This was pointless, Erik decided as they waited for the receptionist to return to the main lobby. There's no reason to hold a face to face meeting. That was what Emma was for, wasn't it? And why the hell couldn't she make it to this damn meeting? Wasn't this part of her job?
The elderly woman came back and said with a smile, "He's ready for you now. If you'll just follow me…?"
Charles took a step then stopped and turned around. Erik fought a grin. Charles lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to lecture me about leading?"
Erik bumped Charles' shoulder as he walked by, saying lightly, "I figure you've heard it often enough by now some of it should have sunk in."
Charles chuckled and fell into step behind him. "I think I could recite it by heart by now."
"I don't think I've said it that often," Erik replied.
"Well, I suppose said isn't actually the correct word." Charles was suddenly next to him as they went down the hall, flirting with each other. Their arms brushed each other lightly on every other step. "I believe it was more growling than speaking. And pulling. Lots of pulling."
"I did not growl!"
Alex put in, "You growl all the time, dude. Especially when things don't go your way."
Erik shot him a glare over his shoulder. "I get testy when orders aren't followed."
"And physical," Charles added brightly.
The corners of his mouth twitched despite himself. "Well, you don't listen very well."
Charles shrugged. "Eh, true enough." Charles' fingers glanced across the back of his hand and Erik's stomach lurched.
The receptionist opened a door and stood to the side, out of their way. Voices drifted out to them, male yet unintelligible. Charles fell back a step, allowing Erik through the door first. Alex and Scott stationed themselves just outside the door. Erik took the room in in a glance: bookcases; file cabinets; liquor station; one window, closed; relatively cluttered desk; the mayor in the chair behind the desk; two chairs in front of the desk, one empty, the other occupied by… He froze mid-step.
"Erik?" Charles' voice, hesitant.
It jerked him back to the present and the other visitor turned in the chair to face the newcomers. Schmidt smiled at them. "Hello again, Erik. You look surprised to see me. You haven't been following the race as closely as you should have, have you, my boy?"
His mouth was dry. He couldn't think. He had no clue what was showing on his face but Charles took one look at Erik and stepped forward, drawing the attention to himself.
"Could we get this meeting going?" Charles said as he pulled the empty chair out and sat. "I had to cancel classes plus I have grad students waiting."
Schmidt smirked. "Of course, of course. Mustn't keep the children waiting."
Mayor Kelly finally spoke up. "I'm sorry, but Sebastian…you know this man?"
Sebastian? Erik thought faintly.
Schmidt smiled at him again. "Erik and I go way back, Robert. But we can catch up later, yes? For now, Mr. Xavier is right. We all have things to be doing."
Mayor Kelly still looked unsure but let it go. Erik honestly had no clue what happened next or what was said. Charles would fill him in later if it was of any importance. Right then his brain was on a loop. Schmidt ist am Leben? Wie ist das möglich? Er…er starb…auf dieser Zuordnung. Hat er nicht? (translation: Schmidt is alive? How is that possible? He…he died…on that mission. Didn't he?)
Charles said something to Schmidt, but he didn't call him Schmidt. Charles called him…Shaw? And the mayor called him Sebastian. Er hatte seinen Namen geändert. (translation: He'd changed his name.) Was that why Mason didn't warn him? Or did he know and figured Erik knew, too?
All too soon, the three men at the desk were standing and shaking hands. Charles came over, put a hand on his arm and gently ushered him through the door.
Scott asked, "You okay, Erik?"
Charles answered as they kept walking, "Unexpected surprise, I believe."
Schmidt is alive and he's running against Charles, Erik thought and with sudden clarity, he knew. He grabbed Charles' hand and walked faster, hearing Alex and Scott hurry to catch up. "Stairs," he snapped.
Scott replied immediately, "Around the corner, on the left. You sure you're okay?"
"Fine. You two take the elevator; make Schmidt—Shaw—think we're in there, too. Charles and I will meet you in the lobby." Give them credit; both brothers stopped in front of the elevator without a word as he led Charles around the corner. There was no way in hell he wanted to be anywhere near Schmidt right then. And he sure as hell wanted him away from Charles.
He shoved the door open with his shoulder and pounded down the stairs, still dragging Charles behind him. It occurred to him—in the very vestiges of his mind—that he was doing exactly what Charles had been talking about earlier. God, why was he even thinking about that right now?
Charles finally spoke. "Erik?"
He didn't answer.
Charles tried again. "Erik, how do you know Shaw?"
He didn't want to answer. Didn't want to go into it, to delve into his past. Somehow it came out anyway. "He's not Shaw; not to me. I knew him as Klaus Schmidt. My former partner." The one who brought me to America.
Charles stopped on a landing, the force of it jolting Erik's shoulder. Erik turned around to see Charles staring at him in stunned disbelief. "What?" Charles said. "How is that even possible?"
Erik let go of Charles, running both of his hands through his hair. "I don't even know. I thought he was dead! Er sollte tot waren (Translation: He should've been dead)."
"Erik. Erik, breathe." Charles tugged gently on his arms, lowering his hands and holding them. "Now, what do you mean, he was dead? Because clearly he's not."
Erik met Charles' worried gaze. "It all makes sense, now. Finally."
"What does? Erik, talk to me."
He shook his head, trying to deny it but knowing deep down that it was true. That last mission…Schmidt had run, faked his death, and deceived them all. Why? Didn't he realize they'd recognize him? Well, actually, no. They hadn't. But what did he hope to gain from this? "Charles, I…I think…I think he's—Shaw's—the one behind it. Behind all the threats and the attempts on your life and Raven's. It has to be. He's got the knowledge, the resources…hell, the arrogance. He's always liked power, liked being the one in charge."
Charles shook his head slightly. "But why me? What have I ever done to him?"
"You're running against him," Erik replied simply.
After a moment, Charles asked, "How did you not know that Shaw was my opponent? He's been in the public eye as much as I have. More, even, I would think. I hate publicity."
Erik shook his head. "I never really cared about the race before. Always figured if I didn't like the winner, I could always return to the country of my birth: Germany. Or always take the assignments that sent me overseas for long periods of time." Charles looked a little sad at that but he said, "Just…trust me on this, okay?"
Charles studied him from the step above him. His gaze softened after a moment and he nodded. "Always, Erik." The soft emotion behind those two words caused Erik's throat to tighten momentarily but then Charles slid his hand into Erik's and said, "I believe we should beat Shaw to the parking lot, then, yes?"
"Yes."
Charles and Erik stood off to the side behind the stage, listening to the noise of the crowd as it grew. Charles was a bundle of nerves and Erik was doing his best to ease them.
"I can't do this," Charles said for the fifth time, bouncing lightly in place.
And for the fifth time, Erik replied calmly, "Yes, you can." Then he added, "You're leading in the polls, you know what the people want, and you actually mean it."
Charles gave him a faint smile and asked, "You'll be up there with me, right?"
After everything that had happened over the last couple months, Erik could understand Charles' fear. Erik wanted to be right there with him, too. And not just for protection; for support, too. He nodded. "I will be right behind you," he promised. A burst of laughter caused them to turn and Erik couldn't help but smile. The girls—Raven, Angel, Jean and Emma—were laughing at something the brothers had said. They'd easily developed a friendship amongst the group, although Emma was a recent addition. They'd all be sad when the assignment ended. Maybe one or two of them would get assigned to Charles' security detail permanently once he'd won. Erik refused to think he wouldn't; the alternative was unthinkable.
"Okay," someone called and they all turned to see an older man in a gray suit walk backstage. "If I could have my candidates over here please…?"
Charles and Erik joined Shaw and one of his bodyguards…a Russian, from what Erik had overheard. Azazel, Erik thought his name was. The older man looked at each of the candidates and smiled widely. Erik didn't trust him. Then again, he didn't trust anyone at the moment. Too much could happen now, here. Too public, too many access points, too many people to keep track of. It was a security nightmare. The only consolation he had was that he'd be up on stage with Charles, just in case.
"Welcome to your final debate, gentlemen. My name is William Stryker and I'm going to be your moderator this evening. I just wanted to quickly go over a few rules before I go out there and get the ball rolling. Sebastian, you'll enter from stage right; Charles, stage left. There is a podium and microphone for each of you with one in the middle for me." Erik noticed with approval then that Scott, Alex, and Jean had slipped away to patrol the audience, leaving Angel with Raven and Emma along the wall.
"Now," Stryker continued, "I'll start the questioning with a few of my own. We'll decide who answers first, on stage, with a coin toss. You each get one chance to answer the question with no interruptions for two minutes and no rebuttals unless I specifically ask for one. Agreed?" Stryker waited until both Charles and Shaw had nodded before continuing. "We'll alternate who answers first and then when I've exhausted my supply of questions—and we still have time—we'll open it up to questions from the audience. Same rules apply: one answer, time limit, alternate who goes first and such. If, by chance, an audience member asks a specific candidate the question, that candidate will answer first and then the other will be given a chance to respond. Only fair, men." Stryker glanced at his watch and smiled again. "Two minutes, gentlemen."
The two pairs drew off to the side, just out of earshot of the other, and Erik made sure that he was facing Shaw and Azazel. Charles was breathing quickly. Erik put a hand on his shoulder and said softly, "You've got this. Trust me. And I'll be right there."
Charles nodded, looking a little sick. Stryker turned around from where he stood just off stage. "Oh, candidates," he called. "So sorry. I forgot one last thing: your bodyguards cannot go up on stage with you. Might freak out the audience."
"Excuse me?" Erik said, surprised. Since when was that a rule? Charles went pale, all color draining from his face, and Erik resisted the urge to pull him close. They were in public, after all. Damn feelings. He did indulge in some rather creative mental swearing, however.
Stryker shrugged. "Don't blame me; I just say what I'm supposed to." Another glance at his watch. "One minute. Better get into position."
Erik looked across at Shaw and caught Azazel's eye. He looked pissed at the new rule, too. Their gazes caught and locked in agreement that the situation was not ideal. Hmm, he thought. Maybe he and Azazel could get along. He didn't seem all that thrilled to be that close to Shaw, either.
Music started playing and Azazel followed Shaw across the area behind the stage, but not before tilting his head towards Shaw and rolling his eyes in Erik's direction. Erik nodded. Oh, yeah; they'd get along fine. He put a hand on Charles' elbow, ushering him over to his side of the stage.
Stryker was up there talking now, building up the hype. Erik turned Charles around so they were face to face, figuring if Charles couldn't see, he couldn't panic as much. "Focus on me," he murmured.
Charles' eyes locked onto his and his breathing slowly evened out as Stryker talked.
"You can do this," Erik reassured him. "It's no different than your classes. They ask questions, you give them the right answers; that's all this is." Charles nodded jerkily and his hand snaked out to grab Erik's. Erik squeezed it, which seemed to help. He absently reached up to brush Charles' hair out of his eyes, which earned him a shaky smile.
Sebastian was announced and he walked on stage waving and wearing the fakest smile Erik had ever seen.
"I can do this," Charles whispered, taking a deep breath.
Erik looked down at him, his eyes determined and so blue…Erik couldn't imagine Charles not winning. He was everything this country needed. What the hell…he thought. Erik threw caution and scruples to the wind for just a split second, giving into temptation briefly and kissed Charles on the lips just as Stryker announced his name to the crowd's applause.
Charles looked a little stunned but soon—just as Erik had known would happen—a huge grin spread across his face and he walked out onto the stage every inch the wonderful, confident person Erik had grown to know and respect. As for himself, Erik moved to a position where he could see Shaw and Charles, as well as a good portion of the theater and the audience. He murmured into his comm, "Here we go, kids. Everybody on alert. There's no telling what can or will happen." Five different voices came back with a variation on copy.
Shaw won the coin toss, to which Erik made a disgusted face, and the debate began.
An unknowable amount of time later—Erik's feet were starting to hurt from standing in one place for so long—something caught his eye. Charles was nodding in response to something Shaw had said—please tell me you don't agree with him, Charles—when that something caught his eye again, identifying it this time as movement in the back left of the theater. Frowning, Erik said quietly into his comm, "Anyone got eyes on the back left?"
"My left or your left?" came the reply.
He refrained from growling. Much. "My left. Something moved. Find out what."
"On it. Cranky pants." Alex. Of course it was.
There. "Alex, report."
Alex came back with a frustrated, "Nothing's here, Erik. No empty seats, no one fidgeting—which is weird in and of itself. Debates bore me. You sure you saw something?"
"Yes, I'm sure I saw—" There it was again, moving right, but closer. "Who's on the right?" He rolled his eyes and added quickly, "My right."
"It's me, Jean."
Erik shifted, trying to get a better view. Charles was talking now, gesturing like he always did when he was passionate about something. He narrowed his eyes, trying to track it. "Someone's moving…about midway up your section, Jean."
Scott entered the conversation. "I'm headed over, Jean. See anything?"
"Maybe…" she said uncertainly.
Angel tapped Erik on the arm. "Want me to check?"
"No, stay with Raven."
"Erik, white male, gray jacket?" Jean asked.
Erik confirmed, "That's him."
"Yeah, something's off. He's walking hunched over." She paused and now he could see her red hair bobbing as she tried to get closer to the man. "I…I think he's got a hand in his jacket? Scott, Alex, do either of you have a better angle?"
Before the brothers could reply, the man in question launched himself into the aisle along the wall opposite his agents, a few feet from the stage and pulled a gun from inside his jacket.
Aimed right at Charles!
Erik bolted from his position, rushing onto the stage. Charles was half-turning to see what had drawn the audience's attention when Erik hit him, knocking into him just as the report of a gunshot sounded. They hit the floor of the stage a moment later.
His voice strained and slightly panicky, Charles asked, "Am I bleeding?"
Erik groaned, "No. That would be me." Damn, that hurt like hell, he thought with a wince. He'd taken the shot meant for Charles, as he'd intended. Above him, he could see Charles' face blanch and he screamed for help. Charles yanked his sweater over his head and shoved it against Erik's stomach, using it to try to slow the bleeding. He must have gotten hit right at the bottom of the vest. The edges of the room were starting to shrink and blacken. Charles' face blurred, his blue eyes bright. Gut shot…not good.
He heard someone tell him to hang on, that an ambulance was on its way, thought it might have been Angel. Erik's eyes slipped shut.
"Erik. Erik, open your eyes," someone pleaded with him but it was too much effort.
Numbness was starting to creep in, his mind blanking. He just wanted to sleep, to avoid the pain. The person said something again…Charles…?
As Erik fell into the darkness, his last conscious thought was of success. I did it, Charles is safe.
"ERIK!"
Hell of a cliffhanger, isn't it? Insert evil author chuckle here :D