A/N: My first attempt at X-Men slash, or any kind of slash really :) Thanks to my beta Natters13 for her quite incredible knowledge of grammar and punctuation! This fic was inspired by the Nickelback song, Saving Me.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own X-Men. Feel free to believe I do, though. I wouldn't dream of stopping you :D
Also, the reason I gave for why Erik couldn't move the coin at first is not my own idea, it comes from the story 'Nickel Content' by Unforgotten.
Erik wouldn't say that he felt cold, not exactly. He was shivering, and vaguely uncomfortable, but he was so used to it by now that he didn't think twice about it, and so had no name for it. In all honesty, he no longer thought about many things anymore. It required too much effort to sieve them through the murky, throbbing haze that his mind had become.
In the dim light, he could only just make out the figure of the guard standing stiffly outside his cell. Erik could never distinguish any of their faces. He supposed that was a sensible precaution, considering his vengeful history. There was no doubt that if he ever escaped, those whom he could identify would be no better than prisoners on death row.
He'd planned it out early on, back when he still had anger to fuel him. He'd spent hours considering in minute detail how he would go after them one by one and make them pay. But as the days and weeks melded together, the insidious darkness gathered thicker than ever, clouding his anger, mocking him. They are not coming. They will never come. You are ours. The first time, he chose to ignore it. They would come, and even if they did not, he would eventually figure something out. After all, hadn't he done the same with Herr Doktor once? These weak, inferior humans were a much lesser challenge in comparison. He conveniently overlooked the fact that he hadn't actually escaped by himself in that instance.
However as time went by, still they did not come; and he was no closer to escaping than he had been on the first day. The thought that he might never get out crept into his mind. The first time, he screamed. The guard reported this to the officers. They were pleased, perhaps their methods of persuasion were having an effect at last. Their visits doubled. At the end of each visit, Erik was reduced to a trembling, gasping heap on the floor of his cell, reeling from both the physical blows and the endless taunts and questions. The questions were always the same, a monotonous recitation with little variation.
"Where are the others? What can they do? How can they bedefeated?"
A pause. Silence, as Erik glared at them, clamping his lips together.
"Answer us, you mutated little freak!"
Then the pain came. After that first time, he did his best not to scream. It served no purpose, except to galvanize them.
In the beginning, their weapons were clumsy: whips, wooden bats, stone clubs. No metal at all, not even a belt buckle or a cuff link. They were afraid of him still, the cowards. It didn't matter to them that they had already negated his power, nearly killing him in the process. He had no idea what drug they were using. It involved radiation of some sort, he knew that much. Radiation to suppress the mutated gene and consequently his power. It was toxic to the rest of his tissues as well, but that didn't matter to them either. The important thing was that it weakened him, making him an easier target for them. It would kill him eventually, but they believed they had time enough to break him before it came to that. Once they realized that he was no threat, they became cocky, and more inventive. Knives, chains that cut into his flesh, lighters which left hot blisters on his skin, other more elegant instruments he recognized from his time with Herr Doktor, but had no name for in English.
None of them, however, were harder to bear than the drug itself. They injected it into him every other day. He used to struggle; now he no longer had the strength. The officers' instruments hurt him for a moment, but the drug, the drug's effects lasted for hours. It left him too exhausted even to scream as excruciating pain shot up his limbs and traversed his body. He could only crawl to a corner of his cell, curl up in the fetal position and wait for it to pass. They were hours spent writhing in agony, rolling onto his side occasionally to vomit into a bucket as his stomach churned and acid rose in his oesophagus, until his failing body could no longer stand it, and he sank into blissful oblivion.
Once, he regained consciousness to find a guard crouching over him. Erik's first reaction was humiliation, accompanied by reflex anger. The guard was sneering at him. Upon meeting Erik's furious gaze, the guard hastily turned and left. He returned shortly, however, with a steaming mug of some hot drink. After a quick, covert glance to make sure no one was about, he shoved the mug towards Erik.
"Drink that, it'll help," he muttered. He was gone in a flash, leaving Erik to blink blearily after him, wondering if he had imagined it. However the proof remained in his hands; perhaps not all his guards were the monsters he'd assumed them to be?
He no longer believed that the others would come for him. How could they? They had no idea where he was, or even that he had been captured. Metal, that had always been his servant and companion, had betrayed him. The metal helmet he had once voluntarily placed on his head to protect him was now welded in place, more of their work. It no longer protected him; instead, it prevented him screaming to Emma or Charles for help. With the helmet on, even Cerebro could not find him. That was what Erik told himself anyway. Deep within his heart, another, greater fear existed: the thought that, after what had happened in Cuba, Charles might not come even if he heard Erik calling to him. Erik would not have blamed his old friend if he chose to affect ignorance. No, the only person Erik had to blame was himself.
He had never been a religious man before; he had seen too much at the camps for that. What god would have allowed such atrocities to be committed? Accordingly, he did not pray, seeing as there was no one to hear. Instead, during the black hours, when gaunt, staring faces from his past floated before his eyes, and screams of the dying echoed in his ears, he clung with a deathlike grip to one thought: Charles, his smile, his dark, wavy hair, and his blue eyes.
Occasionally, Charles's face would morph into theirs, becoming wasted and hollow, his eyes empty and dark. Several teeth were missing from his smile; his lips were blue from the cold, and Erik could see every single one of his ribs.
Moments like these were the only times he screamed.
It was a day like any other, when the guard unlocked his cell door. Or maybe it was night, Erik couldn't tell the difference from where he was. As he considered this, a sudden fierce longing to see the sun again enveloped and nearly overwhelmed him. He had never fully appreciated it before, spending his life as he did seeing only faces and names waiting to be inked over with a red cross. Now he would give anything to see it.
He raised his eyes wearily to meet the guard's, expecting the regular injection. Instead, the man was gaping at him, with every appearance of being stunned. Erik had no idea why, he doubted he looked much different today than he had for the past few days, but he kept his mouth shut and looked away. Perhaps, just once, he might escape the injection.
To his bemusement, the guard grabbed his arm, hissing as he did so, "Erik, we have to go quickly!"
The voice was familiar, bewilderingly so, but his overstrained, frazzled mind could not immediately place it. All the same, he allowed the other to yank him to his feet. Almost at once, though, his knees buckled and he sank to the ground in an undignified heap.
"I can't." His voice came out as a cracked, broken whisper. It was the first time he'd spoken in what felt like months.
He expected the guard to be angry, but instead he looked almost ... despairing? How strange, thought Erik, but he couldn't summon up the energy even to be curious.
"Erik, please, you have to try," said the guard in an undertone. "I'm going to rescue you; Azazel and the others are waiting nearby to teleport us out once I've got you, but we have to get to them. Please, please try, I'll help you."
Erik didn't understand. He couldn't seem to take it in. But he grasped that it was very important for him to get up and go. He stumbled to his feet, swaying heavily and leaning against the guard for support. Unfortunately, he had received little opportunity to use his legs during his imprisonment, and his muscles were in the early stages of atrophy from the lack of use. He managed to totter only a little way before collapsing again.
The guard caught him, cursing as he –she? Long red hair had suddenly spurted over the guard's crew cut– did so, "Dammit, Charles, I could do with a little help here! "
A huge, furry blue thing came into view, running towards them. It –he? Erik remembered vaguely that it ought to be a he– caught Erik up in his arms and spoke quickly to the guard. Erik couldn't hear what he said. Everything seemed very far away all of a sudden. His ears were ringing. Dark spots clouded his vision, and he thought confusedly of sunspots. Perhaps his magnetic fields had somehow gone haywire and caused the sunspots he was seeing. Then he remembered that he couldn't see the sun in here, and besides, he couldn't control magnetic fields anymore. Those were his last thoughts before the heavy blackness on the edge of his mind claimed him.
Charles fidgeted, unable to do anything else. He remembered with a pang how he used to pace the floors when nervous and wished he could still do so. Instead, he did the next best thing, rolling his wheelchair up and down the corridor by himself.
Well, he had a right to be nervous, he thought crossly to himself. Erik had not regained consciousness since Azazel had transported them all back to the Xavier Mansion. Hank had laid him carefully on a bed before unceremoniously kicking Alex and Sean out, complete with car keys and orders not to come back without a doctor. "A medical doctor," he'd stated firmly when Alex opened his mouth to protest. The argument ended with Raven slamming the front door in the boys' faces.
To give the two due credit, they had returned in less than half an hour with said doctor, who was now shut into the room with Erik. Hank was in there as well, but he refused to allow Charles inside. "We only have room for one, and I've studied medicine more than you have, Professor," he pointed out fairly. Charles acquiesced, although he knew that in truth Hank and Raven were just worried that seeing Erik like this was upsetting him. They worry too much, he thought fondly. They'd been handling him with kid gloves ever since the accident. They were bound to be better now that they had a new patient to worry about, though. Thank God. Not that I mean to be ungrateful, I know they mean well, but just– Thank God!
To be honest, he wasn't sure himself about his feelings towards Erik. He had long ceased to blame him for the incident on the beach; he'd known deep down that it was an accident, one that Erik hadn't meant to happen. Still, he was uncertain exactly where he stood now, with this man whom he'd once regarded with a fondness exceeding anything he had ever felt before. He didn't blame Erik for the loss of his mobility, terrible though the change had been for him, but– he had left him. Erik had left him. He'd been bleeding, terrified, and as alone as he'd ever felt in his life, and Erik had just walked away. Would he have done that if Charles meant anything to him at all?
So did Raven, and you forgave her, he reminded himself. He remembered how Raven had come to him, mind threaded with uncertainty about her reception at the Xavier mansion, but brimming over with the fear for Erik which had led her there. She had burst into tears the moment she saw him, and, throwing herself at him, proceeded to blubber her apologies into the front of his freshly-starched shirt. He'd forgiven her there and then. He didn't truly have it in him to hold grudges for long; and after all, she was his sister.
With his permission, she had led the Brotherhood there. Tensions ran high at first, especially when Raven and Angel met the X-Men. Charles had had to pull them apart on several occasions, while quite a few pitched fights had been averted by Azazel or Janos's calm intervention. Charles had been surprised at just how helpful the demon king and the whirlwind-creating mutant had been. Although he felt a little ashamed to admit it, he was glad to have other responsible adults around, and not be the sole zookeeper in the menagerie of hot-tempered, hormonal teens.
Working together was easier than either side would have expected. With Charles on Cerebro and Emma available for the fieldwork, they worked out a smooth system of communication between their base and field investigation teams. They started tracing Erik's movements from the mission he had been undertaking for the Brotherhood when he disappeared – spying on a new government office which was rumoured to have a keen interest in mutants. They went on from there to discover the research facilities, the other laboratories, the headquarters, and finally – the prison.
He was startled out of his train of thought by the sound of the door opening. Hank and the doctor –a young man who worked at a clinic in town, and whose memory Charles fully intended to modify later–came out.
Hank was smiling. "He's awake, Charles. You can go in for a few minutes if you'd like to see him. Not too long, though, he's not up for a long visit yet."
If he'd like. He would, of course, but it was just – this would be his first time seeing Erik and speaking to him since Cuba. Holding him while he was unconscious didn't count. He wasn't quite sure why he was nervous, but he most definitely was. Did he dare…? Come on, Charles, man up. He took a deep breath and wheeled himself forward, nodding his thanks to Hank, who held the heavy oak door open for him. Swallowing hard, he advanced noiselessly across the plush carpet into the room, coming to a stop at Erik's bedside. He blinked.
Had Erik always been so… small? Well he wasn't small, exactly, at over 6 feet tall he still towered over Charles himself, but something was different. He seemed diminished, somehow. Lesser. He was just so pale! – and he had gotten so thin that it made Charles want to cry just looking at him. He also resembled nothing so much as an exhibition for minor injuries: cuts, scratches, various bruises ranging from fresh purple to healing yellowish-green, and several bandages sealing over the more serious wounds. In short, the fragile-looking man lying before Charles was close to unrecognizable as the proud, indomitable Erik Lensherr he knew.
That was, until he opened his eyes to smile weakly at the visitor. Oh, but Charles remembered that smile in excruciating detail, and the familiarity of it on this stranger's face was staggering.
"Charles," he greeted. His voice sounded quiet in the empty room.
"Erik." The name came stiffly from his lips. He paused, mouth suddenly dry, biting his lower lip. What should he say? What did one say in such a situation? Charles, for all his training in etiquette, hadn't the foggiest idea. The silence seemed to stretch on interminably. Charles struggled to think of something, anything, to talk about. The weather? Don't be daft, Charles. The news? Erik wouldn't know anything about that, he'd spent months in a goddamn dungeon for chrissakes! Gossip? Gossip was always good, right? Wait. What was the latest gossip again? Ah, yes.
"Raven's pregnant," he blurted out. A second after that, he reflected that shocking Erik with startling revelations might not be the best way to ease him gently back to health. Oops. Oh well, too late for that now.
Erik was staring blankly at him, probably wondering, quite understandably, how the conversation had jumped to this topic. He spluttered, "Wait, what? How?"
If he'd been talking about anyone besides his sister, Charles would have inserted a terrible joke at this point. Something along the lines of, "Well you see, my dear fellow, when a woman and man love each other very much…" However, as it was, he stayed serious. "It's Azazel's," he explained.
Erik growled. "Why, that sneaky little… Charles, I didn't know anything about it, I swear. I'd never have let anything happen to Raven. You know that, don't you?"
"It's not that bad," Charles assured him. "I admit I wasn't exactly jumping for joy, but I've read his mind, and he genuinely cares for her. To tell the truth, I'm pleased that at least she's had someone around to look out for her."
It wasn't until Erik's face tightened and his smile vanished, that the telepath realized how his words must have sounded to Erik. It was as blatant an accusation of failure as could be. Reminding Erik that he had failed in looking after Raven, failed in leading the Brotherhood, failed in even keeping himself around and out of trouble. He wasn't reading Erik's thoughts –after all that had happened, he fully intended to keep any promises they had left between them– but he could feel the weight of Erik's emotions on his own. Guilt, shame, self-loathing…
"No!" he exclaimed almost involuntarily, startling himself. "Erik, that's not what I– please don't misunderstand–"
Erik's face was impassive. Charles, desperately scraping at the surface of the other man's mind as far as he dared to, could glean nothing. Erik's control over his thoughts was quite outstanding, considering how weak he still was. His verbal response was frigidly polite. "I think we understand each other quite well, Charles. Thank you for all your help. Please pass that on to the rest of the X-Men as well."
"Erik… "
The older man continued speaking as though there had been no interruption. "I've been informed that I'm under strict orders to rest as much as possible, so if you don't mind, I think I'll try getting some sleep now."
The dismissal was evident. As Erik did look genuinely worn out, Charles had no choice but to leave, mumbling an incoherent semblance of an apology as he did so.
After the other man had left, Erik closed his eyes briefly. He was too exhausted to make sense of his thoughts; they were a whirl of emotions and disoriented images. But neither could he sleep; he was too unsettled by everything that had occurred. He remained there for a long time, staring uncomprehendingly at the heavy wood ceiling as though it could give him the answers he sought.
Charles had little opportunity to speak to Erik again over the next few days. As the metal-bender had predicted, he was confined to bed. He was allowed visitors, but as they tired him greatly, they were forced to keep it short and take it in turns so as not to overwhelm him. All the inhabitants of the mansion had been to see him, not just the Brotherhood. Charles quite unashamedly listened to their thoughts during the visits, and was surprised but pleased by how well the X-Men's visits went, as he'd been chiefly worried about those.
Like Charles himself, Alex and Sean had been shocked by the drastic change in Erik's appearance. Alex's mind has frozen in stunned disbelief, whereas Sean's had been going at a million miles an hour. Ohmygod, the dude used to make me wanna pee in my pants just looking at his creepy grin, now he looks like he'd break into a million pieces if I just yelled! No fucking way! Bet he's sorry for leaving us now, the asshole. Oh crap, Mom always said I shouldn't talk bad about sick people. Or was that dead people? Better be nice, just in case. He might come back and haunt me if he did die. That would be bad. Very bad. Nice thoughts, Sean. Nice polite friendly thoughts… Wait, what the… did he just say he was sorry?
Charles withdrew from their minds, chuckling. Sean had one of the brightest, sweetest minds he'd ever come across, in spite of all the cursing. He made a mental note to remind Sean later that, if he yelled at the right frequency, they would probably all shatter into a million pieces, not just Erik.
Erik's reunion with Raven was tearful – on Raven's side at least– and touching. Erik's mind was filled with gratitude to her, and more than a little guilt over the whole pregnancy incident. When he mentioned it, however, Raven threw a hissy fit. "Erik– Magneto– whatever you're calling yourself– don't you dare! I don't regret it one bit! Azazel and I love each other, and he's already asked me to marry him as soon as I feel ready. I love this baby and I'm keeping him, so don't you go acting like he's some kind of natural disaster!"
Erik had apologized to Hank as well. Hank accepted the apology with dignity, and with all the time Hank spent playing doctor in the sickroom, they had gotten quite friendly. Charles felt immensely proud of the maturity the young scientist showed in his handling of the situation. He could only wish his own interview with Erik had gone equally smoothly. If he was keeping track –which he certainly was not, he assured himself– Erik was now on good terms with everyone in the mansion except himself. Whenever his turn came for one of the brief visits, the conversation between the two men was stilted and uncomfortable. There were too many things left unsaid between them. Erik seemed reluctant to talk to Charles, and the telepath reflected sadly that it was most likely inevitable: the closer two friends were before a separation, the greater the difference felt when they met once again. He comforted himself with the thought that at least Erik would be all right now, even if he no longer wished to have Charles as a friend.
This illusion was shattered a few days later when Hank sought him out in his study. Hank was wringing his hands, a movement that was strangely at odds with the intimidating appearance he now wore. He confided to Charles that Erik was not recovering as fast as he had hoped, and the doctor had predicted. "He's always exhausted," said the young mutant worriedly. "He's having trouble sleeping, but he won't let me give him anything to help. He won't talk about it either; I have a feeling he thinks that just burying his head in the sand will make it all go away." Charles listened uneasily, feeling guilty. He could easily find out what was bothering Erik, but he didn't want to break his promise. He hadn't heard anything, but then he'd been deliberately keeping his mental shields towards Erik as strong as possible in a poor attempt at making up for listening in on all his visitors. In the end, he promised Hank that he would try speaking to Erik the first possible chance he got.
It happened to be that very night. Charles, as was his habit, had been up late reading in his study. Everyone else was asleep – Sean had passed out not long ago after smoking a joint. Charles frowned as he remembered this. He really ought to have a serious discussion with Sean on the matter, but he kept putting it off because he knew that was Sean's way of dealing with tension. After everything that had happened recently, the teenager needed the relief. All the same, Charles decided that making Sean aware of more appropriate stress remedies had to become a priority. Perhaps one of those squishy jelly balls he had seen Moira's boss at the CIA squeezing?
He performed his usual quick scan of the younger mutants' minds. Raven and Alex were sleeping dreamlessly. Angel had no concrete dreams, only vague colours and impressions; Sean on the other hand was in the middle of a vivid dream that he'd impressed a bevy of beauties with his powers, resulting in them fighting over him. Hank was sleeping fitfully, his mind still laced with uneasiness from his conversation with Charles earlier. Charles sent him a calming wave of reassurance. Thus reminded of his promise, he tuned in to check up on Erik as well.
At first, he sensed little beyond the mere presence of Erik's mind: Erik's own mental blocks were up, even in sleep. A wave of disappointment hit Charles upon realizing this. Despite all that happened, Erik still didn't trust him, or anyone, enough to let down his guard completely in their presence. Setting his jaw firmly, the telepath shoved his way through the defenses, determined to see properly for once. He was careful not to wake Erik, though, as he didn't think Erik would appreciate the intrusion, however good Charles's intentions might be.
The moment he was past the barriers, an intense onslaught of images assaulted his mind. It took him a moment to realize that these were memories, or dreams of memories. The beach in Cuba, not sunny and golden as it had been in reality, but tainted with blood that was everywhere. Sinking into the sand, dripping from the trees, swirling in the water. His blood, Chares realized with sickening horror. Guilt pervaded the memory, and he realized that he was seeing the beach as it appeared in Erik's nightmares.
Charles reached out, trying to see past the dreams into the center of Erik's mind, to access his memories. Yet more images assailed him as he did so. The old nightmare, Erik straining to move the silver reichsmark while his mother's haunted eyes watched; her frightened attempts to reassure him: "Alles ist gut," drowned by the thundering "Eins, zwei, drei!" In a sudden flash, Charles managed to access a later memory associated with the dream: Erik's rage when he learnt that 90 percent of the metal in the reichsmark was non-magnetic silver, assuaging his guilt but fuelling his desire for revenge.
The dream changed as he sloughed on. Erik in that hellhole of a prison underground, without even a glimpse of a patch of blue sky to comfort him. A series of spinning, blurry images which left only flashes of steel and pain as their keenest impression. Screams echoed in the background, infused with so much anguish that Charles's mind instinctively began to withdraw. He struggled with every ounce of willpower he possessed to force himself to remain. He had to help Erik! Suddenly however, the dream changed and he saw himself: smiling, laughing, walking, holding his hands out towards Erik and calling him "my friend". A memory within a dream of a memory, Charles thought. He couldn't help but marvel at the wonderful complexity that was Erik's mind, and felt a sudden sharp pang of longing. He hadn't realized how much he had missed this, how much he missed Erik and everything he was, the complicated, dark, angry side of him as much as the beautiful, light, caring side.
He was so busy thinking about this that the abrupt shift in the dream took him completely by surprise. Before he knew it, the sheer level of agony slicing through Erik's mind was forcing him out in spite of himself. He managed to catch only a glimpse –a skeletal version of himself, being beaten and abused by guards in Nazi uniforms, before– Charles! Get out of my head!
Charles withdrew jerkily. Alone in his mind, he shook with the raw power of the memories he'd just pried into. Erik would never forgive him now, he was sure. His fist clenched in sudden determination. Even if Erik refused to ever speak to him again, he had to try to help him tonight at the very least. He urged his wheelchair towards the door and opened it. Thank God Erik's room was on the same floor as his study!
He hastened down the corridor to Erik's room and halted outside. Should he knock?
Can I come in? He ventured at last. Silence, then a shuddering, anguished Go away! which he decided was a tacit form of consent. He opened the door and hurriedly rolled to Erik's side.
Erik was sitting up in bed, his arms wrapped around his legs. His face was buried in his knees. Tremors raced up and down his thin body. "I said, go away!" he snarled in the general direction of the door, his words muffled.
"Erik," began Charles, not knowing quite what to say. "My friend…"
Erik lifted his head to glare at him. His eyes were bloodshot and furious. Tears struggled to form at the corners, and the sight seemed to rend a deep tear right through Charles's heart. "Don't you understand English? Leave me alone! Or would you prefer if I said it in German? Lass mich in Ruhe!"
"Erik, I only wanted to help," Charles pleaded. He knew he wasn't going to get off easily for this.
I don't need your help, Erik thought back angrily. Just leave me be!
Charles might –might– have considered it, had he not realized that the reason Erik didn't dare to speak out loud was for fear that his voice would crack, betraying him. Instead, he maneuvered his wheelchair even closer to the bed. In one swift motion, he swung himself out of the chair and onto the bed, beside Erik. He knew quite well that Erik would never push him off. Without hesitation, he put his arms around Erik's still trembling form and hugged him tightly.
Erik resisted him at first, struggling to break out of the embrace, but he was still weak, and he was clearly afraid of shoving too hard and sending Charles to the floor. Please let me go, he thought in a last-ditch, broken plea.
In response, Charles loosened his grip. Instead of drawing away, however, he lifted one hand to stroke Erik's hair. He ran his fingers through the fine dark strands; then, letting his hand drop to the small of Erik's back, rubbed it gently, reassuringly. He felt the tension seep out of Erik's body, while uncertainty built up in Erik's mind. They sat that way for some time.
Erik, Charles thought at last. How are you feeling?
Erik's reply was succinct. Better.
Good. I've missed you, you know.
Erik's mind was apprehensive, almost afraid. You have?
So much. With that, he projected a series of his own memories into Erik's mind, every single one throbbing with longing for the metal-bender. Recovering at the hospital: loneliness. I wish Erik was here. Training the younger mutants: pride with a sense of loss. I wish Erik could have seen this, he would be so proud. Raven's arrival: wonder. Why has she come? Is Erik alright? Upon hearing the reason for her arrival: fear. Erik, where are you? The discovery of the prison: worry that escalated into panic. Erik, please, you have to be all right, please hold on.
And so it went, on and on and on. When Charles finally stopped, Erik was blinking hard. He ducked his head when Charles looked at him, but Charles, feeling bolder, caught up Erik's face in his palm. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, he leant forward and planted a lingering kiss directly on Erik's stunned face.
Erik's mind was blank with astonishment. ! was all Charles gleaned. He snickered. I love you, he thought affectionately. He waited for some semblance of cognition to resume.
I was planning to leave, Erik thought at last. I was going to look out for a safe house and move the Brotherhood there. They– we have been here far too long. A moment's pause, then– It hurt. I didn't want to go. I didn't know when I would ever see you again.
You don't have to go, Charles told him. None of you do. In fact, I insist on your staying. You're not yet well enough, Erik.
Erik's reply was desolate. I know, but we cannot stay forever. There is so much work to be done! But I don't want to leave you, either.
"Do it from here," said Charles gently. Erik's eyes looked at him questioningly. "No, I mean it. Use this house as a base. You haven't seen us during the past few months, Erik. The Brotherhood and the X-Men have worked well together, and I believe we can continue to do so."
"How?" Erik murmured. "Before, you had a shared goal –and I thank you for it– but what comes next?"
Charles paused. "Our goals are not so different," he said finally. "Our methods – that is the catch."
You know how we work, Erik thought softly. Do you have it in you to allow that?
You know very well that I do not. The exchange, so reminiscent of former times, made both smile briefly, but Charles felt the wave of sadness coming off Erik.
Wait, my friend, he thought quickly. I did not mean for that to be the end. I still believe this can work.
Erik was intrigued. How?
Compromise. When we have any dealings with humans, we will try my way first. If that fails, if the need is dire and all other options are closed to us, we will do it your way. Would that be acceptable? It was a huge concession for him to make, and Erik knew it. The metal-bender mulled on the proposal for some time. The solution was not perfect, but it was a good one. He nodded cautiously.
Yes, I think that would work for me. Of course, I cannot be sure about the other members of my Brotherhood. I would have to discuss it with them. If they wish to leave, they may do so. I will stay, either way.
Charles tapped a finger against his temple. Raven and Angel will have no objection. And Azazel will stay if Raven does. Emma and Janos, though, I'm not so sure about.
Erik's mind was bright with relief and happiness. That's good enough. I don't mind if Emma doesn't stay. She can be a real bitch sometimes. She did help rescue me though, so I shouldn't be too rude.
Charles chortled. Now that all the serious issues had been dealt with, both he and Erik relaxed. The next few minutes sped by as the two men wordlessly got to know each other all over again.
In spite of his own giddy excitement, Charles couldn't help but notice that Erik seemed about ready to pass out. He sighed reluctantly. "I think we should call it a night, my friend. No offense, but you look terrible." He softened the mild insult with a kiss.
Erik smiled ruefully." I know, but I don't want you to leave,"he said tiredly. In spite of this, his eyelids were drooping shut. His words came out as a garbled mess. His mind throbbed with uncertainty, then– Unless, maybe… if you don't mind that is… you could sleep here with me? The thought was almost shy, the one emotion Charles never expected to sense from Erik's mind.
I'd like to, Charles thought back, enjoying Erik's pleasure at hearing his answer.
He was surprised when Erik grinned unexpectedly. Are you quite sure you have it in you to allow that? He teased.
Charles was startled into laughing out loud: a happy, untroubled sound.
For once, my friend – my love, I believe I do.
-THE END-
So... umm... do I have any potential in the X-Men fandom, or with slash? Neither? Both? Please let me know!