[fic] xm: fc - no yesterdays on the road - pg13 - erik(/charles), moira, ensemble

[pocky_slash]

Here it is, guys. The epic. ::passes out from nerves::

Title: No Yesterdays On the Road
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Erik(/Charles), Moira, ensemble (including Ororo, Jean, and Scott)
Rating: PG13
Length: ~43k
Summary: It's been two months since Cuba and things are settling down for Charles, Erik, and the beginnings of their mutant school. Right up until Charles disappears, that is. Faced with the possibility that a bitter Emma Frost has kidnapped Charles, Erik is forced to team up with Moira to hunt down the remainder of the Hellfire Club. From there, they hope to locate Frost and retrieve Charles, without killing each other along the way.

(Or: Erik and Moira Drive Across the Country and Talk About Their Feelings.)

Notes: This fic is an AU starting from the end of the film. The background for the various characters is a mix of comics canon, movie canon, canon from the 90s cartoon, and things I made up to fit the story. The title is from a quote by William Least Heat-Moon. More notes at the end.

It's been two and a half months since Erik killed Klaus Schmidt, and he still sleeps prepared to run at any moment.

He's trying to fall out of the habit, but it's hard to turn off something that's been ingrained in his mind, his very being, for seventeen years. He reminds himself nightly that he's done, that he's safe, that he's surrounded by people he can trust, that there's no one looking for him, but each night he still finds himself tucking a knife under his pillow and leaving his shoes next to the bed.

Schmidt is dead. His followers parted amicably after transporting everyone from the beach just as Erik released the bombs to blow it up. As a result, the US government thinks they're dead, so he doesn't even have to worry about the CIA. Even Emma Frost, who calmly told Erik and Charles that they wouldn't live through their next encounter with her, has been locked up since long before Cuba. For what feels like the first time in his life, there's no one after Erik Lehnsherr. He can sleep easy.

He's working on it.

It helps that he's busy. There are a million little things to do on the Xavier estate. The house has been empty for years, and even before Charles and Raven left for England, whole wings had been closed off. It was simply too big for two people. It's too big for the ten people currently inhabiting it, but with plans for more by the start of September, it's best to see to repairs while they have the time. Erik likes working with his hands, likes the distraction it provides. It allows him to focus on something with a quantifiable result, a pleasant change from the more subjective task of teaching the children. He can never tell if what he's saying gets through to them, if they're struggling because of their own shortcomings or his failings as a teacher, and Charles' empty reassurance that they're all trying to find their footing doesn't help matters much, true as it may be. Erik much prefers repairing loose floorboards and replacing rusted bathroom fixtures. The right and wrong in those processes are clear and easily defined.

Also, bathroom faucets don't talk back and criticize his methods.

He shouldn't blame the children. They've all been learning how to live together without the fate of the world at stake, which is more difficult than any of them imagined. It was easy to wave off the petty annoyances when they all assumed their cohabitation would be short-term, but settling into the reality of spending all day in the same (admittedly large) house is clearly beginning to grate.

The arrival of the three newest students has helped slightly, however. They're all younger than the first recruits, and they seem to have instilled a slight sense of responsibility in the older teens. They found Scott not long after Cuba, using a slightly modified and very narrowly scoped Cerebro interface that Hank had built. It went a long way to calming some of Alex's guilt and anxieties. Jean arrived just after Thanksgiving, a family argument awakening her abilities just enough for her to project an angry blast of emotion with enough power to register during a test of the Cerebro prototype. Ororo was a happy accident, discovered through a combination of the prototype Cerebro interface and Hank's oddly specific memory. Without the transmitter, Charles shouldn't have been able to reach all the way to Eygpt, but Hank had remembered most of a set of coordinates from the original Cerebro and with a location to focus on, Charles was able to extend his reach far enough to confirm Ororo's location. She was with them by Christmas and Erik privately feels that she turned what could have been a disastrously long holiday into a treat.

It's possible that Ororo Munroe has been Erik's undoing.

She's been the undoing of most of the school, if he's honest. Scott's arrival was a somewhat strained reunion. Jean is still uncertain of the other students, though she seems to trust Charles and, to a lesser degree, Erik. But Ororo? Ororo loves the academy and all its occupants and has since the moment she stepped foot inside.

It's for the best, really. Erik has seen what happens when she's unhappy, and until they help her learn to control her powers, it's best to keep her smiling. The hail storm at the hotel in Cairo is not something Erik will soon forget.

Young Ororo is the last recruit for at least the next few months. Erik insisted. Were it up to Charles, they'd spend all their time driving across the country and flying across the globe to rescue mutants in need, but someone needs to look at the situation practically. They're only just cobbling together a routine for the school and adding more students will make things more complicated. It took a great many chess games that ended in spirited debates, but Erik finally convinced Charles to run a test semester with their five older students and three younger, and then begin a more formal recruitment process.

Charles wasn't exactly happy, but he agreed anyway. It is a sentiment that colors most of their interactions since the day at the beach.

That day could have gone so many different ways--Erik still thinks about it, sometimes. He imagines a world in which he had let the rage consume him and he sent the missiles back at the boats that had fired them. He imagines a world where he was unable to stop Schmidt. He even, occasionally, dismissively, allows himself to imagine Charles' perfect world, a world where the missiles weren't turned on them in the first place, a world where they get fucking medals for killing Shaw and stopping nuclear war, a world where he and Charles--

Well. He thinks of that one only occasionally. Only very occasionally.

They've been inching along ever since, second guessing each other, their relationship strained in a way it hadn't been up until this point. They still talk and laugh and spend their evenings playing chess and developing the school, but there's something between them, and Erik has no illusions that it's anything other than the ghost of Klaus Schmidt or Sebastian Shaw or whatever his real name was. Charles came as close to begging as Erik had ever heard him, Charles had been right inside his head, open and pleading and Erik had killed the man anyway.

He was always going to kill Shaw. Nothing could have stopped it. But the guilt he feels would never have occurred to him if it wasn't for Charles.

(He feels guilty about many things, thanks to Charles, guilt and the sharp memory of pressing his lips against Charles', kissing him hard and messy just to get him to stop looking at him like that.)

"Erik!" Ororo shrieks, running up to him, a fist full of flowers he recognizes from the vase in the foyer. "Erik, I brought you a present!"

Erik is watching Sean and Angel train. They're grappling in mid-air, flying back and forth in the January chill to practice evasive maneuvers. It's not the safest place for a seven year old girl, but Erik knows firsthand she can take care of herself. Also, she's the first person he's met in a very long time that he has a hard time saying 'no' to.

"Aren't you supposed to be having a lesson with Charles?" Erik asks mildly, but when she climbs onto his lap, he doesn't have the heart to push her away.

"Hank finished a thing and the Professor had to go with Jean and Scott and he told me we'll finish later and to stay inside or to go with you and not to wander off," she says breathlessly.

Hank has been working on a modified visor for Scott, one that looks more like a regular pair of glasses than the one he's currently wearing. Erik can only imagine that's what he's finished. It's good news--Scott was irritable enough without everyone calling him Cyclops behind his back, and even Jean's affectionate suggestion that it become his code name couldn't entirely erase the scowl. Maybe he'll stop walking around with such a chip in his shoulder now, although he's still a Summers boy and they seem to be genetically afflicted with sour dispositions.

"Well, next time, remember your hat," Erik chides, taking off his own and pulling it down over her long, thick white hair. She smiles up at him beatifically and hands him the squished fistful of flowers, which he puts in the pocket of his jacket. "Now, stay close and quiet. I need to concentrate on Sean and Angel."

Ororo stills, quiet as a mouse, and watches the show with him, eyes wide. She's been entranced by the other students' powers of flight ever since she overheard Charles' supposition that she might one day be able to control the air around her well enough to fly as well.

They sit, Erik mentally taking notes about technique, until he glances at his watch and realizes it's nearly time for dinner. It's Raven's turn to cook, which means the meal will actually be edible, and Charles had promised a celebration once Scott's glasses were complete, which means there will probably be cake or ice cream. Erik should feel disgusted by how domestic this whole affair has made him, but without the heavy weight of vengeance dictating his every move, he finds himself taking the time to enjoy things like a well-cooked meal and something sweet at the end of the night.

"Dinner time," he tells Ororo, lifting her off of his lap and onto the steps. Standing up, he calls, "Sean! Angel! Hit the showers! And meet me in the study before dinner. You're making the same mistakes over and over again. You need to shape up before you find yourselves in a situation where your sloppiness gets you killed."

Sean, who hasn't quite figured out how to land gracefully, tumbles the last five feet to the ground and lands a tangled heap in the frozen grass. Angel lands gently on her own two feet and stalks away without speaking to any of them. It's been over two months, but she's still not entirely comfortable here. She only speaks to Charles and Raven, still angry at Alex for burning her wings and apparently above the immaturity of Sean and the younger children. Her relationship with Erik is much more volatile--while Charles welcomed her back to the mansion with open arms after Shaw was killed, Erik made sure they had a long, serious talk about what would happen should she betray Charles again. She hadn't appreciated it, and makes her disdain known at every opportunity.

It isn't ideal, life at the mansion. It isn't yet the perfect mutant utopia that Charles had envisioned; Erik doubts it ever will be. But there's a routine to it that's pleasant after spending so long mired in uncertainty and, he thinks as he holds Ororo's hand and leads her across the grounds, perhaps Charles was right. Perhaps having friends doesn't make him weak. Perhaps it's the opposite.

***

Dinner is a chaotic affair and he blames it on Charles entirely. He and Hank and the other young children are late to dinner and apparently he instructed Raven to start without them. The older children take this as free reign to be loud and disruptive as they eat, taking with their mouths full, kicking each other under the table, and arguing loudly about things that Erik tries, to no avail, to tune out.

He reaches his breaking point when Sean lets out a half-laugh half-scream that breaks all of their drinking glasses, dousing the table and some of their meals and laps in milk, water, soda, and an exquisite white wine that Erik may have been hoarding for the past two months.

"That's enough!" he snaps, standing up and drawing the attention of all four riotous teens, as well as Ororo. "You think you're old enough to go out and use your powers to track down people like Shaw? You're not even old enough to to be trusted alone at the dinner table. If you're so keen to use your powers and make a disruption, maybe we'll have another training session after we're done eating and after you're all done cleaning up this mess."

Silence reigns. Then Ororo tugs at his shirt.

"Erik?" she whispers.

"Yes, Schatz?" he says, still glaring at the older children, now cowed and refusing to meet his eyes.

"I can't reach the salt."

Erik reaches across the table and picks up the salt shaker--plastic, thankfully, and unaffected by Sean's wail--and hands it to her.

"Do you need any help?" he asks.

"No, I can do it myself," she says proudly, and goes back to her dinner, ignoring the stony glare he's directing at the teenagers and the shameful resentment rolling off of them in waves.

"Erik!"

Charles sounds cheerful as he enters the dining room, a hand on Jean's shoulder, with Hank and Scott trailing behind them. Scott's new glasses look amazing--aside from the red tint to the lenses, they're barely distinguishable from regular glasses. He's slow to follow Charles, still looking around, clearly enamoured with his newly acquired peripheral vision.

"How's dinner so far?" Charles asks, taking the empty place on the other side of Ororo. "It looks excellent, Raven."

"There was a slight mishap with Sean," Erik says dryly, taking his seat again, satisfied that the teenagers are sufficiently chastised for their disruption. Not that Charles would allow much else in the way of yelling at the dinner table.

"I'll clean it up," Sean says quickly, getting to his feet.

"Get more glasses while you're at it," Erik snaps, and Charles gives him a look over Ororo's head. What? Erik thinks. He broke them. It's the least he can do.

Charles just shakes his head and gets back to his feet, probably to help fetch drinks.

"The sauvignon blanc!" he calls into the kitchen, and then smiles as the teens begin to use their napkins to clean up the mess. Lesson learned, then.

***

"Sometimes I think you're a bit hard on them, you know," Charles says. He's pouring them drinks as he says it, and his voice is colored by a sort of fond wistfulness, not disapproval, so Erik knows it's nothing more than a token protest.

"Someone has to be," Erik says. "It's all well and good, the way you support them and encourage them, but they need someone who's willing to call them on poor judgement and push them to work harder as well."

"I suppose you're right," Charles says. He sighs and hands Erik his drink, sitting on the other side of the chess board as he does so. It's Friday night, which means their after-dinner activities are of a more relaxing nature. Friday nights they put off lesson plans, training regimens, and structuring the school in order to play chess or, on one memorable occasion, go to the cinema. It's a gentle reminder that they don't have to spend so much time working, even though the break from their duties doesn't stop Erik from being ever vigilant.

"I had some minor success with getting Scott to focus his energy blasts today," Charles says, making the first move. "He's still hesitant. He's not used to being able to open his eyes, still, and I don't know that he'll ever think of his ability as anything other than a curse."

"For him, it might be true," Erik says. He counters Charles' move quickly, eager to move past the early stage of the game and to a point where he can flex his strategic planning muscles. "You know me, Charles--I'm quick to see the blessing in all our abilities, but he's lived his entire life alone and unable to open his eyes for fear of hurting those around him. He'll never be able to see without Hank's glasses or his visor."

"Maybe I should ask Hank or Raven to spend some time with him and talk to him about being different," Charles muses.

"It might be wise," Erik says. Charles frowns, studying the board for a moment, and Erik tries not to think about the way the firelight catches the streaks of red in his hair. Silver strands are starting to find their way in as well, and Erik smiles indulgently. Running a school for several unruly teens is proving more difficult than either of them imagined.

The topic switches to a general discussion of the day, Erik giving a vague synopsis of the literature syllabus he's created, one they'll go over in more detail tomorrow. It devolves into a debate about Thoreau, as if Charles has a leg to stand on, and before long it's almost like it used to be. They're laughing at each other and at themselves and Charles ducks his head and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and it's nearly Erik's undoing. The heady thrum of lust had been good in the weeks leading up to Cuba; it was one more thing that set his blood afire, kept his senses on edge. Now, though, knowing that any chance of having Charles was ruined by a murder he does not regret for a second....

It is difficult, living with him, sometimes. Erik is used to taking what he wants, and sometimes, when they're sitting like this, warm and flushed and laughing, he just wants to reach out and--

There's a knock on the door of the study.

Charles frowns for a moment and then, looking at Erik apologetically, calls out, "Come in, Jean."

Jean's eyes and cheeks are almost as red as her hair. She's wearing a long flannel nightgown and clutching a handful of tissues.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she says quietly, but Charles just gestures her forward.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jean," Charles says. "What's wrong, love?"

"I just...had a bad dream," Jean says. She's staring at the carpet and sniffling, even as she crosses the room to stand beside Charles' chair. "I miss my mom and dad."

"Of course you do," Charles says. He puts an arm around her shoulders and it's all the encouragement she needs to cling to his side. "But just think about how much fun you're having here. You're making new friends, aren't you? And learning all sorts of new things." He strokes her hair. "How about this? When Raven was your age and she would get upset, I would make her a hot chocolate. Does that sound good?"

Jean nods without saying anything, tangling her fingers in his cardigan.

"Excellent," Charles says. "Come with me to the kitchen, and while I'm making it, you can tell me your favorite things that happened this week."

"Okay," Jean says. She loosens her grip enough for Charles to get to his feet.

I'm sorry, my friend. Charles' voice echoes in Erik's mind. We'll continue later, or perhaps tomorrow afternoon?

I understand, Erik thinks back. See to the girl. I'll check on the others and see you tomorrow.

"Goodnight, Charles," he says out loud, and Charles waves and smiles as he herds Jean off towards the kitchen.

It's for the best, Erik thinks as he places their glasses on the sideboard and smothers the fire in the fireplace. Spending time with Charles when he's in this mood, when they're both warm and loose and happy, when he can't stop thinking about how red Charles' lips are, how blue his eyes are, how he manages to be so fucking smug and still so earnest, it can't lead to anything good.

He trusts Charles. He respects Charles. And, yes, he loves Charles. But in the aftermath of Shaw, he's resigned to doing it all on Charles' own terms and sometimes he just needs to stop and breathe and remember that being here, being the man that Charles thinks he can be, no longer being alone, is worth it.

***

Erik is not the same person he was two months ago, and sometimes that makes him uneasy. Two months ago he was constantly ready to drop everything and run if the situation required it. Two months ago, he had near complete tunnel vision. Two months ago, every spare thought that went through his head was of Schmidt, was of revenge.

But he got his revenge and life moved on. They returned to the mansion, and Erik found himself almost bullied into this domesticity.

"You can stay here until you decide what's next," Charles had told him. "But you're always welcome to make this your home. You know that, don't you?"

So he agreed to stay for a week and a week became two and then Charles was pointing out that it wasn't like he had any other plans so maybe Erik could just pick up groceries on Tuesdays? And help Charles formulate a teaching plan. And help with repairs and getting the children settled.

By three weeks, Erik knew he was staying, was surprised to realize that groceries and chats by the fire and teaching Sean to drive and showing Alex how to sew on buttons and making dinner once a week felt natural and normal, that, surrounded by others like him, Erik felt natural and normal. Not a weapon anymore, just a person. The morning he realized this, he came downstairs to find Charles already sitting at the table, reading the paper and smiling.

"We'll be needing to start them on proper schooling, you know," he said without looking up. "I know you enjoy literature. I was hoping you'd be their English teacher."

"English wasn't even my first language," Erik pointed out.

"All the more reason for them to be impressed by how well you know it, then," Charles had said.

And so Erik became a teacher.

Teaching is difficult for the same reason that training comes easily to him. Training is instinctual--he needs these children to harness their powers as a matter of survival, and Erik has always been superb at surviving. But teaching? His usual methods don't work. Charles assures him he'll be a wonderful teacher once he's had some practice, but Erik finds it hard to believe. He still accepts the challenge--he wants to do well. He wants to conquer this skill if only to prove that he can. So he muddles through, smacking the students in line with a sharp comment when they question his mistakes, if only to cover his own insecurity.

It's almost easier with the younger set--they're still at an age when they believe everything their teachers tell them. Jean is bright and has had more and better schooling than the other two and is always willing to help them along. Ororo is eager to learn and very quick for her age, and Scott, while quiet and moody still, seems to want to learn, and Erik can respect that. He purposely asks to instruct the older students first thing in the morning so he'll be able to quietly lick his wounds and settle his nerves while feeling more at ease with the youngsters.

Ororo had just learned to read before the death of her parents, but nearly a year without proper instruction and her skills had atrophied slightly. She was quick to pick them up again and is nearly where she should be for her age after only a few months, but there are days when it is still a struggle. Erik thinks that learning should be hard sometimes, as frustrating as it is to see the concepts floating just beyond his favorite pupil's grasp.

"I don't know that word," Ororo pouts.

"Sound it out, liebling," Erik says absently. He glances up at the clock, noting that class is almost over, and then looks over to make sure Jean and Scott are still working, as if Jean would allow their attention to wander during a lesson.

"Soooooommmm-eeeeee," Ororo says, frowning. "Soooooooooooooommmmmmm-eeeeeeeeeeee...."

Erik glances down at the book. It must be a bad day, because Erik knows this is a word that Ororo can tackle.

"Look at the word," he says, kneeling next to her. "Does it look like other words you know?"

"It's really long," Ororo says.

"Look closer." Erik points at the word over her shoulder. "What do you see?"

"I don't know," Ororo pouts. She crosses her arms and Erik squeezes her shoulders. He reaches down and puts his finger over the second part of the word.

"What word is that?" he asks.

"Some," Ororo says.

He moves his finger to cover 'some.' "And what word is that?"

"Thi--thing! Something!"

It's a little embarrassing how endearing he finds that blinding grin.

"Very good job," he says. "Now read the whole sentence, please."

"You will see something new," she says slowly. "Two things. And I call them Thing One and Thing Two."

"Wonderful," he says. "Sometimes you can find small words hidden inside bigger words, so always take a moment to look for little words you know when you're sounding something out."

"Mr. Lehnsherr?" Jean asks hesitantly. Jean always strives to call them 'Professor Xavier' and 'Mr. Lehnsherr' during lessons, even if she has no problem calling them 'Charles' and 'Erik' at the dinner table.

"Yes, Jean?" he says, turning around, but he immediately understands her interruption. Hank and the other four teens are standing in the doorway to the room they're having their lesson in. They're watching Erik with mixed looks of wonder and incredulity.

"Um, s-sorry," Hank stutters. "I just need to use the projector for the math lesson today and since it's in here and the one in the math room is broken and I don't have time to fix it--but we can go find--"

"It's fine," Erik says brusquely. He gets to his feet. "We're done for the afternoon. Jean, Scott, please read to the end of chapter fifteen and have the revised outline for your papers ready tomorrow morning. Ororo, remember to study for your spelling test, and finish your book. Scott, I'll see you in the Danger Room in an hour."

Scott nods stiffly and gathers his things, clearly anxious to leave, even as Jean waits for Ororo to neatly pile her reading books and spelling notebook. Erik watches the three of them leave the room and raises his eyebrows as the older teens remain frozen in the doorway. It's Raven who enters first, tucking her dark red hair behind her ear and taking the seat closest to the rolling chalkboard. The others cautiously follow, Hank taking up the rear. He's gained a certain gruffness with his bright blue fur, but it's in addition to his insecurity instead of vanquishing it. Erik has a hard time believing he's a capable teacher, even if he's the closest thing to a math expert they have at the mansion.

Erik gathers his own notes and sweeps out of the classroom. He has an hour to prepare for his one-on-one training with Scott and he doesn't want to waste any of it by dwelling on the whispers that seem to follow him out of the room.

***

What was once a study became Charles' office not long after they returned from Cuba and the vision of a mutant school began to inch towards reality. The desk no longer faces the wall, but rather the door. There are comfortable chairs on the other side of it and a case of relevant texts on the wall next to it. Charles keeps encouraging Erik to claim a room as his own office, but Erik still hesitates. He doesn't know if it's because he's not used to living out of so many rooms or if it's because he's afraid to put down roots. He's not sure he wants to know. But, either way, it means their planning is done in Charles' office, though they usually sit side-by-side on the sofa as they work, neither fond of the implications of placing a desk between them.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Erik says, frustrated. There are books piled around him, books he's read and enjoyed and now has to justify as essential texts. "I can't tell you why they should read these books, only that they should."

"You certainly can," Charles says. He's distracted, making hasty notes and corrections on some forms. "For example, if I were to say, 'I've never understood the necessity of including Moby Dick in the literary canon,' you would easily spend an hour telling me how utterly wrong I am." He scribbles one last note with a flourish and looks up, smiling. "You're passionate, Erik, incredibly so. That's the first step to teaching, you know. If you love something enough, it's not difficult to make others see the good in it."

Erik wonders, briefly, if that's why Charles keeps him around, if he hopes his own affection will rub off on the children. He dismisses it quickly. He gave up any rights to eliciting those emotions when he made Charles complicit in Shaw's murder.

"Well, they're not likely to listen to me at all anymore," he mutters. "The older children arrived a bit early for their lesson today and caught me tutoring Ororo. I doubt they'll take my instruction seriously after that."

"Why would you say that?" Charles asks. "That's your job, isn't it? To teach them? Surely seeing you teach other students mustn't be too jarring."

"I'm...different with the younger students," Erik says. He doesn't quite know how to explain it. "I teach them differently. They don't require quite as much steel. It's an entirely different approach, and now that the older children have seen that, I suppose I'm afraid they'll be immune to the severity I use in their lectures."

"The intimidation, you mean," Charles says with a half-smile. "I think it's the opposite, though." He places his hand on Erik's arm, just for a moment. "You don't need to intimidate them to teach them, Erik. There's no need for them to think you're so severe in order to get your point across. It just incites hard feelings. I think it's wonderful, helpful, even, for the older students to see you can be just as effective when you're gentle."

Erik rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure they appreciate discovering weaknesses to exploit in order to undermine me in their own lessons."

"No, no, my friend," Charles says. "It's not a sign of weakness, not at all. It makes you human in their eyes."

"I am not human, however," Erik says. "So we're back to 'weakness,' it would seem."

"I apologize," Charles says. "It was a poor word choice. I mean to say, it makes you...they don't see you as so much of a villain, as such a--"

"Monster?" Erik asks, tone clipped and short. If Erik needed verification that Charles was not in his mind, the look of shock of Charles' face would have provided it.

"No," he says. "No, Erik, that's not what I was going to say."

"Why not?" Erik asks. "It's a legitimate concern, is it not? I murdered a man and paraded his body past a group of teenagers. I murdered a man and then told them it was the first step towards the future. I did it against your express orders, and now here I am, someone you used to call friend, shaping the future. Maybe this is the moment you've been waiting for to show them I'm fallible."

Erik doesn't know where the words come from. They're automatic, pouring out of his mouth, the word villain clanging around his mind sharp enough to make him wince. Charles' face is almost crumpled in on itself, and Erik hates that look, hates the disapproval and disappointment, but he also knows this is what's been building between them. This is what he's been waiting for since Shaw's death, this dismissal. This is what ruined any chance of--any chance of things he had hoped, for a few brief moments, would be waiting for him if they both survived Cuba. This is what's added this level of distance that didn't exist in their interactions prior to Shaw, prior to a murder, yes, but the murder of a man who murdered countless others, a man whom the world is much better off without.

Erik does not, cannot regret it, and if Charles can't accept that, then it's Charles' problem.

"Erik," Charles says, almost desperate. "You must know that's not--"

Erik can't listen to him plead. He can barely hear it over the rushing in his ears.

"I think we're done for tonight, don't you?" he says with finality.

Charles doesn't say anything out loud or even in his mind, but he doesn't need to. His eyes are saying enough on their own.

"Good night," Erik says, and he leaves the room, breathless, shaking, and wondering what comes next.

***

Erik spends a long time forcing his mind to clear itself before he can sleep, and when sleep does come, it's fleeting. Sometimes he's in the camp and sometimes he's on the beach and sometimes he's strapped to a table and sometimes he's drowning off the coast of Florida. Each time he wakes, blinks himself back to reality, and then forces himself to try and reclaim slumber. It won't do to look exhausted at the breakfast table; he doesn't want Charles to think he's losing sleep over their argument. He's not. At all. It's entirely unrelated.

He's understandably cranky, then, when there's a frantic knocking on his door in the small hours of the morning. He stays in bed, hoping it will go away, but it's persistent, so he pulls himself from his sweaty, tangled sheets, and opens the door.

Jean stands on the other side, cheeks tear-stained, holding a stuffed bear she had insisted, while unpacking, was just, you know, a dumb toy.

"Jean?" he asks. It comes out more aggravated than he intends, but he's tired and he has no idea what she wants.

"I can't sleep," she sniffs. "It's too quiet. I miss my mom and dad. I had a bad dream."

Erik sighs and rubs his face. This is really more Charles' department.

"Why don't you go see if Charles will make you a hot chocolate?" he asks. He's surprised Charles isn't up already. The man seems oddly attuned to their more violent nightmares, a side effect of his abilities that Erik does not envy.

"I can't find Charles," Jean says. The tears in her eyes are welling up again, threatening to overflow, which means Erik will have to comfort her, somehow. "He's gone."

"It's a big house, sweetheart," Erik says with a sigh, resigning himself to playing hide-and-seek with two telepaths, at least one of which he doesn't relish seeing until he's a little more put together. "He's probably just in another wing."

"No!" Jean insists. Her lower lip is wobbling. "He's not here! I looked for him, I looked with my mind and he's not here any more!" She bursts into tears.

Erik is too distracted by the spectacular waterworks to parse what Jean has said. He kneels down, hugging her and awkwardly stroking her hair, and only then does he realize what she means.

"You mean you looked for Charles telepathically and you couldn't find him?" he asks Jean, pulling back slightly.

"Yes!" Jean nearly shouts. "That's what I said! He's gone! And it's scary here and I miss my room and I miss my friends and I miss my mom and dad!"

Erik can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. Jean won't stop crying, which is a slightly pressing matter in and of itself, but she must be mistaken. Charles wouldn't leave the house without telling anyone. Of course, since Erik had stormed off long before their customary nightcap, it was entirely possible he had told someone, just...not Erik.

And, really, that might solve all of his problems.

"Come on, sweetheart," Erik says, lifting the sobbing girl up and heading down the hall to Raven's room. He pauses outside of Charles' room. The door is open just enough for Erik to see that the bed is undisturbed, and something about it unsettles him even more than Jean's inability to locate his friend.

Raven's not exactly pleased to see them when she pulls open the door to her bedroom.

"What the hell do you want?" she growls. Erik thrusts Jean at her.

"Make her a hot chocolate or something," he says, and he doesn't have to be a telepath to know that she's thinking some very unflattering thoughts about him. "And, while you're at it, did Charles tell you he was going out?"

At eleven, Jean is just a little too big for Raven to lift, so Erik places the girl on the ground and presses her towards Raven, who strokes her hair soothingly while glaring at Erik.

"What do you mean?" she asks Erik. "Charles didn't say--Jean, honey, it's okay. Just...stop crying, okay? You're okay--Charles isn't here?"

"Jean says she couldn't find him telepathically," Erik explains.

"Well, if he was going to tell someone he was going out, I'd assume it would be you," Raven says. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring him to comment. Raven's always been just a little too shrewd about his relationship with Charles. He doesn't like the way she looks at them, like she knows more than he does. He wonders, sometimes, how she and Charles can both have that expression, even though they're not genetically related.

"We had a disagreement earlier. I'm not Charles' favorite person at the moment," he says.

Raven snorts, but says, "He didn't say anything to me. I'd say ask around, but it's three o'clock in the fu--f--darn morning."

The time is moot, however, with a sobbing child, and Raven and Erik haven't bothered to keep down their voices, so Erik scarcely has time to reply before another door is creaking open.

"Is something wrong?" Hank asks, fumbling to put on his glasses.

"Have you seen Charles?" Erik asks.

"No, it's the middle of the night," Hank practically growls. "I haven't seen anyone. I didn't really want to see anyone until breakfast."

"He's not here," Erik says. Jean is still crying, but whatever Raven is saying to her is calming her down somewhat. She's not quite as loud, which means he can shift his focus to figuring out where the fuck Charles is at three o'clock in the morning.

"Did you look?" Hank asks.

"No," Erik says. "Jean says she couldn't find him telepathically."

"Jean's telepathy is very weak, you know," Hank says. "At the moment, anyway. Charles has all but shut it off entirely until he can train her. All that's left is a weak channel to...."

"To him," Erik says when Hank goes quiet and concerned. "I know."

"It's possible he's shielding himself from her," Hank suggests, but his tone of voice makes it clear he's as ready to believe that as Erik is.

"Maybe he had a hot date."

Erik hadn't even noticed Alex joining them in the hall.

"And decided to leave and stay out all night without telling anyone?" Raven says. "You've met my brother, right?"

Jean's tears are tapering off, leaving the hallway in near silence.

"We look for him," Erik says with finality. "If he's on the property, we'll find him."

Alex and Raven both groan.

"It's the middle of the night!" Alex protests.

"If we do this and we find him having a drink on the other side of the house, I'm going to kill you," Raven mutters.

"Put Jean to bed," Erik tells her. "Get Sean and Angel. If we find him passed out somewhere, you can all sleep in tomorrow."

"It's Saturday," Alex says. "We were going to sleep in anyway."

"Well, there you go," Erik says. "No reason not to be up now, then."

***

It takes fifteen minutes for the older teens to congregate and, when they do, Jean and Scott are with them.

"She wouldn't go back to sleep," Raven tells him. "She said she wanted to help and then Scott heard the commotion...I thought it would be best to just bring them before they woke up Ororo."

Erik rubs the bridge of his nose, but nods. He's found some flashlights in one of the closets, and he hands them out to each of the children.

"Raven, it's your house," he says. "What do we need to cover?"

Raven directs them all to various corners of the house and grounds, allowing Jean and Scott to stay together and check the rooms in the wing they actually use. Sean is sent outside to avoid the dust in the unused areas--the last time he sneezed, he broke three windows. The rest of them split the untouched halls of the rest of the Xavier mansion, and Erik tries to blame the fear creeping up his spine on the draping sheets and collected cobwebs.

He goes through his allotted rooms twice. There's no sign anyone has set foot in them in years.

He's the last to return to the library, where they agreed to meet, and the fruitless search has made the children much more concerned than they were when they were pulled from their beds.

"I still say he went out," Alex says, but he doesn't sound as sure of himself as he did in the upstairs hall.

"There aren't any cars missing from the garage," Raven says. "I checked. And it's not like there's anywhere to go within walking distance."

It's now nearly five AM. Erik doesn't think he could go back to sleep if he tried. His last conversation with Charles won't stop running through his mind. He had no reason to lash out. It's all so stupid in retrospect. He knows Charles doesn't think he's a monster--at least, he thinks he knows. And even if he does, maybe Erik is a monster. Maybe he deserves it. Why the fuck did he have to say all of those things? Why did he walk away from the argument?

"Get a few hours of sleep," Erik says, finally. "There's nothing we can do until morning. Who knows? Maybe Alex is right. Maybe he'll walk in the door in a few hours' time."

They all look to the door expectantly, but it remains closed and quiet.

Angel's the first to leave, but for all her bravado, she looks unsettled. Sean and Alex are next, and Hank follows soon after, herding Jean and Scott with him.

Erik is alone with Raven.

"You're crazy if you think I'm sleeping knowing that Charles is missing," Raven says, crossing her arms and dropping to the sofa. "And I know you're not either, so what are you planning?"

"I don't know," Erik admits.

He hates even saying the words. He spent the majority of his life meticulously carrying out a great many plans; he hunted down so many people for revenge that it began to feel like second nature. But it's over, now. He's gotten Shaw. He's stayed still for longer than he has since childhood and he's not sure how to start moving again.

He can't waste time despairing, though. This is Charles, and Charles is everything.

"Who knows where we are?" Erik asks Raven, even as he's cataloging the list in his mind.

"Um," Raven says. "We have a couple distant cousins. Matilda, who used to be the maid when we were kids, still lives nearby and Charles went to see her at Christmas. There's--well. I mean, Cain, but he wouldn't dare. And there's no way he could get Charles out of here without a ruckus."

"Cain?" Erik asks.

"It's not him," Raven says, clearly aware she hasn't actually answered the question. "He wouldn't even be able to get in the front door without someone hearing it."

Not for the first time, Erik wishes he had Charles' power. Not many things can put that haunted look on Raven's face, and Erik is incredibly curious, but it will have to wait. Because Raven has a point.

"He wouldn't leave with a stranger without alerting us," Erik says. "And I doubt someone could take him without him getting a message off first. But I bet if someone he trusted told them they needed him right away, he could be persuaded against leaving a note."

"Matilda is in her sixties," Raven says doubtfully. "And he'd think something was up if one of our cousins showed up in the middle of the night after basically shunning us after his mom's funeral."

Raven's right. There aren't many people Charles would trust enough to run away with so quickly, and those he would are all accounted for.

Except.

"I told him not to trust her," Erik growls, getting to his feet. "I told him humans couldn't be trusted to accept us. I told him to cut ties."

"What are you talking about?" Raven asks, following him out of the library and back up the stairs. "Erik, who--"

"Moira MacTaggert," he snaps. "The CIA has Charles."

***

"This is crazy, Erik!" Raven says as Erik throws on clothes. He doesn't have any clean trousers, but he'll settle for any trousers. Where the hell did he put the ones he was wearing that morning? "Moira's our friend! She wouldn't take Charles! She likes Charles!"

"She wasn't our friend, Raven, she was our keeper," Erik tells her, pulling a dark turtleneck over his head. "She works for the CIA. Even if she wanted to keep the secret, I'm sure they have ways of extracting it from her. She was a liability, but your idiot brother can't help but see the good in people." He spits it out with disdain. He hasn't felt a rage like this, a fear like this since that day on the beach in Cuba, and while the heat coursing through his veins is familiar, the situation is making his stomach turn. The government has Charles. The government has Charles and they're going to take him apart, they going to test him and experiment on him and hurt him, that stupid fucking--

"You're wrong," Raven says. "She did care. She stuck with us, even when everyone else turned on us, Moira--"

"Save it, Raven," Erik says. "She has him or she knows who does and I'm going to get him back."

He elbows past her, fully dressed, and she rushes to follow.

"Then take me with you, at least!" Raven pleads. "Erik, you have to. He's--it's Charles."

"No," Erik says. "I do this alone."

"He's my friend!" Raven insists. "He's my brother! You can't just--"

"I can," Erik says. "I will. I'm going to do this." And maybe Charles is rubbing off on him, because instead of leaving it at that or restraining her physically, he adds, "If something happens to me, I need to know there's someone here to watch the rest of the kids, to find another way to get Charles back. Can you do that, Raven?"

She's not happy, but she nods, crossing her arms.

"Good," he says. "Now. I know Charles. He must have her address somewhere."

"Middle drawer of his desk," Raven says. "That's where he keeps his address book, anyway."

"Thank you, Raven," Erik says, even though his feet want to be moving away, descending the stairs, getting away from New York and moving towards Virginia as fast as possible. "And, please, keep this quiet. When the rest of them wake up, just tell them I went out to look for Charles. Hopefully we'll be home before tomorrow. If you don't hear from me in two days...."

He doesn't know what instruction to give. They've only got each other, really, the ten of them against a world that would gladly exterminate them, given the chance.

"I'll be back before then," he finally says.

"You'd better be," Raven says. She tucks her hair behind her ear and shivers. "Be safe, Erik, please. And bring Charles home."

"I will," he promises.

He takes the stairs two at a time and doesn't look back.

***

The trip from Westchester to Virginia goes by in record time. It's easy to speed by patrolling police officers when you can stop their engine and scramble their radio without slowing down. He knows he should be more subtle, that he used to be brilliant at the slow, steady hunt, at meticulously making sure things are in place before attacking, but this is different. This isn't the slow burn of hunting down Shaw, this is saving Charles' life while he still can, this is preventing Charles from meeting the same end as his mother.

He wasn't strong enough back then. This time, no one is going to touch what's his.

He leaves the car--Charles' car--on the street around the corner from Moira's apartment. It's still early for a Saturday in this residential neighborhood, and Erik doesn't pass anyone as he stalks down the sidewalk. He still hasn't decided what he'll do once he finds Moira, if she's even in. If she has Charles, she's probably at the CIA building, but maybe something in her apartment will give her away, leave some clue as to how to find her, how to find Charles, how to end this once and for all.

The elevator creaks as it pulls him up to the third floor and he fists his hands when he realizes the doors and walls are bowing outward. When the doors open, it's to an empty hall and Erik just barely resists crushing each and every doorknob and light fixture as he walks by.

The locks on the door to Moira's apartment do not stop him. He slams the door open without touching it, the metal on the fixtures singing to him as he shoves them as far out of the way as they'll go.

He strides through the small apartment, noting nothing save for where he can feel there are weapons hidden. The bedroom is in the back, and when Erik slams that door open as well, he's face to face with a pistol.

As if that can stop him.

"Lehnsherr?" Moira gasps, even as Erik is ripping the weapon from her hands and flinging it uselessly behind him. "What the hell--"

She's dressed for bed; there's no metal on her person. That doesn't stop him from using the electrical cords from the lamps to pull her to the ground and secure her to the floor.

"Where is Charles?" Erik hisses.

Moira stares at him. She's obviously frightened, but she hides it well, much better than most humans.

"I should be asking you that!" she shouts. "You disappear? You wipe my memories? I thought we were on the same side!"

"Then maybe you should have thought twice before taking Charles!"

Erik can't kill her if there's a possibility she can lead him to Charles, but he wants to, oh, he wants to. He didn't care for her one way or the other when she was working with them, but knowing she's complicit in taking perhaps the one mutant in the world who would have gone willingly, knowing she's stolen Charles from them, it makes his hands shake with the need to wrap one of those wires around her throat.

"I didn't take Charles!" Moira says. "I don't know where he is! I haven't known since you wiped my memories! I can't even remember what happened in Cuba!"

Erik hesitates for just a moment, but it's enough. Before he has time to react, Moira kicks his feet out from under him. He falls to the ground and her bonds fall with him, leaving her enough time to grab a baseball bat from under her bed.

Wood, of course. Smart girl, is the last thing he thinks before she knocks him out.

***

When Erik comes to, he's in a tiny cramped room. His wrists and ankles are tied, and they're tied well. Moira is standing over him, holding the bat. She's put on regular clothes and is standing with her back to the wall, leaving only inches between her toes and Erik's outstretched legs.

They're in a closet. It's been emptied of clothes and hangers. She really is a smart girl. He can, of course, pull the nails from the walls, slam any of the myriad of metal objects through the door, but he pauses. Moira could have brought him to the CIA, could have killed him with that bat instead of knocking him out. She didn't.

He wants to believe she took Charles, if only because it's an easy solution, it's the solution that gets them all home in time for dinner, hardly worse for the wear. But the confusion on Moira's face was genuine, he could tell. Charles did wipe her memories. Even after all his points about her loyalty to them, he quietly took Erik's advice and erased her mind to preserve their anonymity.

Charles' faith in her leaves Erik resigned to hear her out.

"You're awake," she says. She's not smug or even nervous. She's simply stating a fact.

"I am," Erik says. The metal filaments in the sheet rock call out to him, but he doesn't move, save to turn his face towards hers.

"Whatever it is Charles did to my mind, I broke it," she tells him. "Just now, while you were unconscious. I remember. I can't say I'm thrilled, but I understand his intentions. I'm sure if the CIA had access to something that could wipe people's memories, we'd do it twenty times a day."

Erik says nothing.

"Why are you here, Erik? Where's Charles?" she asks.

"I'm here to find Charles," Erik says. "He went missing some time last night. I came here to find him."

"You think I took him." It's not a question.

"Yes." Erik does not break eye contact. He's not ashamed of his assumption.

"I didn't," she says needlessly. "I don't know where he is and I doubt the CIA has him. They're still reeling from Frost's escape and haven't figured out how best to--"

Erik sits up. "Emma Frost escaped the CIA?" he asks. Moira nods, adjusting her grasp on the baseball bat, but not putting it down.

"Yeah, months ago. The end of November. No one can figure out how she did it, and even if they did know where Charles was, even if they would kidnap him, they wouldn't do it until they figured out a way to hold him." She sounds bitter as she says it, and Erik remembers, perhaps for the first time since that day, that Moira was trapped on that beach with them as well.

Frost is a player that Erik hadn't factored into his theories about Charles' disappearance. The teleporter and Shaw's other underling had borne Erik, Charles, and the children no ill will in the aftermath of Shaw's death, disappearing together without a word after everyone had gotten to safety. Erik had assumed they were too directionless to seek them out, had assumed they had an unspoken understanding. But if Frost is out there, they have a leader again, someone with her share of reasons to hate Erik and Charles, and the game has changed.

"Frost has Charles," Erik says quickly, struggling against his bonds for the first time. "Frost has Charles and probably a teleporter--she could be anywhere, she could have him anywhere."

"Hey!" Moira says, waving the bat threateningly. "A minute ago you were positive the CIA had him."

"That was before I knew Frost was free," Erik says. If he didn't think that Moira would brain him with the bat before he could break through the closet door, he would already be summoning a knife to cut his bonds. "Let me out. This changes everything."

"You break into my apartment, destroy my belongings, and attack me and you expect me to just let you out?" Moira says.

Erik grows impatient.

"Moira, given half a chance, I can summon every wire, every support, every weapon in this building. I can crush you where you stand."

Moira holds her ground, still hefting the bat.

"Maybe," she says. "But maybe I can get you first."

"Moira," Erik says. He holds his chin up. He's not pleading, he's reasoning. "It's Charles. Charles is the lynchpin in this whole truce. If we lose Charles, we lose everything."

He can see Moira's resolve wavering. She has a soft spot for Charles and he can't blame her; they all have a soft spot for Charles. Charles, who is an insufferable, naive, sanctimonious ass, is also impossible not to like.

"If we do this," Moira says slowly, "We do this. You don't get to run off back to New York without me. Charles was my friend too, and I can help."

Erik glares at her, even as he's aware of time continuing to pass too quickly. Frost has had Charles for hours already. She could have done anything to him.

"Charles wants anonymity, Erik," Moira says. "It's why he wiped my memory. If you go running out into the world, blowing up everything in your wake, do you really think you'll have a school to come back to? Let me help. I have contacts. I have ways of finding things out. I know people." She sighs and lowers the bat. "It won't be the CIA, Erik. This is off the record. This is just me."

Erik likes to think there's always a choice, but he's also intelligent enough to understand that there's such a thing as a stupid choice. He could destroy the building. He could escape and go after Frost without Moira's help. But he's not alone anymore; he has people who depend on him, people who would be targeted and hurt in retaliation.

"Fine," he says. "Now untie me. We need to get back to New York as soon as possible."

There's an endless second when Erik fears Moira will change her mind, but she lets the bat clatter to the floor and then kneels down to untie his ankles.

"How do I know you won't double cross me?" Moira asks as she helps him to his feet to reach his wrists.

"You know the answer to your question, or else you wouldn't be untying me," Erik points out. "We'll just have to trust each other."

Moira rolls her eyes at that, clearly skeptical. At least they're on the same page, then.

***

They waste five precious minutes arguing over whose car to take. Moira thinks her government plates will deter police. Erik refuses to use a vehicle that can be tracked so easily. She finally gives in and follows him down to the street with an overnight bag, a cardboard box she keeps mum about, and two handguns, placing all of it in the back seat of the car, save for one of the guns holstered at her hip.

"I could still call in a few favors and get us a chopper," she says wistfully as Erik pulls away from the curb. Erik appreciates her need for haste--he yearns for it himself--but says nothing. If they're going to do this subtly, stealing helicopters from the government should not be their first act.

It's a five hour drive to Westchester, during which they barely speak to each other. They're not friends--there's no need for pleasantries. They make a brief stop in southern New Jersey, and while Moira pays for gas, Erik scrounges together enough change to place a call to the house.

"Hello?"

It's Raven's voice, but she's shouting over a cacophony in the background. He can pick out two of the boys yelling, though it could be any of them. Someone's crying, either Ororo or Jean, and Erik rests his forehead against the phone booth in exasperation. They need to get Charles back. There's no way Erik can run this school on his own.

"Raven," he says.

"Erik! Thank god! Is Charles with you? Is he okay?" Raven asks in a rush. "Oh, please tell me he's okay."

Erik takes a deep breath.

"Raven, the CIA didn't have Charles," Erik says. "I'm with Moira. We're on our way back to the mansion."

"What?! What? Erik, what do you mean? Where's Charles?"

"I'll get you up to speed when we get back," Erik says. "We'll be there in about three hours."

"Erik--Erik, Ororo won't stop crying, it's like monsoon season outside, Alex and Scott got into a fight, then Alex and Angel got into a fight and--"

"Three hours, Raven," Erik says, and hangs up before she can protest further.

Moira's waiting for him at the car, leaning on the driver's side door.

"Did you tell her we still can't find her brother?" Moira asks.

"I'll tell her the details when we get to the school," Erik says. "It sounds like she's already got her hands full."

He looks at Moira expectantly, but she doesn't move.

"And now we should get going," he says.

"And I can't drive?" Moira asks.

"No," Erik says, and elbows her out of the way.

Another three hours until they can do anything. They've wasted enough time as it is.

***

Part Two