Chapter Five
"I don't want you to forgive me. Just don't ignore me."
Charles feels like shit. He's excused himself from training today, told Erik to run drills with the students until lunch and then give them the rest of the day off before retreating to his room. He's got a migraine coming on, his stomach is lurching from a bad combo of medications, and his arms and shoulders are stiff and aching from the previous day's physical therapy. He wants to curl into a ball and die. He's managed the ball part, pulling his legs up to his chest with his hands and manipulating them into the right position, but the dying thing is taking much longer.
He had to mind-wipe Moira yesterday. He didn't want to, but it had to be done- a necessary evil. He did it for the kids, for their protection. No one could know about the school, not even her. But it hurts, erasing his friend's memories and thoughts. Chances are they'll never meet again. Chances are she's going to lose her job, even with the files that he left in her briefcase. Chances are he's ruined her life.
Charles is starting to understand what it feels like to live with a betrayal on his conscience.
There's a bad taste in his mouth. He'd left her with a kiss, trying to soften the blow, but it was like feeding a dying man sugar: The sweet taste of what could have been making the reality of what really was that much more bitter. His stomach turns and he whimpers into a pillow, glad that he's alone and that no one else is here to witness his weakness.
He tries so hard to be strong. He needs to be, for Raven and Hank and Alex and Sean. And for Erik, who he shouldn't care about anymore but does. He's their leader. He has to be in control, always, can't afford any slip-ups. Their wellbeing is the most important thing to him these days, and if they're worried about his health they're not safe. He doesn't deserve their worry. Worrying is his job.
But he still feels awful.
The door opens a crack and Charles stifles a groan. Please don't be Raven please don't be Raven she'll only worry…
"Charles?"
He stiffens and hastily checks that his mental blocks haven't fallen down. The door closes, and there are soft footsteps. The bed dips beside him and he tries to even out his breath, eyes closed in a facsimile of sleep.
Something brushes against his head suddenly- a light touch, just grazing his scalp. He wills himself not to move as long fingers begin to card through his hair.
"What am I doing here, Charles?" The voice above him murmurs. "I must be mad."
Charles is inclined to agree, but he doesn't want to give any signs that he's awake. Against his common sense, against the part of his brain that continues to indulge in rational, intelligent thought, he's sort of enjoying having his hair stroked. It's been a very, very long time since anyone's done that to him, and he can't deny that it feels amazing. His headache is starting to die away, and the hand against the back of his neck is warm and dry. And the voice, the voice that usually makes him put up his guard these days is slowly pulling it down.
He probably doesn't even know what he's doing to Charles. It isn't fair. Any other time and he would long since have been told to get out, but God, his hands feel so good, and he's whispering something into the dark that Charles is only half-hearing, and Charles thinks that if he could spend every moment between waking and sleep he could forgive every sin that those hands have ever committed.
When he wakes up the next morning Erik is gone, and it takes Charles a long while to figure out whether it had been a dream or not.