Chapter 4: Flying Lessons- Erik, 2007

"Two," Shaw greeted Erik when he headed out of his room for breakfast the next morning. He had been waiting for him in the hall, and Erik felt a flicker of unease that he was doing the summoning rather than having Emma retrieve him like usual. "Come on, we're going to have a session."

Shaw turned, starting down the hallway, and Erik followed slowly, hoping to god that Twelve (it was so much more annoying now, both after touching him and after Twelve knew Erik's name, that Erik didn't know Twelve's real name) wouldn't see Shaw taking him away. Maybe he'd just think that Erik was sleeping in or something, though he was sure to do something annoyingly sweet like try to bring him breakfast in bed or something like that, just to make sure Erik got food. The thought sent a soft, warm pang through Erik's chest, and he buried it immediately, suffocating it in layers of cold and nonchalance.

He couldn't risk being soft in any way in front of Shaw. It would only invite trouble.

Shaw led Erik up the stairs, which was in a distinctly different direction than their usual room for the sessions, and this too made Erik uneasy. "Twelve said that the two of you are becoming friends," he commented lightly as the two scaled flight after flight. "I'm always surprised that you don't hold yourself back more from the new kids."

Erik tried not to panic. It could be nothing, nothing at all. "He's fine." He shrugged a little, going for casual indifference. "The others don't like reading, he does. So we read."

"Indeed." Shaw nodded thoughtfully, his eyes studying Erik too intensely, then, "You remember once that we theorized that you might be able to fly, given metal on your body and proper manipulation of magnetic fields?" They had arrived at the top floor now, and Shaw led him out of the stairwell.

Schiesse. "Yes, sir," Erik agreed, trying not to follow the logical train of thought that this conversation might lead. He wasn't particularly fond of heights and didn't particularly want to be thrown off a building or whatever this was leading to. "I do remember that conversation."

"Good. Of course, you're far too valuable to risk splatting on the ground, so…" He opened the door to the room on our left, where Twelve was watching in open bemusement as Emma fastened something around his wrist. It looked like a metal bracelet, and as Twelve turned his wrist to examine it, Erik realized with a lurching sensation that it was made of a chain of paperclips. Everything clicked into place.

"I have no idea what-" Twelve broke off, turning his head and meeting Erik's eyes. The momentary warmth there was quickly shuttered, and his attention flicked to Shaw with open dislike.

Erik felt physically ill. He had told Twelve once that he rarely got nauseous during or after sessions but he was now, his nerves a sickening and wriggling hot ball in the pit of his stomach as he realized what exactly was going to happen. This was punishment. Shaw had found out that they'd kissed, and he was creepily possessive of Erik, so naturally the one who was hurt would be Twelve.

"Sir," Erik said quickly, trying to be logical and outwardly respectful through the panic, knowing he could often talk Shaw out of things as long as he rode that delicate line. "Sir, no. First, we need to try other things before we try me catching that much weight under that much stress, second, those are paper clips, Twelve's weight will bend them the second I pull, and then it'll just be a free fall. Sir, it's a terrible idea, with all due respect. It won't work."

Erik buried everything he was thinking and feeling, well aware Emma would be listening. He wasn't giving them more ammunition. This was a punishment, Erik was certain of that. It was rare that Shaw pitted one mutant against another in the school. Somehow, he had found out about the kiss. Somehow he knew, somehow he knew and he was determined to punish them both for it. He tried not to aim mental daggers at the blonde in the room, but he knew it had to have been her who had told Shaw. And if she told Shaw that Erik was being disrespectful, Shaw would hurt him- and Twelve- worse.

"Sir," Erik tried again, "I think it would work much better if I was manipulating it myself, on myself, than another person. The pressure involved, the movement, it's not something I've practiced with. It seems unwise to do so now, under these circumstances."

Please please please believe me. Erik's heart pounded a tattoo in his chest, making the hot nausea worse, and he thought he might actually vomit for a moment. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but if he failed...

Shaw tilted his head back thoughtfully, at least pretending to consider Erik's words, then nodded and pulled out a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs from his pocket. The metal hummed to Erik, who tried to focus instead on the specific alloy of the metal to calm himself down.

Once Shaw had blindfolded him and had him memorize types of different metals without being able to look, with only the trust of the taste and vibration that his power afforded him. It had been a less painful session and one that was fairly benign, but it had lasted for nearly twenty-four hours. As such, Erik was able to identify these handcuffs as an alloy of tungsten with what oddly felt like a dash of platinum tossed in. Erik suspected strongly that the platinum was mere decoration, that Shaw couldn't resist opulence even in his torture devices.

Bastard. Erik ground his teeth, trying to familiarize himself with the cuffs, seeing the idea behind it and what Shaw intended.

Shaw broke the chain between the cuffs apart with a sharp twist of his hands, as if it was a thin rope as opposed to one of the strongest metals in the world, then tossed each individual cuff to Emma, who caught them deftly. "This will work better, then," he said brightly.

If Shaw had known that the paperclips weren't going to work, why put them on Twelve at all? He had already been prepared for the alternative. Had he just wanted to see Erik's reaction, to see if Erik attempted to protect Twelve? Was he just digging this hole deeper by asking him to stop, by showing he cared even a little?

Erik breathed in for three counts, then out for three counts, steadying himself. It was okay. It was okay. There were pieces of the roof outside, fencing, those were metal. Erik could use it to catch Twelve as he fell or something, could slow the fall if he failed to pull him up. He could do something with the resources given to him. He wasn't going to lose this, not in this way. Not with his failure and Twelve's terror before he died, knowing that Erik had failed him. When they opened the window or whatever to push Twelve off, he could grab the metal then.

"I'm sorry, what is the purpose of this endeavor?" Twelve allowed Emma to clip the cuffs around slender, delicate wrists, looking between the members of their little group with a sharp frown, and Erik looked at him, trying not to panic further as he calculated Twelve's weight and how likely it was that yanking hard enough on two thin metal cuffs to stop a free fall would break his wrists and damage the joints.

He was feeling nauseous again, and went back to counting breaths instead of thinking about it.

"Two is going to learn how to fly. It's a worthwhile endeavor, don't you think?" Shaw beamed at him and Twelve's brow creased very slightly, but his shoulders relaxed almost immediately.

"I suppose," he allowed, shrugging. He glanced at Erik and smiled, looking so at ease that it made Erik's stomach drop out entirely. Daft, brilliant, brave idiot, he wasn't even worried or afraid of his own impending death. That was the goal, had to be the goal, because Erik was sickeningly sure that he wasn't supposed to succeed, that Shaw wanted him to fail. "You'll be able to do it," Twelve told Erik confidently, blue eyes calm and filled with faith Erik had done nothing to earn. The most Twelve had ever even seen him lift was silverware to set the table, or the bed so that Twelve could get something from beneath it, nothing of this finesse, nothing of this importance or magnitude. This was his life, this could kill him so easily. And he wasn't even concerned.

This is going to be fine, Twelve whispered into Erik's mind softly, assuredly. You're strong enough to do this.

What if I'm not? Erik pressed his shaking hands to his legs. He had on occasion been the victim of an attack by someone he knew here, but he had never had to attack someone else, had never had someone he cared about in the balance.

That wasn't true. He had. And he had failed to save his mother. The last person who had depended on his power to save them, he had failed, and he could still remember the look on his mother's face as he desperately tried to stop the bullets. Her and the nameless girl with the knives, he'd failed them both. Their deaths had gutted him, and Twelves death would finish the job.

You will be strong enough. Twelves was so certain, with so much affection in his tone that didn't show on his calm face. Erik wanted to shake sense into him, trying to keep his panic at bay. You can do this, Erik. I trust you.

"I thought about using a stranger, but I thought that someone you're friendly with would give you a little extra motivation to succeed." Shaw clapped Erik's shoulder, squeezing just a bit too tightly for the paternal cheer in his voice. "You know how you've always reacted well to… personal motivation."

Erik's stomach lurched and he felt his hands start to shake again, his mother's bloody form flashing through his mind. This was punishment. This wasn't a test, it was punishment.

Erik felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn't move- the trust Twelve had was almost painful, and although he would try as hard as he could, would do whatever he could to save him, he knew that, when he failed, it would destroy him. He had killed or let strangers die, his mother had died because he couldn't stop it, and each death weighed on him now, like a boulder around his neck. He wasn't made to save people. "Sir, he is a valuable asset. Why risk him?" Erik was proud that his voice was at least still steady.

"The alternative is risking you," Shaw said simply, crossing the room and opening the elevator doors there with the push of a button. The empty shaft yawned open beyond, and Twelve crossed to it slowly, peering down. Erik reached his senses down the shaft, horrified. He had counted on the fencing, all the metal outside to be safety nets. But there was no metal down in the shaft, only dust where it used to be and maybe one or two very small broken pieces that had been left behind.

"I really preferred the thought of being pushed off a building, frankly," Twelve noted lightly, clearly aiming for humor and just as clearly for Erik's benefit. "More sunshine that way, you know?"

"Maybe next time," Shaw agreed, then shoved him down the shaft with a sharp push between Twelve's shoulders.

Erik could feel the small pieces of metal in the room suddenly, every single item and vibration jumping into sharp relief. And as he launched himself forward, reaching out too late for Twelve and the metal cuffs he wore, he prayed to every deity he could think of that the metal would hold his weight, that he could do it, that he wouldn't amputate Twelve's hands by putting that much pressure on them and then lose him anyway.

You can do this, it's fine, it's fine, you can do this, I trust you, you can do this, Erik- Twelve was gasping the words against Erik's mind as he fell, panicked but not altogether terrified as he should have been because his trust was so absolute-

And Erik pulled up as hard as he could, gripping the doorframe of the shaft as he stared into the darkness below. Twelve's words broke off in Erik's mind and, for a moment, there was utter stillness and bottomless fear as Erik sincerely contemplated jumping down the shaft after him if he'd failed again. Then, "I'm fine!" Twelve called hoarsely. Holy shit, I'm really close to the bottom, though. Can you pull me up?

Erik rested his head against the frame, leaning heavily against it because he wasn't fully and completely sure that he wouldn't fall down if he didn't have support. Everything felt gelatinous and weak with relief, but Twelve was alive. He'd managed to stop the fall. Are you actually fine? Erik pulled up slowly, careful not to yank too much and hurt him. He had probably hurt him badly just in the actual stopping of the fall. There's no way that didn't hurt you.

I'm okay. My wrists hurt. Think my arm might be dislocated, but considering the alternatives… There was a dry kind of humor in his tone. It really is fascinating, Erik. If you put cuffs on yourself, and on your ankles… I think you really, truly, could fly. It really is absolutely incredible to think of all the possibilities.

Stop talking, you daft sod. I'm so glad you're alive. Erik let out a helpless laugh, shaking his head quickly. But he didn't want Twelve to stop. He never wanted him to stop talking.

Shaw was looking all too pleased with himself, conferring quietly with Emma at the back of the room. Twelve came slowly into view, his hands above his head and the cuffs pulling tightly upward. He offered Erik a brilliant smile and a pulse of adrenaline into his mind and Erik grabbed him quickly, using the excuse to hold him for a split second before he carefully put him down on the ground and checked him over fast.

"You've got a dislocated shoulder?" Erik examined him, aiming for as calm a tone as he possibly could. He was all too aware that they had observers. "Which one?" I am so sorry.

"Left." He winced slightly as Erik touched it, but it didn't dim his smile. Sorry for what? Keeping me from becoming a smear on the bottom of an elevator shaft? You kept me from dying, Erik, that's nothing to apologize for. "If you know how to pop it back into place, feel free."

"Hold still." Erik grabbed his upper arm, bracing his elbow. "When I say when, pull back hard. It's not going to be enjoyable, but I can fix it." I'm sorry that they did this to you at all. "When," Erik said, and when he yanked back, Erik slammed his arm back up into the socket with the hand beneath the elbow. Twelve clenched his jaw, hand locking tightly around Erik's arm, and then he relaxed slowly, his fingers loosening on Erik's sleeve.

"Thanks," he said, offering a smile, and Erik was intensely aware of Shaw, who had fallen silent with Emma. Twelve must have realized this as well, for he released him and stood, taking a step back, almost too close to the edge of the elevator again. Erik watched his feet, ready to leap forward if he wasn't paying attention. "Do you want anything else?" Twelve looked at Shaw with open animosity and challenge.

"No, that's enough for now." Shaw sized him up silently, tilting his head. "Quite enough to be getting on with, I think. Tell Ten to come up and see us when you get back?"

"I wouldn't bet on it," Twelve said shortly, and Erik internally groaned. "You're standing in front of the exit, move and I'll leave."

"Sir." Erik inclined his head. "We're going." He forced Twelve forward, out of the room. "Don't instigate," he said in his ear once the door had shut behind them and they were safely down one flight.

"He's a kidnapper and a murderer, he gets no respect from me," Twelve replied sharply, making no effort to lower his voice. Erik immediately redirected his efforts and pulled Twelve out of the stairwell, onto the third floor where their voices were less likely to echo up to Shaw. If Emma really wanted to, she could still find out what was going on, but that wasn't Erik's biggest worry right now, because Twelve was still talking, still raging. "My respect is reserved for those who deserve it, people who are kind and good. Sebastian Shaw will never be a part of that rank. He's a sadist, a bully, and he thinks that he is creating some better good via torture and abduction of children."

"That's not the point. Right now, he can kill us all whenever he wants to." Erik shook his head, feeling frustration and all the pent-up stress of the last few minutes rising viciously to the surface, his temper rising with it. "Deferring to him isn't cowardice, it's strategy, it's why I'm alive and they aren't and if you keep being so damn noble and defiant, you're going to get yourself killed just like they did!"

"I will not be scared of a man ever again," Twelve snapped back, his eyes alight with anger and defiance and that infuriating stubbornness, and Erik ground his teeth together.

"Can you shield us from Emma for a minute?" he asked sharply, and Twelve's eyebrows raised.

"I- well, yes, but-" He didn't get to finish, Erik's mouth on his as he pressed him back into the wall none too gently. Twelve made a noise of surprise and pleasure, one hand curling tightly into Erik's shirt and the other in his hair, pulling him down closer to him. Erik knew his own shields were probably shot at the moment, too full of anger, frustration, helplessness, the fear of the last few minutes, the wanting of this moment because Twelve's eyes flashed so beautifully when he was angry, and too full of the overpowering relief that Twelve could be angry still. He hadn't fallen to his death, he wasn't the body that was going to be carried out of the manor next, and he was kissing Erik back as fervently as Erik was kissing him.

Twelve hadn't been wrong. Shaw was going to torture them either way. He might even kill them either way. Twelve could have died so easily in that elevator shaft, broken and bleeding at the bottom, and Shaw hadn't hesitated for a moment. Erik's mind was throbbing with the hate for Shaw, with the intensity of his feelings for Twelve, with the decision to just fuck it and be irresponsible because the chances weren't in their favor to survive anyway, so they might as well steal this moment while they could.

It's okay, Twelve breathed in his mind, kissing a line down Erik's neck, no doubt catching all of this rush of emotion and accepting it. I'm here, Erik. I'll keep you safe, I'll keep us safe. I'm not going anywhere.

Erik let out a sharp breath, leaning into Twelve and letting a sigh leave him as Twelve's lips found a small scar toward the base of the throat, where it was still sensitive. He couldn't remember the last time someone had wanted to keep him safe. I know you're here, Erik whispered to him now, lowering his head to kiss Twelve's ear. And I am so fucking glad. How badly do your wrists really hurt? Don't lie to me.

I won't ever lie to you. He made a low noise, fingers loosing slightly on Erik's arms. They don't… they don't feel good, but it's not broken. See? His hand slipped under Erik's shirt, tracing his muscles up his back and using his other hand to curl around the back of his neck.

Erik grumbled, not entirely convinced and remembering seeing cuts and skin scraped raw at least, but kissed Twelve back anyway. He'd check him more thoroughly afterward, but right now he just wanted to memorize the way it felt to hold Twelve against him, kissing him and enjoying the way Twelve's hand felt on his skin. Right now, they needed to enjoy this small moment because they wouldn't probably have very many like this.

We can have as many as we take, Twelve disagreed with Erik's thoughts, pulling him closer, but breaking the kiss to look up at him. Do you want this, Erik? I can shield us both while we're together like this. I can try to bury the memories under your shields when Emma comes around. I can hide us as best we physically can, but it's still a risk. I want you to make your choice. I don't want you to ever regret it, no matter what way it all goes down.

Erik searched Twelve's face, running his thumb along the younger boy's jaw, then smiled a little. They were going to kill everyone anyway. Shaw was already attempting to. And honestly, he'd been thinking all night about kissing Twelve and how he would regret not being with him more than he would ever regret being with him. Erik gave a laugh, leaning down to kiss the beautiful telepath who had probably heard all of his dithering. Yes, he agreed, feeling contentment and the rightness of the choice as their lips moved together. I don't think I will ever regret being with you, Twelve. If you can hide us… yes.

As best as I possibly can, Twelve agreed, the kiss slowing and sweetening. I can't affect Shaw's mind, but I can try to keep us in the background of Emma's, hide our memories so it's harder for them to find. He pulled back, resting his forehead against Erik's, and stroked his cheeks slowly. I want you while I can have you.

Erik laughed and hugged Twelve against him, feeling strangely comforted by the idea. Then it's settled. Let's go find Ten, she's got some great bruise cream she won off Shaw once. He'd never asked how she had gotten it, just like he had never been asked why he had the watch. "And I'll take the cuffs off downstairs," he continued aloud, kissing Twelve again warmly before reluctantly pulling away to lift the other boy's wrist and critically examine the makeshift bracelets he was wearing, and the torn skin beneath. "I think I can break these, easy."

"What? No!" Twelve almost yelped it, pulling his hand back quickly. "I don't want you to break them."

Erik stared at him. "Twelve, they're manacles. What on earth will you even do with them?"

"I don't know." He curled a hand around one of them, pressing it to his abdomen protectively. "I just- it's a good memory. I like them." He glanced down at the one that was still visible. "You saved me with them."

Something in the region of Erik's heart lurched and almost hurt, and he blinked at the younger boy, then nodded, lifting his hand and kissing the marks beneath the metal, wishing for the first time that he could heal instead of move metal. "Okay," Erik said gently. He understood the thought. "If that's what you want, that's okay. I won't break them."

Twelve relaxed and smiled up at him."Maybe someday I'll have them melted down and made into something less kinky," he suggested mildly, grinning a little as he fiddled with the cuff on his left wrist. "After all, the general public will assume I'm a runaway-felon or a sex fiend if I go wandering around with broken handcuffs on." He laughed brightly at the idea. "They can melt them down, right? That's a thing with jewelers?"

Erik laughed and nodded. "Yeah, it's a thing," he agreed, considering what he could do with them. He could reshape them… but he'd have to practice. Shaw had only ever had him make weapons, not jewelry. "Let's go take care of those bruises before they get worse," he instructed, making shooing motions at Twelve and carefully burying those thoughts. It could be a nice surprise, a present.

"All right, all right," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He headed for the door, then paused, turning, and pressed his lips to Erik's quickly before slipping out into the hall and darting down the stairs.

Erik pressed an ice pack from the kitchen to his head as he walked down the hall, scowling at nothing and everything. As sessions went, it had been a fairly benign one. No one had bled, no one had died, he hadn't even been burned. Shaw had given him metal-soled shoes and had ordered him to try to fly while wearing them. He had, in fact, levitated, but there was very little sense of balance with just the metallic soles. He'd hit his head a few times and hit the ground a few more, and the result was a pounding headache that made him want to crunch all the light fixtures in on themselves, sending the lights shattering out of being. He was headed for the dayroom with the intention of showing Twelve (who never made any attempt to hide his concern or worry when Erik was taken) that he was alive, then heading to bed for a long and well-deserved nap when he heard the words.

"But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life." Erik slowed his pace at Twelve's voice, which drifted down the open door from the day room and down the hall to where he was walking. "'I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain−fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…"

Erik held still, finding himself bemusingly enchanted. Twelve read all the time, but he rarely read out loud. Some people had beautiful voices, but when they read aloud, the voices flattened and changed. But Twelve read smoothly, his voice lilting and caressing the words as he spoke them. Erik almost ran into a wall, listening as hard as he could, and snorted to himself. Maybe I hit my head a bit harder than I thought, Jesus. I need to get hold of myself.

"One only understands the things that one takes," Twelve continued, his voice growing clearer as Erik moved closer. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me…"

Twelve's voice softened and Erik tilted around the corner, finding that Twelve was sitting on the couch. Eleven's head was on his knee and she seemed to be listening, eyes half-shut and drowsy. Ten was sitting across the room, ostensibly making an angry painting out of shades of red, but her strokes had slowed down and she, too, was clearly listening as he continued just a little more,

"'What must I do, to tame you?' Asked the little prince," Twelve glanced down at Eleven with a warm smile as he spoke, drawing his attention very briefly from the tattered pages in his hand, "'You must be very patient,' replied the fox. 'First you will sit down at a little distance from me−− like that−− in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day…'" Twelve stopped, his head raising and his blue eyes meeting Erik's. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at Erik, and Ten looked around with a sharp frown to locate the source of the interruption as Erik felt an answering smile try to start, regardless of the others around and the way his head hurt.

"Hey," Ten greeted Erik, relaxing. "How was your session?"

"Fine." He shrugged, moving to sit next to Twelve and Eleven. "The only injuries I got today were because I was overzealous." He sent a thought compilation to Twelve with a snort, memories of himself falling over and hitting his head, bouncing off the ground, and flipping over and hitting his head on the ground instead. It hadn't gone well, but it could have gone worse, certainly. "Could be cool, if I can do it, there might be some interesting uses for it. Keep reading, Twelve. What is the book?" Erik looked over curiously at it.

"The Little Prince," Twelve said, grinning a little. "By Antoine de Saint-Exupery. It's an ancient copy, I can only read about half the words. But Eleven said she'd never heard it." He reached for Erik, moving Eleven gently and checking Erik's head for bumps or bleeding. Erik smiled a little, allowing him to check him over and feeling that now-familiar little pinch in his chest that always accompanied Twelve and his unceasing capacity to worry for others. "He should have known you'd need cuffs or something on your wrists to use for stability control," Twelve chastised quietly, although the focus of his admonition wasn't present, his eyes tightening. "No, it doesn't look too bad, you'll be okay." He settled back onto the couch, picking up the thin, tattered book again.

He continued reading, detailing the story of a small, strange spaceman who desperately loved the flower he had left on his planet and who was now having adventures on Earth. He described his budding friendship with the fox and the author, and then finally came to the prince's death. Eleven watched him with something almost like focus in her eyes, and Ten was tight and tense in the corner. Erik glimpsed her wiping at her eyes here and there as Twelve finished.

Erik, for his part, listened to every word in interest. The writing was beautiful, although the ending was somewhat sad, not knowing if the spaceman got home again. Erik was naturally a cynic and was inclined to believe that the little prince had died, or that the un-muzzled sheep would have eaten the flower by the time he returned. But he knew just as well that Twelve, with his constant optimism and dreams of escapes and happy endings, likely believed the opposite.

Either way, the little book made him think.

Getting used to having someone in your life was strange. Allowing someone into your life, into the messy and dark parts, was terrifying. Trusting someone at all was terrifying, especially in a place like this. Twelve had done as the little spaceman had, and used the only technique that worked- being close and kind and just steady, being there whenever the people around him had needed him. Even Ten liked Twelve these days, and that was a feat. It had taken Erik the better part of four years to get there.

The story made sense in a way he never would have anticipated, six months ago. He would have scoffed at it and focused on surviving his next session rather than waxing poetic over a children's tale and the messages therein. But...

Of course, loving something changed it and you in some undefinable way. He was beginning to understand that, beginning to wonder if that's what that warm and not at all unpleasant pinch in his chest was, if that's what it was when you wanted to see the other person whenever you woke, if you thought about them no matter what you were doing or where you were, if they were your priority and the reason you got up out bed early, hoping to get a few extra minutes with them, and if that's what it was when the sight of that person made you lighten and brighten just by their existence in your vicinity. Even as he had hit the ground for the fourth time during the session, Erik had been thinking about how much Twelve might like to fly, if Erik could get himself together and figure out how to control it properly. Twelve joked about his flying lesson, and Erik was certain that he'd enjoy doing it for real, when he wasn't falling down a damn elevator shaft.

Taming was an odd phrase, Erik considered as he leaned forward, pretending to examine the illustrations of the baobabs, but the concept behind it was rather beautiful. Had Twelve tamed him? Twelve's eyes flicked up to his in that moment, either giving up the charade of not listening to his thoughts or just catching that last one. Twelve offered a smile, sweet and crooked, the one that made just the left dimple appear. He ducked his head again and focused on closing the book, and Ten made a grumping sort of noise.

"Dumb story," she declared sharply, and Twelve offered her a fond smile.

"It's okay if you think so," he agreed. Erik hid a smile- Ten had never liked anyone knowing anything real about her, a very real survival technique in Hallow Hall. One Erik had subscribed to, until here recently, when the curly-haired, blue-eyed boy beside him had turned his life upside down. "My father read it to me when I was small. And then I read it to my sister when we adopted her. It's bittersweet, but it's one of my favorites."

She grumped brusquely and Erik found Twelve watching him, fondly and with that constant, relentless curiosity that was bizarrely enjoyable. So few people actually cared about other people's lives, unless they could get something out of it. Twelve demanded nothing, he just wanted knowledge. Did your mother have a story she read to you when you were young?

Was it love, Erik wondered distantly as he smiled back, keeping these thoughts in the deeper part of his mind that he knew Twelve never entered. He wasn't sure, yet, he could say it aloud. He wasn't sure if he ever could, but was it love if you wanted someone to know everything about you, the good and the bad, so you could have someone who accepted you without question? Even silly things, like your favorite childhood book?

My mother read to me from Grimm's, Erik told Twelve, giving a grin as he shook himself from the musings that were distracting him. I distinctly remember booing when they killed the wolf in Red Riding Hood. Twelve laughed brightly at that and Erik watched him, warmth spreading through his chest, proud to have brought him pleasure. I liked all of the dark ones, the ones where the bad guys won, because I hated all those goody-goody princesses and princes. My mother despaired of me.

"Mm. Sometimes the so-called 'villains' are just complex." Twelve caught Erik's wrist, squeezing it tightly, then glanced toward the hallway with dark humor. "Other times they're just evil." He grinned and Ten chuckled from her place in the corner.

"You're all insane," she informed them, and Twelve laughed, settling back into the couch. He kept Erik's hand, though, tracing the lines on his palm slowly, and Erik allowed himself to start to relax, feeling Twelve's warmth spread from where he was pressed into Erik's side, his headache easing very slightly.

Was it love? He wondered again, shutting his eyes and relaxing at the sensation of Twelve's hand in his. How would he know for sure?