"Okay," Moira said as she breezed past him into his apartment, "from your indecipherable text earlier, I come fully loaded for whatever you need." He trailed after her as she headed for the kitchen counter where she proceeded to unload items from a grocery bag. "I got a gallon of your favorite ice cream—moose tracks—a couple rom-coms, and two bottles of wine because we will definitely drink at least one full bottle tonight. No excuses. We are going to have a super girly night where you spill your guts, cry, eat ice cream, and then end the night by watching fake romance stories that will never ever happen in reality, whaddaya say?" She put the wine in the fridge as she spoke.
Charles could only smile weakly. "I love you, Moira."
"Of course you do. Now, do you want a bowl or do we just simply eat out of the carton?"
"Carton," he said and grabbed two spoons before heading for the couch.
Once settled, the gallon of ice cream between them, Moira gestured with her spoon. "So, what happened?"
He explained what had happened that afternoon, the two of them eating ice cream the whole while. Everything came out—the argument over decorations, Erik, the almost-kiss, Logan, Azazel, Erik retiring, his jealousy realization.
When he was done talking, Moira was quiet for a minute, clearly thinking things over. Finally, she said, "So, you and Erik had a moment and then you were jealous and now you're panicking. Did I get that right?"
He took a bite of ice cream, letting it melt on his tongue before swallowing. "I guess you could call it that. We almost kissed and I just . . . I don't know where it came from."
"Well," Moira spooned one of the peanut butter cups out of the vanilla, "could it have been just that one moment as opposed to real feelings? I mean, you'd just been arguing with the director and then Erik pops up out of nowhere after having been absent for a few days . . . of course your emotions would be running high."
Charles sucked on his spoon thoughtfully. "I suppose. . ." he trailed off, and then shook his head. "But that wouldn't explain what happened outside."
"Did this Logan guy have anything to do with that?"
He shook his head emphatically. "No. Logan had left by then, with my warning that I would alert Pierce if he tried anything."
"Creep."
He chuckled. "Indeed. Which means I have to find someone else to play Santa for the kids."
"Ask Erik."
"Moira!"
"Oh, right. Right, can't ask him until we figure out what's going on between you two." Moira stuck her spoon in the carton and clapped her hands together. "Okay, I think it's time for the wine. You have a preference?"
He sunk into the cushions. "The biggest glass you can find."
Moira was only gone a few minutes but that was long enough for Charles to send himself back into that emotional tizzy from earlier. "Here. Now, let's determine what exactly you're panicking about. Is it the fact that you almost kissed or the idea that something could come of it because he's retiring?"
Charles thought about it as he sipped at the wine. "Both?"
"Both. Hmmm." She fell silent. "Okay, serious question—are you still in love with Erik?"
"That's not an easy answer," Charles complained. "There's so much to think about—not just our past, but what I'm doing now, the kids, what his plans are, what my plans are—"
"No no no no no no no," Moira interrupted, waving her hands. "No. Simple answer. Kneejerk response. Go: are you in love with Erik?"
"Yes," he breathed softly and felt a bit of the tension ease.
Moira settled back. "Well then. Problem solved."
"What? How does knowing that solve anything? It creates more problems. What am I supposed to do now?"
"You move onto the next thing. Now that you know your feelings," she patted him on the shoulder, "and have actually admitted it to yourself, we can move on to the fact that you might want to get back together with him."
"But how would that even work?" he asked, adding quickly, "Not that I'm saying I want to get back with him. I'm just talking hypothetically here."
"Of course. So, hypothetically, it could work."
"How?"
"Well," Moira set her glass down and returned to the ice cream, "you said his manager said that Erik's retiring, right?" When he nodded, she explained, "So that's it right there! Look—no, let me finish. You and Erik moved out west for his career, yes? Then that same reason split you up. So now that his acting is no longer a factor in either of your lives, he could move in with you, and help you with the center and the boys or whatever. You wouldn't have to uproot your life . . . or theirs."
Charles stared at her in astonishment, his mouth slightly open.
She shrugged, took a bite of ice cream. "Anyway, that's one option. Of course, you can always say no and move on, maybe find someone else to date for more than a couple weeks. If you wanna see if you and Erik can make it work this time, then go for it. No matter what you choose, I'll support you. I just want you to be happy, Charles. Just don't make a decision right now. You're far too emotional."
Finally finding his voice, Charles asked, "How . . . ?" His voice caught as his mind shot ahead, serving up images of a life together—Christmas with Erik, Alex and Scott; vacations; holidays; Erik coaching baseball teams; date nights; college visits; and more. All that he had ever wanted with Erik . . . now suddenly possible again.
"Oh Jesus, I didn't mean to make you cry over that. Come here." Moira put the ice cream aside and pulled him close.
"I'm sorry," he sniffled.
"Don't be. This has been a highly emotional couple of months for you." She rubbed his back as he cried.
Running out of tears finally, he pulled back, wiping at his face. Deciding to table the conversation, he said, "So . . . you said you brought rom-coms?"
"Yeah. Do you want Someone Like You or 27 Dresses?"
Charles laughed wetly. "Those are my options?"
"Hey!" Moira said, indignant. "They are classics. Now, decide while I go get the wine bottles."
In the end, they decided on starting with 27 Dresses. Fortified with full glasses of wine, three-quarters of a gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream, and comfy couch pillows, Charles and Moira spent the rest of the night with Katherine Heigl, James Marsden, Hugh Jackman, and Ashley Judd.
The evening after talking with Moira, Charles stood in the middle of his bedroom in his pajamas, a toothbrush dangling from his mouth. The box in the corner commanded his attention, the flaps half open to reveal scattered photos. His past.
And possibly his future, if he but had the courage to move on from being hurt.
Charles drifted across the floor, reaching out to pluck one photo out randomly. He studied it, thinking. It was an image of him decorating their first apartment in L.A. for Christmas, boxes around him, garland draped around his shoulders, laughing—probably at Erik, who was behind the camera. He looked so happy.
Charles made a wistful noise around the toothbrush then dropped the photo and went to rinse. The fact that he was still in love with Erik didn't mean he had to uproot his entire life, Charles reminded himself. He stopped in the doorway to the spare bedroom he was working on turning into a bedroom for the boys. He refused to accept the possibility that he might not be able to adopt them.
He'd found a dresser downstairs—someone had obviously gotten a new one and was tossing it. It was perfectly fine, and they wouldn't have much at first, anyway. Which he planned to fix. The bunk beds were another story. They lay in half-connected parts along the wall where he'd given up in frustration. Damn Ikea and their weird instructions.
Returning to his own bed, he shut off the lamp and stared at the darkened ceiling for a long time, just letting his thoughts drift. Finally, Charles decided that he would talk to Erik about trying and seeing where it goes, making sure to leave it open-ended enough that he could avoid more pain.
He hoped.
Charles pulled into the parking lot and looked around, confused, at the crowd gathered before the front doors. It was only a little after six, most of them shouldn't be picked up until after seven. He quickly shut off the car and headed for the crowd. It was dark out—it was mid-December, after all—and he had just come from a meeting with social services, putting him one step closer to getting Alex and Scott to stay with him, together. He just had to wait on the judge's approval. Charles reached the edge of the crowd and surprise hit him. These were his kids. But why were they outside instead of in the building, waiting for their parents?
Blinking blue and red lights penetrated his awareness next. Police cars. "Oh no," he breathed, and shoved his way through the children to the front, just in time to see an officer tape off the front doors with police tape. He had visions of someone hurt or dead. "Excuse me, Officer, what's going on?"
The second officer turned to him. "Who are you?"
Charles straightened. "Charles Xavier, I own and run the center. What's going on? Why are you taping the doors shut?"
The second officer sighed and answered, "Someone called in an anonymous tip that something illegal was going on here, broken laws and such, so the place's closed while things are investigated. Here."
Charles took the notice but didn't look at it. "Illegal? We're not doing anything illegal here. Who called it in?"
The first one shrugged. "Call city hall. That's all we know. Right, we're all done here. Sorry, kids." The policemen left and Charles finally looked down at the notice, two words standing out and bringing his world to a crashing halt: CLOSED INDEFINITELY.
No.
No, this could not be happening. Not now. He swayed as the implications ran through his mind.
"Mr. Xavier, what's going to happen to us?"
The plaintive question drew his attention and he looked up to find some of the children surrounding him, wearing distressed looks. Oh god, they'd been evicted without him there. Charles reached out and drew the first young one to him, the child's small arms clinging to him. He made his voice steady and reassuring as he said, "You're going to be fine. We all are. This is just a. . . a misunderstanding. I will find out what happened and we'll all be back here in a few days, no worries."
Charles' gaze swept the group as he talked and some of them actually seemed a little calmer. . . until his eyes landed on Alex Summers. Alex looked stricken, clearly fighting back tears, and his gaze was locked on something low on Charles' body. Curious, Charles looked down and saw that the child he had grabbed was Scott, Alex's baby brother, and he felt a pang in his heart. This was the only time they could see each other and with the center closed. . .
Charles took a deep breath, looked up, met Alex's eyes and said slowly, "Everything is going to be okay." He spoke in general to the group, but he knew Alex was taking his words to heart. "Yes, we're closed right now, but have hope. This is the Christmas season, after all; the season of miracles. I'm not giving up, not at all. And neither should any of you."
Alex nodded faintly and Charles offered a quick smile. "Okay, everyone give me a hug and then I'll call your parents." Alex snagged his brother and held him close as Charles hugged the rest, offering more reassurances until they calmed down.
Charles sat on the steps with the children until the last one was picked up, explaining things to the adults. Most were disappointed, a few were sympathetic, but for the most part everyone was just tired and wanted to get home. Charles called a cab for Alex before Scott's foster parents arrived—hoping to stave off an altercation—and paid for the fare in advance. After the last child left, Charles remained on the steps, staring at the notice for a long time. It started to snow lightly, not really sticking. Eventually, it got too cold to sit there any longer so he got in his car and drove.
Every now and then, his gaze would drift to the paper clutched in his right hand; it was like he couldn't let go of it. There was only one person he wanted to see right then, the only one who wouldn't give him pity or platitudes. So he parked the car in the surface lot, walked in the double doors, up the elevator and knocked on the door.
After a moment, the door opened. "Charles, hey. What's up?"
Charles said quietly, "I . . . I didn't know where else to go."
Erik tugged him inside his hotel room and Charles stood in the middle of the main room, numb, as the door clicked shut behind him. "Charles, what happened? What's wrong?"
In response, Charles simply held out the crumpled notice. Erik took it with a frown, smoothed it out, and read it. Those words flashed in Charles' brain again and he swayed, his eyes burning. Erik quickly put an arm around him, steadying him, and blew out his breath as he finished reading. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry, Charles."
Charles didn't say anything, just rubbed his face. Erik studied him for a second, then set the notice down, and pulled him to the kitchen area. In the back of his mind, Charles noted that it was a really nice hotel suite they'd put Erik up in for the movie. Erik settled him in a tall chair, did something at the stove, then came over and peeled Charles' coat off. Charles let him then dropped his face in his hands, his breath shuddering.
A moment later, something clinked in front of him and he dropped his hands to see a steaming mug of something on the counter. Erik took his hands, murmured "Your hands are freezing," and wrapped them around the mug. Warmth seeped into them and Charles was startled to realize that he was indeed freezing. "Drink," Erik ordered.
Obediently, Charles lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip. Chamomile tea rolled down his throat, warming him from the inside. He took another sip and another, drinking in the warmth as he drained the mug. Erik refilled it and said, "Okay. Tell me what happened."
So Charles did. "They say I did illegal things, Erik. I know I didn't! I would never. . . " his voice broke and his hands were shaking so he set the mug down. CLOSED INDEFINITELY rolled through his mind again.
Erik pulled him off the chair and into his arms. Charles' breath shuddered and Erik murmured, "Let it out, Charles. You'll feel better. I'm here. Just let it out."
Thoughts swirled through his mind. All of those children, depending on him, on that center. . . for a safe place, to be wanted. And he'd lost it.
Alex. Scott.
"I failed them," he whispered and the tears fell.
Charles clung to Erik's shirt and cried. Erik held him tight, wishing he could fix things in an instant. Rubbing Charles' back, Erik occasionally murmured reassurances, including the fact that Charles did not fail the kids; there was no way.
Eventually, Charles stopped crying and he pulled back, out of Erik's hold, wiping at his nose. "Sorry. I didn't mean to. . . " he gestured helplessly at Erik's damp shirt.
Erik shook his head, smiling a little. "You can always come to me, Charles. Come on, time for a distraction." He refilled Charles' mug, filled one of his own and led the way to the couch. Erik flicked on the television and tucked Charles against his side, still trying to warm him. They sat curled up on the couch together, watching Netflix until Charles fell asleep, completely drained.
Erik sat there watching him for a few minutes, enjoying the sight. It was one he'd seen countless times before—watching movies late into the night, until Charles inevitably fell asleep on him—but one he never tired of. Eventually, though, he set their mugs on the coffee table and carefully got to his feet. Lifting Charles, Erik cradled him in his arms as he headed to the bedroom. Using his foot, Erik flicked the covers back and gently laid Charles down on the bed. He tugged Charles' shoes off, set them on the floor, and pulled the covers over him. Bending over, Erik kissed his forehead and whispered, "Good night, my love." Charles snuggled down into the covers and Erik smiled fondly at him before slipping out and shutting the door.
So he'd managed to put at least one chink in Charles' armor if he'd come to Erik seeking comfort. That was good. It gave him hope. But Charles had lost his center . . .
Frowning, Erik hunted for his phone and called Az. There had to be a way to fix this. That center meant everything to Charles and Erik was damned if he'd let this go without a fight. Erik told him do whatever he had to in order to fix this. Az didn't like it, but he agreed.
Charles stretched, feeling rested, and wondered when his bed had gotten so soft? He remembered his mattress being a lot lumpier than this. He opened his eyes and froze. This wasn't his room. So this wasn't his bed. Then where was he? Swinging his feet onto the floor, Charles noticed he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Charles slowly, cautiously, opened the door and stepped out.
Everything matched; a wonderfully golden-white hue to the place, perfectly clean . . . except the pillow and rumpled blanket on the couch. He tilted his head, trying to figure it out.
"Morning. How do you feel?"
Charles' head snapped around so fast he was surprised he didn't get whiplash. Erik waved at him from the kitchen and the events of the night before came rushing back. The center . . . his good mood faded in an instant as he joined Erik in the kitchen area.
"Hi." Charles slid onto a chair and Erik set a plate in front of him then handed him a fork. Charles took it and looked down. Erik had made him an omelet.
"Eat up; I think it's the same recipe. Haven't made one in a while. Haven't felt like cooking til recently."
Charles cut off a corner and put it in his mouth. His taste buds exploded, bringing back memories of Erik making omelets for him in the morning. He had to swallow past a suddenly tight throat. "I'm sorry," Charles bit out and fled, shutting himself in the bedroom and breathing rapidly. Okay, he told himself silently. Pull yourself together. You have an opportunity here. Charles smiled faintly, remember his decision to try. Maybe now was the chance to talk to Erik about it.
When he'd calmed himself down, Charles stepped out to find Erik getting his things together. "Are you leaving?"
Erik whirled around, studying him. "Yeah, I've got to go to set."
"Oh."
"Do you want to come?"
Charles blinked. "What?"
Erik ran a hand through his hair. "Do you, uh, want to come to set? With me. I know you said no before but, I mean . . . it'll help get your mind off. . . things."
Charles bit his lip. It's not like he had anything else to do on this crappy Wednesday morning. Raven and Moira were both at work. He might as well go. Something occurred to him and he looked down. "I'm, uh. . . I'm wearing yesterday's clothes."
"You can borrow one of my shirts, if you want."
"Um, okay. I guess? Unless it'll make you late . . .?"
Erik grinned and dropped his coat on the back of the couch. "At this point, I don't really care."
Charles blinked, a little thrown. "Um. Okay. So, I'll just . . . yeah."
Erik was playing a game on his phone, lounging on the hotel couch as he waited for Charles. He'd already texted Az a heads-up that Charles was coming and to be nice. He heard the door to the bedroom open and glanced up, lust hitting him full force at the sight of Charles wearing Erik's shirt, tucked into his own jeans.
"Hey." Charles shuffled his feet a little.
"He—" Erik had to clear his throat and try again. "Hey. All set?"
Charles nodded. "Um, do you know what happened to my coat?"
"I hung it in the closet to dry." He stood, shoving his phone in his back jeans pocket. Charles pulled his coat on and they headed out. As they rode the elevator down, Erik couldn't help but think that something was different. Charles was acting differently.
Charles flicked his eyes to Erik at that moment, smiled quickly, then looked away.
Erik frowned thoughtfully. Hmmm . . . He needed to experiment.
On the lobby floor, Erik gestured for Charles to exit first then hurried to catch up, making sure their hands brushed as they walked.
Charles didn't flinch or pull away.
Interesting.
"So," Charles started, "how are we getting to set?"
"Az is picking us up."
"He knows I'm coming?" Erik nodded. Charles said warily, "And he's okay with that?"
"I talked with him. He'll play nice."
Charles nodded as they headed outside. A black SUV was waiting for them, Azazel leaning against the side, on his phone. He looked up as they approached. "Finally. Look, we're going to be late. Get in. Oh, and hello, Charles." Az climbed into the passenger seat.
Erik rolled his eyes and pulled the door open for Charles. So much for being nice, he thought. Charles caught his eye and murmured, "Yeah, he's being super nice."
Erik chuckled, climbing in after him. The driver pulled away from the curb and Erik leaned over to say softly, "Hey, it's going to be okay."
Charles offered a wan smile. "I hope so. I just . . .wish I knew more."
"Tell me again what the police said."
"They just said to call city hall. I won't get anything from them, not for a few days." Charles leaned his head against the window, looking despondent. "My center's not exactly a priority to councilmen."
He reached over and gave Charles' hand a squeeze. "Aren't you the one who was always telling me to have hope? Call them. A lot. Bug them until they can't help but give you an answer."
Charles glanced over at him, laughed a little and squeezed back. "You actually did listen to me back then."
Erik grinned. "I always listen to you. I love listening to you."
Charles blushed.
Azazel interrupted, "Erik, any interest in going to Japan for the premiere?"
Charles pulled his hand free and Erik gritted his teeth, reaching for his hand again. "Not really, no."
Az twisted around, an eyebrow raised. "Really? I thought you loved going to Japan?"
Erik kept his gaze fixed on Charles, who was looking out the window. "Not really interested in spending the holidays on the other side of the world. Besides, I was just over there last year." Subtext—Charles, I'm not leaving you; not right now. Please hear me so I don't have to say it out loud.
Az huffed and Erik knew they'd be talking about this again, but he had other things on his mind. "Az, about that thing I asked you to do last night . . . ?"
"Yeah, yeah," Az turned back around. "I'm working on it. We're playing phone tag at the moment."
After a few minutes of driving in silence, Charles said, "So, I, um. . . I heard something kind of interesting . . . the other day."
"Oh? What was it?"
Charles shrugged and Erik frowned. He was trying to be casual and failing, as Charles usually did. "I, um, I heard that you were, uh, retiring?"
Erik glared at the back of Azazel's seat. "Oh, you did, did you? And who told you that?"
"Is it true?" Charles asked, sidestepping the question.
Erik sighed heavily. "Yes. It's true."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want you to feel like you were the reason. And don't say you wouldn't feel that way; I know you do already."
". . . am I?" His voice was quiet.
"No. God, no, Charles." Charles shot him a look and he backtracked. "Okay, maybe a little. But it's a good thing, trust me." When he saw that Charles still didn't believe him, Erik continued, "Look, you remember what I told you, about what happened after I made it big? I need to remember who I am without all that. Maybe, eventually, I might go back, but for now I need this time off. Time I can spend with those I love," he added pointedly and was rewarded by Charles' smile.
"Erik, there's something I—" Charles started but was cut off by the driver announcing that they'd arrived at set.
They piled out, Az got Charles a visitor badge to wear on set, then Erik and Charles headed for the makeup trailer. Curious, Erik asked, "Charles, what was that you wanted to say earlier?"
He shook his head. "It's okay. It can wait."
Erik studied him. "You sure?"
Charles smiled up at him. "I'm sure. Go on; I'll find somewhere out of the way."
What Charles wanted to tell him, would it have anything to do with why Charles was letting him close? It felt like the wall Charles kept throwing between them was coming down. Wondering if this meant he had a shot, Erik bent down and kissed Charles' cheek. "You're never in the way. I'll find you when I get a break, okay?"
Now bright red, Charles only nodded and stepped back.
As Erik stepped into the trailer, Charles took a steadying breath and pressed his hands to his cheeks, feeling the heat. He wandered over to craft services, hoping to find a seat somewhere and watch. Erik did find him during breaks between filming and set changes but Charles really did not want to have this conversation in full view of everyone on the crew; especially Azazel.
So he'd have to wait a little while to talk to Erik about trying a relationship. That was fine. More than fine, actually, since he had no idea how to even start the conversation. His mouth had kind of jumped ahead of his brain in the car so it was a good thing they'd gotten here when they did. It did seem like Erik had somehow known what he was going to say, though. . .
Then again, Erik always did know him better than anyone except Raven.
He'd talk to Erik another time.