Charles ripped up lettuce leaves and put them in a covered bowl, then started slicing tomatoes. Since Erik hadn't fixed the stew last night, they were going to be living on sandwiches for the next four days. Charles could get sandwich fixings ready. It didn't seem like he was very effective at anything else right now. Last year at this time, he'd been helping plan Raven's wedding, and excitedly toying with the idea of asking Erik to move in with him. If he'd known what it would really be like, would he still have offered?
He loved Erik, but. There was always a 'but' at the end of that sentence now. The highs and lows of life with Erik were starting to break Charles apart, and he was beginning to wonder when enough was enough. Would they be better off away from each other? Erik never wanted Charles around on the bad days anyway. Perhaps Erik would secretly be relieved at the suggestion that he get his own place.
Four nights ago, Erik had given Charles the best night of his life, following it up the next day by declaring he would marry Charles if he could. Then he'd given Charles that terrifying suicide scare, and then last night. Charles' thoughts trailed off. Erik shouldn't have knocked him down. He was going to have to confront Erik about that sort of behavior, and he was scared. But Dr. Swann kept hammering into his head that he couldn't let Erik hurt him. Charles still didn't believe Erik would ever seriously hurt him, but he had to draw a line and stand up for himself.
He wondered if he should call Dr. Swann again. He'd talked to Dr. Swann last week, before Erik had taken him to meet the men on his shift, and had poured out what now seemed to Charles to be very standard and normal worries. Nothing compared to the severe highs and lows of this week. "Things are going to get worse before they get better," Dr. Swann had warned him. "I can't do much if Lehnsherr won't come in though." Charles had blurted out his worst fears, which were mainly centered around things he'd read in the newspaper about Vietnam veterans doing terrible things like jumping off bridges, or getting arrested for assault.
"Charles, those are the worst of the worst. Lehnsherr isn't going there. Some vets just have a gradual breakdown. If Lehnsherr does snap, I doubt it will be anything that ends up in the newspaper. Calm down," Dr. Swann had said.
Charles tried to calm down, he really did. Perhaps Erik wouldn't end up in the newspaper, but he could go back to that other terrible threat - to leave Charles for his own good. Last night's version of Erik was so close to the man he'd met a year and a half ago in the wheelchair at Bellview, the one who had ordered him to get out and stay away for his own good. Charles was terrified that when Erik got to the point where he snapped, he would leave and Charles wouldn't know where to find him. Charles felt like he could deal with anything at all, other than Erik leaving.
Wait, no. He was considering asking Erik to move out. If Erik left on his own, that would save Charles the agony of a confrontation. But how would he get along without Erik? He didn't want Erik to leave. He wanted Sergeant Lehnsherr to leave. In Erik's attempt to split his life in two, he'd split Charles in two along with him.
Charles finished with the tomatoes and put the lid on the container just as the phone rang. Toweling off his hands, Charles picked up the receiver and said hello.
"Is this Charles Xavier?"
"Yes, speaking."
"This is Dale. I work with Lehnsherr. I met you a few days ago when you came with the shift for drinks. Remember me?"
"Of course I do. How are you?" The pleasantries came automatically, though Charles could tell from the tension in Dale's voice that this wasn't a social call.
"Do you remember Mitch? He drew that sketch for you."
"Yes."
"Mitch died. Today. Just a few hours ago. Lehnsherr was right next to him when the accident happened. Lehnsherr's not hurt, but he flipped out. I told him not to leave. We've got the fire department here, the police, about ninety guys from some safety office and another dozen from the union and I lost track of him. Lehnsherr left. He's not in great shape, Charles. I take it he isn't home yet?"
Charles' heart seemed to have climbed up into his head where it was beating so loudly in his ears that he had a hard time hearing his own voice when he told Dale that Erik had not yet come home, then doubled in volume when he realized he'd just admitted to a man on Erik's shift that he and Erik lived together. Why had Dale assumed that Charles would answer Erik's telephone?
"Damn. I couldn't understand him. He kept freaking out about a dam breaking, but that's not what happened. The ladle spilled. I don't know what he was talking about. I'd come help you look for him, but I was involved in the accident too and I can't leave until I've talked to everybody. I had to insist on ten minutes so I could call you. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I just wanted to let you know what happened."
"How long ago did he leave?" Charles asked.
"Less than two hours ago. I don't know for sure."
"Thank you for calling," Charles said, and hung up on Dale's continued apologies.
Erik's dam had broken. In the opaque and unknowable mess inside Erik's head, Charles knew only the one image and he'd worried about it obsessively ever since Erik had tried to describe it. Charles' first thought was to hide the knives. He wrapped them in kitchen towels and shoved them behind the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink. The tranquilizers were already hidden. They didn't own any guns. He was considering the next topic to panic about when he realized he should call Dr. Swann. He dialed the telephone number and let it ring fourteen times before he hung up. He was on his own.
At first, Charles was frantic about what would happen when Erik came home; then he was even more frantic about what might happen if Erik did not come home. He wouldn't even know where to start looking if Erik had a two hour head start on getting lost. Charles ran down the stairs to the street and walked to Erik's bus stop, waited and paced for ten or fifteen minutes, and then went home again, where he made a list of telephone numbers for hospitals and police stations and decided he couldn't start calling them quite yet.
Charles had worked himself into such a fret that when he finally heard Erik's heavy steps on the stairs, he was both relieved and happy, emotions that evaporated in an instant when Erik slammed the door behind him, gusting the acrid smell of the steel factory into the apartment. "Erik?"
Charles was suddenly very close to Erik's scorched forehead because Erik had seized him around the waist and pulled him up to his toes. "Ich bin noch da; du bist immer noch hier." His voice was ragged; his hands dug into Charles' belly. Charles grabbed Erik's shoulders to keep his balance.
Again, Erik gasped out, "ich bin noch da; du bist immer noch hier," and shook Charles for emphasis. Charles toes slipped, and the loss of balance combined with Erik's hold on his waist bent him over the back of a kitchen chair and shards of pain from that old spinal injury radiated out. Every warning he'd ever heard from Dr. Swann about not letting Erik hurt him was pounding through his head and he brought his arm up and pressed back hard against Erik's throat.
Gasping for breath, Erik pulled Charles' arm away from his throat.
"Tell me what you're saying! You know I don't understand German. At least tell me what you're saying!"
There was enough of a pause that Charles wasn't sure if Erik had even understood the request, but he finally translated it as,"I'm still here; you're still here," and then the fight went out of him and he backed up, letting Charles put his weight back on his feet and step away from the chair.
"Yes, I'm still here. I'm always here this time of day," Charles said, an edge of anger in his voice because anger was better than letting his voice tremble with fear. He rubbed his back, measuring the distance to the door and wishing Erik wasn't in the way. Then he glanced at Erik and got caught in his gaze.
"Charles?" Erik asked, his voice broken and his eyes full of confusion and pain. Charles had never seen Erik look so lost.
"I'm here, Erik," Charles said, and placed a hand on Erik's neck, moving cautiously in case Erik tried to push him to the floor like last time. His forehead was scorched, but Charles couldn't tell if his cheeks were burned or just flushed.
"Charles?" Erik asked again.
Erik's mouth and chin were twisting, and with shock Charles realized that Erik was trying not to cry. He'd never seen Erik this close to tears, and the big man's vulnerability pulled at Charles, tangling up his emotions even more. "Erik, you're home, you're with me, it's all right." Charles tried to pull Erik into an embrace without aggravating his back pain further, but Erik wouldn't cooperate.
"I killed him, Charles, I killed Mitch," Erik said in a broken voice.
"No, you didn't," Charles protested.
"How would you know? You weren't there; don't patronize me!" Erik bellowed at him. Then he erupted into German.
The upstairs neighbors hit their ceiling with the mop. Before the mop handle could strike their ceiling a second time, Charles was flat on the ground, his chin smarting from where he'd hit the floor, Erik lying halfway on top of him.
"Erik!"
Erik's heavy hand covered his mouth. "Shut up!" Erik hissed in a whisper. "You want to get us shot?"
Charles put his head down on his arm and waited a few minutes quietly before turning away from Erik's hand and whispering, "Sergeant Lehnsherr, I think they're gone."
It took another few moments for Erik to react, tension clear in his body before he nodded and echoed, "They're gone."
Charles choked back a sob of confusion. He was in over his head and had no idea what to do.
Erik stood up, hauling Charles to his feet when he stumbled. His back hurt so badly right now that he had to cling to Erik to avoid falling over. "Erik," Charles gasped, ducking his head and reaching out with his hand to balance against a wall and get some distance from Erik. "What if I get you a tranquilizer?"
Erik stopped, some bit of clarity coming back to his expression, enough at least that Charles thought Erik recognized him again. That clarity changed rapidly to sadness and confusion and he asked, "Do you want me to leave? I should leave."
That stopped Charles cold as several scenarios flashed through his mind. Dr. Swann's warning to not let Erik hurt him was colliding with Charles' fear that Erik might hurt himself. Risking an injury from Erik might be the lesser of two evils. If he told Erik to leave now, sent him out into the city with these violent emotions tearing him apart and no safe place to go, he would have to pick Erik up from a police station, or worse.
Erik could not leave.
"I don't want you to leave," Charles said, and he meant it. "Let me look at that burn."
He tugged on Erik's hand and led him into the bathroom where he sat him down on the edge of the bathtub and opened the medicine cabinet. While he dabbed some burn ointment onto Erik's forehead, he started talking to him in a soft singsong, a reassuring prattle about being home in New York, safe in an apartment, nothing was going to hurt him here. Erik sat quietly while Charles tended to him, and Charles hoped the worst of it was over.
After putting the burn ointment away so Erik couldn't get upset that he'd left something out, Charles took Erik's hands and pulled him to his feet. "Come sit on the couch with me. Let me wrap you up in a blanket and read to you, any book you want. You're fine; you're safe; you're home; I love you." Charles went back to the singsong reassurance. The part of him that wasn't terrified and overwhelmed was slowly starting to wonder if Erik was actually going to let Charles help him.
They'd taken two steps into the hallway when Erik froze. "Did you hear that?" Erik hissed at him, looking around intently. "Footsteps."
"The footsteps came from the neighbors," Charles said. "I heard it too, but it's just the neighbors."
"Neighbors?"
"Erik, you're safe in New York. This isn't Vietnam. You're safe."
"You have to stay away!" Erik said fiercely. "You'll get hurt! You don't go anywhere near Vietnam, you hear me? Get away!"
Erik had a hand on his arm, and Charles twisted out of his grasp. "You don't touch me if you're upset, you understand? Don't hurt me."
Erik stopped cold at that. "I would never hurt you, Charles. But I have to keep you away from Vietnam."
"No, you don't. Vietnam can't hurt me, Erik."
An expression of utter bewilderment crossed Erik's features.
Charles pressed his advantage. "You're safe here, Erik, and so am I. There aren't any enemy soldiers here. I'm already far away from Vietnam. You don't have to worry about keeping me away from Vietnam."
During this speech, Charles had held out a hand and Erik had taken it. Slowly, Charles drew Erik into the living room, feeling like he had a wild animal by the hand and not knowing if he could tame it or if it would attack him. He shook out a blanket and wrapped Erik up, pulling the bigger man's head down to his chest as Charles leaned back on the couch, stuffing an extra pillow under his back to ease the ache. Erik's arms went around his middle; his stiff body felt wooden under Charles' hands as Charles tried to massage his shoulders and neck into relaxation. Instead, an animal noise burst from Erik, a wail of pain that he tried to smother against Charles' collarbone.
"Erik?"
"Those ladles carry twenty tons of molten iron. Mitch never looked up. It wasn't Dale's fault; that lever sticks. Gene didn't throw the lock switch on the forklift. I couldn't get there fast enough, Charles. My hand slipped off his foot. That ladle dumped all over Mitch. He didn't even have time to scream before he was dead - that molten iron is near 2500 degrees. I was right behind him and I couldn't stop him, Charles! Mitch was dead before I got to him. It was my fault; if I'd been two steps faster I could have stopped him."
"Of course it wasn't your fault," Charles started, but Erik cut him off.
"I should have left Darwin back at the camp. We didn't need him on that patrol, but he offered to come and I said yes without thinking it through. The kid was actually eager to help out, can you believe it? Mortar shells shredded him, Charles, he bled to death before the medic could get enough tourniquets on him. Why didn't I tell him to stay at camp? Why, Charles?"
"Erik-"
"Mills was my fault. If I'd looked to the right, I would have seen the V-C. I'd heard a twig break the other direction. I was trying to see what made the noise, and by the time I turned back, his brains were spattered on the hopea tree. That one was my fault."
"Erik," Charles said, but Erik couldn't hear him over his own wail.
"There wasn't anything I could do about Jaspers. He stepped on the land mine. It wasn't a marked field on our maps. Blew his legs off. He bled out before we could drag him out of the field."
Charles stopped trying to talk. The dam had burst, and somehow he hadn't pictured it to be full of this - the corpses of every man Erik saw die. Erik kept talking, pausing only to wail in pain between names, stories, each one of them catalogued by whether or not Erik could have prevented the death. It was horrible, like having a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, but he didn't try to stop Erik from saying it all.
"Blekins got sick, an infection. I got him out of there in time and they doped him up with penicillin and sent him back to us, just in time for a Vietcong attack. Belly wounds are the worst. They hurt like fire and take forever to kill you. That one was my fault too."
Charles blinked hard. He couldn't offer Erik absolution from his guilt; Erik wouldn't take it.
"Logan was my fault. I dropped to the ground when I heard bullets and he was standing right behind me and got the bullet that should have killed me. I played chess with Logan, Charles. You remember the chess set you sent me with the first package? Logan learned how to play chess. When he died, I trashed the chess set. I couldn't stand it anymore. It was like any attempt to remember I was human would just blow up in my face. I'm sorry about the chess set."
"It's alright about the chess set," Charles said.
"No it isn't!" Erik insisted.
Charles held him more tightly and wished Erik would believe him once in a while.
And then Erik was off again, telling him about Masterson, and then Iggulden, and then Macaulay, and then more and more until the names and the deaths ran together in Charles' mind. Erik talked and talked as dusk fell, describing an endless parade of corpses that followed Erik around and accused him of killing them.
Charles had been begging Erik to talk for almost a year, and he'd had no idea how horrible it would be if Erik started talking. This is what Erik lived with? How could he ask Erik to move out now - now that he knew the weight of the dead he would take with him? What if Erik wanted to leave even if Charles wanted him to stay? The ups and downs from this week were too much to cope with, and Charles couldn't hold back the sobs.
It took a few minutes for Charles to realize that Erik had stopped talking. His embrace was crushing Charles, and Erik was sobbing along with him. Charles worked an arm free and put a palm to Erik's tear-streaked face. It occurred to him that he had never seen Erik cry before. Not once in their year together had he seen tears. Erik was talking and crying, and Charles didn't know if that meant things would get better or worse and he didn't know whether he could take much more of this roller coaster life with Erik, no matter how much he loved him. Right now there was nothing else to do besides cling to Erik and cry out the guilt and pain of an entire war and its horrible aftermath, so that's what he did.