Originally this chapter was going to be their first fight which resulted in more Erik being broody. But then I decided we'd had rather a lot of broody Erik lately, and I wanted to set him on the road to becoming the Erik we see at the start of X-Men Apocalypse – only with Charles instead of Magda. Plus, I wanted to have Charles being more of a dick, because it really bugs me when he's portrayed as totally innocent (He's an arrogant little bugger, but Erik loves him). And so, here is the result.
Balance
All throughout dinner, Charles shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His face twisted often, clearly in pain. And Erik suspected than his sudden inexplicable bad mood – which had struck as soon as he arrived home – was actually second-hand psychic feedback from his telepath.
"What's wrong with you?" Erik asked. He'd never been one to beat around the bush after all.
"What? Nothing," Charles scowled.
"Don't insult my intelligence," Erik replied. "Come on, what is it?"
"I said, it's nothing," Charles sniped.
"Charles-"
"Erik, shut up," Charles snapped. "Just drop it."
Erik was so stunned that all he could do was blink at his fiancé. Charles had never spoken to him like that before. No, that was a lie. Once, he'd spoken to Erik like that once, a little under a year ago, in an elevator in the Pentagon right after Charles punched him and right before guards entered the kitchen with plastic weapons. But never since they'd begun this new life together.
It stung.
"I only wanted to help," he managed eventually.
"Well, you can't," Charles snapped waspishly.
A burning knot appeared in Erik's throat, making it difficult to swallow. His first instinct was to lash out, to fight, to demand dominance. But he quickly quashed it. He didn't want to fight with Charles. Particularly not when he didn't have the faintest idea what this was about.
"Right," he nodded, pushing back his chair. Retrieving his jacket from the closet, he pulled it on under Charles' frown.
"Where are you going?" Charles asked.
"...I don't know," Erik replied. He held out his hand, using his powers for once, his keys flying across the room into his palm. But he paused at the door to add, "I'll be back later." He might have been hurt and confused, but he didn't want Charles to believe he was leaving.
Leaving the building, he turned up his collar against the evening chill and stalked off into the night. He paid no attention to his destination; he just needed to get out, to get away, to get some space. Eventually he stopped, finally taking note of his surroundings. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but there was a bar and it was open. Good enough.
Charles had always had that special knack for getting under his skin, Erik mused as he knocked back his first vodka. Even before he fell in love, Charles could get to him in a way no one else could. From that night outside the CIA building where he convinced Erik to stay, he brought out the best and the worst in Erik.
And Charles, Charles was so much more than people thought at first glance. It was so easy for them to stop at his rich background and English accent and see him as naïve and innocent. But Charles was no blushing violet. He was selfish and arrogant and stubborn. But he was also wickedly funny and entirely too caring, not to mention terribly awkward at relationships. And Erik loved that side of him.
Charles' habit of lashing out when angry though, he could live without.
And so, he needed to fall back and regroup before facing Charles again. This wasn't his first relationship after all – although it was the first in a long time – and he certainly did not want to repeat the same mistakes he'd made with Marya. Granted, he'd been young and foolish at the time, but that didn't change the fact that his temper was as strong today as it was back then. Better then to get some space, drown his anger out with a couple of vodkas, then return home and try to hash out whatever issue Charles had civilly.
Hopefully.
That was the plan at least.
But by the time he arrived home, Charles was in bed. Erik studied him for a long time until he was certain Charles actually was asleep, not just faking it. But they'd been together long enough now that he could tell the difference. Quietly slipping out of his clothes, he lay down beside Charles. And although it wasn't usually their thing to sleep so close – unless Erik suffered from a night terror – he shuffled across the mattress until his chest was only inches from Charles' back, curling one arm around his waist. Erik pressed a small closed mouth kiss against Charles' shoulder.
Tomorrow. They'd fix this tomorrow.
X
Charles lay in bed, his head upon his forearm as he stared at the ceiling. He could hear Erik on the other side of the room, puttering away in the kitchen making breakfast. He'd offered Charles, but Charles had silently declined. His spine hurt, as did his shoulders, not to mention the intermittent ache in his legs that came and went with the sensation in them. But worse than that, were the thoughts swirling about in his head. And the uncomfortable truth forcing its way to the surface, making his heart hurt.
"Why are you still here?" he asked suddenly.
Across the room, Erik paused and frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Charles hauled himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth as his muscles screamed in protest.
"I'm messing this up," he explained, waving a hand between them. "Why are you still here? Or do you want me to go?"
"Because we had one fight?" Erik asked. He shook his head. "You must be a bigger idiot than I give you credit for."
It was Charles' turn to frown. Erik sighed. He waved a hand to turn off the stove, then pulled a chair from the table across to Charles' bedside. Sitting, Erik leaned his elbows against his knees as he fixed Charles with a look.
"Charles, this is a relationship," Erik continued. "We'll fight. We always have; the fact that we're sleeping together now won't change that. Fighting is my natural response to a lot of things. So yes, we will fight. And sometimes, like last night, I will leave. Because if I stay, I might say something I'd regret. But I promise that I will always come back to you at night.
"Charles, this isn't going to be easy. I know that. If you want me gone, just say it. But one fight isn't enough to scare me off," he finished.
"I don't want you to leave," Charles admitted.
"Good," Erik smiled. "Because I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily, Xavier."
Charles chuckled.
"Now, do you want some breakfast?" Erik asked.
"Yes please," Charles nodded.
Erik smirked.
"Wise choice."
X
Only two days later, Erik noticed Charles' grimace again out of the corner of his eye. This time, instead of leaping straight in, he paused and took stock. It was when Charles shifted, wincing each time, then reached a hand round to rub at his back that the pieces fell into place.
"You're in pain," he realised.
"What? No," Charles denied.
"Don't lie to me," Erik replied. He set aside the dish cloth and perched on the edge of the mattress, knee to knee with Charles. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," Charles insisted.
An angry retort immediately sprung up to his throat, but instead of demanding to know why Charles obviously didn't trust him, Erik chose to breathe and swallow his anger.
"Charles," he began. "I can see you're in pain. I know I'm not very good at relationships, but I do know that I don't want to make the same mistakes with you as I have in the past. And – well, I think the best way to avoid those mistakes is by talking. Not our strong point, I know."
Charles stared at him, the silence stretching on until Erik began to worry; had he overstepped, pushed Charles too far? Added the straw which would break the camel's back?
"I don't know how to do this," Charles exhaled.
"Do what?"
"This. Relationships," he confessed. "Erik, I think before you, my longest relationship was a week. I just, I don't know how relationships work."
Erik hummed.
"Neither do I," he said. "But I do know where I went wrong before. Just avoid everything I've done in the past and you'll be fine."
He offered Charles a grin, and it warmed his heart to receive a chuckle in return.
"Okay," Charles nodded.
"So, do you want to try again?" Erik asked, "And actually tell me what's wrong this time?"
"You're right," Charles admitted. "I'm in pain."
"Your back?"
Charles huffed.
"Among other things. My back, my shoulders, and my legs – when I can feel them. It's the physical therapy," he explained. "Trying to walk again hurts like a bitch."
"Why do you have to walk?" Erik frowned. "If it's for me, don't. It doesn't make any difference to me whether you walk or not. I love you. Not your legs." He grinned wickedly. "However sexy your legs may be."
"No," Charles shook his head. "That's not- I mean, I'm not doing it for you. I just, I..." He pursed his lips. "Sometimes I feel so useless. I have, I have nothing here, Erik. I can't work. I don't have the school, I don't have my research. You're at work all day. That's a lot of time on my own with only my thoughts for company. I need this. I need something to work towards."
Erik nodded slowly, taking in Charles' words.
"Can I see your notes?" Erik asked. He'd seen them littering the apartment for months. Charles' eyebrows raised in surprise. "Please?" Erik added.
"Of course," Charles replied.
Retrieving them from his bedside, Charles handed over his scribbled notes, detailing the exercises he'd researched and believed would be most effective in helping him regain what mobility he could. Feeling Charles' eyes on him the entire time, Erik read through the pages slowly – not just because Charles' writing was terrible – taking care to take in every detail before forming his reply. And once he'd finished, he read them a second time just to be sure he had it correct.
When he put the papers aside, Erik saw the way Charles tensed, as if readying himself for a fight to defend his right to decide whether or not to continue with the physical therapy. Which was why when he did speak, Erik took care to watch his tone and speed, to ensure he didn't sound like, well, himself, demanding Charles see it his way.
"I think exercises are good," he began, making a point of ignoring Charles' startled look of surprise, "However, could I help?"
"I don't need help," Charles instantly interrupted.
Erik held up a hand.
"Let me finish?" he asked. Charles hesitated, then nodded. "Managing most of these alone will put a lot of effort on your body. Perhaps, just for a little while, I could help so it's less of a strain? So you're building up the strength rather than forcing it."
"I should be able to do these without help," Charles insisted. "I spent the last several years walking; it's not as though I'm fighting atrophy."
"Yes," Erik acknowledged, "However you had full use of your legs then too. Now you don't. Accepting help does not make you weak, Charles."
Charles looked away, allowing the silence to stretch on. But he reached out for Erik's hand, without looking; Erik took it gladly, pressing a small kiss to Charles' knuckles.
"Why is it so important to you?" Charles muttered.
"Because. Because, I want..." Erik swallowed. "I want to protect you," he tried again. "From – from everything. Even yourself. No, especially yourself. Because, Charles, I love you, but you are one of the most self destructive people I've ever met. Sometimes – sometimes I just want to scream at you. And, and, not just that. I want to, to protect you. From this -" he waved his hand vaguely, "- From all the aches and pains that your body throws at you. And not, I'm not – I mean – I'm not just saying that because I feel guilty. No. It's not that. It's just- I love you. So I want to protect you. Because when I see you hurt – physically, or emotionally, or mentally – it hurts. It hurts me. Because I love you. And not asking for help? It's one of those mistakes I made that you probably don't want to repeat."
Finally running out of words and air, Erik breathed slowly, then forced himself to meet Charles' eyes, unsure of what reaction awaited him.
Charles watched him pensively, but when their eyes met, he offered Erik a small smile.
"Okay," he said finally.
"Okay?" Erik echoed.
"Okay," Charles nodded. "I will... try."
Erik beamed, leaping forward to plant a sloppy kiss between Charles' eyebrows.
"Thank you, darling," Charles rolled his eyes.
"No, thank you Charles."
Charles squeezed his hand.
"Now, at this moment, have you taken anything for the pain?" Erik continued.
"Yes," Charles replied. "It's not cutting it."
"I have an idea," Erik announced. He jumped to his feet. "Get undressed."
"What? Why?" Charles called as Erik turned towards the bathroom. Reading Erik's intent from his mind, Charles shook his head, "A bath? Erik, no. I've tried it."
"Just, do as I say," Erik replied. He heard a long-suffering sigh from the other room, but when he returned several minutes later, Charles was waiting in his underwear by the door.
After Erik helped Charles into the bath, he stepped back and stripped off his own clothes.
"What are you doing?" Charles frowned.
"Lean forward," Erik instructed.
Grasping the plastic handles on either side of the bath, Charles pulled his torso forward enough that Erik could climb in behind him, pulling Charles' back against his chest. The tub was barely big enough for one, so together they were a tangle of limbs sticking out in all directions.
Erik placed a kiss to Charles' collar bone.
"Where does it hurt?" he murmured, running his hands over Charles' back until he found the knots of muscle. "Relax," he instructed, before gentling working the knots lose until eventually they simply lay together in the rapidly cooling water.
"Thank you," Charles whispered, running his thumb up and down Erik's forearm.
"For what?" Erik replied.
"For making the effort. For recognising that you don't want to make the same mistakes again."
Erik leaned forward, ignoring the twinge in his neck to brush his lips against Charles'.
"Anytime," he promised.