Yeah no, I don't own these guys. Unless, yanno, birthday soon...? HA keep dreaming, aoifa... Anyhoo, this is my view of what would have happened, if that bullet had shifted by one inch. Knowing Charles is well, not in a wheelchair, Erik decides to return, unable to stop thinking of the telepath. However, when he does get back to the mansion, he doesn't get the slow-running reunion you might expect. Filled for a tumblr prompt 'I'd love a fic where Charles punches Erik when they first meet after the Beach Scene!' or something to that effect. I couldn't resist! (But don't worry, it ends with fluff) Please R&R!
By One Inch
Erik can never really say that he's religious. He was locked in a camp for being Jewish, but he hasn't prayed to that god since he was nine. He never saw the point after he realised what he could do. But there's a few views every here and there that he likes, and takes as his own. 'Eye for an eye' is a popular one. He likes the idea of reincarnation, though he's not one hundred percent certain it actually happens. That there's a greater power, yeah, that sounds good, a great Designer would explain a lot – but an omnibenevolent god surely wouldn't have let his life happen the way it had. Then there's the Buddhist view, that everything is always changing. That, in his opinion, couldn't be more true.
He doesn't know how much he changed – probably less than he thinks – but his dreams changed in the last five months, so drastically – none of this, this pretence, this tyranny, power-hungry destruction –
It doesn't work, not when your actual, honest to 'God' dreams are filled with something else entirely.
One more look at his desk, the papers – since when did he deal with papers? – the coin, and three Polaroid photos, and Erik rose to his feet.
He pocketed the Polaroids.
It was almost a welcome relief, when Alex burst through the door. Charles was going to have to hire someone for the monetary side, because it was killing him. Oh, he could do them – he was a genius, after all – but the monotony was something he'd never be able to get used to. He was getting to the stage where he was planning his excuses to go to Hank's lab instead, or talk to – well, do something other than this, anyway... so yes, a welcome relief when Alex burst through the door.
"Yes, Alex?" he asked, trying not to look too grateful when he set down his pen and looked up away from the endless divisions. "What's the problem?"
One look at the boy's face was all it took to destroy his relief. "Alex?" he asked again, voice sounding hard and confident in a way only possible when you're scared beyond measure. "Alex, what is it?"
The blonde didn't answer – looking at him, couldn't answer. He was stood in the doorway, the whitest Charles had ever seen him, nails digging into the beech hard enough to dent it, and his chest rising up and down fast, dangerously fast. He looked about to faint. No, he didn't look like he could speak if his life depended on it.
But then again, no one had to speak around Charles.
He – I saw him, coming up the hill – I couldn't – had to come to you – I'm scared, professor – what if he – no – but he could kill – no – professor, it's him –
"Who-"
ERIK!
Who else.
Suddenly, strangely, he felt calm. He could feel his heart thundering, pulsing in a beat that couldn't be regular, let alone healthy, but he felt calm. It was like a tangible fire, spreading from his chest to his fingers, leaving a warm, distinct pulse behind his eyes. Everything was in sharp focus. Each sound, each feel of a human mind. The focus as Hank stared down a microscope, Sean mindlessly flicking through TV, Alex's panic, and nothing else.
"Okay, Alex," Charles said, standing, eyes scanning his desk for anything he might want. No, nothing that would help. He didn't tend to carry firearms. Never mind. "Go find the others, and stay inside."
But-
"Stay inside, Alex, got that? That's an order. Stay inside."
Okay I can do that.
Charles nodded, and pushed past. It was a good job he knew the mansion so well, because he was so wrapped up with thoughts he would have made a wrong turning somewhere otherwise. Not thoughts – memories, endless memories, what he'd done, what they'd done, how it had all felt – so fast and so hard it was impossible to focus on where he was. Impossible to focus on anything. He didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't know what he wanted to do! He reached the front door, pushed it open, all but fell down the steps. Up the hill, Alex had thought, coming up the hill and he'd been scared – memories of seeing Erik when he'd first seen him, the determination that would crush anything in its path, of him on the beach leaving him bleeding, broken, something he'd done –
Charles hit the stone balustrade, moving too fast to stop carefully, hands in front to stop him falling over it, eyes narrowed and scanning the slopes with a desperation that terrified him. Each step closer he got, the more aware he was of what was about to happen – and calmness that had taken him in his office was slowly replaced with a emotion that set each nerve on fire, his body quivering, eyes burning.
And eventually, he caught sight of him.
He was hard to miss, once he got onto the clear slope. He was dressed all in red, skin tight, sleeves rolled up and a cape, of all things, draped over his arm. And he had the helmet on. He had the helmet on.
Fury raged through Charles, and before he could think rationally, he found himself running around the balustrade and down the hill, straight at the metal worker.
Even through the metal guard, he could see the expression on Erik's face, when he looked up from the ground he was stepping on to see Charles. That didn't mean he could understand it, though – that he cared what Erik was thinking.
"Take it off," he hissed, stopping moving a firm ten meters from Erik. At his side, his fists were quivering.
"Charles-"
"I don't want to hear it!" His throat hurt from the force of the scream – not yell, scream – but it was a needed pain, something for the adrenaline to do, to stop him hurling himself at Erik, stopping himself hurting that pale excuse for a mutant with everything he had. "You think I care about anything you have to say? I don't want you in my grounds with that thing on, take – it – off."
Erik's jaw was wide open, his green eyes wide with joy, astonishment, fear. "Sorry – oh Charles, I'm so-"
"And you're still talking? Ha!" Charles let out a burst of laughter, head falling back, and his smile freezing onto his face as he looked back down at Erik. At the helmet. "And you're trying to apologise? Did you not hear me say that I'm not interested in anything you say? You remember what you did, don't you? The beach? The missiles? The bullet you slammed into my back? You do remember, don't you?" He paused, breathing in short bursts. "Well DO YOU?"
"Yes, of course I do-" the reply was stuttered.
Charles didn't have the patience to let him finish. "I was told that one more inch to the left," he muttered, voice low, eyes narrowed, unmoving, into Erik's, "One inch to the left and I would have lost my legs, Erik, I'd be paralysed from my waist down. You almost put me in a wheelchair, and then you just fuck off?"
"You said-"
"I was bleeding to death on a beach, you're not meant to take what I'm saying seriously when I'm bleeding to death on a beach!" He stopped, breath ripped from his lungs in tatters, heart still stuttering. "Take it off," he said again, voice low.
This time, Erik didn't even hesitate. His hands pressed against the side of the red metal, and he carefully slid the helmet from his head.
As soon as the helmet started to move, Charles strode forwards, arm pulled back, and once the helmet was a mere millimetre clear, slammed his fist into Erik's left cheek. He could feel his knuckles connect against Erik's cheekbone, and he smiled grimly as the taller man staggered back. The helmet slipped from his hands, and rolled off down the hill. Neither of them followed its path.
His fist hurt, he'd have to look for that helmet later, and he vaguely thought he'd heard something rip as he punched Erik, but all these rational thoughts came flooding back along with one, far more important other.
I'm so sorry.
And that thought wasn't his.
No, no, no - "Don't you dare be sorry!" Charles yelled. If he was sorry, Charles would have to forgive him, and he couldn't, he couldn't forgive him, it would hurt too much if he forgave him and Erik left – he frantically grabbing the collar of Erik's top, hauling him forwards, and punched him hard once more. Erik gasped – pain or shock, it wasn't clear which – and his legs buckled beneath him. He started to fall back down the hill, and, with one hand reflexively clasping Charles' wrist, and Charles' own hand holding his collar – Charles was going with him.
Oh shit. Times when I could actually use a helmet...
They hit the ground with a thud, Erik grunting with pain as Charles landed hard on him, and Charles, without thought, tucked his head down against Erik's chest as they rolled over backwards. A moment of darkness, before the ground slammed into his back. He gasped, desperately trying to get air, but Erik was pressing down on his chest – only for a moment, before gravity took hold again, and Charles found himself on Erik – he flung out an arm, vaguely saw Erik do the same, desperate for a handhold, to stop themselves – but they just kept falling.
A hand pressed into his back, holding him still. He tucked his head down further, protecting it, and closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to ignore the nausea – he swallowed again and again, stomach leaping, world spinning, light flashing, both of Erik's hands holding him firmly in place, and his breath loud over the crushing of leaves and air they were falling through.
They only came to a stop as when they slammed into a try, one of the old oaks that filled the grounds, hitting it so hard it felt like it would snap them in half. There was a moment's pause as they both desperately tried to hold on to consciousness, panting and blinking. All Charles was aware of was the feeling Erik's chest rise beneath him, pain as bruises formed all over his skin, sharp warmth were blood began to trickle from cuts, and the pressure of his hands on his back. He struggled to take in each detail, to focus - there was blood on his arms, and red smears covering Erik's face, but he couldn't have told you whose blood it was, where it was from. Any patch of skin that wasn't stained red was covered in dust and mud.
He could barely remember what he was meant to be feeling.
Ow – what happened – Charles – please – he okay – so sorry –
Panting, trying to think clearly, and Erik's own confused thoughts not helping, he pushed himself up from the chest of the man beneath him, a hand either side of Erik, legs struggling to find ground to push against rather than Erik's legs, and he caught the hint of a memory. His fist curled again. "You left me bleeding to death on that beach-" he breathed heavily, fist landing on Erik's face – but there was only gravity behind it. Where there had been a desire for revenge, to hurt the man beneath him, there was now just weariness, relief, and the feeling of Erik's hand on his back from when he'd protected him on the fall down.
Charles, I'm sorry –
"You left me-" his hand fell again, but uncurled before it came into contact, and landed heavily, flat, on the side of Erik's face.
I'm so, so sorry – tears started to trace a careless path down Erik's face, washing at the smudges of blood.
"You left..." Charles' thumb started to move, gently brushing at the blood, mud and tears, cleaning them from Erik's face.
Let me make it up to you. I would do anything for you, you must know that. Please, Charles – let me be here, with you. Please – I'm sorry –
There was one spot of blood that wouldn't move – Charles lifted up his hand, licked at his thumb and carefully scrubbed until there wasn't a trace of the blood left. Then he placed both hands on either side of Erik's face, and lightly placed his lips on Erik's.
For the first time, the mantra in Erik's mind changed. No longer apologies, no longer variations of 'I'm sorry'.
I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Charles didn't reply, not verbally. He lifted his head, then pressed his lips back down, ever so slightly harder, feeling Erik's chapped lips rubs against his, the warmth, how they moulded to fit together so easily. Erik's hands, still resting on his back, shifted – one held his waist, the other slipped into his hair, knotting his fingers in with the grass and the sticks, brushing it out.
I love you. I love you.
Their legs shift until Charles has one leg between Erik's, thighs pressing and feet interlocking. Their tongues brushed together seamlessly, tentative, both of them tasting the other for the first time, determined to remember even the slightest detail – the texture of their tongues, the wet warmth, the heat of their breath, the smoothness of the teeth.
Charles, Charles I love you.
He moved his hand to the back of Erik's head, lifting it, holding it closer as he brushed their tongues together once, then pulled back so their lips were just a millimetre apart. Beneath him, he could feel the heat of Erik's chest, and low, desperate thudding of a pulse. It was impossible to tell one heartbeat from the other anymore. He could feel breath ghost over his skin, warm, soft, and let their faces hover so, so close. For a moment they stayed there, eyes closed, and just breathed.
"I love you."
He laughed at that – he couldn't help it, he let his forehead fall against Erik's and laughed. "Oh, Erik," he muttered, face slipping to the side of Erik's so their cheeks were pressed together. Erik's arms moved to hold him, one arm around his waist, one hand pressed in the middle of his shoulder blades. "I know."
Slowly, carefully, as if a single movement could break Charles, Erik slid his hand under Charles' shirt, fingertips trailing over his skin, up his spine, until he found what he was looking for. Charles winced as Erik traced the star-shaped, half-healed wound from the bullet. It didn't hurt – not anymore – but he knew that Erik's reaction would decide where they went from here. The thinnest tip of Erik's index finger carefully touched the centre of the half-healed scar, before he raised his hand, and with an air of finality pressed his palm against the clear, unbroken skin of the small of Charles' back.
Charles sighed out, and his eyes pressed closed as hard as they would go. "Don't leave me again," he begged, water gently falling from his eyelashes. "Don't you dare ever leave me again."
"I won't," Erik promised, face just as damp as he pressed it into Charles' shoulder, but voice steady as ever. "Never. I won't."
"You've left it all, then?"
Erik winces, and shifts his weight back onto the arm around Charles' shoulders, and lifting his left foot higher off the ground. "Do I even need to answer that question?" he asked, smirking through the pain. The helmet had rolled off into the trees, quite happily abandoned by the both of them, so Charles could quite easily read what he wanted from Erik's mind. It didn't matter, though, to Erik. The main thing he'd been so determined to hide from Charles had been thought, heard, and answered in the best way Erik could have imagined.
He knew Charles would be back down there, later, searching for the helmet. For his own peace of mind. Erik didn't feel a need to comment.
"No, I guess not," Charles answered, lips twitching and half-laughing. "But it'd probably be best if you say it. I don't want to invade your thoughts, it just – happens – okay, ready to try moving?"
"Sure, yes," Erik muttered, distracted, looking down at his feet. Charles counted down from three, and on one they both tried moving forwards, Erik hopping and Charles pretty much staggering under the older man's weight.
"Oh, Erik, you had to go and break your ankle at the bottom of a hill, didn't you?"
"Why'd you say it like that, it's not like I planned it!"
Charles chuckled again, taking a few more steps forwards. Erik bit his bottom lip, tightened his arm around Charles' shoulders, and continued to hop. "Yes, I left," he said when he had the pain under control, and felt no need to bite his lip. "It was hard to focus on taking over the world with you saying 'we're the better men!' in my ear every five seconds."
"Ah, so I made an impression!" Charles cried happily, voice breathless as he used his energy to kick a log out of their path. His hand tightened on Erik's as he half-hauled him over a steep part.
"Oh, you made an impression all right," Erik muttered, unable to stop himself grinning. He gasped in shock pain as his foot knocked against a stone.
"You alright?"
"Fine, I'm fine."
It took them ten minutes to get halfway up the hill. Charles paused, looking back over his shoulder at the distance they'd come, and groaned.
"You could call Alex and Sean to help?" Erik suggested, tentatively.
Charles looked up to the mansion, and didn't meet Erik's gaze as he answered. "I'd rather I had a chance to speak to them first, before they see you. You scared Alex."
He had? "I didn't mean to," Erik assured him. He couldn't take his eyes off the slight frown on Charles' face, the faint wrinkles in his brow. He put them there. Never again.
As he watched, Charles' lips twitched slightly, softly, as he read each thought that ran through Erik's mind. "Come on," he said, hoisting Erik up with an arm around his hip, "Let's keep going."
It took another minute for the next sensitive topic to be breached. "What about Raven?"
"She'll still be back ... there," Erik told him, not hiding, not lying. "She believed just as much as I did. And she doesn't have the incentive to come back that I do." When Charles didn't say anything, he added, softly, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," came the swift reply, and for the slightest second Charles stopped moving. Almost before Erik picked up on it, however, he started to move again, pulling Erik back home. "It wasn't your fault, not really. Well – it was, she went with you – but she was slipping before you showed." Charles paused, and Erik waited in silence for him to say what was on the tip of his tongue, eyes still fixed on every movement his face made. It probably meant he was going to end up hitting some other stone or something with his bad foot, but he couldn't tear his eyes away for the life of him.
Once again, Charles' lips twitched as he, even if involuntarily, heard each and every thought Erik's mind was all but yelling. "You came back, though."
"I came back," Erik echoed obediently, softly.
"...I'm glad you did."
"I gathered. I might not be a mind reader, but the kiss was a bit of a clue."
Charles laughed, and looked across. Just a flick of his eyes, but it was enough.
"Come on, let's get you back... home?"
With a swallow, Erik ignored the sudden heart-attack caused by the question. "Yeah, home sounds good."
It wasn't just a twitch of his lips that time, but a full-blown grin on Charles' face. "Right then, one final push."
"Final push – let's go!"
Their hands tightened on each other as they struggled and almost tripped their way up the last few meters, to reach the patio Charles had first seen him from. Charles grunted under the weight, Erik moaned (quietly mind you) in pain, but they both stumbled onto the tiles laughing, grabbing onto the balustrade for stability. "You have the worst timing for injury," Charles chuckled, holding onto both the stone and Erik as if his life depended on it, but Erik didn't complain. It wasn't like he was going to let go, either.
"I've told you, I didn't plan," he began, laughing almost as hard, head falling forwards and resting against Charles' shoulder without forethought. He stopped talking, just laughed, his hand on Charles' far arm, Charles' arm wrapped around his waist.
"I know, I know." Eventually, they both calmed down. "You should get back to your room," Charles said, standing straight, pulling Erik up with him, and turning to face the doors. "I'll send Hank to check your foot in a while. And look, flat from here, should be pipsqueak after that bloody mountain!"
Erik laughed, a puff of breath. "And the stairs?"
"They've got handholds, what're you complaining about?"
Rolling his eyes, Erik shook his head slowly, traitorous grin stuck in place. Sometimes, I'm not sure if I love or hate you.
Charles' grin back said, simply, you love me.
Erik tested his foot again, lightly putting pressure on it. Not too bad, he'd survive going up stairs. But he wasn't going to part from Charles without saying something important first. Charles looked like he was turning to go, but he looked like he was waiting, too, like he felt something else should happen, like it was anti-climactic. Erik willingly obliged. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, words falling from his mouth in both fear and desperation. "I'm sorry," he repeated, slower, "I'm sorry about how I left you on the beach," he finished.
It was hard to keep track of the flow of emotions on Charles' face, and even harder to understand the one it landed on. But he was smiling, and Erik thought – hoped – there was something akin to love and forgiveness in there somewhere, even if it was amongst other worse thoughts. "And I'm sorry for sending us down that hill and breaking your foot," Charles replied softly.
"They're not comparable," Erik said.
"Do they need to be?"
And that left Erik stunned. He knew it was the closest to an I forgive you that he'd ever get. Fuck, I love you too much.
A hand reached up, resting against his cheek long enough to hold it in place as Charles pressed his lips to Erik's once more – not for long, though – perhaps a second – before he stepped back again. "I love you too," Charles promised, and it was a promise, sincere, hopeful, and swearing to last throughout the years. "Now, get to your room!"
Even after something as serious as that, Charles could still make him laugh. Grinning brightly in return, cheeks hurting and his chest feeling like it was glowing, Erik couldn't help but reply with, "Yes, mom."
Charles laughed, smiled, and spun on the balls of his feet, no doubt heading off to explain what had just happened to the others. Shaking his head, and not quite sure whether it was from exasperation, confusion, or in exasperation about how screwed he was, Erik headed back inside.
When he reached his room, he sat on the bed, and lifted his leg up to rest his foot on the pillow. Carefully, so not to damage them, he pulled the Polaroids out of his pocket, and glanced at them once before setting them on the bedside table.
One showed Hank, Alex and Sean playing with water balloons in the garden. Another showed Raven, Charles and Hank discussing something, sat around a mosaic table on the patio.
And the third, taken by Sean when he'd stolen the camera and gone mad with it, was of himself and Charles, sat by the lake, smiling, and enjoying the sun.