Charles is the perfect picture of calm, an illusion of a wealthy young man simply admiring the grandness of his estate on a warm Tuesday afternoon as he waits by the main entrance to the mansion, gaze set and chin held high. A thick wool blanket covers his lap, large enough to hide the wheelchair in plain sight. He knows he shouldn't hide, not about this, yet the thought of Erik seeing him up close, attention trained on Charles, on his legs, without the serum's aid drags up rather too familiar unpleasant feelings of hurt, anger and humiliation.
Pity is the last thing he wants to see flashing in Erik's eyes the minute he takes one good long look.
Charles would prefer that confrontation never comes to pass but can only delay the inevitable for a while longer. No matter what his mind, common sense, bloody hell everyone says on the matter of Erik Lehnsherr, nothing that can be done about his stubborn heart.
Having heard Erik's thoughts an hour before, the desperation in him, Erik's love, fierce and staggeringly intense as it was that Charles had felt like drowning in it's depths, just about liquefied whatever feeble resolution he'd gained over the years in keeping Erik away.
Peter's a bundle of anxious energy by his side, near vibrating from the extensive amount of self control he's no doubt enacting on his person in order to keep still. Charles had thought to forego letting Peter know about Erik's impending arrival but is quick to rebuke the idea. Who was he to keep this from a child whose original purpose in coming to the mansion was to look for his wayward father?
The second month since the fiasco in Washington, Peter arrived on the mansion's doorstep, a duffel bag flung over one shoulder and was asking flat out if Charles had been keeping Magneto in the dungeons or something equally deserved. There hadn't been a need to reach into the boy's mind, his train of thought highly spasmodic as it was leaking into Charles' shields, broadcasting his intent to talk to his father, along with the inexplicable need to ask if he ever came across Wanda, his twin sister on his travels.
To say Charles was surprised upon finding out the paternal connection between Peter and Erik, not to mention a runaway sister, and why hadn't Logan say anything about that, has been one massive bloody understatement. So much for knowing everything about him. Not for the first time Charles looks back to his younger self and thinks what an arrogant, egotistic tosser he'd been.
There's a whoosh and then Peter's beside him again, adjusting his cap, a tentative smile on his young handsome face. It looks entirely alien on him. Charles will always prefer the mischievous, impish grin than to this pale imitation.
"They're here. Saw Magneto passed out in the car. Head's bandaged and there was blood." He says with a shrug, hands digging into his front pockets. Charles knows him well enough to see through the nonchalance. "They didn't bring that other mutant. It's just him."
"Thank you, lad." Charles returns with a tight smile and a nod. Judging by the young mutant's state of mind earlier, he hadn't thought she would have stayed long enough for Hank and Raven to find. Fingers gripping the wheelchair's metal armrest, he shifts his focus back to Erik and is swamped with a sudden spike of worry. Hank or Raven couldn't have possibly given him that head injury had they?
Peter visible winces by his side, hand coming up to clutch at his head. "Ow. Prof, you're broadcasting."
Charles blinks, quick to catch the slip. "Oh dear." he says, guilt in his voice. "I am so terribly sorry Peter."
"It's fine, Prof." Peter swiftly assures. "Just you know, caught me off guard that's all."
"Still, I should've— will you please come closer?" Charles coaxes to which Peter readily squats on the floor, placing both hands on the armrest and tilting his head so Charles can do his magic. The show of trust never fails to astonish him.
"Better?" Charles asks afterwards.
That garners that lovable impish grin much to Charles' delight. "Yep. Thanks."
"Good, and you're welcome." Charles smiles, flicks the brim of the hat before Peter stands, turning to the sound of a rumbling engine.
Azure eyes follow the advance of Hank's EH Holden as it passes through the steel iron gates. It's a beautiful piece of machinery. Fascinatingly intermingling shades between green and blue. It's the same color as Erik's eyes. Put in a different light and it can be as disorienting as Erik's feelings are where Charles is concerned. He flinches, inwardly berating himself for not catching the nonsensical thought in time. He huffs a short bitter chuckle, shaking his head at the pathetic observation.
The car slows down to a stop in front of the mansion's steps and then Raven's coming out of the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. Her rosy peach disguise is in place, expression that of a thundercloud before she changes to her beautiful blue.
Charles has had to prioritize reconstructing his mental shields first and foremost as soon as he was off Hank's medication. He's been vigilant in not catching any stray thought from the mansion's inhabitants, more so from loved ones who get uncomfortable fast living with a telepath. But now he's positively itching to pry, a tiny little peek to know what exactly happened. Erik's there, he can feel him, but there isn't even so much as a stir in his consciousness. No dreams. Naturally, it has Charles' heart rate picking up in worry.
Peter's fingers curl around his arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, a silent sympathetic connection between two people that share the same history of having been left behind by the same man. His hand comes up to cover Peter's own, touched and grateful for the insight to offer comfort. He'd been there during the altercation in the Pentagon, had seen firsthand how their meeting had affected Charles.
Despite the punch to the face, which Peter cheers his father had coming, he knows how much his friend still means so much to him.
He meets Raven's gaze and her pinched look eases up some as she smiles at Charles only to morph into annoyance as she catches sight of their joined hands. Charles suppresses a sigh. In a way, he can see why his growing closeness with Erik's son doesn't sit well with his dear sister, but not everything has to be about or because of Erik.
Charles has come to genuinely like Peter's company. He's a fascinating boy with an even more fascinating mutation. Although his complete lack of regard for authorities, much like his father, has been a cause for concern before, he's been a model citizen ever since stepping foot in the mansion. Running in the hallways will always be a problem with him however. Charles has been resigned to it.
Anxiety and curiosity in equal measure creeps up on Charles fast, his gaze drawn to Hank next as he steps out from the backseat, nodding minutely at him before stooping down and picking up something, or in this case someone from the metal contraption.
"He's alright, Charles. You can stop fretting. And no, we didn't beat him up if that's what you were wondering." Raven says with an eyeroll as she comes around the car to help Hank but not before giving Peter a pointed, unimpressed stare.
"I was not saying anything, nor was I… " Charles taps at his head. "Asking."
"You didn't have to. Maximoff gave us a fright earlier, I gathered he already told you about Erik's condition." Raven shoots back with a shake of her head that clearly says, Really Charles, you're hopeless. "And besides, it's written all over your stupid face."
"Raven, please." He says with a pained grimace. He can practically feel Peter flare up in his defense beside him while Raven deems sticking her tongue out at him childishly as an appropriate response, broadcasting her loathing of having been given half the task to retrieve Erik.
"I still don't get why you let her talk to you that way." Peter says dryly, arms crossing against his chest, posturing, proving once again how in the short time they've spent together, the teenager's developed quite the protective streak. Charles sighs and sends him a warning look. Peter snorts, not in the least bit repentant. "What? She started it. I don't see why I should be nice when she's not even in the least bit diplomatic. She calls you names when she doesn't get her way. She hates me. And she hates my dad."
"Peter, please. We've talked about this." Charles says, bringing up a hand to his face to rub the spot suddenly throbbing against his temple. A verbal fight, heightened emotions and mental screaming matches adding on top of everything is the last thing he needs right now. "Can we please focus on your father?" He tries again. "Be a love and help Alex prepare the medical room, would you? There's a good lad."
There's silence, a sigh, then a grudging. "Sorry, Prof."
"It's quite alright." Charles soothes, then he's looking at empty space, hair ruffling in the light breeze that Peter always leaves in his wake.
"Oh god, you're both ridiculous. Charles, he's not actually your son." Raven practically spits out.
"Thank you Raven for that astute observation." Charles replies, thin-lipped and refuses to say anything else on the matter.
He looks to a blue-furred Hank just in time to see Erik's bandaged head as he turns. Charles has to physically restrain himself from getting inside the young scientist's mind, to see as he sees, to feel as he feels. He wants to hold Erik in his arms as Hank does, to have his weary but still handsome face pressed against his chest, their bodies snug together and feel his warmth, hear the steady beating of his heart.
Charles is very disappointed at himself.
He considers Erik's prone form and it dawns on him how he's lost quite a bit of weight, unmistakable effects of being on the run, looking small and vulnerable in a way he's never seen him before. There's not a doubt in his mind that Erik would absolutely hate it if he were to find out anyone or Charles for that matter had seen him in such a state.
"You found him like this?" Charles finally finds his voice, a shaky rasping thing that he can barely believe belongs to him. One hand gets suspended in the air, catching himself mid reach, though he still can't quite tear his gaze off the blood soaked bandage on Erik's head.
"He looked worse. He was bleeding kind of bad and kind of not really all there." Hank answers in his usual blunt honesty. "The things he was saying Professor, it was completely mental, you—" Hank grunts and scowls at Raven when she elbows him in the side to interrupt.
"Can we get inside first before dealing with the crazy? I for one need a shower." She says, bends down to kiss Charles on the cheek, her brand of apology for earlier's near quarrel and stomps on her way.
Both Hank and Charles share a commiserating look, left at a standstill. Eventually, they mutually agree to get Erik settled in first and looked over, he's going to be needing scans according to Hank, no matter how much Charles wants to know right that instant every little detail.
Charles had waited for nearly half a year. He can wait a few minutes more.
Raven doesn't come down to the medical room after her shower as implied and thus leaving Hank to have to retell what happened to the surprise of absolutely no one once they entered his lab.
It's not exactly a secret, her hatred of Erik or that she was angry enough to throw some of that anger in his son's direction. The fact that Charles doted on Peter only served to aggravate her more. Hank can empathize. He doesn't like Erik on the best of days what more for her when she nearly got killed by the man she had once inexplicably trusted. She even went as far as leaving the one person she'd been with all her life just because she thought she saw something in Erik that Charles or even Hank back then could never give her. Full acceptance of what she was. Only to have him turn around and point a gun to her head the soonest he found her a liability.
Charles should be defending her, should be on her side, not welcoming the man's spawn into their home and acting as if he's the greatest thing invented since slice bread, has been Raven's usual complaints ever since finding out about Peter's origins. She's gotten even less thrilled finding out Charles could still welcome Erik back after all of the awful things he'd done and will no doubt continue to do.
Hank wasn't so sheltered to not understand exactly what's been going on between the Professor and Magneto, but even with the excuse of being inlove- how can he possibly still find it in him to forgive, let alone feel anything other than bone-crushing hatred for the man who singlehandedly ruined his life? Hadn't he just a few months ago dropped an honest-to-God stadium on all of their heads?
"Twins you say?" Hank blinks, gaze flooding with Charles' surprised, expectant stare. Of all the times to get lost in thought.
Peter whose sitting on one of the lab tables crosses his knees and steeples his fingers underneath his chin. He sideglances Charles, a look of something unidentifiable passing between them. "You said your adoptive mother told you Erik didn't know, yes?"
"Right. She said mum said dad left to chase some lunatic before knowing she was pregnant. He couldn't have known about us, let alone that we're twins. Unless Wanda found him and told him we existed. I don't even think she knew about who dad was when she skipped town."
"Which of course remains the question why he would make mention of putting the twins to bed."
"Yep, makes it sound like we're six." Peter agrees, gaze still fixed on Charles before puffing air out of his mouth, looking bored.
Hank clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as he taps a clipboard on hand. The confusion is thick in the air and he feels a tad relieved he's no longer alone grasping at the impossibility of Magneto's words. "He mentioned a Lorna as well, his daughter too apparently."
"Do you know a Lorna?" Charles asks the frowning teen and gets a shake of his head as a response, which he takes back in an instant as he snaps his fingers, recollection flashing in his grey eyes.
"Well, I know a Lorna here. Didn't she arrive a week ago?" Peter grins. "With her green hair and my silver hair, she's kind of hard to miss, like Ororo. I've been keeping tabs. She's like thirteen and was following Alex like a puppy." Peter explains with a bemused smirk. Oh he's been giving her hell, now that Hank thinks about it. Alex had mentioned her and the speedster terrorizing the kids.
"I do remember her. Lorna Dane. She came along with Alex and his brother, Scott." Charles says in fond remembrance as he looks at Hank. He reciprocates the Professor's smile knowing full well what put that expression of utter warmth on his face. He was there when Logan mentioned Jean, Scott and someone named Storm which judging by Ororo's weather manipulation powers, could only mean her.
Reopening the school with a single-minded focus bordering on unhealthy had definitely been a step in the right direction.
"She's telekinetic. Like Jean." Peter adds, pulling Charles' highly attentive blue eyes back to the teenager.
"And how do you know that?" Hank feels he already knows the answer but asks anyway.
"She threw the coffeemaker at me in the kitchen when I teased her about Alex. With her mind. Oh wait, tried to throw it at me anyway. She missed of course." He blinks at Hank, looking sheepish for all of two seconds. "Don't worry doc, the coffeemaker's alive and well. I did catch it. I don't have a death wish contrary to what most people think. We all know not to mess with the Beast's coffee."
"Thank you, Peter." Charles interjects with a smile and a soft tap against the back of Peter's hand who promptly shuts up and eagerly smiles back. It's nothing short of astounding to watch the Professor command respect and loyalty and a stillness that rarely happens in a teenager whose literally as fast as a speeding bullet. He grimaces. What a stupid comparison to make.
"So we do know someone named Lorna, however that hardly means anything. Alex did say she has lovely parents. Did Erik say anything else?" Charles resumes the line of questioning and Hank finds himself almost literally burning a hole through Peter's forehead.
How do you tell a child whose absent father apparently is not only in a strange love-hate relationship with your pseudo-father figure, but has crazy imaginings of the two of them being married? Yeah, he was not gonna be that guy.
He could always ask the Professor to look into his head to get the information if he wanted it, but is somehow fretful he would no doubt see and feel Hank's unfortunate ingrained disgust about same-sex relationships as he was taught growing up. What if it alienates him from the Professor? Of course Charles would be the last person on earth to hold onto grudges, Erik Lehnsherr specimen A, but it's really not about him getting mad at him but moreso what if Hank hurts him by such thoughts.
Well, only one way to find out.
He lets out a deep exhale, puts the clipboard down and walks over. "I think it's better if you take a look, Professor." He says, falling to one knee before glancing up at Peter. "Sorry. Not trying to shut you out but it's kind of private. Grown up stuff. You understand?"
Hank, what is all this about?
You'll find out in a little bit. Trust me, you don't want me saying this around him.
Peter regards them both with a highly dubious stare. He looks at Charles as if asking for the go ahead before he shrugs and jumps up from the bed once Charles gives him the awaited nod.
"Yeah okay. Grown up stuff. Got it. I'll just be in Magneto's room then." He's about to sprint off, however backtracks at the last second and raises one silver eyebrow at the both of them. "I can do that right? I mean, it's allowed?"
"Of course. But do please make sure there's no sudden noises and no making a mess. Your father needs his rest, Peter." Charles instructs before Hank could get a word in, eerily sounding like someone's parent. He's looking straight at the kid in question.
"Got it, Prof. Going to be really quiet." Peter promises, bringing up both hands as he gives them a thumbs up before saluting and making an exaggerated about face. Charles laughs, gaze filled with barely concealed adoration. Hank's heart breaks just a little watching him.
He's too invested in Magneto's son, no matter how much he tries to play it off as if he treats every student the same way as he does Peter because doesn't. Hank dreads the moment Erik finds out about Peter and decides he does not want Charles influencing his children, Jesus, he has kids plural, with his passive outlook in life and whisks the them away from his reach. He doesn't want to see the Professor get hurt that deeply and wholly again, just like those few months after Cuba, and is afraid all the same that it's already too late.
This time Hank can only fervently hope there's still going to be broken pieces of his heart left to pick up.
"Hank?" Charles calls out, hand on his shoulder as he turns his awareness back to his friend, his gaze questioning. Hank forces out a smile, tries to hide the apprehension and judging by the uncertain cast on Charles face, he's not doing a very good job of it.
Regardless, Hank takes his wrist and presses the index and middle finger against his temple, nods. "Okay. Go ahead, Professor."
Don't tell, Charles.
Don't want to worry him.
Raven, I swear to God if you call me that ridiculous name one more time.
My wedding ring.
We've been married for five years.
Charles comes out of the memory, white-faced and out of breath, fingers digging into Hank's biceps as he struggles to stay upright and not topple over from where he's seated. He's gasping, lips chapped and heart beating in short staccato rhythm like it wants to break out of his chest. He lifts his head, sees a reflection of his face in Hank's glasses, god he looks a fright, and shuts his eyes tight.
He can't even muster a smidgen of affront as he's gotten an insight into Hank's mild disgust for the true nature of his relationship with Erik, not when he still sees Erik in his mind's eye, the precipitous play of emotions on his pale face, the gash on his temple, his persistent reiteration of hiding the injury from him. The way he looked terrifyingly murderous, ready to tear a strip off Hank for daring to question their marriage.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
"Professor, please tell me you're okay." Hank towers over him, a grunt escaping the younger man's mouth as he levels Charles against his chair. He doesn't let go until Charles gives him a nod, and what he hopes is a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"I'll be fine, Hank." Charles grits out, twisting in his seat until he feels suitably vertical. He slumps against the backrest, breath still coming in fast as Hank pulls a nearby chair so he can properly sit in front of Charles, their gazes meeting, wide and more than a little dumbstruck.
Charles breaks the stalemate, stomping down the wretched hope that he can feel flicker up inside. "What the bloody hell was that?"
Hank shakes his head, appearing just as lost. "I was actually hoping you could enlighten me. Raven said he could have been attacked, but of the potential damage that mutant could have done to him, why have Magneto thinking he's married to you of all things?"
Or maybe it's not a type of mental manipulation at all, a part of Charles, the one forever holding onto foolish hope rears it's head out in the open again. Charles would know if the mutant had been a telepath, his previous encounters with Emma, his daily awareness of young Jean Grey has made him receptive to fellow mutants with the same gift, and this young woman they've come across is definitely not one.
What if it's something that's— no, it can't be, Charles chastises himself. Just because Erik's imaginings and fantasies of an After that he'd once promised Charles consisted that of a family, of having children and marrying Charles in a world where they were not going to be condemned for wanting to spend the rest of their lives together, does not mean that part of Erik's psyche, for one reason or another is suddenly and irrevocably dominant.
If Erik believes us married, such an improbable idea, in this world of his, if he believes us inlove and together with three beautiful children then maybe—
Charles indomitably will not entertain such ridiculous notions, no matter how insanely tempting and lovely it seems.
"I don't know, Hank." He feels ashamed, no matter how much he represses that part of him that wants to give in to the gratification of such a lie, it's all too suddenly strong. Charles resolves to right whatever this is. "But I know the real Erik will hate this."
"What did you have in mind?" Hank asks.
God help him, despite every heartache and pain Erik had put him through, he'd deserve begging for scraps of Charles' affection, and if he was going to be in this state, it's going to be so easy to hurt him as he had hurt Charles, but as always cannot find it in him to be cruel, especially to a man he so continuously loves in spite of it all. "We'll do all we can to help him. I will be needing your assistance of course."
Aquamarine eyes open to the sight of unfamiliar white walls, or maybe not so much as unfamiliar but unwelcome in its detached coldness and the strong smell of antiseptic pervading the air. His face is upturned towards his left, seeing nothing but white and gleaming steel. Hospital then. Or a clinic in the least. He can't be too sure. Nevertheless, he's grateful. At least Hank didn't seem to have lost all sense and p pushed on with his monumentally stupid idea of taking him straight to Charles with a crack in his skull.
He shudders just thinking about his reaction to all the blood. Oh my poor schatz.
It doesn't take long before he remembers the car and the infuriating questions that he's still half convinced was a prank of some kind that both Hank and Raven deemed morally acceptable to ask a concussed individual.
Erik tries to recall anything past the unpleasant experience in the alley and finds his last memory remains that of tucking his children to bed and then staring at Charles' brooding shoulders, debating if he should risk the biting, and not the sexy kind, to getting elbowed and kicked in sensitive areas in an attempt to reconcile with his very pregnant, moody mate before giving up altogether in favor of sleep.
He tries to move his arm, notices something soft catching in between his fingertips, and does not miss the IV needle sinking into his skin. He looks down in time to see a shock of silver hair, then the head's moving, revealing a half-lidded grey gaze noticeably having just woken up. Rubbing his eyes, the young, eerily familiar but not face blinks at him and announces rather dispassionately. "You're awake."
"Outstanding observation skills." Erik snarks dryly, or at least he tries to because he's never liked waking up to strangers in his space only to end up cursing instead, sonofabitch, as his throat protests, feeling as if he'd just swallowed a whole box of rusting nails.
"Erik, really there's no need to be so vulgar."
Erik turns his head too hard, too fast to the other side he's certain he's just added whiplash to the lists of physical defects he can feel but is somewhat afraid to properly catalogue. Not only does his back feel like it's on fire from the sudden jolt, his chest and his arms ache, his whole abdominal area for that matter and the big bruise he calls a head is now throbbing like crazy as he clutches at it and moans in agony.
He doesn't know how long he's crumpled in on himself but eventually the pain recedes and he's uncrossing arms he doesn't remember hiding his face within it's folds, blinking and stirring to the touch of warm and tender fingers against his temple. Erik's arms drop to the soft white covers before he's looking down at Charles by his bedside, arm outstretched and still pressed against his head.
"Danke, Liebling." Erik's says gratefully, a genuinely content smile grazing his face. He doesn't know what Charles is doing, but it's definitely helping ease the hurt. He tilts his face a little bit enough so as to have his lips touch the soft skin of Charles' palm, hand coming up next to hold his wrist and kissing every knuckle with tender care. Erik meets Charles eyes, the smile losing some of it's radiance, upon noticing his other half's tearful gaze and naturally coming to one conclusion. "Oh, geliebter, Charles. I'm so sorry for worrying you."
Charles doesn't answer, only exhales a shaky breath, the fingers of his hand, the one that Erik isn't holding he presses against his own temple as a lone tear wells up and roll down his cheeks. He's staring at Erik, like he can't believe he really is there. It makes Erik wonder, his worry spiking. Had his injury been that bad? A door opens revealing an out of breath Hank who is quickly walking over with a purpose in his step decked in a white labcoat.
"I came as fast as I could, Professor."
"Thank you, Hank." Charles finally says, glassy gaze still trained on Erik. It's like he sees him and is happy to see him, yes, however at the same time he seems to be searching for something that he expects to be there but isn't. He looks utterly heartbroken. "I don't know if I can do it. There's no precedence—"
"Professor, you said so yourself— " Hank starts, but Charles cuts him off a little bit harshly than what Erik's used to.
"I bloody well know what I said." The sharp intake of breath that follows as Erik watches Charles literally yank his hand away from Erik's grip and then have those same loving fingers rake shakily through chestnut hair only serves to make his worry skyrocket. Something's wrong.
"Charles, what's going on?" Erik asks, then promptly pales as a horrifying thought occurs to him. "Where are the children? Are they okay?" At the none reply, he can't quite suppress the catch in his breath that follows, his gaze drawn next straight to Charles' middle, terrified of what he'd find, or not find there. He struggles to sit up, pain exploding in his back all over again as he reaches over, but he pays it no mind. Despite how much his body is starting to protest, he's able to irritably pull out the IV needle much to the alarm of the occupants in the room.
"Erik, what are you doing?"
"You're not well enough to be upright. Please get back on the bed."
"Finally, something fun to watch."
"Peter." comes Charles' chastising tone.
"Sorry."
Erik hobbles over as soon as his feet's touched cold floor, tottering precariously and dropping in front of Charles, hand grasping towards Charles stomach as if drawn to it's magnetic north. He draws in a quivering breath, cheek resting on the blanket covering Charles' lap, fingers creeping up the hem of his mate's tweed jacket seeking warm skin, palm spreading out and just holding. The complete lack of the small hard bump where their unborn child was supposed to be growing has Erik feeling as if the whole world's collapsed around him.
Wide blue-green stricken eyes meets his husband's equally stricken gaze, mirroring shock in those watering azure blues, although entirely for different reasons. Pale, elegant fingers clench and unclench on top of Erik's hand before seemingly giving up indecision as it descends, clutching him in a white-knuckled grip. He hears Charles whisper-gasp, sees his other hand coming up to cover trembling lips. "Oh, Erik."
"Charles." Erik struggles to find his voice, heart dropping somewhere around his feet. "What's happened to our David?"
