Stolen Baggage
What if Erik and Charles met earlier than canon? Airport!AU. Pure, unedited fluff.
Based on this Tumblr post: post/88764520133/before-writing-your-au-consider-the-following
Airports are shit.
Erik decides this quite quickly. He is stressed, tired, sweaty and frustrated beyond imagination as he gets off the plane, ready to collect his baggage and hurry to his next flight so he can get the hell out of here.
The airport is, of course, crowded and loud and frustrating. He makes his way to the baggage claim, pushing aside people and receiving angry looks as he doesn't apologize. He's roughly a moment away from wanting to use his powers to turn the entire place upside down.
Lots of people are standing huddled around the treadmill, watching every bag that goes past carefully, waiting to recognize their own. Erik takes place a bit away from them, waiting, when something catches his eye.
A man in a suit is walking away from the baggage claim, two suitcases rolling after him. One of them is Erik's.
He briefly considers using his powers, but there are too many witnesses and frankly, he's too tired to concentrate properly. So instead, he just yells and starts running after.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers someone else's cry too, but the thief is now running and Erik has no time to investigate further on the matter. He runs through the crowd, hoping fiercely that he won't lose sight of the bastard – he's coming closer and closer, just a little bit more-
He falls down on the floor, tripping over his bag ungracefully, hands stretching out towards the suited man but before being able to reach, another body crashes in to him from the right.
Pain makes its way through his body, already aching from sitting up right for hours in an airplane. He groans through gritted teeth as he sits up. His suitcase is lying under him, trapped between himself and the floor. The thief is nowhere to be seen, but Erik's suddenly aware of someone else lying next to him on the floor.
"Are you all right?" The other man asks, and Erik turns around to see a pair of startlingly blue eyes.
The man is around his own age, with thick, dark, slightly wavy hair and a clean-shaven face. He has soft features and looks quite short, and he's pressing a hand to his eyebrow and squinting up at Erik with surprisingly much concern in his gaze.
"Fine," Erik grumbles, tearing his eyes away. He stands up unsteadily, realizing they have an audience; people are staring openly, without making any move to help. He exhales through his nose.
He turns to the young man with the blue eyes, extending a hand to help him up. The stranger accepts it gratefully, hauling himself to his feet and brushing dust off his pants. He looks around, seeming oddly calm.
"Did he get your suitcase?" Erik asks incredulously.
"I don-no, there it is," The man says, relief in his voice as his eyes are laid upon a dark gray bag on the floor a bit away. He walks over and grabs it, crouching to examine if it has suffered any damage.
"Everything looks fine," He says, turning to Erik. "Yours?"
"Same here."
Now the action is over, people are turning away again, not paying attention anymore. Erik's gaze flickers around.
"Charles Xavier," The man says, offering a handshake.
"Erik Lehnsherr," Erik replies, shaking his hand hesitantly.
Charles Xavier smiles slowly and looks like he's going to say something else, but they are interrupted as the cold, heavily accented voice of a woman asks:
"What has happened here? Is everything all right, gentlemen?"
They turn around to see a grim-looking security guard.
"A man tried to steal our baggage," Erik says smoothly. "Surprising that you didn't arrive here sooner."
The woman frowns, and Charles shoots Erik a warning look.
"What this man is saying, ma'am, is that we saw a man leaving with our suitcases. We followed him and got hold of our bags, but, unfortunately, the thief himself got away."
His voice is incredibly soothing and genuine, and he smiles charmingly at the guard, who still looks a little suspicious. She looks between them slowly, but then sighs and says:
"Can you describe the thief?"
"Of course, ma'am," Charles hurries before Erik can open his mouth. "Suit, sunglasses – middle aged?" He turns to the other man. There's a pleading look in his eyes.
"Dark-haired," Erik contributes darkly. "Short stubble."
Charles flashes a thankful, delighted smile, as if Erik has done something much more remarkable than reporting how the man who tried to steal his baggage looked like. Erik purses his lips.
"All right, gentlemen, if you could follow me, please-"
"My flight is leaving in fifteen minutes," Erik cuts her off coldly. "I do not have time for any more questioning."
"Actually, so is mine," Charles says, his voice apologetic. "We have nothing more to say, anyway. Would it be all right if we…?"
"We need to question you further," The security guard says with a steely voice. "We need to know more about the incident so we'll be able to identify the thief and prevent this sort of thing from happening again."
Erik looks at Charles. The man looks conflicted, frowning slightly, but then he sighs quietly and seemingly makes a decision. He looks the guard in the eyes.
"We need to go," He says firmly. "We're very sorry, but we do not have time. Our apologies."
Erik watches in confusion, wondering how that is going to help, but the woman receives a dim look in her eyes and nods slowly. Charles offers her a hesitant smile before turning back to the other man.
"Hurry now," He instructs Erik urgently. "You really need to be quick, if you were telling her the truth earlier. I do too. Thank you for all your help."
He stares at Charles with furrowed eyebrows, wanting to ask what just happened, but all the young man does is flash a wide smile, eyes gleaming. Erik opens his mouth to say something, but he's already late, so he snaps it shut and nods, turning away. When he shoots a look over his shoulder, Charles has disappeared, and the guard is leaving.
Half an hour later, sitting on the plane, Erik can't stop thinking about Charles. Something about him is off-setting, but not necessarily in a bad way. Erik has always been on his guard, not interacting too much with strangers (or anyone, really), but he seems unable to wash out the memory of the stranger's face from his mind.
"Excuse me, is this seat 9-"
Erik jerks his head up in shock to see a pair of familiar blue eyes, looking just as surprised.
"Erik," Charles says, blinking.
"I didn't know you were catching this flight," Erik gets out.
"Neither did I," The man says, then shuts his eyes and smiles embarrassedly while furrowing his eyebrows, shaking his head at himself, "About you, I mean. That you were catching this flight."
For the first time in a long while, Erik finds his mouth twitching in to a genuine smile. Charles looks down at him, one eyebrow raised and a hand leaning against the ceiling, and Erik feels an odd twist in his chest. He gestures for Charles to sit down, whose face lights up in a slow smile.
He settles down just as the flight attendants announce that the plane is going to lift. Charles leans back, relaxed, and looks at Erik, blue eyes scrutinizing.
"How come you're going to Zurich?" He asks.
Normally, this question would have unsettled Erik and made him cold and frigid, as he is on his guard to anyone showing interest in his what-abouts, but there is something in the way Charles is so comfortable around him, as if they didn't just meet, that causes a strange thrill in his chest.
"Nothing special. Business," Erik replies casually. Which is partly true – he has picked up another lead on Shaw, and is going to Switzerland to investigate further.
Charles, getting the hint, does not ask any more questions, but simply smiles in a way that makes Erik's heart seemingly skip a beat.
They settle in to silence as the plane lifts. Erik can feel it vibrating around him – metal, so easy to control, so easy to bend under his will.
"What did you do to the security guard?" He asks abruptly. Charles turns his head and looks at him with a frown.
"You convinced her," He continues slowly. "How?"
The man sitting next to him looks, once again, conflicted. He looks away, chews his lip, scratches his head and shifts uncomfortably. Erik's eyes remain fixed on his face, and Charles meets his gaze at last, looking at him through his eyelashes (which makes Erik feel slightly red in the face). Then he, to Erik's surprise, closes his eyes.
I might have some sort of talent when it comes to speaking to people.
Erik leans back in shock, blinking rapidly. There is no mistaking it; it is Charles' voice in his own head.
His eyes are still closed.
I apologize for not letting you know sooner, but I figured that an ability like this might not be too appreciated.
Erik is staring openly, eyes wide in utter astonishment. He raises a finger to his temple, gently touching his head, as if to see if this is real.
Charles opens his eyes slowly, and when he does, there is a hint of anxiety in them. He looks at Erik, hesitation etched in to every soft line of his face, looking uncertain and timorous.
"I'm sorry," Charles says in a low voice. "I didn't mean to upset or-"
"That's brilliant."
It's out of Erik's mouth before he can stop it. Charles' eyes widen and he sits up a little straighter, licking his lips.
"What?"
"That is brilliant," Erik repeats quietly, eyebrows furrowing and leaning forward slightly. "You can manipulate minds?"
Charles still looks confused and slightly overwhelmed, blinking a little too much and staring at the other man with awe.
"Basically, yes. Or, well-" He stops, scowls. "You don't think it's unnatural? Frightening?"
Erik licks his lips and looks down at his hands. He reaches in to his pocket and pulls out a small metal button, clenching his fist around it.
"I really don't think I am fit to be the judge of that," He says, unfolding his fingers to reveal the button floating in the air a little bit above his palm.
Charles stares at it, eyes bright with wonder and astonishment.
"I thought I was alone, though," Erik says grimly, letting the button make its way down in to his pocket again.
"You're not alone," Charles says with a short, bright laughter. His cheeks are rosy with delight, and he runs a hand through his hair, eyes still fixed on the space where the button had been floating a moment ago. "Apparently, neither of us is."
Erik stares at him, wondering how on earth someone like him could exist, someone seemingly made out of joy and charm. Charles meets his eyes with a smile wide enough to cure illness, and Erik's heart leaps funnily in his chest.
"Do you like chess?" Charles suddenly says, clearing his throat and looking slightly flustered.
He doesn't wait for a reply but bends down, rummaging through his hand luggage and pulling out a small set of chess that must have been awfully heavy to carry around. He fumbles slightly before folding down the small tray attached to the chair in front of him, to have somewhere to place the set.
It's mad. Erik doesn't have any friends – he hasn't in decades. He doesn't casually talk or spend time with anyone. His life goal is to take revenge on Shaw, and that is frankly everything he focuses on.
So, of course, this is ridiculous: a dark-haired, blue-eyed stranger with an outstandingly charming smile and supernatural powers and abilities like his own, offering to play chess with him and trying to get to know him, as if believing they could be friends, someday, somehow.
"It's cheating to read any minds to find out the opponent's next move," Erik warns him.
Charles grins and moves his pawn.