Hooke's Law of Elasticity: the extension of a spring is in direct proportion with the load applied to it.
It was mid-afternoon before Charles started to wake up. Erik imagined he had Hank to thank for it. Once he'd realized he was out of his depth with Charles – stitches, he could handle, but Charles needed a doctor, and a doctor Erik was not – he'd woken the young scientist and gotten him up to get a look at Charles.
Charles, of course, hadn't been too happy about it, especially when Hank suggested giving him a nice cocktail of painkillers and sedatives to help him sleep while he patched him up. As per usual, the psychic had insisted that drugs muddled his mind, and that he would be fine with just some Tylenol, thank you very much.
One had only to look, though, at his pale, shaking hands and the sweat beading lightly on his brow to know that he needed some relief before he blacked out anyway. Between Hank and Erik (and probably exhaustion on Charles's part), they'd managed to wear the man down, and by the time Hank started actually checking and tending his wounds, Charles was out cold.
That had been nearly twelve hours ago, and Charles had been sleeping ever since. Recently, though, he'd started to stir a little bit. The drugs were starting to wear off, and with them, Charles's mind was starting to roar back to life.
His shields…were a different story.
It started with little flashes…just the occasional flicker of something that would catch Erik's attention and then be gone before he could sort it out. As Charles grew more restless, though, the flashes grew more vivid, and longer until it seemed to Erik they were more dreams than flashes, and he was sitting front row to them. He didn't want to be, though. Each passing sliver was worse than the last, filled with things Erik didn't dare wondering why Charles was dreaming about.
Bad as all of them were, the last one was the worst. It caught him off guard, forcing all the air out of his lungs like a blow to the gut until he had to grab the doorframe he'd just been coming through to steady himself.
"Ihateyou!"
The pain at the three words was unimaginable. It wasn't physical, but deeper than that, and somehow all the worse for it. Not that it mattered; the physical pain came soon enough.
She was standing over him, looming over him with a bottle of some nameless drink in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. Closer inspection through the wrinkles her merciless grip was inflicting revealed a drawing. A picture, drawn in almost perfect detail.
But its drawer was so small. Strangely small. Charles was always a small child, reedy just as he was in adulthood. Perhaps it came from too little food, or the constant bombardment of emotions that crippled his appetite into nausea and forced all thoughts of hunger from his over-abused mind.
"You little monster! Why? Why do you torture me?" she screamed. Her cries were like those of a banshee, shrill and keening.
A snarl of anger. Shattering glass. Pain erupting in his head, and the floor rising up to meet him. It took more effort than that small body could exert to stand, but it did anyway. He did. Charles did.
"It's okay, mother," he said, as if he was the assailant and not the precious victim. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have…"
"Don't you dare look down on me!"
Another crack. The heel of a shoe, because her delicate fists could not adequately convey her fury. The air left his lungs, and he couldn't call it back. Something impeded him – sharp pain.
"Don't you dare pity me! You monster! You've ruined me!"
Each accusation was punctuated by a blow that seemed to shatter the small form. The would became nothing but a collection of small pictures seen through half-closed eyes. A rug, too much like the one that covered the dining room of Westchester. The leg of a chair that seemed all too familiar. A pale face reflected in the jagged pieces of a broken bottle, and gorgeous blue eyes like no others.
It took everything Erik had to push the images aside. He couldn't bear to see any more of them, now that his fears were confirmed. The small one…it had been Charles. There was no doubt. He wasn't living the nightmare of some other child, wasn't suffering a slip in his shields that allowed some other miserable person's nightmares to slip through and plague his mind.
No, these were Charles's very own demons. These nightmares were Charles's and his alone.
He could still feel them niggling on the very edges of his consciousness as he crossed the room to Charles's bed. Flashes of a small child superimposed themselves briefly over the tossing form of the grown man, swathed in blankets and quilts that even now looked too big for him.
Sitting – or, perhaps, collapsing – onto the side of the bed next to him, he laid his hand across his deeply-lined brow, smoothing back some of Charles's sleep-tousled hair. As gently as he dared, he hooked an arm behind his back and lifted his limp torso up off the bed so that he could slide in under it and pull Charles carefully into his lap. He cradled him there, one arm supporting his neck while he stroked his fingers across Charles's flushed cheeks. His fever had yet to break, but it was getting better.
"It's only a nightmare, Charles…wake up."
Anotherflash. "You'reamonster!"
Erik shook his head, trying to clear the image of that madman he now knew to be Charles's mother from it. He couldn't help feeling it, this pain. Charles's pain, both physical and mental. It was tearing at him.
Charles didn't seem to be hearing him, though. He seemed to be trapped inside his own head. So, he tried a different approach.
Charles…it'sallright.You'reallright. It occurred to him that this was a lot like what Charles had done for him that third night. Ineedyoutowakeup,now.Justwakeup.
At first, he thought it hadn't worked. But then, slowly, Charles's eyes began to flicker until finally, those stunning orbs of his were revealed. A few blinks, and Charles seemed to come to his senses, because he immediately tried to sit up.
Erik held him in place with a gentle hand. "Not so fast, my friend. You don't want to be moving just yet."
Charles gave a distracted nod and raised his hand to his temple. "Of course," he said softly, though Erik couldn't help wondering if he just said that to be agreeable. He didn't really look like he was quite together just yet.
Aflashofcarpet.Dropsofbloodonhishand…downhisshirt…everywhere.Hisblood.
Erik couldn't help the gasp that broke from his lips, and again, he shook his head to try to clear it. When his attentions refocused, he found Charles looking at him with a mix of mortification and curiosity.
"You saw that…" he began softly, "didn't you?"
"All of it." His voice came out more strained than he'd intended, and he cleared his throat. "I saw all of it." Hopefully, Charles would understand to what he was referring. He hadn't just seen that little slip; he'd seen his whole nightmare. He'd seen it that night, too, though there had been far more troubling issues at hand at that time. Now, perhaps, it was a good time to confront it.
Strangely, Charles gave a soft smile that might've been sheepish if it weren't for the wretchedness swimming in his eyes. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Erik," he said. The comment was genuine enough, and it caught Erik off guard. Charles was bedridden and had just woken up from a nightmare that was pretty awful even by Charles's standards – his mother was no Shaw, but this was a different kind of violation – and he was apologizing to Erik?
Erik frowned, caressing Charles's cheek lightly. Charles's hand came up to rest on his own as he spoke. "I'm not," Erik said firmly. As an afterthought, he added, "I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner." And he was. He'd spent this whole time thinking Charles had been spoilt in his youth; he'd even made a joke about it when they'd first arrived.
Idon'tknowhowyousurvived…livinginsuchhardship… The words echoed in his head like ghosts come back to haunt him. Now he knew why it had taken so long for Charles to smile. Raven's untimely interruption made a little more sense, too.
"Raven never knew," Charles said. A moment later, his mouth set in a frown. "You didn't say that aloud…" It wasn't a question, and Charles didn't wait for Erik to answer. "It's the bloody medications, Erik, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to intrude on your thoughts; they just keep slipping in."
"You're changing the subject," Erik observed, not unkindly.
Charles gave a quite sort of chuckle. "Not much of a subject to discuss in the first place, is it? It is what it is."
"You could've told me." Iwould'velistened.Iwould'veunderstood.
"I know that…but you have your own burdens to bear, my friend. You don't need mine adding to the weight."
Idon'tmind.I'dcarryitallifyou'dletme."You carry my burdens, Charles. Rather hypocritical to deny me the same opportunity."
"Erik, I couldn't possibly—I couldn't ask that of you."
"You don't have to."
Charles watched him for a moment after that. His eyes were searching and confused, but finally, they seemed to find what they were looking for. A certain light settled in them, then. "I knew I was right about you," he said.
Erik raised an eyebrow. "Right about what, precisely?"
"Not 'precisely,'" Charles corrected. "Just…you, in general. I knew there was more to you than what you claimed…more than hate and anger. More than pain."
He said it with such wonderment and appreciation that Erik couldn't help smiling in reply. "Yes, well, next time you want to make a point," he began, tracing his thumb along Charles's flushed cheek, "try to do it without nearly killing yourself."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"You do that."
After a moment, Erik decided he ought to get up; so, as carefully as he could, he eased Charles back down onto the bed and started to stand, only to be stopped by a hand around his wrist.
"Can I get you something?" Erik asked. He assumed that to be the reason Charles had stopped him.
Charles's smile took on a slightly teasing, mischievous look that frankly eased more of Erik's worries than such a simple thing should have. "Some company, perhaps?"
As tempting as the offer was, Erik really didn't want to disturb Charles any. He knew his mind wasn't exactly the most peaceful of places, and Charles really didn't need the additional strain. "I was going to go train," he offered by way of excuse.
Excuses, though, rarely worked with Charles, and this time was no exception. "You'll not get much training done falling asleep on your feet. I'd wager you've not slept since I so rudely interrupted you…"
"Last night," Erik supplied helpfully. "Twelve hours ago. I assure you, I've gone far longer without sleep."
"Then I would hate to see you on those occasions, because you look terrible, my friend. Just humor me, yes? I'll sleep better knowing you're here."
Hesitant as Erik was, there was a great deal of sincerity in Charles's words. Besides, he really was tired. He wasn't used to worrying about a person for any length of time, much less twelve straight hours. It had worn on his nerves a lot more than he'd thought it would, and the prospect of settling in next to his lover for an afternoon nap was all too appealing to pass up.
With one last tolerant, "I'm Only Doing This Because I Adore You" smile, Erik walked around to the other side of the bed and slid in beside Charles. He was careful not to jar anything lest Charles's shoulder or leg suffer for it, but once he was in place, Charles managed to curl into his chest anyway.
"Who would've thought the professor liked to cuddle?" he teased gently, but the very moment he finished speaking, he slid his arm around Charles's hips.
"Who would've thought the magnet liked to cuddle?" Charles mimicked softly. His eyes were already closed, and the jest had a drowsy lilt to it.
Erik stole a quick kiss from his joker, and as he closed his own eyes, a single thought floated through his head.
Onlywithyou,Charles.Onlywithyou.