Sorry ya'll, the quarter system in insanely strange. We had Mardi Gras break and then spring break, which was a little longer, and I was spending time with my family and not able to write. But I'm back now! Yay! I had a good time with my family, but I did miss writing. Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoy the chapter. I hope to hear from ya'll and I hope you're all still around, lol. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!
Chapter 14
Now
Charles is still draped over Erik in the desk chair when he realizes they aren't the only ones awake in the house anymore. Jean has come back, and only Jean, and she's come back because she knows something is wrong. He realizes, abruptly, that much more of what just happened—the emotions involved, at least—leaked through to their daughter than he ever would have liked.
He sits up quickly, before remembering that isn't a good idea, and hisses.
"Charles?"
Erik, still concerned. Of course he is. Charles holds his head with one hand and squeezes his husband's arm with the other. "I'm all right. I uhm…" Still coming out of the haze of delving into Erik's past, it takes a moment before the present and his perception of the minds around him becomes more solid again. He is just realizing how upset Jean really is when the pounding on the bedroom door begins.
"Mom! Dad! What's going on? Mom!"
Charles flinches, moaning quietly in the back of his throat from the pain of the sudden movement, and Erik is still holding him steady to keep him upright. He almost doesn't notice, eyes widening as he registers just how much Jean got. Nothing of what happened, the images, nothing she doesn't need to know…but the feelings…
"Oh god," he breathes. He pushes up, clumsy and uncoordinated, and he knows Erik wants to keep him from moving but Erik can hear their daughter shouting at the door as well as Charles can. Charles can feel how upset she is, but Erik can hear it. Erik helps him up, rather than hindering him.
"Mom! Let me in! Are you okay? Dad? Dad! Mooom!" She isn't trying to get through to him telepathically; it isn't even crossing her mind, as close as she is to panic. Erik is holding Charles up and even in only the moonlight Charles can tell how pale he is now.
"How much did she—?"
"Nothing specific," Charles answers quickly. The pain certainly isn't as awful as this morning—thanks to Jean—and he shoves what is there to the corner of his mind as best he can and forces himself to respond more quickly. It won't work forever, but for a while it will do. He braces himself against his husband's body and reaches up to dry Erik's face again, furiously swiping at his own, too. "But she needs to see both of us. She needs to know we're all right. I know we're…not, precisely, but…"
Erik only nods in understanding, still holding Charles's arms, taking deep breaths and trying to complete the burdensome task of making certain he is under control. He still shudders some—Charles would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't, as well—but its much better than before, when he couldn't stop shaking. Charles pushes up enough to kiss him briefly, and that seems to steady him more.
Charles breaks away for the door then, enough of the pain shoved back that he doesn't stumble. He doesn't have to open the door for himself; the lock clicks open the door swings wide seemingly on its own, thanks to Erik.
Jean is on the other side, fist raised to knock again, and sobbing. "Mom, w-what's…what's going on?" she gasps.
"God…" Charles steps out of the bedroom and wraps his arms around her in one quick movement. "It's all right, Jean. It's all right…" She cries more freely into his shoulder than she had been before, and then strong, warm arms encircle them both. Erik's forehead is against his daughter's hair, and when Charles glances up, still holding her, he sees that if Erik isn't careful having dried his face will have done no good in the end.
My fault…
The thought pounds through Erik's mind, and Charles halts it.
Not yours. Mine, if anyone's. I wasn't shielding well enough when I went into your mind.
"Jean…" Charles says again. "Jean, it's all right…"
She pulls in a sharp breath between sobs, trying to calm herself. "But…but you were…what happened?" She'd felt how upset he was, after seeing Erik's past. She felt it, but had no knowledge of anything that was happening to tie it to. It panicked her enough that she came home immediately, and here she is and she seems to be having the same problem Charles had after coming out of his husband's mind. Separating herself from the emotions. She can't.
"Nothing happened. We're all right. See? We're right here. We're all right."
"But I felt it. I felt you. Both of you were so—what was that…?"
Charles strokes her hair and doesn't let her go. "It doesn't matter. It was nothing you should be concerned about. We're all right, and that's what's important, isn't it?" he says gently. Erik coordinates then, kissing the top of her head.
Jean calms slowly, still shivering from the aftereffects of her sobs.
"What's wrong?" Charles asks eventually. "I thought you would have been able to shield yourself better than that. Are you feeling all right?" Knowing what someone is feeling—especially someone one is so closely tied to, such as a parent—is one thing, but being so unintentionally caught up in the projected emotions is another. It happened to him, but his defenses were largely down due to the weakness brought on by his medical situation. They still are.
"I'm s—I'm s-sorry, I just…I-I'm having trouble keeping anything out today—I just—I'm sorry…I don't know what—I don't know…"
It clicks. Charles pulls her back enough to see her face, and frowns. He brushes a hand over her cheek. "You let what you did this morning wear on you. Your defenses are low. I told you not to let it hurt you…"
"It didn't hurt me…I'm just tired…it's nothing…"
"Not quite. You need to rest."
"Beyond that, it's late," Erik adds quietly. He loves her, but right now he wants her to be all right, and he wants her to go, and he doesn't want her to ever know anything of what Charles saw mere minutes ago.
Jean, however, argues. Of course. "But something was wrong. I know it was. I felt it. What's wrong?" She's gripping an arm of each of them, tightly, and she isn't letting go. Charles reaches up to cup her face in his hands, beckoning her to look at him, and after another moment or two she finally does.
"Jean…Jean, listen…you trust me, yes?"
She nods wordlessly—tearfully, but wordlessly.
"Then trust me now: we're all right. There is nothing that you need be worried about. All right? If there were we would tell you."
Jean nods again, reluctantly, but she understands. Charles kisses her forehead and pulls her close again, and Erik's arms tighten around the both of them.
"Go on upstairs. Get some sleep," Charles tells Jean when Erik lets them go. She nods reluctantly but then her eyes sharpen.
"You too. You need it more than I do. And just say something if you need my help again, okay? You don't have to suffer; that's what I'm here for."
It takes more coaxing to get her to retreat upstairs, and by then Ororo has come back too, and follows her. By the time Charles and Erik are able to draw back into the bedroom Charles is losing his ability to ignore what of the pain there is, and when the door closes behind them he has no choice but to let it go.
He tries to lean more into the wall when he slumps, to keep Erik from needing to hold him up again, but Erik catches him anyway. Charles feels no need to protest that, and for a while they cling to each other in silence.
"Will she be all right?" Erik asks at length.
Charles nods against his shoulder, arms around his husband's neck now. "I did what I could to minimize the effects of the emotions that she picked up…I'll do more as soon as I'm able. She'll be all right."
"Good…"
They're quiet again, and Charles holds on, and he doesn't mean to but he begins to cry again, softly this time, and Erik's arms tighten around him a bit.
"I knew I shouldn't have let you see it…I'm sorry," he says wearily.
Charles lets out a heavy breath and swallows back the tears. "I needed to know. It was the easiest way, and the best one, really. I wouldn't have completely understood if you'd only told me."
"That's the way the rest of us do things, Charles. It would have been enough. I should have—"
"Stop," Charles grumbles. He is exhausted, and his head hurts, and his chest and throat still ache dully from sobbing so violently before, and he doesn't want to worry that Erik is still feeling guilt for any of it. It's one more thing to handle on top of everything else he's learned that his tired mind is trying to process.
Some of that, at least, must have made it through to Erik, because he stops talking. They stay where they are and Erik continues to just hold him. Charles dries his face again, on his husband's shirt, and they stay that way until he realizes he's having trouble staying on his feet even with Erik and the wall for support. He slumps farther before he can say anything, and Erik scoops him up in his arms.
"You're more worn out than Jean is," Erik scolds softly. "Are you still hurting?"
"Only some…" He's back in the dark, in the quiet, and distancing himself more in time from the effort it took to delve so deeply in Erik's mind. The pain is beginning to subside again, sinking behind Jean's barriers once more. There is still enough left now to be frustrating, but with any luck it won't remain for long. Though he doubts he'll be that lucky.
Erik moves him to the bed and sets him down. There isn't any need to help him change, as he never got out of his pajamas today, at Erik's insistence. He merely pulled a sweater over them before venturing out to the kitchen earlier in the evening. Erik pulls the navy blue sweater off now and lets it fall to the floor before laying Charles back against his pillows. He expects the blankets to come next, but they don't. Erik kisses his forehead, but then instead of covering him up he's tugging Charles's pants and underwear down his thighs.
"Erik, what are you—?" He stops when he tries to push up on his elbows and a bright lance of pain stabs through his skull. He falls back carefully and swallows the groan.
Erik is touching him then, after spitting in his hands, lifting his limp shaft and pumping, and the first small waves of pleasure send a shiver up his back. "I don't know. Maybe this will do some good," Erik says. His tone is gentle, but restrained—apologetic. He's still sorry for how much what Charles saw upset him, and Jean, and for the pain Charles is in. He doesn't know how to make it better and this is the only other thing he can think to do.
"It's all right, Erik. Usual headaches, it would, but I uhm…I don't know if it will help this. I—" He trails off abruptly, arching involuntarily into Erik's skilled touch, and he's growing hard now.
"It can't hurt to try."
Y-you don't have to. After all…all of that, Charles stutters silently. Everything you—god, you shouldn't be seeing to ME right now. Not after—
"Charles, what happened to me is in the past," Erik whispers. "What's happening to you isn't. You're the one in pain now." He leans up to kiss Charles, slow and sweet, but Charles has to break the contact to let out a shuddering breath of pleasured surprise from his husband's ministrations. Erik smiles a little. "Just let me take care of you."
Charles relents. "All right…all right." Erik certainly knows what he's doing by now, and it isn't hard to give in. Soon enough it really is working, endorphins chasing the pain back.
Erik draws it out long enough to completely relax him, but not long enough to frustrate. After twenty-five years—even with the ones missing, when they never did anything like this—they can read each other, and Erik knows when to let him come and does. Charles is left tired and satisfied and mostly free of pain, drifting comfortably near sleep as he lies bonelessly on the bed.
He is just aware of Erik brushing his hair back, and then leaving for a moment—of Erik coming back, and cleaning him off, and tugging his clothes back into place. Then the blankets are over them and Erik is beside him and holding him and he's warm and Charles thinks, vaguely, that Erik was right after all. It helped. He thinks, certainly not for the first time, how lucky he is to have someone like Erik; someone who loves him so much and would do anything for him, as he knows by now that Erik is willing to.
He drifts off contentedly, and though it seems incongruous after the stress of the rest of the evening before now, for the first time since the news from the doctors Charles sleeps easily through the night.
Erik wakes first the next morning, but it isn't long before Charles is with him, lying in his arms and content not to move. It's barely dawn anyhow, and not quite time to be getting up.
They lie there, absorbing the fact that last night was not a dream.
God, he never wanted Charles to know anything of that—the darkness in his past—but there it is, and now he knows, and…as much as he's still anxious about it, it feels as if a weight has been lifted, too.
Anything is easier to carry with help, Charles tells him silently.
Erik manages a small smile, and when he looks down into his husband's face and sees no traces of pain there he lets himself give in to the urge to ruffle Charles's hair a bit. He receives a low chuckle in return, and it makes him feel better, to know Charles isn't hurting.
What are we going to do? Erik wonders, more to himself than anything.
But Charles answers him. "Do you think Schmidt would be in the same place now? The facility you escaped from?"
"I don't see why not. Certainly if he has as much influence as it appears he does. He would have no reason to hide if everyone is so afraid of him."
"Do you remember where it is?"
Erik shakes his head. "Not well enough…it was thirty years ago when I got out. I could give us a general direction, maybe, but..."
Charles looks thoughtful. "It's all right. I can help you to draw the memories out. We can reconstruct the route you took in finding the group you came here with, the route you took after that with them, and trace it back.
"Assuming we have any idea of what to do when we find it. You've seen my memories, Charles. You know how powerful he is. With just the two of us…we need more help." It isn't that he's afraid—he is, but that's irrelevant—it's just that it's the truth. They can't do this alone.
"Maybe…"
"Not maybe, Charles. You know we do." If they're going to have any chance of stopping Schmidt and getting out alive, that is. Before he had a family Erik would have been perfectly happy finding the man and killing him on his own, even if he died in the process, but…now he isn't alone. He hasn't been alone since he was seventeen. Now there are eight other people he is directly responsible for. More, if Raven and Kurt or Moira are included beyond his husband and children. Soon they'll have a grandchild.
He can't afford to be rash. He wants to be here for them, and he wants Charles to be here, too—more than anything.
Charles is studying him, frowning, and then his expression softens and it seems he listened to all of that. "You're right…" he trails then.
Erik nods and kisses his temple. "But it doesn't matter now. Not until you're well again. This as far as this goes for now. I know how important it is, I know someone needs to act, but it's waited twenty-five years and it will wait a few more weeks." Charles says nothing, and the silence is heavy. "What?"
"Eighty-five days," he says quietly. "We have eighty-five days."
"What are you talking—?" He stops when it registers. "Alex."
"Alex," Charles nods. "And Angel. If we can stall them in making any sort of decision for now…I know it may seem unrealistic, but I don't want them to have to. I want this to be over before they have to."
Erik swallows. "Charles…I don't know if that's…"
"I know. I said I realized it might not be possible, didn't I? That doesn't mean we can't try."
Erik lets out an uncertain breath and nods, absently threading fingers through his husband's hair. "Fine…but can we get through the rest of this week first?" Charles knows what he means. They don't even know the results of the tests yet. They don't know what Charles is facing.
Charles looks at him for a long few moments, and Erik can see that he's trying to keep his eyes from filling. He probably isn't succeeding as well as he'd like.
But he nods, and Erik kisses him, and they have another half hour just to be there, together, before they need to get up.
The morning is largely normal, which is nice. Ororo gets off to school on time and Jean comes down and is glad to see her mother feeling better. The twins are hyper as always, but they stay home rather than crossing the street to play with Marie or their other friends when they see Charles up and about. They drag him upstairs to play, and he doesn't seem to mind. Jean joins them, rather than going off to find Scott or something else, and Erik is left downstairs to do whatever needs doing, but that's all right. Charles seems to be having a better day than he has all week, and that much Erik is grateful for.
Things are undisturbed, until the urgent knocking on the front door.
Charles comes down alone, probably having asked Jean to keep Bobby and Kitty upstairs, and he's on the last step when Erik answers the door and finds Hank on the other side, flushed and out of breath.
"They finished a day or two earlier than they thought. They have the results," he says quickly. "I-I don't know what they are—I haven't seen Mom's doctor; one of the nurses found me and asked me to come get you—but they have them."
Just like that, no more pretending the answer won't come or can't possibly be the wrong one. It could be. A hand slips into his and squeezes almost painfully, and when Erik glances down Charles doesn't look any less frightened than he is.
"Even if it's cancerous, he said they could treat it, didn't he?"
Erik's voice is tight. They're sitting on the edge of the exam table in one of the infirmary's rooms again, waiting, and Charles is as close to his husband as he can be without being in his lap. It's because he wants to be, but also a little bit because Erik won't let him go any farther.
"He said they could treat it. He said nothing of whether it would be curable or not, and I'm sure he would have said so if he had any realistic hopes that it would be," Charles says evenly. If he doesn't keep his voice even it will break, because he's afraid. He's kept as much of that at bay as he could, this week, and now he very nearly can't anymore.
Erik holds onto him more tightly after his answer, and Charles doesn't blame him at all. Their fingers twist together between them and Charles leans into his shoulder. But they both straighten when the door opens.
Nothing seems real after that. It almost doesn't seem possible that the doctor comes in with a smile on his face, or that he says what he says.
"No cancerous cells," he tells them. "We still won't know exactly how much we'll be able to remove until we go in, of course, but as long as we can remove most of it I doubt you'll have anymore problems with it. Granted, you'll have to give us another week or two to be certain we're ready for the procedure, but as long as it goes well you're going to be fine, Charles."
Charles stares at first, scarcely able to process good news after all they've worried over in the last week. Then it registers, and he slumps back into Erik's shoulder again with a heavy breath of shock. This time he's the one who can't remember how to speak, but it's all right because Erik says something immediately.
"Why do we have to wait before you can operate?"
"We haven't done anything like this here, and we may have surgeons, but none that had experience with brain surgery before the war. We've sent for the best we know of—the only man we know of who survived the war that has such experience. He's lived in the next city since it was built. He's been training surgeons there. It will be a few days before he can be here—an older man, of course; he doesn't travel quickly—and we have to be certain we're fully prepared."
Erik hesitates before saying what he says next. "If he's that elderly, should he be operating?"
"His best students are coming with him, I would assume."
"I see…"
Erik still doesn't seem entirely satisfied, and spends several more minutes asking questions about the surgery until Charles finally asks him, silently, to stop.
The doctor asks how Charles has been since he last saw them, and again Erik does the talking—conveying the level of pain he's been in at times, and the way his arm seized yesterday morning. Charles is only able to nod to confirm, because he can't stop thinking. They're sent home with more medications—things to help with the pain and prevent seizures—and by then Charles is nauseous. He doesn't know if it's only the usual symptoms or if nerves helped. Likely they did. The butterflies are gone but his stomach aches, even though they know the answer now and they've left the infirmary and…
Erik pulls him off the path several lanes short of the house, and cups his face and makes him look up at him. "Why are you so quiet? You heard him; you're going to be fine." There is so much relief in his voice, and his eyes are damp and he's smiling. He wants so much to be happy, and Charles is ruining it with the melancholy act.
He laughs, and it isn't that it's insincere, but it is weak. "I'm sorry…I suppose I have to over-analyze everything…"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" It isn't over yet. There are still so many things that could go wrong before it's over.
But he shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. Never mind. You're right." He smiles and brushes Erik's cheek with a thumb. "This should be a good moment." They kiss, and Erik won't let him pull back; not that he really wants to. They hold onto each other and both of them laugh now, quietly—exhausted relief and disbelief and thankfulness.
But Erik must know or at least suspect some of what he almost said, because he still clings too tightly.
Jean knows, of course, before they've even made it back. This time, though, she actually waits until they're inside before latching onto him. Bobby and Kitty follow suit even though they don't know, precisely, what for.
The children come and go all day, after hearing the news. Raven comes with Kurt and they stay. Moira comes, too, but even though she doesn't have Sean with her today—he and Alex have already come and had to go back to work—she doesn't come alone.
"Look who I found," she says, looking back to the door after hugging Charles to see who it is that followed her here come tentatively inside.
"Logan," Charles smiles. "It's been so long since we've seen you. How are you?" The larger man only shrugs, and for a moment Charles doesn't know what to say next. Erik doesn't seem to, either, or Raven. "Well you uhm…you should stay for supper. I haven't started anything yet, but I will. We don't have much of a choice today; I'm afraid there aren't even any leftovers at the moment. I haven't…uhm…haven't cooked this week…"
He trails off uncertainly, finishing with half of an explanation because he hasn't looked and he doesn't know what Logan knows, if anything, and suddenly it seems wrong to be feeling what relief he's allowing himself to feel when the woman Logan loved never had any chance at all.
He doesn't want to be the one to tell their friend that they've been given a chance at a miracle Kayla never had.
"You don't gotta beat around the bush, Charles. She told me," Logan says then—gruff as always, but kind.
"Oh…"
"Look, I'm glad you're gonna be okay. I hope everything goes the way it's supposed to."
Charles swallows. "Thank you…"
There is silence for a while, and then Logan shrugs. "Hey, if uh…if you're cooking anyway…I might as well stay." He's attempting to dispel the awkwardness, and Charles is grateful because after the day they've had—the week they've had—he isn't sure he or Erik or any of the rest of them could think far enough to do it themselves.
"Yes," Erik says then. "You should. Though I'll be the one cooking."
"Erik, I am perfectly capable of—"
"I'm cooking. Be quiet." But he's smiling when he says it. "You have company to entertain, anyway," he says, nodding to Logan and Moira.
Charles chuckles a bit, and now Logan, finally, is smiling just a little. Raven moves in to welcome him as well, and for a while after that the evening is an easy one—friends, family, without the burden of the last week hanging entirely over their heads. It isn't quite gone but it isn't quite as threatening anymore.
Then, of course, there's something else. He senses something else, as the evening goes on, from Logan. But Logan, unlike Alex, doesn't try to hide it. Instead he waits until most of the others have gone home, and retreats into the Lehnsherrs' back yard. Charles follows and Erik nearly does, but Kitty is hanging on his legs.
It's all right. I'll talk to him, Charles says silently. I'll call you if you need to be out here; I don't know what's wrong just yet.
"Logan?"
The other mutant lets out a breath. "Look…thanks for everything, but…I was coming here anyway, before Moira even told about any of this. I had to tell you I don't think I'll be staying here much longer."
Charles blinks. Of everything it could have been, that isn't what he expected. "What? I don't understand. Why?"
"I may be older than anybody here, but I'm not aging. You know that, and they know that. They're saying they'll give me another few months—maybe a year—and then they expect me to let them pair me if I want to stay here." His eyes flash. "I ain't lettin' that happen; I won't be with anyone else."
"You can't be serious…they didn't—"
"Serious as hell, and they did."
"Oh god, Logan, I'm sorry…"
He shrugs. "There's nothing you can do about it. But I can't stay here. I gotta get out before they really think too seriously about doing something stupid."
Charles is shaking his head now. "No. Wait. Listen to me…" They weren't going to tell anyone, what they were up to, and Charles doesn't plan to tell Logan everything but he has to say something.
"Listen to what?"
"Don't leave. Not yet. You may not have to."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's hard to explain…it will have to suffice to say that that this system may not last much longer."
Logan's eyes narrow then. "What are you up to?"
Charles sighs. "I wish I knew. What I do know is that we can't allow this to continue. It has to stop."
"That much I agree with." Logan shakes his head. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay? And if I can do anything, tell me. I'd be more than glad to help anyone take these bastards down."
"That's just it…it isn't exactly…them, precisely…" Logan raises an eyebrow. "Never mind." He pauses. "We'll tell you, if there is anything you can do. Thank you."
Logan nods again, and looks back toward the house. "I should go; it's getting late," he says.
He goes, and Charles doesn't realize how long he's lingered I the garden until Jean calls to him. Mom? You gonna sleep out there, or what? He goes inside, almost mechanically, and by then Erik is upstairs putting the twins to bed. Raven claims another hug, and she and Kurt head for home. Charles watches them go, realizing abruptly that Raven's due date is little more than two weeks away.
If only they didn't have to worry about the tumor first. If only he didn't have to wonder if he would be alive in two weeks. If only he and Erik's first grandchild could be born into a world where everyone is free to love who they wish to…
But two weeks isn't enough time. Likely it wouldn't be if he were healthy, and as it is, he isn't.
But maybe eighty-four days is enough time.
It has to be. He won't let Alex be pushed into a choice he doesn't want to make. He won't let Sean or Jean or Ororo or Scott or anyone else have to do it either. He won't allow Sean and Moira or Scott and Jean to be separated. He won't let anyone tell Logan or others like him that the memory of those they loved isn't as important as the assignment department's agenda. It can't happen. Any of it.
So eighty-four days will have to be enough.
"Mom?" Jean tries to coax his worries from him, but he sends her up to bed, too, and paces until Erik comes back down.
"Charles, you should have been getting ready for bed…you should be in bed. Have you taken your medicine?"
He hasn't. He does then, and allows Erik to guide him to the bedroom. Once they're inside, however, he can't help but pace again.
"Charles, what is it?" Erik asks anxiously.
He tells his husband what Logan said. "It doesn't make any sense. None of it does. I don't understand why Schmidt would want this—what he's forcing on the settlements." Charles scowls. "And I don't think I mentioned everything, either. I don't think I told you that the elders suspect he was somehow responsible for the war in the first place."
"They think he…?" Erik trails off and shakes his head wearily. "The thought never even crossed my mind before, but I can't say it surprises me." He let out a breath and tries to steer Charles back toward the bed. "But we'll have time to talk about this later. You need to rest."
"If I listened to you, I would never get out of bed," Charles grumbled quietly. "No, Erik, we need to talk about it, and we need to press forward with this. We cannot allow any more lives to be ruined."
Erik frowns. "I thought we agreed it could wait."
"Until we knew the results of the tests. We know them now."
"And you're going to be fine, so why can't this wait until you've recovered?"
"There isn't any way to know how long it will take me to recover from that invasive of a surgery. Not as far as my powers are concerned. And that's if—" he stops and looks away, but Erik's hands close around his arms.
"If what? What now?"
"You know they can't guarantee anything," Charles reminds him weakly. "Something could always go wrong during surgery. Or the tumor could be larger than they think and something could happen and before they even get a chance to operate I—I could…" He only sees the pained look on his husband's face from the corners of his eyes, but it's enough to hurt. "None of us is guaranteed tomorrow, Erik."
A heavy sound, from Erik's chest, and then Charles is all but crushed against it. "Erik…"
"Stop it," Erik whispers harshly. "You'll be fine…he said so."
"Yes, but he did bother to add that the procedure would need to go well…"
"It will."
"But what if it doesn't?"
"Damnit, Charles!" Erik shoves him back, holding his arms again and keeping him at arms' length to glare at him. "Why do you do that? It made sense before, when we didn't know. You were trying to be prepared, and I understood that, but now we have good news and you—"
"It is still for the same reasons!"
Erik lets go of him to find a wall to brace against, and Charles follows him to stay close as if his body can't bear to be apart from his husband's. That might be true, really. "Erik..." he trails again. Erik is fighting for composure, and Charles's throat clogs.
Erik isn't looking at him. He's facing away, pulling in sharp breaths, and Charles reaches out but he is almost afraid to touch him. When he does, Erik's legs go out from under him and he crumples to his knees.
"Erik—!" He can sense all of it; the dredging up of his past is still affecting him more greatly than Charles thought before, on top of everything else. He kneels by his husband to hold him and Erik responds immediately, tugging him around until he's in Erik's lap on the floor.
"He said you should be fine…can't we just believe that?" he asks hoarsely. "I can't—I can't think anything else. I know what could happen; you don't have to tell me. God knows I've thought about it…worried about it…because I don't want any of it to happen. I can't lose you. I can't." Then Erik is crying, and Charles tightens his arms around his neck.
I'm sorry…god I'm just so tired. I…it's like I'm not in control anymore.
"I know," Charles whispers. "I know. I'm sorry. It's all right…you don't have to be in control with me. It's why we have each other, isn't it?"
It's why I can't lose you.
Charles kisses him, and holds him until he's calmed. "You aren't wrong," he relents finally. "If everything is as they say, in all likelihood the surgery will go smoothly and I will be fine. But that doesn't mean we should put everything on hold until then. That was all I was trying to say," he explains gently.
"I know that," Erik sighs. "I panicked…like an idiot."
"You are not an idiot."
"Yes, I am."
Charles chuckles softly. "Sometimes." Erik steals a kiss, and he can't help but smile into it. "Just let me help you find where we'll need to go. Where Schmidt was when he held you," he says after that. "That we can do now, and it will be better to have it done. Once we've constructed the way to get there, I can make certain that we'll both be able to remember it easily. We'll know, if we need to know."
Erik still does not look entirely happy, but, "I don't suppose that could hurt, as long as you don't strain yourself," he says.
"I'll be entirely careful. I promise." He makes it to his feet and offers a hand to Erik, who takes it. Charles smiles and squeezes, as he helps his husband to his feet. "Thank you." He leads Erik to the edge of the bed, where they can both sit.
"Now?" Erik asks.
"It doesn't all have to be done at once. We have several days. I will stop if I'm too tired, all right? Will that satisfy you?"
Erik sits beside him, concern on his face, but after a moment of uncertain silence between them he picks up one of Charles's hands and folds back all of the fingers but two—the ones he then presses to his temple to focus.
They get to work, with Charles's free hand clasped between both of Erik's.
