Don't hate me for this chapter. I know you're all desperate to know what happened to Charles in the present time… but my muse had a little too much fun with drunk Charles and snarky Erik in the past to get back to writing what was happening in the present. Though, it was kind enough to offer some explanation as to why Charles got shot…
More will be revealed about Charles' predicament in the present in the next chapter. I promise!
The Perks of Being a Telepath
Chapter 8: Explaining
Erik wasn't quite sure how it happened—probably through some strange trick of Charles' increasing telepathic powers—but he had wound up driving Charles back to the mansion at around three thirty that morning. Erik had given Charles the rest of his beer, which had given way to six more and a three and a half hour long conversation about the world, life, and mutants before Charles had passed out on the bar top.
Hank and Sean were waiting anxiously at the door. They obviously hadn't been expecting their professor to spend the entire night away from home.
They were more than a little upset when they found Erik was the one towing a mostly unconscious Charles home.
"What did you do to him?"
Sean's shout was almost powerful enough to break Erik's eardrum. Hank had a look on his blue face that promised imminent death should Erik not start explaining himself immediately.
"We wound up at the same bar—he got drunk. I didn't do anything to him."
"I don't believe you."
"Of course you don't. It's true, though."
Charles muttered something incoherent that could have been anything from believeErik to Iwanthotchocolate.
A muddled memory of a badly lit bar and Erik handing him a beer drifted through Erik's mind and he didn't have to be a telepath to know that it was playing in Hank and Sean's too.
"All right. Get him inside."
Hank had always been one of the more reasonable mutants Erik had encountered, a fact he was most grateful for at that moment. Charles might look like a gust of wind could knock him over, but the bloody idiot weighed a ton.
"There's no need to be insulting."
Charles' words were slurred together, but with a little mental help, Erik figured out what he meant.
"I'm just pointing out simple facts, dear."
"Shuddup."
Erik chuckled as he began dragging Charles to the mansion. He didn't announce it, but he was a little annoyed that Hank and Sean weren't helping him.
"Scared of you."
"Come again?"
"Beast n' Banshee—they're scared of you. Think you're going to eat them or something."
"Don't be absurd. I'm not a cannibal."
"Not sure if eating Hank would count as being a cannibal."
"And why would I want to eat him? He's furry."
Charles huffed an indignant sigh.
"I dunno. They're the ones that think it. Not me."
"I'm sorry if I offended you, Charles."
By then, they had reached the front steps of the mansion. Charles stopped, forcing Erik to stop as well.
The metal wielder looked at his friend, raising an eyebrow. He bit back a laugh at Charles' confused look.
"They're called steps, Charles. You walk up them."
Charles threw Erik a glare that managed to convey annoyance, exhaustion, and friendship all at the same time.
Erik wondered how he had managed to earn that look again.
"We'll take it from here, Magneto."
Erik look up to find Sean and Hank glaring down at him.
"Boys."
Charles' slurred reprimand had no bearing on the three-way glaring contest.
"I wanted to make sure he would be all right."
"Why?"
Sean's hostile attitude caught Erik by surprise. He had never expected the kid—who was more often on drugs than he was anything else—to be capable of such anger.
"You changed them, Erik."
Charles' voice was sad, but forgiving.
"You haven't cared for the past year, why should you start now?"
It was Hank's turn to surprise Erik, though he understood why they were upset now.
"We can talk once we get him inside."
"We don't have to listen to you."
"Boys."
Charles' voice was more forceful now, sounding more like the schoolteacher he was and less like a petulant school boy he had been acting like.
Hank and Sean had twin sighs of reluctance. Both of them gave them Erik glares that clearly stated the only reason why they weren't tearing his head off was because they didn't want to upset Charles.
Erik understood the sentiment.
"Your room is in the same spot. Hasn't been touched."
Erik had been planning on returning to his group of mutants—even if it was another hour outside of his way—but the offer to stay a night at the mansion—the only place he had felt at home—was too great to ignore.
"This doesn't change anything."
Hank's low growl reached Erik's ears as he tugged Charles up the steps.
"I know."
It had been six months since Charles last saw Moira. He had been following one of the countless of nameless CIA agents that just so happened to work in the same sector as Moira.
She had recognized him the moment he had lost hold of his illusion.
Instead of calling him out and getting him arrested like she should have done, Moira had risked everything to get him out of there, past the battalion of armed guards and even Stryker without so much as a question as to why he was there.
She had been threatened with arrest for treason the second she returned. The CIA had sentenced her to death if she didn't speak.
Charles did the only thing he could—he erased her memory and those around her of that day. With Moira, Charles went back further and erased the memory of him completely so that this would never happen again.
It saved her life. It saved the lives of countless of mutants that would have been rounded up and killed had she cracked.
Now, the decision was what almost killed Charles.
Three weeks after Moira's memory had been wiped, she was promoted to Stryker's assistant.
Two months after that, She had been transferred to the very facility Charles had been held captive in.
She was called the Ice Queen now, known for her hatred of mutants.
Charles really had done a good job on her.
Charles felt as though something had crawled inside his mouth and died when he woke up the next morning. His head pounded angrily and the faint stream of light coming from underneath the curtains made him want to claw his eyes out.
"Maybe next time you'll think twice before downing three yards of ale and six shots of scotch after a two hour session in Cerebro."
Charles groaned—he must have really overdone it last night if he was having hallucinations this early in the morning.
"You've had hallucinations?"
Damn pushy metal wielding hallucinations.
"I assure you, Charles, I am very, very real."
"That's what they all say."
Or that is what was meant to come out of his mouth. He wasn't sure what actually did, but it sounded more like some strange cross between a donkey's bray and a cat's meow than English.
"That sounded beautiful, Charles. Were you trying to sing?"
"Bite me."
"That was the most profound statement I think I've ever heard coming from you."
Charles managed to force his eyes open once more, shocked to find Erik sprawled in the recliner chair beside his bed. He was dressed in a pair of loose fitting sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair looked wet, as though he had just stepped out of a shower.
This definitely was not a hallucination.
"You're really here."
"You were the one who invited me to stay last night. Or should I say, this morning?"
Charles racked his brain, trying to remember meeting Erik last night. He vaguely remembered going to a bar to get away from the constant stress and tension that was constantly radiating off Sean and Hank, but he didn't remember much after that.
Though, if Erik's recollections were to be believed, he had consumed an enormous amount of alcohol, which would account for his memory loss.
"I can honestly say I don't remember that."
"I'm not surprised. Tell me, is this habit of drinking insane amounts of alcohol something you've always done, or have you taken it up instead of teaching?"
Charles sighed and blinked blearily.
"Do you mind if we continue our rousing conversation after I've taken a shower and inhaled massive amounts of tea?"
"Please. You reek, my friend."
Charles raised an eyebrow.