A couple of warnings not in the tags, since this is becoming bigger than I expected:
Taking this fanfic seriously is probably a bad idea. Sure there's an intended plot and Charles and Erik are pretty nice, but some parts of it are just ... ridiculous. Tread ye with caution.
And warnings for the objects covered in Charles's and Erik's backstories and just general police stuff (some conflict, car accidents, etc.)
Nothing will be described in great detail, but some of these things may be discussed.
As for the pairing, it's marked ChErik, and while they'll be dating in the background, there are plenty of other fics if you want to see explicit things.
"Where are they all coming from…," Charles muttered, flipping through the reported sightings of Steel Viper members and discovering that sightings had nearly tripled as compared to a few weeks ago.
"…and why are they here now," Hank finished, stating another important question.
Charles put the notes down and weaved his fingers under his chin.
Hank suspected Charles's fascination with the case was a result of the challenge inherent in it. Charles was a moral man and tended to avoid using his telepathy if possible since the laws were extremely fuzzy regarding it. But in this case, the nature of the gang not actually knowing who their leader was made it an impossibility for Charles to 'cheat,' so to say, rather than a self-imposed limitation.
Whether Charles was enjoying the challenge or considered it a threat to his ability to lead the force, Hank wasn't sure. After all, he wasn't the telepath here.
Thankfully, Charles didn't seem to be listening to his thoughts at that particular moment. It would have been rather embarrassing.
Logan walked in afterwards.
"Manners, Logan," Charles chided gently, but it was generally agreed that was a lost cause. "I hope this is important, what did you find?" His attention was firmly on the man now.
"Nothing," Logan said bluntly. "We analyzed the files of all the members we have. Some of them are cleaner than I am, others not so much."
"No common factor," Charles summarized. They had been hoping for some sort of initiation or any pattern that would help lead them to the true workings of the gang, and hopefully to its leader.
"No, but your boy toy is a murderer."
"He's a murderer?"
Hank wasn't sure what was most embarrassing—how quickly the topic got Charles's attention, the fact that he didn't question the first part, or the fact that both of them knew who was being referred to. He placed a hand over his face.
Logan grunted an affirmation. "From the 60's. A man named Sebastian Shaw."
Charles glanced down, his face unreadable. He did not ask for further elaboration on Erik or anything about the gang.
After a few minutes of the unexpected silence, Hank and Logan took it as their cue to leave.
Charles was vaguely aware of their departure, but his mind was mostly focused on his most recent "object of fixation," as Raven so elegantly put it.
It was not surprising, Charles realized—Erik had the mind for it, viciously sharp and finely honed, but a distinct part of Charles was disappointed that murder was the chosen use for it.
He did hate to see potential go to waste, and was left wondering what tempted the man to go down that path, rather than a more favorable one.
He was duly aware that the answers were quite nearly right in front of him. The department already retrieved his file, and it was likely that many, if not all, of the desired answers were contained within.
But it was a breach of privacy, one that need not be crossed unless the case takes a darker turn. Charles would hear it from the man himself or he wouldn't hear it at all. Simple.
Charles reclined in his chair and relaxed in his new decision.
"When are you asking him out?" Raven took absolute delight in teasing and prodding Charles about his so-called "pining" over the man named Erik Lehnsherr.
"I am not asking him out." Firm and neutral, Charles may have accidentally used his chief-tone rather than his friendly tone, but he needed to get the point across.
"Why not?" She remained as nonchalant as ever.
"Because I'm a police chief and he's a member of a gang? Because I'm not interested? Because he's not interested? Because I have more important things to do?" They were all very good reasons, yes, completely bullet proof.
"They say opposites attract. A kindergartener could tell you're interested. Showing up in full uniform for an interrogation would spook anyone off. You've been an officer for decades, you're allowed to have a personal life." She barely wasted a moment considering her retaliation.
"Opposites only attract because the concept of something new is exciting. In practice, the relationships are quite … unstable." Charles wouldn't go so far as to say that every opposite relationship would be so, but he honestly couldn't see how dating a member of the gang he was trying to take out could end in any way other than disastrous.
"So what?" Raven said with a ferocity that startled Charles. "It's a relationship, not a bomb. If it goes poorly, you walk away, no harm done."
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."
"Do it or I will."
Charles just shook his head.
"The chief wants to go on a date with you."
"…Excuse me?"
"He thinks I'm crazy now."
"You ARE crazy!" Charles stared incredulously at the woman he'd known for years. He should have known she wasn't joking, but he allowed himself to be blinded.
Raven shrugged.
Charles continued staring.
She flipped through her book.
"…What'd he say?"
"'Excuse me?' in a self-entitled and condemning way." Raven shrugged, but Charles could see a grin dancing on her lips.
"But not no." He said, mostly to himself, before blinking, "I mean, I say no!"
"Sure you do," her flippant attitude about his personal life was starting to annoy him. "Either way, you're going to have to go clear the air between the two of you."
"I … you planned that." Charles's expression fell.
Raven didn't deny it.
"You know he's a murderer?" Charles said unexpectedly. The fact was a hard one to grasp, even for a man who's seen as much as he had. Just one piece, floating detached, of many that eventually intricately formed into the man named Erik Lehnsherr.
"So're you."
Charles nearly recoiled. Sure, there were the unfortunate incidents where there was no better option to proceed than to eliminate the criminal, but to call them murderers? They were protecting the people. It was different.
Maybe he should keep telling himself that.
Charles, therefore, found himself back at the garage.
This time, however, Erik was sitting on a couch tucked against the wall, one leg haphazardly tossed over the other, phone in one hand, the other arm resting along the back of the furniture. He glanced up, made a fact that looked to be a half attempt at amused annoyance, before dropping his gaze back down.
Charles stood in silence for a couple of seconds before it became painfully clear that Erik had no intention of greeting him. He cleared his throat—getting a quirk of an eyebrow and a twitch of a lip upwards—before, "I just wanted to apologize for my friend's unacceptable behavior, approaching you with frightful untruths."
"All rumors have a basis in truth," Erik shot back coolly, like some sort of oversized fortune cookie. He relaxed his arm, lowering his phone to finally give Charles his attention, a sly grin on his face implying this was nothing but a game for his amusement.
"I-t's hardly a rumor," Charles stuttered on the reply, hardly believing what he just heard.
"She's the third person I've heard it from." Erik remained composed, eyebrows raising in a challenge themselves. He paused, but continued at Charles's flabbergasted reply, "News travels fast, whether it's about the sexual affairs of police officers or," he spared a glance down at his phone, "…hula-hoops." He remained staring at the phone in consternation, and Charles was somewhat glad the smug look was gone from his face.
Charles waited.
A minute or two passed, before Erik sat the phone beside him, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Why are you here, Chief Xavier?"
"I already told you why I was here." What was it with people recently and not believing him?
"You're not getting anything from me," Erik stated firmly.
I could get everything from you, Charles noted dully. "I'm aware."
"Are we going to dinner or not?" Erik's grin widened as Charles spluttered.
"Are you doing this just to see my reactions?" Charles grumbled once his regained himself.
"Yes." It was said extremely sincerely, but Charles could see hints of a smile behind the façade.
Charles crossed his arms behind his back, and rolled onto the heels of his feet before balancing himself back. "You're being exceedingly difficult."
"Always." Erik stood up, pocketing his phone, and Charles saw him at full height for the first time. He walked forward, an arm hooking out and catching Charles around the waist.
"Excuse me," Charles stated indignantly. He could have broken free from the embarrassing scoop, but nevertheless skid backwards awkwardly.
Once they were outside the garage, Erik released Charles, and busied himself closing the doors. "Size?" he asked calmly, standing in front of the standard door.
"Size?" Charles echoed.
"Helmet size." He glanced in the direction of the bikes in the yard.
"I have a car," Charles offered instead.
"And I have a truck."
Charles glanced around, just now noticing the truck parked beside the building rather than in front. "So you do."
Erik waited.
"If you insist, we can take our own vehicles."
Erik's eyebrows rose high, but he shrugged, closing the door and snapping his helmet secure. "If you must. I'll follow you, chief." He brushed past Charles with a smirk, mounting his motorcycle—thankfully not the one with the gang colors—and waited for Charles to proceed.
It admittedly took him a while, as he stood there wondering how the purpose of this trip turned from cleaning up Raven's mess to actually going on a date.
"Do I need to carry you, chief?"
Charles snapped around to find his—apparently—new boyfriend leaning forward on his bike, looking for all the world that he truly did enjoy doing this just to see Charles's reactions. "I can walk!" he snapped back, huffing and grumbling to his car.
In the window, a glossy steel sign declared the shop closed, even though Erik hadn't gone near it, and Charles couldn't for the life of him remember if that's how it was when he pulled in.