:)
In the morning, Charles walks into the kitchen with only the smallest hint of a hangover trailing after him. He is surprised to find Erik already at the table, pouring over a sketchbook. He is completely still save for the back and forth motion of his wrist with a pencil. The sleeves of his white shirt are pushed up to the elbow carelessly as if it were shoved up rather than rolled. A small muscle in his forearm jumps with the movement and Charles feels a twinge of jealousy pinch at his chest.
"Good morning," Erik says without looking up.
"Good morning," Charles returns quietly. He leans against the kitchen counter with both hands, feeling the weight of his body. He lifts his head up and stares out the window into the yard. The green rolls in soft curves into the horizon where the trees twist into the sky. The sunlight is weak but filters slowly, chasing the fog. He breathes out heavily and turns away.
"Would you care for something to eat?" he calls to Erik, cheerfully.
"I'm alright, thank you," Erik answers absently. He's hunched over in his seat, his head dipped low. The morning light from the kitchen window hits his back and makes the skin beneath the thin fabric visible, glowing peach.
Charles puts the kettle on and pokes his head into the cabinet for tea. "You're awake before me. Raven will be shocked to hear it."
Erik cracks a smile but still sketches away. The scratch of the tip working along textured paper blends into the sound of Charles pouring himself a bowl of muesli.
Charles pulls out a chair beside Erik. "Still life?" he guesses, glancing at the fruit basket in the center of the table.
"No," Erik laughs and glances up at Charles for the first time. It looks like he didn't sleep much but the blue of his eyes hold an easiness that wasn't there last night. "But thank you for not looking without asking first."
"I wouldn't," Charles assures him.
"I believe you," Erik says though Charles doesn't know why he would.
Erik pauses for a while, twining his fingers together before cracking them at the knuckle. He leans his head on his hand and watches Charles eat, the fingers of his other hand brushing against the wood of the table, dragging along the surface idly, never still. "I'm done, for now, if you'd like to-"
"Do you mind if I...?" Charles asks at the same time, fingers already reaching. He never got to see the rest of Erik's portfolio he suddenly realizes.
"Not at all." Erik pushes the sketchbook over to him. It's pencil and obviously a very first draft. In grey graphite, the mansion and the gardens rise up from the ground, smudges of foliage and crosshatching in stone.
Charles' eyes flit over his childhood home, tracing over the detail, down to the morning glories crawling up the wall near the dining room window. He isn't surprised at Erik's skill but he is surprised at his versatility. This looks like an architecture sketch. "Is this from memory?"
"No, I took a walk around outside earlier." Erik says and points to the the west wing of the house that is left unfinished. "I was going to go take another look, actually. Do you want to come?"
Charles looks down at his slippers and robe, rumpled with sleep like he's sure his hair is at any rate. "I'm not quite dressed for it, I'm afraid," he chuckles.
"I think you look fine," Erik says, eyes raking over him. He gives Charles a nudge with his knee under the table before standing up. "Come on."
Charles is half way out the door with him when he remembers he's left the kettle on. He runs back to turn off the stove.
.
He finds Erik outside lying on the lawn, propped up on his elbows as he surveys the building. Charles settles down next to him. It's still quite early and the grass is wet and cold with dew. Charles shivers in his thin robe that are damp now at his bottom and tries to concentrate on the warm patch of sun on the back of his neck.
"Why aren't you illustrating the books yourself?" Erik asks, eyes darting between the page and the terrace. "I don't believe what you told me last night."
Charles stiffens, caught off guard. The grass prickles against his palms.
He hadn't really planned on keeping this from Erik, not really. It isn't a secret, he reasons with himself, he simply cannot bear the sheer pity that accompanies the admission. His mother had lavished the attention, to neighbors and reporters alike. It was ironic that the one time he mattered to her was when he lost everything that mattered to him. Oh, he was so young. He's useless, now, you know. All that potential taken away, just like that! Imagine!
Charles looks toward the house because he doesn't want to feel Erik looking at him. The rooftops are stark against the bright sky. "I was in an accident," he says, squinting against its outline. "I can't draw anymore, my hands shake badly."
The silence is unbearable but Charles doesn't know how to say anything else.
"How do you shave?" Erik asks.
Charles turns to him in disbelief, laughing breathlessly, "Carefully."
Erik leans in, a trace of a small smile on his lips. "Alright. Tell me about the story I'm illustrating, then." His breath is warm on Charles' cheek against the morning chill and Charles moves his head back a little.
"They are written for a nine year old audience. I'm sure you can read it yourself," Charles says critically, raising a brow.
"My job is to draw, not to read," Erik tells him, settling back into the sun-dappled grass.
Charles laughs again and puts on a thoughtful face. "Which book did you leave off at?"
.
The X-Men story is long and detailed; Charles has story boards in his room from the earlier days but he knows each characters' story by heart now, knows exactly how he's going to end this last book. It's like closing a chapter of his life. He gets more animated as he goes on and Erik eventually abandons his work, needing his full attention to keep up. He stops Charles to clarify certain points when he's not looking amused at the names of various mutants or silently nodding along. Charles finishes on a breath and watches Erik's face for a reaction.
"So it's a love story then," Erik says simply.
Charles nods, "Yes, about love, and peace, and serenity -"
"No, between Professor X and Magneto."
Charles stops short. "It is intended to be a parable, Erik. About accepting yourself for who you are."
"Looks like Professor X could use a taste of his own medicine."
"He's disabled," Charles says numbly. "There's nothing to accept."
Erik looks bemused. "I was trying to say he needs to accept all mutations, even the 'cosmetically problematic' ones."
"Oh."
Erik frowns at him but says nothing. He turns back to his drawing but only taps at it with the back of his pencil.
They sit there for a while, until squabbling magpies in the tree startle them both.
Charles excuses himself to check on Raven.
Raven's not up yet, and she won't be until noon. She's never been the same sort of morning person Charles is, despite going to bed earlier on most nights, falling asleep with her head in his lap while he reads to her like they were children (and thankfully rising well after he wakes up with his face stuck to the open book).
Charles passes by Raven's door as he heads towards his own room. He briefly wonders how long it'll take her to realize he's invited Erik to stay and how long she'll gloat with the confirmation that she was right. He grins to himself-he predicts she'll make her move on Erik within the week. Or at the very least, accidentally feel up his bicep at the breakfast table.
Charles closes his door partway behind him and kneels by his bed, ducking his head to the floor. His shoulder grinds into the floor as he reaches for a box under his bed with an outstretched arm. His fingers hit the corner of it and he pulls the box out, along with a lung full of dust that rises in the air and into his open mouth.
He waves at the plumes with his hand, coughing lightly with his other hand pressed to his mouth.
He could show Erik the X-Men illustrations in the published books, but Charles has larger, more detailed drawings of each character as well, tucked away. He opens the lid and is met with Beast's smiling, furry face, his spectacles in hand. Charles smiles back as if greeting an old friend and flips to the next page. Mystique stands with her hands on jutting hips, red hair falling to her shoulders and narrowed yellow eyes already sun-faded from time long spent on the story board.
Perhaps he and Erik can get started on this illustration project today, after all. Erik seemed eager enough to draw something and Charles is curious enough to let him try his hand at these. He feels the excitement stir in his chest and he pulls out the whole stack of sketches, lining them one by one on the floor to organize them. His hands pause on Professor X. Charles' gaze rests on the telepath's serene face and the silver of his wheelchair. There was a quiet strength in him that Charles had written into the story line from the start. Charles traces the circle of the wheels with his finger.
There is a soft knock at his door that startles him and he looks up at Erik leaning against it.
Charles gets up off his knees. "Erik-"
"I'm going to leave for a bit," Erik says quickly, one hand wrapped around the door frame.
"Oh, alright," Charles says, his hand, still grasping the papers, now slack by his side.
"I'll be back later, there's something I need to take care of." Erik lowers his eyes and they fall onto the drawings scattered around the carpet. His lips press together into a flat line. "Did you want to start today?"
Charles glances down at them too. "No," he says. "No, I was getting things in order for tomorrow. We can begin then."
Erik's relief is visible and he straightens up in the doorway with a curt nod. "Tomorrow it is. You can leave those for me to take a look at on my desk."
"I will, my friend."
Erik leaves the room and Charles slowly turns back to the loose threads of a childrens' story.
A/N Please review.
Haha, the next chapter is going to be everything I've been waiting for :l