Christmas Day 1962
Christmas was going to be a disaster, Charles just knew it. His beautiful Christmas surprise had already been ruined. For a gift, Charles had planned to give Erik all the letters the two of them had written back and forth from Vietnam. Scott Summers had delivered some of Erik's personal effects to Charles when they'd thought him dead; Charles had both the letters and the tiny silver chess king he'd sent as a Christmas present to Vietnam. Charles had pictured Erik and himself reading their letters to each other on Christmas day and reminiscing. The paper snowflakes had revealed the danger of reminiscence. Erik had disappeared into a sergeant mood for days. Charles didn't know which frightened him more - the flashes of anger, or the moments when Erik was just gone even when he was sitting in the same room.
The sudden change in gift plans left him scrambling, looking for a Christmas present at the last minute that would convey some of the depth of Charles' feelings for Erik. He ended up with a cookbook instead.
"Really, I love it Charles. Thank you," Erik said sincerely, which made Charles feel worse.
His spirits sank even lower when Erik brought out his gift for Charles, a large flat rectangle professionally wrapped in red paper and tied with a gold ribbon. Charles tore the paper off and stared in disbelief, tears springing to his eyes. "Wherever did you find this?"
"There's an art studio on 24th," Erik said with a delighted smile. "I had it done on commission."
Now Charles really was going to cry. He'd given Erik a cookbook, and Erik had commissioned an artist to create a full color copy of Tolkien's map of Middle Earth and framed it in stained oak with beveled edges.
"Charles, lover, those are happy tears, right?" Erik said, squeezing Charles' shoulder.
Charles wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. "Of course they are."
Hank and Raven came to fetch Charles and Erik to drive out to Christmas dinner at Hank's family home in Kensington, the posh suburbs ten miles outside of the city. Charles and Erik each carried an apple pie in a box. For the past three weeks, Erik had been baking apple pies, working towards perfection. Charles was sick of apple pie, but if anyone today said anything slightly less than ecstatic about Erik's apple pies, he was going to rip their throats out. One of the pies had a woven lattice top; the other was decorated with a pie crust Christmas tree and stars, the shapes carefully cut out with a knife. Erik had seen the idea on the cover of Good Housekeeping and spent an entire off-shift baking pie crust shapes until he could create ones that wouldn't break when they baked over apple pie filling.
Charles had gently tried to ply Raven for information on how Hank's family felt about having a Jew come for Christmas dinner. Had they offered to invite him? Or had Raven insisted over their protests? Raven hadn't picked up on his hints and Charles hadn't wanted to ask outright. It didn't seem to him that Hank liked Erik very much, and he worried about all the endless ways a Jew at Christmas dinner with a dozen WASPs could become awkward. Even worse, what if something set Erik off? What if Hank's father spouted unwelcome opinions about the Vietnam war? What if Marigold had made paper snowflakes?
"How many people did you say would be there?" Charles asked as they drove through the slushy streets towards the city limits.
"Just my family, so my parents and Marigold, and then my aunt and uncle from Connecticut will be there with their four kids. I think their youngest is seven this year, then on up to 16 years old. You would have met them at the wedding."
As if he or Erik would be able to remember.
Erik was wearing the blue suit Charles had bought him for Raven's wedding, the only formal outfit he owned. Charles and Hank were in ties and blazers they typically wore to teach school. Raven had gone all out - she was in a red silk confection with satin trim at the wrists and collar. Raven had turned 21 a few months ago, and so had access to her trust fund account. Charles wondered if that's where she'd gotten the money for such an extravagant party dress.
Hank drove them to a brick rambler with leafless honey locust trees in the front yard and an evergreen wreath on the door. Marigold, Hank's 12-year-old sister who had enjoyed ordering Charles around so much at the wedding, met them at the front door and tried to take the pie box from Charles. Charles lifted it out of her reach, not willing to entrust Erik's pie to anyone.
"Mom says I'm helping with the food today!" Marigold announced.
"Manners, Marigold," Mrs. McCoy said, coming to rescue the guests from her officious daughter. Mrs. McCoy had a ruffled apron on over her blue crepe Christmas dress, with her hair in a beehive hairdo. Charles did not like the beehive hairdos that had become so popular. So many women were already taller than he was; he didn't think they needed to pile their hair up another six inches.
They were introduced to Mrs. McCoy's sister and her husband, Betty and Dan Nash. Betty also had a beehive hairdo, and cats-eye glasses. Frank McCoy was downstairs helping the boys with the electric train they'd gotten from Santa Claus that morning.
"You can set the pies there," Mrs. Nash said. "Can I peek?"
Charles and Erik set down their pie boxes and Mrs. Nash opened one. "Goodness gracious! Which bakery did that?"
"I baked them," Erik said.
Mrs. Nash gave him a curious look. "You did?"
"Yes, ma'am," Erik replied politely.
"Men can't make pies," Marigold stated.
"Manners, Marigold," said Mrs. McCoy. "It appears that Mr. Lehnsherr can make pies."
"I bet it doesn't taste good," Marigold said, more quietly.
Charles wanted to shake her. If she'd made paper snowflakes too, her life was in serious danger.
Raven poked her head around the stairwell. "Come on, you two!"
Mrs. Nash made shooing motions. "Go on, we've got to get dinner ready and we don't need men underfoot."
The downstairs opened up into an enormous family room, big enough for a pool table on one end, a Christmas tree in another corner, and a table and shelf full of board games. A Bing Crosby Christmas album played on the record player. Charles met the Nash's two daughters, Sue Ellen was 16 and Annie was 7, and the two sons, Douglas and Eddie, who were 13 and 10.
Charles was drawn to the electric train set, with die-cast metal cars and a track that came apart so you could build it into different shapes. Charles wondered why he hadn't had something like this when he was a boy, and he and Hank got quite involved in building a series of tunnels out of books and boxes for the train to run through. Douglas and Eddie wanted the train to run up a hill, and got a stack of board games to make a hill. Hank went into teacher mode and made his young cousins sketch out the angles and estimate the acceleration and decide whether the train would make it up the board game hill before they tried it out. Every so often the crack of a pool ball came from the table where Mr. McCoy and Mr. Nash were playing pool.
It was quite some time before Charles thought to wonder where Erik was. He looked around. Erik was sitting next to the Nash's youngest daughter, Annie, who wore a smocked green dress with her hair in careful ringlets. They appeared to be playing paper dolls. As Charles watched, Annie handed him a card, and Erik carefully punched out the paper dress and folded the tabs over the doll's shoulders to keep the dress in place. The little girl seized Erik's hand and looked closely. Charles couldn't hear them, but it looked like she was examining the scars on his hands and Erik was letting her do it.
There was the patter of feet on the stairs, and then Marigold announced, "Mom says it's time for dinner!"
"Food!" Douglas and Eddie bellowed in unison, and charged for the stairs, Eddie neglecting to put his tie back on.
Charles let Raven and Sue Ellen go ahead of him, and hung back to walk upstairs with Erik and Annie.
"My daughter giving you a hard time?" Mr. Nash asked Erik, with a slap on the back.
"She's charming," Erik said.
"Daddy, he's got scars on his hands like yours!" Annie announced.
"Hank mentioned you'd been wounded," Mr. Nash said. "Mine are from a fire, didn't actually get my hands. Shirt went up in flames and burned my arm." Mr. Nash tugged the sleeve of his dress shirt up a few inches and showed the red ridges of scar tissue on his left arm.
Charles watched Erik's face carefully for a reaction, ready to step in and defuse the situation, but Erik seemed fine so far.
By this time, they'd reached the dining room, where Marigold informed all of them that they had assigned places and needed to find their place card and sit in that seat. The table was exquisite - the white china plates were edged with painted flowers, silver candlesticks sat at both ends of the table, wicks lit. An evergreen centerpiece with holly berries graced the center. Each place setting had three forks and linen napkins. The wine glasses marked the adults' seats.
"I want to sit by Mr. Lehnsherr," Annie said shyly, still holding onto Erik's arm.
"Hold on with both hands," Erik said, then flexed his arm and lifted Annie off her feet while she giggled.
"Don't bother the man," Mr. Nash told his daughter.
"It's no bother," Erik replied. "I'd be thrilled to sit by Anya."
Annie went off into more giggles. "You said my name wrong!"
A shadow crossed Erik's face, a shiver, and then he turned inwards in that way that made Charles' heart sink. Something was going to go terribly wrong.
"I'm going to go ask Aunt Janice if I can sit by Mr. Lehnsherr," Annie announced, and darted into the kitchen, Marigold following her to tell her the seat assignments could not be changed.
Mrs. McCoy came out, drying her hands on a towel. "Douglas, go help your mother fetch the rest of the food from the neighbor's. We had to borrow our neighbor's oven to get everything cooked today," Mrs. McCoy explained, "now what's this about the seating?"
"Annie wants to sit by Erik," Mr. Nash said, "I told him he doesn't need to let her bother him."
Annie was in a heated argument with Marigold, so only the adults heard Erik's reply. "My daughter Anya was Annie's age when she died. I would be very happy to sit by her if it isn't too inconvenient."
There were a few seconds of stunned silence while the adults processed what Erik had just said, and then Mrs. McCoy bustled over to the table and traded out place cards and wine glasses while Annie crowed in glee at her victory and Marigold huffed indignantly.
Raven was giving Charles an incredulous look, and he could only shake his head in reply. In all the distraction of Erik being declared dead and his slow recovery in Bellview, Charles had somehow managed to forget that one bit of information that Erik had shared with him in one of their last letters. He felt terribly insensitive about it now, and worried that it was going to cause an issue. If he couldn't even handle the memory of paper snowflakes, how was he going to get through an entire evening with a child who reminded him of his daughter? Charles wanted to pack Erik up and take him home right now.
None of the adults pried further, and within a few minutes all of them were seated at the table and Mr. McCoy was saying grace.
Mrs. Nash and Mrs. McCoy handed around the platters of food that wouldn't fit on the table, which was loaded down with Jell-O salad that Raven had made, green bean casserole, sugar snap peas, broccoli salad, mashed potatoes and gravy, and baskets of rolls. Mrs. Nash handed Erik the platter of sliced turkey and gave the platter of ham to Hank.
"Oh, wow!" Douglas hollered. "We get turkey today too?"
"Yes, we have ham and turkey today," Marigold boasted. "We had to cook the turkey at the neighbor's house because they wouldn't all fit in our oven."
"Marigold, children are to be seen and not heard," Mrs. McCoy said.
Erik served himself turkey, and put a slice on Annie's plate before passing the platter to Mr. Nash.
"Aunt Betty, you forgot to give Mr. Lehnsherr the ham too," Marigold said.
"Shush, Marigold, Mr. Lehnsherr doesn't eat ham," Mrs. Nash said.
That was true, Charles reflected. Erik wasn't kosher enough to turn down a cheeseburger, but Charles had never seen Erik eat any pork product. They never had bacon, sausage or ham for breakfast. He never ordered ham sandwiches when they ate at a cafe. Charles had bought pork chops once, and they had become unrecognizable with freezer burn before Erik had thrown them out.
"Why not?" Marigold demanded.
"Marigold! That's enough!" Mr. McCoy said, and Marigold subsided into grumblings.
Erik nodded in acknowledgement and gave them half a smile, then dished Annie some green bean casserole while she rolled her eyes in disgust.
Mr. Nash and Mr. McCoy started discussing the latest news about John Glenn becoming the first American to orbit the earth, and the updates on the space race with the Soviets. With several scientists at the table, the conversation about space exploration became lively. Charles was relieved to see Erik jump in, his interest in current events and science keeping him connected to his surroundings. Then he became curious about how Erik knew so many details about space travel. Where had he picked up the fact that earth's escape speed was seven miles per second? And he was referring to gravity wells and re-entry shields like he worked for NASA instead of a steel factory. Mr. McCoy and Hank were both taking him seriously, and they were real scientists. Mr. Nash started asking Erik questions about space travel, saying his explanations made more sense than when Frank tried to explain it.
When the conversation lulled, Annie said, "I'm going to be an astronaut when I grow up!"
Eddie snorted. "Girls can't be astronauts!"
Annie's bottom lip trembled. "I'm good at math! I'm learning my times tables already!"
"In second grade?" Charles said. "That's very good. I have third graders who are barely starting to learn their times tables. You are good at math."
Erik gave him a grateful look. "You keep studying math, Annie. Some day, girls will be astronauts too."
"No way!" Douglas said, "you have to be an Air Force pilot first, and girls can't join the Air Force."
"Douglas, you know better than to contradict an adult," Mr. Nash said.
"Sorry," Douglas muttered.
Annie stuck her tongue out at Douglas. "Mr. Xavier says I'm good at math. So there!"
The conversation turned back to science. Mr. McCoy brought up the Cuban Missile Crisis, which had paralyzed the world just two months ago, and Mrs. McCoy cut him off with a quiet, "not at Christmas dinner, Frank," and he dropped it, returning to rocket ships.
Charles tensed, waiting for someone to say something about the war in Vietnam. The argument about whether the United States should be fighting in Vietnam at all was getting more heated, and some people were venting their frustration on the returning soldiers. After Erik read an article in the newspaper about it last week, he'd been edgy all evening. Charles tried to read the article too so they could talk about it, and Erik actually yanked the newspaper out of his hands and then yelled at him when he tried to insist that Erik give it back. The episode had been both hurtful and humiliating, and he was worried about Erik blowing up at their hosts if anyone said the wrong thing.
Under the cover of the conversation about rocket fuel, Raven leaned over and said, "You look like you're about to jump out of your skin. What's wrong?"
Charles considered dissembling, but if Erik did have a breakdown, it would be Hank and Raven driving them home, so maybe he should prepare Raven. "I'm wondering if Erik might have a hard time if someone says the wrong thing about Vietnam."
"No worries, brother, Hank told them not to talk about Vietnam. Besides, Mr. Nash is a Korean war vet. He wouldn't say anything to upset Erik."
Charles was both pleased and surprised. That was nice of Hank. And look at Mr. Nash, a veteran with a family and a job. Living with Erik made Charles appreciate the success stories and wonder how they'd happened.
"Charles."
"Hmm?"
"Why didn't you tell me Erik had a daughter?" Raven whispered as the conversation moved on to the possibility of discovering alien life on Mars.
Charles considered. It would be too humiliating to admit that he'd forgotten something so important just because it had been less important than everything else. It hadn't come up in their time together, likely because Erik didn't really talk to him about any of the things that hurt him, and Charles had just let her existence slip entirely from his mind. Charles had to give Raven an answer, so he just said, "It isn't something he talks about. I was surprised he brought it up." Which was all technically true, even if it did leave the wrong impression.
Raven nodded.
Hank mentioned H.G. Wells and The War of the Worlds and Charles jumped into the conversation.
After dinner, Erik and Charles surprised the rest of the men at the table by offering to do the dishes. Mrs. McCoy and Mrs. Nash exchanged looks, and then agreed. Both of them took off their suit coats, rolled up their sleeves, and tied on the aprons the women offered them. Douglas and Eddie laughed until their father ordered them to help clear the table. Annie, who would have followed Erik to the moon by this point, dragged a chair over to the kitchen sink and squirted far too much soap into the dishpan.
Charles smiled indulgently as Erik awkwardly tied slipknots into apron strings to make the apron fit Annie. "We don't want to get your pretty dress wet," he told her.
"Yes, I'm not supposed to get dirty today," Annie replied, playing with the bubbles.
"You look like a princess," Erik assured her, tracing a ringlet with his fingertip.
"You know what I'd do if I was a princess?" Annie commenced discussing her goals for princesshood.
Charles was torn between thinking that watching the big man seriously discuss princess issues with a little girl was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen, and fretting about when Erik would break down. He still seemed to be doing fine, but every minute that passed without a breakdown seemed to wind Charles tighter as he waited for the inevitable. A man who couldn't deal with paper snowflakes couldn't possible deal with the ghost of his deceased child.
Erik washed, Annie rinsed, and Charles dried. Nothing bad happened, except for when Charles broke the stem of a wineglass by rubbing it too hard in his tension. He was terribly embarrassed, but Mrs. McCoy said not to worry about it and refused to let Charles pay for it. The crowning humiliation was when Erik leaned over to whisper something, and Charles hoped Erik was going to confide in him and ask for his help, and all Erik said was, "lighten up a little, you look like you're going to your own hanging."
Charles stayed in the kitchen, washing the countertops, when Erik joined Mr. McCoy, Mr. Nash, and Hank in the sitting room and Annie ran off to get her paper dolls. Sue Ellen and Raven were experimenting with hairstyles in the bathroom.
After the women shooed him out of the kitchen, Charles considered going back to the train set, then decided to join the men instead. All the good seats were taken, so Charles perched on the piano bench. Mr. McCoy was smoking a pipe and talking to Hank about more of their cousins. Mr. Nash and Erik were on the couch, talking in voices too low to include Charles in the conversation, but he did catch enough to realize they were trading war stories. Charles was stung to the quick. Erik never talked to him about the war, and here he was opening his life to a veritable stranger.
He was almost glad when Marigold came in to announce that Mom said it was time to play Christmas charades. The teams split along family lines, with Charles on the McCoys' team with Raven, and Erik on the Nashes' team because Annie refused to play unless Mr. Lehnsherr was on her team. Annie seated herself on Erik's lap, her shiny black patent leather Mary Janes kicking Erik's shins as she swung her feet.
When it was Charles' turn, Marigold disqualified him. "You can't say 'ho, ho, ho' in charades. Don't you know how to play? You're not supposed to say words," she informed him.
"Ho, ho, ho, doesn't count as a word," Charles argued. He was entirely fed up with Marigold.
"Any sound is a word," Marigold pronounced with queenly finality.
"I'm on your team. Why are you trying to get me out?" Charles asked.
"Charles, you're arguing with a twelve-year-old girl," Raven said. "Just admit you're out."
Embarrassed, Charles sat down.
When it was Erik's turn, he got permission to include Annie, then had her stand on his shoes while he waltzed her around the room until his team guessed Dancer the reindeer. Annie shrieked with glee. Charles sulkily wondered why Marigold didn't disqualify Annie for making sounds too.
The McCoys lost, and Marigold told Charles it was all his fault.
"Marigold, leave Mr. Xavier alone and come help carry plates. We can't cut these pies until everyone has seen them," Mrs. McCoy said.
She and Mrs. Nash set the pies on the table and everyone was appropriately impressed with the designs Erik had baked into the pie crust. Then they handed around plates of apple pie with vanilla ice cream and the compliments kept rolling in.
"How come you cook stuff?" Eddie finally asked.
"It tastes good," Erik said with a shrug. "I live with Charles; he doesn't cook at all, so someone has to make sure we've got something to live on."
Everyone laughed, and Charles decided not to point out that he could make sandwiches, pancakes and scrambled eggs. He'd survived just fine before Erik moved in.
"I bet your unit appreciated you," Mr. Nash said.
"I've got a story about that," Erik said. "Charles is the reason we had a decent Christmas dinner a couple years ago in 'Nam. I'd never gone near the mess tent, and I was the grumpiest sergeant you'd ever seen," he paused to pull a face that made Annie laugh, "then Charles started writing to me, and it cheered me up so much I actually made friends. That Christmas, I took over the cooking and all my men loved it. Looking back, the food probably wasn't much better than usual, but I guess the effort meant enough that they pretended to like it." Erik smiled at Charles, and Charles lit up, until he remembered they were just supposed to be casual friends and looked down at his pie to hide his expression.
"You were pen pals?" Annie asked.
"So that's how you two met," Mrs. Nash said.
"My school class sent care packages and letters to the soldiers," Charles added. "I wrote a letter, and Erik wrote back."
Erik and Charles very carefully did not look at each other, but Charles felt warm all the way through. Most importantly, Erik had told a story about Vietnam without a shadow crossing his blue-gray eyes. In fact, he was laughing with Mr. Nash about how terrible Army food can be. Perhaps Charles' Christmas surprise wasn't entirely ruined after all. If Erik could safely reminisce about Vietnam, Charles could make up for giving Erik that dreadful cookbook. Not the traumatic things, of course Charles wouldn't pry into all the terrible things Erik didn't want to talk about, but surely there were more stories like Erik helping with Christmas dinner. There were safe parts of Vietnam that Erik could share with Charles. The fantasy played out in Charles' head - what he would say, what Erik would reply, Erik admitting that it helped to talk and thanking Charles for listening, Charles assuring Erik that he loved him and would listen to him whenever he wanted.
In the kitchen afterward, when they were cleaning up the food, Mrs. McCoy asked if she could keep the rest of the apple pie, and trade them for leftovers. Charles, who never wanted to see apple pie again as long as he lived, enthusiastically agreed. Erik transferred what was left of the pie to Mrs. McCoy's dishes, and washed the pie pans for the women to fill with leftovers.
"Don't give them ham, Janice, what are you thinking?" Mrs. Nash said.
"This plate is for Charles. Obviously I won't put ham on Erik's plate," Mrs. McCoy replied.
"Thank you," Erik said.
"Mr. Lehnsherr! Mr. Lehnsherr!" Annie danced into the kitchen. "My daddy says I can ask for your address and be your pen pal!"
"He does?" Erik said. He turned towards Charles and said, "I'm replacing you," then turned back to Annie. "Let's go find a paper and I'll write down my address."
"I'll draw you a picture, Mr. Lehnsherr, what should I draw?" Annie was holding Erik's hand and jumping her way out of the kitchen.
"A picture of you as an astronaut, on your way to the moon," Erik said as he walked away.
Mrs. Nash smiled indulgently as her youngest daughter pulled Erik out of the kitchen. "You know, Janice, I was a little worried when you said you were inviting a Jew to Christmas dinner. I had no idea he'd be so charming." Then she put her hands to her face. "Goodness gracious! I didn't meant that the way it sounded!"
"I'm always surprised when Erik is charming too. And I think you've both been more than kind," Charles said. He meant every word. Erik was probably the first Jew either one of them had spent time with, since the suburbs were not known for religious diversity. Not only had they avoided Bible readings and a nativity play tonight, but they'd gone to the trouble of adding turkey to the menu, even though they'd had to borrow their neighbor's oven to cook it.
"Well, aren't you sweet," Mrs. McCoy said.
Charles got hugged by both of them.
Charles spent the drive home thinking of the million questions he wanted to ask Erik as soon as they were alone, and all the other things he wanted to do once they were alone. Erik was devastatingly handsome in that blue suit that complemented his eyes so well, with that ginger tinge to his hair that Charles only noticed in certain lights. He'd been so relaxed and easy-going tonight, those thin and sensuous lips curving often into a smile. Charles forgave Erik for all the time he'd wasted needlessly worrying about him. That was one of the questions he wanted to ask: How did you do so well tonight? Why can't you handle the memory of paper snowflakes, but the memory of your daughter just makes you more charming? How can I tell the difference between a situation that's going to throw you into a flashback, and a situation that you're going to handle just fine?
When they reached their apartment, Charles started with an easy question. "How did you know all those details about space travel?"
Erik burst out laughing, a huge shark grin splitting his face. "Science fiction novels. Robert A. Heinlein puts all these space travel details into his novels. I kept waiting for someone to call me out as a total fake, but they never did."
Charles joined in the laughter, following Erik into his room where they both shucked off their jackets and started untying ties.
Erik's good mood forced Charles to consider whether he wanted to risk ruining that good mood by asking the wrong question, or just enjoy Erik's happiness and let the real issues continue to slide. He steeled himself and decided to take the risk.
"Annie is very taken with you. I didn't stop to think about how having Christmas with a family who has a young daughter might remind you of Anya. We've never really talked about her. I'm so sorry for what happened, Erik."
All the laughter disappeared from Erik's eyes, and he turned his back on Charles to hang up his jacket. "Thank you."
Charles waited, but Erik didn't add anything.
"What happened to her mother?" Charles finally asked.
"Magda left me when Anya died. I'd already joined the Army by then. I found out my family was gone when I came home on leave. It all happened before I shipped out to Vietnam," Erik said, his voice brusque.
Charles put a hand on Erik's shoulder. "I'm sorry."
Erik held still for just a second, then shook Charles off. "It's in the past."
"That doesn't mean it can't hurt." Charles unbuttoned his shirt to cover the awkward moment.
"Don't leave your mess in here," Erik said.
Charles, who had never planned on leaving his clothes all over Erik's floor, scooped up his jacket, shirt and tie and crossed the hall to throw them on his bed. He left his pants, shoes and socks on the floor, and yanked on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, hurrying to get back to Erik so they could continue this conversation.
The creak of the medicine cabinet door told Charles that Erik had just swallowed a tranquilizer, which meant their conversation was going to come to an abrupt end in about 15 minutes. Charles never could keep his feelings off his face, and Erik noticed his disappointment. He caught Charles' chin in his hand and kissed him briefly. "Aren't you as tired as I am?"
"I wanted to keep talking. I've never heard you talk like you did at the McCoys. You even told a story about Vietnam, Erik! We could talk," Charles pleaded.
"You know I don't like talking about Vietnam, Charles," Erik said. Charles followed him back into his room.
"But you did it anyway! You talked. You could talk to me. Why will you tell war stories to Mr. Nash, but not me? I may not be able to understand all of it, but I could understand more than you think if you'd just give me a chance!"
"Charles, look, it's not about whether or not you'd understand," Erik started. Charles could tell he was searching for words, so he kept his mouth shut and waited anxiously for Erik to actually communicate something important to him. "There's a lot of stuff in my past that I don't want contaminating my future. All that about the war, and Magda, and . . . ." A shadow dimmed the openness in Erik's eyes. "You're here, Charles, you're my future. I don't want you mucking around in my past and raking up a whole bunch of things I don't want to think about anymore."
But you think about them anyway! No one can split their life in two like that, and just pretend their past never happened. You think you're handling it, but I'm the one who gets hurt when you can't. You yell at me; you disappear into your head even when you're right here; I can't ever predict how you'll react to anything. I know you love me, but would you please need me too?
Instead of saying any of that, Charles searched for words he could actually say to Erik. "I don't mean to pry, but I do think it would help if you talked out some of these things."
Rather than answer him, Erik's hands went into his hair and Erik's mouth landed on his.
Charles pushed him away. "Don't kiss me just to make me shut up!"
"Then how else do I get you to shut up?" Erik's tone was teasing, but his eyes weren't.
Charles pressed his lips tightly together to keep them from shaking. "Well, that worked just fine. Good night, Erik." Charles went into his own room, and left the door ajar in case Erik wanted to follow him and apologize. When Erik didn't come in, Charles told himself it was because the tranquilizer took effect too quickly. He curled up on his side and stared at the wall. Christmas had been a hard day after all, but not for any of the reasons Charles had expected.
