Forgive Us Our Transgressions 4/?
“These grounds are lovely,” Erik said, gazing out the window. “Are they all yours?”
“They all belong to the house, yes,” Charles said. He had given up ownership of the mansion when he formally registered it as a school. Now the Xavier Trust held the deeds, nevermind that he was the Xavier Trust. It had felt good to hand over the things he had never earned to a cause he actually believed in.
“It would be nice to stretch my legs for a bit,” Erik suggested. “To take a short walk.” he glanced back at Charles and then frowned, suddenly stricken. “I mean-“
Charles followed the man’s gaze to the chair he sat in and smiled. “A walk would be lovely,” he agreed.
“Do you mind me asking? I mean, I’m sure I knew once, but how did you-?” Erik stammered.
It was charming, in a way, to see him so unsure, for once hesitant to offend. The old Erik had always said what he was thinking, blunt to the point of rudeness, having never grasped the point of tact or social niceties.
There hadn’t been much need for them in the camps, or under Shaw’s regime.
Now, though, haven’t forgotten what he suffered, he was loathe to cause others pain.
Charles wanted to reassure the man, to give him some blithe answer, but he found himself ducking his head against the onslaught of memories the mention of his injury brought forth.
The sharp pain of the shot, and the numbness that followed.
The feel of the sand beneath him, in his eyes, in his mouth, and then the gentle touch of Erik’s hands.
The worry pouring forth from Moira, Raven and the boys, and the void where Erik’s mind should have been, closed off by the helmet.
The look in Erik’s eyes as he laid him down on the sand, stepping away from Charles forever.
He closed his eyes, willing the memories-the pain-away. “It was an accident,” he told himself as much as Erik. “Many years ago.”
“Does it cause you pain?” The man asked softly.
“No. I can’t feel anything at all.”
He remembered that moment of realization. Erik gone, Raven gone, and the feeling of his legs…gone. It had come to him, in that moment of quiet after the dust had settled, the fact that everything below his groin had just…disappeared. He could hear his own voice ringing in his head, repeating the words over again over again.
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“Shall we take that walk, then?” he suggested, trying not to blanch at the words.
Erik’s easy smile was almost enough to wipe away the memories that assaulted him.
He led the man down the hall, reaching out with his mind to ensure that they met no one on their way. Alex and Sean weren’t comfortable with Erik being there, and none of the students were aware of his presence.
He could only imagine the pandemonium if Magneto was discovered in their midst.
Gently he encouraged everyone away from the hall, from the elevator, and from the back terrace. Erik followed behind him, blissfully unaware.
Charles could feel the wonder with which the other man was absorbing his surroundings, similar and yet so different from the wonder with which he had viewed the mansion for the first time. Then, it had been tinged with anger, with envy, with the injustice of the disparity in their lives.
Now, it was a pure emotion, pleasure in the beautiful surroundings, awe at the wealth displayed.
Charles told himself he didn’t miss Erik’s wry comments about the luxury he had grown up in.
He led the man out the back doors, onto the wide terrace where they had spent that one glorious week training. Erik let out at pleased sigh at the sight of the grounds, wandering over to the railing to gaze out at the verdant splendour. Charles rolled up beside him just as his eyes landed on the satellite dish, hazy in the distance. His breath caught as Erik frowned, before turning to look down at him.
“Did we grow up together?” the man asked.
“What?”
“I was just wondering if we were children together,” he said, almost shyly. “It’s just, I have the most curious feeling when I’m around you. As if I’ve only just met you, but I’ve known you my entire life.”
Charles knew the feeling all too well. It was precisely what had flooded into him the moment he had dived into the water and grasped Erik in his arms. The certainty, despite the fact that they had just met, that he knew this man, knew everything that he was and everything that he could be.
“We’ve only known each other for a few years,” Charles told him. “But we were extremely close from the moment we met.”
It wasn’t a lie, although he glossed over years of distance and silence. Years of animosity, of fighting, of war.
“Well, I’ve very lucky to have you,” Erik said with a smile-not the triumphant one he had once given Charles on this very terrace, or the cheeky ones they had traded in this house, or the slyly seductive ones he had shot Charles when he was sure no one was looking, but a smile nonetheless. “I feel certain I always have been.”
Charles wished that Erik-his Erik-had really felt that way.
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Erik’s panic hit Charles hard enough to knock the wind out of him, radiating out from the upper floor like a bomb going off.
Charles froze, terror washing over him. Had Erik remembered?
He couldn’t sort out the rush of emotions coming from the other man, but in the midst of them was his name-Charles!-and that was all he needed, no matter what.
He raced upstairs as fast as the elevator and his wheels would allow him. If Erik had remembered, he was at least still calling out for Charles.
“Erik, my friend, are you alright?” he asked breathlessly, pushing his way into the room.
Erik sat on his bed, eyes wide and frightened, fixed on a point somewhere to the left of the doorway.
Charles followed his gaze.
An antique letter opener was embedded deep in the wall.
“I don’t know what happened,” Erik whispered. “I was frustrated, trying to get myself dressed without assistance, and then-”
“It just went flying through the air?” Charles guessed.
“I could feel it,” Erik said, voice shaking. “I could feel it moving. Am I going crazy?”
“Oh, my friend, no,” Charles said, wheeling closer. “I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
The old Erik would have been immediately guarded at that admission, suspicious and angry at having anything kept from him. This Erik merely turned wide, trusting eyes on Charles, waiting for him to speak.
“You and I, and everyone in this house, are not ordinary men. We are, in fact, rather extraordinary.”
“You can do what I did?” Erik asked, gaze straying back to the letter opener, embedded in the wall.
“No. You have the power to move metal. I don’t know anyone else who can do that particular trick.”
“Any metal?” Erik asked, his eyes already scanning the room. Charles watched with interest. Despite everything, the other man was still so quick to embrace his power, to want to learn more about it, to see what more he could do.
He didn’t look frightened, only intensely curious.
He supposed there were some things that Shaw hadn’t ingrained into Erik-there were some traits that were just innately Erik Lehnsherr’s.
“Yes, any metal. And things much larger than a letter opener. You remember that satellite outside?”
Erik’s eyes widened, but this time it was with wonder rather than fear. “I can move that?”
Charles smiled, his first genuine grin since Erik had arrived, he was reminded so strongly of Erik’s joy and triumph the first time the dish had turned towards him. “You can, my friend. You are more powerful than any of us know.”
Erik reached out his hand, in a gesture with which Charles was intimately familiar, and the alarm clock by his bed rose into the air, twirling a pirouette. Erik barked out a laugh of sheer joy. “Look, Charles!”
Warmth diffused through Charles as every metal object in the room took to the air, spinning merrily in place.
Here was Erik’s power, exercised for fun, for joy, for the sheer thrill of using it. It wasn’t a weapon, or training, or practice for warfare. It was just an exercise of sheer delight. “Well done, Erik!” he laughed. “You’re amazing.”
He meant it. He always had.
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Erik was curled up in bed, every piece of metal in the room slightly out of place. Charles sat by the head of the bed, looking down at him indulgently. The least effort still exhausted the other man, and today’s show of power had left him drained. Erik fought to keep his eyes open even as he snuggled under the heavy covers, peering foggily up at Charles.
“So, what is it that you can do?” he asked through a yawn.
Charles let himself reach out, stroking the hair back from Erik’s forehead. This was the best time for this conversation, he knew. When Erik was tired, unfocused, distracted by touch.
And yet, there was no way of wording it that made his power seem less frightening, less intrusive.
“I can hear thoughts,” he whispered, tone light. No big deal. Just a little telepathy now and again, between friends.
“Oh.” Erik’s brow creased even as he pressed into Charles’ touch. This Erik, this new and unburdened Erik, thrived on touch, sought it whenever he could. He was tactile and affectionate in a way the old Erik, so inured to touch meaning pain, could never have been. “Are you reading my thoughts right now?”
“No,” Charles said, although he was. “I always ask permission of my friends.”
This was true. It was the only way he could make people comfortable around him, the only way anyone would consent to work with him, live with him, be his friend. It was a courtesy he extended to almost everyone. And yet, not to Erik. Not now. Not after what had been.
“Of course,” Erik smiled. So trusting. “You are always so kind, so polite.”
“It is kindness that keeps the world afloat,” Charles said, voice heavy with suggestion. “Hatred, anger, violence…it can only lead to destruction.”
“Of course,” Erik murmured again. “Do unto others.” His eyes fell closed, the words hanging heavily in the air. The basis of his religion, the faith that had carried him through childhood, the faith that kept his mother’s memory alive. The faith that had been crushed out of him by the camps, by Shaw, by the Russians and Americans alike.
Show mercy…a principle that the old Erik had long since turn his back on and forgotten. Charles let his fingers stroke down Erik’s cheek, tracing the lines of his angular face, his resolve hardening. He would not let this man go back to the way he had been.
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Chapter Five
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