For the Best
His eyes flew open then somehow he was on his feet although he couldn't remember how. His hand outstretched, his power reaching, lifting a broken lump of stadium and he was Erik and Charles and Erik and Charles all at once, but the overriding impression was of pain, pain, PAIN!
Then just as suddenly he was Erik again, standing in the centre of the White House lawn, surrounded by the stadium he'd dropped there, watching Hank haul Charles upright. His neck throbbed where Mystique had shot him; there she was, a few feet away, staring at him, the helmet on the ground between them. Then he understood: Charles had taken advantage of Mystique's removal of his helmet and thrown himself into Erik's mind, stealing his power to free himself. Erik felt sick to his stomach as he realised that the wave of pain he'd felt upon waking was no his own, was not even the combined pain of the men behind him, but simply Charles'.
Charles was in pain, no. No. Charles was in agony. Mental, physical, emotional. All because of Erik.
Again.
As his eyes met Charles', time froze for Erik. A stark fact forced itself to the forefront of his mind: he loved Charles.
He'd spent most of his incarceration, and indeed most of the year before that since Cuba, burying those feelings, telling himself he was wrong, it wasn't love, it couldn't be love. Then he'd been free but too caught up in revenge against the men he deemed responsible for his imprisonment and preemptive revenge against those who would wipe out his race because he could not live through that again. And now Charles had been hurt, yet again, by his thirst for vengeance. Just like Cuba, like Shaw, he'd hurt Charles, possibly irreparably. He'd hurt the man he loved.
Time unfroze, and he heard himself talk.
"If you let them take me, I'm as good as dead."
"I know," Charles replied, gaze unwavering. There was no redemption there, neither did Erik believe he deserved it. Just like he'd said, all those years ago, Shaw had made him a monster. And now, long after the man's corpse had grown cold, his legacy lived on in Erik's veins.
"Goodbye old friend," Erik said. It was for the best. He had to leave, he had to let Charles have a chance at a life untainted by Erik and his hate. After all, how could anyone, let alone someone like Charles, possibly love a monster like him?
"Goodbye Erik," Charles replied.
Erik's eyes flickered to Mystique's – no, she was Raven once more. Charles' Raven – but did not expect to find any sympathy there. He found precious little. He knew her heart belonged with Charles, with Hank, even if she did not. It was okay though, she was not the monster he was. For her, there remained hope. For him, there was none. He spread his hands, manipulating the earth's magnetic forces to fly once more, feeling Charles' eyes on him the entire time but unable to meet them.
It was for the best.