#13: Stress
Rating: PG
Erik squeezes the bridge of his nose tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He has been bent over the hotel room desk, examining the government document on the mutant they've come to find and re-reading the same sentence for the past twenty minutes. He's got the start of a proper headache coming on, the stresses of traveling and trying to recruit people beginning to catch up to him.
Charles seems fine. He's off in another part of town, at some bar or nightclub or tavern or pub (they all started to blend together after a while), and he was perfectly fine with Erik's decision to stay at the hotel while he went out to look for their newest recruit.
Erik wonders for a second why Charles is so good at fending off stress when he himself is so terrible at it. Maybe it's because Charles doesn't ever seem to get upset. Is he even capable of it? If he yelled, would reality implode?
Hardly, my friend. Charles chuckles in his head. I'm just good at keeping myself calm.
How are things going? Erik thinks, wincing in pain as the man across the hall slams his door.
Charles makes a noise somewhere between apathy and annoyance. I found him. He wasn't interested. I'm going to head back to the hotel soon, I think.
That sounds fine. Lying down on the bed, Erik drapes his dark jacket over his face and tries to block out the glow of the streetlights outside. He can feel Charles' frown through their mental connection.
Erik? Are you all right?
I just have a headache, Charles. Don't worry about it.
There's a pause, a moment of silence, and then Erik gasps as he feels fingers wind through his hair, strong and warm and tender as they massage his scalp.
What are you doing?
I'm sending you a sense memory. Something to make you feel better. Charles' voice is soothing. Is it okay?
Erik can feel the stress already leaving him as the imaginary hands comb through his hair. Yes. Yes, it's perfect, thank you.