FIC: An Earlier Heaven - Charles/Erik, XMFC - (13/13) [COMPLETE]
Title: An Earlier Heaven (13/13)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,300 for the chapter (total: ~67,500)
Warnings: mpreg
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: None.
Summary: In the wake of Cuba, Charles and his students are ready to pick up the pieces and work toward achieving Charles's dream of a safe haven for young mutants. Those plans, however, take a surprising turn thanks to a very unexpected complication. As he slowly builds a future for his students and for his child, Charles struggles with the loss of Erik and the secrets he's willing to keep to protect his family, but those strides are shattered when Erik makes a startling reappearance into his life. [mpreg, kidfic, ensemble]
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
An Earlier Heaven (part 13)
Erik had fooled himself into believing that the most difficult part of changing his mind would be asking Charles to compromise with him so they could forge their futures together, but he was quickly disabused of that misconception, almost as soon as he returned to the Brotherhood's base and faced with at least two sets of very curious eyes.
While he hadn't expressly told anyone other than Azazel about his destination when he'd left, Erik knew that Emma probably had her suspicions, ones she probably hadn't hesitated to share with Mystique. As he stood there surrounded by the mutants who made up his team, Erik realized with a pang that that was exactly what they'd become -- his. Perhaps not in the way Charles and Jean were his, or even the way he thought of the young men who had resolutely chosen to side with Charles, but his just as much.
He owed them all an explanation and there was no reason to delay it, he knew.
Of course, there wasn't much to tell when it came to one of his number.
Emma's smile was smug and knowing as she glanced up at him from the magazine she read. "Decisiveness looks good on you, Magneto. You should've tried it before now."
Erik answered with a smirk. "Perhaps you should start planning your curriculum, Professor Frost."
Emma snorted, shaking her head as she set the magazine aside. "I do have things to do," she said as she stood. "And so do you."
He nodded, then glanced at Mystique who had grown increasingly more confused as she'd listened to Erik and Emma's oblique conversation. "Mystique," he said, gesturing for her to follow with a twist of his hand. "A private word."
Mystique trotted along behind him, wary but compliant until they were alone in the room that functioned as Erik's haven in the house.
"What's going on?" she asked immediately, wringing her hands before she caught herself. "What were you and Emma talking about?"
It was easier to explain now that he'd practiced on Charles, but Erik still faltered in some ways, watching as Mystique's yellow eyes widened or narrowed throughout the tale of what he'd decided and what he'd done based on those decisions.
She listened quietly until he was finished, then she burst out with "So you're giving this up?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Charles and I are looking for a -- shared vision," he told her, disagreeing with the opinion that it was giving up. It was change and it would be different, but the things he'd said on the beach remained as true now as they were then. "I thought you were the one who wanted us to find a way to compromise. I believe you were the one who suggested it."
"And you don't see where I might have a hard time believing that the two of you actually figured it out?" she asked. "Six months ago you two could barely carry on a conversation."
"And you and McCoy couldn't open your mouths without it becoming a screaming match," he said. "But now you write him very long letters about what I can only imagine. There is a capacity for change in all of us, Mystique. Even me."
She still looked a little dubious on that point.
"Do you want to return with me?" he asked, getting to the heart of the conversation. "It's your choice, of course. You know that I will accept whatever you decide and your brother has expressed similar sentiments. You'll always be welcome with him, wherever you go now."
Mystique didn't answer, instead asking, "What about the others?"
He shrugged. "Charles could probably be persuaded to accept them as well, but I doubt they'd want it. Emma, I know, already has plans she wants to pursue and I'm almost positive that Azazel and Janos will go with her. They've been together for a very long time."
"But what about Angel?"
It was a valid question, Erik could admit. "I'm sure your brother would let her return if she wanted. We'll ask." Mystique nodded, but he took the chance to remind her. "You still haven't answered the question."
Mystique rolled her yellow eyes. "Like I trust the two of you to try to compromise without me? A week alone and you'd ruin it -- both of you."
Seeing Mystique's genuine smile and pleasure at the thought of the manor, of Charles and his school...it made Erik that much more sure he was making the right choice.
Later, after Erik had told everyone about his change in plans and had seen no hesitation in either Azazel or Janos as they'd immediately looked to Emma for guidance, Erik turned to Angel. "You could come with us," he said, of him and Mystique.
Angel looked at him for a long moment, deliberating. Then, she looked to Emma and, after another long silence, like maybe they'd been speaking mind-to-mind, Angel turned back to Erik and shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm good where I am." Her dark eyes moved to Mystique, sharing something that Erik didn't understand when Angel added, "I still don't belong there."
Mystique inclined her head as she stepped forward to grasp Angel's hands in her own. "And there's no shame in that."
For all the speed with which Erik had once joined Charles and had once left him, Erik was in no mind to hurry his return, not when he planned it to be the last he'd make. He and Mystique lingered as he wrapped up the pieces of the life he'd lived for the last few years, taking what he could and leaving what he couldn't. They stayed behind at the ramshackle manor long after Emma, Janos and Angel had said their goodbyes and departed, Emma firmly in the lead as she smiled her way through her farewells, already focused on wherever her ambitions were taking her.
"Don't think you and the Professor are rid of me this easily," she'd told him. "I'll be in touch."
"I look forward to it," he had said in return, realizing he meant it. "And Charles, too, I'm sure."
Azazel was the only one they still saw, as he checked in with them every few days to fulfill his final duty to Erik, offering his services one last time when the time came to leave the small Caribbean island behind for Westchester, New York. Erik knew it would be soon, but he wasn't quite ready for it yet.
He and Charles had talked about much on that day, about the hard things that had once drove them apart. They'd talked about the ways in which they'd never agree, and the ones on which they thought they might be likely to find common ground. Erik had told Charles generally of what he'd done with the Brotherhood, the fear and loathing they'd seen in humans who had become aware of mutants, about the facilities where mutants had been held, studied, tortured.
In turn, Charles had told him about the school and about Jean, about the minds he'd felt when he used Cerebro, about the plans they had for the future. They had discussed ways to make Erik's missions into something Charles could support and the ways in which Charles, too, would have to compromise, temper his idealism in the face of the ugly realities. There had been raised voices -- loud enough to bring Darwin to check on them -- and violent disagreement, but, finally, grudging words of compromises. They had survived it unscathed, with no true anger between them and a better understanding of how they might make it work together.
Erik thought about that as he bided his time in the near-empty house, but more than anything, he thought about Charles's entreaty that he not come back unless he was sure. He asked himself hard questions about what he could really live with, if what they'd discussed could be his reality. He knew if he changed his mind at that moment, there would be no recrimination from Charles, just acceptance, and that even Emma would probably accept his return as leader of the Brotherhood. This moment, he knew, was the real point of no return.
Mystique was starting to give him concerned looks once again as the days stacked up, but then one dawned and, when Azazel appeared with the same inquisitive look he'd given him on a succession of visits, Erik's answer was different.
"Get your things, Mystique," he said, nodding at Azazel. "We're leaving."
Mystique smiled, teeth blinding white against her dark blue scales. "All right."
It was dark in New York by the time Azazel bid them goodbye and disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Erik and Mystique to stare up at the foreboding lines of the elegant manor, much as Erik had done when they'd first arrived after fleeing the decimated CIA facility. At his side, he could tell that Mystique was similarly reflective, craning her neck as she took in the sight of her childhood home.
"So, we're doing this," she said, squaring her shoulders a little.
"It seems like it, doesn't it?" Erik replied. He glanced over to see some kind of conflict on her face, and he nudged her gently with his elbow until she was looking at him and not the eaves. "We're not going backward," he told her. "No hiding."
She flashed a grin at him. "Mutant and Proud."
"Always," he declared and felt her relax at her side. Erik gestured toward the mansion. "Come on."
They carried their meager belongings with them as they trudged up the slope, moving closer and closer to the sprawling manor, its dark expanse broken by the soft glow of light in the occasional window, mostly concentrated on the higher floors. Charles and the others had had no warning of his and Mystique's arrival, so Erik wasn't even certain what kind of welcome, if any, they could expect from within the quiet academy.
He had his answer just as they reached the front entrance, as Erik debated with himself if he should knock or simply enter, coming as he was with Mystique who still considered the property her home.
Knocking wouldn't do you any good, Charles's voice in his head explained. It wasn't exactly like hearing Charles speak in person, but Erik could still detect the hint of humor in his words. No one would hear, I think.
Your suggestion? he asked back.
Come inside, Charles suggested. Leave your things in your old room. Then check in on our daughter. I'll be waiting across the hall.
As Charles's voice left his head, he looked over to notice that his companion had her head tilted to one side, much like if she were having a telepathic conversation of her own. After a moment, her eyes came back into focus and she smiled as she turned to Erik. "I guess Charles is the welcoming party," she said.
"Then let's not leave him waiting any longer."
Erik didn't know what Charles had said to Mystique but she dropped her things in the foyer, then hurried off in the direction opposite of her room or Charles's, so Erik assumed she had some other destination in mind. She disappeared with little more than a quick wave at him, and he was amused by how quickly she'd dismissed him. Erik continued in the direction of his old room, as he'd been bid, finding it in the same state it had been in the last two times he'd stayed there, the items in it undisturbed since he'd first thrown his briefcase into the corner upon his first visit. From what he could tell nothing had been touched in the interim, and he was faintly certain that his abandoned clothes still hung in the wardrobe, as if he'd been gone two days instead of two years.
He thought it strange that Charles sent him to another bed when Erik had not changed his entire life to spend even one night away from Charles, but he decided to humor him on the point, if only for the moment. Once his bags had been deposited on the floor of the room much as Mystique had left hers in the foyer, Erik set off on the second of his tasks, one he was eager to fulfill.
The nursery was mostly dark, except for the dim illumination of a small lamp nestled in a corner opposite the crib where Jean lay sleeping. Erik didn't want to wake her but he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch her, her skin impossibly soft against his calloused fingers. She took deep, slow breaths that he could feel under his hand, and he could already make out subtle changes she'd undergone since he'd seen her at her birthday, things he'd missed in those days between. Erik promised himself that it would the last things he'd miss.
I'm beginning to think you're trying to avoid me.
With one last glance, Erik left Jean sleeping in the nursery and crossed the hall, not bothering to knock or warn its occupant of his arrival. It would've been superfluous when he could feel Charles lingering in his mind, a warm presence at the edge of his thoughts. The room was almost as dim as the nursery, where Charles sat near the fire, its light and the fire the only sparks of brightness. Just as Erik stepped inside, Charles looked up from his book, closing it without a second glance.
Erik let his eyes slide over the details of the scene -- the room was warm, and Charles was dressed in pajamas, a sharp contrast to his usual formal clothing choices. The curling ends of his hair told Erik he'd bathed before donning them and, instead of being seated in his wheelchair as Erik had seen him every time they'd met since Cuba, Charles had transferred to a small settee near the fire.
"Not anymore," Erik finally said aloud, in reply to Charles's mental comment from the moment before.
"I was beginning to think you had changed your mind entirely," Charles confessed, his voice as quiet aloud as it had been in Erik's head.
"No," Erik told him, still loitering near the door. "I just...needed to be sure."
"I understand," Charles said, and Erik knew he did. "All that matters is that you're here now."
"All?" Erik couldn't help but echo, drawing a real smile from Charles.
"Well, I'd be even more delighted if you weren't across the room," he said. "But you being here is...quite enough for the moment."
Erik didn't need a second invitation. He moved toward Charles, settling beside him on the settee, bodies touching at every point possible from their shoulders to their knees. He knew Charles couldn't feel it, but Erik could, the warmth of Charles's thigh next to his, a solid body he'd missed at his side for so long that it still felt a little like a dream to be so close.
"I had been hoping to spend some time with Jean," Erik told him, leaning into the comfort of Charles's presence.
"Tomorrow," Charles said, like a promise, as he lifted a hand to touch fingers to Erik's cheek. "And all the days after that, it looks like."
The caress was light but like fire to Erik's blood, igniting the desire he'd buried during their separation. His own hand came up to grasp Charles's wrist, in case he had any ideas of pulling away. "Tomorrow," he repeated. But even as he thought about Jean, about the time he had to make up for, other thoughts intruded -- plans and decisions, stray bits of debate he'd been saving for Charles, all the doubts that still crept along the crevices of his mind...
Erik could feel Charles's smile against his mouth as he kissed him back into the reality of the moment, away from all the worries that plagued him. It wasn't hard to ignore those specters as he returned the pressure of the kiss, his hand stroking over the steady thrum of Charles's pulse in his throat.
Charles buried his forehead against Erik's shoulder when they broke away for breath. "I know there's still so much that we need to sort out, but..." There was a huff of breath against his skin, Charles's faint laugh, though the sound was almost too solemn to be given the name. "...but it's been a long two years. For one night, at least, we can leave the war outside, yes?"
Erik closed his eyes, fingers carding through Charles's curling, damp hair. "For tonight," he agreed, and it was really no hardship at all.
**
Charles had once told Erik that killing Shaw wouldn't bring him peace and Erik had answered that peace had never been an option for him.
Erik was slowly learning that they'd both been right and they'd both been wrong.
Killing Shaw might not have brought him the peace Charles wanted him to have, but Erik had known -- and still knew -- that nothing would've been possible for him as long as Shaw had lived. If nothing else, it had offered closure on that part of his life, the death of the ghost that had haunted him, a dagger through the heart of the monster he'd never quite escaped no matter how many miles he'd put between him and that camp. Charles might never understand it, but he'd accepted it like he had so many of the other dark things that had made Erik who he was.
For all the things Charles would accept, however, he refused to entertain the idea that Erik was incapable of knowing peace, and Erik was beginning to see a glimmer of hope that Charles was right in his certainty. He was coming closer to something like it with every day he spent at the manor with Charles, Jean, and the children, learning to cherish each moment that he could that was about family or laughter or love, instead of pain, anger or vengeance.
But Erik was also learning that peace -- or whatever facsimile of it he was capable of -- wasn't easy. It was a battle, not unlike the others he'd waged in his life, a fight that he grappled with everyday, even with Charles there to help him. He didn't see that struggle in Charles, but he saw flashes of it in others -- Hank and his transformation in to Beast, Mystique and her scales, Alex and his anger -- and that was a comfort, to know he wasn't the only one who had to claw his way toward serenity or else be consumed by the rage.
Erik quickly found ways to integrate himself into the academy, into the holes that Charles couldn't fill on his own. He taught classes he felt capable with and, while he left Alex with the younger children, he took over training exercises for the teens and for the members of their original team, which Sean had taken to calling "X-Men" after something that Moira had once said. It usually made Charles roll his eyes whenever Sean said it but the unfortunate name had begun to stick. Charles's pupils were respectful but viewed him with no little awe, probably from whatever tales Sean and Alex had spun for them while they'd had the chance. Still, they slowly came to know him for who he was and not whatever boogeyman his young teammates had created out of his image.
The so-called X-Men's opinion of his return remained largely accepting, with Alex as the lone dissenter from that consensus. While his attitude toward Erik had mellowed considerably since the visit that had revealed Jean's parentage, it was still rife with suspicion and disgruntlement, the source of which Erik could not fathom. Finally, he gave all pretence of knowledge and asked Charles outright.
It wasn't encouraging when Charles laughed at him. "You really have no idea?" he asked.
"No," Erik told him. "Or else I wouldn't be asking."
The look Charles sent his way was both exasperated and fond, and it was something Erik was quite sure he'd never tire of. "Surely...? Well, I guess not if you've come to me to explain it."
"Not all of us are telepaths," Erik reminded him, catching Jean out of the corner of his eye in time to use his power to slide a table clock out of her reach. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that when an object moved on its own, he was usually to blame and she turned her accusing blue eyes on him in response. "No," he told her firmly, making her brow furrow more deeply.
Charles, again, failed to hide his laughter. "She takes being told "no" about as well as her vati, yes?"
Erik ignored the subtle bait for an argument. "Alex?" he asked again.
Charles's expression softened a little. "Alex looked up to you, Erik," he explained. "You were...maybe a little like a father figure to him. He saw himself in you, just as you see some of yourself in him." Charles paused. "He saw what happened in Cuba as abandonment and a betrayal, not just of him but of me and Jean. Of the entire, well, family."
"I can't change that now," Erik pointed out. "So how do I deal with it?"
"Maybe not thinking of him as something to deal with might help," Charles said dryly. "But what do all boys want from their authority figures? Praise, belief, respect, things like that."
"He doesn't get enough of that from you?" Erik asked, even though he could see Charles's point.
"It's been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that I'm more of the nurturer around here," Charles said in his earlier dry tone and Erik couldn't stop his own grin. "And, yes, I'm quite aware you all refer to me as Mom when I'm not around."
Erik knew that Charles had probably wanted him to have some kind of deep discussion with Alex, but Erik saw enough of himself in Alex to know it wouldn't go over well. Instead, he waited until their next training session and pointed out, "You've gotten much better with your power and control. Way better than you were two years ago."
"Thanks?" Alex said, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.
"And Hank showed me the plans you had for the security modifications," Erik continued. "I was...impressed. Especially with your suggestions about security measures that couldn't be foiled by people with metal-bending powers."
Alex's grin was sharp. "Yeah, I bet."
Erik gave him a look. "We won't need those anymore."
Alex sobered a little, but he didn't look away from Erik's gaze. "We might."
"No," Erik told him, and it felt like he was making another promise. "We won't."
With every day that passed, Erik became more confident in that vow, more comfortable with the idea that he could work toward the future he wanted and do it with Charles instead of against him. They still disagreed, often and very passionately, about most topics that had to do with mutants and humans, but compromise wasn't as impossible as he had once thought. When he received intelligence about mutants who were being abused or mistreated, he could still save them, with the help of his new team; but instead of the destruction he wanted to leave in his wake, he kept the strikes surgical and the causalities to a minimum whenever he could. In return, Charles learned to weather the guilt that came with knowing that anyone had died at all.
Erik didn't entertain much guilt over the deaths of humans who tortured and hurt his fellow mutants and he probably never would. The guilt he did deal with was more over the scars he could see that his actions had visited on Charles -- the flashes of worry or panic that the telepath couldn't hide from him, the fear that haunted him that Erik wasn't there to stay. Like with Alex, Erik knew that there was nothing he could do to change the past but he could focus on the future, on making sure he never proved Charles's fears right by leaving again.
He also carried with him the guilt of Charles's paralysis, one burden that had only grown now that he'd witnessed firsthand what his recklessness had cost the man he loved. Everything about Charles's life was markedly different without the use of his legs; the way he took care of himself, the way he navigated the world, the way they made love -- Charles had had to re-learn his life to a degree that Erik found daunting and incredibly humbling. Whenever Charles caught wisps of such thoughts on the edges of Erik's mind, he tried his best to push them away with waves of forgiveness from his own consciousness, only slightly tinged with the melancholy the loss left in him.
But for all of Charles's soft words and understanding, persuasive words and impeccable if idealistic logic, what most successfully stayed Erik's more violent tendencies was Jean. She was a miracle, one that he never wanted to stop appreciating; her mere existence still struck him as extraordinary whenever he stopped to think about it. The fact that his beloved daughter might never manifest any abilities and, instead, turn out to be as human as all of those faceless people he wanted to strike down some days was a reality that remained uncomfortably close to the forefront of his thoughts, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Although Erik sincerely believed no child of his of Charles's wouldn't be as mutant as her parents, the possibility remained, making it much harder to justify his indiscriminate bloodlust when his beliefs might have been condemning his own daughter to death.
The second anniversary of the mission to Cuba passed without mention or note.
Before Erik had realized it, months had passed since his return to the school and the nip in the air had become a definite frost. It was something new for him, as he'd taken pains to spend the cold months of the year far enough south that he had little experience with the kind of winter that Charles told him to expect in New York. It was on one such cold morning that Mystique handed him a posted letter that had come in his name, a fact that raised eyebrows around the breakfast table. Erik gave in to Charles's mental Well, open it and suddenly had a crisp, white Christmas card in his hand, decorated only with an embossed snowflake and signed only with an elegant, script E.
"She could've at least gotten the holiday right," Charles mused as he looked down at the card in Erik's hands. "Though I suppose the sentiment is what counts."
"I don't think Emma had much sentiment in mind," Erik said, but he smiled as he imagined the humor behind the gesture.
"At least we know she's still alive and kicking," Mystique pointed out, stubbornly oblivious to the fact that none of the others probably cared.
It was just another reminder of how his life had changed, where a letter or an approaching holiday could be the center of excitement, a cheerful hubbub instead of the solemn intensity of a mission to plan. Even the missions they carried out didn't seem to lessen the optimism and faith among the others, Charles's mark indelibly left on their impressionable psyches. Erik knew that he and Mystique would probably continue to be the only realists in the manor for years to come.
And Erik knew he had changed along with everything else when he watched Jean's delight at seeing the snowflakes gently fall around them and couldn't imagine any place he'd rather be than there with her and with Charles.
Something of the complicated mess of emotions he felt as he watched her must've showed on his face or in his mind because he felt Charles's cold fingers press against the sliver of skin exposed between his gloves and the cuff of his coat. He glanced down to where Charles waited beside him, nose bright from the cold. "All right, love?" he asked, since there were no children to overhear and make faces at the sound of the endearment.
"It's nothing," he said, even though he knew Charles didn't exactly believe him. Despite the fact, Charles's powers remained subtle and unobtrusive, the usual warm press he'd become accustomed to.
In his arms, Jean made another lunge for a snowflake and almost managed to throw herself out of his hold. Erik shifted her weight around, pulling her up level so that he could look into her rebellious little face. "Someone's impatient," he chided.
"I think she got it on both sides," Charles said. Across the wintry grounds, the other children basked in the first real snow of the season, running and laughing as the sky dusted them in white. Hank and Mystique were blurry blue shapes far down the swell of the hill, while Alex leaned against a nearby tree talking with Darwin while occasionally shouting insults at Sean as he whooped and chased after the younger kids. "Not much chance in her being otherwise."
Erik realized that whatever changes he did and did not experience over the next few days or months or years, he never wanted to take those moments for granted, ones that had seemed unthinkable six months before. Those months and months of separation already felt like an age ago compared to how right it felt to be with Charles working together for the betterment of their people, but Erik knew it was dangerous to forget the lessons of the past. He couldn't let himself forget again that this was where he belonged.
"You're very strange today," Charles finally said to break the silence, his fingers against Erik's to soothe the bite of the words. "You're looking at me like you've never seen me before."
"Or scared you'll disappear into thin air."
Charles smiled, eyes darting from Erik's to Jean, who was still adamant that she was going to get down and run across the lawn. "You won't be rid of me that easily."
Erik wasn't sure how long they remained like that, locked in another one of those perfect moments, before Jean's displeasure began to ramp up into a full-on tantrum. "Yes, yes, we're going," he told her, finally lowering her to the ground, his fingers tight around one chubby hand. "I don't know who's turned you into such a spoiled little thing."
"It's certainly a mystery to me," came Charles's reply, faintly sarcastic and warm with amusement.
Erik shot him a look that just made Charles laugh at his retreating back as he allowed Jean's momentum to pull him a step forward. "Aren't you joining us?" Erik asked.
Charles looked down at his wheelchair and then at the frosted grass. "I'll just stay here," he said of the patio. "Where's it's warm and dry and flat."
It was Erik's turn to grin. "No, you won't," he said, reaching out with his powers with a casual finesse he'd never known before Charles had first touched him mind. The wheelchair skated just above the ground as smoothly as it did over the polished floors of the manor.
Charles just adjusted the blanket thrown over his legs as he let himself be pulled along at the snail's pace set by their daughter's short little legs. "Keeping me close?" Charles teased.
"Always," Erik informed him, meeting Charles's bright blue gaze long enough to feel the spark of it pass between them.
Erik still wasn't sure if he knew what peace was or if he was capable of it, but what he felt that day and on others like it was close enough that it hardly mattered.
Whatever peace was, it couldn't be better than what he'd already found.
**
The End.
**
Author's Notes: The ends are always the hardest to write! Along with this being an answer to a friend's prompt, this story was written to be an homage of sorts to one of the my favorite things in the world -- American daytime serials, aka soap operas. They are probably the single biggest influence on me in terms of the way I write and pace romance fic, and I've been very sad to see them start to disappear over the last few years. I've thrown some of my favorite soap cliches and tropes into this fic; it seemed like the perfect story of it!
There may be a sequel for this, but if it happens it won't be until 2012 and it will be probably be disgustingly fluff-tastic, at least for Charles and Erik, because I don't think I can angst on these particular versions of them anymore. Happening more quickly may be a fluffy future-set epilogue that I've already promised the friend who prompted me with this.
If I haven't said it already, I thank everyone who reviewed this fic as the chapters were posted. Reviews are the best motivation around.
~ Regann (17 November 2011)
This entry was originally posted at http://regann.dreamwidth.org/441525.html. Comment on either post.
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,300 for the chapter (total: ~67,500)
Warnings: mpreg
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: None.
Summary: In the wake of Cuba, Charles and his students are ready to pick up the pieces and work toward achieving Charles's dream of a safe haven for young mutants. Those plans, however, take a surprising turn thanks to a very unexpected complication. As he slowly builds a future for his students and for his child, Charles struggles with the loss of Erik and the secrets he's willing to keep to protect his family, but those strides are shattered when Erik makes a startling reappearance into his life. [mpreg, kidfic, ensemble]
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
An Earlier Heaven (part 13)
Erik had fooled himself into believing that the most difficult part of changing his mind would be asking Charles to compromise with him so they could forge their futures together, but he was quickly disabused of that misconception, almost as soon as he returned to the Brotherhood's base and faced with at least two sets of very curious eyes.
While he hadn't expressly told anyone other than Azazel about his destination when he'd left, Erik knew that Emma probably had her suspicions, ones she probably hadn't hesitated to share with Mystique. As he stood there surrounded by the mutants who made up his team, Erik realized with a pang that that was exactly what they'd become -- his. Perhaps not in the way Charles and Jean were his, or even the way he thought of the young men who had resolutely chosen to side with Charles, but his just as much.
He owed them all an explanation and there was no reason to delay it, he knew.
Of course, there wasn't much to tell when it came to one of his number.
Emma's smile was smug and knowing as she glanced up at him from the magazine she read. "Decisiveness looks good on you, Magneto. You should've tried it before now."
Erik answered with a smirk. "Perhaps you should start planning your curriculum, Professor Frost."
Emma snorted, shaking her head as she set the magazine aside. "I do have things to do," she said as she stood. "And so do you."
He nodded, then glanced at Mystique who had grown increasingly more confused as she'd listened to Erik and Emma's oblique conversation. "Mystique," he said, gesturing for her to follow with a twist of his hand. "A private word."
Mystique trotted along behind him, wary but compliant until they were alone in the room that functioned as Erik's haven in the house.
"What's going on?" she asked immediately, wringing her hands before she caught herself. "What were you and Emma talking about?"
It was easier to explain now that he'd practiced on Charles, but Erik still faltered in some ways, watching as Mystique's yellow eyes widened or narrowed throughout the tale of what he'd decided and what he'd done based on those decisions.
She listened quietly until he was finished, then she burst out with "So you're giving this up?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Charles and I are looking for a -- shared vision," he told her, disagreeing with the opinion that it was giving up. It was change and it would be different, but the things he'd said on the beach remained as true now as they were then. "I thought you were the one who wanted us to find a way to compromise. I believe you were the one who suggested it."
"And you don't see where I might have a hard time believing that the two of you actually figured it out?" she asked. "Six months ago you two could barely carry on a conversation."
"And you and McCoy couldn't open your mouths without it becoming a screaming match," he said. "But now you write him very long letters about what I can only imagine. There is a capacity for change in all of us, Mystique. Even me."
She still looked a little dubious on that point.
"Do you want to return with me?" he asked, getting to the heart of the conversation. "It's your choice, of course. You know that I will accept whatever you decide and your brother has expressed similar sentiments. You'll always be welcome with him, wherever you go now."
Mystique didn't answer, instead asking, "What about the others?"
He shrugged. "Charles could probably be persuaded to accept them as well, but I doubt they'd want it. Emma, I know, already has plans she wants to pursue and I'm almost positive that Azazel and Janos will go with her. They've been together for a very long time."
"But what about Angel?"
It was a valid question, Erik could admit. "I'm sure your brother would let her return if she wanted. We'll ask." Mystique nodded, but he took the chance to remind her. "You still haven't answered the question."
Mystique rolled her yellow eyes. "Like I trust the two of you to try to compromise without me? A week alone and you'd ruin it -- both of you."
Seeing Mystique's genuine smile and pleasure at the thought of the manor, of Charles and his school...it made Erik that much more sure he was making the right choice.
Later, after Erik had told everyone about his change in plans and had seen no hesitation in either Azazel or Janos as they'd immediately looked to Emma for guidance, Erik turned to Angel. "You could come with us," he said, of him and Mystique.
Angel looked at him for a long moment, deliberating. Then, she looked to Emma and, after another long silence, like maybe they'd been speaking mind-to-mind, Angel turned back to Erik and shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm good where I am." Her dark eyes moved to Mystique, sharing something that Erik didn't understand when Angel added, "I still don't belong there."
Mystique inclined her head as she stepped forward to grasp Angel's hands in her own. "And there's no shame in that."
For all the speed with which Erik had once joined Charles and had once left him, Erik was in no mind to hurry his return, not when he planned it to be the last he'd make. He and Mystique lingered as he wrapped up the pieces of the life he'd lived for the last few years, taking what he could and leaving what he couldn't. They stayed behind at the ramshackle manor long after Emma, Janos and Angel had said their goodbyes and departed, Emma firmly in the lead as she smiled her way through her farewells, already focused on wherever her ambitions were taking her.
"Don't think you and the Professor are rid of me this easily," she'd told him. "I'll be in touch."
"I look forward to it," he had said in return, realizing he meant it. "And Charles, too, I'm sure."
Azazel was the only one they still saw, as he checked in with them every few days to fulfill his final duty to Erik, offering his services one last time when the time came to leave the small Caribbean island behind for Westchester, New York. Erik knew it would be soon, but he wasn't quite ready for it yet.
He and Charles had talked about much on that day, about the hard things that had once drove them apart. They'd talked about the ways in which they'd never agree, and the ones on which they thought they might be likely to find common ground. Erik had told Charles generally of what he'd done with the Brotherhood, the fear and loathing they'd seen in humans who had become aware of mutants, about the facilities where mutants had been held, studied, tortured.
In turn, Charles had told him about the school and about Jean, about the minds he'd felt when he used Cerebro, about the plans they had for the future. They had discussed ways to make Erik's missions into something Charles could support and the ways in which Charles, too, would have to compromise, temper his idealism in the face of the ugly realities. There had been raised voices -- loud enough to bring Darwin to check on them -- and violent disagreement, but, finally, grudging words of compromises. They had survived it unscathed, with no true anger between them and a better understanding of how they might make it work together.
Erik thought about that as he bided his time in the near-empty house, but more than anything, he thought about Charles's entreaty that he not come back unless he was sure. He asked himself hard questions about what he could really live with, if what they'd discussed could be his reality. He knew if he changed his mind at that moment, there would be no recrimination from Charles, just acceptance, and that even Emma would probably accept his return as leader of the Brotherhood. This moment, he knew, was the real point of no return.
Mystique was starting to give him concerned looks once again as the days stacked up, but then one dawned and, when Azazel appeared with the same inquisitive look he'd given him on a succession of visits, Erik's answer was different.
"Get your things, Mystique," he said, nodding at Azazel. "We're leaving."
Mystique smiled, teeth blinding white against her dark blue scales. "All right."
It was dark in New York by the time Azazel bid them goodbye and disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Erik and Mystique to stare up at the foreboding lines of the elegant manor, much as Erik had done when they'd first arrived after fleeing the decimated CIA facility. At his side, he could tell that Mystique was similarly reflective, craning her neck as she took in the sight of her childhood home.
"So, we're doing this," she said, squaring her shoulders a little.
"It seems like it, doesn't it?" Erik replied. He glanced over to see some kind of conflict on her face, and he nudged her gently with his elbow until she was looking at him and not the eaves. "We're not going backward," he told her. "No hiding."
She flashed a grin at him. "Mutant and Proud."
"Always," he declared and felt her relax at her side. Erik gestured toward the mansion. "Come on."
They carried their meager belongings with them as they trudged up the slope, moving closer and closer to the sprawling manor, its dark expanse broken by the soft glow of light in the occasional window, mostly concentrated on the higher floors. Charles and the others had had no warning of his and Mystique's arrival, so Erik wasn't even certain what kind of welcome, if any, they could expect from within the quiet academy.
He had his answer just as they reached the front entrance, as Erik debated with himself if he should knock or simply enter, coming as he was with Mystique who still considered the property her home.
Knocking wouldn't do you any good, Charles's voice in his head explained. It wasn't exactly like hearing Charles speak in person, but Erik could still detect the hint of humor in his words. No one would hear, I think.
Your suggestion? he asked back.
Come inside, Charles suggested. Leave your things in your old room. Then check in on our daughter. I'll be waiting across the hall.
As Charles's voice left his head, he looked over to notice that his companion had her head tilted to one side, much like if she were having a telepathic conversation of her own. After a moment, her eyes came back into focus and she smiled as she turned to Erik. "I guess Charles is the welcoming party," she said.
"Then let's not leave him waiting any longer."
Erik didn't know what Charles had said to Mystique but she dropped her things in the foyer, then hurried off in the direction opposite of her room or Charles's, so Erik assumed she had some other destination in mind. She disappeared with little more than a quick wave at him, and he was amused by how quickly she'd dismissed him. Erik continued in the direction of his old room, as he'd been bid, finding it in the same state it had been in the last two times he'd stayed there, the items in it undisturbed since he'd first thrown his briefcase into the corner upon his first visit. From what he could tell nothing had been touched in the interim, and he was faintly certain that his abandoned clothes still hung in the wardrobe, as if he'd been gone two days instead of two years.
He thought it strange that Charles sent him to another bed when Erik had not changed his entire life to spend even one night away from Charles, but he decided to humor him on the point, if only for the moment. Once his bags had been deposited on the floor of the room much as Mystique had left hers in the foyer, Erik set off on the second of his tasks, one he was eager to fulfill.
The nursery was mostly dark, except for the dim illumination of a small lamp nestled in a corner opposite the crib where Jean lay sleeping. Erik didn't want to wake her but he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch her, her skin impossibly soft against his calloused fingers. She took deep, slow breaths that he could feel under his hand, and he could already make out subtle changes she'd undergone since he'd seen her at her birthday, things he'd missed in those days between. Erik promised himself that it would the last things he'd miss.
I'm beginning to think you're trying to avoid me.
With one last glance, Erik left Jean sleeping in the nursery and crossed the hall, not bothering to knock or warn its occupant of his arrival. It would've been superfluous when he could feel Charles lingering in his mind, a warm presence at the edge of his thoughts. The room was almost as dim as the nursery, where Charles sat near the fire, its light and the fire the only sparks of brightness. Just as Erik stepped inside, Charles looked up from his book, closing it without a second glance.
Erik let his eyes slide over the details of the scene -- the room was warm, and Charles was dressed in pajamas, a sharp contrast to his usual formal clothing choices. The curling ends of his hair told Erik he'd bathed before donning them and, instead of being seated in his wheelchair as Erik had seen him every time they'd met since Cuba, Charles had transferred to a small settee near the fire.
"Not anymore," Erik finally said aloud, in reply to Charles's mental comment from the moment before.
"I was beginning to think you had changed your mind entirely," Charles confessed, his voice as quiet aloud as it had been in Erik's head.
"No," Erik told him, still loitering near the door. "I just...needed to be sure."
"I understand," Charles said, and Erik knew he did. "All that matters is that you're here now."
"All?" Erik couldn't help but echo, drawing a real smile from Charles.
"Well, I'd be even more delighted if you weren't across the room," he said. "But you being here is...quite enough for the moment."
Erik didn't need a second invitation. He moved toward Charles, settling beside him on the settee, bodies touching at every point possible from their shoulders to their knees. He knew Charles couldn't feel it, but Erik could, the warmth of Charles's thigh next to his, a solid body he'd missed at his side for so long that it still felt a little like a dream to be so close.
"I had been hoping to spend some time with Jean," Erik told him, leaning into the comfort of Charles's presence.
"Tomorrow," Charles said, like a promise, as he lifted a hand to touch fingers to Erik's cheek. "And all the days after that, it looks like."
The caress was light but like fire to Erik's blood, igniting the desire he'd buried during their separation. His own hand came up to grasp Charles's wrist, in case he had any ideas of pulling away. "Tomorrow," he repeated. But even as he thought about Jean, about the time he had to make up for, other thoughts intruded -- plans and decisions, stray bits of debate he'd been saving for Charles, all the doubts that still crept along the crevices of his mind...
Erik could feel Charles's smile against his mouth as he kissed him back into the reality of the moment, away from all the worries that plagued him. It wasn't hard to ignore those specters as he returned the pressure of the kiss, his hand stroking over the steady thrum of Charles's pulse in his throat.
Charles buried his forehead against Erik's shoulder when they broke away for breath. "I know there's still so much that we need to sort out, but..." There was a huff of breath against his skin, Charles's faint laugh, though the sound was almost too solemn to be given the name. "...but it's been a long two years. For one night, at least, we can leave the war outside, yes?"
Erik closed his eyes, fingers carding through Charles's curling, damp hair. "For tonight," he agreed, and it was really no hardship at all.
**
Charles had once told Erik that killing Shaw wouldn't bring him peace and Erik had answered that peace had never been an option for him.
Erik was slowly learning that they'd both been right and they'd both been wrong.
Killing Shaw might not have brought him the peace Charles wanted him to have, but Erik had known -- and still knew -- that nothing would've been possible for him as long as Shaw had lived. If nothing else, it had offered closure on that part of his life, the death of the ghost that had haunted him, a dagger through the heart of the monster he'd never quite escaped no matter how many miles he'd put between him and that camp. Charles might never understand it, but he'd accepted it like he had so many of the other dark things that had made Erik who he was.
For all the things Charles would accept, however, he refused to entertain the idea that Erik was incapable of knowing peace, and Erik was beginning to see a glimmer of hope that Charles was right in his certainty. He was coming closer to something like it with every day he spent at the manor with Charles, Jean, and the children, learning to cherish each moment that he could that was about family or laughter or love, instead of pain, anger or vengeance.
But Erik was also learning that peace -- or whatever facsimile of it he was capable of -- wasn't easy. It was a battle, not unlike the others he'd waged in his life, a fight that he grappled with everyday, even with Charles there to help him. He didn't see that struggle in Charles, but he saw flashes of it in others -- Hank and his transformation in to Beast, Mystique and her scales, Alex and his anger -- and that was a comfort, to know he wasn't the only one who had to claw his way toward serenity or else be consumed by the rage.
Erik quickly found ways to integrate himself into the academy, into the holes that Charles couldn't fill on his own. He taught classes he felt capable with and, while he left Alex with the younger children, he took over training exercises for the teens and for the members of their original team, which Sean had taken to calling "X-Men" after something that Moira had once said. It usually made Charles roll his eyes whenever Sean said it but the unfortunate name had begun to stick. Charles's pupils were respectful but viewed him with no little awe, probably from whatever tales Sean and Alex had spun for them while they'd had the chance. Still, they slowly came to know him for who he was and not whatever boogeyman his young teammates had created out of his image.
The so-called X-Men's opinion of his return remained largely accepting, with Alex as the lone dissenter from that consensus. While his attitude toward Erik had mellowed considerably since the visit that had revealed Jean's parentage, it was still rife with suspicion and disgruntlement, the source of which Erik could not fathom. Finally, he gave all pretence of knowledge and asked Charles outright.
It wasn't encouraging when Charles laughed at him. "You really have no idea?" he asked.
"No," Erik told him. "Or else I wouldn't be asking."
The look Charles sent his way was both exasperated and fond, and it was something Erik was quite sure he'd never tire of. "Surely...? Well, I guess not if you've come to me to explain it."
"Not all of us are telepaths," Erik reminded him, catching Jean out of the corner of his eye in time to use his power to slide a table clock out of her reach. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that when an object moved on its own, he was usually to blame and she turned her accusing blue eyes on him in response. "No," he told her firmly, making her brow furrow more deeply.
Charles, again, failed to hide his laughter. "She takes being told "no" about as well as her vati, yes?"
Erik ignored the subtle bait for an argument. "Alex?" he asked again.
Charles's expression softened a little. "Alex looked up to you, Erik," he explained. "You were...maybe a little like a father figure to him. He saw himself in you, just as you see some of yourself in him." Charles paused. "He saw what happened in Cuba as abandonment and a betrayal, not just of him but of me and Jean. Of the entire, well, family."
"I can't change that now," Erik pointed out. "So how do I deal with it?"
"Maybe not thinking of him as something to deal with might help," Charles said dryly. "But what do all boys want from their authority figures? Praise, belief, respect, things like that."
"He doesn't get enough of that from you?" Erik asked, even though he could see Charles's point.
"It's been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that I'm more of the nurturer around here," Charles said in his earlier dry tone and Erik couldn't stop his own grin. "And, yes, I'm quite aware you all refer to me as Mom when I'm not around."
Erik knew that Charles had probably wanted him to have some kind of deep discussion with Alex, but Erik saw enough of himself in Alex to know it wouldn't go over well. Instead, he waited until their next training session and pointed out, "You've gotten much better with your power and control. Way better than you were two years ago."
"Thanks?" Alex said, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.
"And Hank showed me the plans you had for the security modifications," Erik continued. "I was...impressed. Especially with your suggestions about security measures that couldn't be foiled by people with metal-bending powers."
Alex's grin was sharp. "Yeah, I bet."
Erik gave him a look. "We won't need those anymore."
Alex sobered a little, but he didn't look away from Erik's gaze. "We might."
"No," Erik told him, and it felt like he was making another promise. "We won't."
With every day that passed, Erik became more confident in that vow, more comfortable with the idea that he could work toward the future he wanted and do it with Charles instead of against him. They still disagreed, often and very passionately, about most topics that had to do with mutants and humans, but compromise wasn't as impossible as he had once thought. When he received intelligence about mutants who were being abused or mistreated, he could still save them, with the help of his new team; but instead of the destruction he wanted to leave in his wake, he kept the strikes surgical and the causalities to a minimum whenever he could. In return, Charles learned to weather the guilt that came with knowing that anyone had died at all.
Erik didn't entertain much guilt over the deaths of humans who tortured and hurt his fellow mutants and he probably never would. The guilt he did deal with was more over the scars he could see that his actions had visited on Charles -- the flashes of worry or panic that the telepath couldn't hide from him, the fear that haunted him that Erik wasn't there to stay. Like with Alex, Erik knew that there was nothing he could do to change the past but he could focus on the future, on making sure he never proved Charles's fears right by leaving again.
He also carried with him the guilt of Charles's paralysis, one burden that had only grown now that he'd witnessed firsthand what his recklessness had cost the man he loved. Everything about Charles's life was markedly different without the use of his legs; the way he took care of himself, the way he navigated the world, the way they made love -- Charles had had to re-learn his life to a degree that Erik found daunting and incredibly humbling. Whenever Charles caught wisps of such thoughts on the edges of Erik's mind, he tried his best to push them away with waves of forgiveness from his own consciousness, only slightly tinged with the melancholy the loss left in him.
But for all of Charles's soft words and understanding, persuasive words and impeccable if idealistic logic, what most successfully stayed Erik's more violent tendencies was Jean. She was a miracle, one that he never wanted to stop appreciating; her mere existence still struck him as extraordinary whenever he stopped to think about it. The fact that his beloved daughter might never manifest any abilities and, instead, turn out to be as human as all of those faceless people he wanted to strike down some days was a reality that remained uncomfortably close to the forefront of his thoughts, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Although Erik sincerely believed no child of his of Charles's wouldn't be as mutant as her parents, the possibility remained, making it much harder to justify his indiscriminate bloodlust when his beliefs might have been condemning his own daughter to death.
The second anniversary of the mission to Cuba passed without mention or note.
Before Erik had realized it, months had passed since his return to the school and the nip in the air had become a definite frost. It was something new for him, as he'd taken pains to spend the cold months of the year far enough south that he had little experience with the kind of winter that Charles told him to expect in New York. It was on one such cold morning that Mystique handed him a posted letter that had come in his name, a fact that raised eyebrows around the breakfast table. Erik gave in to Charles's mental Well, open it and suddenly had a crisp, white Christmas card in his hand, decorated only with an embossed snowflake and signed only with an elegant, script E.
"She could've at least gotten the holiday right," Charles mused as he looked down at the card in Erik's hands. "Though I suppose the sentiment is what counts."
"I don't think Emma had much sentiment in mind," Erik said, but he smiled as he imagined the humor behind the gesture.
"At least we know she's still alive and kicking," Mystique pointed out, stubbornly oblivious to the fact that none of the others probably cared.
It was just another reminder of how his life had changed, where a letter or an approaching holiday could be the center of excitement, a cheerful hubbub instead of the solemn intensity of a mission to plan. Even the missions they carried out didn't seem to lessen the optimism and faith among the others, Charles's mark indelibly left on their impressionable psyches. Erik knew that he and Mystique would probably continue to be the only realists in the manor for years to come.
And Erik knew he had changed along with everything else when he watched Jean's delight at seeing the snowflakes gently fall around them and couldn't imagine any place he'd rather be than there with her and with Charles.
Something of the complicated mess of emotions he felt as he watched her must've showed on his face or in his mind because he felt Charles's cold fingers press against the sliver of skin exposed between his gloves and the cuff of his coat. He glanced down to where Charles waited beside him, nose bright from the cold. "All right, love?" he asked, since there were no children to overhear and make faces at the sound of the endearment.
"It's nothing," he said, even though he knew Charles didn't exactly believe him. Despite the fact, Charles's powers remained subtle and unobtrusive, the usual warm press he'd become accustomed to.
In his arms, Jean made another lunge for a snowflake and almost managed to throw herself out of his hold. Erik shifted her weight around, pulling her up level so that he could look into her rebellious little face. "Someone's impatient," he chided.
"I think she got it on both sides," Charles said. Across the wintry grounds, the other children basked in the first real snow of the season, running and laughing as the sky dusted them in white. Hank and Mystique were blurry blue shapes far down the swell of the hill, while Alex leaned against a nearby tree talking with Darwin while occasionally shouting insults at Sean as he whooped and chased after the younger kids. "Not much chance in her being otherwise."
Erik realized that whatever changes he did and did not experience over the next few days or months or years, he never wanted to take those moments for granted, ones that had seemed unthinkable six months before. Those months and months of separation already felt like an age ago compared to how right it felt to be with Charles working together for the betterment of their people, but Erik knew it was dangerous to forget the lessons of the past. He couldn't let himself forget again that this was where he belonged.
"You're very strange today," Charles finally said to break the silence, his fingers against Erik's to soothe the bite of the words. "You're looking at me like you've never seen me before."
"Or scared you'll disappear into thin air."
Charles smiled, eyes darting from Erik's to Jean, who was still adamant that she was going to get down and run across the lawn. "You won't be rid of me that easily."
Erik wasn't sure how long they remained like that, locked in another one of those perfect moments, before Jean's displeasure began to ramp up into a full-on tantrum. "Yes, yes, we're going," he told her, finally lowering her to the ground, his fingers tight around one chubby hand. "I don't know who's turned you into such a spoiled little thing."
"It's certainly a mystery to me," came Charles's reply, faintly sarcastic and warm with amusement.
Erik shot him a look that just made Charles laugh at his retreating back as he allowed Jean's momentum to pull him a step forward. "Aren't you joining us?" Erik asked.
Charles looked down at his wheelchair and then at the frosted grass. "I'll just stay here," he said of the patio. "Where's it's warm and dry and flat."
It was Erik's turn to grin. "No, you won't," he said, reaching out with his powers with a casual finesse he'd never known before Charles had first touched him mind. The wheelchair skated just above the ground as smoothly as it did over the polished floors of the manor.
Charles just adjusted the blanket thrown over his legs as he let himself be pulled along at the snail's pace set by their daughter's short little legs. "Keeping me close?" Charles teased.
"Always," Erik informed him, meeting Charles's bright blue gaze long enough to feel the spark of it pass between them.
Erik still wasn't sure if he knew what peace was or if he was capable of it, but what he felt that day and on others like it was close enough that it hardly mattered.
Whatever peace was, it couldn't be better than what he'd already found.
**
The End.
**
Author's Notes: The ends are always the hardest to write! Along with this being an answer to a friend's prompt, this story was written to be an homage of sorts to one of the my favorite things in the world -- American daytime serials, aka soap operas. They are probably the single biggest influence on me in terms of the way I write and pace romance fic, and I've been very sad to see them start to disappear over the last few years. I've thrown some of my favorite soap cliches and tropes into this fic; it seemed like the perfect story of it!
There may be a sequel for this, but if it happens it won't be until 2012 and it will be probably be disgustingly fluff-tastic, at least for Charles and Erik, because I don't think I can angst on these particular versions of them anymore. Happening more quickly may be a fluffy future-set epilogue that I've already promised the friend who prompted me with this.
If I haven't said it already, I thank everyone who reviewed this fic as the chapters were posted. Reviews are the best motivation around.
~ Regann (17 November 2011)
This entry was originally posted at http://regann.dreamwidth.org/441525.html. Comment on either post.