Erik wasn't surprised when Gabrielle asked him to come speak privately two days later. What did surprise him however, was that she had the nerve to get her toddler to deliver the invitation.
Erik glanced at Charles across the chess table and found the man studiously avoiding his eyes. "And when did your Mother want me to come up and talk with her?"
"She said now." David reported cheerfully, "She said she was in the east drawing room. Come on, I'll show you!" the little boy spun on his heel, socked feet nearly sending him down before compensating for the momentum, and started to skip off but Charles drew him back.
"No David," he said, almost too quietly to hear, but the kid froze nevertheless. "Erik can find his own way, come here and sit with me."
The boy obeyed without a peep and ran around the table to climb into Charles' lap. Still not looking up, the man wrapped his arms around his son and hugged him tightly. He looked...strangely vulnerable, even moreso than he had two nights before and he'd been crying then. At least he'd stood his ground during their conversation, and even his tears had been dignified. He hadn't tried to hide them from Erik for a moment.
Now, however, he was hiding. He clung to the toddler like a security blanket and pressed his face to the back of his neck. David didn't complain, just reached out to play with Charles' chess pieces, abandoned part way through their game.
Erik stared in disbelief. Surly Charles was going to do something. It was obvious what Gabrielle's intentions were. Erik for one had known since the moment he had first encountered her in the entrance hall after putting the front door back it's intended shape.
It had been a close call. She'd nearly caught him using his powers. He'd hopped to the job right after breakfast, while Charles and David cleaned up. It had been uncomfortably enduring to watch a full grown man filling his industrial sized sink with about four times as much dish soap as was necessary, despite the newfangled dishwashing machine that sat perfectly usable down by the other sink, yes there were two, just so that his son could stand on his lap and make Santa Claus beards.
With the sound of their laughter and off-key singing at his back, Erik had limped to the front of the mansion to survey the damage he'd done in his barely-conscious crawl through the front door.
Charles had told him to wait until he was well-enough not to strain himself. Erik didn't know about the other man's abilities, but using his powers was about as strenuous as breathing was when it was on a small level like rounding out a bent doorknob.
He had just set the door back on its reformed hinges when his spine had prickled the way it did when he was being followed, and he turned in time to see a strange woman creeping down the ornate staircase behind him.
His first instinct upon having an unfamiliar, slightly creepy looking person sneak up behind him would usually have been to fling a wad of metal at her head, but thankfully his reflexes were a tad laggy from the head wound and he stopped the reflex before he had to deal with an impromptu decapitation.
Gabrielle had a sort of waif-like beauty. Erik had never found much value it things that were pretty in the way that they looked like they'd break if touched, it seemed frivolous to him. Gabrielle was thin underneath the lacy princess-style nightgown she wore. She was also very short. He had a sudden passing thought about how poor David would probably be a pretty shrimpy kid when he got older, Charles hardly filled out his wheelchair.
It was clear by the thick cascade of ebony that hung limply over her shoulders and to her waist where their son had inherited his dark hair. But where the toddler's locks gleamed from obviously regular washings and brushings, the woman's was dull and greasy. She had an olive-like complexion that hinted at ethnic roots, but it was washed out as if she hadn't been in direct sunlight...well, ever. Her hazel eyes were huge and wide-set in her thin face, and they zeroed in on Erik immediately.
And since then, they hadn't left him. All throughout the excruciating hour spent in the formal dining-room while Gabrielle slowly sipped the gigantic glass of apple juice Charles had poured for her (despite the fact that he could barely reach the shelf without doing a chin up) she'd stared at him.
Erik was no stranger to heated glances, he'd just never been forced to sleep down the hall from a perpetrator before. He'd also never had to endure lustful looks in plain view of said perpetrator's husband, who he was starting to see as a...not friend...fond companion.
It was infuriating how totally Charles ignored his wife's wandering eye. Even now, faced with the very real, very immediate possibility that he was being summoned for an evening romp between Gabrielle's bed sheets, the man just sat and stroked his David's hair as if nothing at all was happening.
But he seemed resigned to it. Charles was staring at the floor as if he fully expected Erik to do it, and that he intended to sit there and not raise a finger to stop him. Erik stood, purposely causing his chair to scootch back loudly in an attempt to get Charles to look up. No such luck.
So Erik went upstairs. He had no intention or desire to sleep with Gabrielle. Again, she looked like she'd snap in half from the slightest pressure, and Erik could never claim to be a gentle man in any aspect of his life. But the schooled look of disinterest on the face of the man downstairs disgusted him. So he'd roll with the punches and see if he couldn't instigate a reaction of some sort.
The east drawing room was close to the guest room that Charles had assigned him after the first night, so he didn't need the extra awkwardness of asking Charles directions, or worse, taking David up on his offer to escort. The kid may not understand the implications, but the idea of the sweet little boy unwittingly aiding his mother's attempted infidelity was sickening. Erik breezed up the stairs easily and navigated the short trip to the designated rendezvous, unsure of what exactly to expect beyond the double oak doors.
Only one way to find out. He pushed through into the amber-lit room.
Each day spent in the Xavier Family Mansion brought new levels of ridiculously stereotypical luxury, and it appeared that today's example was the rich bearskin rug spread out in front of the hearth.
Erik took a moment to appreciate the artistic mastery that was the cavernous fireplace. Twining metal vines crept up the brickwork, ornate leaves and flowers dotting their lengths. He felt out the worked iron with a sweep of his metal-sense and very nearly started to salivate at the quality of the detailing. There were even tiny metal insects hidden among the vines, as well as two perfect little sparrows, lovely down to each feather. Erik wasn't a material man, but if being fabulously wealthy could buy you this kind of majesty, he might just take up bank robbing as a day-job.
Remembering belatedly his purpose for being there, Erik turned to the rest of the room. Gabrielle was perched by one of the huge bay windows, her maroon dress blending in remarkably well with the velvet curtains.
Erik regarded the woman with some surprise, she'd undergone a considerable transformation since he'd last seen her. She'd changed out of her nightclothes for one thing, a first in three days. Some of the grease seemed to have vacated her hair, and, he squinted, she was wearing makeup. It was a major improvement, but not enough to disguise the sunken quality of her eyes, or the frailness in her limbs.
"Mrs Xavier," he said quietly, "Is there something I can do for you?"
Straight to the point, letting her take initiative. Erik needed to see what it was this woman wanted. She was so willingly throwing herself at him, a man she had barely exchanged two words with, but to what ends? Did she want casual sex because of the obviously unfulfilling relationship with her husband? Did she think that he'd sweep her up and take her away in the style of romantic heroes? Was her lot so bad, with her gigantic house, surely bottomless bank account, and charming little family, that she was willing to shack up with a stranger to get away? It could be some sort of petty revenge against Charles for some slight or another that he wasn't aware of.
But now he could see that the woman lacked the convictions that her actions implied, for her hands were shaking violently. She seemed to notice his eyes on them so she fisted them tightly into the fabric of her evening gown.
"I...I, yes. Uhm, yes...Erik, I was wondering, I've noticed that you enjoy scotch so...if you'd have some...a drink, with me?"
Aha, get him drunk and seduce him. That was a tried and tested technique. Not once in his life had it worked on him. The women tended to underestimate his self-control, and overestimate their own tolerance of the drink. Erik may have grown up out of Germany, but he could still drink nearly anyone under the table.
"Yes," he agreed, "I don't see why not. Should we move downstairs though? So that Charles may join us?"
Gabrielle flushed and opened her mouth, then closed it. It seemed he'd caught her out, until she drew herself up to her full height (probably around 5'3) and said, "No, I'd rather it just be us."
"Oh?" Erik purred. So this woman would not be dissuaded so easily. He moved further into the room in order to sink into one of the large armchairs. He suspected that the woman had hoped he'd aim for the love seat so that she'd be able to cosy up next to him, and that's why her expression turned momentarily sour. He appeased her by asking "What's on the menu then?"
He was intentionally setting her up, for the second time really, to get down to it. Any other woman set on seduction would here insert a lurid line of some sort, but Gabrielle merely blushed darker and hurried over to what looked like a fully stocked bar that was built into the wall that the door was on.
Erik waited patiently until Gabrielle joined him. She handed him a generous cup full of something amber. A quick sniff told Erik that it was whiskey. Erik didn't usually like the drink, but he swirled the drink around the crystal tumbler, pushed aside his preferences and took a small mouthful.
The woman wasn't saying anything, so Erik looked up at her pointedly. She was, as usual, staring dazedly at him. This time her focus was directed at the arm that held his glass, so he experimentally flexed his finger, making muscle slide under skin. The movement was visible because he'd pushed up the sleeves of his shirt while downstairs with Charles.
As expected, the woman's eyes widened visibly, then flicked up to his face. When she realized that he was looking at her, she started and took a hurried gulp of her drink. Mistake, she immediately started coughing.
Erik stood and fetched her a glass of water from the tap in the bar. She took it gratefully, face redder than ever, and took a couple gasping gulps.
"Alright?" Erik asked. She nodded, not meeting his eyes.
"T-Thank you." she whispered, then louder, "You're ever so kind."
"It was nothing."
"No it wasn't!" she yelped, then looked embarrassed, "It's good to be taken care of."
What did she think Charles was trying to do? The implication was that he didn't do the same, which was grossly unfair. He'd spent the past few days watching the man strive to play his part as the doting husband, but the woman seemed intent on foiling every effort.
He didn't want to let her jab at Charles go, but he breathed deep and reclined into the chair with an unintelligible noise.
It actually would have been funny watching this whole scene unfold, he thought, had it not been so painful. If what he'd gleaned from his short stay in the mansion was accurate, Gabrielle likely didn't interact much with anybody, and it showed. She was visibly searching for words, and when she did find them, they were awkward and fractured.
They danced, figuratively, for an entire hour. More accurately, Erik would steer the conversation toward hooking up, Gabrielle would follow, and then unfailingly she'd lose courage and back away.
She asked him, "So, do you, have you a girlfriend?"
"No." He didn't have a girlfriend, and he never had. He'd had late night trysts with drunks he met in bars, he'd had harsh, impersonal fucks with prostitutes in seedy rented rooms. But the closest thing he'd ever had to a girlfriend was probably Magda, back in the camp.
They'd been sixteen, and never done more than make out and grope each other. There had been no way, not in Auschewitz, to actually have a proper relationship. People found solace in other people, but it was an unspoken rule not to get emotionally invested, as they might not be there for you an hour later. Maybe, if Schmidt hadn't taken him away later that year, maybe they would have become something more. Maybe they'd have hatched an elaborate escape plan, if they'd had more time, and broken free together and started a knew life with a brood of babies in a cottage by the sea.
But as it was, Magda was a faded memory of his first kiss and a ghost of what could have been. Who knows what had happened to her after Erik had been transported to Schmidt's personal facility. Likely, she was dead, perhaps she survived until liberation. He'd never know, never cared beyond a vague curiosity and fond reminiscence."
The woman sitting across from him presently seemed to perk up instantly at that. "Y-you don't? No...wife, either?"
"No." why the hell did she care? Yes he was unattached, free to pursue whatever sordid activities he chose. She was the one with a husband and child. These inquiries were useless, infidelity would be committed no matter what. At least, in theory. Erik was just biding time until he could head back downstairs to confront Charles. As a matter of fact, ever molecule of his being longed to be downstairs making intelligent conversation and drinking better liquor with the man. But he needed this to be convincing, needed to stay up here long enough for Charles to think that they were indulging in a thorough ravishing.
It had, of course, occurred to Erik that the man might be keeping mental tabs on them. It would be completely understandable, and Erik imagined that any husband with his powers would do it, but he suspected that Charles wasn't. The man's approach to his wife seemed to run in an 'ignorance is bliss' type agenda.
One interesting development for the evening was that Gabrielle was, apparently, very much a lightweight. In fact, he'd never drank with anyone quite so bad at holding their liquor. Half way through the admittedly large glass and her gaze had adopted a rather glazed quality, and she was slurring her consonants.
Erik wasn't finished his drink either, but that was because he was consciously staying sober. He had quite an experienced history in drinking and could more than handle tonight's amount if he chose to. But he was still counting on what was becoming his and Charles' nightly ritual of scotch and martinis, after everything was cleared up.
"Wha, wha colour are your eyesh?" Gabrielle asked, when they reached the hour and a half mark, and Erik was beginning to look for the right words to excuse himself.
"I believe they are grey, Mrs Xavier."
"Call me..call me Gabby. Erik. You have beautiful eyes. They change colour, see? Sometimesh they're blue, shometimesh they're green. I like them lots."
And she was hiccuping too, something Erik had only seen occur in real life a couple of times. The poor woman, girl for all it was worth, really was pathetic.
"Look, Mrs Xavier-"
"Gabby!"
He sighed, "Gabby. It's been a nice talk, but you look tired. You should go to bed." he rose and put his glass on the table beside him, intending to finally leave.
She looked panicked and jumped up as well, moving closer "No, I'm okay! Really, I just want..." she hiccuped loudly, raised her chin, eyes burning, "Iwantyoutomakelovetome." she breathed all in a rush that Erik wouldn't have understood if he hadn't been expecting it.
He opened his mouth to decline but before he could speak she was vomiting on his shoes.
By the time Erik made his way back downstairs, he'd been gone for over two hours, much longer than he'd intended. He wondered what Charles was thinking.
His bare feet padded down the stairs quietly, his ruined shoes and socks now residing in the trash. Poor Gabrielle had still been mortified when he'd walked her to her room minutes ago. Erik should probably mention to Charles to tell David not to go in that room until the cleaning service came tomorrow.
It wasn't how he'd been envisioned taking his leave of the situation, but it had shaken the girl from him completely. In fact, she hadn't seemed to be able to get away fast enough.
It worked for Erik, he was anxious to get back downstairs to see Charles. The whole point of humoring Gabrielle had been to get a rise out of the man, but part of Erik now seemed to just want to get down and reassure him that he hadn't actually betrayed him.
Easier said than done, apparently, as the master of the house wasn't in the wing Erik had left him in. He concentrated, throwing out his senses like a net to catch the increasingly familiar metal frame of the other man's chair.
Not in the library, nor the adjoining room. No sign of him in the kitchen, dining room or any of the sitting rooms. Erik pushed further, bruised head twinging slightly from the effort, and finally felt him. Erik sped up, hurrying to the terrace that lay off the music room at the far North end of the house. Across the cool tiled floor of the dark sun-room and out the glass doors into the starlit night.
Charles was in his chair beside the large ornate fountain. The thing was rather gaudy, with carved cherubs and angels entwined, but it was empty save for a thick layer of dead leaves and dirt. The man was reclined in his chair, one hand loosely holding an empty tumbler, the other rubbing slow circles on his sleeping son's back.
"Ch-" Erik began, walking across the cracked stonework toward the other man, but Charles cut him of with a raised hand. Erik frowned and stepped up beside him, "No, listen-"
"Oh do be quiet Erik." Charles said lowly, eyes flashing up briefly before turning pointedly away, over the pitch black forest, "David is asleep." and then since the man was impeccably polite no matter the situation, "Thank you."
But Erik was having none of it and he stepped closer to loom over the man, "Then let's go inside and put him to bed so we can finish our game and-"
"No, no I don't think so. I don't want to wake him up I'll just keep him with me tonight. So sorry, we'll have to leave the game unfinished. I think I'll do that now, call it a day. Terribly sorry Erik, good night." he reached to turn his chair toward the house; it took him a good thirty seconds of yanking at the wheel before he clued into the fact that Erik had the brakes locked in place.
"Let me go." He said quietly, and Erik could feel how tight his grip on the metal rims of the chair was, "Erik, let me go so that I can take my son inside."
"Give him to me Charles, I'll take him upstairs and then we can-" He was standing right in front of the man now, their knees nearly brushing. But Charles had his eyes fixed firmly on the glossy top of the slumbering child's head. Erik leans down without thinking, placing his hand gently on the boy's blanket-covered arm and-
-Pain like nothing he'd felt in a very long time spiked through his skull. Bursts of white exploded in his vision and he reeled, legs giving out under him to send him crashing sideways onto the cement surface of the patio. He barely registered the sensation of the jarring impact behind the agony in his head, burning and burning like panic and terror and so much despairing hurt.
Thankfully it only lasted a fraction of a second and the. Erik found himself flat on his back, ears ringing and an indescribably foul taste in his mouth, but the pain had vanished completely, without even a lingering ache. He blinked up at the stars, brain chugging to catch up and process what had just happened. By the time he got himself upright, wobbling slightly, (but that's from the concussion not the mental lashing) he found himself utterly alone outside. The door into the sun-room was open, blinds fluttering in the breeze, no trace of Charles except for the feeling of his chair speeding in the direction of the library room.
He made his way slowly after him, contemplating following the man into his room to clear up the misunderstanding. He paused in the cavernous foyer, and considered walking out and leaving this place behind. But the show of power he'd just witnessed, the raw force behind the attack, as well as the neat withdrawal...Charles could very well be stronger than Shaw's telepath.
So he decided to take the chance and stay one more night. Tomorrow he would try to make amends with his host, explain that his only intention had been to prove a point. And then he'd keep on worming his way into the man's good graces, the hazy beginnings of a plan coming together in his mind. Because if Charles was as strong as Erik suspected, he could easily take care of Emma Frost, leaving Shaw without his queen...
Erik stood in the sitting room and stared down at the chess set, lips slowly stretching into a dark smile. With a flick of one finger, the white queen topples over, rolling a short way before coming to a stand still.