Another really long chapter… Yay!
By the way, this one is probably one of my favorites. At least, the latter half is. I've had it written since the beginning of the story... so I'm quite happy with it.
One slight cliffhanger this time... I can't be too easy on you all.
Oh... and I'm switching to Tuesday only updates for a while until I can get some more chapters written... Sorry! But it's either that or leave you wonderful people hanging for weeks (read months) at a time...
And... I have yet another oneshot written. It's entitled Trouble Magnet... and unlike everything else I've written for this story, it's simple friendship/humor stuff. Nothing deep. Feel free to enjoy it!
The Perks of Being a Telepath
Chapter 39: The Easy Way
The second Angel and Azazel disappeared, the metal walling of the hangar began vibrating again, proving just how angry Erik was. Hank's emotions were more quiet, but just as easy to discern.
Charles resisted the urge to growl.
"We can't afford to have them as enemies."
Erik shook his head.
"We don't really want them as allies, either."
Hank agreed.
"They've tried to kill us."
Charles resisted the urge to point out the fact that up until this moment, Hank hadn't wanted Erik as an ally either, but now was siding with him.
"They're mutants. They deserve a safe place, regardless of what they've done."
Erik looked away, his jaw clenching as the true meaning of Charles' words hit him.
Hank didn't agree.
"We weren't going to offer Shaw or Emma sanctuary. They were mutants."
The mention of Emma stung, the image of what Charles had been forced to do to her still too fresh in his mind.
"They were different, Hank. They weren't going to change. Azazel and Angel want to."
Erik turned back to the conversation, his eyes livid.
"What if it's a trap, Charles? What if they're still under the influence of the CIA? What then?"
"Then we deal with that when the problem arises. And in case either of you didn't notice, they didn't say they were going to join us, either."
Silence met his angered words, which was just as well, because Charles needed a moment to gather his thoughts. What the two rogue mutants had said was alarming, to say the least, and Charles was still trying to wrap his mind around it.
Hank let out a discontented growl, before stalking off to the Blackbird for a pre-flight inspection.
Erik was still poised in the middle of the hangar, looking as though he were trying to decide whether to leave or not.
Charles mentally sighed.
"I know you're angry with me, but I assure you, running isn't the answer."
"I'm not angry."
The telepath raised an eyebrow.
"Then what do you call this?"
"Concern, mostly."
"Concern for what?"
"That your blind trust in people is one day going to get us all killed."
Charles crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to get annoyed.
"Then you might as well stick around and prevent that from happening."
Erik let out a weary sigh.
"When are you going to get the idea through that thick skull of yours that I'm not leaving?"
"When you stop acting as though every little thing is going to cause you to leave again."
They glared at each other, their stalemate from earlier that day coming back to them.
Much to Charles' surprise, Erik looked away first.
"Believe what you want, Charles, but I'm done running. I want to fight the humans, but I'm not going to do it alone."
That made Charles more ridiculously happy than he could ever admit.
"Good."
He was going to say more, but then opted against it. The whirlpool of changing emotions was beginning to take its toll on what little defense Charles had left, and the strong façade he had put up for Angel and Azazel was beginning to crack.
Erik was watching him closely.
"Are you all right, my friend?"
Charles momentarily considered lying, but that didn't seem like a good option at the moment. So, instead, he shook his head.
"Not really."
Concern flitted across the metal bender's face, warring with the irritation and exasperation. Charles looked away.
Erik let out a weary sigh.
"Okay."
And that was that, though Charles doubted that conversation was over.
Erik sighed as he put the car into park. He could feel the depression and the pain rolling off the hotel in thick, cold waves of despair. This was obviously the right place.
He climbed out of the car, wishing for the tenth time since he woke up that morning that he hadn't volunteered to do this. This was suicide.
But no one else could get near the hotel and Erik had been reluctant to let anyone else risk their life cleaning up his mess. He had done enough of that in the past and was still struggling to make up for everything he had done.
He picked up the cursed helmet from the front seat and reluctantly placed it on his head. If he was successful in doing this, then it would be the one good act the blasted thing had ever done.
It was a long, slow walk to the hotel room door. Despite the no vacancy sign illuminated in the parking lot, there was only one room that was occupied in the entire hotel. It was obvious which one Erik's missing telepath was camped out in.
Erik reached the door, hesitating once more, before setting the helmet on the ground and knocking.
This is for the moron's own good, he told himself firmly. This wasn't personal. This wasn't because Charles had kept him prisoner in his own mind for over a month or that Charles had very nearly killed everyone they both cared about. That hadn't been Charles. Well, it had, in a sense, but for the sake of what little sanity Erik had left, he decided to say it wasn't Charles.
"Go away."
The voice on the other side was rough and faint, accompanied by a low groan.
Erik closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door. Honestly, he had expected this reaction. Charles had been in hiding for the better part of two weeks now. He wasn't just going to leap up and answer the door with a smile.
Life was never that easy, though it didn't stop Erik from wishing that it was.
"Don't make me open this door, Charles."
"Erik?"
Was he expecting God?
"You know I will break this door down if I have to."
There was an annoyed growl, followed by the sound of creaking bed springs.
Frankly, Erik was shocked that it had taken so little effort to get Charles to come to the door. Last he heard, it had taken Raven over two hours of begging, pleading, and nonstop knocking to get Charles to even acknowledge her presence.
Sometimes, it paid to be able to manipulate metal.
The door creaked open, stopping when the chain pulled tight. Charles peered out, blinking owlishly in the bright light.
Erik was taken aback by Charles' appearance. He was pale and covered in a fine layer of sweat, with dark, red rimmed circles under his eyes that made him look like a raccoon with an eye infection. His usually carefully styled hair was tangled and oily, showing days—if not weeks—without care. Charles, who had never been big to begin with, was now so thin, Erik had seen concentration camp survivors that had looked in better health.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Charles flinched at the bluntness in Erik's voice before shrugging.
"My alter ego had too much fun with drugs and alcohol. I think I'm going through withdrawal."
He shivered and wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach. Erik felt a twinge of sympathy for him and tried to remind himself that he was supposed to be angry.
Erik mentally sighed. He couldn't be angry at Charles right now. Not when the man looked like shit and so obviously needed help.
"Can I come in?"
Charles closed his eyes and shook his head.
"You don't want to come in here right now. And I'm not sure if I want you to, either."
"Then why did you open the door?"
Charles gave a one shoulder shrug, before his face paled. He turned around and disappeared from sight, leaving Erik alone outside.
The oh so pleasant sounds of retching emitted from inside the darkened room. While Erik was busy trying to pretend he didn't care, he knew he couldn't just leave Charles when he was like this.
"I'm coming in, Charles."
"Don't."
His protest was weak and raspy, overtaken by a groan of pain. It was the only confirmation Erik needed to slide the chain latch back from the door and push his way into the hotel room.
A sharp, rancid scent hit Erik so strong he almost fell over. He coughed, gagging when he tried to catch his breath.
How the hell did Charles manage to live in this?
Erik's eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior long before his nose did. He blinked, his eyes watering, and took in the wrecked one-bed room. There wasn't a lot there. Just a bed, a chest of drawers, and a mirror, all of which had looked like they had seen better days. The mirror was cracked with a long shard missing from the middle. Upon closer inspection, Erik realized with a sinking heart that the center of the cracks was stained with dried blood.
A toilet flushed and Charles emerged from the bathroom, looking even more haggard in the darkness. Erik swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, trying to remind himself that he was supposed to be pissed at Charles.
"How long have you been like this?"
Damn the concern that continued to flood through him and leak out before he had the chance to clamp down on it. He hated the fact that he couldn't stay angry and he hated the fact that it was Charles' fault that he couldn't.
At the moment, he was pretty certain he hated Charles.
Charles visibly swallowed before answering.
"Two weeks."
Ever since he went missing. Well, he didn't exactly go missing. He knocked everybody out at the hospital, left a note that said don't find me, and then just left. But that was beside the point.
"Was this why you left?"
If it was, then maybe Erik could forgive him for leaving. For not dealing with the problems he caused, for just running away to deal with himself before he focused on fixing others. Because that would be the Charles thing to do, and maybe, just maybe, it meant that everything that happened since the CIA rescue attempt hadn't been some strange twisted karma.
"Mostly. Some of it was because I didn't think I was welcome anymore. Some of it was because I needed to get away."
"You didn't think you'd be welcome?"
"I did try to kill everyone. Hell, Erik, I nearly succeeded in killing you."
"That wasn't you."
It couldn't have been. If it was, then there was nothing left in the world to care about.
Charles let out a bitter laugh that gave way into a coughing fit. The slowly building anger in Erik's veins vanished instantly.
"Charles?"
The telepath shook his head.
"You know as well as I do that it was me. Some part of me, anyway. And I can't risk it getting out again."
"It won't."
Charles sighed heavily, looking away from Erik. He walked over to the still open door and gestured to it.
"You can go now."
"No."
Their glaring contest lasted all of five seconds before Charles changed his mind.
"Fine. Then I will."
He turned to leave, which ignited Erik's anger once more.
"You can't run from your mistakes, Charles!"
Charles turned back to Erik, his face twisted in disbelieving anger.
"You're kidding! You are telling me that I can't run from mistakes? That's all you've ever done, Erik! It's what you did after the concentration camps, after Shaw killed your family, after you nearly destroyed me, and it's what you're still doing!"
White-hot rage bloomed within Erik and he fought to keep it under control. He tried to tell himself that this was the reaction Charles wanted, that Charles was deliberately trying to push him away, but Erik couldn't deny the fact that it hurt to have his mistakes thrown back in his face so harshly and by the man who he once considered to be his best friend.
His voice was dangerously soft when he replied.
"I've atoned for my sins, Charles. I've come back to fix them."
Charles scoffed, shaking his head.
"No, you didn't. You came back because you felt guilty."
"And you are running away because you feel guilty. Guess that makes us even."
A fist came out of nowhere and connected with Erik's jaw. Pain and surprise flooded through him as he reeled backward and stumbled, nearly falling to the floor.
He chuckled bitterly.
"You can hit me all you want, Charles, but that doesn't change what you've done. It doesn't change what you're still doing."
Antarctica would have been warmer than the icy, venomous look on Charles' face.
"Get the hell out of here."
"No."
"Get. Out."
Charles was shaking as he clenched his hands into fists. His knuckles were white. Erik found that he didn't care. He could take Charles with one arm tied behind his back. He had before.
He smiled, without a hint of humor in his expression.
"Make me."
Shock flitted across Charles' face as he visibly recoiled. Of all the things he had been prepared for, that obviously hadn't been one of them.
Erik took the opportunity to press his advantage.
"If you want me to leave so badly, then make me, goddamn it. You're a telepath. You have the power to do it, so use it. Make me leave."
Charles shook his head, clenching his teeth together.
"Erik…"
"I'm serious, Charles. The only way I'm leaving this godforsaken hotel room is if you make me. I know you can do it. Hell, you did nothing but order people around for the past month. What makes now so different?"
Erik took a step forward, forcing Charles to take a step back in order to keep the distance between them.
"You can't do it, can you? You can't make me leave, no matter how much you might want to."
The telepath visibly swallowed as he once more shook his head.
"Just go, Erik."
"Make me."
He half expected a harsh command in his head telling him to leave, but to his surprise, Charles just sighed.
"Fine. If you don't want to go, then stay here. I don't care. I won't be seeing you, Erik."
With that, he turned around and stormed out of the hotel room, obviously thinking that would be the end of their argument. Erik wasn't put off that easily. He quickly followed Charles, nearly running into him on the other side of the door.
Charles was frozen, staring at the discarded helmet with wide eyes.
Erik stood there, uncertain what to do.
"Charles?"
The telepath turned, his eyes darkening.
"Why did you bring this here?"
"I didn't know if I was going to need it. I wanted to be prepared."
Anger and desperation flashed across Charles' face before he turned back to the helmet. He was shaking violently as he bent down and brushed his fingers against the red titanium. He looked up at Erik, his eyes wide with surprise.
"You didn't wear it."
His voice was soft, stunned by the realization. The anger had vanished, leaving a broken shadow of the man Charles used to be.
Erik doubted he would ever be able to wear it around his friend again.
"No. I didn't."
Charles shakily pushed himself back to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. His eyes were half open, but shining with regret.
"I'm sorry, Erik."
A pang of sympathy shot through Erik and he fought against just giving in and telling Charles everything would be okay. That would be a lie and it was the last thing Charles needed.
"Just… stop running. Please. It doesn't fix anything."
Charles closed his eyes and nodded slowly. All of the strength he had been displaying was gone, vanishing along with the anger. He looked exhausted and sick, making him look much younger than his twenty-eight years.
Erik felt the last vestiges of his anger drain out of him. It hit him that Charles hadn't really recovered from his month and a half imprisonment in the CIA and then the two months of imprisonment in his own mind. That, coupled with the fact that his alter ego had gotten him addicted to every kind of drug and alcohol imaginable, added up to a world of agony.
"Charles… you can't keep going like this. You're going to kill yourself."
Charles opened his eyes and looked away. Erik felt as though he had just been sucker punched.
"Do you want to die?"
Horrified shock and sadness battled for in Erik's voice. Charles sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.
"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."
Erik was at a loss as to what to say. What could you say, when your best friend said that he wasn't sure if he wanted to live?
Charles shook his head.
"It doesn't matter what I want. What matters is I can't do anything about it."
"Why?"
Charles looked back at Erik, the faintest hints of a sad smile ghosting his face. It vanished quickly, replaced by pain. He let out a gasp and barely turned away from Erik before he threw up once more. Erik was horrified when Charles turned back to him and blood dripped from his mouth.
This was bad. Very bad.
"Charles…"
The telepath shook his head and wiped the blood away. He was shaking violently. Without thinking, Erik reached out and rested his hand on Charles' shoulder.
"You need help, Charles."
"I don't-."
Erik cut across him.
"Stop. I'm not going to take no for an answer. You need help and you're going to get it. If you don't want it, you're going to have to stop me."
Charles let out a shaky laugh that came out more as a sob.
"I can, you know."
Erik's grip tightened on the shorter man's shoulder.
"But you won't."
It was a risk, making such a declaration. Erik was well aware that his plan could backfire, that Charles would end up making him leave, but from the look on the telepath's face, Erik highly doubted that would happen.
Charles swallowed hard, before nodding once.
"All right."
Erik gave him a faint smile, ready to say something along the lines of come home, when Charles' eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed against Erik, unconscious.
"Damn it, Charles, you never do things the easy way, do you?"