Erik Lensherr lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The safe house Azazel had teleported them to that afternoon was quiet. He assumed Azazel and the others, Raven, Angel, and Riptide, were asleep or otherwise occupied.
The events of the day kept replaying, over and over, in his mind. The triumph of finally destroying Schmidt — Sebastian Shaw — transformed each time into guilt that Charles had been injured, and realizing that it was his fault. He had been responsible for hurting Charles, not Moira.
Charles' cry of pain and shock after being struck by the ricocheting bullet kept ringing in his ears. He rolled to his side and punched his pillow. Just trying to fluff it up, make it more comfortable. Not at all trying to take his frustration out on an innocent object.
He could still feel Charles lying in his arms, seeing the pain Charles' face and saying goodbye, so he could turn tail and run away. That's what it had been, for all his strong words of fighting a war against humans.
He rolled to his back, staring at the ceiling again. He huffed in frustration. This wasn't working. He knew what he had to do.
"Azazel, wake up!" he kicked the door to the other mutant's room. He heard a muffled grunt from inside. "I want to talk to you."
The door cracked open. He could only see a sliver of Azazel's red face peering out. "What?"
"I need your help."
Erik shook off the feeling of disorientation that Azazel's teleportation left him with and scanned the deserted hospital hallway. Then he turned to Azazel. "I'll call you when I want to return."
Azazel nodded and vanished, leaving behind a smell of brimstone and trails of black smoke dissipating in his wake.
Before they left the safe house, he had phoned the hospital, posing as a doctor. An intimidated intern had checked the records and confirmed that Charles was there, and which room he was in.
Charles was was behind this door.
He faced the closed door, gathering his courage. He reached for the doorknob, then let his hand fall back to his side. He took a deep breath and stared at the door a bit more. Any minute now he'd open it and step through. Any minute.
A squeak, squeak of rubber soles against linoleum sounded down the hallway.
He looked up, staring at the corner where the hallway turned. He felt for the shape of approaching metal. Maybe a stethoscope? Probably a night nurse, doing her rounds.
Galvanized into action, not wanting to get caught, he followed through on his plan. He opened the door and stepped forward.
He held his breath, not wanting to wake Charles. The muffled sound of someone trying not to cry came from the bed, telling him Charles was already awake. Guilt punched him in the gut. "Charles?"
"Go away." Charles' voice was dull and choked.
"I won't do that. I can't do that." He stepped closer, into the pool of light that surrounded the bed.
Charles lay there, one arm flung over his eyes. His other arm lay alongside the bedrail, his hand gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles were white.
"You did before, Erik. Do it again. You're good at that," Charles accused, without lowering his arm. His voice was thick and rough with unshed tears.
"Charles, please." He touched the hand that clutched the bedrail, hearing the plea in his voice. Knowing that Charles would as well. "Look at me. Listen to me."
Charles shuddered at the touch and eased his grip on the rail. After a moment he lowered his arm. His eyes were red and damp as he looked up. He quickly looked away, but hesitated, and looked back. "What do you want, Erik."
It wasn't a question. It was exhaustion coupled with complete disinterest.
He swallowed, wanting to do anything to comfort Charles, but not knowing how. He shook his head and said simply, "I felt your pain."
Charles turned his head away. "I'm on pain medication, and I may not have my normal control, but I'm not broadcasting anything, Erik."
"That doesn't matter. Charles, look at me." He waited until Charles turned back to look at him. "You're always here," He pointed to his head, then to his heart, "and here."
There was a terrible kind of hope in Charles' eyes before it was shuttered behind an indifferent mask. "You've made your feelings perfectly clear. You left. You abandoned me. You took Raven with you." Charles' voice was full of resentment and accusation.
"I care about Raven," he saw the hurt flare in Charles' eyes and hurried on, "I care about her the same way you do. As a sister."
There was disbelief held tight behind the mask.
"I mean that." He stared into pain-filled eyes. Charles had to believe him.
After a few moments of silence, he turned away to look around the hospital room, seeing only a cold, sterile, lonely room. Charles would be much better off with him. "I'm taking you out of here, to a safe place."
There was a soft, mirthless laugh behind him. He spun back to the bed as he heard Charles' voice, starting off soft, then getting louder, each word sounding angrier and more bitter than the last.
"I have a broken spine, Erik. Do you have any idea what that means? My vertebrae are broken. My spinal cord was severed. I'm paralyzed. It's more than not being able to move my legs. I have a —" Charles broke off, took a deep breath, "a catheter. I have a colostomy bag. I can't." Tears leaked out of Charles' eyes to roll down his cheek. "I can't function on my own. I need help to do everything."
His eyes widened. He hadn't realized the bullet had done that much damage. He clutched at the bedrail, his knuckles turning as white as Charles' had been. "But you'll heal. Right? It will get better." He was begging, desperate for Charles' reassurance, and he knew exactly how selfish that made him.
Charles just stared at him with eyes full of anger and pain. Before Charles could speak, he was moving, leaning over with his hand on Charles' cheek. Charles' eyes widened as he leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to unresisting lips.
He searched Charles' face for acceptance when he drew back. He saw stunned disbelief instead.
"Erik? What are you doing?"
"You're a dreamer, Charles. I'm a fighter. We both want the same thing, for mutants to be safe. We just have different ideas of how to accomplish that. We're two halves of a whole, you and I." He grasped Charles' hand, giving it a squeeze. "This will take both of us, working together, or both our causes will fail."
Charles stared at him. Reading his mind? "Charles?" Maybe that would make this easier. Blue eyes were locked onto his, looking lost.
"You kiss me, and then you talk about working together." The blue eyes hardened. "Make up your mind."
"I have." He huffed a laugh. "I've never really had a choice. Not since the moment we met. You've always believed in me, even more than I believed in myself."
"What do you want, Erik?"
This was it. He had to spell everything out, and plead his case. "You, Charles. You already know that. Take a look, in here." He pointed to his head again. "You know I'm telling the truth. I don't care if you're paralyzed." He stopped. "Well, I do care, I want you to be well, but it doesn't matter to me. I want us to be together. I want to argue over how to help other mutants. I want to play chess, and debate strategy, and wake up next to you every morning. Charles, I." He swallowed, suddenly terrified that his words weren't enough.
Charles slowly drew their clasped hands closer, eyes locked on his, and then brushed a feather light kiss against his knuckles.
He sagged in relief, suddenly aware that his face ached. He was grinning. He hadn't smiled like this in such a long time. And Charles was smiling back at him.
"Can I take you out of here, Charles?"
Charles nodded.