Fic: Back down to the earth (X-Men: First Class, PG-13)
title: Back down to the earth
author: ilovetakahana
word count: 1,612
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]
pairing: implied Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr
rating: PG-13
notes: Mild spoilers for the movie; an AU for the ending in which neither Erik nor Moira are responsible for Charles's condition. Thanks for the encouragement and the beta job, kiyala and chn_breathmint.
Title and cut text from Take That, "Love Love".
Written for
kink_bingo. Kink: bodies and body parts. My card is here.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
Sting of sulfur briefly in his nostrils and Charles doesn't even have time to reach for his temple, to reach for Erik, because the sea and the sun and the sky are rolling sickeningly around him, a flash of crimson and steel on the edge of his vision - and then he's coughing, he's on the beach and face-down in the sand.
Someone is stepping on his back, pressing down between his shoulders, and he bites his tongue so he won't scream.
Shoes moving into his line of sight. He can barely look up.
This must be Sebastian Shaw. A helmet that blocks him out. A thrumming pulse of pure energy in the ground beneath his feet. A smile that never quite reaches his eyes.
Charles takes a deep breath. "Shaw."
"Xavier," is the pleasant reply.
It makes his skin crawl.
"I'm assuming you've brought Erik, too? I felt him raising the submarine. How far he's come. I must congratulate you on your efforts. I have been waiting for him to realize the truth, to come to me."
"You must know I completely sympathize with his need for revenge," Charles growls, and it is the first time he's said it aloud, and not even Erik has heard him say it. "I may not condone it, but I understand his reasons. You killed his mother right before his eyes."
"It was his fault." Shaw waves a hand, dismissively. "He had the ability to stop the bullet, even then. It was not I who killed Erik's mother. It was Erik who killed her."
That's enough. It's too much. Charles surges to his feet, throws off whoever's holding him down and tries to swing at Shaw - sulfur, again, and his own voice screaming in suppressed rage, he's back on his own feet and he's got to go after Shaw, he's got to turn around - and then, pain.
A hammer blow down his spine, burning him up. A last pulse from his nerves, he's rising up on his toes from the force of Shaw's attack, and then he falls back down.
Blackout.
///
Erik's first reaction, when he sees the flash of black and red and steel wrapping around Charles, is to imprison the other mutant - Azazel, the teleporter, Shaw's man - but they slip through his grasp and he has nothing left to do but scream at Hank: "They've taken Charles, do you have enough control to make it to the beach?"
"If you help me!" is the shout from the cockpit.
And without Charles here to help him focus, with the memory of him being snatched right before their eyes, this is going to be a struggle - and they're all hoarse from yelling when the Blackbird falls out of the sky.
"Everyone all right?" Moira is calling, and that's when the others show up - Sean and Alex, and the shout of "Where's the professor?!"
"Taken," Raven is saying, her voice broken from shock. "That demon guy took him - they were lifting the sub together, Charles and Erik, and then they took him away...."
Erik shuts them out, as the buzzing of distant insects, and he charges onto the sand though his muscles are still protesting - and then he sees him.
Blue and yellow and brown, motionless on the sand.
Erik bellows and runs, Charles's name on his lips, and he's dimly aware of Moira leading the children, and Charles is so still. His hands are shaking as he turns the other man over. He calls his name, once: "Charles!"
And, wonder of wonders, Charles breathes, deep and shaking, and he opens his eyes. Fresh tear-tracks down his face. He smiles, anyway, although he's shivering in Erik's arms. "Erik," he says, "thank goodness you're safe. The children?"
"Are here," Erik says. "What the hell did they do to you?"
"Shaw hit me, and - and - " And then Erik watches Charles's eyes widen in shock, in fear, and there's a sudden flash of hate in those eyes and it's like a blow, like the abyss opening at their feet, a prelude to worse things: "Erik, I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs!"
Taste of defeat and ashes on his tongue. A familiar feeling, a well-worn feeling, like a lover he's since gone sour on, who's gone all the way out the other side of love and is now someone he hates with what's left of his heart. His heart aches with rage, he wants to find Shaw and tear him to pieces. To take that demon-faced mutant and render him into ash, perhaps to stake him through the heart.
And then: "Erik."
He looks down again, into Charles's eyes, and then he can't see him anymore for the tears falling down, for Charles's own sobs. His hands, his self. Here. Now.
Erik pulls Charles into his arms, feels arms come up weakly around his shoulders, and he holds his friend's shattered form close and he weeps.
///
When Charles wakes up again the world is spinning and people are speaking musical and completely indecipherable Spanish, and Moira is sprawled out on a chair next to his hospital bed. Every now and then she twitches in her sleep. Worry radiates off her in waves.
A languid breeze just ruffles the curtains hanging in the window. Guitar music wafting in from somewhere.
Moira is exhausted. Dark circles hanging heavily beneath her eyes.
He thinks of the children; he thinks of Erik.
A shadow in the doorway. He tenses, and he hates himself for the fear. His own hands clenching around his unresponsive knees.
"Ah, companero," the nurse begins, but anything else he has to say is drowned out in a sudden clamor of other voices, more familiar ones.
Charles winces and braces himself and the only person who comes in is Erik. A strained smile. A linen shirt and khaki trousers. His hands are full. Flowers pinned under his arm, a tray of food and a paperback book or two.
His face is lined, troubled - but when he gets to the side of the bed he bends to Charles's eye level and looks him square in the eyes. Shows him how he feels. All the kindness and sympathy burned away, leaving that familiar determination behind. Friendship, and something that Charles suddenly identifies as loyalty.
"I don't deserve that," he laughs, or tries to. "I'm useless to you in your fight."
"No one gets to decide that but me," and he is inexplicably grateful for Erik's sudden hard voice, the bed shuddering as he puts the tray down. He can feel the vibration from his waist and up; everything else is inert. "And no one will ever call you useless, least of all yourself. Open up your mind, Charles. You are a prisoner in your own body, but you are the freest of us all."
"He's right, you know," Moira says suddenly, and Charles watches her shake the sleep off, get to her feet. "The children?"
"Hank is trying to play the responsible one, but that will not last," Erik growls, and there is half a smile at the end of it.
"Not Raven?"
"Never Raven," Charles says, and he finds himself smiling, too. "Not in a nice warm place that is miles away from the home islands."
"Then I'll round them up, make them all get some rest." And Moira walks up to him, puts a surprisingly hard hand on his shoulder. "Have faith in your dream, Charles, for the children do, and Erik does, and god help me, so do I." Flash of her memories, boxing up her badge and her service pistol, a letter of resignation and protest.
"Thank you, Moira."
He watches as Erik offers her his hand, and she takes it.
///
Erik senses the blood pulsing in Charles's veins. A simple matter of refining his focus, down to the cell level, to sense the hemoglobin in the red blood cells and the iron attached. "The doctors say the nerve damage cannot be repaired, not here, and perhaps not elsewhere. Circulation and all other vital signs are normal; they would have woken you up if you had not roused on your own."
"I see," Charles says, and he motions to his temple. "I don't suppose you could ask them to stop beaming their sympathy at me, though? It's getting a little difficult to think, and that's what I need to do now."
"If you are thinking about getting out of here, Raven has already made the arrangements. We will be returning to your home as soon as the workers finish re-outfitting it for your sake."
"We never liked the place; I suppose Raven is having fun turning the old pile on its ear." And strangely, Charles laughs. He sounds bitter, but he also sounds truly affectionate.
And Erik feels his heart knock against his ribs, an emotion he hasn't felt in years. The burning in his hands, nothing to do with the need to manipulate metal. To reach for hope. Hope is immobile in this hospital bed, is reduced to an uneasy shadow and self-deprecation - but he's still Charles Xavier, he's still determined and he seems to be rapidly coming to terms with all that's happened again.
It's a burn that threatens to overpower his own sickening need for revenge. Shaw and his Hellfire Club are still out there, and now Shaw owes him his life twice over, and there must be a balance, a razor wire he can walk with his own bare feet.
If Charles can do this, so can he.
They are the better men, after all.
[On to Before they take it from our hands]
author: ilovetakahana
word count: 1,612
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]
pairing: implied Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr
rating: PG-13
notes: Mild spoilers for the movie; an AU for the ending in which neither Erik nor Moira are responsible for Charles's condition. Thanks for the encouragement and the beta job, kiyala and chn_breathmint.
Title and cut text from Take That, "Love Love".
Written for
kink_bingo. Kink: bodies and body parts. My card is here.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
Sting of sulfur briefly in his nostrils and Charles doesn't even have time to reach for his temple, to reach for Erik, because the sea and the sun and the sky are rolling sickeningly around him, a flash of crimson and steel on the edge of his vision - and then he's coughing, he's on the beach and face-down in the sand.
Someone is stepping on his back, pressing down between his shoulders, and he bites his tongue so he won't scream.
Shoes moving into his line of sight. He can barely look up.
This must be Sebastian Shaw. A helmet that blocks him out. A thrumming pulse of pure energy in the ground beneath his feet. A smile that never quite reaches his eyes.
Charles takes a deep breath. "Shaw."
"Xavier," is the pleasant reply.
It makes his skin crawl.
"I'm assuming you've brought Erik, too? I felt him raising the submarine. How far he's come. I must congratulate you on your efforts. I have been waiting for him to realize the truth, to come to me."
"You must know I completely sympathize with his need for revenge," Charles growls, and it is the first time he's said it aloud, and not even Erik has heard him say it. "I may not condone it, but I understand his reasons. You killed his mother right before his eyes."
"It was his fault." Shaw waves a hand, dismissively. "He had the ability to stop the bullet, even then. It was not I who killed Erik's mother. It was Erik who killed her."
That's enough. It's too much. Charles surges to his feet, throws off whoever's holding him down and tries to swing at Shaw - sulfur, again, and his own voice screaming in suppressed rage, he's back on his own feet and he's got to go after Shaw, he's got to turn around - and then, pain.
A hammer blow down his spine, burning him up. A last pulse from his nerves, he's rising up on his toes from the force of Shaw's attack, and then he falls back down.
Blackout.
///
Erik's first reaction, when he sees the flash of black and red and steel wrapping around Charles, is to imprison the other mutant - Azazel, the teleporter, Shaw's man - but they slip through his grasp and he has nothing left to do but scream at Hank: "They've taken Charles, do you have enough control to make it to the beach?"
"If you help me!" is the shout from the cockpit.
And without Charles here to help him focus, with the memory of him being snatched right before their eyes, this is going to be a struggle - and they're all hoarse from yelling when the Blackbird falls out of the sky.
"Everyone all right?" Moira is calling, and that's when the others show up - Sean and Alex, and the shout of "Where's the professor?!"
"Taken," Raven is saying, her voice broken from shock. "That demon guy took him - they were lifting the sub together, Charles and Erik, and then they took him away...."
Erik shuts them out, as the buzzing of distant insects, and he charges onto the sand though his muscles are still protesting - and then he sees him.
Blue and yellow and brown, motionless on the sand.
Erik bellows and runs, Charles's name on his lips, and he's dimly aware of Moira leading the children, and Charles is so still. His hands are shaking as he turns the other man over. He calls his name, once: "Charles!"
And, wonder of wonders, Charles breathes, deep and shaking, and he opens his eyes. Fresh tear-tracks down his face. He smiles, anyway, although he's shivering in Erik's arms. "Erik," he says, "thank goodness you're safe. The children?"
"Are here," Erik says. "What the hell did they do to you?"
"Shaw hit me, and - and - " And then Erik watches Charles's eyes widen in shock, in fear, and there's a sudden flash of hate in those eyes and it's like a blow, like the abyss opening at their feet, a prelude to worse things: "Erik, I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs!"
Taste of defeat and ashes on his tongue. A familiar feeling, a well-worn feeling, like a lover he's since gone sour on, who's gone all the way out the other side of love and is now someone he hates with what's left of his heart. His heart aches with rage, he wants to find Shaw and tear him to pieces. To take that demon-faced mutant and render him into ash, perhaps to stake him through the heart.
And then: "Erik."
He looks down again, into Charles's eyes, and then he can't see him anymore for the tears falling down, for Charles's own sobs. His hands, his self. Here. Now.
Erik pulls Charles into his arms, feels arms come up weakly around his shoulders, and he holds his friend's shattered form close and he weeps.
///
When Charles wakes up again the world is spinning and people are speaking musical and completely indecipherable Spanish, and Moira is sprawled out on a chair next to his hospital bed. Every now and then she twitches in her sleep. Worry radiates off her in waves.
A languid breeze just ruffles the curtains hanging in the window. Guitar music wafting in from somewhere.
Moira is exhausted. Dark circles hanging heavily beneath her eyes.
He thinks of the children; he thinks of Erik.
A shadow in the doorway. He tenses, and he hates himself for the fear. His own hands clenching around his unresponsive knees.
"Ah, companero," the nurse begins, but anything else he has to say is drowned out in a sudden clamor of other voices, more familiar ones.
Charles winces and braces himself and the only person who comes in is Erik. A strained smile. A linen shirt and khaki trousers. His hands are full. Flowers pinned under his arm, a tray of food and a paperback book or two.
His face is lined, troubled - but when he gets to the side of the bed he bends to Charles's eye level and looks him square in the eyes. Shows him how he feels. All the kindness and sympathy burned away, leaving that familiar determination behind. Friendship, and something that Charles suddenly identifies as loyalty.
"I don't deserve that," he laughs, or tries to. "I'm useless to you in your fight."
"No one gets to decide that but me," and he is inexplicably grateful for Erik's sudden hard voice, the bed shuddering as he puts the tray down. He can feel the vibration from his waist and up; everything else is inert. "And no one will ever call you useless, least of all yourself. Open up your mind, Charles. You are a prisoner in your own body, but you are the freest of us all."
"He's right, you know," Moira says suddenly, and Charles watches her shake the sleep off, get to her feet. "The children?"
"Hank is trying to play the responsible one, but that will not last," Erik growls, and there is half a smile at the end of it.
"Not Raven?"
"Never Raven," Charles says, and he finds himself smiling, too. "Not in a nice warm place that is miles away from the home islands."
"Then I'll round them up, make them all get some rest." And Moira walks up to him, puts a surprisingly hard hand on his shoulder. "Have faith in your dream, Charles, for the children do, and Erik does, and god help me, so do I." Flash of her memories, boxing up her badge and her service pistol, a letter of resignation and protest.
"Thank you, Moira."
He watches as Erik offers her his hand, and she takes it.
///
Erik senses the blood pulsing in Charles's veins. A simple matter of refining his focus, down to the cell level, to sense the hemoglobin in the red blood cells and the iron attached. "The doctors say the nerve damage cannot be repaired, not here, and perhaps not elsewhere. Circulation and all other vital signs are normal; they would have woken you up if you had not roused on your own."
"I see," Charles says, and he motions to his temple. "I don't suppose you could ask them to stop beaming their sympathy at me, though? It's getting a little difficult to think, and that's what I need to do now."
"If you are thinking about getting out of here, Raven has already made the arrangements. We will be returning to your home as soon as the workers finish re-outfitting it for your sake."
"We never liked the place; I suppose Raven is having fun turning the old pile on its ear." And strangely, Charles laughs. He sounds bitter, but he also sounds truly affectionate.
And Erik feels his heart knock against his ribs, an emotion he hasn't felt in years. The burning in his hands, nothing to do with the need to manipulate metal. To reach for hope. Hope is immobile in this hospital bed, is reduced to an uneasy shadow and self-deprecation - but he's still Charles Xavier, he's still determined and he seems to be rapidly coming to terms with all that's happened again.
It's a burn that threatens to overpower his own sickening need for revenge. Shaw and his Hellfire Club are still out there, and now Shaw owes him his life twice over, and there must be a balance, a razor wire he can walk with his own bare feet.
If Charles can do this, so can he.
They are the better men, after all.
[On to Before they take it from our hands]