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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (25/25 + epilogue)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 24
As soon as the Blackbirds had landed and were secured, Erik was moving. He disembarked from the plane, barking orders as he crossed the hanger to the wide bay doors that connected it to the capital compound.
Behind him, his fellow mutants scrambled to get the planes refueled and unloaded. Only Logan sat idle, staring at the hanger like it was something out of a nightmare. Exasperated, Erik turned to a waiting Jubilee and said, "Get him a room somewhere, out of sight, please."
That seemed to get Logan's attention. He crossed the room to where they stood, already shaking his head. "That ain't gonna happen, bub. I'm sticking with you till we get this squared away, then I'm getting the fuck out of Dodge, again. I ain't trading one army base for another."
Had it not been for Logan's willingness to back Erik when he'd wanted to storm Stryker's base, he likely would have hauled Logan off and locked him away somewhere secure--another cage, perhaps. Instead he nodded, waving Jubilee aside, and then leading Logan out of the hanger and into the tunnel that ran between the lifts and the hanger--a dark, dank space that smelled sharply of mould and always, always left Erik feeling claustrophobic. It reminded him of the gas chambers Schmidt had often forced him to help clear. More times than Erik could count he had had to help haul the body of someone he had once known onto a cart, destined for an unmarked, mass grave.
"So this is Genosha," Logan said as they walked, glancing around. He sounded unimpressed. Erik didn't dignify the comment with an answer.
Instead he led them up the lifts and out onto the main floor, turning towards Cerebro, where, if Jubilee was to be believed, Emma was still holed up. When they arrived outside the door, Erik rapped his knuckles against the metal three times. If he needed to, he could always pull the door off its hinges, but he didn't particularly like the idea of destroying Charles' machine, so instead he stood patiently and waited.
"This is what your boy used to find me?" Logan asked, looking suddenly interested.
"It's called Cerebro. It amplifies telepathic brain waves," Erik said, not willing to elaborate. He still didn't entirely trust Logan--and probably wouldn't until the man took the Brotherhood's vow and pledged his allegiance--something Erik couldn't see happening any time soon.
Several long minutes passed before the door to Cerebro finally slid open, Hank poking his head outside. His eyes grew wide when he saw who it was.
"Is Charles with you? Is he alright?"
"Charles isn't with me, but he's on his way, and he's fine," Erik answered, brushing past Hank to get inside.
He immediately spotted Emma--removing Cerebro's helmet, her hair slick with oily gel. Erik snorted a laugh.
"Laugh all you want, but it was worth it," Emma said, setting the helmet down on a stool and brushing her fingers reverently over its protruding wires.
Erik shook his head. "Is it at least done?" he asked.
Emma nodded. "They'll allow Stryker to proceed, and then step in to detain Stryker's forces. It might end up starting a war, but..." She shrugged.
"They won't do anything without Stryker's orders, and Stryker won't be around to give them." Erik tried to sound more confident than he felt. He glanced again to Emma's hair. "You should probably go clean up. Charles should be arriving within the next few hours and we're going to need you."
He didn't elaborate beyond that, letting Emma slip into his mind to see the plan for herself. She seemed marginally taken aback, but nodded, a light smile touching her face. She said nothing further, giving Logan a brief, unimpressed glance before slipping from the room, head held high and hips swaying, even as she dripped goop onto her shoulders.
"So what now," Logan asked once she was gone. Erik smiled.
"Now we wait for Charles."
~*~
When Charles woke they were in The Republic of Seychelles and Charles was lying sprawled across an army barrack style bunk. Mystique was sitting on the floor next to the bed, leaned against it, knees drawn to her chest. Her thoughts were coloured with anticipation and uncertainty. Charles coughed, his chest constricting painfully, a sharp stab of pain radiating through his ribs.
Mystique immediately turned at the sound, seeking out Charles' eyes and giving him a scrutinizing look. She seemed relieved by what she found. "I hate it when you're unconscious," she said.
Charles mustered a sympathetic look, and then tried to push himself into a seated position. It didn't work, Mystique automatically putting her hands beneath his arms and helping to haul him upright. Charles grunted in pain. Mystique reached for a flask and pressed it into Charles' hand.
"It's only water," she said when Charles' hesitated. Charles drank greedily then, grateful for the moisture. When he was done, he felt marginally better--marginal being a relative term.
"I'm alright," he said, more to reassure himself than her. He sounded awful, but Mystique still nodded, confidence surging at his words. Like most of Erik's Brotherhood, she too thought him capable of seemingly anything. It wouldn't do to disappoint her--never mind the consequences should he fail--so Charles sat a little straighter and tried to will his mind to clear. When he was certain moving wouldn't cause him to either pass out or vomit, he nodded to his chair.
Mystique retrieved it without comment, holding it steady while Charles transferred into it--an awkward, painful process. He felt a little better secured in its embrace, though he still felt stretched too thin--a pale shadow of his former self. The tranquilizers were still coursing in his bloodstream, making him feel heavy and sluggish, and he'd had nowhere near enough to eat and drink over the past few days. There was a largish bruise forming on his abdomen--from where he'd been kicked that morning--and Charles was fairly certain his catheter site was heading for that infection Linda had warned about.
All of this was on top of the continued withdrawal, made worse by his current circumstances. Charles exhaled steadily against a rattle in his chest and tried to run his fingers through his hair--only to be reminded that his head was now nothing but stubble. The sensation against his hands made him laugh, albeit somewhat weakly. Mystique offered a wry grin.
The sound of activity floated in through the propped open door, so Charles wheeled himself towards it, Mystique his constant shadow. A quick glance outside told him that they were likely being housed in an officer's barracks. A guard stood outside the door. He was wearing a bracelet, and since Charles couldn't feel a link, he could only assume it belonged to Mystique. The guard turned as soon as he sensed her approaching the door.
"Good morning, or rather, evening, is it?" Charles asked. He had no idea how long the flight had lasted, and that, combined with the time change, had left him slightly out of sorts.
The guard--no one Charles recognized, though his thoughts suggested he felt himself above guarding mutant slaves--didn't reply, but he did turn around again and reach for the telephone that was secured to the wall.
"They're awake," he said into the receiver. Charles waited until the man had hung up to nod in his direction; then he wheeled himself back into the room, content to wait.
Ten minutes later, Stryker appeared in the doorway. He gave them each an appraising look.
"I think we might be ready," he said before Charles could get in a word. He turned on his heel and left the room. He was instantly replaced by the guard wearing Mystique's bracelet.
"Just him," he said when Mystique made to move forward. Her thoughts flared with panic. Charles didn't hesitate in slipping into the guard's mind, skimming past great pools of hatred and fear until he found what he was looking for.
It's fine, Charles spoke into Mystique's mind. They only mean to keep you detained--a safeguard against my betrayal--but I've implanted instructions for this man to remove your collar as soon as the Seychelles army arrives to detain them. Once you're free, you'll need to get the others out. I can sense at least three other collared mutants Stryker has brought with him.
There were more back at the base--and from what he'd gleamed from Stryker's thoughts, Stryker had dozens secured away in various locations. Finding and freeing them would be one of their first orders of business after this was over.
Nothing changed in Mystique's stance or her facial expression, but Charles distinctly heard her acknowledge the order. At Charles gesture, she stepped back from the door, returned to the bunk, at sat down upon it. As an afterthought, Charles implanted an instruction in the guard's mind to ensure she came to no harm while in his custody.
He gave her a brief smile, hoping to convey his confidence in her abilities, and then wheeled himself out into the hall, following the guard to the hall's next juncture, where a man wearing Charles' bracelet--and it really was alarming to feel the link grow stronger until Charles could pinpoint exactly who supposedly controlled his fate--took over.
He brought Charles down a long hall and through a double set of doors, out into the pale early evening sun. The Seychelles training base, Charles could see now, sat on the coast, facing east. A series of hanger-like buildings stretched out in a row along the coastline, while huge stretches of tarmac turned every available inch of space into landing strips. One the far side of the tarmac, between the building they'd just exited--one of the few multi-storied permanent buildings on the base--and the closest hanger building, a heavily armed, military looking transport helicopter sat awaiting departure. It was towards this helicopter that Charles' guard steered his chair.
Stryker was already waiting, standing beside the helicopter. He had his helmet--almost an exact duplicate of Erik's, tucked beneath his arm. Charles tried not to let his alarm show. Four other men--soldiers, all with special ops insignias affixed to their shoulders, sat inside the beast, their military fatigues worn with use--these were men who had seen service. Charles felt out of place in his wrinkle-dried cardigan and corduroy trousers.
At a gesture from Stryker, two of the men jumped down and between them grabbed Charles' chair, lifting it easily into the helicopter. Charles felt exposed, wishing then for Erik and his powers--he had never minded Erik floating him past obstacles. As soon as he was secured, they climbed back into the helicopter, along with Charles' guard, who handed his bracelet to Stryker.
Including the pilot and Charles, that made eight--two more than Charles had said he could manage. Stryker was calling his bluff.
Charles was used to flying--had flown often before his paralysis and had now had the pleasure of having travelled by both Blackbird and Hercules--but a helicopter was a different beast entirely. The vibrations from the rotors tore through Charles' body, making him both nauseous and dizzy. His body hurt--in places he wasn't used to it hurting--like his groin and the centre of his chest--the turbulence only serving to worsen the pain. Stryker had said it would be close to a forty minute flight. Charles grit his teeth and tried very hard to endure it as best as he could.
They'd given him ear muffs to block out the noise, but unlike his companions, his weren't wired for communication, so he couldn't eavesdrop on the conversation Stryker was having with the soldier Charles assumed was his second in command. He passed the first thirty minutes of the flight in silence, ignored and left to his own devices. Charles spent the time trying not to stare at Stryker's helmet, where is sat on the bench at his side.
Just as Genosha appeared on the horizon--Charles having forced his gaze away from the helmet, turning to stare out the open gunner doors, watching as Genosha's tiny dot grew in size--Stryker slid from his seat and came to lean over Charles' chair. He reached out to remove one of Charles' ear muffs, the sound of the helicopter becoming deafening. Charles flinched and tried to recoil--from both the sound and the wet warmth of Stryker's breath.
"Anyone sees our approach or our landing, I make a radio call, and Ms. Darkholme dies," Stryker shouted into his ear.
There was little Charles could do save nod, though he did use the opportunity to slip into Stryker's mind and twist his thoughts away from the helmet--if Charles was lucky, Stryker would forget it on the helicopter, an absent minded twist of fate.
He did the same with the other men, so that no one thought to point it out, and then closed his eyes and let his telepathy stretch out, masking their approach from anyone who thought to turn a curious eye in their direction. His cooperation had nothing to do with Stryker's threat--Mystique would undoubtedly be free by now--but this was all according to plan. It took relatively little effort on Charles' part--Erik would have already ordered the Brotherhood and all its members to studiously ignore the approach and landing of an unauthorized helicopter. He needed only to seek out those few civilians who were drawn to the sound--though most were so used to the Brotherhood's equipment coming and going that they paid little heed to a solitary helicopter--and turn their minds to other things.
Stryker's pilot flew the bird towards the capital compound, where a helicopter landing pad sat atop the tallest tower. That bit of intelligence had been Charles' doing, Stryker having asked the best way to get into the compound, and since traversing the streets would have taken far too much of Charles' concentration, he had recommended the helicopter--besides, it was either that or a boat, and Charles wasn't sure he could have handled dealing with sea sickness on top of everything right now.
Masking the helicopter's landing would have been a challenging feat, had Charles actually tried to do so. Still, he had a part to play, so Charles closed his eyes, letting artificial strain show on his features. It was little work to let his telepathy float him into the compound; to seek out Erik and say, We've arrived.
Since no one seemed to be questioning--or even noticing--their arrival, Stryker's thoughts spiked with pleasure and the inevitable thrill of victory. The bird hit the ground and Stryker jumped out, weapon drawn as he scanned the rooftop landing pad. He remained tense even upon finding it empty. Charles' guard and two of the special ops boys climbed out as well, the remaining two staying to help Charles with his chair. They brought him out of the helicopter and set him on the ground, the downwind from the still spinning rotor blades beating fiercely against them.
Stryker signalled to the pilot, and he ascended into the air, flying back out the way he had come. Charles frowned, but wasn't disappointed--his job was far easier if he didn't have to worry about hiding the helicopter from anyone who might breach his instructions. Besides, Stryker's helmet was still sitting on that helicopter, now safely over the city and on its way off the island.
"Now you get us inside," Stryker said, gesturing for Charles to lead the way.
Despite knowing what was to come--and feeling quite confident about their chances of pulling it off--Charles still felt a surge of adrenalin. Charles used it to propel himself forward, his current ailments forgotten in the excitement of the moment. Was this how Erik felt, Charles wondered, whenever he went out on a mission? If so, Charles could see the allure. For the first time in days everything slipped away--his fatigue, his hunger, his pain, even his withdrawal--Charles operating entirely on epinephrine.
He brought them to the rooftop door--a narrow jut of a thing that opened into a staircase, the stairs leading down to the compound's eighth level. From there they could catch a lift, but until then, someone was going to need to carry his chair.
Without having to ask, the same two men who'd brought him out of the helicopter hoisted him between them and began the descent. Charles gave directions verbally, saying, "the next level," and, "second door and then to the right." Only once they were on solid, horizontal ground did the men place Charles back on the floor. He shook off his vertigo and started wheeling himself towards the lift.
Five minutes, he told Erik, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. He was using his telepathy now, to ensure their path was clear, but Erik would have already arranged for the halls to be empty, so it required very little effort. Still, what little energy it required was slowly sapping Charles of the scant strength he had remaining--his keyed up hormonal state notwithstanding. There was a very good chance he was going to end this mission by collapsing in a heap at Erik's feet.
The lifts brought them to the main floor--and they were never designed to hold seven men, one of whom was in a wheelchair, space non-existent once they were crammed inside. Charles had to seek out Erik and request that he ensure the elevator not plummet them to their deaths. They were certainly well over the weight capacity. Even with Erik's help, the lift still jerked to a stop when they hit the main floor.
A few more yards, Charles thought, mostly to himself, as he wheeled out of the lifts and then turned in the direction of Cerebro. It was a little farther than that, but saying it helped. Charles was still conscious--still vibrating with excitement and anxiety and anticipation--when they reached Cerebro's vaulted doors; though his vision was beginning to go grey around the edges.
Cerebro's door stood open, the vast expanse of Cerebro's sphere empty. Stryker signalled to his men, who immediately took defensive positions--they'd been tense the entire journey through the halls, half expecting an attack, but now they seemed poised on the edge of battle. Stryker motioned Charles through the doors first.
He wheeled himself inside.
Stryker followed behind, weapon drawn and pointed at Charles' head.
His men followed a second behind, clearing Cerebro with an efficiency that Charles couldn't help but admire--it was impressive, certainly. No one said anything until Stryker's second in command raised a fist; then the men came into formation at Stryker's flank, Stryker lowering his weapon, glancing around the room, and then back down to Charles.
"Looks to me like we could have fit a little more than half a dozen men," Stryker said. Charles offered an apologetic shrug.
"It always seems smaller when I'm connected."
Stryker's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment, instead gesturing to Cerebro's helmet--which sparked a reminder in his thoughts that Charles had to chase away.
"How does it work?" Stryker asked. Charles nodded to the door.
"That has to be sealed, but you can remain inside. It's harmless," Charles said. Stryker looked skeptical, but his thoughts suggested that the threat to Mystique was enough to keep Charles in line. He nodded to one of his soldiers, who immediately moved to the door and secured it.
As soon as he had done so, Charles reached out with his telepathy, claiming each of Stryker's five men, the strain of it blurring his vision even as the room seemed to spin. Charles fought against it, managing to force all of Stryker's men to step forward into a line, bend and place their weapons on the ground, and then step back several paces to sink to their knees. Stryker tensed. Charles swallowed a mouthful of bile. He could feel Erik on the periphery of his awareness, straining against the need to rush to Charles' side.
Not yet, he thought, a little desperately.
"What are you doing? I order you to release them," Stryker said, obviously still under the impression that Charles' collar worked. Charles smiled, and then calmly took control of Stryker's body, forcing him to set his weapon on the ground.
"Piece of advice, Mr. Stryker; never piss off an omega level telepath, especially when the collars you've designed to control them don't actually work."
Charles smiled then, relishing the look of confusion--a look that quickly shifted to fear--that appeared on Stryker's face. Now, he thought, and Emma released the illusion she had constructed to hide the Brotherhood's presence, seven mutants appearing suddenly not ten feet from where Stryker was standing, Stryker still frozen neatly in place. At Emma's side, Erik struggled against her hold, so Charles nodded his head and Emma released him, Erik surging forward the second he was free, ignoring Stryker entirely to fall to his knees in front of Charles' chair.
"Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?" he asked, and Charles knew had he said that Stryker had Erik would have torn Stryker to pieces, then and there, without hesitation.
"No; this is my doing," Charles said, and it was only half a lie.
The others in the room--and Charles was impressed by how many Emma had concealed, though the woman looked exhausted and Charles knew she had pushed herself to her limits--moved forward now to restrain Stryker's men, Charles gladly releasing his hold on them once they were secured--and honestly, he was surprised he still had the strength to continue holding Stryker, who was struggling fiercely, staring at Erik with an expression that bordered on hysteria.
Erik was still ignoring Stryker. Charles did the same and glanced across the room to Destiny, whose thoughts were screaming worry.
"Mystique's fine, and in the process of gathering some new recruits," he said.
Destiny smiled her gratitude. Charles turned his attention back to Erik, continuing to ignore Stryker who was now cursing at Cyclops as he officially placed Stryker under arrest.
"Hello," Charles said.
Erik's expression, which was growing increasingly frantic, softened considerably. "Hello," he said, reaching up to run a hand across Charles' head.
Over his shoulder, Hank stood watching them, his concern evident, so Charles sent a wave of reassurance in his direction. At his side, Logan was watching Cyclops and Rogue wrestle Stryker into a pair of cuffs--Charles too exhausted now to maintain anything but the barest of holds on the man. Logan looked poised to lash out--to surge forward and cut Stryker open, so Charles caught Erik's eye and nodded in his direction.
Erik glanced over his shoulder and scowled. Charles watched as Logan's arms came immediately to his sides, Logan tensing unnaturally as Erik magnetized him in place.
"We've already had this conversation," Erik said, seeming more disgruntled by the interruption than Logan's disobedience. When he had finished, he turned his attention back to Charles.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked. Now that Stryker and his men were secured and being led from the room, there was little reason to lie.
"I think possibly no," Charles said, Erik's eyes growing wide. He brought a hand to Charles' cheek, gaze searching. "As it turns out, it was a problem. The alcohol, I mean. Also, I suspect I should see a doctor."
Hank, who had been listening in to their conversation, immediately started moving. Charles didn't need to read his thoughts to know he was heading to retrieve Linda. Erik, who was on the verge of pulling Cerebro down around them--such was his panic--floundered for several moments before rising to his feet, grabbing Charles' chair by its handles and pushing it towards the door.
"It's not that urgent," Charles said, though it probably was. "And someone still needs to retrieve Mystique and the others from the Seychelles Islands. Also, there are other mutants--collared mutants--who require rescuing... Erik, please calm your mind."
But Erik wasn't listening; charging forward like Charles had only minutes to live. Charles endured it, but only because his adrenalin was wearing off, his body slowly crashing as the insanity of the past few days settled around his shoulders until he was half convinced he would be crushed under its weight.
Dimly, as they exited Cerebro, Charles heard Logan hollering for Erik to get his cape-wearing ass back in there to release him.
~*~
Destiny was speaking, but Erik wasn't paying attention. Words like Stryker secured and UN approval followed by Mystique on her way back and three other mutants making their way past the haze of fog that had settled over Erik's brain.
He'd barely even noticed Stryker's arrest--hadn't particularly cared about it. Destiny could have told him that Stryker had escaped and taken half of Genosha with him and Erik wouldn't have batted an eye. All that mattered--all that consumed him--was Charles.
It was bad enough knowing Charles was unwell, the fear and blinding panic becoming worse when Linda had promptly announced that Charles was in need of a hospital.
And now they were waiting. Erik hated waiting.
He'd tried pacing. Tried sitting patiently on the edge of one of the hard plastic seats that filled the waiting room. He tried storming his way into the emergency room, demanding to be allowed to remain at Charles' side. Only Charles' pointed look had sent Erik from the room; that and a warning for Charles' doctor that Erik's interference could further jeopardize Charles' health.
There was no one in the hospital who didn't know who Erik was--dozens of mutants coming into the ER to catch a glimpse of Magneto, all of them undoubtedly wondering who it was that warranted Magneto's worry--who it was that warranted Magneto's prolonged attention. Even Erik had heard the whispers by this point--most seemed to think it was his second in command, though it appeared word of his relationship with Charles was beginning to get around.
It was a long while later before someone finally came out into the waiting room to retrieve him.
Erik scowled when he saw that they'd sent a nurse and not Charles' doctor. He glared at the man.
"Um, sorry, Mr... I mean, Magneto, Sir. If you'll come with me..." the man stuttered, his tail twitching violently behind him. He was clearly as terrified as he was awed. Erik gestured for the man to lead the way. Hank and Linda, who were sitting across the room, stood and made as if to join them, but Erik shook his head, begging their cooperation. Linda sat first, pulling Hank down behind her.
The nurse led Erik through a set of security doors--the same ones Erik had pushed aside in his quest to see Charles the second time--and down a hall to a recovery ward. He stopped outside one of the private rooms, and gestured Erik inside.
Seeing Charles, alive and sitting up in a hospital bed, was like catching his breath after having nearly drowned. Erik stumbled into the room, not once taking his eyes from Charles' face. Charles smiled weakly, beckoning Erik farther into the room. Erik came to stand at the side of his bed.
Charles looked better than he had--he was still pale, but his skin no longer held the same sickly look that it had before, and the circles under his eyes had faded somewhat. And IV pierced the back of his hand, and a bag was tapped to the side of his bed, half filled with urine. Hesitantly, Erik reached down to take Charles' hand in his.
"I asked if I could give you the particulars. I hope you don't mind," Charles said, and that explained the absence of a doctor--it also caused newfound worry to spike in Erik's mind, because if Charles felt he had to break the news to Erik then...
"It's nothing that terrible," Charles said with a soft smile. He patted the side of the bed. Erik sat, still clutching Charles' hand.
"You're going to live, though, whatever it is, right?"
"Of course," Charles said, rolling his eyes. Erik let himself sag with relief. "I'll start by mentioning that Hank was right. It would appear I have a drinking problem. I've been detoxing for several days now, and it's not going particularly well." Erik squeezed Charles' hand. "I should probably remain in hospital until my system clears. I've also been diagnosed with the beginning stages of liver disease, though it is not untreatable and there is a good chance my liver will regenerate on its own."
Charles had been speaking as though reading from a text--like he had the first time they'd had sex--but now Charles paused, seeming uncertain. Erik brought his hand to Charles' face, letting his fingers trace across Charles' cheekbone. Charles leaned into the touch.
"And now the part I wanted to tell you myself, but please remember that we do want Stryker alive."
Erik froze at that, though a squeeze for Charles' hand refocused his attention. Whatever Stryker had done to Charles, rotting in a Genoshan jail cell was a fate worse than death. Erik nodded for Charles to continue.
"I'm dehydrated and malnourished--though the latter is partly my fault and largely related to my own stupidity; apparently I haven't been properly absorbing nutrients for a while."
Charles cleared his throat, looking apologetic.
"I have two cracked ribs from where I was kicked in the abdomen." Erik sat up sharply at this, fury surging in his breast, but a squeeze from Charles kept it from erupting. Charles pressed on, perhaps not trusting Erik to disregard the revelation for long. "I have also developed pneumonia, and have a urinary tract infection."
When Charles didn't say anything else, Erik leaned forward to press their foreheads together. For a moment he simply relished the scent of Charles--clean and sterile in a way only someone confined to a hospital bed could smell. He wanted so badly to storm back to the capital compound--to head down into the lower levels, where Stryker was undoubtedly being held--and to tear the man to pieces for ever letting Charles come to harm. Oh, how he hated him. But Charles was still clinging to him, silently begging him for stillness, so Erik pushed aside his rage and focused instead on being the man Charles needed him to be.
"But you're going to be fine?" he asked when he pulled away. Charles smiled.
"Yes, I will be fine."
Erik smiled at that--a grin that took over half his face. Charles shook his head.
"But there are more important things to worry about, Erik. I was inside Stryker's head and he's got compounds all across the globe, hundreds of mutants, collared and imprisoned..." Erik lifted a hand to press it against Charles' lips. Charles' eyes narrowed.
"I know, and we will find them and free them, but right now you need to rest. Leave the rest to me."
Charles shook his head. "I thought you wanted a partner, not an acolyte."
Erik glanced up sharply at that. "Are you saying you want to join me?" he asked, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face. Charles choked a laugh.
"I rather think I already have."
And Erik couldn't help but beam at that, swooping in to pressing their lips together, hands coming up to cradle Charles' face. His fingers brushed against the backs of Charles' ears, tickling against the soft stubble on Charles' head. When he pulled away, Charles looked a little daze. He let out a little cough--one that turned into full-bodied hacking that sent Erik scrambling for a glass of water.
"Sorry, sorry," he said, Charles waving a hand, sipping at the water and rubbing at his chest until the attack passed.
"It's alright," he said, "although, possibly you do have a point. Still, you'll get them out, won't you?"
Erik nodded. "I promise," he said, running his hands over Charles' head. "And then we'll see about getting you a shave."
Charles laughed at that, though the sound stilled the second it seemed it might cross over into another coughing fit. He mastered himself, giving Erik a weak smile.
"I thought Hank had found a way around the shaving," Charles said. Erik let his fingers trail over the crest of Charles' skull.
"He has, but I rather like the look, and I rather liked shaving you." He watched, transfixed as Charles flushed--and then shook his head.
"Later, after I'm well," he said, but there was promise in his eyes, so Erik leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his forehead.
He wanted to stay that way forever--lips pressed to Charles' skin, Charles safe in his arms--but a discrete cough from the doorway interrupted the moment, Erik turning to find Hank and Linda peering hesitantly into the room. He pulled back, smiled, and beckoned them inside.
Turning back to Charles, he said, "They get five minutes, and then I'm coming back to kick them out."
Charles laughed at that, reaching between them to squeeze Erik's hand. It was painful leaving, but as soon as Erik made it back into the waiting room, he was bowled over by a very familiar mutant, so he didn't particularly mind.
"I swear, Erik, you have the best taste in men. He did it. He actually did it." Mystique looked more than a little worse for wear, but unlike Charles it was nothing a little food and water and rest couldn't solve. Still, Erik gave her a once over, feeling a tremendous surge of relief when he found her unharmed.
Across the room, Destiny was watching them with a soft smile, looking beyond happy to have Mystique home. Rogue and Cyclops had also made their way to the hospital. Rogue was beaming as she watched Erik and Mystique.
"You need to get some rest," Erik said, turning his attention back to Mystique. "We've got a rescue mission to plan and I'm going to need you in top form."
Mystique laughed at that. "So I've heard. You'll be happy to know I've already rescued three--single handed, I might add. You'll like Toad, he has a wicked tongue." Her expression turned serious then. Erik narrowed his gaze. "They had Tempest. She's fine--I don't think she'll stay, especially after she learned Hank was here, but she's fine."
Erik remembered that conversation with Hank; remembered the incredulity he'd felt knowing Hank had once been engaged to the woman. He'd always wondered what had happened to Angel. It angered him to think she had spent any time in Stryker's custody. She was free now, Erik reminded himself, and if he had anything to say about it, one day every single mutant on the planet would be free. His vision might no longer be the same--Charles had seen to that--but there were still causes worth fighting for, still a future worth shaping. With any luck, he'd have Charles at his side helping to shape that future. A future they both could stand behind.
"Go see your girl," Erik said, glancing back through the security doors. Mystique smiled knowingly and turned back to Destiny. Erik glanced at his team--at his Brotherhood--offering them a proud smile before he turned back the way he had come, Hank and Linda's five minutes over.
Epilogue
Six months later
Erik watched as Charles fumbled with the telepathic interface on his new chair, the chair wobbling slightly as it lifted into the air. He got it moving relatively quickly after that, floating serenely at Erik's side as they left the courthouse and descended the steep stairs down to the street.
"I wasn't expecting that," Erik said, but he knew he sounded pleased.
"Well, we did make a good case; it stands to reason the decision would be unanimous." Charles was smiling as he spoke, that mischievous grin that Erik had come to associate with Charles' secret keeping. Charles was terrible at keeping secrets--Erik's birthday had been fun--but always seemed to delight in having one.
"Come on, admit it, you gave them a push." Charles looked affronted.
"That would be a gross misuse of my abilities," he said, but he was smirking, and Erik knew he'd hit the mark--hell, Charles had been largely responsible for how quickly the UN had moved in setting up a trial once they had Stryker in custody. The Charles he'd met almost eight months ago never would have done such a thing; this Charles was learning to meet Erik somewhere in the middle--more importantly, this Charles was still seriously pissed off at Stryker.
Erik wasn't complaining. Stryker and his higher ranking officers would probably never see the outside of a jail cell after today. The world had stood in favour of mutantkind--had set precedent for human-mutant relations for decades and centuries to come. It was hard not to be pleased, even if Charles had had a hand in it.
"So what now?" Erik asked, letting his smile turn seductive. He arched a suggestive eyebrow in Charles' direction.
Charles laughed, even as he shook his head--in need of a shave again, but Erik wasn't complaining. "Now we pack. In case you've forgotten, I have a tux fitting in New York in two days."
Erik pouted--he couldn't help himself. "You can't even spare half an hour?" he asked. He still didn't see why they had to hold the wedding in Westchester. It required so many additional travel arrangements.
Charles affected an exasperated expression, though Erik could see the beginnings of a fond smile threatening to spill across his face. It was obvious he had eavesdropped on that particular thought.
"You can't have a spring wedding in a place that doesn't have seasons; besides, Westchester is a perfect venue for a wedding. This will hardly be the first, or the last, I dare say."
Erik's expression grew a little dark at that, but Charles merely shook his head, sighing like the long-suffering boyfriend he seemed to think he was.
"Really, Erik. You have no call to be jealous of my late--and I repeat, late--wife, or our wedding. Now come on. If I miss the tux fitting Hank will have my head. It's a great honour, you know, being asked to stand--or sit, I suppose--as someone's best man."
Erik couldn't help but relent--Charles so very persuasive when he wanted to be. Besides, it wouldn't be too bad, a few months in Westchester, all on their own--once Hank and Linda departed for their honeymoon that was. They'd play chess and drink sparkling water and christen Charles' four poster bed--repeatedly--and take long strolls about the grounds. It would almost be like a vacation; a much needed vacation after the excitement of the last six months--Charles' rehab had been particularly ugly, the process still ongoing.
Not that Erik was complaining about any of that either. He had Charles by his side and the Brotherhood had grown to become a respected institution with new members joining daily. Even Logan popped in occasionally, though it was mostly to talk with Charles--something that still bothered Erik, but he was learning to live with it--or to flirt mercilessly with Worthington's old ward, Jean Grey, whom they'd found in Stryker's Alabama facility. It was almost comical watching Wolverine compete with Cyclops for the girl's affections--though Erik thought she was still far too young for either of them.
When they got back to the compound, and up to their rooms, Charles moved immediately for their suitcase--the one he'd set out that morning, before they'd gone to hear Stryker's verdict. He immediately began tossing clothing into it, probably expecting Erik to help at some point. Instead, Erik stood back in the doorframe and watched him pack, feeling a well of affection bloom in his chest. God, how he loved this man--how lucky he was to have this man.
Charles, who undoubtedly felt Erik's scrutiny, glanced up, a confused frown marring his features until he sought out the source of Erik's distraction. Then he flushed, glancing down shyly before looking back up to meet Erik's eye.
"Oh, fine. I can spare half an hour," he said, shooting a pointed glance at the bed. Erik knew his answering grin was ridiculously wide, but he didn't care.
He was already halfway out of his clothes by the time he made it to the bed, hopping into it so that he bounced slightly upon hitting the mattress. He gave Charles his best come-hither look and patted the open space beside him.
Charles looked put-upon, but he was clearly fighting the beginnings of a pleased smile. He floated his chair--remarkable invention, and they had Hank to thank for that--to the side of the bed, pulled himself up onto it, and then slid up to rest on his elbows at Erik's side.
He licked his lips.
Erik found himself thoroughly distracted. Charles' lips never ceased to capture his attention--Charles was biting his lower lip now, looking more like a nervous virgin than the man who'd spent the better part of eight months sharing Erik's bed. Erik arched an eyebrow.
"Do you think about it?" Charles asked, blushing when it became clear that Erik had no idea what he was talking about. "Marriage, I mean."
And that was perfectly clear, because of course Erik had thought of it--particularly after Hank and Linda had announced their engagement. Erik slipped an arm around Charles' waist and turned him onto his side, pulling him close. He pressed a kiss against the side of Charles' mouth.
"I think you might be a bit ahead of your time. Countries are only just starting to allow human-mutant marriages. I suspect it might be a while before they allow same-sex ones."
Charles' expression fell--but he smiled weakly and nodded. Erik could tell he was deeply embarrassed and more than a little disappointed. It occurred to Erik then that he had just been proposed to. He wondered how Charles had done it for his late wife, and then scolded himself firmly for trying to make the comparison--he was getting better at the jealousy, he really was. He shot Charles a coy smile.
"Of course, it wouldn't take much to amend Genoshan law..." Erik said, letting that settle between them. Charles looked more than a little shocked.
"I was under the understanding that Genosha was ruled by elected council, which would mean putting any such amendment to a vote."
Erik grinned, letting his hand trail across the dip of Charles' waist. "Yes, but all the members of the council are also members of the Brotherhood, and so technically I'm their leader."
Charles' eyes grew bright. He shifted forward, pressing himself infinitely closer.
"So I'm dating a dictator then, am I?" he said with more cheek than Erik thought strictly necessary. He leaned forward and nipped at Charles' bottom lip in retaliation.
"I've been told it can have its perks," Erik said, pulling back.
It was a startling thing to watch Charles' bottom lip tremble--his eyes growing misty as though Erik had just offered him the moon--or world peace, or perfect equality for every person on the planet. It made Erik want to cradle Charles to his chest; to keep him safe from the world's many atrocities, to give him anything and everything the man could possibly desire.
Erik reached a trembling hand to Charles' face, thumb brushing against the moisture in his eyes even as he made nonsensical shushing noises. Charles laughed at that, giving Erik an exasperated--yet entirely too fond--look.
"Come on, then, my benevolent dictator," Charles said, and then, because he wouldn't have been Charles if he hadn't, he glanced at his watch and added, "You now only have twenty minutes."
Erik laughed at that, even he flipped Charles onto his back, fully intending to make good use of those minutes.
END
Bonus Chapter
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 24
As soon as the Blackbirds had landed and were secured, Erik was moving. He disembarked from the plane, barking orders as he crossed the hanger to the wide bay doors that connected it to the capital compound.
Behind him, his fellow mutants scrambled to get the planes refueled and unloaded. Only Logan sat idle, staring at the hanger like it was something out of a nightmare. Exasperated, Erik turned to a waiting Jubilee and said, "Get him a room somewhere, out of sight, please."
That seemed to get Logan's attention. He crossed the room to where they stood, already shaking his head. "That ain't gonna happen, bub. I'm sticking with you till we get this squared away, then I'm getting the fuck out of Dodge, again. I ain't trading one army base for another."
Had it not been for Logan's willingness to back Erik when he'd wanted to storm Stryker's base, he likely would have hauled Logan off and locked him away somewhere secure--another cage, perhaps. Instead he nodded, waving Jubilee aside, and then leading Logan out of the hanger and into the tunnel that ran between the lifts and the hanger--a dark, dank space that smelled sharply of mould and always, always left Erik feeling claustrophobic. It reminded him of the gas chambers Schmidt had often forced him to help clear. More times than Erik could count he had had to help haul the body of someone he had once known onto a cart, destined for an unmarked, mass grave.
"So this is Genosha," Logan said as they walked, glancing around. He sounded unimpressed. Erik didn't dignify the comment with an answer.
Instead he led them up the lifts and out onto the main floor, turning towards Cerebro, where, if Jubilee was to be believed, Emma was still holed up. When they arrived outside the door, Erik rapped his knuckles against the metal three times. If he needed to, he could always pull the door off its hinges, but he didn't particularly like the idea of destroying Charles' machine, so instead he stood patiently and waited.
"This is what your boy used to find me?" Logan asked, looking suddenly interested.
"It's called Cerebro. It amplifies telepathic brain waves," Erik said, not willing to elaborate. He still didn't entirely trust Logan--and probably wouldn't until the man took the Brotherhood's vow and pledged his allegiance--something Erik couldn't see happening any time soon.
Several long minutes passed before the door to Cerebro finally slid open, Hank poking his head outside. His eyes grew wide when he saw who it was.
"Is Charles with you? Is he alright?"
"Charles isn't with me, but he's on his way, and he's fine," Erik answered, brushing past Hank to get inside.
He immediately spotted Emma--removing Cerebro's helmet, her hair slick with oily gel. Erik snorted a laugh.
"Laugh all you want, but it was worth it," Emma said, setting the helmet down on a stool and brushing her fingers reverently over its protruding wires.
Erik shook his head. "Is it at least done?" he asked.
Emma nodded. "They'll allow Stryker to proceed, and then step in to detain Stryker's forces. It might end up starting a war, but..." She shrugged.
"They won't do anything without Stryker's orders, and Stryker won't be around to give them." Erik tried to sound more confident than he felt. He glanced again to Emma's hair. "You should probably go clean up. Charles should be arriving within the next few hours and we're going to need you."
He didn't elaborate beyond that, letting Emma slip into his mind to see the plan for herself. She seemed marginally taken aback, but nodded, a light smile touching her face. She said nothing further, giving Logan a brief, unimpressed glance before slipping from the room, head held high and hips swaying, even as she dripped goop onto her shoulders.
"So what now," Logan asked once she was gone. Erik smiled.
"Now we wait for Charles."
~*~
When Charles woke they were in The Republic of Seychelles and Charles was lying sprawled across an army barrack style bunk. Mystique was sitting on the floor next to the bed, leaned against it, knees drawn to her chest. Her thoughts were coloured with anticipation and uncertainty. Charles coughed, his chest constricting painfully, a sharp stab of pain radiating through his ribs.
Mystique immediately turned at the sound, seeking out Charles' eyes and giving him a scrutinizing look. She seemed relieved by what she found. "I hate it when you're unconscious," she said.
Charles mustered a sympathetic look, and then tried to push himself into a seated position. It didn't work, Mystique automatically putting her hands beneath his arms and helping to haul him upright. Charles grunted in pain. Mystique reached for a flask and pressed it into Charles' hand.
"It's only water," she said when Charles' hesitated. Charles drank greedily then, grateful for the moisture. When he was done, he felt marginally better--marginal being a relative term.
"I'm alright," he said, more to reassure himself than her. He sounded awful, but Mystique still nodded, confidence surging at his words. Like most of Erik's Brotherhood, she too thought him capable of seemingly anything. It wouldn't do to disappoint her--never mind the consequences should he fail--so Charles sat a little straighter and tried to will his mind to clear. When he was certain moving wouldn't cause him to either pass out or vomit, he nodded to his chair.
Mystique retrieved it without comment, holding it steady while Charles transferred into it--an awkward, painful process. He felt a little better secured in its embrace, though he still felt stretched too thin--a pale shadow of his former self. The tranquilizers were still coursing in his bloodstream, making him feel heavy and sluggish, and he'd had nowhere near enough to eat and drink over the past few days. There was a largish bruise forming on his abdomen--from where he'd been kicked that morning--and Charles was fairly certain his catheter site was heading for that infection Linda had warned about.
All of this was on top of the continued withdrawal, made worse by his current circumstances. Charles exhaled steadily against a rattle in his chest and tried to run his fingers through his hair--only to be reminded that his head was now nothing but stubble. The sensation against his hands made him laugh, albeit somewhat weakly. Mystique offered a wry grin.
The sound of activity floated in through the propped open door, so Charles wheeled himself towards it, Mystique his constant shadow. A quick glance outside told him that they were likely being housed in an officer's barracks. A guard stood outside the door. He was wearing a bracelet, and since Charles couldn't feel a link, he could only assume it belonged to Mystique. The guard turned as soon as he sensed her approaching the door.
"Good morning, or rather, evening, is it?" Charles asked. He had no idea how long the flight had lasted, and that, combined with the time change, had left him slightly out of sorts.
The guard--no one Charles recognized, though his thoughts suggested he felt himself above guarding mutant slaves--didn't reply, but he did turn around again and reach for the telephone that was secured to the wall.
"They're awake," he said into the receiver. Charles waited until the man had hung up to nod in his direction; then he wheeled himself back into the room, content to wait.
Ten minutes later, Stryker appeared in the doorway. He gave them each an appraising look.
"I think we might be ready," he said before Charles could get in a word. He turned on his heel and left the room. He was instantly replaced by the guard wearing Mystique's bracelet.
"Just him," he said when Mystique made to move forward. Her thoughts flared with panic. Charles didn't hesitate in slipping into the guard's mind, skimming past great pools of hatred and fear until he found what he was looking for.
It's fine, Charles spoke into Mystique's mind. They only mean to keep you detained--a safeguard against my betrayal--but I've implanted instructions for this man to remove your collar as soon as the Seychelles army arrives to detain them. Once you're free, you'll need to get the others out. I can sense at least three other collared mutants Stryker has brought with him.
There were more back at the base--and from what he'd gleamed from Stryker's thoughts, Stryker had dozens secured away in various locations. Finding and freeing them would be one of their first orders of business after this was over.
Nothing changed in Mystique's stance or her facial expression, but Charles distinctly heard her acknowledge the order. At Charles gesture, she stepped back from the door, returned to the bunk, at sat down upon it. As an afterthought, Charles implanted an instruction in the guard's mind to ensure she came to no harm while in his custody.
He gave her a brief smile, hoping to convey his confidence in her abilities, and then wheeled himself out into the hall, following the guard to the hall's next juncture, where a man wearing Charles' bracelet--and it really was alarming to feel the link grow stronger until Charles could pinpoint exactly who supposedly controlled his fate--took over.
He brought Charles down a long hall and through a double set of doors, out into the pale early evening sun. The Seychelles training base, Charles could see now, sat on the coast, facing east. A series of hanger-like buildings stretched out in a row along the coastline, while huge stretches of tarmac turned every available inch of space into landing strips. One the far side of the tarmac, between the building they'd just exited--one of the few multi-storied permanent buildings on the base--and the closest hanger building, a heavily armed, military looking transport helicopter sat awaiting departure. It was towards this helicopter that Charles' guard steered his chair.
Stryker was already waiting, standing beside the helicopter. He had his helmet--almost an exact duplicate of Erik's, tucked beneath his arm. Charles tried not to let his alarm show. Four other men--soldiers, all with special ops insignias affixed to their shoulders, sat inside the beast, their military fatigues worn with use--these were men who had seen service. Charles felt out of place in his wrinkle-dried cardigan and corduroy trousers.
At a gesture from Stryker, two of the men jumped down and between them grabbed Charles' chair, lifting it easily into the helicopter. Charles felt exposed, wishing then for Erik and his powers--he had never minded Erik floating him past obstacles. As soon as he was secured, they climbed back into the helicopter, along with Charles' guard, who handed his bracelet to Stryker.
Including the pilot and Charles, that made eight--two more than Charles had said he could manage. Stryker was calling his bluff.
Charles was used to flying--had flown often before his paralysis and had now had the pleasure of having travelled by both Blackbird and Hercules--but a helicopter was a different beast entirely. The vibrations from the rotors tore through Charles' body, making him both nauseous and dizzy. His body hurt--in places he wasn't used to it hurting--like his groin and the centre of his chest--the turbulence only serving to worsen the pain. Stryker had said it would be close to a forty minute flight. Charles grit his teeth and tried very hard to endure it as best as he could.
They'd given him ear muffs to block out the noise, but unlike his companions, his weren't wired for communication, so he couldn't eavesdrop on the conversation Stryker was having with the soldier Charles assumed was his second in command. He passed the first thirty minutes of the flight in silence, ignored and left to his own devices. Charles spent the time trying not to stare at Stryker's helmet, where is sat on the bench at his side.
Just as Genosha appeared on the horizon--Charles having forced his gaze away from the helmet, turning to stare out the open gunner doors, watching as Genosha's tiny dot grew in size--Stryker slid from his seat and came to lean over Charles' chair. He reached out to remove one of Charles' ear muffs, the sound of the helicopter becoming deafening. Charles flinched and tried to recoil--from both the sound and the wet warmth of Stryker's breath.
"Anyone sees our approach or our landing, I make a radio call, and Ms. Darkholme dies," Stryker shouted into his ear.
There was little Charles could do save nod, though he did use the opportunity to slip into Stryker's mind and twist his thoughts away from the helmet--if Charles was lucky, Stryker would forget it on the helicopter, an absent minded twist of fate.
He did the same with the other men, so that no one thought to point it out, and then closed his eyes and let his telepathy stretch out, masking their approach from anyone who thought to turn a curious eye in their direction. His cooperation had nothing to do with Stryker's threat--Mystique would undoubtedly be free by now--but this was all according to plan. It took relatively little effort on Charles' part--Erik would have already ordered the Brotherhood and all its members to studiously ignore the approach and landing of an unauthorized helicopter. He needed only to seek out those few civilians who were drawn to the sound--though most were so used to the Brotherhood's equipment coming and going that they paid little heed to a solitary helicopter--and turn their minds to other things.
Stryker's pilot flew the bird towards the capital compound, where a helicopter landing pad sat atop the tallest tower. That bit of intelligence had been Charles' doing, Stryker having asked the best way to get into the compound, and since traversing the streets would have taken far too much of Charles' concentration, he had recommended the helicopter--besides, it was either that or a boat, and Charles wasn't sure he could have handled dealing with sea sickness on top of everything right now.
Masking the helicopter's landing would have been a challenging feat, had Charles actually tried to do so. Still, he had a part to play, so Charles closed his eyes, letting artificial strain show on his features. It was little work to let his telepathy float him into the compound; to seek out Erik and say, We've arrived.
Since no one seemed to be questioning--or even noticing--their arrival, Stryker's thoughts spiked with pleasure and the inevitable thrill of victory. The bird hit the ground and Stryker jumped out, weapon drawn as he scanned the rooftop landing pad. He remained tense even upon finding it empty. Charles' guard and two of the special ops boys climbed out as well, the remaining two staying to help Charles with his chair. They brought him out of the helicopter and set him on the ground, the downwind from the still spinning rotor blades beating fiercely against them.
Stryker signalled to the pilot, and he ascended into the air, flying back out the way he had come. Charles frowned, but wasn't disappointed--his job was far easier if he didn't have to worry about hiding the helicopter from anyone who might breach his instructions. Besides, Stryker's helmet was still sitting on that helicopter, now safely over the city and on its way off the island.
"Now you get us inside," Stryker said, gesturing for Charles to lead the way.
Despite knowing what was to come--and feeling quite confident about their chances of pulling it off--Charles still felt a surge of adrenalin. Charles used it to propel himself forward, his current ailments forgotten in the excitement of the moment. Was this how Erik felt, Charles wondered, whenever he went out on a mission? If so, Charles could see the allure. For the first time in days everything slipped away--his fatigue, his hunger, his pain, even his withdrawal--Charles operating entirely on epinephrine.
He brought them to the rooftop door--a narrow jut of a thing that opened into a staircase, the stairs leading down to the compound's eighth level. From there they could catch a lift, but until then, someone was going to need to carry his chair.
Without having to ask, the same two men who'd brought him out of the helicopter hoisted him between them and began the descent. Charles gave directions verbally, saying, "the next level," and, "second door and then to the right." Only once they were on solid, horizontal ground did the men place Charles back on the floor. He shook off his vertigo and started wheeling himself towards the lift.
Five minutes, he told Erik, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. He was using his telepathy now, to ensure their path was clear, but Erik would have already arranged for the halls to be empty, so it required very little effort. Still, what little energy it required was slowly sapping Charles of the scant strength he had remaining--his keyed up hormonal state notwithstanding. There was a very good chance he was going to end this mission by collapsing in a heap at Erik's feet.
The lifts brought them to the main floor--and they were never designed to hold seven men, one of whom was in a wheelchair, space non-existent once they were crammed inside. Charles had to seek out Erik and request that he ensure the elevator not plummet them to their deaths. They were certainly well over the weight capacity. Even with Erik's help, the lift still jerked to a stop when they hit the main floor.
A few more yards, Charles thought, mostly to himself, as he wheeled out of the lifts and then turned in the direction of Cerebro. It was a little farther than that, but saying it helped. Charles was still conscious--still vibrating with excitement and anxiety and anticipation--when they reached Cerebro's vaulted doors; though his vision was beginning to go grey around the edges.
Cerebro's door stood open, the vast expanse of Cerebro's sphere empty. Stryker signalled to his men, who immediately took defensive positions--they'd been tense the entire journey through the halls, half expecting an attack, but now they seemed poised on the edge of battle. Stryker motioned Charles through the doors first.
He wheeled himself inside.
Stryker followed behind, weapon drawn and pointed at Charles' head.
His men followed a second behind, clearing Cerebro with an efficiency that Charles couldn't help but admire--it was impressive, certainly. No one said anything until Stryker's second in command raised a fist; then the men came into formation at Stryker's flank, Stryker lowering his weapon, glancing around the room, and then back down to Charles.
"Looks to me like we could have fit a little more than half a dozen men," Stryker said. Charles offered an apologetic shrug.
"It always seems smaller when I'm connected."
Stryker's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment, instead gesturing to Cerebro's helmet--which sparked a reminder in his thoughts that Charles had to chase away.
"How does it work?" Stryker asked. Charles nodded to the door.
"That has to be sealed, but you can remain inside. It's harmless," Charles said. Stryker looked skeptical, but his thoughts suggested that the threat to Mystique was enough to keep Charles in line. He nodded to one of his soldiers, who immediately moved to the door and secured it.
As soon as he had done so, Charles reached out with his telepathy, claiming each of Stryker's five men, the strain of it blurring his vision even as the room seemed to spin. Charles fought against it, managing to force all of Stryker's men to step forward into a line, bend and place their weapons on the ground, and then step back several paces to sink to their knees. Stryker tensed. Charles swallowed a mouthful of bile. He could feel Erik on the periphery of his awareness, straining against the need to rush to Charles' side.
Not yet, he thought, a little desperately.
"What are you doing? I order you to release them," Stryker said, obviously still under the impression that Charles' collar worked. Charles smiled, and then calmly took control of Stryker's body, forcing him to set his weapon on the ground.
"Piece of advice, Mr. Stryker; never piss off an omega level telepath, especially when the collars you've designed to control them don't actually work."
Charles smiled then, relishing the look of confusion--a look that quickly shifted to fear--that appeared on Stryker's face. Now, he thought, and Emma released the illusion she had constructed to hide the Brotherhood's presence, seven mutants appearing suddenly not ten feet from where Stryker was standing, Stryker still frozen neatly in place. At Emma's side, Erik struggled against her hold, so Charles nodded his head and Emma released him, Erik surging forward the second he was free, ignoring Stryker entirely to fall to his knees in front of Charles' chair.
"Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?" he asked, and Charles knew had he said that Stryker had Erik would have torn Stryker to pieces, then and there, without hesitation.
"No; this is my doing," Charles said, and it was only half a lie.
The others in the room--and Charles was impressed by how many Emma had concealed, though the woman looked exhausted and Charles knew she had pushed herself to her limits--moved forward now to restrain Stryker's men, Charles gladly releasing his hold on them once they were secured--and honestly, he was surprised he still had the strength to continue holding Stryker, who was struggling fiercely, staring at Erik with an expression that bordered on hysteria.
Erik was still ignoring Stryker. Charles did the same and glanced across the room to Destiny, whose thoughts were screaming worry.
"Mystique's fine, and in the process of gathering some new recruits," he said.
Destiny smiled her gratitude. Charles turned his attention back to Erik, continuing to ignore Stryker who was now cursing at Cyclops as he officially placed Stryker under arrest.
"Hello," Charles said.
Erik's expression, which was growing increasingly frantic, softened considerably. "Hello," he said, reaching up to run a hand across Charles' head.
Over his shoulder, Hank stood watching them, his concern evident, so Charles sent a wave of reassurance in his direction. At his side, Logan was watching Cyclops and Rogue wrestle Stryker into a pair of cuffs--Charles too exhausted now to maintain anything but the barest of holds on the man. Logan looked poised to lash out--to surge forward and cut Stryker open, so Charles caught Erik's eye and nodded in his direction.
Erik glanced over his shoulder and scowled. Charles watched as Logan's arms came immediately to his sides, Logan tensing unnaturally as Erik magnetized him in place.
"We've already had this conversation," Erik said, seeming more disgruntled by the interruption than Logan's disobedience. When he had finished, he turned his attention back to Charles.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked. Now that Stryker and his men were secured and being led from the room, there was little reason to lie.
"I think possibly no," Charles said, Erik's eyes growing wide. He brought a hand to Charles' cheek, gaze searching. "As it turns out, it was a problem. The alcohol, I mean. Also, I suspect I should see a doctor."
Hank, who had been listening in to their conversation, immediately started moving. Charles didn't need to read his thoughts to know he was heading to retrieve Linda. Erik, who was on the verge of pulling Cerebro down around them--such was his panic--floundered for several moments before rising to his feet, grabbing Charles' chair by its handles and pushing it towards the door.
"It's not that urgent," Charles said, though it probably was. "And someone still needs to retrieve Mystique and the others from the Seychelles Islands. Also, there are other mutants--collared mutants--who require rescuing... Erik, please calm your mind."
But Erik wasn't listening; charging forward like Charles had only minutes to live. Charles endured it, but only because his adrenalin was wearing off, his body slowly crashing as the insanity of the past few days settled around his shoulders until he was half convinced he would be crushed under its weight.
Dimly, as they exited Cerebro, Charles heard Logan hollering for Erik to get his cape-wearing ass back in there to release him.
~*~
Destiny was speaking, but Erik wasn't paying attention. Words like Stryker secured and UN approval followed by Mystique on her way back and three other mutants making their way past the haze of fog that had settled over Erik's brain.
He'd barely even noticed Stryker's arrest--hadn't particularly cared about it. Destiny could have told him that Stryker had escaped and taken half of Genosha with him and Erik wouldn't have batted an eye. All that mattered--all that consumed him--was Charles.
It was bad enough knowing Charles was unwell, the fear and blinding panic becoming worse when Linda had promptly announced that Charles was in need of a hospital.
And now they were waiting. Erik hated waiting.
He'd tried pacing. Tried sitting patiently on the edge of one of the hard plastic seats that filled the waiting room. He tried storming his way into the emergency room, demanding to be allowed to remain at Charles' side. Only Charles' pointed look had sent Erik from the room; that and a warning for Charles' doctor that Erik's interference could further jeopardize Charles' health.
There was no one in the hospital who didn't know who Erik was--dozens of mutants coming into the ER to catch a glimpse of Magneto, all of them undoubtedly wondering who it was that warranted Magneto's worry--who it was that warranted Magneto's prolonged attention. Even Erik had heard the whispers by this point--most seemed to think it was his second in command, though it appeared word of his relationship with Charles was beginning to get around.
It was a long while later before someone finally came out into the waiting room to retrieve him.
Erik scowled when he saw that they'd sent a nurse and not Charles' doctor. He glared at the man.
"Um, sorry, Mr... I mean, Magneto, Sir. If you'll come with me..." the man stuttered, his tail twitching violently behind him. He was clearly as terrified as he was awed. Erik gestured for the man to lead the way. Hank and Linda, who were sitting across the room, stood and made as if to join them, but Erik shook his head, begging their cooperation. Linda sat first, pulling Hank down behind her.
The nurse led Erik through a set of security doors--the same ones Erik had pushed aside in his quest to see Charles the second time--and down a hall to a recovery ward. He stopped outside one of the private rooms, and gestured Erik inside.
Seeing Charles, alive and sitting up in a hospital bed, was like catching his breath after having nearly drowned. Erik stumbled into the room, not once taking his eyes from Charles' face. Charles smiled weakly, beckoning Erik farther into the room. Erik came to stand at the side of his bed.
Charles looked better than he had--he was still pale, but his skin no longer held the same sickly look that it had before, and the circles under his eyes had faded somewhat. And IV pierced the back of his hand, and a bag was tapped to the side of his bed, half filled with urine. Hesitantly, Erik reached down to take Charles' hand in his.
"I asked if I could give you the particulars. I hope you don't mind," Charles said, and that explained the absence of a doctor--it also caused newfound worry to spike in Erik's mind, because if Charles felt he had to break the news to Erik then...
"It's nothing that terrible," Charles said with a soft smile. He patted the side of the bed. Erik sat, still clutching Charles' hand.
"You're going to live, though, whatever it is, right?"
"Of course," Charles said, rolling his eyes. Erik let himself sag with relief. "I'll start by mentioning that Hank was right. It would appear I have a drinking problem. I've been detoxing for several days now, and it's not going particularly well." Erik squeezed Charles' hand. "I should probably remain in hospital until my system clears. I've also been diagnosed with the beginning stages of liver disease, though it is not untreatable and there is a good chance my liver will regenerate on its own."
Charles had been speaking as though reading from a text--like he had the first time they'd had sex--but now Charles paused, seeming uncertain. Erik brought his hand to Charles' face, letting his fingers trace across Charles' cheekbone. Charles leaned into the touch.
"And now the part I wanted to tell you myself, but please remember that we do want Stryker alive."
Erik froze at that, though a squeeze for Charles' hand refocused his attention. Whatever Stryker had done to Charles, rotting in a Genoshan jail cell was a fate worse than death. Erik nodded for Charles to continue.
"I'm dehydrated and malnourished--though the latter is partly my fault and largely related to my own stupidity; apparently I haven't been properly absorbing nutrients for a while."
Charles cleared his throat, looking apologetic.
"I have two cracked ribs from where I was kicked in the abdomen." Erik sat up sharply at this, fury surging in his breast, but a squeeze from Charles kept it from erupting. Charles pressed on, perhaps not trusting Erik to disregard the revelation for long. "I have also developed pneumonia, and have a urinary tract infection."
When Charles didn't say anything else, Erik leaned forward to press their foreheads together. For a moment he simply relished the scent of Charles--clean and sterile in a way only someone confined to a hospital bed could smell. He wanted so badly to storm back to the capital compound--to head down into the lower levels, where Stryker was undoubtedly being held--and to tear the man to pieces for ever letting Charles come to harm. Oh, how he hated him. But Charles was still clinging to him, silently begging him for stillness, so Erik pushed aside his rage and focused instead on being the man Charles needed him to be.
"But you're going to be fine?" he asked when he pulled away. Charles smiled.
"Yes, I will be fine."
Erik smiled at that--a grin that took over half his face. Charles shook his head.
"But there are more important things to worry about, Erik. I was inside Stryker's head and he's got compounds all across the globe, hundreds of mutants, collared and imprisoned..." Erik lifted a hand to press it against Charles' lips. Charles' eyes narrowed.
"I know, and we will find them and free them, but right now you need to rest. Leave the rest to me."
Charles shook his head. "I thought you wanted a partner, not an acolyte."
Erik glanced up sharply at that. "Are you saying you want to join me?" he asked, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face. Charles choked a laugh.
"I rather think I already have."
And Erik couldn't help but beam at that, swooping in to pressing their lips together, hands coming up to cradle Charles' face. His fingers brushed against the backs of Charles' ears, tickling against the soft stubble on Charles' head. When he pulled away, Charles looked a little daze. He let out a little cough--one that turned into full-bodied hacking that sent Erik scrambling for a glass of water.
"Sorry, sorry," he said, Charles waving a hand, sipping at the water and rubbing at his chest until the attack passed.
"It's alright," he said, "although, possibly you do have a point. Still, you'll get them out, won't you?"
Erik nodded. "I promise," he said, running his hands over Charles' head. "And then we'll see about getting you a shave."
Charles laughed at that, though the sound stilled the second it seemed it might cross over into another coughing fit. He mastered himself, giving Erik a weak smile.
"I thought Hank had found a way around the shaving," Charles said. Erik let his fingers trail over the crest of Charles' skull.
"He has, but I rather like the look, and I rather liked shaving you." He watched, transfixed as Charles flushed--and then shook his head.
"Later, after I'm well," he said, but there was promise in his eyes, so Erik leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his forehead.
He wanted to stay that way forever--lips pressed to Charles' skin, Charles safe in his arms--but a discrete cough from the doorway interrupted the moment, Erik turning to find Hank and Linda peering hesitantly into the room. He pulled back, smiled, and beckoned them inside.
Turning back to Charles, he said, "They get five minutes, and then I'm coming back to kick them out."
Charles laughed at that, reaching between them to squeeze Erik's hand. It was painful leaving, but as soon as Erik made it back into the waiting room, he was bowled over by a very familiar mutant, so he didn't particularly mind.
"I swear, Erik, you have the best taste in men. He did it. He actually did it." Mystique looked more than a little worse for wear, but unlike Charles it was nothing a little food and water and rest couldn't solve. Still, Erik gave her a once over, feeling a tremendous surge of relief when he found her unharmed.
Across the room, Destiny was watching them with a soft smile, looking beyond happy to have Mystique home. Rogue and Cyclops had also made their way to the hospital. Rogue was beaming as she watched Erik and Mystique.
"You need to get some rest," Erik said, turning his attention back to Mystique. "We've got a rescue mission to plan and I'm going to need you in top form."
Mystique laughed at that. "So I've heard. You'll be happy to know I've already rescued three--single handed, I might add. You'll like Toad, he has a wicked tongue." Her expression turned serious then. Erik narrowed his gaze. "They had Tempest. She's fine--I don't think she'll stay, especially after she learned Hank was here, but she's fine."
Erik remembered that conversation with Hank; remembered the incredulity he'd felt knowing Hank had once been engaged to the woman. He'd always wondered what had happened to Angel. It angered him to think she had spent any time in Stryker's custody. She was free now, Erik reminded himself, and if he had anything to say about it, one day every single mutant on the planet would be free. His vision might no longer be the same--Charles had seen to that--but there were still causes worth fighting for, still a future worth shaping. With any luck, he'd have Charles at his side helping to shape that future. A future they both could stand behind.
"Go see your girl," Erik said, glancing back through the security doors. Mystique smiled knowingly and turned back to Destiny. Erik glanced at his team--at his Brotherhood--offering them a proud smile before he turned back the way he had come, Hank and Linda's five minutes over.
Epilogue
Six months later
Erik watched as Charles fumbled with the telepathic interface on his new chair, the chair wobbling slightly as it lifted into the air. He got it moving relatively quickly after that, floating serenely at Erik's side as they left the courthouse and descended the steep stairs down to the street.
"I wasn't expecting that," Erik said, but he knew he sounded pleased.
"Well, we did make a good case; it stands to reason the decision would be unanimous." Charles was smiling as he spoke, that mischievous grin that Erik had come to associate with Charles' secret keeping. Charles was terrible at keeping secrets--Erik's birthday had been fun--but always seemed to delight in having one.
"Come on, admit it, you gave them a push." Charles looked affronted.
"That would be a gross misuse of my abilities," he said, but he was smirking, and Erik knew he'd hit the mark--hell, Charles had been largely responsible for how quickly the UN had moved in setting up a trial once they had Stryker in custody. The Charles he'd met almost eight months ago never would have done such a thing; this Charles was learning to meet Erik somewhere in the middle--more importantly, this Charles was still seriously pissed off at Stryker.
Erik wasn't complaining. Stryker and his higher ranking officers would probably never see the outside of a jail cell after today. The world had stood in favour of mutantkind--had set precedent for human-mutant relations for decades and centuries to come. It was hard not to be pleased, even if Charles had had a hand in it.
"So what now?" Erik asked, letting his smile turn seductive. He arched a suggestive eyebrow in Charles' direction.
Charles laughed, even as he shook his head--in need of a shave again, but Erik wasn't complaining. "Now we pack. In case you've forgotten, I have a tux fitting in New York in two days."
Erik pouted--he couldn't help himself. "You can't even spare half an hour?" he asked. He still didn't see why they had to hold the wedding in Westchester. It required so many additional travel arrangements.
Charles affected an exasperated expression, though Erik could see the beginnings of a fond smile threatening to spill across his face. It was obvious he had eavesdropped on that particular thought.
"You can't have a spring wedding in a place that doesn't have seasons; besides, Westchester is a perfect venue for a wedding. This will hardly be the first, or the last, I dare say."
Erik's expression grew a little dark at that, but Charles merely shook his head, sighing like the long-suffering boyfriend he seemed to think he was.
"Really, Erik. You have no call to be jealous of my late--and I repeat, late--wife, or our wedding. Now come on. If I miss the tux fitting Hank will have my head. It's a great honour, you know, being asked to stand--or sit, I suppose--as someone's best man."
Erik couldn't help but relent--Charles so very persuasive when he wanted to be. Besides, it wouldn't be too bad, a few months in Westchester, all on their own--once Hank and Linda departed for their honeymoon that was. They'd play chess and drink sparkling water and christen Charles' four poster bed--repeatedly--and take long strolls about the grounds. It would almost be like a vacation; a much needed vacation after the excitement of the last six months--Charles' rehab had been particularly ugly, the process still ongoing.
Not that Erik was complaining about any of that either. He had Charles by his side and the Brotherhood had grown to become a respected institution with new members joining daily. Even Logan popped in occasionally, though it was mostly to talk with Charles--something that still bothered Erik, but he was learning to live with it--or to flirt mercilessly with Worthington's old ward, Jean Grey, whom they'd found in Stryker's Alabama facility. It was almost comical watching Wolverine compete with Cyclops for the girl's affections--though Erik thought she was still far too young for either of them.
When they got back to the compound, and up to their rooms, Charles moved immediately for their suitcase--the one he'd set out that morning, before they'd gone to hear Stryker's verdict. He immediately began tossing clothing into it, probably expecting Erik to help at some point. Instead, Erik stood back in the doorframe and watched him pack, feeling a well of affection bloom in his chest. God, how he loved this man--how lucky he was to have this man.
Charles, who undoubtedly felt Erik's scrutiny, glanced up, a confused frown marring his features until he sought out the source of Erik's distraction. Then he flushed, glancing down shyly before looking back up to meet Erik's eye.
"Oh, fine. I can spare half an hour," he said, shooting a pointed glance at the bed. Erik knew his answering grin was ridiculously wide, but he didn't care.
He was already halfway out of his clothes by the time he made it to the bed, hopping into it so that he bounced slightly upon hitting the mattress. He gave Charles his best come-hither look and patted the open space beside him.
Charles looked put-upon, but he was clearly fighting the beginnings of a pleased smile. He floated his chair--remarkable invention, and they had Hank to thank for that--to the side of the bed, pulled himself up onto it, and then slid up to rest on his elbows at Erik's side.
He licked his lips.
Erik found himself thoroughly distracted. Charles' lips never ceased to capture his attention--Charles was biting his lower lip now, looking more like a nervous virgin than the man who'd spent the better part of eight months sharing Erik's bed. Erik arched an eyebrow.
"Do you think about it?" Charles asked, blushing when it became clear that Erik had no idea what he was talking about. "Marriage, I mean."
And that was perfectly clear, because of course Erik had thought of it--particularly after Hank and Linda had announced their engagement. Erik slipped an arm around Charles' waist and turned him onto his side, pulling him close. He pressed a kiss against the side of Charles' mouth.
"I think you might be a bit ahead of your time. Countries are only just starting to allow human-mutant marriages. I suspect it might be a while before they allow same-sex ones."
Charles' expression fell--but he smiled weakly and nodded. Erik could tell he was deeply embarrassed and more than a little disappointed. It occurred to Erik then that he had just been proposed to. He wondered how Charles had done it for his late wife, and then scolded himself firmly for trying to make the comparison--he was getting better at the jealousy, he really was. He shot Charles a coy smile.
"Of course, it wouldn't take much to amend Genoshan law..." Erik said, letting that settle between them. Charles looked more than a little shocked.
"I was under the understanding that Genosha was ruled by elected council, which would mean putting any such amendment to a vote."
Erik grinned, letting his hand trail across the dip of Charles' waist. "Yes, but all the members of the council are also members of the Brotherhood, and so technically I'm their leader."
Charles' eyes grew bright. He shifted forward, pressing himself infinitely closer.
"So I'm dating a dictator then, am I?" he said with more cheek than Erik thought strictly necessary. He leaned forward and nipped at Charles' bottom lip in retaliation.
"I've been told it can have its perks," Erik said, pulling back.
It was a startling thing to watch Charles' bottom lip tremble--his eyes growing misty as though Erik had just offered him the moon--or world peace, or perfect equality for every person on the planet. It made Erik want to cradle Charles to his chest; to keep him safe from the world's many atrocities, to give him anything and everything the man could possibly desire.
Erik reached a trembling hand to Charles' face, thumb brushing against the moisture in his eyes even as he made nonsensical shushing noises. Charles laughed at that, giving Erik an exasperated--yet entirely too fond--look.
"Come on, then, my benevolent dictator," Charles said, and then, because he wouldn't have been Charles if he hadn't, he glanced at his watch and added, "You now only have twenty minutes."
Erik laughed at that, even he flipped Charles onto his back, fully intending to make good use of those minutes.
END
Bonus Chapter
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Date: 2011-10-09 09:19 pm (UTC)