The raid happened so suddenly Erik barely had time to process it. They broke the door down and dragged them upstairs. There was a lot of screaming, begging, and shouting. Erik didn't beg. He knew it was useless. When they pushed them out to the street he saw the sunlight again in months. It was blinding. He was still blinking when they loaded them on the truck. There were two gunshots, and the Brachtmans, the kind couple who had been hiding them in the basement were lying on the street, their blood painting the stones red. Magda started praying in Yiddish, whispering the words that had lost any meaning for Erik a long time ago. He didn't believe in God anymore. How could he, after everything that happened? The truck started. This was it. A short ride and they will be shot in a place where they can get rid of the bodies easily, or worse, sent to the camps no one has returned from. He only heard rumors about what happened there, and if half of it was true, he would rather die. Azazel interrupted his dark thoughts. He leaned close and whispered into Erik's ear.
"I'm going to jump off at the next turn."
It was a crazy idea, a last desperate attempt to live. But what did he have to lose? So he just nodded and prepared himself. The truck jolted as it took a turn.
"Now!"
He jumped. He hit his leg pretty badly, but he stood up and ran. His body wasn't used to such movement, but the adrenalin made him faster. His lung was burning, and his ears were ringing. Maybe they can survive this. If only they could get into a building, they could hide or escape in the back. He ran up to a door and tried the doorknob. It was locked. He ran towards the next one, Azazel right behind him, when he heard gunshots, and then there was just pain and darkness.
Charles was walking home from the hospital. It was a long day. He had four surgeries, and one of the patients didn't survive it. He also had to amputate an arm. It was a young boy, maybe sixteen, and the whole sick-ward was filled with his panicked screams and cries when he woke up. The hospital was crowded with soldiers returning from the fronts these days. Charles knew that he should be grateful. He could be one of them if it wasn't for his knowledge as a surgeon. The horrible stories and the suffering of his patients made him hate the Führer and the war even more. Of course, he couldn't voice his concerns. That would be treason, punishable by death. He hastened his steps when he heard the sirens. An air-raid. He had to get to his house and in the safety of the air-raid shelter. He nearly reached the building, when he stopped dead on his tracks. There were two bodies lumped on top of each other right next to the door. Jews. He couldn't take his eyes off them. They were both young men, around his age. What a terrible end. Then he saw one of their hands twitch. He blinked. He must have imagined it. He looked around, but no one was on the streets. Everyone ran to safety at the sound of the sirens. He crouched down and took the young man's pulse. It was faint, but it was there. The other one, who fell on top of the man, was dead. Probably shielded the man from the bullets, so he got the worst of it. Charles hesitated. It was forbidden to help a Jew. And this man might not even survive, so why should he risk his life for him? But the doctor in Charles won. This was an injured patient, and it was his duty to help him. He dragged him upwards and quickly carried him into the building. Now came the hard part. He lived on the third floor. All the tenants were in the air-raid shelter, but he didn't know how long the air-raid would last. He covered the man in his coat, so he wouldn't leave a trail of blood behind, and he half dragged, half carried him upstairs. He didn't know how he had the strength to do so, but finally, they were at his apartment. He fumbled with the keys. He got the stranger on his bed, then went back to the door and locked it. He had to be extremely careful from now on. He hurried back to the bed. It was hard to see the wound from all the blood, but thankfully, it wasn't fatal. The bullet lodged into his shoulder. Charles went to get his tools bag. He cleaned the wound, then removed the bullet. Luckily it didn't damage anything vital, but the blood loss was significant. He saw the wound closed, and bandaged it. Now all he had to worry about was an infection, and of course, about what the hell he was going to do with the Jewish man passed out on his bed. Now that he was finished with the medical stuff, the reality of the situation dawned on him. What was he thinking? He saved his life, sure, but he couldn't exactly let him go when he woke up. He would be shot or taken away the moment he stepped out of his home. And they would probably make the connection that Charles harbored him if anyone saw him leave. But if he decided to let him stay, how would he keep it a secret? How could he provide him? And for how long? Until the war ended? All these questions were giving him a headache. He needed a cup of tea, that would help him calm down and figure something out.
When Erik came to his senses he was alive, which was a welcome surprise. He was in a bed, in an unfamiliar room. His shoulder hurt like hell, his whole body hurt. He felt terribly cold, then hot in the next moment. He tried to organize his thoughts, but they were all fuzzy. All he knew that he was in danger, and he had to leave. He tried to stand up, but he only managed a few steps before collapsing on the ground. He heard someone entering the room, and he immediately tried to crawl away from them.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm trying to help. Let's get you back to bed."
He wanted to struggle, but he was so weak. The other man easily lifted him up and helped him back to bed.
"You have such pretty blue eyes" he muttered.
The stranger didn't reply, just held a glass to his lips. Erik greedily gulped down the water, but even that was so tiring. He fell back on the pillow and closed his eyes. The last thing he heard was the blue-eyed man's voice.
"Rest now. Just please don't die. I don't know what I would do with a body."
His feverish dreams were filled with memories. Magda, snuggling close to him, in the dark basement, trying not to cry. Azazel's silly jokes, Abraham's endless stories. The first time he wore the star and got beaten up by cops. Mom, lighting the Hanukkah candles. Dad, reading the Torah. Laughing. The window glass, shattering. Shouting. Gunshots. Then darkness.
The next time he woke up his head was clearer. His shoulder still hurt, but at least he could think. The blue-eyed man was sitting in an armchair, reading, right next to his bed. He tried to pretend that he was still asleep, but it was too late.
"Ah, you are awake. You must be thirsty."
He helped Erik lift his head up and pressed a glass against his lips. The water was cold and fresh, running down his throat. When he was finished he cleared his throat and managed to rasp a question out.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, I haven't introduced myself yet? I'm Doctor Charles Xavier. And what's your name, my friend?"
"Erik. Where am I? What happened?"
"I found you in front of my house. You were shot on the shoulder, but you were still moving. There was an air-raid, so no one was around. I brought you here, to my home. I treated your wound."
"What happened to Azazel?"
"Your friend? I'm sorry, but he was already dead by the time I got there."
He swallowed. It was Azazel's idea to escape, and he was the one who didn't survive it. It wasn't fair. But he had to concentrate on the present, figure out what this man wanted, what he will do.
"You know what I'm, don't you?"
"I can make a pretty good guess."
"Then why are you helping me?"
"I'm a doctor. You were injured. It's my job to help injured people."
"But I'm not people. I'm a Jew."
"You don't really believe that."
Charles stood up, going to the other room. He returned with a steaming bowl of soup.
"Eat. But slowly, we don't want to upset your stomach. Then get some rest, and when you wake up we will figure it out what to do about this situation."
When Erik was strong enough to stand up and walk Charles led him to the attic. He arranged the furniture and the drapes there in a way that the room seemed smaller than it actually was, and behind them, he installed a small room for Erik. It was very simple, just an old bed, a crate with a washbasin, and a chair, but it seemed like heaven for Erik after spending months crammed in a dark basement with five other people.
"I know it's not much." Said Charles "But it's safer here. I don't usually have visitors, but this is a tenement. People are noisy, and I don't want to risk them hearing you or seeing you from the window. I will try to make being locked up here easier, but there is so much I can do, my friend. "
" No, you did a lot already. Thank you. "
Erik still didn't understand why Charles was helping him. The Brachtmans were Magda's friends. They helped him because they cared about Magda, and he was Magda's friend. But Charles never even met him. Erik was just a Jew who got shot in front of his door. He could maybe make sense of Charles's explanation on why he saved him, after all, he was a doctor. But patching him up was a different thing than furnishing a room for him and making long-term plans on how to hide him. Erik wasn't used to kindness, it made him suspicious and weary. He laid on his new bed, all these thoughts rushing through his head until he dozed off. The sound of the door creaking woke him up.
"I prepared some dinner if you are hungry. I admit, I'm not the best cook, and good ingredients are scarce these days, but we make do with what we have."
Despite Charles' apologies, the dinner was one of the best meals of his life. Maybe Charles was a better cook than he let on, or maybe Erik lived on potato and bread for way too long. The Brachtmans tried real hard so they won't starve, but there were five of them in the basement and food was hard to find, even for your own family. He tried to help by insisting to do the dishes, but Charles shooed him away.
"Nonsense, you are the guest."
Erik swallowed hard at those words. They both knew he wasn't a guest. A parasite perhaps, but not someone you invite into your home willingly and happily. Charles didn't seem to notice his discomfort as he showed him the bathroom.
"Are you feeling well enough to take a bath by yourself?"
Erik nodded. He wasn't too sure, but he didn't want Charles to assist him.
"Very well. I will leave some of my clothes outside. I hope they fit. Be careful with the bandages."
Erik let out a sigh as he sank in the hot water. It has been ages since he had a proper bath. In the basement, and before that, in the ghetto didn't have much access to water, barely enough for drinking and cooking. His second change of clothing was stolen the first week, with most of his other belongings. He must have been stinking, and he was glad to feel at least somewhat clean. He dunked his head underwater, then reached for the soap, viciously scrubbing every inch of his skin.
Charles was in the middle of a poem when he heard the bathroom door open. He tried to hide his blush because Erik's skin was still wet, and he was wearing Charles's clothes, and he was undeniable the most handsome man he had ever seen. Oh, he noticed it before, too, but now that all that grime was gone it was overwhelming.
"What are you reading?"
It took a few seconds to register that he had been asked a question. Instead of answering it, he read the poem from the book aloud.
"There lies the heat of summer
On your cheek's lovely art:
There lies the cold of winter
Within your little heart.
That will change, beloved,
The end not as the start!
Winter on your cheek then,
Summer in your heart."
"Heinrich Heine." Erik recognized. "Aren't his books banned?"
"Maybe."
"So you are hiding books, as well as Jews."
"What can I say, I like living dangerously." Charles smirked. "Let me check your bandages."
Erik's skin was smooth, and he was rather muscular, even if it was obvious he hadn't eaten a good meal in a long time. Charles tried really hard to stay professional as he rewrapped the bandages.
"There you are. It should heal within a month, with little scarring."
Erik wasn't really paying attention. Charles followed his gaze. There was a chess set on the coffee table.
"Do you play?"
"I used to be quite good at it, but I haven't played in a long time."
"Excellent. I rarely find an opponent. Let's take this upstairs, shall we? So no one overhears us."
Erik was truly a great player. Charles missed chess plays like this. The last time he had a partner who was a challenge was back in university, or maybe Hank McCoy at the hospital, but he rarely had time. When they were done Charles stood up, putting away the chess-set.
"We should definitely do this again."
"I didn't know you were so eager to lose."
"Don't be so humble. Besides, I did win one."
"What about tomorrow? How should I do things?"
"Yes, right, tomorrow. I'll bring some food, water, and books for you in the morning. Also, there is a chamber pot under the bed, if you need to use it. I have to ask you not to come downstairs under any circumstances. It would be very suspicious if my neighbors heard footsteps while I'm at work. I'll come back at around 6 pm. You will know if it's me because I'll knock on your door four times. If you hear anyone else enter try to hide upstairs and stay very quiet."
They developed their own little routine. In the morning Erik usually woke up to Charles's knocking. He brought food and water on a tray and some carefully selected books. Then he left for work. It proved to be harder to stay entertained than Erik would have thought. The past year he was always so worried about his life, he didn't have time to be bored. The books helped. Charles had a nice collection of different genres, like philosophy, science, medical books, and even some cheesy romance novels. Charles blushed when Erik asked him about those, and mumbled something about his sister leaving them behind. Erik found himself harkening for the key's rattle in the lock because that meant Charles came home. He usually went to the bathroom to clean up, while Charles cooked dinner. Erik tried to cook a few times, but he almost lit the kitchen on fire. Then they ate and had whisper conversations. Afterward, a game of chess was in order, upstairs. The real talking began there, too. At first, they only talked about trivial things. The weather, the books they were reading, the meals they shared. Neither of them was comfortable enough to share meaningful things with this stranger they got as a roommate. The ice broke during the second week. Maybe it was the unusually warm weather, the breath of spring coming through the windows. Or the whisky Charles got from a patient and they shared during the game. Whatever it was, after skimming over the usual topics, the conversation took a turn and they started to open up about themselves.
"So, no siblings?"
"God, no. I was enough trouble myself."
"I have a sister, she was adopted when I was seven. Her parents were distant relatives of my father, so he felt obligated to take care of her. She was my only real family, and then her son, Kurt. Shame I can't see them more often."
"What about your parents? Excuse me if I'm wrong, but you seem to be a bit distant when talking about them."
"You are right, my friend. My father died in an accident when I was ten. I didn't know him that well, he was always at work, but it was still tragic. My mother remarried soon after. He wasn't a good man. They moved to France years ago. Sometimes I write to her, but somepeople who are easier to love from a distance."
They sank into silence as the game took an interesting turn. Charles finally spoke up.
"Where are you from?"
"Düsseldorf. We moved here with my father when my mother died."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I'm grateful she never lived to see this. She was such an optimistic, kind person and she loved her country. It would have broken her heart to see what happened to it. "
"Why did you move?"
"I wanted to study here. My uncle had a business. He offered it to my father for a cheap price, because he wanted to retire, so it was practical that both of us moved here."
"What did you study?"
"Philosophy. I wanted to learn how things worked, why we accepted something as good and discarded other things as bad. Then I wanted to pass that knowledge on, to teach others."
He scoffed.
"I was such a naive fool. My father wanted me to quit and help him with the shop. We used to argue about it all the time. In the end, it didn't even matter. I was forced to leave the university, and the shop was taken away from us. My father couldn't take that. That shop became everything to him after my mother died. He died during the Crystal Night. He tried to stop the soldiers from smashing the windows and stealing the products. They shot him in the chest. I wasn't even there that night. We had an argument, and I left, and slept at a friend's place."
"It wasn't your fault."
"I could have tried to stop them."
"It would have only ended with your death, too. I'm sure your father wouldn't have wanted that."
That conversation opened up the road to many others. The two men were both great at arguing, and their opinions were often very different. Now that none of them were afraid of how the other one would react, they let their ideas clash and views battle with each other. Erik got emotional faster, waving his hands and whisper yelling his arguments, with a big effort to stay quiet. Charles usually remained calm, but it was hard for him to accept when he was wrong. But both of them loved these arguments almost as much as the chess-games.
"Marx is a genius. Equality. The aim most of humanity chased since the begging. Even your Jesus preached about it. And the only way to achieve it is with a revolution that will sweep away the old ways."
"Sweeping away the past sounds glorious until you are knee-deep in blood. Marx wants the aristocrats and bourgeois destroyed. There is no exception. He doesn't care if some of them were born into it or struggled their whole life to achieve it. If they are willing to share. If some of them are better than others."
"Because most of them aren't better. And even if some of them are, that's a price we have to be willing to pay for the aim. If few people's suffering would bring lasting happiness and prosperity to the others, then so be it."
"Lasting, you say. But would it be lasting? Humankind isn't known for sticking to ideas. They would do so until it benefits them, and the cycle of class-struggle would begin again."
"So most of your patients are soldiers."
"Yes. Unfortunately, the hospital is stacked with young men returning from the front lines. A terrible sight, but at least they returned, unlike many others."
"But how can you treat them, knowing that you are just restocking their ammunition, that the moment they are well enough they will be sent back to the war. You say you don't believe in Germany's victory, that you don't fight for its aims, and you even despise them. But you help them by producing even more soldiers."
"They are humans, Erik. Injured, sick, humans. And I'm a doctor. I swore an oath. I promised to heal the sick, whoever that may be. And I intend to stick to it."
"Whoever? So even if the Führer himself was before you, dying, you would save him?"
"Erik…"
"Answer the question."
"Yes. Yes, I would. Because that's the right thing to do."
"You cannot be serious. The right thing? Even you don't believe that."
"Let's hope we will never have to find out."
"But let's leave the hypothetical cases. Let's talk some more about your soldiers. They elected Hitler. They were the first ones to cry war. I was there. The day the war started. They flooded the streets and celebrated like it was a fucking festival. And they also celebrated the destruction of my people. They stood by and cheered when our houses were taken, our books burned, our people killed. The very same people you are nice to every day, healing them, chatting with them."
"I know they did horrible things to you, to your people. Unforgivable things. And I'm sorry, for what it's worth. But not all of them are the monsters you make them out to be. They are just desperate people, who were misled. They are blinded by their own fears, by the lies they were told so many times they eventually believed them."
"Ignorance isn't an excuse."
"No. But it's an explanation."
"I don't want an explanation. I want my father back. I want my friends back. Or at least I want to look those people in the eye and see them pay for what they did."
"I thought about becoming a teacher, too. Even had ideas about opening my own school."
"So why not?"
"I don't know. Everyone told me to be a doctor. That's a respectable job. And don't get me wrong, I do love my job. I just often wonder how would it have gone if I choose the other path."
"Well, you couldn't have stitched me up if you were a teacher, so I'm lucky you decided against it."
"True."
Charles smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I just thought I would at least have children someday."
He wasn't supposed to say that. It just slipped out. Erik had this effect on him: he made him careless and far too trusting.
"So why do you live alone? Why not get a pretty girl and a bunch of children, if you want a family so much?"
Charles wanted to tell the truth to him. That he never saw a woman like that, that he never felt anything for them. But he was too afraid, that Erik would turn away from him in disgust if he knew the truth.
"That's just how things are. My job is very demanding, never had time to court a woman."
Erik looked like he didn't quite believe him, but he at least left the topic alone. Charles was grateful.
Charles couldn't tell when did he fell in love with Erik. It was small things at first, he barely noticed them. The way his eyes lingered on Erik's body just a moment longer than necessary. How happy it made him to know that after a long day someone was waiting for him. That whenever Erik brushed against him in the small kitchen, his heart started beating fast and his stomach fluttered. Then the dreams came. Erik, kissing him. Erik's body on him. Erik, caressing his face. He woke up from these dreams panting and hard, and he avoided Erik's eyes the next morning, afraid that somehow he would give himself away. He had known that he liked man ever since he was twelve. He also learned that he should never speak about that to anyone around the same time. Only Raven knew, and the few lovers he had taken over the years. Most of them were meaningless sex, fast and desperate, always being worried that they would get caught. After he got his degree and the Führer was elected he refrained even from that. He had too much to lose. He had heard that one of his ex-lovers, Friedrich was taken away with the Jews when they found out. He couldn't risk that fate. So even when he realized that what he felt for Erik was much more than a simple crush, he didn't act on it. Erik probably wasn't interested in men, and he didn't want to ruin their delicate friendship. So he contented himself with longing gazes, stolen touches, and dreams.
Erik could pinpoint the exact moment he realized he had fallen in love with Charles. It was a Saturday evening, and he decided that his beard had gotten long enough. The bathroom door was cracked open, and as he shaved he couldn't help but peek in the mirror. Charles was curled up in the armchair, mesmerized with his book. He reminded Erik of a cat. Maybe he was too engaged with spying on Charles because he didn't pay enough attention to the razor. He hissed with pain and pressed his palm against the wound. Charles was beside him within a second, the book dropped on the floor. His long fingers were on Erik's cheek, turning his head towards him, so he could examine the wound. Charles's face was too close, and suddenly Erik couldn't breathe. Charles's pupils were so dilated his whole eyes seemed black, and Erik could feel his breath against his skin. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to take him in his arm, and devour him. He wanted to fuck him against the wall until he screamed Erik's name. Luckily, before he could do any of these stupid things, Charles stepped away.
"I'll bring something for the wound." He sounded breathless.
Erik stood there, trying to contain his lust, trying to think about anything else besides how beautiful the other man was. Charles soon returned with some rubbing alcohol, gently cleaning the cut. Erik wanted to run and hide in his room, but instead, he stayed still and endured Charles's prodding. "Stupid" he chastised himself." Charles only cares because you got injured. Now or back then, it doesn't matter. He is just doing his doctorly duties." He suspected that Charles was interested in men. Erik could usually tell that pretty accurately. He noticed how Charles's eyes stayed on his chest just a little longer, or how he blushed when Erik" accidentally " touched him. But the fact that Charles wanted Erik's body didn't mean he wanted Erik. And he also wasn't sure if Charles was out even to himself. Many men lived their lives lying to themselves, despising the very thing they were. Erik depended on Charles, in every aspect of his life. If he made a move, and he misread Charles then he would be out on the street. And even if he was right, if Charles wanted him, what then? Being a lover was much much more complicated and dangerous than being a friend. Jealousy, arguments, disappearing love. And who knows how long this war lasts? What if their relationship ship didn't last that long? Living with an ex would be torture. No, he was going to stay put, Erik decided. He was going to wait out the end of the war here, and do nothing that would make Charles do otherwise. He wasn't naive or stupid anymore, not like before. He would stay alive, because that's what matters, not love or desire or whatever this was. So Erik stopped touching Charles. He stopped making ambiguous remarks. He kept the conversations at a not too personal level. And it was fine like this, really. Erik couldn't ask for a better friend than Charles. Or a better place. It was perfect. It didn't matter what he really wanted.
Erik was thirsty. When he woke up the second time (he was startled out of sleep when Charles brought the tray up, but fall asleep soon after) and went to the table to drink a glass of water he found the pitcher empty. Charles must have forgotten to refill it. At first, he was just mildly annoyed, but as time passed on it became a bigger and bigger issue. He tried to keep busy with Freud, but the book couldn't keep his attention when his dry lips and the sound of rain outside constantly reminded him how thirsty he was. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. The rain started pouring, and all he could think about was water, clean, cold water against his throat. Fuck it. He decided. It would be less than a minute. He would climb down, fill the pitcher and go back. No one would hear it. He tiptoed to the kitchen, water pitcher in one hand. It was nearly filled to the brim when he heard the door open. Charles must have arrived. He went to greet him, then froze.
"Charles?" A female voice called out.
Shit. He was so stupid, so fucking careless. He looked around, but there was nowhere to hide in the kitchen. Maybe if he stayed very still and quiet she would go away. No such luck. The door handle rattled as she turned it, and Erik found himself face to face with a pretty blonde woman.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Erik shouldn't have been so afraid of a young woman but he was. He was fucking terrified.
"I'm Charles's friend." It sounded weak even to his own ears.
"Bullshit."
She turned to leave the room, and Erik panicked and grabbed a knife. She stopped dead on her track. It was a stupid move because what was he gonna do, kill her and hide the body? But it at least stopped her from running out screaming, revealing his secret to the whole house. They stared at each other, neither of them moving. That's when the key started to rattle in the lock. Erik could hear Charles putting his bag and coat down, humming to himself. Then he opened the kitchen door and froze. They must have been quite a sight. Charles's eyes darted between them, assessing the situation.
"Erik, please put down the knife." He sounded calm, but his voice sightly trembled.
Erik hesitated for a moment before dropping the knife on the table.
"Who the fuck is this, Charles?!"
"Raven, this is Erik, my friend. He has been living with me. Erik, this is my sister, Raven."
"Charmed." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Charles, would you mind explaining this?"
"Of course. Erik, if you would excuse us for a moment."
He didn't want to, but he left them alone, retreating to the attic.
Raven was pacing the kitchen, with her arms crossed, whisper-yelling at him.
"What the fuck, Charles? What the actual fuck? He is one of them, isn't he? A Jew."
Charles sighed. There was no point denying it, he could never lie to his sister.
"Yes."
"Well, that's just wonderful. Have you stopped for a minute to think before you decided to risk your life? You are supposed to be the smart one, Charles! If they discover him, if there is just the slightest doubt, they will kill you. Or worse, take you and torture you, ship you off to one of those godforsaken camps never to be seen again! And they might not stop with you. They can come for Kurt, for me! "
"I know, Raven, and I'm sorry for getting you in danger. But I had to help him. "
"You were always too good for your own. A true naivete, ready to change the world. But it won't change. How did you get him, anyway? "
"He was shot, bleeding out on the street. What was I supposed to do, leave him there to die? I became a doctor to save people's lives, not to walk by when I can help. "
Raven's expression softened.
"You know I feel the same way as you do about the horrible way the Jews are treated. But you can't expect me to be happy about you endangering your life. You and Kurt are the only family I have got left. I can't lose you. "
"I will be okay. No one suspects Erik lives here."
"He should be more careful. He was standing in plain sight when I came in."
"He is supposed to stay in the attic while I'm away. I will talk to him. But you have to promise me that you won't tell a word to anyone. Not even to Kurt or your friends. No one."
"I'm not stupid, Charles. And I don't wish to see you suffer. I won't tell a soul."
"Good. Are you staying for dinner? Because then I'll get Erik and you can get to know him while we eat."
Charles climbed up to the attic. He hoped Erik had calmed down, but when he stepped into his room, he saw he packed the few clothes he had and was wearing a coat.
" Should I go now, or wait until it's dark? "
" What? Why would you leave? "
" I threatened your sister with a knife."
"You were scared."
Erik wanted to protest, but it was true, so he shut his mouth.
"She won't tell anyone. Come down, if you feel like it. Raven brought food."
As Erik and Raven started awkwardly chatting and eating, it slowly dawned on Charles what just happened. And besides being terrified, he grew angrier and angrier. How could Erik have been so careless? Doesn't he know what they have to lose if he is discovered? He just sat there, brooding, not joining the conversation, even at Raven's nagging. Finally, they finished the meal, and Charles walked Raven to the door. His sister grabbed his arm before he could open the door.
"Charles, promise me that you will be careful. And that if there is any chance that someone discovered him, even the smallest shadow of a doubt, that you will send him away."
"You know I can't promise that."
"I love you, Charles. I need you. And Kurt needs his uncle. Don't fuck this up."
He just nodded and hugged her close. Then he locked the door and headed to the attic.
Erik saw that Charles was angry the moment he stepped into his room.
"What the fuck, Erik?!"
And Erik now knew that he was really angry because Charles never swore.
"How could you be so reckless? It could have been anyone, the house-porter, an officer, anyone! We have mad luck that it was Raven! What were you doing in the kitchen anyway?
"I just wanted to get some water. You forgot about it. "
It sounded weak even to his ears. But what Charles said next surprised him beyond any expectation.
"You can't do stupid things like that! You will get caught, and they will kill you and that can't happen because I love you too damn much!"
Charles shut up a minute too late. He clasped his hands to his mouth, his eyes scared. Erik suddenly couldn't breathe.
"What did you say? "
His voice wasn't trembling, but it was barely a whisper.
"Care. I care about you too much. "
"Oh no. You don't get to say something like that, then take it back."
Erik closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Charles's. Charles was too shocked at first to react, going limp in Erik's arm. He only started reacting when Erik's tongue started probing his lips, asking to be let in. He opened his lips and wrapped his arms around Erik. When finally when their lips parted, and they were both panting he whispered.
"How long?"
"Three months. You can be very charming when you are playing doctor."
Charles initiated the kiss this time. His scent was still soapy and clean from the hospital, but underneath there was wool, and sweat and something that was so uniquely Charles. It flooded Erik's senses and drove him crazy. He could feel himself harden.
"You are so beautiful." His hand slid down Charles's hips, but he stopped Erik.
"Are you sure that you want to do this? That this isn't just the moment's passion, and when we wake up tomorrow you decide that you are straight and that you hate me?"
Suddenly Charles sounded very insecure. Erik took his face in his hands, looking him in the eye.
"There aren't many things that would make me hate you. And I haven't thought I was straight for a very long time."
"Good."
"Your bed or mine? "
"Yours. But we have to be really quiet. "
So they were quit, which proved to be harder than Erik thought it would be. He wanted to hear Charles moan and curse, he wanted to make him scream his name. Instead, he had to be satisfied with whispers, sweet gasps, and the sound of Charles's breath hitching whenever his fingers ghosted over his nipples. Charles's body was perfect. He wasn't too muscular, but his shoulders were broad and his limbs long. His stomach and buttocks were soft, and his nipples red and perky. He kissed every inch of him.
"Didn't know you were hiding all of this under those ugly sweaters."
"Well, you weren't hiding anything. Kept coming out of the bathroom, half-naked. Teasing little shit."
"Well, it worked, didn't it? And you are adorable when you blush."
Their first time making love is passionate, but also a bit awkward. It had been quite some time for both of them, and they were still new to each other's bodies. But the initial awkwardness was soon forgotten, replaced by delicious kisses and long moans.
Nothing big changed after that night. Their routine remained the same. Expect instead of the rattle of the tray Erik woke up to Charles's morning kisses, and Charles lost more chess games than usual because he got distracted by Erik's hand on his thigh. Erik made a sport out of seeing that delicious blush on Charles's cheeks and he wasn't afraid to play dirty. And at night, after their game of chess, Charles more often than not stayed there, curled up in Erik's bed. That ridiculously narrow bed became their hideout, a tiny paradise within the cruel word. But the word never ceased to remind them of its existence. Erik often found Charles stooped above the sink, trying to get the blood out of his uniform. The soldiers crowded the hospital. The beds weren't enough for them, the medication and the bandages weren't enough either. They laid on the floor, screaming, cursing, and praying. Charles had to amputate without anesthesia, and turn patients away so he could give the resources to those who needed it most. He suffered with his patients, and he couldn't leave that suffering behind when he left the hospital. Erik still had nightmares, and even awake he often wondered what happened to Magda, to his uncle, or his friends. He was lucky to be in a bed, well-fed and in Charles's arms, and he couldn't help but feel guilty over it. Whenever there was an air-raid and as Charles waited for it to end in the safety of the shelter he worried to death about Erik. He was in the attic, after all, exposed to the bombs. The radio blasted about the Führer's victories, or, if they listened to the forbidden channels, about Allies' breaking through. But even when worrying about the war or being discovered, they had each other. It was so right, every touch, every kiss that they couldn't imagine not being together. Of course, it was too good to last.
It started out as a nice evening. Erik cooked the only thing he was good at, his mother's matzoh ball soup, and Charles opened a bottle of wine. He managed to find a channel where they were broadcasting music, not political speeches. Erik's hands kept wandering back to his tight, and his dry sense of humor made him spit his wine out laughing. He was happy, and in love, for the first time in forever. And he could imagine this, somehow working. When the war was over, and Erik could finally walk free on the streets, maybe he would stay here. They could live a quiet life, avoid the rumors and act like this, like a couple within these walls. He could see it happen. He tried not to think too much about his doubts. What if Erik was only here because he had to hide? What if he left, the moment he could? What if he decided that he wanted a wife, a family, instead of Charles? No, he still had time before he had to think about all those worries. Or so he had thought. There was a knock on the door, disturbing their idyll. It was past curfew, so it must have been someone from the house.
"Quick." He whispered. "Go to the attic."
"But…"
"Now. I'm coming!"
He loudly stomped to the door, rustling his keys, trying to cover up the sound of Erik's steps. His heart was beating in his throat. "Please don't be the police. Please don't be the police." He silently prayed to God as he opened the door, a forced smile on his face. He had to stop himself from letting out a sigh when he saw it was only Frau Krüger, the porter.
"Good evening, Doctor Xavier."
"Frau Krüer, what a surprise. How can I help you?"
"I came to ask if you wanted to sign up for the collection we are organizing to help the soldiers."
"Of course I want to help, but isn't it rather late for that? Maybe you could come back tomorrow morning, and I would sign up."
"It is never late to help our glorious Germany in winning this war. Besides, you are always away, working. A young man of your age should be fighting on the fronts."
"It seems our country has a bigger use of me in the hospital instead. And now if you don't mind I would like to get some rest now."
He tried to close the door, but Frau Küger stopped it with her foot.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to offend you."
"No offense taken."
"Then let's just quickly sign this paper, and I'll be out of your hair. It will only take a minute."
She pushed her ways inside, and Charles followed her, hoping to end this quickly.
"So where can I sign?"
Frau Küger laid out the papers on the coffee table.
"Here, and here. Then you can decide what sum you want to donate, and fill out a check."
Charles wrote a bigger sum than he would have usually would have, but he wanted her gone, as fast as he could.
"Here you go."
"By the way, are you having company? I thought I heard laughter before I knocked."
Charles dropped his pen.
"No, that was just me, laughing at an article."
Frau Krüger frowned.
"My hearing must not be the same. I could have sworn I heard someone else."
Charles followed her gaze. The kitchen door was slightly cracked open, revealing two sets of plates and glasses on the table. He didn't even have time to panic, or close the door, or do something, because the old woman just grabbed the paper.
"Thank you for your donation, Doctor. Good night."
Charles's hand was shaking as he locked the door. He took a few deep breaths to regain control of himself, then headed to the attic.
"It's me, Erik. You can come out."
"Who was it?"
Charles told him, as he paced the room nervously up and down.
"I think she saw it. The two plates. She might have figured it out. I'm a fucking idiot, I should have at least closed the door."
Erik simply turned around and started gathering his clothes.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm getting out of here."
"Where would you go? It's past curfew anyway, if they catch you without papers, they will just shoot you."
"Yes, and if I stay and they raid this place, they will kill you, too. I can't have that. You have been too good to me, I can't cause your death."
Charles grabbed his hand, stopping him from packing.
"You aren't going anywhere tonight. That would mean certain death to you and I wasn't risking everything for months just so you would die like this."
"Because both of us dying is so much better?"
"I love you, Erik. Please, don't do this."
His expression softened, and he caressed Charles's face.
"I love you, too. That's why I'm doing this."
"Give me a day, Erik. You can't leave now, anyway, Frau Kügler will be watching. I have heard rumors about one of my colleges, Hank Mccoy. That he can acquire papers and smuggle people abroad. He might be able to help us."
"Rumors, Charles? And if you are wrong? If he will just go to the police the moment you reveal what's going on?"
"This is the best chance we've got. I'm willing to risk it."
"Your best chance is getting rid of me, and then denying that you have ever met me."
"I'm not doing that. We are in this together. Let me at least try, Erik."
"One day, Charles. I'm waiting until tomorrow then I'll be gone if this Mccoy doesn't work out."
Charles sighed in relief. One more day. He can deal with that. He kissed Erik softly and whispered against his lips.
"Come to bed with me. If we are doomed anyway, let's spend this last night in each other's arms."
Charles adjusted the collar of Erik's coat.
"You have to walk out of the downstairs, and out of the door. Frau Küger is on her lunch break, so she won't notice you. Go slowly, and try not to arouse suspicion. Raven will be waiting for you at the end of the street. You are less likely to be stopped when walking with a beautiful woman. An associate of McCoy's will be waiting for you in a black Ford, by the church. He will take you to a safe place, and eventually, out of this country. "
Charles looked straight into Erik's eyes, so he would know he meant every word he said.
" If this doesn't work out, if we get caught, I want you to know that I'm happy I have spent my last few months with you. I regret nothing."
"I promise I'll find you once the war is over. I'll come back to you."
The kiss was short, but it told everything they couldn't say. Finally, Charles braked it.
"Go. Be safe."
And as he closed the door behind Erik he knew that one of the happiest periods of his life just ended.
The war was over. And even though Charles hoped for the Allies victory, it still hurt to see the pain and suffering this victory brought to his country. The hospital was filled with veterans, and civilians as well. Hurt from the bombings, or by the invading soldiers. He had worked constantly, even after hours. It was a good way to engross his thoughts and attention. He tried not to think about Erik too often. He didn't know what had happened to him if he managed to escape the country. McCoy had been arrested a month after Erik left, and ever since he had no information about him. Sometimes he thought it would be better to know for certain that he was dead, rather than this maddening uncertainty. Other times he dreamed that he was free, and happy, somewhere in a foreign country, and that maybe, one day, he will come back or at least send a message to him. Those dreams hurt the most when he woke up, terribly alone, and sad. At least he still had Raven and Kurt. And he had his life, unlike many, many others. So he tried to be grateful and help those who were less fortunate. That day he just finished a long-long shift. He was so tired he could barely stand. He went to his office, to finish putting away the paperwork and grab his coat, then to finally head home. He was fumbling with the papers when there was a knock on the door. He didn't even bother to look up.
"Come in!"
The door creaked and an all too familiar scent filled the room.
"I see you still work late."
He turned around so fast he knocked half of the papers down from the desk.
"Erik…"
He kissed him, not bothering to check if anyone was near to see them. He had a beard, which was new and tickled Charles's face, but everything else was familiar.
"You are alive."
Erik smiled and took his hand.
"Let's go home."