X-Men First Class [Fanfic]
Rating: Worksafe, pg-13
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Disclaimer: Don't own. Anything. Ever. I'm a poor student. I hardly own my socks.
Summary: After a life of pain and suffering, it takes Erik a while to settle down and learn how to relax.
AN: I wanted to explore how difficult it would be for Erik to settle down in the mansion and especially the way that Charles would react to his shifting moods and feelings.
~*~
His life is full of extremes.
It's only until he's had time to sit and breathe does he realize that he's living in a mansion filled with mutants. His life has been nothing but stress and chaos and when that feeling of urgency finally recedes and he has time to reflect and think, he realizes how quickly everything has moved. He's still stuck in the moment of nearly having Shaw, of seeing him and feeling him and nearly being able to crush him. To avenge his mother. He knows what the mans sidekicks look like, he knows who to find, who to kill. He's planning but he's also relaxing, for the first time in his life.
For the first time, he has something other then revenge to think of.
He has a house filled with teenagers, who all need an adult figure. He has a training schedule to make him fit and he has an awareness of his mutation that he has never felt before.
And a friend.
Which is a strange thing to admit because he finds the word awkward and stale on his tongue. He's never been in the right situation to form a friend so he doesn't know if they really are, if the man simply feels sorry for him. He doesn't mind being hated but more then anything, he hates pity. Pity is what Shaw tried to show, a molestation of the feeling into more of a guilt trip then anything.
Turning over, he sighs. The morning light has penetrated the lace curtains of his room and he knows that very soon he should be getting up. He's not a fan of exercising in the morning and his body needs some time to rest and rebuild. His muscles ache and it's painful to lift his arms any higher then his shoulders. The bird beside his window tweets incessantly, filling in his for his alarm clock. There's the slam of a door and he knows that household is waking up, ready for another day of training and learning.
When he enters the kitchen, ready to greet a group of tired and moody teenagers, he's more then a little surprised to see only Charles. He smothers his smile, which is disturbingly hard to keep off his face. But it's interesting to see someone as staunch and proper as Charles cook pancakes, loading them up in stacks for the hungry hoards soon to descend.
"Hello, Erik."
He doesn't talk at first, not feeling quite up to saying anything before his coffee.
"I've just made up a pot. Here," he says as he places a mug in front of him and pours in the black rich liquid. He knows that he should feel disturbed at how easy it is for Charles to read his mind but somehow, he really doesn't mind. He's never had anyone to talk to before and it's almost relieving to have someone who utterly understands him. He wonders what it would be like if he could read Charles' mind.
"It would unbelievably boring," says the man as he slides a stack of pancakes towards him and places one in front of himself, "It's just hours of endless planning and thinking and mulling. Definitely not what anyone could call interesting."
Taking a sip of the liquid, which tasts of chocolate and the bitter tang of coffee, he asks, "Where is everyone else?"
"Mm," says Charles as he takes a bite of a pancake, "Hopefully sleeping. It's a day off today. There's only so much training that teenagers can do before they start to rebel."
Erik sighs, "I should have slept in."
"Better that you're up, I say. I have some company, at least. It's a big house... gets a bit... cavernous sometimes."
Taking a bite of the pancake, after smothering it in maple syrup (he's always had a sweet tooth), he's surprised by how delicious it is. He's only ever had pancakes once and that was only after making his way into the world for the first time and resolving to eat everything in his sights. "I didn't know you could cook?" He says, taking another sip of the coffee. To be honest, it's his idea of the perfect breakfast.
He sees sometimes akin to blush on the other man's face and looks down at his plate, to avoid eye contact. He can hear a slightly nervous hint in Charles' voice, "I'm glad you like it. My mother hated cooking so whenever I could, I'd always try to make something nice for Raven. And I've lived on my own for a while, so I had to learn eventually."
Within a few seconds, it hits Erik. His life, which had once been filled with nothing but pain and suffering and the most extreme of human torture, had transformed. Almost overnight. He feels guilty, for relaxing in a huge mansion and sipping fine coffee and eating a full meal, while his fellow countrymen rot in their dirt graves. He had lost his focus, his mind had moved from the prize and what had been a solo hunt had turned, somehow, into a holiday.
"Erik, are you alright?"
He tries to smile at the concern expression on the other mans face and it makes his heart sink, to realize how attached he had become. How he looked away from his dead mother for a silly feeling in the pit of his stomach. He can almost feel her reproach and there's a new feeling in his mind which is foreign to the usual control that he has. It makes him feel worried and anxious and he just needs to train and work and find and avenge. He just needs to do something because relaxing means that he's failed, that he's given up.
"Erik, you need to calm yourself," says Charles and there's bent cutlery on the table and the milk jug is bent inwards. "You're having a panic attack, Erik. Just breathe and you'll be alright."
There are hands in his and they're warm and gentle and he feels vulnerable and utterly terrified. But there's a presence in his mind, that hasn't been there (or either felt) before. it's the same presence which is sitting across from him but the horror and panic is slowly melting and he can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.
Breathe, Erik.
When he takes a breath, he feels like he's just let go of something within him which had for so tortured him. Charles' thumb is rubbing his hand and he feels accepted and welcome and beyond exhausted. He feels like the years of hunting and searching has finally come to meet him and that he just needs to sleep it off.
He feels like he can relax.
~*~
"So, we should fly in from the west then. What about the submarine, what should we do about that?"
They're sitting in Charles' office, converted from his fathers study to his. It's large and spacious and in the distance, they can hear the students laughing and making noises that only a mutant could produce. They're in their planning stage and only Moira, Charles and himself have been included in the sessions. Hours had passed since his last break and he could feel himself getting antsy, frustrated and more then a little bored.
"I don't think we should fly in just before it all begins," he says and his hands are clenched in his lap. Moira is bent over the large color spread with a pen in her mouth and Charles is leaning forward, frowning at a sheet of paper.
"We can't be spotted, Erik," says Charles, his blue, utterly blue eyes making contact with his. Even though he's frustrated to the point of angry, he can't stop feeling a rush of blood to the head at the sight of those eyes and that understanding look.
"What if something goes wrong and we don't make it in time. We only have a very short opening between arriving and stopping the cargo ship before it reaches the line. If anything happens to make us late, everything is ruined."
"There's no way that we'd be able to hide the plane. There'll be observations going twenty four seven on this location for days before, how do you expect us to fly in and be there to stop anything?"
"Well, we could walk. Or banshee could fly us in."
"But," says Moira, "What do we do if we need to be in the air? Wouldn't it be better to arrive with the plane then to wait for it?"
He's frustrated and he runs a hand through his hair. He can feel the tension in the room, the days of planning and scheduling and studying all of the maps.
"Look, Erik. I appreciate that you have a lot of experience to offer but-"
"Could you stop with the shrink act." He says, letting his anger get the better of him, "I've done more operations then both of you put together."
Charles is looking at him silently, his head creased in concentration. No doubt reading his mind. Moira is looking at them tensely, her eyes slightly wider then usual.
"Be that as it may be," says Charles, "We need to think of every option for every action."
Standing up, not even bothering to contain his frustration any more, he simply walks out of the room. He knows that there is really no barrier between himself and Charles and all he can really do is walk to the opposite end of the estate and mutilate the metal gates a bit. In the past, he had human bodies to take his anger out on. Living breathing examples of the devil with which to practice his anger on.
Walking out of the mansion, he can see Banshee running up to him, a childish smile on his face, "Hey! Guess what just-" But he's stopped because he can see the expression on Erik's face and the tenseness of his body, "Never mind. I'll tell you later."
Walking past the slightly crestfallen and mostly terrified teen, he's started into a light job, wanting to exert his energy in some way. He can't feel a presence in his mind but he knows that Charles is watching him and being ever observant. But what he can't understand is the balance of power and how a know-it-all from a mansion could possible understand what it means to defend himself and to kill to survive. He doesn't understand why nobody seems to listen to him when he outlines just how serious it all is, why the teenagers still mess around and joke, even though there is so much on the line.
Thrusting his hand out, he can feel the metal bend to his will. He can feel the iron in his own blood and the metal of the gate and shards in the road and the metal supports of the mansion in the distance. He can feel the essence of it and all he wants to do is bend it and unleash his natural gift on it and let if look like he feels. Chaotic and twisted.
You really aren't as twisted as you seem to think.
Whirling around, Charles is walking towards him, still a few meters down the road. He can see that the man is puffed, having obviously run from the mansion to find him
Get out of my head.
But he's closer now, so his voice at an even volume can reach him, "I'm sorry, Erik. If you don't want me to read your mind anymore, I wont."
"You just," he says, bending the metal a little bit more and pacing up and down the path, "Don't know when it's a good time. You can read my mind so you should know when I want to be left alone."
Those eyes, which are so gentle and warm that it makes him uncomfortable, are staring at him, "I just want you to feel wanted. Because you are."
"I don't care about that. I don't care about any of this. I just want to find Shaw and kill him and all," he says, snapping the metal, "we've been doing is planning and training and planning and resting."
"Erik, may I ask you a question?" It's such a different stream of conversation that he can't help but nod, "... when you've killed Shaw... what do you intend to do? What will you go onto?"
Nothing, "I'll start to live my life," I'll wither away until I die, perhaps I'll end it quickly, "I'll help mutants like us," I don't care anymore, I just need him to die. You don't understand, you could never understand.
"Erik." There are tears in Charles' eyes and now he feels guilty because he doesn't mind making someone angry but the thought of making Charles' upset is almost unbearable. He loosens his hold on the metal. "Please don't lie to me. Tell me the truth. You need to say it out loud."
He hates seeing Charles' get upset. He shouldn't have said anything. "Nothing. I don't plan to live. Whether that means death or a life no better then death, I don't know. But this is my purpose and... once it's over... I don't know."
Charles' is moving towards him, tears brimming in his eyes. He can feel the man sifting through his mind, finding his memories, watching them, understanding that he doesn't care. That he truly doesn't care anymore. That's he's tired. Bone-tired and weary of breathing and living and thinking.
The other mans hands are soft and gentle and when one hand gentle rests on his cheek, he isn't sure of how to respond. But he can tell that Charles' is really feeling his pain, that there isn't a shred of pity or insincerity in his mind.
"Erik. Live with me. Teach with me. Find your purpose again."
He doesn't answer but he allows himself to fall into an embrace, the first his adult body has truly felt. He can feel calm entering his mind and the faded memory of his father, teaching him to write. Giving him a skill and a purpose.
He turns his head away, but it isn't from anger. He's trying to remember the smell of Charles and the way his body feels against him. He needs something to pull him through to the end, to give him purpose.
~*~
He enjoys exercising, so most people know that if they need him, they should either look for Charles or look in the gym.
He's never had a lot of space, nor a lot of freedom and sometimes he finds it difficult to run such distances and feel the fresh air in his hair. He likes the gym because it's cramped and cold and reminds him of all the places he's ever worked out: his barrack at the camps and hotel rooms on the run. He has a routine set up, to keep him strong but lean so that he can chase down the enemies of his life.
It's odd because he's never worked out with anyone before but by the first few days, he's somehow formed a new routine to include someone.
"Banshee told me that you flipped out yesterday."
Considering that he's currently bench-pressing half of his weight, he really doesn't know if Alex actually needs him to respond. He does three more presses, letting his breaths escape in pained gasps, before lodging the bar back in its holder and sliding out from beneath it.
"And?"
"What about?" Says Alex, his muscle flexing as he curls a dumbbell.
"Nothing."
"Whatever," says the boy and he can tell that he's pissed him off. They don't talk all the time but he enjoys the level of genuine understanding that the boy has for his plight. He thinks that they both must be used to cold, dark reality of confinement which has left more of a mark then they could know. He recognizes his own worry for freedom and open spaces and the comfort that comes from cramped rooms and an exercise routine that fits within a doorway.
"I didn't like one of the plans they were coming up with.... and I got frustrated. It wasn't really anything."
"Professor X looked pretty worried."
He really hopes that Alex and the other teenagers are oblivious to the jumble of emotions he feels when he's around Charles. The friendship but not really friendship because, he's pretty sure, friends don't usually want to make each other gasp in pleasure.
"He's always worried."
Alex laughs, a bit sarcastically, which makes him slightly worried, "Yeah but trust me, he's got a special kind of worry for you."
He isn't sure of how to respond so he simply sits on the bench that he had been working out on and stares at Alex levelly, who's eyes widen slightly. He's never really revealed the lethal, deadly side of him to the kids but he's feeling an anger and intrusion within him that is hard to contain, "What do you mean by that?"
The boy looks away suddenly, obviously embarrassed and a bit cowed, "Nothing. Just that he worries," the boy stands up, dropping the dumb-bell to the floor and grabbing a towel, "I'm going to go for a run."
Erik nods and when the door slams, he lets his breath escape him in a drawn sigh. He didn't mean to make the boy uncomfortable but he hates the idea of his feelings being so open and obvious to everyone. He misses the days when he was closed, when he had a mask on that was calm and collected and could allow him to kill or to seduce them without a moments notice. He's never had to deal with so many sensitive people and really, teenagers are difficult to understand.
~*~
At night, after dinner and just before his round of chess with Charles, he likes to sit by the road and stare up at the stars.
He's never had such an unobstructed view of them before and it's the first time he's been able to sit and look at them. In the camp, the only glimpse of stars he could catch was in between transfers or walking from lab to lab. Even then, he was usually knocked out by some type of drug, something to prevent him from unleashing his powers. His life of hunting obscured them even more from the pollution of the cities and the isolation of his apartments. He likes to be by roads, to feel like he is going anywhere and he knows that leaving would be beyond simple. That all he'd need to do is walk, bend the gates and go on his way. Roads always ended at the camps so he's always felt a strange need to be around ones that never end, that stretch on forever on some mindless path. But the stars feel like old friends to him, a witness to all of the events in his life.
"They are beautiful aren't they," he hears and he looks to the side to see Charles. He had heard the man coming long before he had talked but he enjoyed the feeling of being found, of someone caring enough to come into the night and find him and talk with him.
There's a soft smile on Charles' face that he's glad to see and those blue eyes of his are almost glowing in the night time light. The moon is full and it's surprisingly bright where he's sitting.
Charles sits beside him and he can feel the warmth of the other man. He wants to look at him and see his smile but he thinks it might be too strange for him to want that sight so much.
They sit in silence for a moment, before Erik decides to speak, "You know... I could leave quite easily."
"I know. There's only a metal gate between you and the world."
"I've left people before."
"I know," says Charles as he taps his temple, "But you've never had a purpose with those people. One night stands are hardly the equivalent of training for a war."
He tries not to blush because he knows that Charles can feel emotion and feeling in memories and it's odd to think that he indirectly felt the most intense pleasure he could have.
Charles laughs, "Oh, my friend, I only glimpsed those memories. I have more respect for you then that."
"I should hope you haven't been going that deep into my past."
"Reading minds aren't all that simple. It's easy to stumble into someone's present thoughts but finding older memories are a little more difficult. Especially if they've been hidden, forgotten. I need to somehow find a thought that not even the person isn't aware of. It's difficult."
"I'm glad that I don't have your ability. I don't think I'd be able to stop myself from trying to force everyone to my will."
Charles smiles tightly, "Well, when you can hear every criticism of you, from your height to the tie your wearing, running through someone else's mind, it's hard to pull yourself back and respect those thoughts," the smile has softened, "It's probably why I'm so old at heart. Raven always said that I'm an old geezer."
He can sympathize with that because he feels old as well. His body is young and energetic but at times, he feels a burden crash down on him, leaving him almost breathless. He has so many deaths on his back, indirect and directly caused. Everything from his mother to the last man he shot. He doesn't even know if killing Shaw will relieve that feeling, just the endless pursuit for justice.
"A wise man once said, an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind."
"He obviously didn't meet the Nazi's."
"But it's true. Is there any way that I could convince you not to kill Shaw?"
"No. Even if you tried, I'd run. I don't want to stop hunting him, it's the last legacy of my mother that I have. It's... my last piece of her that I've got."
A hand has descends on his shoulder and its gentle squeeze makes his eye water. He's not used to a comforting hand or anyone to feel the pain that he goes through. He's more comfortable as a nameless assassin, a shadow in the night that reaps his vengeance and then goes his way. Even when the hand becomes an arm and Charles is moving closer to him, to pull him into a half embrace, he's alert and wary and unsure of what to do.
"Just relax. For the first time in your life, Erik, let someone make you feel safe. You deserve it."
The hug is so foreign to him that he's unsure of what to do. The only time he's ever embraced someone as an adult has been while having sex and being close to Charles is setting off triggers. It's almost like he's disconnected himself from his actions and is only half aware of the way he's touching Charles' jaw, turning him to meet his lips. He had expected the man to push him off, to wipe his face clean from the filth that is Erik and to cast him out. He hadn't expected a slight response, the turn of Charles' head as he leans into his kiss, nor the way his gentle hands come to slide through his hair. His heart is hammering and he feels like his body is floating to the stars.
But, eventually, Charles' does break away, even though there are tears in his eyes and he's smiling that sad smile that he's only ever seen a few times.
"Would this really bring you peace?"
It's an honest question and he has to think for a moment before answering. He's still touching Charles' and for those few moments, he allows himself to revel in the feel.
"I.... I don't know. I want you, to be with you. But I don't think it would bring me peace."
"What would?"
"Finishing this, all of this."
Sighing, he can feel Charles' untangling himself from his arms, moving just a little bit apart. "I wish it wasn't all so complicated. That we could just teach together and help our students. That's all I really want."
Taking Charles' hand, he can feel the tenseness in his grasp and, bringing his knuckles to his mouth, he kisses their crowns gently, "I wish it was so simple..."
They sit in silence for a while, eventually standing and making their way back to the mansion. They hug the tree-line and walk close together, their arms overlapping. He doesn't speak but he can feel a presence in his mind which reminds him of the person next to him. He can feel Charles' pushing the memory of them kissing to the lightest part of his mind. He knows, that when he has to bend something bigger then he could imagine, he'll think of Charles' and he'll find his serenity and his calm. He should feel disturbed by how free Charles is in his mind but he feels it's only fair, for helping him to unleash his own powers. Every shard of metal they pass, embedded in the ground, reacts to his presence and he feels a power that he hasn't felt before.
"Do you think we should go further then this?" Charles looks towards the ground as he speaks, his face in an expression of deep thought. The mansion is just in front of them and they can hear the strange laugh of Banshee in the distance. The soft light from the windows shines down to them, so that Charles' expression is illuminated in a glow. It's almost ethereal and he studies the other man's face, feeling a horrible impending pain that will come from their closeness.
"I don't mind, you know how I feel now," says the other man, turning to him. But his eyes have a level of concern in them that he hadn't expected, "But we have to be smart about this. We can't let the other's know, they wouldn't... understand."
"We're already on the fringes of society..."
"I know but they already have enough on their plates. If we are going to do this, it needs to be secret."
He's slightly hurt, because he's never been one to hide who he was. But he knows that Charles comes from a household filled to the brim with society and being proper, all the things he never learned. He knows that having mutant leaders coming out as gay, would only hurt their cause, not help it. He knows that if anything were to happen, it would be easier for them to handle it without strangers judging and trying to give advice.
But he's still hurt because he loves Charles and he doesn't want to hide. Especially in the one place that had truly felt accepting.
I know it's hard but I need this. Please, let me have my privacy.
He can hear a plea in the other mans voice that he had only heard once, to stop him from drowning. A level of need for privacy that is both hysterical and balanced. Looking across at him, he can see a slight sheen to the mans' eyes. He knows how much it means to the man.
"Okay. I'll try."
Thank you.
~*~
AN: Hopefully this was alright. I just wanted to bring up some issues which I feel Erik would most likely experience. I can imagine him having a lot of anxiety because of being able to relax and focus on himself. And he has the burden of so many people on his back (his mum and pa especially) to carry around all the time. I think as well, he would hate for kids like Alex to pick up so clearly what he's feeling. His relationship with Charles is so strange as well. It's weird, considering how closed of a person he is, to so quickly accept another presence in his mind, which I also wanted to explore.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed :D