Le Chatelier's Principle: If a chemical system at equilibrium experiences a change in concentration, temperature, volume, or partial pressure, then the equilibrium shifts to counteract the imposed change and a new equilibrium is established.
Hank had told Charles that he should probably take it easy for a week after that, and Erik had agreed wholeheartedly.
Charles lasted all of three days.
Andonthethirdday…,Erik thought ironically as he watched Charles standing outside talking to Sean. He was apparently explaining what he'd found in the three days of research – because Charles, Erik had decided, was physically incapable of being idle for any length of time – on "Banshee's" gift to the young man. A window had suffered by way of this explanation, and Erik was all too happy to be inside where he didn't have to deal with the ear-splitting shrieks. All the while, it was Charles's first day really getting up and about, and he wasn't keen on letting him out of his sight.
He looked to be doing pretty well, though. He still held his shoulder kind of stiff, but he'd forgone the sling and he was moving the arm itself around pretty well. His leg was a similar story; he couldn't quite conceal the limp, but it was hardly noticeable unless one was actually looking for it.
After the death of the unfortunate window that he and Alex had muscled out the door to the grass for Charles, the young professor seemed content with his lesson. He said a few more words, and with a pat on the ginger's shoulder, he turned back towards the house.
Whatdoyouthink?
The thought slipped into Erik's head easily and with that same warmth. He was proud of his student, and Erik could feel that pride radiating off him just as easily as he could see it in the smile he flashed his way.
Ithinkthehardwarestoredownthestreetisgoingtobeseeinganincreaseinsales.
As he passed the thought along, Charles reached the door, and Erik was happy to push it open for it and allow him to pass by him inside.
"You're not funny," Charles said. "You think you are, but you're not."
"Then why're you smiling?"
Charles sniffed. "Because it's a lovely day and even you can't spoil my mood."
"I think I should be offended," Erik remarked lightly, holding his hand to his heart as he and Charles made their way into the kitchen. It was nearing lunch time, and whether Charles knew it or not, Erik was determined to make him eat something more substantial than the sandwiches and biscuits he'd been munching on for the past couple of days.
Sitting down in the seat Erik pulled out for him at the table – because he was clearly tired, even if he wouldn't admit it – Charles leaned up and stole a quick kiss. "I think not," he said. "I only say it because I care."
Erik gave a roll of his eyes. "Oh, well that changes everything," he said sarcastically, ducking his head in the fridge to hide the grin on his own face.
"I thought it might…can I help you with anything?"
"You can sit there and look pretty. And stop making wise cracks. And stop staring at my ass." He turned and saw Charles looking at him with a skeptical brow raised. He shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I don't mind you staring at my ass."
Clearly, that hadn't been what the eyebrow was for, but Charles laughed all the same. "Ah, and what a fine ass it is."
"Are you talking about my ass, or me in general?"
"Yes."
"What did I say about wise cracks?" Erik asked. Honestly, he didn't mind them either; he was glad Charles was feeling well enough for their repartee. The first day had been kind of pitiful; Charles had mostly just wanted to sleep, and he'd spent that night fighting with the antibiotics Hank had put him on. Then he'd been vested in his research, determined to accomplish something while he was bedridden.
"Use often. Use now."
"Funny."
"I thought so…really, Erik, are you sure I can't help you?"
"Yes, Charles. Believe it or not, I think I can manage one meal."
Charles held up his hands peacefully. "Of course, of course. I have complete faith in your culinary competency." He settled back, then, folding his hands under his chin and watching Erik from behind the table. As Erik started the pasta to boil – in a house wrought with teenagers, pasta was generally a good thing to have on hand, because it could be made enmasse with little risk of spontaneous combustion – Charles's mind seemed to wander off.
It wasn't until Erik was actually straining the noodles that Charles finally spoke on the fruits of his mental wanderings.
With complete seriousness, Charles cocked his head to the side and asked, "Precisely how difficult do you think it would be to procure several plastic manikins?"
The fact that he could say it with a straight face gave Erik just another thing to add to the list of why he loved Charles Xavier.
Of course, two days later gave him something to add to the list of why Charles Xavier frustrated him to no end. He was just getting back from a joy ride in one of those underappreciated beauties in the garage when he spotted something that nearly made him blow a gasket – literally.
As he was pulling into the garage, two figures in grey went whipping past the boot of the car. At first, he thought it was just a couple of the kids out for their runs. But as he was coming out of the garage, walking back towards the mansion, he was passed by them again, and he got a much better look this time. The awkwardly long limbs and bare feet of the first identified the leader as Hank, obviously. He seemed to have increased his lead on the other substantially since the last time Erik had seen them, and it was a few solid seconds before the next passed him.
Of course, the second wasn't going slowly, either. In fact, it was all Erik could do to pick out the wavy black locks that bounced in the wind as he tore past him. By the time he got his mind around it, the figure had already past.
Hewouldn't, he thought. But, of course, it occurred to him whom he was referring to, and realized that yes, in fact, he would. "Blast it, Charles!"
The exclamation was equal parts exasperated and angry, and his feet immediately set to pounding in pursuit of the two runners.
They made it back around to the back of the house, near the gardens, but the time Erik caught up to them. Hank was walking off, and Charles seemed to be giving Alex some sort of admonishment. The teenager turned and walked away right as Erik made it over to them, giving Erik a perfect opportunity to give Charles a thorough talking to.
It just so happened that his path of entry put him directly behind Charles, and he'd apparently been rather quiet in his approach, because Charles didn't turn around until he was right behind him. When he did, Charles gave a start, gasping and nearly jumping backwards.
"My God, Erik!" he exclaimed, bowing his head and putting his hand to his chest. After a few quick, deep breaths, he straightened, a smile coming to his face. "Don't do that to me! You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Is that so?" Erik asked. "And here I thought you were in top physical condition. Or, at least, you ought to be, running like that."
Suddenly, Charles seemed to realize he was being scolded. Erik couldn't tell if he was blushing, with the flush that was already on his face from the cold wind and his run, but he did have the good grace to avert his eyes. He brought them back up quickly, though. "It's part of Hank's training," he explained. "To get him to utilize his powers rather than fearing and hiding them."
"And to do that, you had to run laps with him around the mansion." Erik wasn't quite content with that explanation. "Just out of curiosity…I wasn't imagining it when Hank told you that you weren't to exert yourself too highly."
"No, you weren't," Charles said coolly. "But if you'll recall with whom I was running. Hank said I would be all right, so long as I stopped if it started to bother me too much. It has been nearly a week. Most of the cuts are healed well enough, and when I'm wearing the brace, I can hardly feel my knee."
"That's called nerve damage, Charles."
Charles scowled. "You know what I meant."
"Yes, I did. And I was pretty sure you knew what I meant when I said I wanted you to take it easy. You know what happens when you push yourself too hard Charles, and I don't know about you, but I would really rather not have a repeat of what happened last time." He stepped closer, using his height advantage over his lover for all it was worth. "You are an amazing human being, but you are not without your limitations. You would do best to remember them."
"And you would do best to remember that I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you." With that, he started to turn.
Erik, however, wasn't content to leave it at that. He grabbed his shoulder – the proper one, the healthy one – and spun him around. "You don't think, do you? Damn it, Charles, what good will you be to me or the children or your beloved CIA if you fall apart before we even face Shaw?"
In that instant, Charles's expression became colder than Erik had ever seen it. "If that is where you concerns truly lie, Erik, you needn't worry. I fully intend to wait to fall apart until after I'm of no use to any of you."
The ice in his voice as he spoke was matched only by the hurt in his eyes, but before Erik could get a chance to take it back, to tell Charles what he'd really meant, Charles jerked his shoulder from Erik's grasp and strode away.
Charles didn't make it to the house, though, before Moira stuck her head out the window. "Hey!" she called. "The president's about to make his address!"
Moira was waiting for them in the study when they made it inside. Erik had lingered back a few steps from Charles on the way, and by the time he made it inside, Charles had already taken up his seat next to Moira on the sofa.
Frowning, Erik stopped just short of the coffee table. So, he really had upset Charles this time. The younger man didn't even so much as look at him, and all the children lined up behind the sofa were too interested in the television to so much as acknowledge his presence.
"It has been the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile crossing the embargo line that surrounds Cuba as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States," said the television. Or, more accurately, the president through the TV. It was all Erik could do not to snort. What didn't this nation view as an attack, precisely?
Instinctively, he glanced over at Charles to see what his reaction would be, and found himself frustrated by the fact that Charles didn't even glance back. Instead, he exchanged looks with that Moira girl as the television continued, "requiring a full retaliatory response on the Soviet Union."
"That's where we're going to find Shaw," Erik said.
"How do you know?"
Erik was about to explain, but Charles beat him to it. "Two superpowers facing off and he wants to start World War III…he won't leave anything to chance."
With a smirk, Erik said, "So much for diplomacy." Things were going to get messy. "I suggest you all get a good night's sleep." Let them have their television, then; he knew how this was going to end, so he took his leave.
As the afternoon wore on into evening, though, Erik found himself looking for company of some sort. The day's events continued to haunt him…what he'd said to Charles, more than anything. How could he have been so callous? This wasn't even Charles's war to fight – what did he have to gain? For Moira and the CIA, it was national security. For Erik, it was revenge. For Raven and Hank and even Alex and Sean, it was about acceptance. Charles had fit into society, had made a place for himself, and he had none of those reasons behind him to fight. And yet he fought…he'd sacrificed more than any of them to fight the war that wasn't his to fight, and Erik had turned around and made him feel like nothing more than a tool to be used and thrown away. How terrible was he, to have said those things to someone that had only ever helped him? In truth, Erik loved Charles. More than anything, he loved him, and to know that the hurt that he'd seen in Charles's eyes had been because of him was torture in the purest and keenest since Erik had ever experienced.
He had to make things right, then. Things could go many ways tomorrow, and he had to set things right with Charles before that time. He had to make him see…Charles wasn't a tool to him. He wasn't his lab rat or his leader or even his brother in arms.
Charles was his heart, and if, by some chance, things turned out all right tomorrow, he would prove it to him.
As it was, it seemed to him that the best thing to do was apologize. It was with that thought in mind that he found himself knocking on the door to the library. He'd already checked by Charles's room, and the smell of fire in the fireplace told him that someone was occupying the classic old room. Sure enough, a quick peek inside through the arched doorway revealed to him a head of curly hair showing over the back of one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.
"Come in," came Charles's voice, and Erik did so. Slowly, he walked around Charles's chair to find him sitting in front of a chessboard, his hands folded beneath his chin. None of the pieces had moved, but it was clear there was some measure of calculation going on in that brilliant mind of Charles's.
He paused just beside the other chair, his hand resting on its back. Unsure of how to really begin, he finally just settled on asking, "May I join you?"
Charles looked up, and Erik had to say he was curious to see the surprised look that donned on Charles's face. Had Charles really been so deep in thought he hadn't even known Erik was coming? And moreover, did Charles really not think that Erik would see him before the night was over, given what tomorrow would inevitably bring?
"Of course," Charles said finally, and Erik, after pouring himself a glass of champagne from the bottle Charles had already apparently opened, took the seat across from him. Folding one long leg across the other, he watched as Charles pushed a piece across the board without a word.
After a moment, Erik did the same, and for a long time thereafter, things proceeded like that. Each man moved his pieces without a word, and they were nearly halfway into the game before Charles finally did speak.
"Cuba," he said softly, dropping his hand from his chin to move another piece across the board. "Russia…America…There's no difference. Shaw's declared war on mankind – on all of us. He has to be stopped." As he spoke, he pushed himself back in his chair, crossing his legs. It was far more like his usual posture, far more relaxed as compared to the huddled way he'd sat the better part of the game.
Erik looked up. He knew the words for what they were – an olive branch, a concession – but as much as he would've liked to accept it, there were terms that Charles had to understand. "I'm not going to stop Shaw," he said. "I'm going t' kill him." When Charles didn't respond immediately, Erik leaned forward to move one of his own pieces across the board. "Do you have it in you to allow that?" At that, he glanced up at Charles, leaning back in his seat so he could more thoroughly study his expression.
Charles did nothing for a moment, but then an incredulous sort of laugh broke from his lips. He leaned forward again, nearly doubling over his knees and folding his hands in front of him. Resuming his guarded stance…clearly, Erik's words had upset him, though he wasn't inclined to express it.
It still bothered Erik to see it. "You've known all along why I was here, Charles," he tried to reason, but Charles wouldn't even look up at him. He seemed to be focusing intently on the chess board, his brows knotted deeply. "But things have changed." You'vechangedthem."What started as a covert mission…tomorrow, mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us…they won't differentiate." That got Charles's attention. "They'll fear us. And that fear will turn to hatred."
"Not if we stop a war," Charles argued, peering up at Erik through his knotted brows. "Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so."
"Would they do the same for us?" Wouldtheydothesameforyou? Charles had already risked his life, and he had come too close to paying for that risk. But he was more than human – better – and Erik knew in his heart that all those people Charles so avidly defended…they weren't so noble.
Charles straightened a little. "We have it in us to be the better men," he said.
"We already are. We're the next stage of human evolution—" Charles started to protest, but Erik raised his voice and spoke over him, "—you said it yourself!"
"No, no—" Charles let out a frustrated sigh and took a drink from his scotch.
Erik couldn't believe it. How could Charles continue to argue with him with the truth so blaringly obvious and right in front of him. "Are you really so naïve as to think that they won't battle their own extinction?" he asked. Once again, Charles averted his eyes down to the chess board. He'd struck a chord, then. "Or is it arrogance?"
Charles looked up. "I'm sorry?"
"After tomorrow, they're going to turn on us. But you're blind to it, because you believe they're all like Moira."
"And you believe they're all like Shaw," Charles retorted. He was silent for a moment after that, but then he leaned forward, his blue eyes boring into Erik's own grey. "Listen to me very carefully, my friend." As he spoke, his voice wavered ever so slightly, but through the slow, measured tone, it lost none of its severity. "Killing Shaw will not bring you peace."
Peace…that was what Charles thought he wanted? Peace? Where was peace when the Nazis invaded his home and shipped him and his kin away to die in concentration camps? Where was peace when Shaw tortured him and killed his mother? And for that matter, where was peace when Charles's vicious mother was beating her brilliant, innocent child in her drunken rages? So far as Erik was concerned, humans could never redeem themselves for that. They could never escape the taint of their very existence, and they would always be monsters to haunt their victims.
He matched Charles's gaze evenly as he divulged the one truth that Charles needed to hear the most. "Peace," he said, "was never an option."
Erik had only just shed his evening clothes when he heard an almost violent rapping at his bedroom door. At first, he thought it might be Raven. After he'd sent her on her way – what had she been thinking, displaying herself on his bed like some sort of prize? – he'd rather thought she might be a good little girl and go back to bed. He admired her spirit, don't get him wrong, but she really needed to sort through some of those issues of his.
Preferably while not in his bedroom.
"Don't you have someone else to harass?" he called as he stepped into his flannel sleep trousers.
The voice that called back, however, was not the one he expected. "Damn it, Erik, open this door now!"
Shock alone made Erik blink for a moment, one leg still half-through the leg of his trousers. What on earth was Charles doing having a coronary outside his bedroom, and for that matter, wince when did Charles shout curses? Sure, he did curse, but even that was rare at best, and for him to be yelling….
Of course, Erik's first thought was that he'd finally gotten to him. Charles had been quiet after Erik's words in the study, and Erik had thought it best he let himself out. Now, though, nearly two hours later by his clock, it seemed Charles wasn't quite through with him.
Pulling up his trousers as he went, Erik was just tying the drawstring when he opened the door to reveal a very…flustered-looking Charles. His cheeks were flushed beet red, and his hair was tousled in the way it only got when he'd run his hands through it roughly and frequently.
Before Erik could even utter a greeting – or beg for his life, as might've been perhaps more apropos – Charles pushed past him inside and shut the door. Instantly, he was upon him, jamming his finger into Erik's bare chest like his own personal missile.
"What the hell did you do?" he demanded, his voice higher in both pitch and volume than Erik thought he'd ever heard.
Erik was taken aback. This was a side of Charles he'd never seen, and frankly, he wasn't sure he liked it. As funny as it was to see Charles lose control of his temper, he got the feeling some line had been crossed that shouldn't have been. "What do you mean, 'What did I do?'"
"You know precisely what I mean!" Charles snapped in response.
Up to that point, Erik had been backing away from Charles's advance into his room, but now, he stopped. In turn, Charles had no choice but to stop as well, or else barge straight into Erik. "No, Charles," Erik said firmly, "I'm afraid I don't. Now, if you'd be so kind as to tell me what my offense is before you send me to the gallows for it, I'd be much obliged."
"Raven!" Charles exclaimed.
"What about her?" He was suspicious, now. Had Raven told him that Erik did something to her? He'd kissed her, but that hadn't been purely illustrative – to make a point.
At the question, though, Charles seemed to lose some of his gusto. He opened his mouth, but then closed it, and then opened it again like a fish out of water, before closing it and turning away for a moment. His fist clenched at his side, though, and he turned back again. "What the hell did you tell her?"
"About what, Charles? What are you talking about?"
"She—I…in the kitchen. I was in the kitchen getting a drink, and she—God, Erik, I don't know what you told her, but you'd best take it back immediately!" He spoke so quickly Erik had a hard time figuring out what he was saying, and even then, he was still utterly in the dark.
"Would you just tell me what happened?"
"She was naked!" Charles snapped. "I was just minding my own business, and she just waltzed right in wearing nothing but a glower." He shuddered, running a hand through his mussed-up hair, and Erik noticed he paled considerably. "God…I saw everything."
"That's what this is about?" Erik deadpanned. "Your sister flashed you, and so automatically you come to the conclusion that I'm at fault?" Granted, he was, but he was curious as to how Charles arrived at the conclusion himself.
"You're the one that's always telling her not to hide and not to be ashamed of her mutation. That she should wear it proudly."
"As she should."
"Shut up, Erik. I'm not finished!"
Erik wisely shut up, and instead sat down on the bed, content to watch Charles as he paced back and forth.
"I thought she'd be happy…Hank told me he found a cure. I mentioned it, though, and she just got angry. I thought she wanted it – she'd never said otherwise, and you know I won't read her. How was I supposed to know she didn't want to look normal?"
Erik couldn't help cutting in there, though. "Who's to say what looks normal, Charles? If her natural form offends you so—"
"It doesn't!" Charles shouted. "I don't care what she looks like. She's my bloody sister, Erik, and I love her, but blue or white or green or purple, I'm notsupposedtoseehernaked!" Another shudder rippled through him and he made a distressed groaning sound as he brought his palms up to press against his eyes. Between what he'd said and how he was acting, finally, Erik couldn't help laughing. "It's not funny!" he said indignantly.
"On the contrary, my friend, it is. Quite. But you're right; I did have a talk with her, though in my defense, she seems to have taken it quite a bit farther than I intended."
"I knew it was your fault."
Though he was being scolded, Erik stood and smiled, walking over and wrapping his arms around his lover's shoulders and pulling him back into him. Mercifully, Charles didn't recoil when he leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. "She'll get over it," he assured him. "She's young and fickle. Give her time."
"And in the meantime? Between you and her, it's rather starting to feel like I'm as much the bad guy as Shaw."
The comment surprised Erik, caught him off guard. Was that really what Charles thought? But then…he guessed it made sense. He knew he'd been digging at Charles a lot for his beliefs lately, condemning him for his confidence in humans. And he knew Raven had been less than kind to him in regards to her looks. He just hadn't thought….
"Oh, Charles," he sighed, pulling him more firmly to his chest. "That isn't the way of things. I don't fault you for your kindness, and I'm sure Raven, for all her fits and tempers, knows that you have her best interests at heart."
"I'm not so sure I believe that," Charles said softly as he started to pull away.
"No you don't." Rather than letting him go, Erik held onto him, walking him backwards until at last he made him sit down on the bed. With him firmly in place, Erik knelt down in front of him and pressed a hand to his cheek. "Believe it, Charles. You are no one's antagonist; you've done more for any of us than we could ever have the right to ask of you, and still you do more." As he spoke, he rose, his hand still caressing Charles's soft skin. "You could never be like Shaw. Never in your heart, and never in my eyes, because I hate Shaw…and I love you." He let the words sink in for a moment, and then leaned forward to capture Charles's lightly-parted lips in a kiss.
And as he lay Charles down on the bed, reveling in the taste of his lips and the feel of his body against his, he couldn't help thinking maybe, with Charles by his side, peace was an option after all.
