A/N: Another Tumblr drabble, this one coming from cerebromanst with the prompt, "Though he hadn't known him that long, Erik was in no doubt that Charles could be stubborn when he wanted to be. A head cold or a stress headache wasn't enough to stop the great Charles Xavier, but Erik knows that it could burn him out sooner or later."
Charles Xavier is the sort to plow through any of his own issues and dig into someone else's. He will shove aside and disregard any of his own doubts, fears, worries, aches, pains, and illnesses to help and heal and comfort and aid someone with theirs.
Erik Lehnsherr hasn't known Charles for a terribly long time, but he's witnessed enough to pick up on this.
Because, despite appearances (Erik seems to be more the type, for example), Charles is a very stubborn man. Arrogant, maybe. Foolish, perhaps. And definitely rooted in his belief that others — family, friends, anyone in need — should come first, before himself. He's a martyr that way, and it honestly pisses Erik off, because sooner or later, all of this is going to catch up to Charles and either land him in a harmful, possible fatal position, or completely burn him out from all the wear and tear of it all.
So, with a disgruntled sigh, Erik confronts Charles on this little problem.
"You have a migraine, don't you? Or a cold? Your voice is thick and you're making not much sense when you speak," Erik states bluntly as he follows Charles into the man's study, where a stack of bills to be paid or accounted for in Charles' checkbook is laid out on the table.
"What? No, of… of course not. I'm fiddle as a — I mean, fit as a fiddle." He sighs, shaking his head at himself, and yes, he indeed has the dregs of a cold in his system despite the medicine he took, and medicine never goes over well with his advanced mind (alcohol always works better to numb it when it didn't give him a hangover). And, yes, he does have a headache, but nothing as severe as a migraine that won't pass as soon as he gets some sleep tonight. He drops into his desk chair and picks up a piece of paper. He clears his throat and goes on, "Don't worry, Erik. I'll be fine. Why don't you go to bed?"
"Why don't you?" Erik counters swiftly, moves to sit on Charles' desk in front of his papers. "You're clearly tired, and this can wait until tomorrow. Or, better yet," he says, getting up and shooing Charles from his seat, "Iwill do it for you, to help accost for my stay here, since I can't actually pay you. Now run along to bed, Charles. You're tired, I can see it."
Charles makes an indignant sound and then peers up at his friend with a frown. "I am not! I am perfectly cappible— capable of filing and filling those out. So if you don't mind —" And he moves to gently shove Erik out of the way, but Erik is much more athletic, so he stands his ground, using his muscle and height against Charles.
"Charles," Erik utters lowly, but not threateningly. The telepath stills, his body going rigid against Erik's where their shoulders and sides meet. "You constantly and insistently put your nose in other people's business. You teach others — myself included — to open up to you and accept your help despite their prides and egos. Now I am asking you to learn a lesson from your own teachings and let me help you, since you take joy in helping others but forget what it's like to be helped, and the relief that can bring."
Charles backs away slowly, taking one step, then two. He nods, sighing, and rubs his temples with both hands, two fingers each. "You're right. You're absolutely right." He glances up again, his blue orbs hooking and reeling in Erik's green-blue ones. "I apologize."
"No apology necessary," Erik replays gently, willing a smile to his face as he steps away from the desk and toward Charles again. "All you need to do his relax and get well. And from now on, you need to abandon your stubbornness and start asking for my assistance. I want to be there for you, Charles; we are equals, you and I."
Charles nods, sighing through his nose this time with relief, and smiles a bit. "All right. I'll do so." He pauses, hands at his sides with rubbing, anxious fingers, and glances back up. "Thank you, Erik."
"It's my pleasure, vicar," he muses, and reaches past Charles, his forearm brushing the telepath's bicep, as he grabs for a bottle of gin resting with crystal shot-glasses on the table behind him. "Now then: why don't we soothe your mind a little? You let it slip that alcohol always works the best to remedy your headaches."
"Did I project that unintentionally?" Charles chuckles, moving to sit down on the loveseat while Erik pours him a small glass. "My bad."
"It's a helpful thing to know," Erik replies easily, and pours himself his own glass, pushing the other toward Charles, before sitting down beside him. They clink glasses. "To lowering one's defenses to another."
Charles grins and nods at the sentiment. "To lowering one's defenses," he agrees, and takes the shot. "But only with you, Erik."
"And only you as well, Charles."