Author Notes at the End


Chapter Seven: Cold Waters and Pink Hats


I want to touch it.

The stitches that itch late at night. The white line that no hair dares grow near that runs through Raven's left eyebrow. The red patches that bubble over Erik's forearms, scars from metallic sparks.

But touching comes after I can open my eyes.

My head feels tight. Like twine has been wrapped around it in infinite loops, expanding past genius world records


"Fuck you, Erik." Raven.

"I'm just saying we don't know how he'll look bald. I mean, sometimes that part of our body looks practically alien." Erik. "At least he'll get a green card."


Sleeping this long is terribly selfish. They are still charging me tuition. I forgot to put the bookmark in before I left; now I won't know what page I'm on. The coffee maker was never turned off, now I'm no longer green. My carbon footprint is still growing as I lay doped on morphine and other unpronounceable medications that I'd probably need a chemistry major to even contemplate understanding the effects on the human body. Erik probably won't separate the plastic from the cans. We will be ticketed. That's just embarrassing.

The doctor comes to check in regularly. My eyes flutter and my brain flickers, but there's some awareness somewhere. I hear "success."

Soon followed by, "but this was the easy part. At least for Charles."

"Mhhhmm. Why you soooo sexy-" I remember saying after noticing Erik's hand on mine.


What I don't remember rambling about after morphine was slithering through my veins, that was later filled in by Raven, goes something like this, "Wow. It's, uhm, like floating but through space but with no laws, you like, Kepler and the other chap, uh, Newton? And your thoughts, are like here, in this place. Erik, why are you always nicer in that place? And wearing purple-"

Now what I shouldn't have said included telling my mother in front of a room full of nurses and Erik, was my ever so merry pining over said roommate and how it's all over now that my best feature is shaved away. I believe I was crying.


"It's cold." But it's not. And Erik tucks the blanket under my feet muttering about heat being lost from the head. This is the most lucid things have been for days. "You can leave."

Raven and mom have already left, both sleeping at the hotel across the street. Probably sharing a bed even through there are two, and probably not even sleeping. Talking. They like to talk. "I'm good here."

Chapped lips. I want to touch them. But I won't. "You have to work tomorrow."

"Coffee's free here." Erik shrugs, and looks quite tired with his leather jacket as a blanket. "Plus I might take some of the vacation time I've been putting off."

"You deserve it. I suppose this is my vacation." I frown. "I forgot to proof read Hank's paper."

Erik snorts. "I'm sure he'll forgive you."

"It's for that creative writing class though." He never finished his elective credits. Should have taken pottery, or appreciation of music. "I love him. But his talents lie elsewhere. It's like bad Star Trek fanfiction, with communism and a long explanation of how string theory means that the two lovers could possibly be doing the dirty on the fourth dimension."

"I'm happy you're coherent."

"If that's what you call babbling about Star Trek fanfiction, I agree." I smile.

"I mean," Erik looks at me, his constant sun burn fading from the soft touch of the hospital fluorescences. "I'm happy you're feeling better."

'For now' doesn't seem like an appropriate answer, so I let it drop with a smile I hope is pleasant and a silence that should come off as natural. I just want him to relax. At least before the wrinkles between his eyebrows stick, making him even more devilishly handsome in that blue collar I-can-make-you-cream-your-pants-as-I-do-your-plumbing sort of way. "Yeah, me too."

Coherency is a good step, truth be told. Especially after three days of not knowing the difference between reality and dreaming, being caught in the seams of the two. I swear Erik at one point was bending metal spoons from the cafeteria, and the Raven under the right light was a little blue.

"So, when will you be out?" Erik shuffles his body from one side of the chair to the other. "The staff here apparently believes the less information I know, the less of a liability I am to your recovery. Living together apparently means nothing, fuckers."

"Doctor Shaw is under the impression I'm going home with my mother." I say, "I love her, but well-"

"Yeah," He knows.

My stepfather's still around, and the black eye that followed me home after a very unpleasant holiday is all Erik needs to understand the state of my home-life.

"I could always stay with Raven, I'm sure Hank won't mind competing for the sofa. " Yeah, I know, but I'd rather not say anything about Raven's se-love life out-load. "Plus Angel's always been one of my favorite of Raven's friends. Or there's always-"

"Why can't you just stay at our place?" I wouldn't say he looked angry. Don't want to misread it has hurt. I tend to be presumptuous. "I mean, your bed and stuff is there."

It's not like I haven't thought of the obvious. Just because my life was going to be on hold, or over, doesn't mean his had to be as well. Raven didn't either, but she is in a more stable and less stressful position at the moment. Not trying to start a business, while finishing school. "You don't need this."

"No, but I want it," I try my best to hide my skepticism, but my one cocked eyebrow probably gives it away. "I mean, I can help. I want to help. Shit, Charles, your my closest friend," probably his only friend, "and sleeping on the couch after radiation?"

The distress seems sincere. "Well, Raven's under the impression that she'll be on the sofa, but I couldn't let that happen."

"Charles."

"Erik, this is going to be hard. And you're under no obligation to be here for this you know."

"I know. I want to be."

"I can't let you put yourself through this alone." His face is red, and at the moment he might propel out of the chair across the room. "Charles, don't be a dumbass. If I had to I'd change your fucking diapers. Fuck, I'd do it with a smile on my face."

"That's kinky." Raven says, and walks through the door. I hope she's heard everything, seeing that diaper changing wouldn't be the best sex act to be associated with by your sister. "And I agree with Erik."

She passes one of the coffees to Erik, "Mom wanted her little Charlie's domestic partner to have a cappuccino." Apparently even those most loathed homosexuals, and Erik, deserve a coffee as well.

"Isn't a doctor supposed to come in, and tell you guys to let me have my rest?"

Raven snorts, "Well, you can thank Erik for that. Staff is a little too scared to check in more than minimum."

"I apologized," Erik shrugs sipping at his coffee.

"I don't think what you did counts."

Maybe if I just fall into a drugged sleep they will leave. I press the nice, big button for more morphine. It's just a matter of time. "Hm. This is nice," I say, "family time."

"Too bad your mom is too busy groveling to my father about spending a bit of the family fortune on her sickly son. Apparently, it was meant for that yacht with a three fireplaces."

Erik laughs, "I suppose one fire place will do."

"What an ass." Raven says. "Sometimes I really don't know how I could have come from the same person."

I agree, as my eyes close. Something about having your head bound tightly with bandages is comforting. Now only if they'd take the catheter out this would be real nice.

"So, it's decided." Raven says, unaware that I have not decided anything. "Charles will live with you until I deem you unfit, and must intervene."

I wonder when the doctor is supposed to come in and tell them I need my rest. "Hm. Sleepy."


For the first time in a long time I don't dream of dying.


"Charles baby, do you need anything?" I shake my head, no. "Water? No? Some ice-cream? A book? Nothing, really?"

"Yeah, nothing mum." Mum's hair is immaculately curled, but her eyeliner is dark and uneven making her seem even more owlish. Kurt has just torn her apart over the phone, her eyes red and watery. He doesn't care very much for his gay stepson, who ran off to become a biology professor. Blames me, instead of the alcohol or the verbal abuse, for Raven following as soon as she graduated high school. "You should go back to the room and rest."

"I've had quite a bit, enough resting." Her accents much thicker than mine, as well as her stubborn will power. If she hadn't married so young, and had finished grad school instead of my father than spending too much time and energy on Kurt, she would have been an excellent philanthropist. "You're my son, and I'm going to be right for you."

Raven told me she quit drinking a year ago. But I can't help but think the hand over mine was nursing a cup of scotch not so long ago. "Sure." We lapse into silence; Mum's hand just resting off mine like this was a normal occurrence in the Xavier household over the years.

I end up wishing that Erik didn't have to check into work, or that Raven needed to attend classes. Of course it's not long before her nervous laughter gets the best of her. "You know this whole situation got me thinking, well, more reflecting on some strange happenings back at the estate," It's not really an estate, just a really big family property, "and, well, it's ironic you know-"

I let her go on, and well, on. It's about her friends, and some distant family, and the curiousness's that occur when one is a human being, and how maybe this is a sign to find god, and really cannot fathom the importance of what Mum is babbling about, except, maybe it makes her feel better. I'd like that. Mum deserves that.

"I think we should all spend Christmas back at the estate."

No. No. No. No.

"It will be fun. Kurt will have some of his work friends over. You can bring, well if you have one, special, ya know. And it will be a family affair." She smiles.

"Mum, I don't think that's a good idea."

She doesn't fight me, just sighs. It's a sad one. "Yeah, you're probably right."

I never wanted to be.


The thing about finding out you have a brain tumor is that time may feel like it has stopped for a moment, like life is over or on pause, but it hasn't. It's like I've been asleep this entire time between the time I heard the news, till I came home from my surgery. Walking up with bandages chaffing your bald head and a hard-on for your arsehole roommate, is not the same as finding out you've been living in the Matrix or Limbo or something , but I'm sure at least there's more dignity in both.

My phone rings, more like sings the theme of MoonRacker. It's the similar jaws of stainless steel that associates Erik with that one villain. "Hm?"

"I can't believe that's your ringtone." He's breathy, and in the other room. "I mean that is the worse Bond theme, besides Diamonds Are Forever."

"You're a sick, sick person."

"Dinner's ready." Trying to fatten me up before the beginning of radiation tomorrow.

"Next time just bring it up, it's the polite thing to do." I hangup. More like press End on the screen for I have given in to the Iphone craze. I'm buried under papers, still working on my dissertation, but not my laptop because the good old doctor insists that I need my rest and Erik may hate Shaw but apparently not enough to disregard his duty to my welfare.

Oh, and yeah. That conversation where I ask awkwardly about Erik punching Shaw before my surgery? It happened sort of like this:

Setting: The toasty cell of a hospice room. A bed slightly skewed from the middle. Young Charles, out of surgery. Delirious on pain killers and the sudden presence of his suave but all too distant, dashingly handsome roommate at his bedside. The roommate, Erik, sits with his usual slouch, as if he had the whole world on his shoulders and the only way to bare it was through poor posture.

Charles (concerned, but still full of posh dignity): Erik, I heard about what happened with Shaw, and well, I understand.

Erik: Do you?

Charles (the lack of intent is, dare say, bewildering to a man of usual great understanding, he is at a loss for words): Um, well, yes-

Erik: It's just for all these years I could only blame the death of my mother on one person, and that one person is, Doctor Sebastian Shaw.

Charles (now moderately irate): Wasn't it an accident?

Erik: That may be the case, but it was surely all Shaw's doing. His cruelty knows no bounds. He is a man only satisfied by the suffering of others. Mostly he gets off by killing small children's' mothers by poking holes into their brains.

Scene Ends with dramatic gasps, and Erik cries on Charles' pillow.


"This is lovely. Next time I can eat at the table though." My papers are now replaced with a tray. A tray that is occupied with a bowl of soup, a small vase with a wilting flower held captive, and a croissant that is half gone, left only with suspicious bite marks. No sarcasm, just a quick smile to the hard working chief. "Dinner is meant to be eaten at the table. But it is quite romantic being feed in bed."

"Only for you, Charles." Bout broke my heart, if there wasn't a hint of non-amusement. "Eat it up."

In-between slurps of soup. "How's the bio class going?"

"Not the same without you." Erik sits next to me on the full side bed that feels too full considering we are unable not to lean onto each other. "Moira actually comes to class, and god, I just don't appreciate her particular attitude. I know you like her, but you're a better teacher."

"I'll take this as a compliment even though you just insulted one of my closest friends."

"You should. I mean it."

"And when I say that I'm allowed to eat solid food and I'm even recommended to exercise not to mention get out of bed, I mean it." That came off as a lot more irritated than usual. I try not to look at Erik, even as he shuffles closer to the edge of the bed. "Sorry, it's just being in this room for a week after the hospital for so long. I'm sorry. It's leaving me on edge."

Erik looks at my soup, and then at me. And then back at the soup. "I suppose you could do that tantric yoga thing."

He's referring to the pamphlet that Angel had given him in class while I was recovering in the hospital. As a yoga instructor at the local studio, she took it upon herself to recommend her own class for people focusing in getting through prolonged illness.

Prolonged seems like an understatement. By the time I go into radiation I'll have grown back some hair, only to suffer a tragic fate. All because of some crazy gene mutation.

"That sounds interesting." I sound bitter. "Don't you have to be at work?"

"Hm. Not till tomorrow." Erik says a little sharp.

"You took off a lot of time, is that alright?"

Erik smiles. He hadn't done that a lot since I came back home. Or, really ever. Generally, it's more like a smirk. "I haven't used any vacation time in the three years I've lived here. I've been told it adds up after a while, plus I'm the best they have. Don't want to get rid of the best, so the competition doesn't scoop it up."

Or start his own welding company. "Well, if that's so. Let's do that yoga thing right now."

"What? Isn't it too late?"

"You've been feeding me dinner at three in the afternoon."

"There was never any complaint." Erik seems taken back.

I finish the soup, and move on to the croissant. "I'm a polite person."

"Says the man who compared my soup to lukewarm piss. And I suppose I can take us to yoga even though it's past your bedtime."

"Damn my bedtime."


Erik leaves me his beanie on the kitchen table. "Your head will get cold," he says before he leaves to pull the motorcycle up front. Apparently I've recovered enough to hold on to the back of a bike, but not stay up past eight.

It's a light pink color, the hat, and it luckily fits over the bandages so they're mostly covered. Too bad pink makes me look like a teenage girlie, while Erik could be cross dressing and still look like a lion tamer or something else ridiculously masculine. And sexy.

Cookies are set on the counter. Solid, sugary food. I eat seven of them before Erik yells up the hallway that we are ready to go. Regret and a little bit of shame, when Erik has to pull over to let me puke. Considering it has nothing to do with the radiation that's starting tomorrow, and everything to do with motion sickness.

At least the hat is warm.


Damn tantric, torture set upon myself to escape the room.

"Charles you're doing so well." Angel says as she pushes on my back helping to get into some position that involves back popping. "You're quite flexible."

"All your lies and flattery are wasted on me. Don't grade your papers anymore, remember?"

Of course Erik is a genius at yoga, his skinny form easily malleable. He grins at nobody as he bends to touch his feet, and if that isn't unpleasant enough, he puts his head through his legs. Either a weird sex thing or a challenge. A challenge that involves me letting Angel popping my back till I'm making indecisive, whiney moans. "There," Angel takes this as a good sign. "Don't you feel all the energy following. It heals, ya know?" I withhold any comment on the benefits of the Biology class that Angel seems to be missing, and just smile through more weight expanding my spine.

Until today I thought I looked bad. Walking into a class full of chronically, terminally, or just plain old ill yoga pursuers should have been comforting in that comparative way. It wasn't.

I try not to talk to anyone, avoid them eyeing the newcomer and his obviously healthy and quite athletic support. On the way out I count myself lucky that only one weepy eyed woman had approached me to tell me about the wonders of staying active through her pancreatic cancer treatment. Apparently it did some good for her social life. I tried not to compare our diagnoses, and the oddity of feeling like the lucky one in the lethal game of probability. "Well, I hope to see you next week."

"I can't wait. See you then." I lie through my teeth knowing that next week in the middle round of treatment I won't be going anywhere, much less a room full of decaying bodies twisting and contorting into ungodly shapes. Erik stands next to me, frowning and says, "You need to call Raven when we get back."


"Charles, your clothes are on." Erik says. "And your bandages are getting wet."

The water overfilling the tub is cold, and the beer in my hand, because Erik dumped all the hard liquor down the sink a week ago, has left a frothy stale taste in my mouth. "Also the lights are off. The toilet seat is up. And you are wearing mismatched socks."

Erik looks down at me. I look away from him. He turns off the water, and throws down two towels from the closet to mop up the water from the floor after collecting empty beer bottles. The silence is unnerving even for the man who jumped into a freezing cold tub with his clothing on after going through one and half six packs of beer.

"Erik."

"Hm?"

My ears pop, pressure buzzing away in my head. Fingers sore from gripping the sides of the tub, I try not to shake.

"I'm cold."

For a brief second his hand rest on mine.

"Then get out of the fucking tub." I nod 'cause that probably makes sense and stand up.


Author's Note:

Review! Review! Review! Cus i like those even if there negative.

I just got in a shit load of trouble with the university. It made my update kind of slow.