Behind Blue Eyes: Section 4
Behind Blue Eyes
Section 1 ~ Section 2 ~ Section 3 ~ Section 4 ~ Section 5 ~ Master Post
Erik had woken to some interesting situations in the past, but never had he been privy to quite this level of multi-lingual cursing. He was being dragged like a sack of potatoes, towards placed unknown, through the muddiest patch of wooded area while the rain still fell. A great, mud covered form was hauling him, cursing and sputtering, through the grass, pulling him forward in fits and starts. Erik, still disoriented from the whole ordeal, did what any rational person might do in his situation.
He yelled and flailed, successfully freeing himself from the slippery grip of the filthy monster. Unfortunately, due to the angle and the lethargy in his limbs, he was freed to find himself falling directly into a muddy puddle.
"For God's sake, Erik. I did not fish you out of a flooded river just to have you drown in the mud. I know you're mad at me, and I deserve it, but please. Just work with me here."
Erik pushed himself up to see that the mud monster was in fact a beleaguered and filthy Charles, leaning down over him. Looking around, Erik identified the anonymous wooded area as one quite near the driveway. Charles wiped his face, trying to get the worst of the mud off it, and sighed.
"Good. It's only about 10 more yards to the driveway, where I've managed to get your chair. From there, I think we'll be able to get inside without much of a problem."
"Why don't we just go straight for the house?" asked Erik, trying with great care to get up to his feet. As he put weight on his left ankle, he suddenly knew the answer to his question. With a cry, he sat back down in the mud, blinking back tears of pain.
"I think that's just a bad sprain, but I couldn't tell with all the mud," said Charles, circling over to Erik's left. "I was planning on getting you back home and rinsing you off before I attempted to find out for sure. Here. Use me as a crutch, and we'll get back in no time."
While it was not quick, Erik and Charles managed to stumble their way through the woods with a minimum of falling. No conversation passed between them, other than the random profanities that follow dirty, painful physical exertion. By the time they got to the driveway, they were both relieved to see the chair.
By the time they got to the door of the mansion, both Erik and Charles were panting with exhaustion. The rain had finally stopped as they approached their destination, but even coming down it had done little to shift the clay-heavy mud from their hair or clothes. Charles looked down at his clothes, and then to Erik, and shrugged.
"We're not going to get any cleaner out here," he said, helping Erik up. "Let's just avoid the expensive carpets."
Erik nodded and stood, leaning heavily on Charles as they entered the house. While they did not track as much mud as Erik feared, their passage still left some smudges on the walls and stairs. Before long, Erik had to really focus on putting one foot in front of the other, to not tumble and make a worse mess than they already had, which made their trip through the house a bit of a blur. At one point, while attempting to walk up the main stairway, Erik stumbled and ended up putting his full weight on his bad ankle. While, at his best, this would probably not have fazed him, in his current state it was too much. His vision faded and his consciousness nearly followed, but somehow, he kept walking.
The next thing Erik knew, he was sitting in a bathtub, covered in warm soapy water. Charles sat next to the tub in a well-worn wooden chair, clothed in a large brown robe, a pile of books on the table next to him. Erik could see from the V of the robe's neckline that Charles had removed his wet, muddy shirt. Slowly feeling down his sides, Erik realized that he was sitting in the soapy water in his underwear.
"Ah, good," said Charles, slipping a bookmark into his reading material. "I think you are really back this time. I never thought I would start getting used to someone else falling unconscious…"
"Where are we?" interrupted Erik, sitting up in the water and looking around in confusion.
"We're in the master bath just off my bedroom," said Charles, standing up to open the door so that Erik could get a better view. "My room has one of the largest bathrooms in use. It also has the advantage of having both a bathtub and a shower stall. I can run to your room and grab you some clothes if you’d like."
Erik had only been in Charles' room once before their trip to Cuba. He remembered that the room looked spartan, almost unlived in, every drawer neat and every surface clean. But from the view he had from the bathroom door, this was no longer the case. While the drawers were still neat, piles of clothes and other things lingered on the furniture. The sheets, while clean, were rumpled and lived in. But the largest change was the large desk in the corner. Charles had moved a true professor's desk into the room, which was covered in papers, books and other scholarly items. Even from this distance, Erik noticed that quite a few of the books were not on Genetics, as he might have suspected, but on brain trauma and coma recovery. Erik looked to the pile of books on the table next to him, and saw they were of a similar make. There was one heavily marked with different colored paper tabs on the edges, titled "Astral Projection: What Happens When the Mind Dies". Charles noticed Erik's attention shift towards the books, and cleared his throat.
"I see you found my research," said Charles, sitting down on the chair and self consciously straightening the books. "I promise, I'll try to explain myself after we get some of this mess sorted out. Just please, let me make sure you’re okay first."
"I'll hold you to that," said Erik, looking around the bathroom proper. It was enormous, the large tub he was sitting in next to a window seat-like ledge, with a glass-enclosed shower to the right, and a sink and toilet to the left. By the door, there were two sizable beige towels, and a wicker contraption that Erik assumed to be a hamper. On the ground next to the hamper, were both his and Charles' clothes, torn, muddy, and covered in sticks. A nicely folded pile of clean clothes next to them, in stark contrast to the mess. Charles carefully perched on the ledge by the tub, and peered into Erik's face. Erik straightened up, realizing as Charles put a steady hand on his head that his hair was still caked with mud.
"Right then," Charles said, looking closely at Erik's face, first one eye and then the other. "I think you'll be safe until I return with something to help get that rat's nest out of your hair."
Charles turned to leave, but was stopped by Erik's vice-like grip on his arm. Looking down at Erik's hand, Charles' brow furrowed in confusion.
"Just wait a moment," said Erik, his voice weak in volumn but terrifying intense in purpose. "You and I have both gotten a little dirty before now. I think we have some unfinished business first."
"But the mess…"
"The mess will keep. I'm not sure we will. Sit."
Charles looked at his arm, then at Erik, then glanced at the door and sighed. Carefully extracting his arm from Erik's grip, he walked over to the door and closed it.
"Fine," said Charles, sticking a finger in to the tub to probe it. "But you are not going to take a chill just because we've put off some important discussions until a storm tossed you down a mudbank. Let me add some more hot water."
With a shrug, Erik moved up the tub so that Charles could get better access to the spigots. Charles followed and leaned forward, his robe gaping so that Erik was now sure that Charles was also in his underwear. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, hot water was added to the cooling tub. After he turned off the water, Charles plopped down in the chair next to Erik, grimacing as he shifted in his robe. Stealing a glance at the other man, Charles obviously saw something in Erik's face that stopped his fidgeting. Charles neatly tucked his hands in his lap, and attempted to look as contrite as possible with his hair and face still streaked with mud and leaves. Erik took some pity on him. Some.
"I suppose I should start," said Erik, leaning against the side of the tub and looking past the other man.
"What do you mean?"
"I want you to know that I didn’t realize you would be pulled into my revenge," said Erik, as Charles' face grew still and closed. Erik started talking faster, trying to get this out before Charles changed the subject, or distracted him with logic. "I should have realized. But I was so focused on Shaw that I didn't put it together…"
"Erik, it's ok."
"No, it's not," said Erik, looking angrily into Charles' face, making the other man meet his eyes by force of will alone. "Something like that can't just be 'ok'. I made you complicit. I almost killed you."
Charles sighed, and looked deep into Erik's eyes. Erik was surprised at what he saw. Embarrassment. Frustration. Pity. It was almost too much to take.
"I have apparently made more of a mess of this whole situation than I thought," said Charles, looking away from Erik and running a hand through his slowly hardening hair. "My friend, you didn't do anything to me that I didn't choose to take on myself. And frankly, it's impressive that we managed to get out of there alive."
"But…"
"No," said Charles, holding up a hand. "Let me explain. I thought I was going to be able to handle Shaw once I got my mind around him. But when I got in there, I found something unexpected."
"What are you talking about?"
"Shaw's mutation, along with his surprisingly ancient age, apparently gave him a certain amount of telepathic resistance," said Charles, gesturing in front of him in a vague circle. "When I touched his mind, I found I had extremely limited options. I could freeze him, or free him. And in my arrogance, I didn't have a backup plan."
"I'm not sure I follow you."
Charles sighed in frustration, but for the first time, Erik felt it was more self-directed than anything. Charles turned to look at him, and Erik found himself pinned with an intense gaze.
"I am a very powerful telepath," said Charles, obviously struggling with his explanation. "But occasionally, when I find myself pushed up against a wall, I don't make good split second calls. While I was able to immobilize Shaw, I found that I couldn't do anything but freeze him. And if I had let him move, he would have leveled the entire island."
"But if I hadn't killed him..."
"By the time I figured out how to break through his defenses, if I ever had, it was very likely that we would have been leveled by the incoming missiles. Which Shaw would have been able to absorb, and add to his destructive powers. The resulting explosion would have worked straight into Shaw's plans."
Erik was silent as he absorbed this revelation. Charles was right. Shaw likely would have simply absorbed the force of the missiles. But something still wasn't right about the explanation.
"But you felt his death," said Erik, slowly piecing together the timeline from memory. "And I'm the one that killed him. While your minds were connected."
"And I can't say that it felt great, but I honestly can't see any other way we could have gotten out of there in one piece. I never want to go through that again, but if I have to choose between losing one murderous psychopath versus then entire world, I'll take the sin on my soul. Maybe if I had had more time to figure out how to bring Shaw in alive..."
"I wouldn't have let you," said Erik, coldly. "I may regret the harm I caused you, but he deserved to die."
Erik expected Charles to argue with him, but the other man was silent. As Erik looked over at him, he found himself chilled by the distant look in Charles' eyes. Erik figured it was time to get the real answers he was seeking.
"What happened to you at the beach?" asked Erik, softly. Charles spoke so quietly Erik had to lean forward to hear.
"I'm not sure if it was because of his mutation, or his age, or just the manner of his death, but something of Shaw stuck around after his body died."
"Like Woolsworth?"
Charles smiled, though the expression wasn’t a pleasant one.
"Not quite. Raven told me she shared that mess with you. The gardener was a simple, evil, petty man. But…I guess there were some similarities between the two situations, in a purely academic sense…"
"Charles, you’re starting to babble."
"Sorry," said Charles, still not looking over at Erik, even though the other man seemed to be boring a hole in the side of his head. "Both of them lingered in my mind, hiding in echoes, coloring my thoughts."
"Like a ghost?"
"No, not at all…" said Charles, in a dismissive tone. But after a moment, his brow knotted, and he reconsidered. "Actually, sort of. Not Woolsworth exactly, but Shaw definitely had the characteristics of a ghost. Especially the haunting aspect. He stuck around."
"Breakit down for me," said Erik, gently touching Charles' knee. "How can your brain be haunted?"
"When Woolsworth died, his personality bounced around in my head," explained Charles, returning to his vague gestures in the air. "I had to sink into myself to…open up the windows, as it were. Let the echoes quiet themselves. And even then, his tone lingered some."
"How is that different from Shaw?"
"With Shaw, it wasn't so much like an echo. More like a home intruder, rummaging around. When I descended into myself, instead of simply opening the windows, I found that I had to exterminate instead."
"But you got everything out?" Charles sadly shook his head.
"I didn't get anything out," he said, his eyes growing distant again. "I couldn't. From the inside of my own mindscape, I was trapped. At least, until you showed up."
"Me?"
"Yes, you," said Charles, looking over to Erik, vulnerability written over every line in his face. "I was caught in a loop, losing more of myself each pass. Somehow, your arrival gave me the internal clue I needed to discover what was happening."
"But…how?"
"I couldn’t tell you. And trust me, I've been reading everything I can get my hands on to try and figure it out. I can only assume that some part of Shaw, powered by his unusual mutation, was able to attach to my consciousness. It was waiting for me to tire, and then I'm sure it would have made some kind of move."
"I…think you’re right," said Erik, remembering Shaw's evil whispers inside his mind. "But that still doesn't explain how I got rid of him."
"When you…stabbed yourself, my mind tried again to force him out," said Charles, searching Erik's face for something. "And it succeeded. Violently. Don't you remember?"
"No," said Erik, shaking his head slowly. "The last thing I remember is everything going dark. Then I woke up here."
"Oh…" said Charles, pursing his lips in a flat line. He looked away again, his eyes growing distant. "I guess I just assumed you knew…"
"Charles, you have to stop assuming that other people know what you are thinking, just because you know what they are thinking."
"Good point," said Charles, the ghost of a smile playing at his face. "After you…did the deed, as it were, you fell to the ground."
"In your mind?"
"In my mind, yes. Your image kept flashing between you and Shaw, both bleeding in a pile on the floor. Suddenly, your eyes opened, but they weren't your eyes. They were Shaw's."
Erik remained silent as fear shot through him. Glancing over at the bathroom mirror, he wondered what his eyes looked like now.
"You opened your mouth," Charles continued, oblivious to Erik's discomfort. "And Shaw's horrible laugh came out. And that's when the walls started to crumble."
"The walls?"
"Yes. It was like the entire room began to attack you. I think my mind had identified the foreign presence and decided to use whatever means were necessary to fight it, because as the room broke down, everything started to fly at you, beating you into the ground."
"Was it me? Or was it Shaw?"
"In a strange way, it was both. I tried to stop what was going on, but I was exhausted from being trapped in my own mind for days, and I couldn't get control of myself. It seemed like everything I did only made the attack more violent, more forceful. Finally, the door flew off its frame and punched you into nothingness. That's when I woke up."
"And this is when my heart had stopped?"
"Yes. Raven and I got your heart beating, and we rushed home. I was so exhausted that I couldn't even read my own mind, let alone anyone else's. It wasn't until we got you to the hospital that I realized something was wrong."
"What do you mean, something was wrong?"
Charles pointed to the center of his forehead, still looking off in the distance.
"No one was home," he said. Shaking his head slightly, Charles added, "I don't know exactly what happened, but there was no one in you head."
"Does that usually happen with coma patients?"
"Not in my experience. Usually, the person is unresponsive, even in their mind, but they are still there."
Erik waited a moment, hoping that Charles would continue. After minutes in growing silence, it became clear that Erik was going to have to force the explanation from Charles, one leading question at a time.
"What do you think happened?" asked Erik, his voice urging Charles to explain.
"I think my abilities, when they felt threatened, reacted in a way that I have never experienced before. I think they forced both you and Shaw out, as forcefully as possible."
"What does that mean?"
"I think I punched a hole in your brain."
Erik laughed. He couldn't help himself. It burst out of his mouth before he could stop it. Charles looked over at him, his expression still and serious.
"I don't see what is funny about that."
"Charles, that’s ridiculous," said Erik, his face the picture of disbelief. "Why would you assume you were the cause?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Charles, inside your mind, in a place that was more real than any dream, I had just stabbed myself through the heart. Why, exactly, did you think you were the one who did the damage?"
"Because of what happened afterward! Your stopped heart shouldn't have had that kind of effect on your brain!"
"I can tell you this for certain. Anything that happened in our heads, I did to myself," said Erik. Charles opened his mouth to argue, but was stopped by Erik's hand, raising in front of him. "Listen. You cannot be responsible for both what happened to Shaw and what happened to me. Either we are both equally guilty, or we are both equally innocent. And in either case, it's probably time we were both forgiven."
Charles opened his mouth again, and closed it without saying anything. Somehow, with all of his intelligence, Charles had apparently not considered this possibilty.
"In any case," said Erik, his voice oozing with reasonability. "If you were so worried about the damage you may have done, you could have looked for yourself."
Charles' face went from thoughtful to guilty in the space of a blink. While Erik still felt some sympathy, he did not intend to let Charles off the hook now.
"You know I won't peek into minds without permission…"
"That is a dodge at best, and a lie at worst, Charles." said Erik, leaning towards Charles. "Granted, you don't just go digging around in people’s thoughts, but you only trot out 'permission' when you think someone is going to stop trusting you for invading their private thoughts."
"I don't think that's very fair."
"You're obsession with fairness in this whole situation is something between endearing and pitiable. It is what it is, Charles. I have no issues with the ethics of your abilities."
"I guess I should be thankful for that," muttered Charles, rolling his eyes.
"Perhaps," said Erik, leaning back slightly. "But you’re still dodging the issue. Let me ask this simply. Why have you been avoiding using your telepathy on me?"
Charles’ expression grew pained, and he let out a large sigh. Looking over at Erik's impassive face, he obviously realized that the time for temporizing was over. His shoulders slumped forward, defeated.
"There were two reasons, really," said Charles, tracing the edge of the fuzzy rob on his leg. "The first sounds more noble, but I fear the second may be the true reason."
"I'm all ears."
"After I realized my abilities may have harmed you, I was worried that if I opened my mind up to you, my subconscious would flare up again, and attempt to attack."
"Has that ever happened before?"
"A re-attack?" asked Charles. "My mind hadn't ever attacked anyone without my conscious will when it happened last time!"
"But you said before, that you thought part of the reason your abilities…overreacted, let us say, is because you were exhausted and panicked."
"True…"
"We were also deep within your mind."
"Also true…"
"So what is your other reason?"
"I was scared that Shaw might not be gone," said Charles in a tiny voice, shame in his eyes. He looked anywhere in the room but towards the tub. "I feared that if I touched you again, mind to mind, that Shaw could resurface in one of us, and I wasn't sure what I could do."
"Charles…"
"It's why I've been doing so much research into the idea. I knew that eventually, I was going to have to face this. I had hoped that I would feel ready."
"Do you think you can do it?"
"Do what? Make sure Shaw stays gone? Probably. Except…"
"Except what?" said Erik, a bit of familiar steel in his voice at last. "If Shaw is still alive, somehow, then you need to do this. That man has taken too much from me, from all mutants, to be allowed to hide in my mind. I need you to go in and make sure he's gone."
"Erik, I can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because I might kill you this time, you idiot!" said Charles, his calm demeanor finally cracking.. "Even if you are right, and my subconscious doesn't try and swat you like a fly, I've never dug around in someone's head looking for a stranger before. It could kill you, paralyze you, or lobotomize you. And I'm not willing to take that chance until it becomes necessary."
"Charles, your concern is touching," said Erik, his voice unsoftened by Charles' outburst. "But I would rather be dead then have that man using my mind to live. If you don't do something about it, I will."
"This is exactly why I didn't tell you!" said Charles, putting his face in his hands. "There is literally nothing you can do about this without me. Or without a telepath of similar powers. And I swear, if you track down that diamond dilettante…"
"Why shouldn't I?" countered Erik. "What choice do you leave me? Maybe if you stopped treating me like an invalid…"
"What? You'd kill yourself? Trying to do something that if you just give me some time, I can take care of?"
"Oh, now you sound confident," said Erik, scorn heavy in his voice. "Not five minutes ago you weren't even sure such a thing could be done. Let's say you are right, and you can do something about this. What am I supposed to do until then?"
"I don't know, recover?" replied Charles, matching scorn for scorn. "Do you know how hard a coma is on the body? On the mind?"
"I've 'recovered' from worse than this."
"I don't think you have!" said Charles, his voice rising with irritation. "It's a bloody miracle that you woke up at all. Even with all the lingering difficulties, you’re still blowing everyone’s predictions out of the water."
"And that's supposed to be enough?" said Erik, his voice rising to join the shouting match. "I'm not one of your students, Charles. I'm not going to sit here, while you push me in the right direction. This isn't an opportunity to expand my intellect. If you don't keep me informed, I'm not going to stick around and hope that you dribble wisdom upon me."
"is that what you think this is all about? A teaching opportunity?"
"I can't imagine why else you would be so circumspect about the whole thing!"
"Oh for god's sake…" said Charles, his head falling into his hands. "I honestly cannot believe this conversation is happening."
"What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"
Charles looked out from between his fingers, his face screwed up in a mix between frustration and desperate humor. Erik met his look with a glare, until he realized Charles had lost his internal struggle and begun to laugh. The laugh started out as a low rumble, but quickly escalated until Charles’ entire body was shaking with an edge of hysteria.
"I don't see what’s so funny," said Erik.
"Really?" said Charles, between gasps. "Because nothing about this isn't funny. You're sitting in a bathtub, I'm in my underwear, we've both been assuming the other knew anything we were thinking, and I am far too sober for this conversation. In fact, I refuse to talk about this anymore until we have some kind of fortification. Let's get you out of the water."
"Do you mean that?" asked Erik, glaring up at the other man as he stood. "Or are you just saying this in the hopes I’ll let it drop? Because I warn you, that is not going to happen."
"No, Erik," said Charles, flipping the drain and starting up some warm water. "I am well aware that is not going to happen. And I agree. We need to clear the air. Just as soon as I’ve had a drink."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Charles worked just as fast as Erik could have liked. With a careful hand, Charles helped Erik ease under the draining water and rinse the worst of the mud out of his hair. With the mud gone, it took Charles a few careful moments to untangle the worst of the debris that remained, his fingers steady and comforting on Erik's scalp. With a final rinse, the only lingering evidence of the tumble into the river was Erik's swollen ankle. As the bathtub drained, Charles disappeared for a moment to return with another fluffy robe, a towel, and a set of dry briefs. Giving Erik a moment of privacy, Charles stepped back into the bedroom while Erik carefully stripped out of his soaked drawers, dried himself and delicately worked himself into the dry pair. Erik couldn't tell how long it took him to do this simple action, but it took every bit of concentration to keep on his feet. When Charles looked back in, Erik was pale, but still standing.
Forgoing the library as farther than Erik's tender ankle was going to take, Charles helped Erik to the edge of his bed. In the time it took Erik to dress himself, Charles had dragged an armchair from the corner to place it by the bed. From the trail of discarded books and sweaters, Erik surmised that this chair had been used as more of a mobile flat storage surface and less of a piece of furniture. Sitting Erik down in the armchair, Charles sat down on the bed, and gestured to the side table. On the bedside table was a glass decanter of what Erik assumed was some fair to middling scotch, a small ice bucket, a bowl of salty nuts, and two crystal glasses.
"I see there are two glasses," said Erik, his tone dry.
"You are right," said Charles, reaching over to pour a handful of ice in one of the glasses, along with some of the meltwater.
"What happened to doctor's orders?"
"Technically, I am a doctor," said Charles, pouring a generous splash of scotch into the iced glass and handing it to Erik. "And I weigh the benefits are worth the risks. Also, I think you might actually stab me if I pour myself one without offering something to you."
"You would be right, my friend," said Erik, accepting the glass graciously. As Charles poured himself a stronger version without the ice, Erik placed the glass to his lips and enjoyed a bare sip of the smoky liquid. The pleasant burn of the alcohol echoed in his core as a warm glow. Despite his churning emotions, Erik felt his lips curl up in a smile.
"If I knew all it was going to take was scotch to cheer you up," said Charles, looking over with quiet amusement. "I would have disregarded Dr. Connor days ago."
"I am not that easily distracted," said Erik, cradling the glass in his hands. "I believe you were about to explain why, exactly, you did not trust me enough to warn me that Shaw may still be hiding in my head."
Without a word, Charles gulped down his entire glass. Shaking his head vigorously against the feeling of the scotch hitting his stomach, he poured himself another glass before speaking.
“I would not say it was a lack of trust, exactly."
"Then what exactly would you say it is?"
"If I lack trust in anyone, it would be me," said Charles, looking deep in his glass, as if it held the words he was trying to say. "I knew that if I shared my fears with you, you'd want to act as soon as possible. But without knowing what we were in for, there was a good possibility you would die, and I couldn't let that happen."
"Charles, these are the kinds of decisions that you can't make for me," said Erik, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"To be honest, I wasn't making it for you," said Charles, draining the glass a second time. "I was making it for me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I can't believe I’m actually saying this out loud…" mumbled Charles, squinting his eyes as he looked up into the bright electric lights.
"What did you say?"
Charles set his glass down with a dull thump that sounded of finality. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and Erik, as impatient as he was, gave him that time to come to some sort of peace with his inner dialogue. After that long moment, Charles opened his piercing blue eyes and looked Erik full in the face.
"I couldn't let you push me, because you would wear me down, and if you did, you would die. I would not be able to live with myself if I allowed that to happen."
"Charles…"
"No, Erik." said Charles, holding a hand up. "I've started this whole mess, so you’re going to let me finish. I almost killed you once with my mind. I'm not sure my sanity would have survived such a blow."
"I'm sure it wouldn’t have been easy, Charles, but you’re a stronger man than that."
"I don't think I am, Erik," said Charles, letting his hand rest on the armrest of Erik's chair. "I would have been utterly ruined without you. I've come to care for you, quite deeply."
"I value our friendship too, Charles…" said Erik, before he was interrupted by the pained look on Charles' face. In that look, Erik suddenly grasped the magnitude of what Charles had just said.
"Oh," said Erik, at a loss for words. So many scenes played out in his head. Charles sitting by his bed as Erik drifted off to sleep. Charles pained at every harsh word Erik flung at him during the healing process. Every touch, every word, every action in the last few months was now being dyed by the revelation that Charles cared for him.
Charles' expression slipped from pained to rueful, and he poured himself another glass of scotch.
"Charles," started Erik, struggling to form words. "I haven't looked at anyone that way in a very long time."
"I know," said Charles, his voice soft and filled with regret. "And this is beyond the worst time to attempt anything of the sort. But between that, and what messing with Shaw does to my head, it seemed like a bad idea…"
"Wait a minute," said Erik, focusing in on a few words of Charles' explanation. "What Shaw does to your head? What are you talking about."
"Bloody hell," said Charles, wincing and looking away. "I had hoped you missed that."
"Well, I didn't. Explain."
"This will actually be easier if I explain something about Woolsworth," said Charles, his eyes scouring the room, as if some book in the vast pile would give him the answers Erik wanted. He looked askance at Erik. "If that is not too much of a digression?"
"I suppose only you know that, Charles. But go on."
"Anyway," said Charles, lifting his glass towards the light. "Woolsworth was an unwell man with a taste for scared young girls. While I am sure that he is long gone, there was a moment that I don't think even Raven guessed at that evening."
"Which was?"
"While Raven and I were struggling back to the house, I touched her mind. This was before I fully dealt with the remaining thoughts of Woolsworth, and in reality, was the impetus I needed to realize what I needed to do."
"Charles, you’re wandering."
"It's because this is very unpleasant," said Charles, a tiny bit of a slur hinting in his voice. "When I touched Raven's mind, I felt Woolsworth's desires fill my own body. I am ashamed to say that I reacted to that desire the way that any teenager would."
"But you said Raven didn't guess." said Erik, making the question more of a statement.
"Yes. When I realized what I was feeling, I pushed her away. That, I believe, is when I passed out. By the time I came back to myself, Woolsworth was gone. However, the situation left a lasting impression."
"How so?"
Charles looked over at Erik, his eyes vaguely unfocused. Erik wondered if he should try and get the glass away from Charles.
"Soon after that, I swore to Raven that I would never read her mind without her permission. While I’m sure she thought it was because of the mess that was quickly becoming our home lives, and a sign of trust between us, it was more than either of those things. It was because I couldn't bear to see my sister that way."
"Well as long as it wasn't just…" Erik trailed off as he processed what Charles had said. "Wait. How is this like Shaw again?"
"I know your memories of your time with Shaw are a painful blur," said Charles, plowing ahead and speaking more quickly with every sentence. "But you had to know that that monster had some kind of fascination with you and your power."
"A sexual fascination?"
"I don't think it’s as simple as that. I think Shaw was motivated by power more than any other thought or emotion. Anything or anyone that would give him power, or that he could have power over, aroused his passions."
"Do you think this is why you…care for me?" asked Erik, trying hard to keep his voice neutral.
"No," said Charles, setting his glass down hard enough to splash a small amount of Scotch onto Erik's arm. "My feelings toward you developed before we confronted Shaw. However, given those feelings, and the past experience I had with Raven, I did not want to chance cross contamination."
"You said when you touched Raven's mind, you were able to control your physical urges," said Erik, his tone remaining reasonable even though his mind was racing. "Why do you think that you would fail to do so now?"
"Because no matter how attractive others may find her, I have never thought of Raven as other than my sister. And as I have already confessed tonight, that is not the case with you."
"Right," said Erik, sinking his head into one hand, trying to straighten out his thinking. While that watered glass of scotch was all right, he envied Charles' current ability to pound back the glasses until unpleasant thoughts were easier to face. But knowing Erik's luck recently, if he tried that, he'd end an evening of fainting, drowning, bleeding and spraining with his face in a toilet vomiting. And while that action had given him certain clarity in the past, he was certain it would not help the current situation in the slightest.
Looking over at Charles, Erik felt a pang of sympathy. The usually reserved young man was filling his glass again, his face a mix between terror, guilt and painful self loathing. Looking inward, Erik realized that he was feeling a similar mix, fueled by a certain revelation that what he was not feeling was angry. Or alone.
There was really only one thing to do about this, thought Erik. And only one way he would be able to approach it.
"I take it those are all your cards? Unless you have any other secrets to unburden?" asked Erik, before Charles could drain another glass with the efficiency of a camel. The glass paused mere finger-widths from Charles' lips.
"No," said Charles, still half eyeing the glass before setting it down on the table. "I mean yes. That's all I’ve got."
"Well then," said Erik, steel reentering his voice. "Then I can say for certain that you should have told me all of this long before I tangled with the mudbank. However…"
"Yes?" said Charles, a bit of child-like hope entering his tone.
"I can understand why you didn't," said Erik, trying to put a smile on his exhausted face.
"Oh, thank god," said Charles, flopping back on the bed in such a huge, teenager-like gesture that it drew a chuckle from Erik.
"That does not mean you are off the hook," said Erik, as Charles looked up at him from the middle of the bed. "Just because you had good reason to be cautious, does not mean that my position has changed. We still need to make sure nothing remains of Shaw, in either of our heads."
"But Erik…" said Charles, half sitting up from the bed, a clearly drunken pout playing over his lips.
"Don't 'But Erik' me," said Erik, his voice firm. "I cannot continue my life with the knowledge that Shaw may still remain, living in me. I've set aide too many things in my hunt for him. If I cannot finish this, I fear that my life will have passed me by. And that includes any chance of 'caring.'"
"Oh," said Charles, flopping back on the bed in disappointment. A moment passed, and suddenly he sat up again, a bright and surprised expression on his face." Oh! Does this mean…"
"Charles, you have been inside my memories, rummaged deeper in my head that even I can access, and you never picked up that I have loved men before?"
"But that was different," said Charles, peering at Erik's face. "I never saw anything that would lead me to think that you…"
"Didn't you once tell me you knew everything about me?"
"That was obviously an exaggeration, Erik," said Charles, a petulant scowl on his face. "I had to stop you from leaving somehow. But I do remember some strong feelings towards a certain female or two…"
"Now isn't this the pot calling the kettle black, mister 'oh, what a groovy mutation, let me see you panties' Xavier."
"I have never said anything of the sort!"
"To hear Raven tell it, you would trot out that and worse at the slightest provocation. And she's a much more reliable narrator than you."
"That minx," said Charles, a grin playing at his face. Then, as quick as it came, the smile left, leaving Charles' face serious and sincere. "So, does this mean you’re not disgusted with me?"
"No, Charles, I am not disgusted," said Erik, kindly. "If things were different, perhaps I would feel the same way right now. But until Shaw is gone, there is no room in my heart for anything but seeing him gone."
"I suppose I should not have expected anything else," said Charles, heaving a comically large sigh as he sank back in the bed. "But I don't know when or if we'll know enough to make a safe attempt."
"Don't worry Charles," said Erik, a ghost of a his old shark-like grin playing on his face. "I'm not going to try and force you into telepathic brain surgery tonight."
"That's so kind of you."
"That is what tomorrow is for."
"You can't be serious!" said Charles, sitting up quickly enough that the amount of alcohol in his system was evident in his wavering posture. He looked at Erik's face, and quickly flopped back down. "No, of course you are serious."
Erik leaned over, and with a careful hand, poured himself another finger of scotch as he waited for Charles to get a hold of himself. After a few moments of grumbling complaint, Charles peaked around his knees, his eyes slit and his lips pursed.
"You should go get some sleep," said Charles, obviously trying to change the subject. "It's been a stressful day for both of us, and I'll need to go over my notes if you insist on going through with this madness."
"I'll need a hand with that, if you can spare the time," said Erik, gesturing to his battered ankle.
"Actually, you should just sleep here," said Charles, sitting up and squinting his eyes at the piles of books. "I'll be in the library for another couple of hours, I’ll probably end up falling asleep in the side room down there."
"I am not going to kick you out of your own room."
"Actually, I would prefer that we didn't have to wrestle you back to your own room," said Charles, a lopsided smile on his face. "Given my luck tonight, the roof would fall in."
Next Section
Section 1 ~ Section 2 ~ Section 3 ~ Section 4 ~ Section 5 ~ Master Post
Erik had woken to some interesting situations in the past, but never had he been privy to quite this level of multi-lingual cursing. He was being dragged like a sack of potatoes, towards placed unknown, through the muddiest patch of wooded area while the rain still fell. A great, mud covered form was hauling him, cursing and sputtering, through the grass, pulling him forward in fits and starts. Erik, still disoriented from the whole ordeal, did what any rational person might do in his situation.
He yelled and flailed, successfully freeing himself from the slippery grip of the filthy monster. Unfortunately, due to the angle and the lethargy in his limbs, he was freed to find himself falling directly into a muddy puddle.
"For God's sake, Erik. I did not fish you out of a flooded river just to have you drown in the mud. I know you're mad at me, and I deserve it, but please. Just work with me here."
Erik pushed himself up to see that the mud monster was in fact a beleaguered and filthy Charles, leaning down over him. Looking around, Erik identified the anonymous wooded area as one quite near the driveway. Charles wiped his face, trying to get the worst of the mud off it, and sighed.
"Good. It's only about 10 more yards to the driveway, where I've managed to get your chair. From there, I think we'll be able to get inside without much of a problem."
"Why don't we just go straight for the house?" asked Erik, trying with great care to get up to his feet. As he put weight on his left ankle, he suddenly knew the answer to his question. With a cry, he sat back down in the mud, blinking back tears of pain.
"I think that's just a bad sprain, but I couldn't tell with all the mud," said Charles, circling over to Erik's left. "I was planning on getting you back home and rinsing you off before I attempted to find out for sure. Here. Use me as a crutch, and we'll get back in no time."
While it was not quick, Erik and Charles managed to stumble their way through the woods with a minimum of falling. No conversation passed between them, other than the random profanities that follow dirty, painful physical exertion. By the time they got to the driveway, they were both relieved to see the chair.
By the time they got to the door of the mansion, both Erik and Charles were panting with exhaustion. The rain had finally stopped as they approached their destination, but even coming down it had done little to shift the clay-heavy mud from their hair or clothes. Charles looked down at his clothes, and then to Erik, and shrugged.
"We're not going to get any cleaner out here," he said, helping Erik up. "Let's just avoid the expensive carpets."
Erik nodded and stood, leaning heavily on Charles as they entered the house. While they did not track as much mud as Erik feared, their passage still left some smudges on the walls and stairs. Before long, Erik had to really focus on putting one foot in front of the other, to not tumble and make a worse mess than they already had, which made their trip through the house a bit of a blur. At one point, while attempting to walk up the main stairway, Erik stumbled and ended up putting his full weight on his bad ankle. While, at his best, this would probably not have fazed him, in his current state it was too much. His vision faded and his consciousness nearly followed, but somehow, he kept walking.
The next thing Erik knew, he was sitting in a bathtub, covered in warm soapy water. Charles sat next to the tub in a well-worn wooden chair, clothed in a large brown robe, a pile of books on the table next to him. Erik could see from the V of the robe's neckline that Charles had removed his wet, muddy shirt. Slowly feeling down his sides, Erik realized that he was sitting in the soapy water in his underwear.
"Ah, good," said Charles, slipping a bookmark into his reading material. "I think you are really back this time. I never thought I would start getting used to someone else falling unconscious…"
"Where are we?" interrupted Erik, sitting up in the water and looking around in confusion.
"We're in the master bath just off my bedroom," said Charles, standing up to open the door so that Erik could get a better view. "My room has one of the largest bathrooms in use. It also has the advantage of having both a bathtub and a shower stall. I can run to your room and grab you some clothes if you’d like."
Erik had only been in Charles' room once before their trip to Cuba. He remembered that the room looked spartan, almost unlived in, every drawer neat and every surface clean. But from the view he had from the bathroom door, this was no longer the case. While the drawers were still neat, piles of clothes and other things lingered on the furniture. The sheets, while clean, were rumpled and lived in. But the largest change was the large desk in the corner. Charles had moved a true professor's desk into the room, which was covered in papers, books and other scholarly items. Even from this distance, Erik noticed that quite a few of the books were not on Genetics, as he might have suspected, but on brain trauma and coma recovery. Erik looked to the pile of books on the table next to him, and saw they were of a similar make. There was one heavily marked with different colored paper tabs on the edges, titled "Astral Projection: What Happens When the Mind Dies". Charles noticed Erik's attention shift towards the books, and cleared his throat.
"I see you found my research," said Charles, sitting down on the chair and self consciously straightening the books. "I promise, I'll try to explain myself after we get some of this mess sorted out. Just please, let me make sure you’re okay first."
"I'll hold you to that," said Erik, looking around the bathroom proper. It was enormous, the large tub he was sitting in next to a window seat-like ledge, with a glass-enclosed shower to the right, and a sink and toilet to the left. By the door, there were two sizable beige towels, and a wicker contraption that Erik assumed to be a hamper. On the ground next to the hamper, were both his and Charles' clothes, torn, muddy, and covered in sticks. A nicely folded pile of clean clothes next to them, in stark contrast to the mess. Charles carefully perched on the ledge by the tub, and peered into Erik's face. Erik straightened up, realizing as Charles put a steady hand on his head that his hair was still caked with mud.
"Right then," Charles said, looking closely at Erik's face, first one eye and then the other. "I think you'll be safe until I return with something to help get that rat's nest out of your hair."
Charles turned to leave, but was stopped by Erik's vice-like grip on his arm. Looking down at Erik's hand, Charles' brow furrowed in confusion.
"Just wait a moment," said Erik, his voice weak in volumn but terrifying intense in purpose. "You and I have both gotten a little dirty before now. I think we have some unfinished business first."
"But the mess…"
"The mess will keep. I'm not sure we will. Sit."
Charles looked at his arm, then at Erik, then glanced at the door and sighed. Carefully extracting his arm from Erik's grip, he walked over to the door and closed it.
"Fine," said Charles, sticking a finger in to the tub to probe it. "But you are not going to take a chill just because we've put off some important discussions until a storm tossed you down a mudbank. Let me add some more hot water."
With a shrug, Erik moved up the tub so that Charles could get better access to the spigots. Charles followed and leaned forward, his robe gaping so that Erik was now sure that Charles was also in his underwear. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, hot water was added to the cooling tub. After he turned off the water, Charles plopped down in the chair next to Erik, grimacing as he shifted in his robe. Stealing a glance at the other man, Charles obviously saw something in Erik's face that stopped his fidgeting. Charles neatly tucked his hands in his lap, and attempted to look as contrite as possible with his hair and face still streaked with mud and leaves. Erik took some pity on him. Some.
"I suppose I should start," said Erik, leaning against the side of the tub and looking past the other man.
"What do you mean?"
"I want you to know that I didn’t realize you would be pulled into my revenge," said Erik, as Charles' face grew still and closed. Erik started talking faster, trying to get this out before Charles changed the subject, or distracted him with logic. "I should have realized. But I was so focused on Shaw that I didn't put it together…"
"Erik, it's ok."
"No, it's not," said Erik, looking angrily into Charles' face, making the other man meet his eyes by force of will alone. "Something like that can't just be 'ok'. I made you complicit. I almost killed you."
Charles sighed, and looked deep into Erik's eyes. Erik was surprised at what he saw. Embarrassment. Frustration. Pity. It was almost too much to take.
"I have apparently made more of a mess of this whole situation than I thought," said Charles, looking away from Erik and running a hand through his slowly hardening hair. "My friend, you didn't do anything to me that I didn't choose to take on myself. And frankly, it's impressive that we managed to get out of there alive."
"But…"
"No," said Charles, holding up a hand. "Let me explain. I thought I was going to be able to handle Shaw once I got my mind around him. But when I got in there, I found something unexpected."
"What are you talking about?"
"Shaw's mutation, along with his surprisingly ancient age, apparently gave him a certain amount of telepathic resistance," said Charles, gesturing in front of him in a vague circle. "When I touched his mind, I found I had extremely limited options. I could freeze him, or free him. And in my arrogance, I didn't have a backup plan."
"I'm not sure I follow you."
Charles sighed in frustration, but for the first time, Erik felt it was more self-directed than anything. Charles turned to look at him, and Erik found himself pinned with an intense gaze.
"I am a very powerful telepath," said Charles, obviously struggling with his explanation. "But occasionally, when I find myself pushed up against a wall, I don't make good split second calls. While I was able to immobilize Shaw, I found that I couldn't do anything but freeze him. And if I had let him move, he would have leveled the entire island."
"But if I hadn't killed him..."
"By the time I figured out how to break through his defenses, if I ever had, it was very likely that we would have been leveled by the incoming missiles. Which Shaw would have been able to absorb, and add to his destructive powers. The resulting explosion would have worked straight into Shaw's plans."
Erik was silent as he absorbed this revelation. Charles was right. Shaw likely would have simply absorbed the force of the missiles. But something still wasn't right about the explanation.
"But you felt his death," said Erik, slowly piecing together the timeline from memory. "And I'm the one that killed him. While your minds were connected."
"And I can't say that it felt great, but I honestly can't see any other way we could have gotten out of there in one piece. I never want to go through that again, but if I have to choose between losing one murderous psychopath versus then entire world, I'll take the sin on my soul. Maybe if I had had more time to figure out how to bring Shaw in alive..."
"I wouldn't have let you," said Erik, coldly. "I may regret the harm I caused you, but he deserved to die."
Erik expected Charles to argue with him, but the other man was silent. As Erik looked over at him, he found himself chilled by the distant look in Charles' eyes. Erik figured it was time to get the real answers he was seeking.
"What happened to you at the beach?" asked Erik, softly. Charles spoke so quietly Erik had to lean forward to hear.
"I'm not sure if it was because of his mutation, or his age, or just the manner of his death, but something of Shaw stuck around after his body died."
"Like Woolsworth?"
Charles smiled, though the expression wasn’t a pleasant one.
"Not quite. Raven told me she shared that mess with you. The gardener was a simple, evil, petty man. But…I guess there were some similarities between the two situations, in a purely academic sense…"
"Charles, you’re starting to babble."
"Sorry," said Charles, still not looking over at Erik, even though the other man seemed to be boring a hole in the side of his head. "Both of them lingered in my mind, hiding in echoes, coloring my thoughts."
"Like a ghost?"
"No, not at all…" said Charles, in a dismissive tone. But after a moment, his brow knotted, and he reconsidered. "Actually, sort of. Not Woolsworth exactly, but Shaw definitely had the characteristics of a ghost. Especially the haunting aspect. He stuck around."
"Breakit down for me," said Erik, gently touching Charles' knee. "How can your brain be haunted?"
"When Woolsworth died, his personality bounced around in my head," explained Charles, returning to his vague gestures in the air. "I had to sink into myself to…open up the windows, as it were. Let the echoes quiet themselves. And even then, his tone lingered some."
"How is that different from Shaw?"
"With Shaw, it wasn't so much like an echo. More like a home intruder, rummaging around. When I descended into myself, instead of simply opening the windows, I found that I had to exterminate instead."
"But you got everything out?" Charles sadly shook his head.
"I didn't get anything out," he said, his eyes growing distant again. "I couldn't. From the inside of my own mindscape, I was trapped. At least, until you showed up."
"Me?"
"Yes, you," said Charles, looking over to Erik, vulnerability written over every line in his face. "I was caught in a loop, losing more of myself each pass. Somehow, your arrival gave me the internal clue I needed to discover what was happening."
"But…how?"
"I couldn’t tell you. And trust me, I've been reading everything I can get my hands on to try and figure it out. I can only assume that some part of Shaw, powered by his unusual mutation, was able to attach to my consciousness. It was waiting for me to tire, and then I'm sure it would have made some kind of move."
"I…think you’re right," said Erik, remembering Shaw's evil whispers inside his mind. "But that still doesn't explain how I got rid of him."
"When you…stabbed yourself, my mind tried again to force him out," said Charles, searching Erik's face for something. "And it succeeded. Violently. Don't you remember?"
"No," said Erik, shaking his head slowly. "The last thing I remember is everything going dark. Then I woke up here."
"Oh…" said Charles, pursing his lips in a flat line. He looked away again, his eyes growing distant. "I guess I just assumed you knew…"
"Charles, you have to stop assuming that other people know what you are thinking, just because you know what they are thinking."
"Good point," said Charles, the ghost of a smile playing at his face. "After you…did the deed, as it were, you fell to the ground."
"In your mind?"
"In my mind, yes. Your image kept flashing between you and Shaw, both bleeding in a pile on the floor. Suddenly, your eyes opened, but they weren't your eyes. They were Shaw's."
Erik remained silent as fear shot through him. Glancing over at the bathroom mirror, he wondered what his eyes looked like now.
"You opened your mouth," Charles continued, oblivious to Erik's discomfort. "And Shaw's horrible laugh came out. And that's when the walls started to crumble."
"The walls?"
"Yes. It was like the entire room began to attack you. I think my mind had identified the foreign presence and decided to use whatever means were necessary to fight it, because as the room broke down, everything started to fly at you, beating you into the ground."
"Was it me? Or was it Shaw?"
"In a strange way, it was both. I tried to stop what was going on, but I was exhausted from being trapped in my own mind for days, and I couldn't get control of myself. It seemed like everything I did only made the attack more violent, more forceful. Finally, the door flew off its frame and punched you into nothingness. That's when I woke up."
"And this is when my heart had stopped?"
"Yes. Raven and I got your heart beating, and we rushed home. I was so exhausted that I couldn't even read my own mind, let alone anyone else's. It wasn't until we got you to the hospital that I realized something was wrong."
"What do you mean, something was wrong?"
Charles pointed to the center of his forehead, still looking off in the distance.
"No one was home," he said. Shaking his head slightly, Charles added, "I don't know exactly what happened, but there was no one in you head."
"Does that usually happen with coma patients?"
"Not in my experience. Usually, the person is unresponsive, even in their mind, but they are still there."
Erik waited a moment, hoping that Charles would continue. After minutes in growing silence, it became clear that Erik was going to have to force the explanation from Charles, one leading question at a time.
"What do you think happened?" asked Erik, his voice urging Charles to explain.
"I think my abilities, when they felt threatened, reacted in a way that I have never experienced before. I think they forced both you and Shaw out, as forcefully as possible."
"What does that mean?"
"I think I punched a hole in your brain."
Erik laughed. He couldn't help himself. It burst out of his mouth before he could stop it. Charles looked over at him, his expression still and serious.
"I don't see what is funny about that."
"Charles, that’s ridiculous," said Erik, his face the picture of disbelief. "Why would you assume you were the cause?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Charles, inside your mind, in a place that was more real than any dream, I had just stabbed myself through the heart. Why, exactly, did you think you were the one who did the damage?"
"Because of what happened afterward! Your stopped heart shouldn't have had that kind of effect on your brain!"
"I can tell you this for certain. Anything that happened in our heads, I did to myself," said Erik. Charles opened his mouth to argue, but was stopped by Erik's hand, raising in front of him. "Listen. You cannot be responsible for both what happened to Shaw and what happened to me. Either we are both equally guilty, or we are both equally innocent. And in either case, it's probably time we were both forgiven."
Charles opened his mouth again, and closed it without saying anything. Somehow, with all of his intelligence, Charles had apparently not considered this possibilty.
"In any case," said Erik, his voice oozing with reasonability. "If you were so worried about the damage you may have done, you could have looked for yourself."
Charles' face went from thoughtful to guilty in the space of a blink. While Erik still felt some sympathy, he did not intend to let Charles off the hook now.
"You know I won't peek into minds without permission…"
"That is a dodge at best, and a lie at worst, Charles." said Erik, leaning towards Charles. "Granted, you don't just go digging around in people’s thoughts, but you only trot out 'permission' when you think someone is going to stop trusting you for invading their private thoughts."
"I don't think that's very fair."
"You're obsession with fairness in this whole situation is something between endearing and pitiable. It is what it is, Charles. I have no issues with the ethics of your abilities."
"I guess I should be thankful for that," muttered Charles, rolling his eyes.
"Perhaps," said Erik, leaning back slightly. "But you’re still dodging the issue. Let me ask this simply. Why have you been avoiding using your telepathy on me?"
Charles’ expression grew pained, and he let out a large sigh. Looking over at Erik's impassive face, he obviously realized that the time for temporizing was over. His shoulders slumped forward, defeated.
"There were two reasons, really," said Charles, tracing the edge of the fuzzy rob on his leg. "The first sounds more noble, but I fear the second may be the true reason."
"I'm all ears."
"After I realized my abilities may have harmed you, I was worried that if I opened my mind up to you, my subconscious would flare up again, and attempt to attack."
"Has that ever happened before?"
"A re-attack?" asked Charles. "My mind hadn't ever attacked anyone without my conscious will when it happened last time!"
"But you said before, that you thought part of the reason your abilities…overreacted, let us say, is because you were exhausted and panicked."
"True…"
"We were also deep within your mind."
"Also true…"
"So what is your other reason?"
"I was scared that Shaw might not be gone," said Charles in a tiny voice, shame in his eyes. He looked anywhere in the room but towards the tub. "I feared that if I touched you again, mind to mind, that Shaw could resurface in one of us, and I wasn't sure what I could do."
"Charles…"
"It's why I've been doing so much research into the idea. I knew that eventually, I was going to have to face this. I had hoped that I would feel ready."
"Do you think you can do it?"
"Do what? Make sure Shaw stays gone? Probably. Except…"
"Except what?" said Erik, a bit of familiar steel in his voice at last. "If Shaw is still alive, somehow, then you need to do this. That man has taken too much from me, from all mutants, to be allowed to hide in my mind. I need you to go in and make sure he's gone."
"Erik, I can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because I might kill you this time, you idiot!" said Charles, his calm demeanor finally cracking.. "Even if you are right, and my subconscious doesn't try and swat you like a fly, I've never dug around in someone's head looking for a stranger before. It could kill you, paralyze you, or lobotomize you. And I'm not willing to take that chance until it becomes necessary."
"Charles, your concern is touching," said Erik, his voice unsoftened by Charles' outburst. "But I would rather be dead then have that man using my mind to live. If you don't do something about it, I will."
"This is exactly why I didn't tell you!" said Charles, putting his face in his hands. "There is literally nothing you can do about this without me. Or without a telepath of similar powers. And I swear, if you track down that diamond dilettante…"
"Why shouldn't I?" countered Erik. "What choice do you leave me? Maybe if you stopped treating me like an invalid…"
"What? You'd kill yourself? Trying to do something that if you just give me some time, I can take care of?"
"Oh, now you sound confident," said Erik, scorn heavy in his voice. "Not five minutes ago you weren't even sure such a thing could be done. Let's say you are right, and you can do something about this. What am I supposed to do until then?"
"I don't know, recover?" replied Charles, matching scorn for scorn. "Do you know how hard a coma is on the body? On the mind?"
"I've 'recovered' from worse than this."
"I don't think you have!" said Charles, his voice rising with irritation. "It's a bloody miracle that you woke up at all. Even with all the lingering difficulties, you’re still blowing everyone’s predictions out of the water."
"And that's supposed to be enough?" said Erik, his voice rising to join the shouting match. "I'm not one of your students, Charles. I'm not going to sit here, while you push me in the right direction. This isn't an opportunity to expand my intellect. If you don't keep me informed, I'm not going to stick around and hope that you dribble wisdom upon me."
"is that what you think this is all about? A teaching opportunity?"
"I can't imagine why else you would be so circumspect about the whole thing!"
"Oh for god's sake…" said Charles, his head falling into his hands. "I honestly cannot believe this conversation is happening."
"What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"
Charles looked out from between his fingers, his face screwed up in a mix between frustration and desperate humor. Erik met his look with a glare, until he realized Charles had lost his internal struggle and begun to laugh. The laugh started out as a low rumble, but quickly escalated until Charles’ entire body was shaking with an edge of hysteria.
"I don't see what’s so funny," said Erik.
"Really?" said Charles, between gasps. "Because nothing about this isn't funny. You're sitting in a bathtub, I'm in my underwear, we've both been assuming the other knew anything we were thinking, and I am far too sober for this conversation. In fact, I refuse to talk about this anymore until we have some kind of fortification. Let's get you out of the water."
"Do you mean that?" asked Erik, glaring up at the other man as he stood. "Or are you just saying this in the hopes I’ll let it drop? Because I warn you, that is not going to happen."
"No, Erik," said Charles, flipping the drain and starting up some warm water. "I am well aware that is not going to happen. And I agree. We need to clear the air. Just as soon as I’ve had a drink."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Charles worked just as fast as Erik could have liked. With a careful hand, Charles helped Erik ease under the draining water and rinse the worst of the mud out of his hair. With the mud gone, it took Charles a few careful moments to untangle the worst of the debris that remained, his fingers steady and comforting on Erik's scalp. With a final rinse, the only lingering evidence of the tumble into the river was Erik's swollen ankle. As the bathtub drained, Charles disappeared for a moment to return with another fluffy robe, a towel, and a set of dry briefs. Giving Erik a moment of privacy, Charles stepped back into the bedroom while Erik carefully stripped out of his soaked drawers, dried himself and delicately worked himself into the dry pair. Erik couldn't tell how long it took him to do this simple action, but it took every bit of concentration to keep on his feet. When Charles looked back in, Erik was pale, but still standing.
Forgoing the library as farther than Erik's tender ankle was going to take, Charles helped Erik to the edge of his bed. In the time it took Erik to dress himself, Charles had dragged an armchair from the corner to place it by the bed. From the trail of discarded books and sweaters, Erik surmised that this chair had been used as more of a mobile flat storage surface and less of a piece of furniture. Sitting Erik down in the armchair, Charles sat down on the bed, and gestured to the side table. On the bedside table was a glass decanter of what Erik assumed was some fair to middling scotch, a small ice bucket, a bowl of salty nuts, and two crystal glasses.
"I see there are two glasses," said Erik, his tone dry.
"You are right," said Charles, reaching over to pour a handful of ice in one of the glasses, along with some of the meltwater.
"What happened to doctor's orders?"
"Technically, I am a doctor," said Charles, pouring a generous splash of scotch into the iced glass and handing it to Erik. "And I weigh the benefits are worth the risks. Also, I think you might actually stab me if I pour myself one without offering something to you."
"You would be right, my friend," said Erik, accepting the glass graciously. As Charles poured himself a stronger version without the ice, Erik placed the glass to his lips and enjoyed a bare sip of the smoky liquid. The pleasant burn of the alcohol echoed in his core as a warm glow. Despite his churning emotions, Erik felt his lips curl up in a smile.
"If I knew all it was going to take was scotch to cheer you up," said Charles, looking over with quiet amusement. "I would have disregarded Dr. Connor days ago."
"I am not that easily distracted," said Erik, cradling the glass in his hands. "I believe you were about to explain why, exactly, you did not trust me enough to warn me that Shaw may still be hiding in my head."
Without a word, Charles gulped down his entire glass. Shaking his head vigorously against the feeling of the scotch hitting his stomach, he poured himself another glass before speaking.
“I would not say it was a lack of trust, exactly."
"Then what exactly would you say it is?"
"If I lack trust in anyone, it would be me," said Charles, looking deep in his glass, as if it held the words he was trying to say. "I knew that if I shared my fears with you, you'd want to act as soon as possible. But without knowing what we were in for, there was a good possibility you would die, and I couldn't let that happen."
"Charles, these are the kinds of decisions that you can't make for me," said Erik, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"To be honest, I wasn't making it for you," said Charles, draining the glass a second time. "I was making it for me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I can't believe I’m actually saying this out loud…" mumbled Charles, squinting his eyes as he looked up into the bright electric lights.
"What did you say?"
Charles set his glass down with a dull thump that sounded of finality. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and Erik, as impatient as he was, gave him that time to come to some sort of peace with his inner dialogue. After that long moment, Charles opened his piercing blue eyes and looked Erik full in the face.
"I couldn't let you push me, because you would wear me down, and if you did, you would die. I would not be able to live with myself if I allowed that to happen."
"Charles…"
"No, Erik." said Charles, holding a hand up. "I've started this whole mess, so you’re going to let me finish. I almost killed you once with my mind. I'm not sure my sanity would have survived such a blow."
"I'm sure it wouldn’t have been easy, Charles, but you’re a stronger man than that."
"I don't think I am, Erik," said Charles, letting his hand rest on the armrest of Erik's chair. "I would have been utterly ruined without you. I've come to care for you, quite deeply."
"I value our friendship too, Charles…" said Erik, before he was interrupted by the pained look on Charles' face. In that look, Erik suddenly grasped the magnitude of what Charles had just said.
"Oh," said Erik, at a loss for words. So many scenes played out in his head. Charles sitting by his bed as Erik drifted off to sleep. Charles pained at every harsh word Erik flung at him during the healing process. Every touch, every word, every action in the last few months was now being dyed by the revelation that Charles cared for him.
Charles' expression slipped from pained to rueful, and he poured himself another glass of scotch.
"Charles," started Erik, struggling to form words. "I haven't looked at anyone that way in a very long time."
"I know," said Charles, his voice soft and filled with regret. "And this is beyond the worst time to attempt anything of the sort. But between that, and what messing with Shaw does to my head, it seemed like a bad idea…"
"Wait a minute," said Erik, focusing in on a few words of Charles' explanation. "What Shaw does to your head? What are you talking about."
"Bloody hell," said Charles, wincing and looking away. "I had hoped you missed that."
"Well, I didn't. Explain."
"This will actually be easier if I explain something about Woolsworth," said Charles, his eyes scouring the room, as if some book in the vast pile would give him the answers Erik wanted. He looked askance at Erik. "If that is not too much of a digression?"
"I suppose only you know that, Charles. But go on."
"Anyway," said Charles, lifting his glass towards the light. "Woolsworth was an unwell man with a taste for scared young girls. While I am sure that he is long gone, there was a moment that I don't think even Raven guessed at that evening."
"Which was?"
"While Raven and I were struggling back to the house, I touched her mind. This was before I fully dealt with the remaining thoughts of Woolsworth, and in reality, was the impetus I needed to realize what I needed to do."
"Charles, you’re wandering."
"It's because this is very unpleasant," said Charles, a tiny bit of a slur hinting in his voice. "When I touched Raven's mind, I felt Woolsworth's desires fill my own body. I am ashamed to say that I reacted to that desire the way that any teenager would."
"But you said Raven didn't guess." said Erik, making the question more of a statement.
"Yes. When I realized what I was feeling, I pushed her away. That, I believe, is when I passed out. By the time I came back to myself, Woolsworth was gone. However, the situation left a lasting impression."
"How so?"
Charles looked over at Erik, his eyes vaguely unfocused. Erik wondered if he should try and get the glass away from Charles.
"Soon after that, I swore to Raven that I would never read her mind without her permission. While I’m sure she thought it was because of the mess that was quickly becoming our home lives, and a sign of trust between us, it was more than either of those things. It was because I couldn't bear to see my sister that way."
"Well as long as it wasn't just…" Erik trailed off as he processed what Charles had said. "Wait. How is this like Shaw again?"
"I know your memories of your time with Shaw are a painful blur," said Charles, plowing ahead and speaking more quickly with every sentence. "But you had to know that that monster had some kind of fascination with you and your power."
"A sexual fascination?"
"I don't think it’s as simple as that. I think Shaw was motivated by power more than any other thought or emotion. Anything or anyone that would give him power, or that he could have power over, aroused his passions."
"Do you think this is why you…care for me?" asked Erik, trying hard to keep his voice neutral.
"No," said Charles, setting his glass down hard enough to splash a small amount of Scotch onto Erik's arm. "My feelings toward you developed before we confronted Shaw. However, given those feelings, and the past experience I had with Raven, I did not want to chance cross contamination."
"You said when you touched Raven's mind, you were able to control your physical urges," said Erik, his tone remaining reasonable even though his mind was racing. "Why do you think that you would fail to do so now?"
"Because no matter how attractive others may find her, I have never thought of Raven as other than my sister. And as I have already confessed tonight, that is not the case with you."
"Right," said Erik, sinking his head into one hand, trying to straighten out his thinking. While that watered glass of scotch was all right, he envied Charles' current ability to pound back the glasses until unpleasant thoughts were easier to face. But knowing Erik's luck recently, if he tried that, he'd end an evening of fainting, drowning, bleeding and spraining with his face in a toilet vomiting. And while that action had given him certain clarity in the past, he was certain it would not help the current situation in the slightest.
Looking over at Charles, Erik felt a pang of sympathy. The usually reserved young man was filling his glass again, his face a mix between terror, guilt and painful self loathing. Looking inward, Erik realized that he was feeling a similar mix, fueled by a certain revelation that what he was not feeling was angry. Or alone.
There was really only one thing to do about this, thought Erik. And only one way he would be able to approach it.
"I take it those are all your cards? Unless you have any other secrets to unburden?" asked Erik, before Charles could drain another glass with the efficiency of a camel. The glass paused mere finger-widths from Charles' lips.
"No," said Charles, still half eyeing the glass before setting it down on the table. "I mean yes. That's all I’ve got."
"Well then," said Erik, steel reentering his voice. "Then I can say for certain that you should have told me all of this long before I tangled with the mudbank. However…"
"Yes?" said Charles, a bit of child-like hope entering his tone.
"I can understand why you didn't," said Erik, trying to put a smile on his exhausted face.
"Oh, thank god," said Charles, flopping back on the bed in such a huge, teenager-like gesture that it drew a chuckle from Erik.
"That does not mean you are off the hook," said Erik, as Charles looked up at him from the middle of the bed. "Just because you had good reason to be cautious, does not mean that my position has changed. We still need to make sure nothing remains of Shaw, in either of our heads."
"But Erik…" said Charles, half sitting up from the bed, a clearly drunken pout playing over his lips.
"Don't 'But Erik' me," said Erik, his voice firm. "I cannot continue my life with the knowledge that Shaw may still remain, living in me. I've set aide too many things in my hunt for him. If I cannot finish this, I fear that my life will have passed me by. And that includes any chance of 'caring.'"
"Oh," said Charles, flopping back on the bed in disappointment. A moment passed, and suddenly he sat up again, a bright and surprised expression on his face." Oh! Does this mean…"
"Charles, you have been inside my memories, rummaged deeper in my head that even I can access, and you never picked up that I have loved men before?"
"But that was different," said Charles, peering at Erik's face. "I never saw anything that would lead me to think that you…"
"Didn't you once tell me you knew everything about me?"
"That was obviously an exaggeration, Erik," said Charles, a petulant scowl on his face. "I had to stop you from leaving somehow. But I do remember some strong feelings towards a certain female or two…"
"Now isn't this the pot calling the kettle black, mister 'oh, what a groovy mutation, let me see you panties' Xavier."
"I have never said anything of the sort!"
"To hear Raven tell it, you would trot out that and worse at the slightest provocation. And she's a much more reliable narrator than you."
"That minx," said Charles, a grin playing at his face. Then, as quick as it came, the smile left, leaving Charles' face serious and sincere. "So, does this mean you’re not disgusted with me?"
"No, Charles, I am not disgusted," said Erik, kindly. "If things were different, perhaps I would feel the same way right now. But until Shaw is gone, there is no room in my heart for anything but seeing him gone."
"I suppose I should not have expected anything else," said Charles, heaving a comically large sigh as he sank back in the bed. "But I don't know when or if we'll know enough to make a safe attempt."
"Don't worry Charles," said Erik, a ghost of a his old shark-like grin playing on his face. "I'm not going to try and force you into telepathic brain surgery tonight."
"That's so kind of you."
"That is what tomorrow is for."
"You can't be serious!" said Charles, sitting up quickly enough that the amount of alcohol in his system was evident in his wavering posture. He looked at Erik's face, and quickly flopped back down. "No, of course you are serious."
Erik leaned over, and with a careful hand, poured himself another finger of scotch as he waited for Charles to get a hold of himself. After a few moments of grumbling complaint, Charles peaked around his knees, his eyes slit and his lips pursed.
"You should go get some sleep," said Charles, obviously trying to change the subject. "It's been a stressful day for both of us, and I'll need to go over my notes if you insist on going through with this madness."
"I'll need a hand with that, if you can spare the time," said Erik, gesturing to his battered ankle.
"Actually, you should just sleep here," said Charles, sitting up and squinting his eyes at the piles of books. "I'll be in the library for another couple of hours, I’ll probably end up falling asleep in the side room down there."
"I am not going to kick you out of your own room."
"Actually, I would prefer that we didn't have to wrestle you back to your own room," said Charles, a lopsided smile on his face. "Given my luck tonight, the roof would fall in."
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