Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Note: Spoilers for X1, X2, and First Class. This fic takes place sometime soon after X2.
Charles Xavier slept, as always, the uneasy sleep of the telepath. By day, his control over his gift was absolute, finely honed from over five decades of usage. By night, however, that iron control couldn't help but loosen, just a little, just enough for his sleeping mind to be bombarded by the thoughts and dreams of the many mutants living under his care.
Flashes, images, passed across his mind's eye in rapid succession. Camping in the woods. Being submerged in a tank, sharp agony firing along every nerve ending. Jean, Jean, I can't believe you're gone— Hands latching onto the arms of Magneto's machine, not wanting to do it, wanting to do it. Sharing that memory with Erik—that one, pure happy memory—the feel of the tear trickling down his cheek. Ice, all around him ice. That boy was so cute, I wonder if he noticed me, I wonder if he thought the same thing about me. Being cradled in Erik's arms, his body numb below the waist. There's something wrong with my legs—Oh God, he's going to leave me— Cradling Charles in his arms, My fault, my fault, my fault, I can't stay, I have to stay—
The wrongness of that last thought jerked Charles out of slumber. He opened his eyes but didn't bother to squint. The room was too dark to see anything, the thick curtains blocking out even the faintest moonlight. He didn't need to see anyway. He could feel Erik, standing against the wall, his thoughts accessible, unshielded by that monstrous helmet he so loved to wear.
He brushed against Erik's thoughts, wondering at his old friend's presence. He was surprised by what he found: excitement tinged with nervousness. He could have delved deeper, could have ascertained Erik's reason for being here, the location of his secret base. He could have implanted a suggestion deep in Erik's mind to prevent anything like the Statue of Liberty and Alkali Lake incidents from ever happening again. He could have reached in and turned off Erik's nervous system, killing him instantly, probably saving countless lives in the future.
Instead he murmured, "Are you planning to watch me sleep all night, Erik?"
He felt a start of surprise from Erik, followed by rueful amusement. I should have known, Erik thought. "Difficult to watch you in utter darkness," he said aloud, the familiar, rich timber of his voice filling Charles with warmth. "You used to sleep more soundly," he added after a moment, and for an instant Charles saw himself, forty years younger, his face calm in repose.
He pushed Erik's memory away. It was a distraction, a reminder of times long gone, happy times the likes of which he would never know again.
He reached above his head to grab handlebar that hung from the ceiling, using it to pull himself into an upright position. It was an act he'd performed thousands of times—every morning for forty years—and he did it now without a second thought. He was surprised by the flash of guilt he felt from Erik, who must have felt his grip on the metal bar. He'd forgotten, somehow, that Erik had never seen up close the result of his careless deflection of Moira's bullet on that beach so long ago. Oh, he and Charles had had plenty of encounters, of course—Charles' reliance on the wheelchair was patently obvious—but he had never witnessed the minute ways Charles' life had changed.
His paralysis didn't bother Charles anymore, not really. It bothered Erik because he blamed himself for it.
"Why are you here?" Charles said, forcing himself from his ruminations. Getting lost in thought was a dangerous habit for a telepath.
He could hear a rustling sound as Erik shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I heard about the events in Albany today."
Charles raised his eyebrows. He knew what Erik must be referring to, of course, and yet he couldn't conceive of why that particular news would draw the man to Westchester. "You mean the legalization of gay marriage in New York?"
"Of course." There was a heavy note of suggestion in Erik's voice, as if Charles should have known why Erik was here, maybe even should have anticipated that he would come.
Charles didn't enjoy feeling ignorant. He could have pulled the truth from Erik in an instant, of course, but that would have been cheating.
"You must see that this is a step in the right direction for us," Charles said, guessing, consciously ignoring the obvious explanation. "Every time humankind acknowledges that what is other is not necessarily wrong, we come closer to its acceptance of mutants. Even you cannot read what happened today in a sinister light."
"Charles," Erik said, chiding. Charles heard him take a step closer to the bed.
"What happened at Alkali Lake," Charles went on, picking up steam now, because he was still furious, absolutely furious, that Erik would ever have thought to use him the way he had, "must never happen again. You must realize that every step you've taken of late to further your cause has only increased public hostility toward mutantkind."
"I'm not here to talk about my cause," Erik said calmly.
"And while I'm on the subject, how dare you kidnap a student from my school—one of the very mutants you've dedicated your life to protecting—to use in one of your schemes?" Charles demanded. "Surely you see the hypocrisy in what you did?"
"Yes, yes, I was very wrong to do what I did," Erik said, as if this situation were somehow amusing. He came another step closer. "Let's not harp on the past, Charles. Not today."
"If not that, then what?" Charles said, his voice unintentionally harsh.
One more step and Erik was within arm's length of the bed. Charles could almost have reached out and pressed his fingers to Erik's chest. How long had it been since they had touched in any way?
Years. At least a decade. Probably more.
"I've lived in cities and countries around the world," Erik said. "I have built a fortress with metal walls no human could ever penetrate. But there is only one place I have ever truly considered home. A mansion in Westchester. Perhaps you're familiar with it." Charles could hear his smirk.
There was a lump in Charles' throat. "What is this game, Erik?" he croaked. "Why do you torture me—torture us both—this way?"
"Yes, a mansion in Westchester," Erik went on as if Charles hadn't spoken. "Not only is it my home, but it is the place where the person I care about most in the world happens to live. And today, the state where my home is located made legal something which I have, on occasion, dreamed of doing."
"I don't—I'm not sure what you're trying to say."
Charles, why aren't you listening to me? Can't you hear me? Do you not want to hear me?
For the first time in this surreal encounter, Erik faltered. "Charles. I'm trying to say—trying to say that I miss you. And if things were different—"
"What?" Charles snapped, surprising himself with his own anger. "If things were different, then what, Erik? You would give up your crusade? You would stop putting innocent lives in danger?"
"I would offer you a ring," Erik said. I would get down on my knees—I would beg—I would spend the rest of my life making you happy—I would—
Charles closed his eyes, felt a shudder wrack his upper body. "You can't say that to me," he whispered.
"I can," Erik insisted, and Charles did not need telepathy to know that this was Erik's way of pleading. "Tonight, I can."
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow…we'll both do what we have to do."
Charles knew that he should say no. This temporary truce that Erik was suggesting would only make their inevitable separation hurt all the worse. And yet. He wanted it so very badly. He wanted it more than he could remember wanting anything in his life. He was, perhaps, incapable of saying no.
"If things were different," he said, his voice rough. "If you offered me a ring. I would say yes."
Erik took that as permission and sat on the bed beside him, near enough that even in the darkness Charles could make out his silhouette. They sat there stiffly for several minutes, neither as comfortable as they would like to be. Then Erik reached over, fumbling in the dark, and took Charles' hand, and suddenly all was right with the world.
Charles reached out and wrapped Erik's wonderful, complicated mind around his own like a blanket, blocking out all other thoughts that might intrude. He sighed.
He had slept peacefully, once, with Erik beside him. Forty years later and Erik's terrible, tormented mind was still the greatest comfort he had ever found.
"Tell me what our wedding would be like," Charles said, stroking the back of Erik's hand with his thumb, "if I said yes."
Erik complied.