Scars
Erik first saw them way back in '62, the first time they shared a room on the recruitment trip across the country.
Charles was in a mood. Erik wasn't quite sure what had brought it on; one minute they were eating in a diner, chatting in the stilted, awkward way that you did when you were on the cusp of friendship but didn't know each other well enough to truly consider the other a friend. Then the television on the corner switched to a news report discussing whether or not Kennedy would increase the number of US troops in Vietnam yet again. Charles tensed, then tossed far too many bills onto the table and stood.
"Excuse me Erik, I've lost my appetite," he said, his voice clipped. "I'll see you back at the room."
Then he was gone and Erik was left wondering what on earth had happened.
After finishing his own meal – and grabbing a sandwich just incase Charles was hungry later; the man had hardly eaten anything after all – he returned to the hotel to the sounds of the shower. He clambered onto his own bed, toeing off his shoes and grabbing a book. No doubt Charles knew he was here, thanks to his mutation.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam followed by Charles, a towel around his waist and still-wet hair plastered to his forehead. There was still something haunted in his eyes which gave Erik pause. But more than that, what held Erik's attention were the scars that littered the Oxford scholar's torso. Scars which had no business marring skin which should have seen nothing worse than Friday night student bar brawls.
Most prominent was the puckered skin on his right shoulder; an ugly reminder that a bullet had invaded Charles' body against his will. When he turned to pull something from his suitcase, Erik saw that the scar had a matching partner on his back. A through and through then.
Once he was able to look past that scar, Erik noticed the other, smaller scar tissue strewn across Charles' torso. Erik recognised it. That scar tissue was caused by shrapnel. How on earth had Charles Xavier encountered shrapnel and a bullet? Clearly he didn't mind Erik seeing it, or he would've made an effort to cover up before leaving the bathroom. But he made no move to explain, and Erik wasn't brave enough to ask him about it.
He saw the scars multiple times over the following months, in various hotel rooms and then finally at Charles' ridiculous mansion. Charles never bothered to hide them from Erik, although he realised soon after arriving at the mansion that no one – possibly not even Raven – knew about them except him, but he never spoke of them. Never even looked at them. They were as clearly part of him as Erik's own scars. The only difference being that Charles knew where each and every one of Erik's scars came from, and even if he didn't, he would've been able to guess that most were linked to Shaw. But Erik was clueless to Charles' scars' origins.
Then eleven years later, when Charles ran away and joined him in Krakow, Erik saw them again the second night when he helped Charles access the bath. Figuring there was enough awkwardness – not to mention a peace between them that Erik was loathe to break – he kept his mouth shut that night and every one after that. Charles still made no move to hide them, but he never spoke of them either. Even when Nina came along, she was so young that she didn't realise when they lived in the studio apartment, crushed together in that too-small apartment, that there was anything wrong with daddy's chest. And why should she? After all, papa had similar scars across his skin, so it never stood out as unusual. By the time she was old enough to question it, they were living in Pruskow and there were fewer chances for her to notice their scars.
Over time, Erik had accepted that they were just part of Charles' skin. He'd never known him without those scars after all. But, he wondered. Of course he wondered.
Until one morning he could wait no longer.
It was rare for both of them to be awake while Nina slept. But somehow, today, they were, taking advantage of their still sleeping daughter to linger in bed together. Erik lay on his side, staring down at the bullet wound on Charles' shoulder.
Suddenly he reached out and touched it.
He'd touched it before, of course, particularly since they became a couple and started sleeping together. But never like this, never purposely.
The puckered skin felt no different to any of the other scars either of them held, but the mystery behind its origins gave it a distinctive aura. He felt Charles still under his fingers, the pads of his index and middle fingers exploring the ridges and bumps of the blemish.
"What happened?" Erik whispered.
"I got shot," Charles replied. He shrugged. "Occupational hazard."
"You were a professor, Charles," Erik pointed out.
Except...
No.
The scars pre-dated Erik's friendship with Charles, and he'd only received his doctorate weeks before they met. Erik frowned.
"I was a soldier," Charles said.
"When?"
"I turned eighteen in nineteen fifty one," Charles shrugged. "I was drafted. Korea? The war? Sorry – police action," he laughed bitterly. "I didn't see many police officers over there," he finished softly.
Erik stared.
With four little words, Charles had completely turned his views on his lover around. All these years together; why did he not know that Charles had fought in a war? He'd been vaguely aware of the Korean War at the time, however most of his knowledge came retrospectively.
"What happened?" he murmured.
"I was shot and captured by the Chinese," Charles swallowed, "With several members of my platoon. The Chinese knew they couldn't treat us; they were already considering contacting a nearby US hospital. All it took was a little nudge to convince them. They reached out to the Americans and agreed to a prisoner transfer. The doctors there were well known for treating Chinese soldiers fairly. I was treated, then sent back to my unit."
"And these?" Erik asked, his fingers trailing over the shrapnel pockmarks.
"We were on patrol when someone stepped on a mine," Charles replied. "I was the only survivor. I was sent to Tokyo for treatment. While I was there, the ceasefire was announced." Charles hesitated. "I felt them die, Erik," he whispered. "All of them at once."
He squeezed his eyes shut. Erik felt his heart go out to Charles. He reached out to tug Charles closer by his waist.
"You've never hidden them from me," Erik said, "Yet you never said anything. And I get the impression I'm the only one who knows this."
"Raven knows I was in Korea, obviously," Charles replied. "And she knows I was injured; she's seen one of my purple hearts. But she doesn't know the extent. And as for why I never hid them... I thought out of everyone you might understand."
Erik wasn't the best when it came to social cues or relationships – a consequence of his childhood – but he knew instantly exactly what to say and what Charles needed to hear. He kissed Charles gently, then whispered, "You're not alone Charles. You're not alone."