I own nothing.
This is an alternative to how Erik discovers what happened to Charles. It's a bit lighter in tone to what I have in mind.
Unbetaed, as par for the course. It's late and I've been chewing on this story since this morning. So, please excuse the mistakes.
Interlude #3: Breaking and Entering
Six, no eight months after leaving Charles broken on the beach in Cuba, Erik decided that he wanted to visit Charles, to see him…perhaps even to beg his forgiveness. And after sufficiently threatening Moira (secretly glad that she was not with his telepath and in fact had her mind partially wiped by said telepath), he finally gathered his courage and traveled to Westchester.
He stood in the tree line outside the front gates of the Xavier Mansion looking at it and wondering how he got to this point in life. Shaw was dead. And after dismissing Shaw's henchmen (and those he gained from the Cuban beach) Erik was alone again. He simply shook his head and began planning his entrance.
His first attempt to enter the mansion almost got him killed.
Damnable lasers. Who uses lasers with children around? How stupid can one be? He had his hair singed on that attempt and as he soaked his head in the shower later on that night, he thought okay, let's not take the front gate. That's too obvious, anyway.
His second attempt almost got him arrested.
Why no officer, I did *not* know that driving without my lights on could get me arrested. Since he did not want Charles knowing that he was casing his home, he did not use his powers on the two obviously inept police officers. It was only after they noticed that their car doors had crumpled in when they suspected something strange about the lanky man dressed in black. And by that time, Erik was well away from the scene.
His third attempt almost alerted his presence to the others in the school - to Alex and Sean precisely. And it was a pretty safe bet that the two young men held a grudge against him.
"Sean," Alex said while they were walking the grounds after a strenuous training day taking in the scenery. "Did you see that thing?" He pointed to a figure on the other side of the lake near the satellite dish. The figure on the other side of the lake froze as if he was trying to blend in.
"The one that looks like that fucking Lensherr?" Sean's eyes narrowed and he took a breath. He mentally sent out a cry to the Professor warning him about the intruder that (probably) was Lensherr.
"Yeah," Alex responded gathering his energy to throw at the figure. He was ready to do battle with Erik, damn it all to hell. He had hurt the Professor, someone who tried diplomacy before action and Alex was determined to do the exact same amount of damage to him as he did the Professor.
"Let's go and see if the Professor is alright," Sean said, stopping the other. "We have to make sure he's fine before we go after the bastard." Sean had received a response from his mentor and friend, warning them to come back and to not doing anything rash for God's sake.
"Good idea," Alex said, throwing the figure a menacing glance. Alex only truly cared about a handful of people. And most of them were in the mansion.
Erik decided that night was not the best night to visit his old friend.
His fourth attempt finally, finally got him into the mansion, now called Xavier's School for Gifted Children. He briefly paused at the placard and with a flick of his wrist, righted the sign a tiny bit. Erik had watched the school for nearly a month straight to observe the comings and goings of the people housed in the mansion. He nearly went insane with how…mundane everything seemed. Did Charles not know that a war was coming and that he could get killed? The thought nearly drove Erik into bursting into the house kidnapping Charles and dragging him somewhere safe and sound. He only gained control of himself when he noticed the car that he was sitting in began rattling dangerously.
Finally, the children, in the company of several adults that he did not recognize finally left the mansion for what seemed to be a camping trip. He grinned toothily, counting that it would only be Charles and quite possibly Hank left in the mansion. And knowing Hank, the young scientist would be holed up in his lab for hours at a time.
It was in the afternoon when Erik sauntered into the mansion (there would be no dodging of laser beams, thank you very much). He kept the helmet on to have the element of surprise on his side. After entering through the kitchen door, he made his way around the house, marveling at the changes to accommodate someone sitting in a wheelchair. He felt a bit of pride, knowing that it was the teens and not Charles (who was probably still recovering) who thought of adjusting everything to within arm's reach.
It was here that he knew that Moira was right. He had hurt, severely hurt, his best friend.
A brief pang stabbed at his heart. If hadn't been so focused he could have stopped Moira from firing that damn gun. If, if, if. Would he spend all his life playing the what if game? He paused at the kitchen counter and pulled off Shaw's helmet and ran a hand through his hair.
Erik? came Charles' voice into his head.
Oh, fuck, came Erik's response.
What are you doing here?
I...came to see you, actually.
A pause here. Erik could not decipher Charles' tone of voice.
Why?
Why what?
Why are you truly here, old friend?
I heard a rumor.
Ah, I see. A brief image of Moira popped into Erik's mind. Erik growled softly. Charles chuckled into his mind. I am where I usually am at this time of night. Erik nodded as if Charles were in the same room.
Erik easily found his way around the mansion falling into old habits. And as he reached the door of Charles' favorite study, he heard Charles' voice.
"Yes, I'm fine, Moira, my dear," Charles said. Erik quietly pushed the door open further. "No, no. I don't believe that he'll hurt me. Yes, I'm quite sure of that," Erik could not miss the amused tone his his voice. "Now, now, don't get upset with me again. You know why I did it. If you don't know, they can't hurt you. Yes, yes. I'll be careful. Ah, he's here," Charles looked up and beckoned him inside. Charles held the phone between his shoulder and head, writing on a piece of paper. "Yes, Hank knows he's here too. He's practically salivating to get his hands on Erik."
Erik swallowed. The last time Erik had angered the scientist, it earned him a slam into the concrete and several bruised ribs.
"My dear, I'll be fine. Please, go to sleep," here Charles placed two fingers at his temple and suggested that she go to sleep. "Good night, Moria." Charles hung up the phone and sighed. "She has a good heart, you know. But she's so protective of me. It's not like she could send the police over. She has no idea where we're located!" He sighed again and wheeled himself from behind his large mahogany desk.
Erik gasped at the site of Charles in a wheelchair. His heart broke all over again. And before he could stop himself, Erik was on his knees in front of a very surprised Charles babbling and begging for his forgiveness. Charles, on his part, was shocked and for a moment didn't move or say anything. When he did, Charles ran his fingers through Erik's hair, still not saying anything.
They stayed like this for most of the evening and a better part of the night, not speaking only enjoying being in each other's presence again.
"Erik," Charles said gently. "What do you plan on doing?" Erik looked up from his seated position and looked into Charles' brilliant blue eyes. He only saw forgiveness in Charles' eyes and nothing else. A small, but brilliant hope flared in his chest.
"I honestly, don't know," he said. Charles smiled at him.
"You are welcome to stay, you know. The others will not like it, but you will have to earn their trust again."
"And what of you? Do you trust me?"
Charles looked into his eyes. Erik understood that Charles was requesting permission to enter his mind. He gave a small nod and felt Charles slip into his mind.
I have always trusted you, my friend.
-End-
I'm not as pleased with this one as I was with the first two interludes I wrote. But eh, you'll have that, I suppose.
Constructive, but not mean, reviews are appreciated. How else is a writer suppose to get better, besides the obvious...write more.