[Fic] Beneath the Surface - (2/?) Charles/Erik
Title: Beneath the Surface (2/?), Chapter 1
Fandom: X-Men: First Class, Charles/Erik
Genre: AU; Drama/Romance
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter, possibly up to NC-17 later.
Word Count: 6k
Summary: Charles is a young marine biologist and activist that, one day, makes the find of his lifetime. Inspired by this fanart
Author's Note: Still un-beta'ed. The plot is pretty much mapped out, and I'm progressing quickly. So you don't have to worry that this WIP won't get finished or updated frequently.
The next twenty-four hours had been hell. When they had finally reached shore, the 'shark man' (Charles had temporarily given him that name in his mind) had lost a lot of blood, so much that, at times, Charles had thought he wouldn't make it anymore. The wound, however, along with the desperate pleas of the stranger, had been among the main reasons not to drive him directly into the hospital in Riverhead, naked as he was except for the blanket Charles had wrapped around him, no ID on him and also no explanation at hand as to what had happened to him. Or none Charles would have been able to give that would have even remotely made sense. With a wound like that - a harpoon spear sticking out of the man's shoulder, for crying out loud! - the police would have been called, Charles knew that for sure, and he had briefly considered taking that chance and blaming it all on Shaw. Then again, framing a man for attempted manslaughter who had 'only' been trying to kill a shark was nothing Charles wanted on his conscience, either. Who would believe them anyway?
Raven had been frightened as hell about it all: the fact that a man who could transform into a shark had ended up on their boat (Charles still could not bring himself to even think about that part for longer than a split-second, for the sake of his mental health), a man who was nearly bleeding to death and no means to really help him had turned her into a nervous wreck by the time they had returned to the landing stage and Charles' car. And so it had been he to drive back to his beach house and wait for a friend from Brooklyn he had called as soon as his cell phone had gotten a signal, still on the water.
Hank McCoy wasn't a doctor, but he was a highly accomplished scientist that worked in the development and maintenance of medical equipment. The fact that Hank had not questioned the cock and bull story Charles had come up with initially only proved that he was one of the most loyal friends Charles and Raven had. Or maybe plain naive. Just the fact that the gills had vanished completely and there was no trace of his previous form left made it a bit easier.
Together with Charles and the assistance of Raven, who had finally pulled herself together after a shot of vodka, they had managed to remove the spear, disinfect and close up the wound with means that were no greater than those of military hospitals in the Second World War. But it had done the job, and, after three transfusions of O-negative which Hank had nicked at the hospital, 'shark man' had made it through the night.
After that, it had been waiting, and that was when hell had started. Because there was nothing else to do. Nothing but sitting at the stranger's bed, checking on the infusion with electrolytes and antibiotics, wiping sweat from his brow and trying to soothe him with words and touches when he jerked violently in his sleep and started thrashing around. Thrashing with his legs firmly pressed together, as if he was under the illusion he still had a fish tail and moved about in the water like a trapped animal.
A fish tail...
Of course Charles had heard various legends of merpeople and other creatures half man, half fish. There were even stories about spirits that showed themselves in human or shark form, though most of them were part of Polynesian mythology, like the Hawaiian story of Nanaue, the shark boy. A boy, born to a human mother and a mystical sea creature known as the Shark King, who could change his shape from man to shark. Not in his wildest dreams would've Charles ever thought something like this to be real, but it was. He had seen it with his own eyes. He would have questioned his own sanity or blamed the delusion on the exhaustion and adrenaline rush of the rescue mission, but Raven had seen the very same thing.
She had gone to sleep that night, but Charles had stayed by 'shark man's' bed, not thinking he could have slept even if he had tried to. Something had seemed to tell him that he should be more freaked out than he was, but he could not find it in him to fear the man that then lay in the spare bedroom, his brow furrowed with haunting dreams and physical pain.
Despite that and the thick bandage around his shoulder - a dark, red spot slowly oozing through the gauze which he would have to replace in a few hours - he had something entrancing about him: his long limbs were pale, skin almost silky looking in the faint moonlight that streamed in through the bay window. Pristine, Charles thought as he gently brushed a sweaty strand of gingery brown hair out of the man's forehead. He still smelled faintly of ocean water, crisp, clean and salty, and Charles found himself wondering how the stranger saw the world, from beneath the surface, peaking up towards the sun streaming in golden rays through the water. What it felt like to swim with the current, many feet below, freely and without any aid, as humans needed when they wanted to experience but a fragment of that magical world for a few precious moments.
He must sometimes go on land, Charles thought as well, wondering how else the man knew English, or why his hair didn't grow endlessly but looked like it had gotten a cut at least some time ago. The thought almost made him giggle and he found himself contemplating it for quite some time, wondering whether it simply stopped growing while the man was in shark form, and for how long he had been like that. Did he even primarily live in the ocean or just went there once in a while? Was he maybe even living a perfectly normal, human life and had a family, loved ones, somewhere? And... were there others like him?
These and hundreds of other questions reeled around in his mind throughout the night and the morning hours, until Raven came in and urged him to at least lay down for an hour or two, but he wasn't able to get any deep sleep, dozing off to dream of harpoons and ropes, a laughing face and being immobilized in the water, mixing with other, trivial occurrences from his own everyday life.
Afternoon came, and finally, finally the stranger woke up. At first, barely able to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds, but then, sometime later, when Charles had removed the hollow needle and transfusion, he was conscious enough to accept the glass of water being held to his lips while Charles propped his head up with his free hand.
“Thank you.” The man's voice sounded hoarse, the words slowly coming over his lips as if he wasn't used to speaking, and maybe he wasn't. Charles would ask later when the time was right and find out all he could about this fascinating creature.
“How are you feeling?” he asked instead as he gently adjusted the covers that Raven must have changed yet another time around noon and added another pillow for the man to sit up a little straighter.
The man's brow furrowed briefly, the movements on his features as slow as his speech. He winced slightly as he attempted to move his arm. “Dry.”
Charles gave a small chuckle before his eyes suddenly widened, alarmed. “Do you need to be in water?”
The man shook his head, but his sea green eyes were big with surprise or even fright as he let them wander around the room. The walls were painted in soft beige, the furniture equally light, some carefully selected decorative items in other soft and pale colors: paintings, a rug with floral patterns in baby blue and yellow. The man looked out of the large bay window, over the sand dunes of the beach and towards the wide, vast blue stretching out behind. He immediately seemed to relax.
“What's your name?” It was the first question Charles dared asking, and probably the most important one because he would need a name to address the man with.
Again, the man moved very slowly, his eyes studying Charles with careful observation, and Charles couldn't shake off the feeling he was handling a frightened, wild animal.
“Erik.”
“I am Charles Xavier,” he replied but refrained from holding out his hand for Erik to shake it. He remained seated on his chair next to the bed, keeping his distance. “You're in my beach house on Long Island. My sister Raven, in case you remember her from the boat, is here too, but she's downstairs. We tried our best to take good care of you, Erik, and we did as you requested. No doctors or hospitals.”
Erik's gaze had drifted back to the window; the trapped, alert look shifted and became thoughtful, almost melancholy for a moment before looked back at Charles. “Thank you.”
Silence fell between them for a few moments in which Charles didn't know what to say or ask, not wanting to pry but burning with curiosity as never before in his entire life. Somehow, strangely, Erik seemed to notice, and the left corner of his mouth quirked upward a mere millimeter.
“Go ahead, Charles Xavier,” Erik said, oddly using the complete name.
Charles chuckled faintly and reached up to scratch his forehead, feeling slightly caught. “Only Charles is fine. And... well. So you...” He gestured through the air, still not quite knowing where to start. “Are you always in the water?”
“No,” Erik replied. “But I haven't been on land for a very long time.”
“Ah.” Charles wanted to ask why, wanted to know where Erik had come from, what exactly he was, but he did not find the words to formulate the questions in a way that would sound neither rude nor prying. Even if he got a reply it would remain a completely surreal mystery to him, still. So he focused on something more tangible, something that he had seen in the here and now.
"Why did you attack that boat?"
Erik's pale green eyes narrowed, and his lip became very thin before he replied, his voice rawer, lower than before. "Because the man on that boat attacked me first. I only defended myself."
"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," Charles said quickly, feeling bad for even unintentionally implying an ill intent. "You could have easily gotten away. You didn't have to take the bait." He realized his words hardly made it any better, and for a moment Charles wondered whether maybe, while in shark form, Erik's perception and mindset worked differently than that of a human, more animalistic and instinctive, yet deadly intelligent, as he had seen.
Erik's features hardly softened; just his eyes stared back out at the ocean again for a few long moments, as if he wasn't really there but far, far away with his thoughts. "He's been hunting me for years," Erik started then without directing his gaze back at Charles. "He's killed and tortured my parents. He deserves to die."
The following silence felt like a heavy, thick blanket to Charles. He had to get up from his seat, take a deep breath and a few steps as he tried to process the simple but harsh truth in Erik's words, and he came to sit on the bench underneath the sill of the large bay window. But was Erik's conclusion a truth as well? For Erik, obviously, without a doubt. Yet Charles found it nearly impossible to simply accept it, to imagine Erik would have succeeded and killed Shaw yesterday. He was a despicable and ruthless human being, yes, but that didn't automatically mean he deserved to die.
"When you say he's been hunting you…" Charles started again, his lower arms resting on his knees and his head bowed. "Do you mean you in particular?"
Again, there was a tiny crease between Erik's eyebrows, and he crooked his neck for an inch or two. “That is what I have said, or not?”
This all was getting more and more complicated, and Charles had to pinch the bridge of his nose to stay focused, find a coherently worded question among the chaos of hundreds of them in his head. Did Shaw know what Erik was? But that was impossible. Even someone as power-hungry as he would not hunt a being with human intelligence. "And… when you turned back, when Raven and I found you…” he started then instead of asking anything more on Shaw, his curiosity hardly satisfied but not wanting to cause Erik any more distress. “Did you do that on purpose?"
As Charles looked back up, he saw Erik's brow still furrowed, even deeper now, his eyes averted in thought. "I'm not sure. The memory is a little fuzzy. I was losing consciousness and knew I would die if that happened." Charles understood immediately. Most sharks were incapable of pumping water over their gills without moving and would suffocate, and they did not have gas bladders that, unlike other fish, kept them afloat. Sinking, depending on the depth of the water - though it was not deeper than 40 meters where Charles had found him - could mean certain death as well. How it even worked that one moment this creature had the complete anatomy of a fish and in the next that of a mammal was a mystery he imagined impossible to explain with present scientific means.
"After that, I only remember being on your boat but not how I got there."
Maybe Erik had seen the boat, maybe he had regarded it as his only chance to get on land, somehow recover until he was able to swim back into the ocean, Charles hypothesized, but it didn't really matter now.
"You briefly lost consciousness before I went into the water to get you. But you're safe now, and you will be alright," he said and tried to give Erik a reassuring smile. "You were lucky that the spear hadn't pierced the center of your lung," he tried, not knowing how specific he could get with Erik still understanding him. "That means nothing that won't heal again got injured. You'll be fine but it'll take you a few days of recovery. You can stay here with us for as long as that takes."
"Thank you." The words had an almost monotonous, little heart-felt ring to them, though there was something in Erik's eyes that spoke of gratitude more than words could.
“Well, my friend, we can talk more later, if you like. Now you should maybe get some more rest. Or do you want something to eat first? A different drink?”
Erik's forehead furrowed ever so slightly. “I have fed only two days ago, but I feel slightly hungry.”
He had said it as if it was unusual to him to eat regularly, and it occurred to Charles then that, in his shark form, Erik must have the same metabolism as a Great White. And the same feeding habits. Somehow, it was really difficult and somewhat ridiculous to imagine him slay a seal or pigeon or hunt for a large tuna under water. “I will see that I can fix you something to eat then. What would you like? Fish?” Charles felt rather stupid.
There was this tiny twitch at the corner of Erik's mouth again. “Yes. Fish would be good.”
“Um, so...” Charles found himself reaching for his forehead, shielding his eyes behind fingers and scratching through his hairline. “Do you want it cooked or raw?”
The minuscule, not-really-there smile remained but both eyebrows rose up in what looked almost like a scolding glance. “Raw of course.”
“Right. Of course. Sorry.” This qualified as probably the most awkward conversation he had ever had. "Listen," he started as he got back up from his seat. "I will have to go get something for you. Why don't you sleep some more. I'll be back in an hour. And if you need anything else you can call for Raven. She'll be here, alright?"
Erik only nodded, his eyelids already growing heavy as was normal for any human under these circumstances. Which was probably the only thing normal about Erik, Charles thought as he left the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
~*~
About almost an hour later, Charles was standing in the kitchen of the beach house his parents had purchased before Charles had been born. It wasn't as big as many others here at the Hamptons - just three bedrooms and a large, mostly open living area - but that fact was probably all the more reason why Charles loved it.
With a big, sharp knife he was cutting the tuna filet he had bought at a sushi restaurant in Southampton into palatable pieces, putting them neatly on a large plate. Finally, the soft chatter from the couch in the living room died down, and Raven, who had been on the phone with her girlfriend Irene, joined her brother in the kitchen.
“Ooh, sashimi,” she said and nicked a piece of the fresh tuna.
Charles slapped her fingers. “This isn't for you, it's for Erik.”
Her brow furrowed slightly but a smile was on her lips. “Erik. Kinda weird, don't you think?”
“Him or the name?” Charles asked as he cut the first of the last two filet pieces, deciding to leave the other for later.
“Well, both, actually. I mean, I dunno.” She shrugged and leaned against the counter, arms folded in front of her chest as she watched him. “It's such a normal name. And he's... okay, I'm making no sense.”
“No, you are not,” Charles said softly, only letting his lips twitch upward ever so slightly as he put the last slice of fish onto the plate. “But I think I know what you mean.”
It was odd, to have a being that one would only expect in fairy tales reside in their house, nursing him back to health, bringing him food, conversing with him. He could almost forget what he had seen the previous day, believing for a few short and pleasantly easy moments that it had only been a thoroughly surreal dream.
“You didn't tell Irene anything, did you?”
“Hell no!” Raven laughed airily. “She's my girlfriend and she loves me, but even she wouldn't believe such a story if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. She'd think I'm taking the piss. Speaking of which, does Erik know how a bathroom works?”
Charles shook his head, though a faint chuckle left his lips as he brushed the back of his hand over his forehead. “Raven, please.”
“What? I'm just being pragmatic. You told me he said he hadn't been on land for ages. Who knows whether he's ever really seen a normal house from the inside. Oh God, we've gotta be careful with anything electronic and stuff. It might freak him out. Like in that movie with Hugh Jackman where he's that guy from the 19th century. Just that... okay, make that The Little Mermaid.”
Charles felt a little bad having to chuckle about her words again. The cultural shock that this all could mean for Erik surely wasn't a laughing matter. He couldn't help the smile lasting on his features for a little while longer, though, as he washed his hands and put the plate on a tray together with a napkin and a small bowl with strawberries - just in case Erik would like to try them. He didn't add any cutlery, though.
“I swear, if you tell him to comb his hair with a fork I'm going to disinherit you, Raven,” Charles said with a tone as serious as possible, ignored her amused cry of outrage and made his way upstairs to the spare bedroom.
He found Erik lying still on his side, thinking he must be fast asleep. The moment he had set another foot into the room, though, Erik's eyes shot open, unblinking.
“Oh, you weren't sleeping?” Charles said, taking a deep breath to calm down the sudden fast beating of his heart.
“I was,” Erik replied with a calm and even tone as he carefully tried to sit up.
Charles put the tray on the nightstand and sat down in the chair beside the bed again, taking the jug of water that pouring some more into Erik's glass. “Just dozing then?”
The man's brow creased for a fraction, then he nodded. “Yes.”
“Not used to sleeping like a human, huh?” Charles asked with a smile and was pleased to it reflected on Erik's features in the tiniest of imitations.
“No.”
“I assume there are several things you will have to get used to again. For as long as you stay,” he quickly added so he would not cause the impression that this, a human life, was what Erik should go back to now. Though as yesterday's events had proven it might be the safer option. “Here, eat. I hope it's to your liking.”
Erik eyed the contents of the plate that Charles had put on his lap with slight skepticism, but then his fingers reached out and took up the first slice, gingerly putting it into his mouth and chewing. It looked a little awkward, unpracticed, like someone that wasn't quite sure whether what he was having in his mouth was any good for him. Then, he took the next slice between his long fingers and ate. Charles couldn't help but notice how lean and tall Erik was, so unlike the rather stout body shape of a Great White. More like a blue shark or mako, he thought, but realized soon it was rather redundant to ponder this. Into which shark species exactly this man was able to turn did not really make a difference.
“Is it good?”
Erik swallowed his bite, a little quickly now. “Yes. I know this.”
“Ah.” Of course Erik would. Tuna were frequent in almost all waters and a preferred prey for large sharks. Yet, the conversation was beyond awkward again, and Charles found it difficult to find a topic that would come natural to them. But despite the awkwardness and the rather monosyllabic answers he received he was fascinated and intrigued, and he intended to discreetly and gently unfold the mystery that surrounded this man, bit by bit. “So, did you ever have human food then?”
Erik had already eaten two thirds of the plate and let it rest on his lap for a moment, looking up at Charles, and for a second there was that distant, contemplative glance in his eyes again that Charles couldn't quite place.
“I remember chocolate.”
“Oh, really? That's great. If you want any, I'm sure we have something in the house. Raven's a real sweet tooth.”
“She's afraid of me,” Erik said calmly. “Your sister. She peeked in earlier when I was awake but didn't come in. “
“I'm sure she just didn't want to disturb you.”
“No. She was afraid. I could feel it.”
As with everything else so far, Erik said these things with complete self-evidence, either not realizing or not caring how odd or surprising they could sound. “You could... I'm sorry?”
Erik shrugged before he ate another piece of tuna. “Her heart-beat, breath, sweat. I can feel its vibrations and smell it, but not as strong as in the water.”
Charles was thoroughly amazed then. Of course, it wasn't any news to him that sharks could detect electric currents with their ampullae of Lorenzini. That Erik, in his human form, still possessed that ability on a rudimentary level was another scientific riddle he found no logical explanation for. He just barely stopped himself from saying 'wow'.
“I don't quite think she's really scared of you, though. Maybe still a little confused and shocked, but please don't take it against her. It's just... forgive me, my friend, but meeting someone like you is nothing either of us would have ever dreamed of.”
“It seems very common for your kind to fear and hate the unknown.” The words did not sound in any way reproachful, still it made Charles ache a little because of the undeniable truth that lay in the statement. Many tragedies that had happened throughout mankind's history had been based on that very fact.
“She doesn't hate you, and neither do I, Erik. I promise you that.” Leaning in closer, Charles had almost reached for Erik's hand to squeeze it in a reassuring gesture, but he refrained from doing so in the last second. “Do you want some water? Or maybe some juice? I could go downstairs and fetch you some if you'd like that.”
Erik nodded but then turned slightly, reaching for the glass on the nightstand himself. Carefully, he drank almost half of it before setting it back on the wooden surface.
“Oh, before I forget. That door over there leads to the guest bathroom. It's going to be your own. I'll go and lock the other door to the hallway, so you don't worry that someone might disturb you. Do you... know how everything works?” He tried, feeling like walking on thin ice between being caring and insinuating lack of intelligence and education.
“I should. I think,” he said, a pondering expression on his face for a second. Then he set the plate back onto the tray on the nightstand and, quicker as Charles could have protested, pushed back the covers and got up on the other side of the bed. There was only the briefest wince audible when he moved his arm, and he stood on unsure legs for a moment, completely nude and seemingly quite oblivious to the fact that this was unusual.
“Oh, uh... Wait, let me get you something to--” But Erik had already started to make his way towards the door of the attached bathroom, his steps slow and slightly shaky but deliberate. “Wear,” Charles ended in a faintly murmured whisper to himself. He felt his cheeks heat ever so gently as he looked in Erik's direction, trying not to stare. Which was odd. He had often seen other men naked in perfectly casual situations such as the changing room of a gym, but this was different. Although he could not quite explain it, he felt like Erik was, without real awareness to the fact, exposed, like... like it was inappropriate for him to even look out of curiosity. Charles faintly shook his head as he got up, drawing his gaze to Erik's head instead of the lean muscles of his back as he stood in the entrance of the bathroom.
“That is a shower.” Charles wasn't really sure if it was a question or the statement of someone who remembered, and for a second the image came to mind of a person that had been in a coma for a very long time and had to readjust to the simple and essential things in every day life. In a way, that comparison was quite fitting.
“Yes. There's two handles, warm and cold. The red one's warm. You'll have to mix them. Don't step under the shower and only turn on the red one,” he explained, hoping it was enough but not too much detail. “Towels are in that cupboard,” he pointed to the one between sink and shower. “And that's the toilet and...”
Erik spared him the embarrassment of having to explain the flush and toilet paper to him as he turned his head to look back at Charles. He seemed almost amused, then. “I know. Thank you... Charles.”
Somehow, Erik using his name made something warm spread in the pit of his stomach, and Charles found himself smile. “Alright. If you need to use it now I'll leave you alone. But try to get some rest again, okay? You seem fine now -“ surprisingly so “- but you shouldn't overexert yourself after last night. And try not to get the bandage too wet. But I'll change it later anyway.”
Erik's gaze drifted to his shoulder, and he nodded. Charles wondered whether he was just generally quiet or only needed some time to - quite literally - regain his speech.
“Do you want to finish your meal or should I take it downstairs?”
“I'll finish it. Thank you,” Erik replied, but his attention was already on the faucet of the sink, reaching out to slowly open the handle for the cold water.
“Alright then. Um... I'll find you something to wear and put it on your bed. That is if... Well, it would really be better if you could put something on. I suppose you're not used to that and--”
“I'll wear it. “ Again that almost-smile and a very faint gleam of amusement in those green eyes.
“Right. Good, good. I'll see you later then,” Charles said, the awkwardness never ending. “Enjoy your shower.”
~*~
The next morning, everyone in the house seemed a little calmer and adjusting to the unusual situation. Raven had checked on Erik the previous night and, as Charles had learned afterward, shared an 'interesting yet totally awkward' (awkward had spontaneously become his new favorite word) conversation with him. And Charles was pleased to notice that Erik recovered quickly, though the short visit to the shower, where he had stood under the spray so long that Charles had already worried he might have passed out there, had strained him a little, and he had fallen fast asleep with the needs of his now completely human body.
Charles had noticed that the gills had reappeared after Erik's shower but vanished a short time later, and he still couldn't stop wondering how exactly this transformation worked. In the movie Raven had mentioned the girl had instantly turned back into a mermaid as soon as she had gotten wet, but - why was he even wasting a thought on this - of course this was no movie, and something as supernatural as a mermaid rather illogical. Not that Erik's existence made much more sense.
In the morning, they had found Erik walk down the stairs to the living room, wearing the simple t-shirt and comfortable white shorts Charles had laid out for him. Seeing him standing up to full height now confirmed once again that all full-length pants he could have given Erik would have been much too short for the man.
Erik had shared breakfast with them, a little reluctantly trying orange juice (which he didn't like much), muesli (which he liked even less), smoked salmon (which he found unusual and odd but tasty), and in the end a slice of toast with chocolate spread which he had eaten with great relish and which had made Charles smile.
"Your sister told me you work with fish?" Erik asked as he skeptically eyed the mug of chocolate cappuccino Raven had placed in front of him. The question sounded as if he couldn't quite place that bit of information, and Charles had to remind himself that concepts such as science and even having to work for one's living might be completely alien to him.
"Well, yes, that's the easy way to put it. You see, I'm a marine biologist. That means I've studied life in the oceans to learn how it works. But not just fish but also marine plants and…" He somehow doubted Erik would know what a microorganism was. It was also redundant to mention places like Harvard and Oxford. *
"Charles works at the university. We have to have a job to be able to buy things that we need, like food and clothing and a place to live in," Raven added to the explanation. There was a certain sparkle in her eyes that made Charles chuckle inwardly. As if she regarded this man that, judging by his looks, was a couple of years older than her, like a child whom she could teach how the world worked.
Erik didn't answer the information with child-like curiosity and fascination, however. He seemed to take the facts in; sometimes his brow would crease in what seemed like recognition and remembrance, quietly solving a puzzle with the pieces that were given to him.
"I've been told a thing or two about your world," he said then, making Charles wonder if all that education seemed patronizing to him. He hoped not.
"By whom?" Raven wanted to know, taking a sip of her own coffee.
"My parents," Erik replied matter-of-factly but Charles felt like they should not dive into the subject after what he had learned the previous day.
"Why don't you try your chocolate coffee? You might like it."
"Yes, but careful, it's still warm", Raven added. "Though I've put cold milk in it."
Erik looked down into the creamy brown contents of his mug, and his brow furrowed again as he slowly raised it to his lips, taking a very small, careful sip. His features remained skeptical for a few more seconds in which Charles could see the man letting the taste fill his mouth, but then his eyes lit up and he smiled at Raven. "I quite like it."
"Great, you can try tea next if you like," Charles said, smiling as well. "Or whatever else. We've got plenty of things in the house, and if not I could go to-"
Erik's head had suddenly turned around, and he seemed to listen into the distance, the muscles in his neck suddenly tense. Sure enough, two or three seconds later Charles heard the distant sounds of a car approaching the driveway of the beach house.
"Um, are we expecting anyone?" Raven asked in surprise. "Hank maybe?"
"No, he would have called," Charles replied as he got up from his seat around the breakfast table. "Erik, why don't you go back upstairs? I've no idea who that is, but maybe it's better nobody sees you here for now, okay?"
There wasn't any immediate threat, but someone might have noticed something suspicious, maybe seen leftovers of the blood on Charles' boat, and if the local police were to come ask questions and see Erik, who could present no ID, no name, no place of residence, things could get a little complicated. Whether Erik was complying just because he had been told so or out of his own worry was nearly impossible for Charles to tell as he watched the man leave and walk back up the stairs.
The sound of the car became louder and then came to a halt, directly in front of the house, and a few moments later, Charles heard the doorbell. Running a hand through his hair, he willed himself to relax. Maybe it was just a friend or neighbor, or, in the worst case, a traveling salesman.
When Charles opened the door, however, it took him all of his self-restraint not to let his shock, fear and utter surprise show on his features (and he probably barely succeeded).
"Mr. Xavier, I assume?" The man, who was wearing an expensive, fine navy blue summer suit with the jacket casually held over his left shoulder looked at Charles with a smile, but it never reached his eyes which were of a rather icy blue.
"Err, yes. How can I help you?" Charles replied as politely as he could, deliberately not addressing the man by his name.
"My name's Sebastian Shaw. I'm sure you've heard of me."
~ TBC ~
A/N: Rather long chapter again... for the sake of a cliffhanger. Yes I'm evil, sue me ^^
The next one will probably be shorter. If I go for the short version then it's even already finished. And I might start the next one later. Thank you all for your great feedback so far. That was quite motivating ♥
Chapter 3
Fandom: X-Men: First Class, Charles/Erik
Genre: AU; Drama/Romance
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter, possibly up to NC-17 later.
Word Count: 6k
Summary: Charles is a young marine biologist and activist that, one day, makes the find of his lifetime. Inspired by this fanart
Author's Note: Still un-beta'ed. The plot is pretty much mapped out, and I'm progressing quickly. So you don't have to worry that this WIP won't get finished or updated frequently.
The next twenty-four hours had been hell. When they had finally reached shore, the 'shark man' (Charles had temporarily given him that name in his mind) had lost a lot of blood, so much that, at times, Charles had thought he wouldn't make it anymore. The wound, however, along with the desperate pleas of the stranger, had been among the main reasons not to drive him directly into the hospital in Riverhead, naked as he was except for the blanket Charles had wrapped around him, no ID on him and also no explanation at hand as to what had happened to him. Or none Charles would have been able to give that would have even remotely made sense. With a wound like that - a harpoon spear sticking out of the man's shoulder, for crying out loud! - the police would have been called, Charles knew that for sure, and he had briefly considered taking that chance and blaming it all on Shaw. Then again, framing a man for attempted manslaughter who had 'only' been trying to kill a shark was nothing Charles wanted on his conscience, either. Who would believe them anyway?
Raven had been frightened as hell about it all: the fact that a man who could transform into a shark had ended up on their boat (Charles still could not bring himself to even think about that part for longer than a split-second, for the sake of his mental health), a man who was nearly bleeding to death and no means to really help him had turned her into a nervous wreck by the time they had returned to the landing stage and Charles' car. And so it had been he to drive back to his beach house and wait for a friend from Brooklyn he had called as soon as his cell phone had gotten a signal, still on the water.
Hank McCoy wasn't a doctor, but he was a highly accomplished scientist that worked in the development and maintenance of medical equipment. The fact that Hank had not questioned the cock and bull story Charles had come up with initially only proved that he was one of the most loyal friends Charles and Raven had. Or maybe plain naive. Just the fact that the gills had vanished completely and there was no trace of his previous form left made it a bit easier.
Together with Charles and the assistance of Raven, who had finally pulled herself together after a shot of vodka, they had managed to remove the spear, disinfect and close up the wound with means that were no greater than those of military hospitals in the Second World War. But it had done the job, and, after three transfusions of O-negative which Hank had nicked at the hospital, 'shark man' had made it through the night.
After that, it had been waiting, and that was when hell had started. Because there was nothing else to do. Nothing but sitting at the stranger's bed, checking on the infusion with electrolytes and antibiotics, wiping sweat from his brow and trying to soothe him with words and touches when he jerked violently in his sleep and started thrashing around. Thrashing with his legs firmly pressed together, as if he was under the illusion he still had a fish tail and moved about in the water like a trapped animal.
A fish tail...
Of course Charles had heard various legends of merpeople and other creatures half man, half fish. There were even stories about spirits that showed themselves in human or shark form, though most of them were part of Polynesian mythology, like the Hawaiian story of Nanaue, the shark boy. A boy, born to a human mother and a mystical sea creature known as the Shark King, who could change his shape from man to shark. Not in his wildest dreams would've Charles ever thought something like this to be real, but it was. He had seen it with his own eyes. He would have questioned his own sanity or blamed the delusion on the exhaustion and adrenaline rush of the rescue mission, but Raven had seen the very same thing.
She had gone to sleep that night, but Charles had stayed by 'shark man's' bed, not thinking he could have slept even if he had tried to. Something had seemed to tell him that he should be more freaked out than he was, but he could not find it in him to fear the man that then lay in the spare bedroom, his brow furrowed with haunting dreams and physical pain.
Despite that and the thick bandage around his shoulder - a dark, red spot slowly oozing through the gauze which he would have to replace in a few hours - he had something entrancing about him: his long limbs were pale, skin almost silky looking in the faint moonlight that streamed in through the bay window. Pristine, Charles thought as he gently brushed a sweaty strand of gingery brown hair out of the man's forehead. He still smelled faintly of ocean water, crisp, clean and salty, and Charles found himself wondering how the stranger saw the world, from beneath the surface, peaking up towards the sun streaming in golden rays through the water. What it felt like to swim with the current, many feet below, freely and without any aid, as humans needed when they wanted to experience but a fragment of that magical world for a few precious moments.
He must sometimes go on land, Charles thought as well, wondering how else the man knew English, or why his hair didn't grow endlessly but looked like it had gotten a cut at least some time ago. The thought almost made him giggle and he found himself contemplating it for quite some time, wondering whether it simply stopped growing while the man was in shark form, and for how long he had been like that. Did he even primarily live in the ocean or just went there once in a while? Was he maybe even living a perfectly normal, human life and had a family, loved ones, somewhere? And... were there others like him?
These and hundreds of other questions reeled around in his mind throughout the night and the morning hours, until Raven came in and urged him to at least lay down for an hour or two, but he wasn't able to get any deep sleep, dozing off to dream of harpoons and ropes, a laughing face and being immobilized in the water, mixing with other, trivial occurrences from his own everyday life.
Afternoon came, and finally, finally the stranger woke up. At first, barely able to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds, but then, sometime later, when Charles had removed the hollow needle and transfusion, he was conscious enough to accept the glass of water being held to his lips while Charles propped his head up with his free hand.
“Thank you.” The man's voice sounded hoarse, the words slowly coming over his lips as if he wasn't used to speaking, and maybe he wasn't. Charles would ask later when the time was right and find out all he could about this fascinating creature.
“How are you feeling?” he asked instead as he gently adjusted the covers that Raven must have changed yet another time around noon and added another pillow for the man to sit up a little straighter.
The man's brow furrowed briefly, the movements on his features as slow as his speech. He winced slightly as he attempted to move his arm. “Dry.”
Charles gave a small chuckle before his eyes suddenly widened, alarmed. “Do you need to be in water?”
The man shook his head, but his sea green eyes were big with surprise or even fright as he let them wander around the room. The walls were painted in soft beige, the furniture equally light, some carefully selected decorative items in other soft and pale colors: paintings, a rug with floral patterns in baby blue and yellow. The man looked out of the large bay window, over the sand dunes of the beach and towards the wide, vast blue stretching out behind. He immediately seemed to relax.
“What's your name?” It was the first question Charles dared asking, and probably the most important one because he would need a name to address the man with.
Again, the man moved very slowly, his eyes studying Charles with careful observation, and Charles couldn't shake off the feeling he was handling a frightened, wild animal.
“Erik.”
“I am Charles Xavier,” he replied but refrained from holding out his hand for Erik to shake it. He remained seated on his chair next to the bed, keeping his distance. “You're in my beach house on Long Island. My sister Raven, in case you remember her from the boat, is here too, but she's downstairs. We tried our best to take good care of you, Erik, and we did as you requested. No doctors or hospitals.”
Erik's gaze had drifted back to the window; the trapped, alert look shifted and became thoughtful, almost melancholy for a moment before looked back at Charles. “Thank you.”
Silence fell between them for a few moments in which Charles didn't know what to say or ask, not wanting to pry but burning with curiosity as never before in his entire life. Somehow, strangely, Erik seemed to notice, and the left corner of his mouth quirked upward a mere millimeter.
“Go ahead, Charles Xavier,” Erik said, oddly using the complete name.
Charles chuckled faintly and reached up to scratch his forehead, feeling slightly caught. “Only Charles is fine. And... well. So you...” He gestured through the air, still not quite knowing where to start. “Are you always in the water?”
“No,” Erik replied. “But I haven't been on land for a very long time.”
“Ah.” Charles wanted to ask why, wanted to know where Erik had come from, what exactly he was, but he did not find the words to formulate the questions in a way that would sound neither rude nor prying. Even if he got a reply it would remain a completely surreal mystery to him, still. So he focused on something more tangible, something that he had seen in the here and now.
"Why did you attack that boat?"
Erik's pale green eyes narrowed, and his lip became very thin before he replied, his voice rawer, lower than before. "Because the man on that boat attacked me first. I only defended myself."
"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," Charles said quickly, feeling bad for even unintentionally implying an ill intent. "You could have easily gotten away. You didn't have to take the bait." He realized his words hardly made it any better, and for a moment Charles wondered whether maybe, while in shark form, Erik's perception and mindset worked differently than that of a human, more animalistic and instinctive, yet deadly intelligent, as he had seen.
Erik's features hardly softened; just his eyes stared back out at the ocean again for a few long moments, as if he wasn't really there but far, far away with his thoughts. "He's been hunting me for years," Erik started then without directing his gaze back at Charles. "He's killed and tortured my parents. He deserves to die."
The following silence felt like a heavy, thick blanket to Charles. He had to get up from his seat, take a deep breath and a few steps as he tried to process the simple but harsh truth in Erik's words, and he came to sit on the bench underneath the sill of the large bay window. But was Erik's conclusion a truth as well? For Erik, obviously, without a doubt. Yet Charles found it nearly impossible to simply accept it, to imagine Erik would have succeeded and killed Shaw yesterday. He was a despicable and ruthless human being, yes, but that didn't automatically mean he deserved to die.
"When you say he's been hunting you…" Charles started again, his lower arms resting on his knees and his head bowed. "Do you mean you in particular?"
Again, there was a tiny crease between Erik's eyebrows, and he crooked his neck for an inch or two. “That is what I have said, or not?”
This all was getting more and more complicated, and Charles had to pinch the bridge of his nose to stay focused, find a coherently worded question among the chaos of hundreds of them in his head. Did Shaw know what Erik was? But that was impossible. Even someone as power-hungry as he would not hunt a being with human intelligence. "And… when you turned back, when Raven and I found you…” he started then instead of asking anything more on Shaw, his curiosity hardly satisfied but not wanting to cause Erik any more distress. “Did you do that on purpose?"
As Charles looked back up, he saw Erik's brow still furrowed, even deeper now, his eyes averted in thought. "I'm not sure. The memory is a little fuzzy. I was losing consciousness and knew I would die if that happened." Charles understood immediately. Most sharks were incapable of pumping water over their gills without moving and would suffocate, and they did not have gas bladders that, unlike other fish, kept them afloat. Sinking, depending on the depth of the water - though it was not deeper than 40 meters where Charles had found him - could mean certain death as well. How it even worked that one moment this creature had the complete anatomy of a fish and in the next that of a mammal was a mystery he imagined impossible to explain with present scientific means.
"After that, I only remember being on your boat but not how I got there."
Maybe Erik had seen the boat, maybe he had regarded it as his only chance to get on land, somehow recover until he was able to swim back into the ocean, Charles hypothesized, but it didn't really matter now.
"You briefly lost consciousness before I went into the water to get you. But you're safe now, and you will be alright," he said and tried to give Erik a reassuring smile. "You were lucky that the spear hadn't pierced the center of your lung," he tried, not knowing how specific he could get with Erik still understanding him. "That means nothing that won't heal again got injured. You'll be fine but it'll take you a few days of recovery. You can stay here with us for as long as that takes."
"Thank you." The words had an almost monotonous, little heart-felt ring to them, though there was something in Erik's eyes that spoke of gratitude more than words could.
“Well, my friend, we can talk more later, if you like. Now you should maybe get some more rest. Or do you want something to eat first? A different drink?”
Erik's forehead furrowed ever so slightly. “I have fed only two days ago, but I feel slightly hungry.”
He had said it as if it was unusual to him to eat regularly, and it occurred to Charles then that, in his shark form, Erik must have the same metabolism as a Great White. And the same feeding habits. Somehow, it was really difficult and somewhat ridiculous to imagine him slay a seal or pigeon or hunt for a large tuna under water. “I will see that I can fix you something to eat then. What would you like? Fish?” Charles felt rather stupid.
There was this tiny twitch at the corner of Erik's mouth again. “Yes. Fish would be good.”
“Um, so...” Charles found himself reaching for his forehead, shielding his eyes behind fingers and scratching through his hairline. “Do you want it cooked or raw?”
The minuscule, not-really-there smile remained but both eyebrows rose up in what looked almost like a scolding glance. “Raw of course.”
“Right. Of course. Sorry.” This qualified as probably the most awkward conversation he had ever had. "Listen," he started as he got back up from his seat. "I will have to go get something for you. Why don't you sleep some more. I'll be back in an hour. And if you need anything else you can call for Raven. She'll be here, alright?"
Erik only nodded, his eyelids already growing heavy as was normal for any human under these circumstances. Which was probably the only thing normal about Erik, Charles thought as he left the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
~*~
About almost an hour later, Charles was standing in the kitchen of the beach house his parents had purchased before Charles had been born. It wasn't as big as many others here at the Hamptons - just three bedrooms and a large, mostly open living area - but that fact was probably all the more reason why Charles loved it.
With a big, sharp knife he was cutting the tuna filet he had bought at a sushi restaurant in Southampton into palatable pieces, putting them neatly on a large plate. Finally, the soft chatter from the couch in the living room died down, and Raven, who had been on the phone with her girlfriend Irene, joined her brother in the kitchen.
“Ooh, sashimi,” she said and nicked a piece of the fresh tuna.
Charles slapped her fingers. “This isn't for you, it's for Erik.”
Her brow furrowed slightly but a smile was on her lips. “Erik. Kinda weird, don't you think?”
“Him or the name?” Charles asked as he cut the first of the last two filet pieces, deciding to leave the other for later.
“Well, both, actually. I mean, I dunno.” She shrugged and leaned against the counter, arms folded in front of her chest as she watched him. “It's such a normal name. And he's... okay, I'm making no sense.”
“No, you are not,” Charles said softly, only letting his lips twitch upward ever so slightly as he put the last slice of fish onto the plate. “But I think I know what you mean.”
It was odd, to have a being that one would only expect in fairy tales reside in their house, nursing him back to health, bringing him food, conversing with him. He could almost forget what he had seen the previous day, believing for a few short and pleasantly easy moments that it had only been a thoroughly surreal dream.
“You didn't tell Irene anything, did you?”
“Hell no!” Raven laughed airily. “She's my girlfriend and she loves me, but even she wouldn't believe such a story if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. She'd think I'm taking the piss. Speaking of which, does Erik know how a bathroom works?”
Charles shook his head, though a faint chuckle left his lips as he brushed the back of his hand over his forehead. “Raven, please.”
“What? I'm just being pragmatic. You told me he said he hadn't been on land for ages. Who knows whether he's ever really seen a normal house from the inside. Oh God, we've gotta be careful with anything electronic and stuff. It might freak him out. Like in that movie with Hugh Jackman where he's that guy from the 19th century. Just that... okay, make that The Little Mermaid.”
Charles felt a little bad having to chuckle about her words again. The cultural shock that this all could mean for Erik surely wasn't a laughing matter. He couldn't help the smile lasting on his features for a little while longer, though, as he washed his hands and put the plate on a tray together with a napkin and a small bowl with strawberries - just in case Erik would like to try them. He didn't add any cutlery, though.
“I swear, if you tell him to comb his hair with a fork I'm going to disinherit you, Raven,” Charles said with a tone as serious as possible, ignored her amused cry of outrage and made his way upstairs to the spare bedroom.
He found Erik lying still on his side, thinking he must be fast asleep. The moment he had set another foot into the room, though, Erik's eyes shot open, unblinking.
“Oh, you weren't sleeping?” Charles said, taking a deep breath to calm down the sudden fast beating of his heart.
“I was,” Erik replied with a calm and even tone as he carefully tried to sit up.
Charles put the tray on the nightstand and sat down in the chair beside the bed again, taking the jug of water that pouring some more into Erik's glass. “Just dozing then?”
The man's brow creased for a fraction, then he nodded. “Yes.”
“Not used to sleeping like a human, huh?” Charles asked with a smile and was pleased to it reflected on Erik's features in the tiniest of imitations.
“No.”
“I assume there are several things you will have to get used to again. For as long as you stay,” he quickly added so he would not cause the impression that this, a human life, was what Erik should go back to now. Though as yesterday's events had proven it might be the safer option. “Here, eat. I hope it's to your liking.”
Erik eyed the contents of the plate that Charles had put on his lap with slight skepticism, but then his fingers reached out and took up the first slice, gingerly putting it into his mouth and chewing. It looked a little awkward, unpracticed, like someone that wasn't quite sure whether what he was having in his mouth was any good for him. Then, he took the next slice between his long fingers and ate. Charles couldn't help but notice how lean and tall Erik was, so unlike the rather stout body shape of a Great White. More like a blue shark or mako, he thought, but realized soon it was rather redundant to ponder this. Into which shark species exactly this man was able to turn did not really make a difference.
“Is it good?”
Erik swallowed his bite, a little quickly now. “Yes. I know this.”
“Ah.” Of course Erik would. Tuna were frequent in almost all waters and a preferred prey for large sharks. Yet, the conversation was beyond awkward again, and Charles found it difficult to find a topic that would come natural to them. But despite the awkwardness and the rather monosyllabic answers he received he was fascinated and intrigued, and he intended to discreetly and gently unfold the mystery that surrounded this man, bit by bit. “So, did you ever have human food then?”
Erik had already eaten two thirds of the plate and let it rest on his lap for a moment, looking up at Charles, and for a second there was that distant, contemplative glance in his eyes again that Charles couldn't quite place.
“I remember chocolate.”
“Oh, really? That's great. If you want any, I'm sure we have something in the house. Raven's a real sweet tooth.”
“She's afraid of me,” Erik said calmly. “Your sister. She peeked in earlier when I was awake but didn't come in. “
“I'm sure she just didn't want to disturb you.”
“No. She was afraid. I could feel it.”
As with everything else so far, Erik said these things with complete self-evidence, either not realizing or not caring how odd or surprising they could sound. “You could... I'm sorry?”
Erik shrugged before he ate another piece of tuna. “Her heart-beat, breath, sweat. I can feel its vibrations and smell it, but not as strong as in the water.”
Charles was thoroughly amazed then. Of course, it wasn't any news to him that sharks could detect electric currents with their ampullae of Lorenzini. That Erik, in his human form, still possessed that ability on a rudimentary level was another scientific riddle he found no logical explanation for. He just barely stopped himself from saying 'wow'.
“I don't quite think she's really scared of you, though. Maybe still a little confused and shocked, but please don't take it against her. It's just... forgive me, my friend, but meeting someone like you is nothing either of us would have ever dreamed of.”
“It seems very common for your kind to fear and hate the unknown.” The words did not sound in any way reproachful, still it made Charles ache a little because of the undeniable truth that lay in the statement. Many tragedies that had happened throughout mankind's history had been based on that very fact.
“She doesn't hate you, and neither do I, Erik. I promise you that.” Leaning in closer, Charles had almost reached for Erik's hand to squeeze it in a reassuring gesture, but he refrained from doing so in the last second. “Do you want some water? Or maybe some juice? I could go downstairs and fetch you some if you'd like that.”
Erik nodded but then turned slightly, reaching for the glass on the nightstand himself. Carefully, he drank almost half of it before setting it back on the wooden surface.
“Oh, before I forget. That door over there leads to the guest bathroom. It's going to be your own. I'll go and lock the other door to the hallway, so you don't worry that someone might disturb you. Do you... know how everything works?” He tried, feeling like walking on thin ice between being caring and insinuating lack of intelligence and education.
“I should. I think,” he said, a pondering expression on his face for a second. Then he set the plate back onto the tray on the nightstand and, quicker as Charles could have protested, pushed back the covers and got up on the other side of the bed. There was only the briefest wince audible when he moved his arm, and he stood on unsure legs for a moment, completely nude and seemingly quite oblivious to the fact that this was unusual.
“Oh, uh... Wait, let me get you something to--” But Erik had already started to make his way towards the door of the attached bathroom, his steps slow and slightly shaky but deliberate. “Wear,” Charles ended in a faintly murmured whisper to himself. He felt his cheeks heat ever so gently as he looked in Erik's direction, trying not to stare. Which was odd. He had often seen other men naked in perfectly casual situations such as the changing room of a gym, but this was different. Although he could not quite explain it, he felt like Erik was, without real awareness to the fact, exposed, like... like it was inappropriate for him to even look out of curiosity. Charles faintly shook his head as he got up, drawing his gaze to Erik's head instead of the lean muscles of his back as he stood in the entrance of the bathroom.
“That is a shower.” Charles wasn't really sure if it was a question or the statement of someone who remembered, and for a second the image came to mind of a person that had been in a coma for a very long time and had to readjust to the simple and essential things in every day life. In a way, that comparison was quite fitting.
“Yes. There's two handles, warm and cold. The red one's warm. You'll have to mix them. Don't step under the shower and only turn on the red one,” he explained, hoping it was enough but not too much detail. “Towels are in that cupboard,” he pointed to the one between sink and shower. “And that's the toilet and...”
Erik spared him the embarrassment of having to explain the flush and toilet paper to him as he turned his head to look back at Charles. He seemed almost amused, then. “I know. Thank you... Charles.”
Somehow, Erik using his name made something warm spread in the pit of his stomach, and Charles found himself smile. “Alright. If you need to use it now I'll leave you alone. But try to get some rest again, okay? You seem fine now -“ surprisingly so “- but you shouldn't overexert yourself after last night. And try not to get the bandage too wet. But I'll change it later anyway.”
Erik's gaze drifted to his shoulder, and he nodded. Charles wondered whether he was just generally quiet or only needed some time to - quite literally - regain his speech.
“Do you want to finish your meal or should I take it downstairs?”
“I'll finish it. Thank you,” Erik replied, but his attention was already on the faucet of the sink, reaching out to slowly open the handle for the cold water.
“Alright then. Um... I'll find you something to wear and put it on your bed. That is if... Well, it would really be better if you could put something on. I suppose you're not used to that and--”
“I'll wear it. “ Again that almost-smile and a very faint gleam of amusement in those green eyes.
“Right. Good, good. I'll see you later then,” Charles said, the awkwardness never ending. “Enjoy your shower.”
~*~
The next morning, everyone in the house seemed a little calmer and adjusting to the unusual situation. Raven had checked on Erik the previous night and, as Charles had learned afterward, shared an 'interesting yet totally awkward' (awkward had spontaneously become his new favorite word) conversation with him. And Charles was pleased to notice that Erik recovered quickly, though the short visit to the shower, where he had stood under the spray so long that Charles had already worried he might have passed out there, had strained him a little, and he had fallen fast asleep with the needs of his now completely human body.
Charles had noticed that the gills had reappeared after Erik's shower but vanished a short time later, and he still couldn't stop wondering how exactly this transformation worked. In the movie Raven had mentioned the girl had instantly turned back into a mermaid as soon as she had gotten wet, but - why was he even wasting a thought on this - of course this was no movie, and something as supernatural as a mermaid rather illogical. Not that Erik's existence made much more sense.
In the morning, they had found Erik walk down the stairs to the living room, wearing the simple t-shirt and comfortable white shorts Charles had laid out for him. Seeing him standing up to full height now confirmed once again that all full-length pants he could have given Erik would have been much too short for the man.
Erik had shared breakfast with them, a little reluctantly trying orange juice (which he didn't like much), muesli (which he liked even less), smoked salmon (which he found unusual and odd but tasty), and in the end a slice of toast with chocolate spread which he had eaten with great relish and which had made Charles smile.
"Your sister told me you work with fish?" Erik asked as he skeptically eyed the mug of chocolate cappuccino Raven had placed in front of him. The question sounded as if he couldn't quite place that bit of information, and Charles had to remind himself that concepts such as science and even having to work for one's living might be completely alien to him.
"Well, yes, that's the easy way to put it. You see, I'm a marine biologist. That means I've studied life in the oceans to learn how it works. But not just fish but also marine plants and…" He somehow doubted Erik would know what a microorganism was. It was also redundant to mention places like Harvard and Oxford. *
"Charles works at the university. We have to have a job to be able to buy things that we need, like food and clothing and a place to live in," Raven added to the explanation. There was a certain sparkle in her eyes that made Charles chuckle inwardly. As if she regarded this man that, judging by his looks, was a couple of years older than her, like a child whom she could teach how the world worked.
Erik didn't answer the information with child-like curiosity and fascination, however. He seemed to take the facts in; sometimes his brow would crease in what seemed like recognition and remembrance, quietly solving a puzzle with the pieces that were given to him.
"I've been told a thing or two about your world," he said then, making Charles wonder if all that education seemed patronizing to him. He hoped not.
"By whom?" Raven wanted to know, taking a sip of her own coffee.
"My parents," Erik replied matter-of-factly but Charles felt like they should not dive into the subject after what he had learned the previous day.
"Why don't you try your chocolate coffee? You might like it."
"Yes, but careful, it's still warm", Raven added. "Though I've put cold milk in it."
Erik looked down into the creamy brown contents of his mug, and his brow furrowed again as he slowly raised it to his lips, taking a very small, careful sip. His features remained skeptical for a few more seconds in which Charles could see the man letting the taste fill his mouth, but then his eyes lit up and he smiled at Raven. "I quite like it."
"Great, you can try tea next if you like," Charles said, smiling as well. "Or whatever else. We've got plenty of things in the house, and if not I could go to-"
Erik's head had suddenly turned around, and he seemed to listen into the distance, the muscles in his neck suddenly tense. Sure enough, two or three seconds later Charles heard the distant sounds of a car approaching the driveway of the beach house.
"Um, are we expecting anyone?" Raven asked in surprise. "Hank maybe?"
"No, he would have called," Charles replied as he got up from his seat around the breakfast table. "Erik, why don't you go back upstairs? I've no idea who that is, but maybe it's better nobody sees you here for now, okay?"
There wasn't any immediate threat, but someone might have noticed something suspicious, maybe seen leftovers of the blood on Charles' boat, and if the local police were to come ask questions and see Erik, who could present no ID, no name, no place of residence, things could get a little complicated. Whether Erik was complying just because he had been told so or out of his own worry was nearly impossible for Charles to tell as he watched the man leave and walk back up the stairs.
The sound of the car became louder and then came to a halt, directly in front of the house, and a few moments later, Charles heard the doorbell. Running a hand through his hair, he willed himself to relax. Maybe it was just a friend or neighbor, or, in the worst case, a traveling salesman.
When Charles opened the door, however, it took him all of his self-restraint not to let his shock, fear and utter surprise show on his features (and he probably barely succeeded).
"Mr. Xavier, I assume?" The man, who was wearing an expensive, fine navy blue summer suit with the jacket casually held over his left shoulder looked at Charles with a smile, but it never reached his eyes which were of a rather icy blue.
"Err, yes. How can I help you?" Charles replied as politely as he could, deliberately not addressing the man by his name.
"My name's Sebastian Shaw. I'm sure you've heard of me."
~ TBC ~
A/N: Rather long chapter again... for the sake of a cliffhanger. Yes I'm evil, sue me ^^
The next one will probably be shorter. If I go for the short version then it's even already finished. And I might start the next one later. Thank you all for your great feedback so far. That was quite motivating ♥
Chapter 3