Charles sat on the floor of his bedroom going through his belongings. He had still not decided what he wanted to do next, but he had been in a reflective, melancholic mood lately for obvious reasons. He glanced back at David as a clatter sounded. He smiled at his son as he played with a wooden block set Logan had brought back. Charles frowned a little, thinking of his conversation with Logan earlier that day.
"How you doing, kid?" Logan had asked, coming into Charles' room.
Charles had leveled him with a withering glare.
"Yeah, that seems about right. I've got a saber lying around somewhere. You can run me through if you want. I'll heal."
Charles had rolled his eyes in reply.
"I'm angry, but not homicidally so. At least not at you. Not even at the prince mostly."
He hadn't talked to Erik since that day in his bedroom. After a long, hard cry, he wiped his tears, went out to greet the children, and continued with his day while largely ignoring Erik's existence. It hurt more than Charles anticipated. So much of his life at Logan's inn was wrapped up in Max. Without him, it felt undeniably empty. Charles didn't know if he wanted to extend an olive branch to Erik. It was difficult seeing Max's face on someone whose entire personal history he knew but was still virtually a stranger, so he stonewalled him instead. That hurt too. It was nearly impossible to ignore Erik's forlorn gazes towards him and his overwhelming sense of longing, regret, and guilt when it was slamming into Charles' psionic walls. He stayed away, reminding himself that there was no point in pursuing any further relationship with Erik. Charles was beneath him when he was still the unsullied son of Lord Xavier, let alone now with all the baggage they both came with. Erik was a prince, a king without a crown. Charles' place in his castle was suited to scrubbing his floors, not living by his side.
Preconceived opinions, forgone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by. There I plant my foot, he reminded himself. That had become a mantra over the days, held him strong when he wanted to give in to the temptation of trying to make their relationship work even with this new complication. His copy of Jane Eyre was well-worn as he had taken to consulting it like a pious man would verses of scripture.
Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation, they are for such moments as this, when body and soul, rise in mutiny against their rigour, stringent are they, inviolate they shall be.
Charles spent the early days of his life not truly aware that he had carte blanche to flaunt the principles and mores society would have imposed on him as a member of the aristocracy, even one who was not yet settled as an alpha, beta or omega. His father had created a bubble around him and Raven, making their manor in Salem seem almost like an island where they made their own laws and principles. The ones then imposed on him by Kurt were so rigorous that the moment he had the opportunity to break free of them, he ran about like a loose cannon, giving in to every temptation, indulging in nearly every vice, turning himself into an absolute cad even when such rakish behavior was not what his heart was set upon, and damn the consequences.
He was never an entity unto himself. There was always the Xavier name to think of, his father's legacy, Raven's safety, even Sharon's reputation. In York, he had given in to egocentrism. He wanted to live his life for himself, not that he did much with it outside of the classroom. He had equated his shameless, yet calculated, rapacity to freedom. After Cassandra and David, he couldn't view that time of his life with much fondness. Perhaps it wasn't laws and principles making him warier of temptation now so much as it was regret, grief, pain, and protectiveness over his son. He had lost Cassandra to the edicts and political scheming of Westchesterian aristocracy, he would not lose David to the same in Genosha. He refused.
Still, that philosophy on temptation did not seem to hold true when it came to Max. He had fallen hard and fast, dived into the ocean without precaution never knowing if he would drown and trusting a man he didn't know to save him if he got caught in the undertow. Maybe he hadn't changed as much as he thought he had. Maybe he was still that self-centered, rebellious teenager running away from home into the arms of anyone who would have him because, ultimately, he needed someone to love him, even if it wasn't real and was just for a few hours.
Logan had dropped down on the bed beside him, reached out and squeezed Charles' shoulder comfortingly.
"What are you thinking, kid?"
"I'm thinking about what a fool I was to trust so easily, to fall so quickly and unabashedly with a man I hardly knew. Serves me right, doesn't it? Maybe I really am as much of a worthless idiot as Kurt always said."
"Don't. Don't ever let anything like that get in your head. It's not true."
"Isn't it? What am I going to do now? It seemed like a dream, but I had a rough idea of what the future could've been like: me, Max and the children together. It would've made everything that happened worth something. Those five years, all those losses, it would've brought me to something more. David and I would have a family, a chance at happiness."
Charles reached up and scrubbed away an errant tear.
"It was preposterous to have thought of it at all. We haven't even known each other for long. I only learned his real name days ago. I can't love him."
"But you do," Logan concluded.
Charles scoffed, more so at his own stupidity than the validity of the statement.
"I think I am still too raw after Cain and am simply throwing myself at the next alpha halfway decent to me. I need distance and time and I will get over this."
"I don't think that'll work the way you think, Chuck," Logan warned.
"Why not? I survived before I met Erik, I can certainly survive after he's gone."
I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.
Logan looked at Charles contemplatively before continuing.
"I knew a man once. We met back in Nova Scotia. We both traveled as guns-for-hire, doing odd jobs where we would cross paths. As soon as I met him, I wanted him. I knew it could get us in trouble. We were both alphas and it was forbidden to consort upon pain of death. No skin off my back, but even though Gifted, he was not immortal. He could be hurt or killed. The more we resisted each other and walked away, the more painful it became to remain apart. I thought it was just run-of-the-mill heartache, but as time went on and we stayed distant, it intensified. It was a physical pull, something in my chest."
Charles sat up straighter, recognizing that description.
"We took a job in Inuit territory helping keep interlopers out of the tribe's domain, protecting the border. They were the ones who saw it, who told us that we had a true bond between us. They told us our mateship was preordained by the spirits, that it was wrong for us to turn away from it and that if we didn't complete the bond, it would just lead to more pain and suffering for us. We would offend the gods by denying their blessing. We'd never want anyone else now, they said, we'd never love anyone else so long as the other shall live and anyone after would be a pale imitation of love compared to our mateship. I figured it was just a bunch of superstitious nonsense, but I ached for him when he left. The longer we resisted, the more it hurt and it got to a point where it was debilitating. That was months into our separation. The pain crept up on us slowly, but the more we saw each other and left without completing our bond, the worse it felt when we were apart. So, we stopped fighting and we stayed together until he was killed. Nothing felt righter than being with him and nothing has felt that way since. I think that is what's going on with you and Erik."
He thought of old stories his father told him about true-bonded pairs, made for one another by a higher power, destined to be mates. He had never thought he would experience that himself. Feeling Gabrielle and Suzanne's love was a convincing argument. The testimony of his godfather, notoriously unsentimental as he was, added fuel to that fire. Meeting Erik was further proof for him, but still, doubts remained.
"Logan—"
"I know, I know. Classic wisdom says it doesn't exist, it's a fairytale, or at best, a long-dead phenomenon. I know what I felt with Hercules. I've seen it happen between a few others over the years. I've learned to recognize the signs, the look, the smell. Even if it isn't a true bond, you got a chance for something real, Chuck. I've lived long enough to know that when an opportunity to love someone presents itself, you don't turn away from it, no matter what anyone else tells you, no matter what barriers stand in your way. Living your life how others want you to live it isn't going to bring you happiness, kid. You want to be with Erik, you have to make it happen."
Charles hadn't said anything to that, instead choosing to stew in silence and let Logan's words sink in.
Did it matter in the end? A few days ago, it didn't feel asinine to believe that some divine or cosmic force had made Charles and Erik for each other. Now it felt silly to contemplate, but his heart told another story. He knew precisely what Logan meant. Even while sitting in the same room as Erik, he ached for him.
He shook his head to dispel those thoughts as he dug through his bags and took out some of the items he had brought with him when he fled Salem. His melancholy had given way to nostalgia. He took the time to examine his father's fob watch, a pocket portrait of Raven, a pendant of St. Michael, a bound folder with Brian's notes and plans for his school and his personal journals. Brian always liked jotting down his thoughts so he never forgot anything. Sometimes he even wrote letters to Charles or Raven that he promised he'd give them when they got older. Before Charles left for university, he gathered the letters written for him so he could have some words of wisdom from Brian.
He took the last journal his father had written in, a black leather book with some papers hanging out. He removed a loose paper from the back and unfolded it so he could read the age-worn note.
My dearest Charles,
What to say to you? Today, you turned nine years old. I can hardly tell where the time went. It feels like just yesterday I first held you, squalling and red-faced but still the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes upon. Every day with you and your sister has been a gift that I could never deserve but thank every celestial force for receiving anyway. You smiled at me today when I gave you your present. Hardly anything ornate, a mere microscope, but I thought at that moment that I wanted nothing more than to ensure that for the rest of your life, you have every reason to smile that way: carefree and happy.
There are days when I see you, witness your brilliance and talent, and even as my chest fills with pride, I cannot help but worry. You and Raven are so precious to me, but I know not everyone will see that. Some will only see your Gifts and deem you as dangerous or incongruous with polite society. If they only took the time to learn just how magnificent your souls and minds are, they could never think ill of you.
My greatest wish for you, my dear boy, is that you know love. I know what will be expected for me to do. I know my duty is to marry you to whoever presents the most advantageous enterprise. On the contrary, I want you to find someone who will change your life, who will make you believe in the impossible, who makes you inconceivably happy, who makes you know in every way that you are loved and wanted.
You must remember that love is not easy. Love doesn't just happen. It is built and it is tested, it is sometimes opposed and denounced, but if your love is true, it can overcome that if you only fight for it.
Nothing would make me happier or give me more peace of mind than to know you have a mate who inspires in you the love most only dream of. You deserve all that and the world too.
With deepest love and regard,
your father
Charles put the letter down and was unsurprised at the tears swimming in his eyes. His father had written many letters, all of them pure expressions of his love, but this one was always his favorite. It felt unerringly poignant now. What would his father say if he could see him? Would he be disappointed in Charles for his lack of chastity? Would he be like Logan and tell Charles that, even in this circumstance, he should shun the constructs of society and go for what he wanted? That was easy to say but much harder in practice. He didn't know if he wanted to fight for this. Did he know Erik? He knew Max. He knew how to read the minute changes in Max's face to tell what he would do in their chess games. He knew how to identify the barest tilt of Max's lip as amusement. He knew how to read the sarcasm in Max's dry wit. He knew what passion and fervor in Max's eyes looked like when he was fired up during their political debates. Would all that remain the same with Erik? Would a name change that much about him?
Erik and Logan were both leaving today while Charles stayed back at the inn with the children. They were going off to fight to get Erik's throne back. Charles was hardly going to stop him. What could he do or say? Erik had a responsibility to thousands of people that superseded his relationship with Charles. Erik claiming Charles would cause strife in his kingdom. Charles was noble-born, but he was divorced, making him nameless and penniless, thus no dowry. He was foreign-born, always a source of tension in these kinds of marriages. He had buried himself in books about Genosha so he knew much about the land. He had always had a good head for numbers and had had the training expected of omegas so he knew how to run a household and organize the expected soirees of high society, but he was not of this country and that would always be held against him.
Erik had heirs, but would Charles be expected to conceive to seal their marriage's legitimacy regardless? He was told to expect fertility issues after the divorce, but pregnancy would not be impossible. If he did have a child, they would not inherit the throne unless the royal family was met with a plethora of tragic events. Still, if he had a child, he would likely be accused of being a social climber, having nefarious intentions to place his child upon the throne for personal reasons over Erik's older children. If he didn't have a child, then he was barren and the marriage was in doubt, most likely received as not being ordained by God, especially since he had a son in his first marriage. His telepathy would also always be viewed with caution. He would field accusations like the ones that came from Ms. Frost, a fellow telepath, of having impure intentions or imposing his will upon others.
That was if he and Erik chose to be together.
Charles rubbed a hand over his face. Why did everything have to be this complicated? He lamented once again that Erik was not a blacksmith. Their lives would've been so much easier. They could've been planning for their future together right now if that were the case. It would be a massive adjustment for Charles to go from the aristocracy to working class, but he could've done it.
If they did separate, Charles wondered what would happen then. He suspected he would miss Erik fiercely. And not just him. He had come to care deeply for Anya and the twins. It would be hard to give them up. David had gotten used to them too. Charles didn't know how he was going to facilitate that separation when it came. And Erik would go back to his throne and attempt to pass all the legislation for the issues they had been debating back and forth. He would be a king, probably a beloved one. Maybe he would get married again to some lord or lady for the sake of a bridge or a plot of disputed land or something similar and as for Charles, he'd forget him.
That was if he survived this coming battle. They had their contingency plans set if Erik did not win. If Logan didn't return in five days, then Charles was to take money Logan had stashed away, gather the children, and run to a safe house his godfather had in Alkali City. From there, it was up to Charles to figure out the best course of action.
Charles could then not help but think of what Anya had said to him after she noticed the rift between him and her father. She had apologized and begged him not to be mad at her, not that he could be over this. They had talked about her life in the capital, her mother, her aunt, her grandfather, Lord Shaw and finally, her father.
"I thought him telling you the truth would make things better, I thought you would talk about everything. It didn't fix much, did it?"
"What needs fixing that your father, in his infinite wisdom and strength, can't fix on his own?" Charles had asked bitterly.
"Himself. He's angry, so angry. I saw that duel between him and Lord Shinobi. When we were watching the doctors save his life after, Grandfather said that that rage was going to kill him someday. That kind of anger would make a man kill himself just to take his enemy with him, destructive anger, not constructive. He didn't know I was listening, but I heard, and I saw it."
Charles had thought of the bottomless abiding pit of fury and grief simmering beneath the surface when Erik thought of Ruth and the Shaws. He wondered if he ever remembered his sister and recalled memories with fondness anymore or was everything tainted. Charles harbored his fair share of anger and hurt when he thought of his father, sister and even his mother taken from him by the Markos, but he found solace in happy memories.
"What do you expect me to do about that, Anya?"
"He has been different these past weeks with you. The anger hasn't gone away, but it's not the only thing he thinks of."
"You want me to distract him," he had huffed in reply.
"No… yes… I don't know exactly. I just want him back, the way he was before everything happened."
Charles had softened, watching the young girl as she bit her lip and tugged on her fingers anxiously. Sometimes he forgot she was just a little girl who couldn't always process and express her own motives. He supposed her maturity made sense now. She was the prospective heir to the throne and was likely raised as such. Her childhood ended long before Charles' had. At eight years old, he still had the freedom to run around his estate with no worries. He had classes, but he was not yet taught how to run his estate, not yet schooled in diplomacy or policy. Anya didn't have the same luxury. It was treachery that saw her family flee the capital, but this was probably the first opportunity she had had to indulge in childish play in a long time. She was not the heir to a single mansion but an entire country. Everyone must already evaluate her, judging her worthiness for the throne even though she had not settled into a distinction yet. Already the more opportunistic were likely scheming and thinking of ways they could use her for their own gain and for power. She was probably already aware of that, shrewd as she was. It must be difficult for her to know who to trust, or to trust anyone at all. Charles felt privileged that she deemed him worthy of her confidence.
"I don't remember much about my mother. I think she looked like you a bit. Her hair was a little darker, but her lips were red like that too. She had blue eyes. I remember she was soft and warm. Father was different around her, just like with you. He was softer. He cared about himself a little more. I just hoped that you could make him better like Mama used to. I don't think he's going to come back from the battle without a reason."
"You're a reason, dear. The twins are a reason."
Anya had shrugged in response.
"We weren't enough before."
Charles banished his wandering thoughts once more. All these voices in his head just made him more conflicted. He didn't know where his own feelings started or ended anymore. He shouldn't even be thinking about all of this. It was madness, sheer and utter insanity. There was only one conceivable outcome to this and that was for their relationship to end. It was over, Charles ended it and it was the right thing to do.
Here I plant my foot, he reminded himself.
Charles furrowed his eyebrows as he felt a sudden surge of happiness that was not his own. David let out a delighted noise behind him, causing a smile to alight Charles' face in response.
"What's got you so excited?" He wondered aloud, turning to look at David. The smile waned as he saw Erik standing in the doorway, cradling David in his arms.
"Hi."
Charles didn't say anything in response.
"Logan and I are about to leave."
He continued to stare at him, not sure what to say. Erik let out a sigh.
"Charles, I wanted to say to you again before I left that I'm sorry. I never wanted to harm you. It was never my intention. If I could take what I did to you back, I would. I never wanted to be someone who would cause you pain. The shame I feel knowing that I hurt you—"
"Used me. You used me," Charles corrected.
"I… it wasn't… if I did, it wasn't deliberate or premeditated. I usually have better control of myself, but something about you… there is no excuse. I had no right and I apologize again for the artifice and for dragging you into this."
Charles pursed his lips in response, debating what he wanted to say, if anything.
"Anya said I look like her mother."
"Vaguely, I suppose," Erik answered, a shade of confusion on his face.
"If you miss her and thought to use me as some sort of placeholder then—"
"No. Charles, that couldn't be farther from the truth."
"What is the truth, Erik? Do you even know what that word means?"
Erik reared back as if physically slapped. Charles immediately regretted the words. He had omitted things about himself as well, but he had never had the luxury of presenting a false pretense about himself as Erik had. The very nature of his distinction took away his ability to lie about certain aspects of his past. He supposed he probably would've come up with some grand cover story if he could've, but he hadn't, Erik had. He had done so for good reasons, but that didn't make Charles any less hurt.
"If there is little truth you can discern from me, then I beg you believe me when I say that I respect you. I respect your choices and sentiments on the matter and on me. It is not my intent to invalidate your feelings. I do not expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it. I have a debt to you that a lifetime couldn't repay."
Charles clenched his jaw, turning over responses in his head before asking the question plaguing him.
"Was it real? Any of it? Was I just some fantasy you got to escape into?"
Erik looked deep in thought before answering, like he wanted to form his reply very carefully. Charles was not sure whether to be wary of that or not.
"I cannot lie to you and say that the person you are was not some form of escapism for me. It has been a long time since I have matched wits with someone who I view as an equal. If you were ever an escape for me, it was only in the same way that a scholar might find communion in their books, or a musician in a song, or a lover in their mate's embrace. You were a source of fellowship for me, not a means to ignore my problems or bury my grief. Undeniably, it became easier to forget my pain when I was with you, but I never set out to use you to do so. It just happened to be. Everything I felt for you, everything I still feel for you, is real. It was always real. It was hard for me to believe it was real because I had written off such emotion when my wife was consigned to the ground. I found myself needing to reach out and touch you to confirm your existence."
Charles looked down and away. Erik's words sounded genuine and heartfelt. Charles wanted to believe him, but there was now a shade of skepticism in him for everything Erik said and did. Perhaps it was harsh of him, maybe it was fair, either way, it was there, and he couldn't simply erase it from existence. He said nothing and could audibly hear Erik deflate as he remained quiet. Silence reigned over the room for a few long moments before Erik turned his attention to David.
"I'm going to miss you. You take care of your papa, okay?"
David innocently nodded in response.
Charles glanced back over in time to see him place a kiss to the boy's forehead before setting him back down on the floor. Erik spared him another long look, emotions Charles did not bother identifying clouding his eyes, before turning to leave. Charles closed his eyes and bit his lip as he felt that tugging in his chest, that longing that had not left.
I am resolute. This is the right thing to do. Here I plant my foot, he thought.
That stoic resolve crumbled with Erik's every step until finally, his cursed insanity took hold of him and made him act.
"Wait."
The footsteps paused. Charles opened his eyes and looked up at Erik, who stared back expectantly and maybe hopefully. He racked his brain for something to say, not sure where to start or what to address: their mutual affections, Erik's deception, Charles' complicated history, the uncertain future, the now fraught past.
"Have you talked to Anya?" He said, beginning in the easiest place he could.
Erik's eyebrows scrunched up.
"She doesn't want to speak with me."
"She's afraid. She thinks you're not coming back from this. Not so much that you're planning to die, but that you don't care if you do so long as you kill Sebastian Shaw. I can't say I altogether disagree with her. I saw the duel in your memories. I've felt the anger and the pain that you feel about Ruth."
Erik stiffened but didn't speak.
"I'm not going to tell you you're wrong. Sometimes, I've wondered if I could've done it, debated whether I could've killed Cain or Kurt if given a chance."
"You wouldn't."
"How do you know that?"
"I just… know you."
Charles pursed his lips, unsure if he wanted to dispute that claim or not before he continued.
"I know you too, I think. I don't believe everything was a front. I might not have known your true name, but I think I got to know your true nature, your heart. I know you love your children, but Anya seems to think it's not enough. She thinks she's not enough to save you from your anger. That's why she wants me to stay. She thinks if you fall in love with me, if you love me like you did her mother, it'll make you… whole again."
Charles watched Erik absorb that, a complicated mixture of emotions playing across his face.
"You need to talk to her before you leave, reassure her that nothing is more important to you than her and the twins."
"They'll probably be better off with you, to be honest."
"Don't be ridiculous, Erik. You're their father. They need you, not me. They want you. They love you. They need you to give them a reason to believe that you love them despite everything else that might get in the way, even if that thing is you. They need a reason to believe in you."
Charles looked down, aware that he might not just be talking about the children.
"I want to come back, Charles. I love my children more than life itself. The idea of leaving them behind is abhorrent to me."
"Then what is it? What happened during that duel? You didn't care about them, or the kingdom or yourself, all you cared about was revenge."
Erik shut his eyes as he spoke.
"I have lost things before, as you know. But there was never anyone to blame. My mother was taken by illness, my wife by illness, my siblings who died in infancy were also taken by illness. But Ruth?"
Charles clenched his teeth against the wave of grief and pain that washed the room. David made a disgruntled whining noise and Charles absentmindedly shielded him from the emotional turmoil. The sound seemed to shake Erik out of his internal musings. He opened his eyes, taking the room in before breathing deeply a few times.
"After our mother died, Ruth would come to my room at night, crying, missing her. She looked so much like her even then. It hurt my father to see her and she felt ostracized by him and some of those at court who followed his example even though she was just a child. I told her as long as I lived, she would never be alone. I would always look out for her, I would never abandon her. I made a sacred vow. I got down on my knees in the castle's synagogue and I made a vow before HaShem that I would never leave her, that I would protect her, that she would die old and warm after a long, happy life filled with children and grandchildren and a mate who loved her. I broke every single one of those vows. I failed her as an alpha, as a prince, as her brother. I didn't fight hard enough for her. She begged me not to let Father send her away. I didn't do enough, and she died. This time it wasn't cruel circumstance or nature, she was taken from me. There was someone to blame. Maybe… maybe going after Shinobi wasn't just about Ruth. Maybe it was about my mother too and Magda. Maybe it was years of pent up loss I had never managed to work through, but there was someone to take it out on. It felt good to exorcise those demons, to inflict that pain on someone else. I lost myself in that darkness and didn't find my way out again until the damage was done."
Charles gazed at him, trying to gather himself. His heart was going wild, tugging and constricting with the urge to reach out and comfort the alpha, draw Erik's nose into his neck and let his scent calm him, lull him into tranquility. Charles ignored the mad impulse and focused on what Erik had said. He often felt similarly about Raven. He could've done so many things differently, and if he had, they would be together now. His guilt was such that he blamed himself for things he knew were beyond his control. Similarly, he was sure Erik was being unfair to himself and didn't shoulder as much blame for his sister's death as he thought if he bore any at all. However, the succeeding duel was another matter. He had the right to seek recompense for his sister's death, but his actions exacted the toll of Anya's trust alongside his vengeance. Still, that said nothing of her love.
Love could be just as strong a motivating factor as anger could. His father's love built a home and foundation for Charles and Raven in their childhood, not their mother's anger and apathy. David's love pulled Charles back from the brink of the abyss, not his own anger at his marriage. It was his love for David that drove him to Genosha rather than giving in to his anger and returning to Salem to exact his revenge on the Markos. Erik was used to running on anger, on pain, on grief, on guilt. That was what was fueling him throughout this political conflict. Charles wondered if Erik remembered what it was like to be motivated by love.
"When I was younger, me and my sister struggled with our Gifts. We used to only be able to use them when we were angry or sad or extremely happy—heightened states of emotion. My father would say true focus and control lies somewhere between rage and serenity. On their own, they may be good motivators, but when we accessed both in a conscious and controlled manner, we'd be able to do just about anything. He thought that what lay between those two extremes was love."
Charles stood up and approached Erik.
"Can I…?"
He reached up towards Erik's head meaningfully and the alpha nodded. He closed his eyes and reached out with the tendrils of his telepathy, asking for permission to access Erik's mind before stepping inside. He took a moment to appreciate the warmth and passion swirling around the corridors of thought but did not delve too deeply, lest he be caught up in the storm of aberrant emotion. Instead, he deftly searched for what he wanted, a simple memory he had seen in Anya's head.
Erik, Ruth, and Anya were seated at a table along with a man whom Charles recognized as King Jakob. The twins were on the king's lap, both using their hands to devour a piece of cake, their first taste of something that sweet. The family was laughing contentedly at the twins. Anya looked up at her father with a happy expression, her gaze overwhelmingly delighted and shining with love despite the mundane moment.
He let Erik see every other small and seemingly insignificant moment with him and Anya and the twins that might have seemed banal and negligible to him, but meant the world to the children, let him see their love for him and their care and what he was meant to be fighting for before he pulled back gently.
"That…"
"That is how your children see you. You are their hero. They adore you. You need to come back for them."
Charles reached out hesitantly and caressed Erik's cheek.
"There is so much more to you than you know. Not just pain and anger. There is good in you, I felt it. There is a love that can dominate any amount of hatred that wishes to drag you down with it. Use it to fight and get your home back, use it to survive. I'm not saying Shaw doesn't deserve to pay. I cannot tell you that killing Shaw will bring you peace, but neither can I tell you that it is the wrong thing to do. All I can say is that your survival is the only thing that will give your kingdom and your children peace."
Erik nodded before looking into Charles' eyes, reaching up to hold the hand Charles rested against his face.
"Thank you for everything you have done for my children and for me."
"You don't have to thank me. All you must do is live for your children… and for me. That's all I ask," Charles requested, more desperation than he wanted seeping into his voice.
Erik nodded in reply, a look of grim determination on his face. He turned to go but paused by the door again, turning back to Charles. There was a look of great conflict on his face before it was replaced with resolve.
"Charles, I must tell you before I go. I know that things will be difficult for you, no matter how all of this turns out. I want you to know you will always have a home in Genosha. I would be happy to host you and David at court for however long you want."
Charles stared at him, surprised.
"I don't want any charity," he settled on.
"It is not charity. You may look at it as atonement for what's happened between us if you wish, but more than that, I care deeply for you, you must know that. I want you to be safe."
"I…," he trailed off, not sure what to say.
"I do not mean to press you."
"Then what is this? I don't understand."
"It is simply an offer."
Charles' expression shuttered closed.
"I already told you I will not live my life as your mistress."
"I know. I will not insult you with propositions of concealed liaisons and back-alley dealings. You are worth far more than that. You are suited to the light and deserve to be no one's secret. You are too brilliant for it. I do not want you to feel you must trade your morals or self-respect for bliss with me. If all I can expect you to accept from me is a roof over your head until you get on your feet and establish yourself in Genosha, that will do for me. I want the peace of mind of knowing you and David are safe, that is all. Don't misunderstand me, if there is a chance for something more, I would not run from it. If there is any hope left to be found, if I have not torn it all asunder, you need only say the words and you would have me."
"Erik—" Charles exhaled sharply, as if the word was startled out of him, but the other man continued speaking.
"Again, this is said with no expectations of amorous confession on your end. I know you have writ the whole matter off as sheer hysteria. Beyond the machinations of the heart, there did exist a friendly rapport between us born of similar interest, did there not?"
"There did," Charles admitted.
That, however, left out the fact that their friendship had always been charged with their unspoken attraction to one another.
"There is much to resolve between us and perhaps I am being selfish for asking you this, but it would gladden my heart to know you are near, even if it is just for a spell until you are able to confidently go on with your life."
Charles gazed into his familiar green orbs, still holding the same emotion Max did, the same appealing planes of his face, the same tantalizing scent, the same magnetic pull. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say no. He didn't know what he wanted. No, he did and he couldn't have it. That made it all worse. He opened his mouth with the intention of refusing him, but what came out instead was,
"There is always hope, Erik."
Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps he was setting himself up for a hard fall by not severing this tie here and now. He did not even know what his own words meant, but he didn't take them back or regret them. Erik seemed to have gleaned some deep understanding in them that Charles had not because something in his eyes shifted, became less cautious.
The taller man stepped closer, invading his space for a long moment. Neither moved, their scents mingling and brushing against the other's nose. There was a deep sense of longing and sorrow in Charles' chest, something he had never felt before he innocently wandered his way into Logan's inn. Heavens, if he had known he might find this feeling here, would he have hastened to come faster or run from it?
Eventually, Erik came closer. Their breaths mingled as their lips brushed, not in a kiss but as a result of their proximity. Erik's nose brushed against the tip of Charles' then skimmed up his nasal arch and across his brow and his hair until the prince's lips met his forehead. Charles shut his eyes against the tide of emotion the soft gesture inspired, unable to repress the shiver that went down his spine.
He stayed there long after Erik left.