SO sorry everyone, the last chapter, the one from Raven's perspective, is actually not supposed to be chapter nine XP I posted in the wrong order. It doesn't matter that much as it hasn't really got a specific chronological spot, but I will be removing it anyway because it messes up my pattern if it stays. (my pattern being, Charles, Erik, Charles, Interlude, Erik, Charles, Erik, Interlude...etc etc) That means it will be slipped in three chapters from now. Apologies, here's the real chapter nine!
Also, there's some art for this story up on my DA page if you want to go check it out: rhymeswithmonth . /art/Count-to-Three-334041855 (take out the spaces)
Gabby woke up craving apple juice.
This provided a dilemma because the juice was in the fridge which was in the kitchen which was downstairs. Gabby had come to hate the first floor of the mansion, had come to hate the entire mansion as a matter of fact, but the first floor especially, because that's where he was. Her husband, the father of her child, Charles.
She knew that it probably made her a bad person, but she couldn't help but think, each day as she woke up and found that, yes, she really was 23, that her parents were dead and most of her friends too, and that she was in the United States, in New York City. That she had a three year old son, and a husband. An obscenely rich, freakishly intelligent, crippled husband.
She had not come away from the accident unscathed. There were two long jagged scars along her left calf where a twisted piece of the seat had pinned her leg to the ground, as well as a smaller one on her forehead which she had to brush her hair differently in order to cover.
Both wounds superficial enough that she'd been awake for the nearly fifteen minutes it had taken for the emergency vehicles to reach them, and then the ten more while they'd worked carefully to peel the remains of the car from around the three bodies inside.
For nearly half an hour, Gabby had lain in the road, the beautiful white lace and chiffon of her dress became soaked through with snow and blood. Charles, her husband of a scant six hours had been thrown sideways upon impact, and landed across her stomach. She'd had a spectacularly good view of the shard of metal as long as her forearm sticking straight up from his lower back.
Twenty-five minutes had passed like 25 years, and in that time a whole lot of things had gone through Gabby's head, some not really relevant at all, others more so. She'd prayed, of course, right off the bat. She'd squeezed her eyes tight against the tears and the snot and blood from the cut at her hairline and prayed desperately to wake up from the nightmare, to open her eyes to her bedroom at home in Dresden, to the smell of her mama cooking hotcakes and her little brothers running around in the hall, their Bubba yelling at them to quiet down. Instead she'd been greeted with the hellish vision of red lights on ice and crimson against ivory.
She remembered the day the doctor had brought her the news. She'd more or less recovered in the week since the accident, only staying in for some extended observation. She hadn't been to visit Charles yet, all she'd known was that he was on too many meds to speak and that he was going into surgery nearly every day.
They'd informed her, very gently, that her husband would likely never regain the full use of his legs.
Charles Xavier was a good man. He was the type of man Imah and Bubba would have wanted her to marry, though they would have pouted over the fact that he wasn't Jewish. Charles was nice, he was smart, he was gentle with her and always seemed to truly listen when she talked. When she'd woken to the sight of his smiling face, she'd thought he was an angel, and even days after she hadn't been totally convinced that wasn't the case. She had liked Charles.
But the truth was, she barely knew him. He was kind, he was intelligent, and he was her husband. But as to who Charles Xavier actually was, she really didn't know much more than the general population could glean from the pages of the Times. To suddenly be faced with a doctor explaining to her the details of aiding a paraplegic with catheter maintenance, and what the best brand of mattress was to avoid bedsores, it all seemed a little unfair. She hadn't signed up for this.
Thankfully Charles managed to retain the majority of his control over his bodily functions over the two month stay in ICU, and when he was strong enough to leave, he'd taken one look at her and announced that he'd hire a stay in nurse. The relief had been overwhelming. So the nurse had stayed with them until Charles no longer needed assistance in day-to-day living.
And then of course there was David, her child. She loved him, truly. But he'd just turned three, the age that her youngest brother had been in her last memories of him, they even looked a bit alike. She felt more like she should be his big sister than his mother. She had no idea how to be his mother, not when her first instinct upon hearing him cry was to shout for her own Imah to tend to him instead of going herself.
She wondered if David would fetch her a glass of juice. She slid to the floor nervously, bare feet making virtually no sound against the hardwood, and slipped out into the hall.
The door across from hers, David's room, was slightly ajar. She wedged her fingers in and made the crack wide enough for her body and entered.
The bright, sunny colours of the nursery always made her feel better. The bed on the far wall was a miniature version of a four-poster, it would have looked strangely tiny in the large, high ceiling room, but it was balanced out by the waist-high bookshelves that Charles had commissioned while she was still pregnant. They formed a little library filled with a collection of picture books and puzzles that would put an actual library to shame. The shelves however, were half empty, the books on the floor. Multiple chests stood open, spilling toys across the room and the bed was unmade, the tiny desk was covered in cookie crumbs. It was rather messy.
Gabby was gripped by the sudden feeling that she ought to clean the room, before catching herself bending to retrieve a fuzzy beige teddybear. She hated cleaning, and the cleaning service would take care of it in a few days. She didn't put the stuffed toy down though, instead bringing it to her chest on a whim. It felt good in her arms so she squeezed tighter and left the room. She'd have to get her own juice, but she did feel better with the bear.
The trip down the two staircases was a very long one when you were trying to be quiet. The main house was very old, and more of the floorboards squeaked than didn't. She knew the path of least racket, but it still took precision to undertake.
She led with her toes, pointing them and putting light pressure on each step before committing. Her feet had turned motley purple from the chill of the morning where they poked out from underneath her floorlength nighty. Her hands gripped the banister tightly, poised ready to take her weight is she felt the telltale shift of pressure that indicated when a board was about to squeak. Her brow furrowed in concentration, think quiet thoughts she told herself furiously, think quiet thoughts.
That's how the man found her, almost at the bottom of the last flight. They both froze and stared at each other.
He was blindingly handsome. If Charles had been an angel in her eyes because of the soft, gentle beauty of his creamy skin and wavy brown hair, this man was one because of the harsh, rawness of his boney features and hooded eyes. A shiver passed through her as his storm grey eyes bored into what she fancied was her very soul. Her knees felt weak and her foot fell on the last step, emitted a loud long squeak.
Charles appeared instantly, as if summoned by her lapse in concentration. He looked shocked for a moment before smiling brightly. "Dear you're up!" he exclaimed, rolling between her and the mysterious newcomer, "Are you feeling better today? I've just cleaned up breakfast if you're feeling up to eating a spot. And where are your slippers your toes must be freezing!"
She tried to formulate words under the expectant stare of the handsome stranger, "Um...juice...in was just...um getting...apple."
"Absolutely!" Charles beamed, always so overly happy despite the fact that he was a useless cripple. He twitched in his chair before hurriedly wheeling around and motioning for the stranger to lead the way to the kitchen. The man wordlessly complied.
"Erik's an old friend." Charles was explaining as they walked, he'd fallen behind to wheel beside her despite the fact that she'd purposely been walking slowly so that he wouldn't. He twitched before continuing, "He's going to be staying with us for a while, if that's alright with you of course darling."
Gabby nodded, lips pressed together tightly. She didn't mind at all if this handsome 'Erik' stayed with them. Maybe he'd take the room next to hers, there would be no chance of Charles hearing if the man felt inclined to thank her for her hospitality by rescuing her from the pit of despair that was her life by wooing her and then they'd make passionate love all night, he'd put his hand over her mouth as he thrust slowly into her and pumped her to the sort of climax that she'd read about in her novels, and she'd positively scream against his fingers and he'd lick her breasts. She'd feel torn with guilt over the affair, for she was a married woman before god! But Erik would kiss her protests away and begin again, making love until she would no longer move, and then a little bit longer. It would be so romantic, just like one of her soaps.
Charles had fallen silent during her imaginings and stared at the floor, face completely blank. He got like that sometimes, and it scared her a little. She wondered how a man like Charles was friends with Erik. Charles was an academic and a trust-fund baby who'd undoubtedly never wanted for anything. Erik on the other hand had a rangy, hungry look about him that indicated a hard, lonely life.
"Erik and I met at Oxford." Charles said monotonously. And suddenly it made sense. Of course they'd met at Oxford, Erik must be so brilliant that he's gotten offers, no, pleas from all the best schools. He wouldn't have needed to buy his way into school, he'd have gotten in just with his brains alone.
Charles was really in a twitchy mood. Since the accident it had been like a side effect of his paralysis or something, but today seemed to be a particularly bad day. She felt a momentary flash of concern but managed to beat it back. Charles always took care of himself, there was no use in her worrying. She should just relax and enjoy the view of Erik and his broad back, slender waist, nicely formed arse and two, long, gloriously mobile legs.