Charles was staring at the ceiling, as he had often come to do in the wee hours of the morning. The night was a quiet time; the sleeping minds of the population were far more peaceful than the waking mind. The psychic quiet time may seem like it would be calm, but Charles always found that the world seemed too quiet without the residual thoughts of the people around him. It was impossible for him to fall back asleep if he woke during the silence, even moreso now that he had so many thoughts filling his mind.
Erik...he was the biggest cause of these thoughts. Sometimes he wondered, if he hadn't seen the clash between the man and Shaw, if he hadn't saved him from drowning, how things would have turned out differently. Sometimes his thoughts were bitter-perhaps he would have had a better handle on the situation, he and his team would be on good terms still with the government, he and the others would be celebrated as heroes rather than classed as villains. Perhaps...perhaps he would still have his legs.
But no, that could never be the case. Erik had been so integral to the group. Without Erik, he likely wouldn't have been able to pull his team together as well. He had been vital in bringing down Shaw, in preventing war.
And of course, Charles would have been so lonely without him.
He loved Raven with all his heart, he wouldn't deny that. She was his sister, after all, and he'd never say he didn't. The other mutants were delightful children, filled with possibility and power, and he loved every minute he spent with them. But Erik...there was something different about that man. His sheer, bold determination intrigued Charles in ways he could not quite understand, but he was sure that he would never regret convincing the other man to join forces with him.
Still, sometimes when he lay in bed, his own thoughts far too loud in the quiet of the night...sometimes when he tried to move his toes, hoping it had been a bad dream...he couldn't help but feel a twinge of hatred towards the man.
No, no...hatred was far too strong a word to use. He did not hate the man. Nor did he despise him, abhor him, loathe him, or detest him. Perhaps disdain?
Charles chuckled to himself. What was he becoming, troubling over wording as if he were an English professor rather than a scientist.
Really, though, he could not say he felt anything so severe towards the man. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, and in fact could barely admit it to himself, but he couldn't help but feel that he had some inexplicable bond to Erik. It would be impossible to feel disdain, much less any actual hatred. Erik was, for all of his problems, still one of the people Charles seemed to care for most in the world. He contemplated what volumes this spoke on the number of friends he had, and he chuckled.
He walked his fingertips over his hip, frowning when they got to the point high on his thigh where he could no longer feel the contact with his leg. How long had it been...two and a half, three months? Still, the lack of sensations was no less unusual than that day on the beach, as the pain coursed through half his body and was suspiciously absent from the other half. He felt no anger then, merely a mild sadness and betrayal, as Erik spat accusations at MacTaggert. He remembered the man's tears clear as day; he remembered the regret moments after he told Erik it was his fault, when he saw the shattered expression of a broken man staring down at him.
He was so sure then that Erik would leave. Ever so certain...
And yet he stayed. He snarled at the agent, clinging to Charles, barked orders in order to safely evacuate the island and the targets of American and Russian sites. Still, though he held himself remarkably well, Charles could only remember the glistening tears hanging off his cheek, his hand running through Charles' hair, his whispers of I'm so sorry and I never meant to hurt you, shaky and broken whispers.
No, Charles could never hate Erik. That was impossible.
Erik was staring at the ceiling, as he had often come to do in the wee hours of the morning. It was no such thing as Charles' insomnia, the troubling side effect of being a psychic; no, Erik's plight had only began a few months prior.
He was honestly surprised Charles let him stay by his side. The Professor no doubt had the intelligence to locate and lead their small army of mutants, to raise them and nurture them into a powerful unit. More than that, he had this way about him...people trusted the man. Hell, Erik trusted him. He had no reason to trust anyone on earth, really, but Charles...with a smile and a nod, he could easily make a man follow him.
And Charles himself was trusting. He trusted Erik, after all. Even now, even despite...despite what he did. Despite the fact that he went against the plan, killing Shaw-which, he realized in hindsight, must have been terribly painful for Charles, as the two had linked minds-but beyond that, the fact that he was the one responsible for Charles' paralysis...he had no idea how the man could have forgiven him.
He must disdain him.
Erik rolled over in his bed, wondering how Charles was right now. Hopefully he was asleep in his own bed right now, peaceful and quiet, with lovely, foolish dreams running through his pacifistic head. Erik, on the other hand, was bound to have horrible visions and flashbacks fill his mind should he close his eyes.
Maybe things would have been better had Charles simply let him guide the missles to their targets.
...Maybe things would have been better had Charles simply let him drown.
No, that was foolish. That never would have solved anything. That bastard Shaw would have never been killed, and he never would have made the companions...friends, he supposed...if it weren't for the fact that he had been pulled out of the water by that mind-invading British brat.
Still, he thought, burying his face into his pillow, he was glad on a completely different level that he had met Charles. Someone he could trust, he could maybe even care for, after all the years of pain... Yet then he went and broke him. The first person in years of his life he could call a friend, and yet he-
Erik. You really should be sleeping. It is late.
Erik glanced at the ostentatious mind-blocking helmet on his bedside, before shaking his head.
"Fine, fine, I'll try to sleep," he muttered, well aware that the actual words would not be heard, but only the thoughts.
Good. I can't have my co-head sleeping on the job in the morning, the thought came through his head. It seemed to hesitate, and then added, Also...I apologize for the intrusion in your mind, but...don't beat yourself over what happened that day. It will only make you miserable.
Erik was silent, frowning slightly. A single tear escaped his eye, and was quickly wiped away.
"...Goodnight, Charles," he muttered.
Plesant dreams, Erik.
For the first time in years, Erik slept soundly.
