Wrote a quick continuation of this via the LJ comment thread. More of the same: Angst and schmoop, and some man-cradling. Enjoy!
He's pretty sure he'd still be able to find the mansion, to find the place that, in his heart, is the only home he's ever had, even if he were to be struck blind and deaf. Flying overhead helps him avoid any of the security measures he's sure Charles has put in place - anything to ensure that his mutant children are safe and securely hidden - and also makes it relatively easy for him to reach Charles' bedroom without waking any of the house's other occupants.
The window creaks a little as it swings open, and Erik winces; then he sees shiny eyes blinking curiously, yet fully awake, in the darkness, and realizes that Charles probably didn't go back to sleep either. "I thought you might come," the other man says, though he does not reach out to embrace Erik, nor does he shoo him away. "How are you, Erik?"
"I don't know," Erik says honestly. He steps down off of the window ledge, and feels, for the first time, hulking and awkward, standing there in his full regalia, rather than powerful and sharp, like someone who can single-handedly bring about mutant supremacy in the world. Now, however, all he wants is for Charles to assure him that he doesn't hate him, that this visit doesn't have to be the only one of its kind; that there's still a chance for them.
Charles interrupts his reverie, gently, yet firmly. "May I ask why you're here, then?" he queries. He watches Erik shuffle, and frowns, gesturing upwards. "Perhaps if you just removed the helmet," he suggests, and Erik inhales sharply. Then, after several long seconds of silence, he reaches up, tugging it from his skull, feeling his hair lift and then fall back into place, albeit somewhat more matted than it ever did before he felt the need to wear his telepathy-blocking headgear, and then it's just ... gone, and Charles is there. The other man doesn't pry, doesn't immediately jump into Erik's brain and start sorting through the refuse and moving things around; it occurs to Erik that he holds a lot of paranoia regarding what Charles could do, compared to what Charles would actually do, and it gives him pause.
He glances over at the other man, still propped up against several large pillows, his face tender, and Erik's heart thuds more quickly in his chest. "Erik, I would never ... reject you so heartlessly," Charles tells him, and Erik inwardly curses himself for not being able to shield the dream that's still apparently hanging out just on the peripheral of his thoughts, cajoling Charles to take a peek. He sees the other man's face contort, and his legs feel weak. "Is that really how you think of me now?" Charles asks tearfully, and Erik lurches quickly towards the bed.
"No, of course not," Erik gasps, and he doesn't even try to shove back the tears forming in his eyes, though crying does it make more difficult to talk clearly. "I'm sorry," he gets out. "I can't ... I can't help my dreams, Charles. I just ... I miss you. I think, at the end of the day, I always end up wondering about you, and then, and then how can you not be furious, after everything that's happened between us ..."
"But I'm not," Charles sighs, and he reaches out a hand towards Erik's shoulder, gratified when Erik clutches at it shakily. "It's a rough transition, of course," he admits, and both his and Erik's eyes move unwittingly to Charles' still legs. "I hate it somedays," he says softly. "I took my mobility for granted. But honestly, Erik," he continues, and now his gaze is back on Erik's face, his eyes similarly shiny with tears, "if my choice was to never walk again, but to have you back, in my life, at the school, I would take it."
Erik shivers. "You would?" he asks brokenly, and Charles nods once.
"In a heartbeat," he says fiercely. He reaches out to pet at Erik's hair, but the other man stops him, not pulling away, but stilling Charles' hand with his own. "What's wrong?" he asks, and Erik sighs and meets him head-on again.
"I can't give you that, Charles," he tells him honestly, and Charles' face is impassive. "I won't lie to you. I can't let you believe that our goals and aspirations will ever sync up, and then run away again. I won't hurt you anymore." He pulls Charles' fingers to his cheek and holds them there. "I'm sorry," he says again, and Charles nods.
"I know. I understand. We're in two different worlds, now." Erik nods slowly, and Charles smiles. "But it seems like, at least for tonight, our paths have crossed. Why don't we make the most of it?" With that, Erik curls around him, his longer frame wrapped protectively around Charles' shorter one, his head pillowed against the smaller man's chest, their fingers entwined. They remain like that until morning, and then Erik slips carefully away in the secrecy of dawn; and if Charles' lips happen to curl upwards just a bit when Erik's lips brush against his forehead, he'll let Erik chalk it up to coincidence as he closes the window behind himself, but leaves it unlocked, just in case.