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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (16/25ish)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this part.
Back to chapter 15
Erik woke to the sound of someone pounding on his door. In as long as he could remember, no one had ever pounded on his door. He sat up slowly and glared in the direction of the offending noise. In the process of moving, his boxers caught against his skin, dried semen pulling against his pubic hair. Erik winced, and then reached down to adjust himself.
In the bed at his side, Charles mumbled something unintelligible and threw an arm over his face.
"If you are in there fucking your boyfriend, I am going to kill you," came Mystique's voice through the door. Erik swung his legs over the side of the bed and shook the sleep from his head. He stood on somewhat shaky legs--surprising considering he hadn't actually had to support Charles' weight with them--and padded to the dresser, where his discarded watch told him they'd been asleep for close to three hours.
"Shit," Erik muttered. He crossed to the door, swinging it open just as Mystique was about to start knocking again. Her fist connected with his jaw. "Ow, fuck," he said.
"Serves you right. Where the hell have you been?" Mystique asked, only then taking in Erik's attire--or lack thereof. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You were fucking him, you son of a bitch."
Erik's jaw clenched at the insult; he tolerated a lot of things from Mystique, but not that--never that. She seemed to realize what she'd said, her complexion turning ashen. Erik let his gaze harden.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"You are never to refer to my mother in such a manner again," Erik said, sounding far calmer than he actually felt. Mystique took a hesitant step back.
"I said I was sorry, but you're still an asshole. I can't believe you're in here canoodling with your paramour while I'm trying to keep this place from falling apart. You owe me, Erik."
Erik sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was a chaotic mess--Erik could only imagine what he looked like. A glance back at the bed showed Charles beginning to stir--and from the looks of it Charles was just as dishevelled.
"Can you just tell me what the hell this is about, so that I can either do something about it or go back to bed," Erik finally said, not particularly wanting to get caught in a war of words with Mystique. She had a tendency to win.
Mystique crossed her arms and assumed a more neutral stance. She was very purposely not looking into the room--no doubt not wanting to raise Erik's ire if he thought her ogling Charles.
"Hank McCoy turned up at the Cerebro install--which, hey, great--except he started ripping out everything Shadowcat had done. He's redoing the install from scratch--and God knows how many days it's going to set us back--because apparently we are all idiots who can't follow a simple set of blueprints."
"Is he still there?" Erik asked. Mystique nodded. "Give me ten minutes and I'll meet you down there."
Mystique bowed her thanks, turned on her heel and then disappeared back down the hall. Erik closed the door behind her and turned back to the bed. Charles was propped up on his elbow, watching Erik intently. From this angle, he was breathtaking.
"Back to work already?" he asked.
Erik shrugged apologetically. "It might help if you came."
Charles pushed himself into a seated position. "You'll have to go ahead of me; I'll need a few minutes."
Erik nodded, already moving towards the bathroom. He needed a shower, but settled for running a washcloth over his more sticky parts, and then splashing his face with cold water. For the first time since meeting Charles, Erik was actually grateful for the helmet--at the very least it would hide his post-sex bedhead.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Charles was in his chair, toiletry bag and a change of clothes set in his lap.
"Are you done?" he asked. Erik nodded and let Charles claim the bathroom, sparing a moment to wonder when Charles would start trusting him enough to get ready while Erik was still in the room.
"You know where you're going?" Erik asked through the now closed bathroom door. A familiar, Charles-like presence filled his head.
So long as I can pinpoint Hank, I can find you, he said into Erik's mind. Erik let a surge of affection transfer over the link, and then headed to the door, not wanting to keep Mystique waiting. He waited until he was outside to put on the helmet, wanting to maintain their connection as long as possible. The sudden absence of Charles was almost painful.
It was a strange sensation, leaving his rooms, helmet secured atop his head, but without the commanding clock of Magneto strewn around his shoulders. Erik felt light, almost peaceful--and if ever he had been close to knowing peace, this, he suspected, was it. Risking Mystique's wrath, he stopped by his office first, where he found Rogue sitting in the antechamber, her feet propped on her desk while she filed her nails with an emery board. She looked thoroughly bored.
"What's up, Sugar?" she asked when Erik was fully in the room, not looking up from her task.
"I need you to head to the Deli across the street and bring back a sandwich," Erik said.
Rogue's nail file froze mid-stroke, her gaze finally coming away from her fingernails, expression incredulous as she stared across the desk at him.
"You want a sandwich."
"Not for me. For Charles," Erik explained. "And bring it to the Cerebro installation--that's where he'll be."
Rogue quirked an eyebrow, a smile lighting up her face. "You got it bad, honey." She laughed, removed her feet from the desk, and then swiftly stood, smoothing out the bodysuit she insisted on wearing. "Good thing you got me to do the heavy lifting," she said, still laughing. Erik endured the humiliation as stoically as he could.
"Just get the sandwich," he said when it looked like she was getting set to further taunt him. In response, she offered a sly wink, and then slinked out of the room. The things Erik suffered for Charles.
The walk to the Cerebro installation was short, and thankfully Erik didn't run into anyone else. When he arrived, the room was a scene of chaos. Erik passed through the central doorway--already fitted with a two-foot thick solid steel door, currently open to grant access to the site--and found Hank steadily ripping panelling off the walls, wire and cables strewn across the floor. Erik navigated a pile of coiled wires, and came to stand at the bottom of the scaffolding currently holding their visiting Beast.
Mystique was at his side within seconds.
"He's tearing apart all of our work, and whenever one of us tries to talk to him, he bares his teeth and growls," she said.
Erik glanced up just in time to see a particularly large steel plate falling towards him. He reached out with his power and caught the thing--and it was incredibly heavy; would have killed him instantly--and set it gently on the grate walkway that stood between this room and the one below, both hollowed out to accommodate Cerebro's sphere.
"Has he explained why he's doing this?"
"He says the configuration is wrong; that the way we have it set up will fry Charles' brain."
Erik blanched, horror pooling in the pit of his stomach. "Is there a reason, then, that we're trying to stop him, because I for one would rather we not fry Charles' brain." Or any other part of Charles, for that matter, Erik didn't say. Mystique shook her head.
"Shadowcat has been over his plans a dozen times. She worked out the necessary configuration--and according to her it's safe," she said.
Erik hesitated. Kitty wasn't the type to make mistakes--and she probably rivaled Hank for genius. Still, it was entirely possible she had made a miscalculation, or had misinterpreted one of Hank's diagrams--the man did have chicken scrawl for writing.
"Perhaps it would be best to wait until Charles joins us," he said. Mystique rolled her eyes. She was doing that a lot lately.
"Fine," she said, "but every panel he tears down is costing us an hour's worth of work."
Erik sighed, and then glanced up, finding Hank already busy at work on the next panel. In about ten minutes it too was going to come crashing down, so Erik grabbed Mystique's arm and pulled her out of the line of fire. He flagged down a passing Jubilee and instructed her to secure an off-limits perimeter around Hank's work space.
"Charles won't be long," Erik reassured Mystique once that was done, wondering briefly what exactly was taking the man so long.
~*~
Charles eyed Erik's tub regretfully before retrieving a washcloth from beneath the sink and then wetting it thoroughly. He wanted a shower, or maybe a quick soak, but there was no getting into Erik's bathtub without help--he had only managed this morning with Ms. Carter's aid. If he was going to remain in Genosha for any extended period of time--and Charles was starting to think he might just want that--he was going to have to get Erik to install some bars.
He put the thought out of his mind--for the time being, at least--and carefully removed his soiled boxers, and then began the steady process of cleaning off dried semen.
There wasn't a lot--though certainly more than he had produced in the years since his paralysis--and he couldn't feel where it stuck and pulled against his skin, but he still felt cleaner--proper--once it was cleaned off. Next he went about emptying his bladder.
It was utterly ridiculous how long it took him to do these things, no matter how used to it he was, but he still took his time getting dressed, needing to wake up--in truth taking Erik to the astral plane had been far more exhausting than their previous shared experience. Until recently, he thought he had fully explored every aspect of his telepathy--thought he had developed it to the point of being able to use it without effort, but it was obvious there were some aspects of his telepathy that had been neglected. Using them now was like using entirely new muscles--it left Charles aching and exhausted, though feeling incredibly accomplished.
He needed far more than three hours sleep.
And food, his stomach reminded him with a rumble. Charles tutted, frowning down at it even as he buttoned his shirt. First there was Hank to deal with, and then, provided no other emergencies popped up, he was going to take Erik to lunch--although it would likely end up being dinner--so that they could eat a meal together without arguing ideology.
It was a good plan, Charles thought to himself, finishing his shirt. He reached down to lift a leg next, threading it into a pair of boxers and trousers, already merged together. He did the same with the other leg, and then it was simply a matter of pushing down into his chair, bracing against the back of it with one arm while his free hand shifted the material into place. When he was finished, he glanced up into the mirror, seeing his reflection for the first time in what felt like ages.
It was a strange thing, to realize how long it had been since he had last looked--truly looked--in a mirror. Oh, there were the occasional glances--to make sure his hair was tidy, or that he didn't have spinach in his teeth, but this, this was scrutiny.
I'm getting old, Charles thought, and then laughed, because he certainly didn't feel old. He felt newly in love, like a young man, set to conquer the world. The smile that reflected back at him was marred with lines, but he looked happy--frighteningly happy.
"You're a complete fool," he told his reflection, running his hand through his starting-to-thin hair.
His reflection held no answer, so Charles quickly finished dressing--socks, shoes, a belt and sweater--and then vacated the bathroom, pausing only long enough to finish his half drank scotch from earlier before heading out the door.
The Brotherhood's Genosha compound was a maze of halls and lifts--designed to both take advantage of the surrounding scenery and confuse any intruders who might breach its outer perimeter. Charles knew the Cerebro installation was on the ground level, so he rode the lift there and then reached out with his telepathy. He found Hank almost immediately.
Hanks thoughts were startlingly familiar--they held the same cadence that Charles associated with Hank working. It was impossible to read Hank's mind when he was like this--his thoughts coming too fast and furious for Charles to make any sense of them--but Charles read enough to know that whatever Hank was doing was getting them closer to their goal. He turned his chair in Hank's direction, and let Hank's chaotic brilliance lead him to Erik.
It would have been easy to find Cerebro, even without Hank, once Charles got to the right wing. The entire area was a hive of activity, mutants dashing about, their thoughts filled with urgency and excitement. A resounding crash came from the end of a long hall, so Charles turned in that direction, eventually arriving outside the door of a frighteningly accurate Cerebro re-creation.
It was missing its panels, but the frame was the same, the space an exact duplicate in size to the one that sat beneath his home in Westchester. Charles wheeled through the doors, spotting Erik instantly. He was standing next to Mystique, the pair of them staring up at Hank as he systematically removed block after block of incorrectly installed panels.
Charles wheeled himself to Erik's side. Erik started when he noticed him.
"You made it," he said, smiling brightly, seeming immensely pleased by Charles' arrival. In his hand he was holding a white-paper bag. He handed it Charles.
Charles accepted the package with a quirked eyebrow, but Erik merely shrugged and then turned his attention back to Hank. Charles opened the bag. Inside, he found a pastrami sandwich. His stomach rumbled appreciatively.
"Oh, Erik," he said, and then, because it was obvious Erik was a little frazzled by what Hank was doing to his room, added, "you did have it wrong, by the way, but it was an honest mistake. Hold on, I think I have an easier way to do this." He let his mind drift up to where Hank crouched, growling over a stubborn lug nut. Hank glanced up, then down over the side of the scaffolding. He nodded at Charles, put down his ratchet, and leaped from his platform.
Charles took a bite of his sandwich just as Hank hit the ground. He stood swiftly and then crossed over to stand before Charles' chair. He offered a tentative smile--a peace offering, or perhaps a tentative truce. Charles let his smile grow fond.
"They were doing it wrong. It would have killed you," Hank said. Charles nodded, looking to Erik, who was staring at Charles with wide, panicked eyes. He swallowed his bite of sandwich--and God was it good--before speaking.
"It's all right. No harm done," he said, mostly for Erik's benefit. "But still, it seems a waste to spend all this time removing and reattaching these panels manually."
Hank tilted his head, expression betraying his confusion. He was studiously ignoring everyone in the room save Charles. Charles gave Erik a pointed look. Hank wilted at that, but he gave a brief nod. Charles turned to face Erik.
"If I implant an image in your mind of how all of this is supposed to look, can you duplicate it, with the actual panels?"
For a moment Erik looked dumbstruck--and Charles suspected, had he been able to read Erik's mind, that Erik was probably kicking himself for not having considered this sooner. Finally, he gave a firm nod, glanced around the room, and then reached up to remove his helmet.
Charles knew instantly that Erik was extremely uncomfortable without the helmet--and he suspected the only reason Erik had even agreed to remove it was because there was no one here capable of manipulating minds--so Charles worked quickly, transferring the information from Hank's mind directly into Erik's, finishing off with the telepathic equivalent of a lingering caress. Erik smiled, and then slipped his helmet back into place.
"I'd suggest everyone clear the room," he announced, moving to stand in the middle of the room. One by one the others in the room cleared out into the hall, Mystique, Hank and Charles included.
It never ceased to be thrilling, watching Erik work. First he collapsed all the scaffolding and moved it out of the way, then he lined the panels along the floor in the order in which they were to be installed, and finally he began lifting each piece, fitting them into their positions with raised hands, the strain of it obvious in the sweat that appeared on his face.
Charles marvelled, and at his side he could sense that Hank was equally as impressed--though his thoughts still held disdain where Erik was concerned. Mystique--and Charles realized then that she was Erik's equivalent to his Hank--beamed with pride, her affection for Erik brotherly and just a touch maternal.
"We should have dinner tonight, all of us," Charles announced suddenly, seeing then so many similarities between them--wanting to bring his and Erik's worlds together, to show Hank that these people could be trusted, that they weren't the bogeymen the stories made them out to be.
The suggestion was like pouring cold water over their heads. They turned to stare at him in unison, Erik forgotten, Mystique's thoughts coloured by confused amusement, Hank's by outright incredulity.
"I mean, if no one else has plans," Charles clarified, feeling himself flush under their scrutiny.
He turned his attention back to Erik, watching as Erik continued to build Cerebro, piece by agonizing piece, his shoulders drooping now. The panels were heavy, but more than that, their positioning required incredible precision--any misalignment would mean at best Cerebro not working; at worst Cerebro destroying Charles' brain.
An hour passed before the final panel was slotted into position--and hour during which Charles ate his sandwich and endured side-long glances from both Mystique and Hank. Once, a girl in a yellow dust jacket came over to speak with Mystique, but aside from that there was little to do save watch Erik.
It was clear Erik was visibly drained. Half an hour ago Mystique had cleared the hall, sending everyone save the three of them away--a measure of how well she knew Erik, because Erik would have hated anyone seeing his vulnerability. As soon as Charles deemed it safe--more so for Erik's piece of mind than his own safety--he wheeled into the room, coming to rest at Erik's side. He reached a hand forward to slide it into Erik's, Erik squeezing briefly before letting his hand relax--still loosely wrapped in Charles'.
"I think I'm going to need another nap," Erik said with a self-depreciating chuckle. Charles smiled brightly at the sound.
He meant to tell Erik that he had no objections, but before he could, Mystique appeared, fussing over Erik in a way that made Charles feel vaguely territorial--not an emotion he was used to having, but he rather felt it his job to ensure Erik's well being.
"That was a stupid thing to do," she said. Erik stood a little straighter and squared his shoulders. He still looked ready to fall over.
"But it's done." He turned to face Hank, who had followed them into the room and was now examining Erik's handwork. "Isn't it?" Erik asked.
Charles listened as Hank's mind scrutinized Erik's work, finding no fault in any of the panels--or their positioning. He nodded once, satisfied, before turning to Erik.
"It's good," he said. Erik smiled, a genuine thing that held more pride at Hank's approval than Charles would have expected.
"How long before it's operational?"
Hank's thoughts grew distant--in the way that they did when he was working out a problem.
"I probably need about 24 hours. Setting up the interface isn't going to take long, but after that I'll need to run some processes and then do systems-wide diagnostics. Charles isn't touching it until I give the go ahead."
"Agreed," Erik said. He reached out then and clapped Hank on the shoulder. Hank startled at the contact, and then stepped back--too late, Erik's hand having already returned to his side--grunting out a weak, ineffective growl. Erik merely raised an eyebrow.
It didn't leave much room for Hank to object, so he let his lip curl and then turned his back on them, stalking over to where a neat pile of electronics and computer equipment sat; the makings of Cerebro's interface.
"Give me a moment," Charles said, extracting his hand from Erik's and then wheeling over to where Hank was busy sorting through cables. Hank glanced over once Charles arrived.
"You're not going to go home, are you? I mean, even after you find Stryker for them, you're not going to leave."
It struck Charles then how awkward this must be for Hank--being so removed from everything he knew. It was a strange thing, because Hank had always been his rock, and yet here Charles was, in this new and different place, and aside from the occasional swell of panic, he had yet to dissolve into a full attack. Instead it was Hank--steady, reliable Hank--who looked poised to fall over.
"Westchester will always be my home. And yours," Charles said, meaning it. Even if he chose to stay here--for however long that might be--Westchester would always be home.
"I don't mind it here, you know," Hank said. He'd turned away from Charles and was now installing circuit boards into their chassis. "The weather is nice and no one stares at me like I'm a freak. It makes Linda a little nervous, but I think she's starting to like the amenities. She's discovered a passion for shopping."
Charles chuckled--the Xavier estate was rather remote and didn't tend to offer many options for getting out.
"But I don't agree with a lot of their methods, or their ideologies," and Charles knew he was talking more about Erik than the Brotherhood, "and I don't particularly want to be associated with the things they have done, or will do."
"You don't believe people can change?" Charles asked, because if that were the case, then Hank had more in common with the Brotherhood's governing principles than he might be willing to admit.
"Over a diversified whole, yes," Hank said, negating Charles' point even before Charles could make it, "but as individuals; I think most of us are too stubborn, too stuck in our ways to effect real change."
It was a depressing thought, and one Charles didn't intend to agree with. Everyone was capable of change--and most people did change, in slow increments over the span of their lives. Charles had changed--a thousand times over--Hank, too, if only he would see it. And Erik had changed. They were all capable of being better men.
"Join Erik and I for dinner tonight," Charles said. The circuit board in Hank's hand clattered down onto the shelving he was using for a workspace. "Bring Linda, and Erik will invite Mystique and her... whomever. Let me show you that we are not so different. That there are points of commonality.
"If, after tonight, you still feel as you do, then when this is done, you and Linda can return to Westchester. I'll make arrangements to make you both the official caretakers while I'm here. But, please, give Erik a chance to show you the man I know him to be. I have seen his mind, Hank, and he is a good man; despite everything in his past, he is a good man."
For the longest moment Hank didn't say anything, staring intently at a cooling fan. He turned then, meeting Charles' eye for the first time since this conversation began.
"Good man or not, he is still a dangerous man," he said.
"We are all dangerous men," Charles countered.
Hank hesitated, and then gave a defeated sigh, shaking his head before responding. "You'll have to make it a late supper--I still have a lot of work ahead of me."
Charles smiled with gratitude. "Thank you," he said, but Hank was already waving him away, intent on finishing his work, Cerebro now holding his full attention. Charles left his side and wheeled back to where Erik and Mystique stood, watching them.
"Everything okay?" Erik asked. Charles nodded. "In that case," he looked pointedly at Mystique, who handed over a manila envelope.
"Stryker's known associates," she said. "You're probably going to need them sooner rather than later. "Also, Erik mentioned you wanted to see Cyclops. I'm to take you to him."
"Excellent, Charles said, tucking the envelope into the pocket on the side of his chair. He turned to Erik. "I've invited Hank and Linda to supper tonight. I thought it might be nice if everyone got to know one another." He glanced pointedly in Mystique's direction.
Erik tilted his head, but his expression betrayed his skepticism. Charles mustered his most beseeching look, feeling a spike of amusement the moment Erik caved.
"Fine, nine o'clock, we'll use the formal dining hall. Mystique, when you're done taking Charles to see Cyclops, inform the kitchen staff. And yes, you are expected to attend. Invite whomever you like."
Mystique's glare was icy, but Erik stared her down. Charles was somewhat impressed when she finally acceded to his wishes--from the shape of her thoughts, Charles had been expecting her to outright refuse, with violence if necessary. Charles turned his attention back to Erik.
"Do you need me to..." he gestured, uncertain, but Erik merely shook his head.
"I'll be fine, just in need of a shower and some coffee. Then, sadly, I have a few things to take care of. I'll see you at dinner," he said, bending down to press their lips together in a chaste, though lingering kiss. "If you need anything, just ask Mystique, she'll be happy to accommodate."
From the look Mystique was giving them, she would be nothing of the kind, but Charles still nodded his thanks, regretfully leaving Erik's side to follow Mystique from the room.
On to chapter 17
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this part.
Back to chapter 15
Erik woke to the sound of someone pounding on his door. In as long as he could remember, no one had ever pounded on his door. He sat up slowly and glared in the direction of the offending noise. In the process of moving, his boxers caught against his skin, dried semen pulling against his pubic hair. Erik winced, and then reached down to adjust himself.
In the bed at his side, Charles mumbled something unintelligible and threw an arm over his face.
"If you are in there fucking your boyfriend, I am going to kill you," came Mystique's voice through the door. Erik swung his legs over the side of the bed and shook the sleep from his head. He stood on somewhat shaky legs--surprising considering he hadn't actually had to support Charles' weight with them--and padded to the dresser, where his discarded watch told him they'd been asleep for close to three hours.
"Shit," Erik muttered. He crossed to the door, swinging it open just as Mystique was about to start knocking again. Her fist connected with his jaw. "Ow, fuck," he said.
"Serves you right. Where the hell have you been?" Mystique asked, only then taking in Erik's attire--or lack thereof. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You were fucking him, you son of a bitch."
Erik's jaw clenched at the insult; he tolerated a lot of things from Mystique, but not that--never that. She seemed to realize what she'd said, her complexion turning ashen. Erik let his gaze harden.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"You are never to refer to my mother in such a manner again," Erik said, sounding far calmer than he actually felt. Mystique took a hesitant step back.
"I said I was sorry, but you're still an asshole. I can't believe you're in here canoodling with your paramour while I'm trying to keep this place from falling apart. You owe me, Erik."
Erik sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was a chaotic mess--Erik could only imagine what he looked like. A glance back at the bed showed Charles beginning to stir--and from the looks of it Charles was just as dishevelled.
"Can you just tell me what the hell this is about, so that I can either do something about it or go back to bed," Erik finally said, not particularly wanting to get caught in a war of words with Mystique. She had a tendency to win.
Mystique crossed her arms and assumed a more neutral stance. She was very purposely not looking into the room--no doubt not wanting to raise Erik's ire if he thought her ogling Charles.
"Hank McCoy turned up at the Cerebro install--which, hey, great--except he started ripping out everything Shadowcat had done. He's redoing the install from scratch--and God knows how many days it's going to set us back--because apparently we are all idiots who can't follow a simple set of blueprints."
"Is he still there?" Erik asked. Mystique nodded. "Give me ten minutes and I'll meet you down there."
Mystique bowed her thanks, turned on her heel and then disappeared back down the hall. Erik closed the door behind her and turned back to the bed. Charles was propped up on his elbow, watching Erik intently. From this angle, he was breathtaking.
"Back to work already?" he asked.
Erik shrugged apologetically. "It might help if you came."
Charles pushed himself into a seated position. "You'll have to go ahead of me; I'll need a few minutes."
Erik nodded, already moving towards the bathroom. He needed a shower, but settled for running a washcloth over his more sticky parts, and then splashing his face with cold water. For the first time since meeting Charles, Erik was actually grateful for the helmet--at the very least it would hide his post-sex bedhead.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Charles was in his chair, toiletry bag and a change of clothes set in his lap.
"Are you done?" he asked. Erik nodded and let Charles claim the bathroom, sparing a moment to wonder when Charles would start trusting him enough to get ready while Erik was still in the room.
"You know where you're going?" Erik asked through the now closed bathroom door. A familiar, Charles-like presence filled his head.
So long as I can pinpoint Hank, I can find you, he said into Erik's mind. Erik let a surge of affection transfer over the link, and then headed to the door, not wanting to keep Mystique waiting. He waited until he was outside to put on the helmet, wanting to maintain their connection as long as possible. The sudden absence of Charles was almost painful.
It was a strange sensation, leaving his rooms, helmet secured atop his head, but without the commanding clock of Magneto strewn around his shoulders. Erik felt light, almost peaceful--and if ever he had been close to knowing peace, this, he suspected, was it. Risking Mystique's wrath, he stopped by his office first, where he found Rogue sitting in the antechamber, her feet propped on her desk while she filed her nails with an emery board. She looked thoroughly bored.
"What's up, Sugar?" she asked when Erik was fully in the room, not looking up from her task.
"I need you to head to the Deli across the street and bring back a sandwich," Erik said.
Rogue's nail file froze mid-stroke, her gaze finally coming away from her fingernails, expression incredulous as she stared across the desk at him.
"You want a sandwich."
"Not for me. For Charles," Erik explained. "And bring it to the Cerebro installation--that's where he'll be."
Rogue quirked an eyebrow, a smile lighting up her face. "You got it bad, honey." She laughed, removed her feet from the desk, and then swiftly stood, smoothing out the bodysuit she insisted on wearing. "Good thing you got me to do the heavy lifting," she said, still laughing. Erik endured the humiliation as stoically as he could.
"Just get the sandwich," he said when it looked like she was getting set to further taunt him. In response, she offered a sly wink, and then slinked out of the room. The things Erik suffered for Charles.
The walk to the Cerebro installation was short, and thankfully Erik didn't run into anyone else. When he arrived, the room was a scene of chaos. Erik passed through the central doorway--already fitted with a two-foot thick solid steel door, currently open to grant access to the site--and found Hank steadily ripping panelling off the walls, wire and cables strewn across the floor. Erik navigated a pile of coiled wires, and came to stand at the bottom of the scaffolding currently holding their visiting Beast.
Mystique was at his side within seconds.
"He's tearing apart all of our work, and whenever one of us tries to talk to him, he bares his teeth and growls," she said.
Erik glanced up just in time to see a particularly large steel plate falling towards him. He reached out with his power and caught the thing--and it was incredibly heavy; would have killed him instantly--and set it gently on the grate walkway that stood between this room and the one below, both hollowed out to accommodate Cerebro's sphere.
"Has he explained why he's doing this?"
"He says the configuration is wrong; that the way we have it set up will fry Charles' brain."
Erik blanched, horror pooling in the pit of his stomach. "Is there a reason, then, that we're trying to stop him, because I for one would rather we not fry Charles' brain." Or any other part of Charles, for that matter, Erik didn't say. Mystique shook her head.
"Shadowcat has been over his plans a dozen times. She worked out the necessary configuration--and according to her it's safe," she said.
Erik hesitated. Kitty wasn't the type to make mistakes--and she probably rivaled Hank for genius. Still, it was entirely possible she had made a miscalculation, or had misinterpreted one of Hank's diagrams--the man did have chicken scrawl for writing.
"Perhaps it would be best to wait until Charles joins us," he said. Mystique rolled her eyes. She was doing that a lot lately.
"Fine," she said, "but every panel he tears down is costing us an hour's worth of work."
Erik sighed, and then glanced up, finding Hank already busy at work on the next panel. In about ten minutes it too was going to come crashing down, so Erik grabbed Mystique's arm and pulled her out of the line of fire. He flagged down a passing Jubilee and instructed her to secure an off-limits perimeter around Hank's work space.
"Charles won't be long," Erik reassured Mystique once that was done, wondering briefly what exactly was taking the man so long.
~*~
Charles eyed Erik's tub regretfully before retrieving a washcloth from beneath the sink and then wetting it thoroughly. He wanted a shower, or maybe a quick soak, but there was no getting into Erik's bathtub without help--he had only managed this morning with Ms. Carter's aid. If he was going to remain in Genosha for any extended period of time--and Charles was starting to think he might just want that--he was going to have to get Erik to install some bars.
He put the thought out of his mind--for the time being, at least--and carefully removed his soiled boxers, and then began the steady process of cleaning off dried semen.
There wasn't a lot--though certainly more than he had produced in the years since his paralysis--and he couldn't feel where it stuck and pulled against his skin, but he still felt cleaner--proper--once it was cleaned off. Next he went about emptying his bladder.
It was utterly ridiculous how long it took him to do these things, no matter how used to it he was, but he still took his time getting dressed, needing to wake up--in truth taking Erik to the astral plane had been far more exhausting than their previous shared experience. Until recently, he thought he had fully explored every aspect of his telepathy--thought he had developed it to the point of being able to use it without effort, but it was obvious there were some aspects of his telepathy that had been neglected. Using them now was like using entirely new muscles--it left Charles aching and exhausted, though feeling incredibly accomplished.
He needed far more than three hours sleep.
And food, his stomach reminded him with a rumble. Charles tutted, frowning down at it even as he buttoned his shirt. First there was Hank to deal with, and then, provided no other emergencies popped up, he was going to take Erik to lunch--although it would likely end up being dinner--so that they could eat a meal together without arguing ideology.
It was a good plan, Charles thought to himself, finishing his shirt. He reached down to lift a leg next, threading it into a pair of boxers and trousers, already merged together. He did the same with the other leg, and then it was simply a matter of pushing down into his chair, bracing against the back of it with one arm while his free hand shifted the material into place. When he was finished, he glanced up into the mirror, seeing his reflection for the first time in what felt like ages.
It was a strange thing, to realize how long it had been since he had last looked--truly looked--in a mirror. Oh, there were the occasional glances--to make sure his hair was tidy, or that he didn't have spinach in his teeth, but this, this was scrutiny.
I'm getting old, Charles thought, and then laughed, because he certainly didn't feel old. He felt newly in love, like a young man, set to conquer the world. The smile that reflected back at him was marred with lines, but he looked happy--frighteningly happy.
"You're a complete fool," he told his reflection, running his hand through his starting-to-thin hair.
His reflection held no answer, so Charles quickly finished dressing--socks, shoes, a belt and sweater--and then vacated the bathroom, pausing only long enough to finish his half drank scotch from earlier before heading out the door.
The Brotherhood's Genosha compound was a maze of halls and lifts--designed to both take advantage of the surrounding scenery and confuse any intruders who might breach its outer perimeter. Charles knew the Cerebro installation was on the ground level, so he rode the lift there and then reached out with his telepathy. He found Hank almost immediately.
Hanks thoughts were startlingly familiar--they held the same cadence that Charles associated with Hank working. It was impossible to read Hank's mind when he was like this--his thoughts coming too fast and furious for Charles to make any sense of them--but Charles read enough to know that whatever Hank was doing was getting them closer to their goal. He turned his chair in Hank's direction, and let Hank's chaotic brilliance lead him to Erik.
It would have been easy to find Cerebro, even without Hank, once Charles got to the right wing. The entire area was a hive of activity, mutants dashing about, their thoughts filled with urgency and excitement. A resounding crash came from the end of a long hall, so Charles turned in that direction, eventually arriving outside the door of a frighteningly accurate Cerebro re-creation.
It was missing its panels, but the frame was the same, the space an exact duplicate in size to the one that sat beneath his home in Westchester. Charles wheeled through the doors, spotting Erik instantly. He was standing next to Mystique, the pair of them staring up at Hank as he systematically removed block after block of incorrectly installed panels.
Charles wheeled himself to Erik's side. Erik started when he noticed him.
"You made it," he said, smiling brightly, seeming immensely pleased by Charles' arrival. In his hand he was holding a white-paper bag. He handed it Charles.
Charles accepted the package with a quirked eyebrow, but Erik merely shrugged and then turned his attention back to Hank. Charles opened the bag. Inside, he found a pastrami sandwich. His stomach rumbled appreciatively.
"Oh, Erik," he said, and then, because it was obvious Erik was a little frazzled by what Hank was doing to his room, added, "you did have it wrong, by the way, but it was an honest mistake. Hold on, I think I have an easier way to do this." He let his mind drift up to where Hank crouched, growling over a stubborn lug nut. Hank glanced up, then down over the side of the scaffolding. He nodded at Charles, put down his ratchet, and leaped from his platform.
Charles took a bite of his sandwich just as Hank hit the ground. He stood swiftly and then crossed over to stand before Charles' chair. He offered a tentative smile--a peace offering, or perhaps a tentative truce. Charles let his smile grow fond.
"They were doing it wrong. It would have killed you," Hank said. Charles nodded, looking to Erik, who was staring at Charles with wide, panicked eyes. He swallowed his bite of sandwich--and God was it good--before speaking.
"It's all right. No harm done," he said, mostly for Erik's benefit. "But still, it seems a waste to spend all this time removing and reattaching these panels manually."
Hank tilted his head, expression betraying his confusion. He was studiously ignoring everyone in the room save Charles. Charles gave Erik a pointed look. Hank wilted at that, but he gave a brief nod. Charles turned to face Erik.
"If I implant an image in your mind of how all of this is supposed to look, can you duplicate it, with the actual panels?"
For a moment Erik looked dumbstruck--and Charles suspected, had he been able to read Erik's mind, that Erik was probably kicking himself for not having considered this sooner. Finally, he gave a firm nod, glanced around the room, and then reached up to remove his helmet.
Charles knew instantly that Erik was extremely uncomfortable without the helmet--and he suspected the only reason Erik had even agreed to remove it was because there was no one here capable of manipulating minds--so Charles worked quickly, transferring the information from Hank's mind directly into Erik's, finishing off with the telepathic equivalent of a lingering caress. Erik smiled, and then slipped his helmet back into place.
"I'd suggest everyone clear the room," he announced, moving to stand in the middle of the room. One by one the others in the room cleared out into the hall, Mystique, Hank and Charles included.
It never ceased to be thrilling, watching Erik work. First he collapsed all the scaffolding and moved it out of the way, then he lined the panels along the floor in the order in which they were to be installed, and finally he began lifting each piece, fitting them into their positions with raised hands, the strain of it obvious in the sweat that appeared on his face.
Charles marvelled, and at his side he could sense that Hank was equally as impressed--though his thoughts still held disdain where Erik was concerned. Mystique--and Charles realized then that she was Erik's equivalent to his Hank--beamed with pride, her affection for Erik brotherly and just a touch maternal.
"We should have dinner tonight, all of us," Charles announced suddenly, seeing then so many similarities between them--wanting to bring his and Erik's worlds together, to show Hank that these people could be trusted, that they weren't the bogeymen the stories made them out to be.
The suggestion was like pouring cold water over their heads. They turned to stare at him in unison, Erik forgotten, Mystique's thoughts coloured by confused amusement, Hank's by outright incredulity.
"I mean, if no one else has plans," Charles clarified, feeling himself flush under their scrutiny.
He turned his attention back to Erik, watching as Erik continued to build Cerebro, piece by agonizing piece, his shoulders drooping now. The panels were heavy, but more than that, their positioning required incredible precision--any misalignment would mean at best Cerebro not working; at worst Cerebro destroying Charles' brain.
An hour passed before the final panel was slotted into position--and hour during which Charles ate his sandwich and endured side-long glances from both Mystique and Hank. Once, a girl in a yellow dust jacket came over to speak with Mystique, but aside from that there was little to do save watch Erik.
It was clear Erik was visibly drained. Half an hour ago Mystique had cleared the hall, sending everyone save the three of them away--a measure of how well she knew Erik, because Erik would have hated anyone seeing his vulnerability. As soon as Charles deemed it safe--more so for Erik's piece of mind than his own safety--he wheeled into the room, coming to rest at Erik's side. He reached a hand forward to slide it into Erik's, Erik squeezing briefly before letting his hand relax--still loosely wrapped in Charles'.
"I think I'm going to need another nap," Erik said with a self-depreciating chuckle. Charles smiled brightly at the sound.
He meant to tell Erik that he had no objections, but before he could, Mystique appeared, fussing over Erik in a way that made Charles feel vaguely territorial--not an emotion he was used to having, but he rather felt it his job to ensure Erik's well being.
"That was a stupid thing to do," she said. Erik stood a little straighter and squared his shoulders. He still looked ready to fall over.
"But it's done." He turned to face Hank, who had followed them into the room and was now examining Erik's handwork. "Isn't it?" Erik asked.
Charles listened as Hank's mind scrutinized Erik's work, finding no fault in any of the panels--or their positioning. He nodded once, satisfied, before turning to Erik.
"It's good," he said. Erik smiled, a genuine thing that held more pride at Hank's approval than Charles would have expected.
"How long before it's operational?"
Hank's thoughts grew distant--in the way that they did when he was working out a problem.
"I probably need about 24 hours. Setting up the interface isn't going to take long, but after that I'll need to run some processes and then do systems-wide diagnostics. Charles isn't touching it until I give the go ahead."
"Agreed," Erik said. He reached out then and clapped Hank on the shoulder. Hank startled at the contact, and then stepped back--too late, Erik's hand having already returned to his side--grunting out a weak, ineffective growl. Erik merely raised an eyebrow.
It didn't leave much room for Hank to object, so he let his lip curl and then turned his back on them, stalking over to where a neat pile of electronics and computer equipment sat; the makings of Cerebro's interface.
"Give me a moment," Charles said, extracting his hand from Erik's and then wheeling over to where Hank was busy sorting through cables. Hank glanced over once Charles arrived.
"You're not going to go home, are you? I mean, even after you find Stryker for them, you're not going to leave."
It struck Charles then how awkward this must be for Hank--being so removed from everything he knew. It was a strange thing, because Hank had always been his rock, and yet here Charles was, in this new and different place, and aside from the occasional swell of panic, he had yet to dissolve into a full attack. Instead it was Hank--steady, reliable Hank--who looked poised to fall over.
"Westchester will always be my home. And yours," Charles said, meaning it. Even if he chose to stay here--for however long that might be--Westchester would always be home.
"I don't mind it here, you know," Hank said. He'd turned away from Charles and was now installing circuit boards into their chassis. "The weather is nice and no one stares at me like I'm a freak. It makes Linda a little nervous, but I think she's starting to like the amenities. She's discovered a passion for shopping."
Charles chuckled--the Xavier estate was rather remote and didn't tend to offer many options for getting out.
"But I don't agree with a lot of their methods, or their ideologies," and Charles knew he was talking more about Erik than the Brotherhood, "and I don't particularly want to be associated with the things they have done, or will do."
"You don't believe people can change?" Charles asked, because if that were the case, then Hank had more in common with the Brotherhood's governing principles than he might be willing to admit.
"Over a diversified whole, yes," Hank said, negating Charles' point even before Charles could make it, "but as individuals; I think most of us are too stubborn, too stuck in our ways to effect real change."
It was a depressing thought, and one Charles didn't intend to agree with. Everyone was capable of change--and most people did change, in slow increments over the span of their lives. Charles had changed--a thousand times over--Hank, too, if only he would see it. And Erik had changed. They were all capable of being better men.
"Join Erik and I for dinner tonight," Charles said. The circuit board in Hank's hand clattered down onto the shelving he was using for a workspace. "Bring Linda, and Erik will invite Mystique and her... whomever. Let me show you that we are not so different. That there are points of commonality.
"If, after tonight, you still feel as you do, then when this is done, you and Linda can return to Westchester. I'll make arrangements to make you both the official caretakers while I'm here. But, please, give Erik a chance to show you the man I know him to be. I have seen his mind, Hank, and he is a good man; despite everything in his past, he is a good man."
For the longest moment Hank didn't say anything, staring intently at a cooling fan. He turned then, meeting Charles' eye for the first time since this conversation began.
"Good man or not, he is still a dangerous man," he said.
"We are all dangerous men," Charles countered.
Hank hesitated, and then gave a defeated sigh, shaking his head before responding. "You'll have to make it a late supper--I still have a lot of work ahead of me."
Charles smiled with gratitude. "Thank you," he said, but Hank was already waving him away, intent on finishing his work, Cerebro now holding his full attention. Charles left his side and wheeled back to where Erik and Mystique stood, watching them.
"Everything okay?" Erik asked. Charles nodded. "In that case," he looked pointedly at Mystique, who handed over a manila envelope.
"Stryker's known associates," she said. "You're probably going to need them sooner rather than later. "Also, Erik mentioned you wanted to see Cyclops. I'm to take you to him."
"Excellent, Charles said, tucking the envelope into the pocket on the side of his chair. He turned to Erik. "I've invited Hank and Linda to supper tonight. I thought it might be nice if everyone got to know one another." He glanced pointedly in Mystique's direction.
Erik tilted his head, but his expression betrayed his skepticism. Charles mustered his most beseeching look, feeling a spike of amusement the moment Erik caved.
"Fine, nine o'clock, we'll use the formal dining hall. Mystique, when you're done taking Charles to see Cyclops, inform the kitchen staff. And yes, you are expected to attend. Invite whomever you like."
Mystique's glare was icy, but Erik stared her down. Charles was somewhat impressed when she finally acceded to his wishes--from the shape of her thoughts, Charles had been expecting her to outright refuse, with violence if necessary. Charles turned his attention back to Erik.
"Do you need me to..." he gestured, uncertain, but Erik merely shook his head.
"I'll be fine, just in need of a shower and some coffee. Then, sadly, I have a few things to take care of. I'll see you at dinner," he said, bending down to press their lips together in a chaste, though lingering kiss. "If you need anything, just ask Mystique, she'll be happy to accommodate."
From the look Mystique was giving them, she would be nothing of the kind, but Charles still nodded his thanks, regretfully leaving Erik's side to follow Mystique from the room.
On to chapter 17
