. Not that you’ll get a chance to see since I’m sure you’ll be too shagged out to come home.”
Charles rolled his eyes in reply, pulling a carefully folded sweater out of the closet. “Hardly. To be honest, I don‘t think it‘ll go anywhere between me and Erik.”
Raven’s teasingly brattish demeanour dropped. She leaned a hip against the open closet door, watching him closely. “Why?”
“We’re just… not well matched.” It hurt to even lie about it, remembering just how wonderfully the two of them had argued and debated over dinner, the way Erik had smiled at him around a mouthful of brandy and dark chocolate. “I’m going to tell him today that I don’t think we should see each other again.”
Raven didn’t seem fooled, her tone soft yet undoubtedly accusing. “Is that the real reason, Charles?”
Charles bristled. “If you’re referring to my chair, Raven, then it really isn’t any of your business.”
Raven frowned. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re wussing out because of your wheelchair.” She flung her hands up in exasperation. “Charles, that’s ridiculous. Has Erik said anything negative about your disability?”
“I - it’s not -” Charles faltered, torn between spilling the truth and clutching the secret tight to his chest. He trusted Raven, of course he did, but this was already embarrassing enough without her scolding him like a naughty child. For someone once so confident in his love life, it was hard for Charles to admit to such a stupid --no, idiotic-- mistake. One moment of panic had dashed his future of a relationship with Erik to pieces, thrown it to the wind before it ever had the chance to flourish. “It’s really not about that. Yes, I feel awkward in the wheelchair, but isn’t that understandable?”
Raven’s lips remained pressed in a thin line, though the tight hold of her shoulders loosened slightly. Charles continued, his tone not yet beseeching, “It’s the first time I’ve tried dating anyone since the accident that wasn‘t one of Moira‘s set ups. Of course my confidence feels knocked. It‘s bloody scary, Raven.”
Laying the sweater across his lap, Charles took Raven’s hand. The scales of her palm were smooth and slightly raised like scar tissue, pleasantly warmed from the coffee mug. “I just don’t see a future with Erik, gorgeous and charming as he is. Let me do this in my own way, at my own pace. Please?”
Raven hesitated, unspoken words on her lips -- then she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Ok. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I appreciate the nagging, really I do.”
If only he had listened to it sooner.
“I worry about you. You haven’t been yourself.” Raven perched on the edge of Charles’ dresser, still holding his fingers in a loose grip. “I know you’ve had to change the way you live and the way you date, but… I don’t want it to change who you are.”
Charles’ answering smile was somewhat wan. “Neither do I.” He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over the curve of her knuckles. “I know I’ve been different, and I’m working on it. You must understand that it’ll take some time for us both to adjust fully. It hasn‘t even been a year yet.”
Raven nodded gently, the burnished touch of her mind like a soft hand on his neck. “I just want you to be happy again, more like the Charles you used to be before all of this. Is that selfish of me?”
“Of course not. I know this has been hard on you, Raven.” He squeezed her knee. “Playing nursemaid to your brother isn’t something either of us wanted from our lives, I know that. You’ve been wonderful. What would I have done without you, hm?”
“You’d have called the fire brigade to fetch your tea down for you.” Raven grinned shyly, tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ear. Charles mirrored the smile, glad of the offered olive branch.
“You’ve done so much for me. I owe you something pretty.”
Raven cuffed him lightly on the side of the head, mussing his carefully combed hair. “Pretty and expensive.” Slipping off the dresser, she tugged Charles into a hug, the scent of coffee on her breath. “Just don’t do anything you’ll regret later, ok? If this guy asked you out for a second date then he obviously likes what he sees. Don‘t forget that.”
She pulled away, tugging a long sleeved, navy blue Henley out from the closet. “Wear this, with one of your blazers. It suits you and it’ll keep you toasty without the grandpa effect. Deal?”
“Deal.”
----
Erik was already waiting by the time Charles arrived, sat patiently on the stone steps of Bethesda Terrace. It had taken Charles longer than he’d expected to reach their meeting place, needing to take the long route around to bypass the Terrace’s staircases, and he was a little out of breath when he finally wheeled past the Angel fountain just after noon. His projection loped alongside him, hands in the pockets of his overcoat.
Erik stood as he approached, the pulse of light flaring from his mind far brighter than the feeble power of the grey-yellow sunshine overhead. Tourists passed them by, blurs of colour and foreign language, pigeons pecking between their feet. The hiss of falling water from the ornately carved fountain behind them mixed with late season birdsong and the beat of a far off radio - Erik smiled at him, and Charles ignored everything else.
Quickly, Charles held out the borrowed gloves before he could do something extraordinarily stupid, like pull the taller man down into a kiss. “I brought these for you.”
“Did you remember your own this time?” Erik’s eyes washed over Charles’ bare hands. Charles inwardly cursed.
“No.” He admitted sheepishly.
Erik pulled a face, shooing the gloves back toward Charles. “Then keep them for today. It‘s quite chilly.”
Freezing, more like, Charles thought to himself as he gratefully dragged the gloves over his cold hands. October was fast drawing to a close, Winter’s bite closing its sharp teeth over the city. A week until Halloween, some neighbourhoods already dressed in garish orange and black decoration, pumpkins and industrial-sized tubs of candy on sale in every store. Charles loved Halloween, the costume parties and the laughter of excited children. He always kept a big bowl of sugary treats by the door for the kids in their apartment block.
He wondered if Erik liked to dress up. There were certainly a few choice costumes Charles would enjoy seeing him in - or taking off, slowly, one button at a time -
Clearing his throat, Charles forced his mind back on track. “So what kind of place are we scouting for, Erik?”
“Preferably one where we can get a crêpe?” Erik grinned and reached out, long fingers curling around Charles’ own. Charles held his breath, feeling the icy air stick in his lungs. The angle was slightly awkward when they began to move, and he had to switch to the electronic controls in order to keep his grip on Erik’s hand -- but oh, it was wonderful, perfect, Erik swinging their arms slightly as he led Charles away from the fountain toward a tree-lined avenue. Since when had such simple an act as holding hands brought him out in goosebumps?
There was a small crêpe stand just beyond the Terrace, around the winding path circling the lake. Even at this chilled time of year there were still some boats out on the water, their oars slicing deep ripples in its glassy surface. The park was always busy, night and day, sunshine and snow. Charles had never really minded in the past, but with Erik’s hand burning his skin even through the thick leather of the borrowed gloves, he found himself craving just a second of real privacy. Projecting to such a large group of people, hundreds of men, women and children running past them, walking alongside the opposite shore, stood above them on the Terrace - to say it was difficult was an understatement. A vast web of pulsing minds that Charles needed to keep a careful eye on, thin golden threads spinning out to catch any new flies that wandered close enough to possibly see the bare bones of truth.
As if picking up on Charles’ distraction, Erik lightly squeezed his fingers. “Is this too soon?”
It took Charles a moment to realise that Erik was referring to their joined hands. He shook his head, a reflexive smile twisting his lips. “Not at all. I like it.”
“I thought maybe, because we were in public…” Erik’s voice trailed away. Charles shook his head again, more insistent this time.
“Really, my friend, I like it. I’m far from shy about my sexuality. Public or not.”
Erik visibly brightened, crows feet creasing the corners of his eyes. “That’s good to know.”
More snippets of thought, Erik’s passion a vibrant slash of red against black:
‘-who cares what people think-’
‘-fuck them-’
‘-proud of this-’
‘-he’s so beautiful-’
Charles flushed, heat prickling his neck. It seemed Erik was a man who gained pleasure in challenging society, fighting fiercely for both mutant and homosexual rights. He revelled in the fact that he was different, despising those that tried to quash and repress his kind. Charles could clearly see the rapid flipbook shuffle of blood-stained memories seeping between cracks in the man’s haphazardly constructed barriers. Erik had put both himself and other people in hospital more than once in the past, so fuelled by his own rage that he turned to blind violence.
Equally impassioned on the subject of rights, Charles had held numerous lectures and meetings at the library after hours, choosing to fight his battles with words and debate rather than his fists. His telepathy wasn’t a weapon, though that wasn’t to say Charles wouldn’t use it as such when pushed. He’d experienced the blunt end of anti-mutant extremists in the past, once overwhelmed by a large group when he was 22 or so, beaten half to death before using his telepathy to knock the attackers unconscious. Rational words hadn’t touched them, every attempt falling upon deaf ears. He’d had no other choice.
Even after witnessing a handful of such distressing memories, Charles couldn’t imagine seeing Erik angry enough to lash out so aggressively. This calm, beautiful man currently tapping a rhythm over Charles’ knuckles and pouting his lips while he perused the crêpe menu, torn between Nutella and chopped banana or raspberry sauce. Charles found himself smiling just watching him, a melancholic sadness weighing heavy on his heart. He needed to stop getting so attached.
Erik went for the Nutella, unable to resist yet another sugar fix. Charles eyed the man’s waist, a spike of hot jealousy souring his mouth. Since becoming paraplegic, Charles had found it increasingly difficult to keep weight off his stomach. Logan had shown him some exercises designed to strengthen his abdominal muscles, mostly using weighted medicine balls, but there was only so much his body could take and so far the exercises weren’t making all that much difference. His questionable addictions to chocolate and alcohol didn’t exactly help matters either.
Choosing a strawberry and banana, Charles cupped the sweet-smelling crêpe in a napkin and followed Erik over to the edge of the lake, nudging the brakes of his chair to keep him steady. “Are you going to celebrate Halloween this year, Erik?”
“Depends what you mean by ‘celebrate’,” Erik replied thickly around a mouthful of pastry. “I don’t really go to parties or anything like that.” He swallowed, shrugged. “My Halloween’s usually consist of marathon re-runs of horror movies and eating any and all candy I have in the house. How about you? Do you dress up, go trick or treating?”
“You know, I probably would, if it wasn’t such a morally grey area to trick everyone into thinking they see a 12 year old child on their front porch then make off with their sweets.”
Erik glanced at him, licking a streak of Nutella off his lips. “You can do that? Make people see things, I mean?”
Charles almost choked on a strawberry, swallowing hard to force it down. “Well, yes, it‘s a part of it. Not that I like to do such a thing, of course.” Anxiety bubbled in his stomach, pushing something bitterly acidic up his throat and into his mouth. “I don’t do it unless I have to, and sometimes when I panic. A knee-jerk reaction, I guess.”
Erik nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. When my emotions become particularly strong I find it harder to control my abilities, too. I’ve melted lamps, ripped electrical wiring out of walls. My superintendent is used to me trashing my apartment by now.”
Charles nodded quietly and picked at his crêpe, appetite lost. That was too close.
“If you’re not doing anything on Halloween, you’re welcome to come over to my apartment and watch some movies with me.” Erik kept his eyes on the lake, taking determined bites out of his crepe and obviously fighting off a blush.
“So long as you don’t tease me if I need to hide behind a cushion. I don’t like gore very much,”
Erik snorted. “The cushions are yours.”
And bugger, had Charles just agreed to another date?
Mentally kicking himself, Charles forced a smile and stuffed the rest of his crêpe into his mouth like a hamster filling its cheeks. This was going too far. Halloween was a full week away - seven whole days of dragging out the lie. Not that he actually needed to see Erik again until then. If they could just keep away from each other until Halloween, maybe he would actually be able to pull this off without hurting him further.
Erik scrunched his empty crêpe wrapper into a ball, plucking Charles’ out of his hands and tossing them both into a nearby waste bin. “So your accent is English, right? What brought you to New York?”
“I was ten.” Dusting his gloves of any lingering crumbs, Charles shared the grainy image of his ten-year-old self: quiet and uncomfortable in knee-high socks and polished shoes. His shorts were just long enough to cover the Band-Aid on his knee, and Sharon Xavier had combed his unruly hair back from his slightly chubby face. “My father passed away when I was nine, and my mum met someone else shortly after. He had an estate in Westchester, so we moved across the pond. I guess I should have lost the accent by now but I’m rather fond of it.”
“What’s it like in England?”
Charles grinned. “Do you want me to tell you it’s full of truncheon-waving policemen skidding on ball-bearings?” He laughed softly, his breath a crystal cloud. “It’s cold. Wet. Beautiful in some parts. I didn’t really remember much, but I have a photo album somewhere at home.”
“Your sister, is she also a mutant?” Erik asked quietly, the burn of his curiosity a weave of smoke in the frigid air.
“Raven, yes. Adopted sister. She’s a shape shifter.” Charles unhooked the brakes of his chair as Erik began to move again, his projection just a few paces ahead of him until he caught up with them. Erik shot him a sideways grin.
“A shape shifter? Then how do I know you’re really you and not your sister in disguise?”
“Raven wouldn’t transform into me again if I begged her.” Gathering the memory, Charles sent it carefully to Erik, watching the man’s grey-green eyes cloud over as he watched the private film reel. Raven had changed into Charles only once, a practical joke that had horribly backfired when she had needed to use the bathroom and found only urinals free in the men’s toilets. Peeing through her brother’s body with her eyes tightly closed had scarred her for life. She’d scrubbed her hands almost to the point of bleeding for days afterwards.
Erik laughed, a wide, genuine smile alighting his face. He really was ridiculously handsome. “Okay, I believe you.”
“Do you have any family?”
And like that, the moment was destroyed.
Flash of searing mental pain, the sudden whiplash strike of barbed wire jerking Charles’ head to the side as though physically slapped. Disorientated, he slammed his eyes shut, wincing at the clamouring assault of unwanted visions. It was though a dam had broken in Erik’s mind, the stream of memory gushing inside, filling Charles up, sweeping him away in a syrupy tide of anguish and yearning. Through the daze he was aware of Erik pulling away from him, shrinking into himself. The smile had vanished from his face.
“Not anymore. Not really.” Erik’s shoulders hunched over into a defensive shell. Charles bit his lower lip, the sharp pain forcing him to concentrate.
“I’m sorry, my friend. I didn‘t mean to pry.”
The weight of Erik‘s sigh seemed to hollow his chest, threads of auburn hair falling to curtain his forehead. “My mother died when I was twelve. A brain tumour. It was very sudden.”
Charles listened, his silence offering more than any words he could possibly muster. Fragile sunlight filtering down through the canopy of trees cast intricate, spider-web patterns over Erik’s shoulders as he sucked a shuddering breath through his teeth. “My father and I left Germany, moved from place to place,” - Poland, Switzerland, France - “until we finally settled here when I was about 17. Soon after, he developed Early-Onset Alzheimer‘s. Rapidly deteriorated. He kept asking me where mother was, over and over, every single day. I could never quite decide if it was a blessing or wickedly cruel that he always forgot she was dead.”
Erik broke off with a shrug, suddenly feigning nonchalance. He slid his hands into the pockets of his coat, chin dipping between folds of the rust-coloured scarf around his neck. “He lives upstate in a Home now. I don’t visit anymore.”
Charles opened his mouth, shut it again, words of comfort drying to sand in his throat. How was he supposed to respond to such a story? Say he was sorry? That he wished things had been different? Tell Erik of his own less-than-ideal childhood? Everything sounded so terribly cliché, even in his own head.
“I wish there was something I could say to lessen your pain, Erik. Nobody should ever have to go through such hardship, especially one so young.” He pressed closer, daring to touch a hand to Erik’s arm.
Erik smiled at that, the barest twitch of his lips. He turned, just as Charles inched closer.
A crunch, a yelp, and Erik jerked back as the heavy aluminium chair rolled smartly over his toe. Charles gasped, his supposedly lead-footed projection flickering in and out of focus -- Erik didn’t notice, too busy folding to one knee to press a wide palm to his aching foot.
Swearing a blue streak, Charles’ hands hovered over Erik‘s shoulders, fingers like anxious butterflies unsure where to land. “Oh, shit, bollocks, I’m terribly sorry. I’m so bloody clumsy sometimes. Are you alright?”
Bizarrely -- miraculously -- Erik began to laugh. A deep rumble that shook his back and shoulders, and when he looked up the two of them were almost eyelevel. It went without saying that Erik saw nothing other than Charles kneeling in front of him, the wheelchair little more than a whisper of restrained senses. “You’re heavier than you look.”
Charles laughed, relieved. “Maybe I should be mildly offended by that.” He squeezed Erik’s shoulders with both hands, noticing the bunch of hard muscle that barely gave under the pressure. “But I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“It’s certainly a new and interesting way to cheer me up.” Gingerly flexing his toe, Erik woefully poked at the side of his shoe. “I’ll live. But keep checking your mail for my hospital bill.”
Charles scrubbed his hands over his face, embarrassment bleeding through his skin in a blotchy rash of itchy red and pink. “I’m so sorry, how embarrassing. Can you forgi-”
The rest of his words were swallowed in the sudden press of Erik’s lips.
Charles’ eyes flew open, body jarring with shock. Erik’s lips were warm and slightly wind-chapped, neither advancing nor retreating -- just waiting, touched to Charles’ mouth in a silent search for consent.
This was it, the moment Charles should seize with both fists. To push Erik away now, to reject his kiss, would finally mean snipping the wings of this fabricated relationship before it ever had chance to get off the ground. He was lying to Erik, plain and simple deceit, and though his actions were brought on through fear and impulse reaction, that was no reason to keep up the charade for any longer than truly needed. He ought to move back. Apologise. Tell the truth.
But, God, that mouth was so hot, so tempting. Electric shivers of Erik’s desire like invisible fingers that tugged Charles by the chin, their whispered words so sweet, so filthy -
- then Erik was licking his lips, scarcely enough to wet the surface, but that brief touch of his tongue to Charles’ lower lip succeeded in snapping the fraying thread of Charles’ restraint. He pushed forward with a soft hitch of breath, sealing their mouths together in a kiss he was sure he felt down to the very tips of his toes.
‘Charles’ and Erik was bringing a hand up to cup the nape of Charles’ neck, fingers threading through the shorter curls there. Brief, shallow kisses became deeper, slow to the point of languid. Erik tasted of creamy chocolate and hazelnuts, icing sugar, the burnt aftershock of coffee. Charles shivered, hands fisting the fabric of Erik’s coat.
The punishment for his moment of weakness was wickedly cruel.
Forced to watch from the sidelines as Erik ringed laps around Wollman Ice Rinkwith the projected image of a man completely in over his head. The vision laughed wildly, clutched Erik’s arms while they spun in giddy circles, Bambi legs flying out from under him when the slip of the ice became too much. Erik pulled him back up with a playful smirk, the glittering world of ice and fairylights narrowing to only them when he kissed him again.
----
Operation: Keep Away From Erik didn’t quite go to plan.
Charles had barely left Erik at the doorstep, the ghosts of kisses still tingling his lips, when his phone buzzed in his coat’s breast pocket.
Grinning despite himself, Charles slipped the phone back into his coat and rolled smoothly to the elevator, pushing the button for the seventh floor. Unforgiving mirrors on the back wall presented him with his own goofy smile, and he quickly forced his lips into a wobbly attempt at a straight line.
Control. One week and counting until Halloween. Then he could sit Erik down and explain, apologise. Leave.
He could do this. He wouldn’t need to see Erik ever again.
Pretending the notion didn’t fill his innards with lead, Charles left the elevator when it rumbled to a stop at his floor and rummaged through his pocket for the cool shape of his keys. He didn’t notice the unfamiliar pair of shoes on the mat when he slipped inside, nor did he catch on to the whisper of another mind until he was framed in the living room door and a pair of big brown eyes were gazing at him over the back of the couch.
“Angel-!” Charles blinked, more than a little taken aback to see his old nursing assistant so casually lounging on his stuffy couch. Immediately his thoughts turned to ice: did he need to go back to hospital again? Had they found something deadly on his scans that they had previously overlooked? Raven - oh God, where was Raven -
“Jeez, Charles, way to be polite.” There she was, padding in from the kitchen with two glasses of pink wine, handing one to Angel as she sank down onto the sofa. Blue and scaled from head to foot, which shocked Charles even further. He’d never seen her show her true form to anyone other than him before. “You remember Angel, don’t you?”
Angel smiled, waggling slim fingers from the stem of her wine glass. “Hey, Charles, good to see you. You’re looking great.”
Shaking himself from his initial bewilderment, Charles laughed apolitically with a shake of his head, gliding further into the room. “Of course. I’m sorry, I was just… surprised. It’s lovely to see you again, Angel, and without a wash cloth this time. How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” She flicked loose strands of wavy brown hair from her shoulder, bringing her knees up to fold beneath her. The air of the room felt odd, almost uncomfortable, as though he’d just strolled into something he shouldn’t.
‘Will you please get out,’ Raven’s voice hissed in his mind, as bright and clear as a bell. ‘We’re trying to have a private conversation.’
‘In the living room? You have a perfectly private bedroom back there. This is my house too, remember.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be home this early. We’re going to watch a movie, alone. And she’s spending the night.’
‘Oh! So… Angel is your old friend?’
‘Get out.’
Charles’ look of open-mouthed surprise quickly melted into a charming smile when Angel’s eyes returned to fix on him. He held out a hand, shaking her tiny fingers over the back of the couch. “Well I‘d love to stay and chat, Angel, but I’m afraid I’m terribly busy. Lots of paperwork to do. Running a library isn’t all reading books and stamping things, unfortunately. Please forgive me. See you again?”
Angel flashed him a thumbs up, sipping her wine. Another mental kick from Raven had Charles retreating, winding his chair through the hall to his room.
Well that was… unexpected.
Charles shut the door behind him, trying to process this onslaught of new information. It had been a long time since Raven had dated anyone. Almost three years, in fact. All of her previous partner’s -- long term or not -- had been male, and never had she revealed her true form to them.
He wasn’t opposed to his sister dating another woman - as a bisexual man that leaned toward other men, it would be a tad hypocritical of him, after all. No, it was just… well, a shock. Raven had never expressed interest in her own gender before.
But wait: hadn’t Raven dreamt of Angel recently? Golden and glowing on a carrousel horse. It could certainly be interpreted into something romantic, even erotic. Why hadn’t Charles realised sooner?
He sighed softly, carefully shielding himself from the gentle shimmer of Angel’s thoughts. He didn’t want to accidentally catch them kissing or… doing other things. He and Raven deeply respected each other’s privacy, and Charles flicked on the TV to obscure the faraway murmur of low voices.
If Raven felt comfortable enough to reveal herself to a lover, then good luck to her. It was certainly a first, and a wonderful sign of something special blossoming between the two women. Raven had always been so painfully self-conscious of her blue form, and to be honest, Charles hadn’t really helped the situation. As a child he had encouraged her to pick a ‘normal’ face for use in the public eye, the two of them hiding their powers from their mother and definitely from their step-father. Kurt Marko had always been wary and untrusting of mutants, even refusing to believe that his own son, Cain, held the gene.
It had started off exciting. A secret they could share, practising their gifts in the privacy of their own rooms. Raven had often morphed into Sharon Xavier, though her impersonations of their tipsy, half-awake mother had quickly become less funny the older they got, understanding settling sharp in their hearts.
Raven hit puberty, and suddenly their games stopped. She began to question him, their parents, the world. Why couldn’t she show her true colours? Why was she like this? Why was she forced to hide in the shadows?
Charles clung to Raven even when she tried to pull away from him, forever harbouring the fear that she would be taken away, categorised, experimented on. A mutation so vivid - she would be met with fear out in the real world, maybe even violence. Charles simply couldn’t handle the thought of his beautiful, sweet, amazing little adopted sister coming to such a fate.
He had jumped at the chance of moving in with her the moment they were both old enough and had scraped together some money of their own. Raven was free to wear her own skin now, away from the oppressive crush of their parents, though the chains of fear and overprotective love from her brother continued to bind her.
Maybe having someone like Angel around was the tonic they both needed.
Buzz of his phone again, shaking the lining of his coat. Charles shrugged out of it, retrieving the phone and draping the coat over the back of a chair.
Charles faltered, absently chewing his lower lip. He did need to collect his contact lenses, and surely watching Erik try on sneakers for a couple of hours couldn’t be classified as a date, right…?
Right.
----
Only it didn’t stop there.
The innocent trip to the Mall turned into drinks at a nearby bar, Charles growing more inebriated with each strong glass of scotch he downed. Huddled around a low table, Erik leaned his elbows on the polished wood while he asked of Charles’ family, his hobbies and personal life. He didn’t even crack a giggle when Charles admitted he quite enjoyed going to the odd science fiction convention now and then, and how he had once dressed up as Jean-Luc Picard. Erik looked at him like he was the only man in the room, their eye contact breaking only when either of them glanced down to swirl the ice in his glass.
After the Mall and the impromptu bar trip came breakfast at Charles’ favourite café.
And after that, a trip to the art gallery for an exhibit on Jewish art and craft. It didn’t surprise Charles to find Erik was Jewish, though he did feel immediately guilty about scoffing a bacon sandwich at breakfast the day before. Erik only laughed when Charles voiced his regret, assuring him he didn’t care about the religious views of others. So long as beliefs weren’t flung in his face, he was fine with Charles eating pork and drinking non-kosher wine and celebrating Christmas, all the usual things. He showed Charles the star of David pendant around his neck, the only heirloom he had left over from his mother.
Charles let his mind wander into the gutter, though thankfully Erik didn’t catch the way stealthy eyes lingered over his crotch. He’d never slept with anyone cut before, surprisingly enough given the statistics of New York’s circumcised men to Charles’ bed partners.
Not that he would be sleeping with Erik. No, he was breaking up with him on Sunday.
Right after the game of chess after work on Friday.
----
Raven managed to avoid Charles for a full three days, her text messages elusively short and to the point. She’d been spending a lot of her free time with Angel, out at the movies or the shopping Mall and staying the night at Angel’s modest little apartment a few blocks from the hospital. Charles had never felt so alone in his own house, unused to the simple company of his shadow. He quickly found himself missing her quiet morning singing and the fond scratch of fingernails through his hair.
It wasn’t until Friday evening that he finally managed to corner her in the kitchen, his chair a heavy blockade between the door and any hope of escape into the living room. Raven delicately ignored him, elbow deep in soapy dishwater. Her mind growled the moment he brushed against it, snapping phantom jaws in warning.
Something didn’t add up. Raven had never actively avoided him like this before, even after the odd blazing argument that left both of them blinking back furious tears. They were siblings, even if not biological: of course they were going to fight. Space was always an issue, especially in such a small apartment. They each had their own little habits that the other despised. Raven hated the way Charles left half-finished mugs of tea lying around the living room and chewed pen caps while he worked. Charles loathed it when Raven would toss her dirty clothes at the laundry basket and not bother to pick them up if they missed. Silly little things that grated on each others nerves - like every other relationship in the world.
But this… Charles forced a steadying breath. The colours of Raven’s mind were loud: angry, resentful. She was cautious.
Charles wracked his brain for anything he could have done or said to upset his sister lately. The last time they’d spoken face to face was when he’d walked in on her and Angel after his date at Central Park. Maybe he hadn’t made enough time for her, had neglected her in favour of another date with Erik. They were in dire need of a movie night, curling up on the couch together with a pizza and giant tub of ice cream. A Saturday night tradition he sorely missed.
Busying himself with the drying up, Charles tugged down a tea towel and began rinsing soap suds from the cleaned plates Raven was stacking on the draining board. “I feel like we haven’t chatted in ages.”
“It’s been three days, Charles. I’ve hardly dropped off the face of the earth.” Another dish, a wave of bubbles washing over the worktop. Charles picked it up, fidgeting with the edge of the towel.
“Are you alright?”
Raven stiffened, her shoulders a tense line. “Fine.”
“How’s Angel? Things seem to be going really well with her, hm? I’m pleased for you.”
Raven finally looked at him, a sidelong roll of her eyes that set prickles of irritation up Charles’ neck. He set the dried plate down on his knee.
“What was that look for?”
Raven scoffed, the next plate hitting the draining board with a clatter. “Forget it.”
A deep furrow settled in Charles’ forehead, the drying up forgotten. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”
“Why doesn‘t that surprise me?” Raven snapped sarcastically, pulling her hands free of the basin to drip water and soap suds across the kitchen tiles. “Yes, things are really great with Angel, thank you very much. Now get out of my face.”
She tried to dodge around him, bare feet quick on the tiles but Charles’ hand shot out to grip the worktop, creating an effective barrier between Raven and the door. “Raven, what on earth are you talking about? I’ve hardly seen you this week, and since I found out about you and Angel you’ve shut yourself away from me. What have I done wrong?”
Raven growled through her teeth, angrily swiping water off her hands. “Angel is good for me, Charles. Did you know she used to be a stripper before she became a nursing assistant?” She folded her arms defensively, expression stony and challenging. “She wasn’t afraid to show her body, her skin. She gives me back all the self-confidence you’ve sucked out of me since we were kids.”
Charles jerked as though punched, torn between guilt and fierce anger. Now things were starting to make sense: this was an argument that had been building for over ten years. “I was trying to protect you, Raven.”
“Did I ever ask for your protection?”
“You’re my sister. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to be there for me, Charles, not hold me back. You smothered me. Even now I feel afraid to go outside like this.” She waved at her dark skin, golden eyes flashing. “And it all stems from you trying so hard to keep me looking normal.”
Charles looked away, the set of his jaw tight. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Who would try and hurt me? You were so afraid of your mom taking you to a mental asylum for hearing voices that you transferred that fear onto me.”
A swell of bitter anger twisted Charles’ face into something ugly. “You have no idea what I’ve had to do to keep you safe.”
“Lying to people isn’t difficult when you believe you have a reason.” Raven sniffed. Charles saw red.
“Is that so?”
Raven staggered back on a gasp, a sudden gush of sepia images crowding her mind like the rustle and tumble of aged papers falling from a forgotten shelf.
There was Charles, a young boy of no older than 12, begging Cain to promise not to tell Sharon or Kurt what he’d just inadvertently discovered. Raven slept soundly in an armchair behind them, red hair swept back from her head, the harsh blue of her skin clashing horribly with the pink dress she wore. Cain pouted his lips in mock thought. A good two feet taller than Charles, he towered over the younger boy, muscles bulging from his arms when he crossed them tight over his chest. A mutant himself, not that he really knew at this point. Big bones, Kurt said. A growth spurt.
“Tell you what, shrimp. You be my slave forever and I won’t tell dad or Sharon that she’s a freak.” He jerked his chin toward Raven. Charles struggled to breathe, his little heart pounding against his ribs. His telepathy wasn’t advanced enough for the intricate action of wiping a single thought from a memory: if he tried, it was entirely possible he would destroy his step-brother’s memory completely, leaving Cain a gibbering wreck of compact muscle and bowl-cut hair.
Defeated, Charles had nodded, standing as straight as possible. Bribery wouldn’t work, money and sweets and possessions nothing when compared to a secret at huge as this. Cain had beat him up for the first time that night. The bruises were explained away easily to Raven, a silly accident involving Charles’ clumsy feet and the tree house.
For nine years he had bowed to Cain, taking the beatings and the extra homework and the chores, only escaping the torture when his step-brother finally left to join the army. He hadn’t seen him since.
Charles ripped himself back from Raven’s head, the creamy white walls of the kitchen suddenly too bright after the wood-panelled hallways of his old home. Fury and guilt swarmed thick in his stomach, battling for dominance over his heart.
Raven was panting hard, supporting herself against the worktop as thick tears tracked navy-blue streaks down her face. Her voice was small when she said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you.” Charles ran a hand over the nape of his neck, coming back damp with sweat. “You know how Kurt would have reacted if he’d found out. You‘d have been taken away from me.”
Raven’s answering words choked off in her throat, and suddenly she was dropping to her knees and folding her arms in Charles’ lap. “Charles. I’m so sorry. I didn‘t--” she broke off on a sob, and the wave of anguish that followed left Charles covered in ice-cold goosebumps. “You should have told me. I could have done something about it.”
“Like what? Fight him? He had a physical mutation built on strength, Raven. At that young stage, we’d have been powerless against him.”
“I could have… I could have turned into mom. I could have made him think she was okay with our mutations.”
“He’d have found out it was you one way or another. Then things would have been ten times worse.” Charles shook his head, a wry smile shaping his lips. “He may have looked dumber than a mule but Cain was surprisingly smart when he wanted to be.”
“But he was a mutant too.” Raven’s fingers tightened on Charles’ unfeeling thighs. “I remember when he found out, when he put his head through the fucking wall because he couldn‘t stop running.” Raven’s voice bubbled with wet laughter, more pained than amused.
“That’s why he left.” Stroking his hands over her hair, Charles blinked hard against the tears threatening to spill. “Do you understand? Even Cain would rather take his chances in the army than face his own father finding out about him. He was just as scared as we were at the end.”
“You sound like you pity him.”
“I do. He had a monster for a father: that could affect anyone.”
Raven snuffled and kissed Charles’ knee. “I’m so sorry. I feel like such a brat. All this time I thought your fear was selfish, and now I see… Fuck, Charles. Forgive me?”
Charles bent double to press his lips to nape of her neck, breathing in the scent of perfume and shampoo. “I’m sorry too. Everything I did was meant to help, and all the while I was just damaging you further.”
A rustle of hair and fabric as she shook her head. “We’re both royal fuck-ups, aren’t we?”
“Quite.”
“It’s going really well with Angel, Charles. She makes me feel… special. Not different.” Raven straightened up, dry tears leaving dark stains on Charles’ trousers.
Charles smiled and stroked his fingers over the pad of her cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve finally found someone to make you see that.”
“Maybe we can double date sometime? I‘d like to meet Erik, give him the ‘hurt my brother and die’ speech.” Raven’s small smile became mischievous.
Charles screwed up his nose. “Remind me never to introduce the two of you.”
Chapter Four