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nekosmuseTitle: An Ideal Grace (3/?)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: Eventual NC-17 (R for now)
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Back to chapter 2
On Wednesday morning, shortly after Erik's first class ended, Raven had texted to remind him of his missed psychiatrist appointment.
If it were up to Erik, he wouldn't even be seeing a shrink--as Raven so eloquently called them. If it were up to Raven, Erik would go twice a week--that was how often she saw hers. And if it were up to his psychiatrist, Erik would go once a week. Erik had compromised with once every other week, and while neither of the women in his life--and he only had two--were particularly happy, at the very least it kept them off his back.
He was hoping, when he'd called Wednesday morning, that his shrink would be so overbooked that she would dismiss his missed appointment and simply have him come in for his next scheduled one. Obviously, it didn't work that way--which was why Erik was trying to fit in an appointment before his only Thursday class.
Dr. Emma Frost's office was located in one of New York's nicer neighbourhoods--the Upper East Side, Raven had told him after she'd found it, quite serious as she listed Frost's credentials. She was on the eighth floor of a tall, pressure-washed grey stone building, not half a block away from Central Park. Erik had spent a lot of time wandering around this neighbourhood, always in a vain attempt to avoid his appointments--and no matter how many times he tried, Dr. Frost always called. He hadn't received the last call because he'd lost his handy--and he really needed to remember to call them cellphones now that he was in the States--and she didn't have his replacement number.
Erik expected that would be the first order of business.
Appointments with Dr. Frost were ridiculously expensive, and although the university provided mental health benefits--even to visiting professors--Erik outright refused to submit a claim. If there was a chance that someone, somewhere, might be able to connect his name to Dr. Frost's, then Erik wanted no part of it. It was better to simply pay out of pocket and consider the appointment a fixed expense.
Raven didn't have benefits--or a job for that matter--and complained--bitterly at times--about the cost. She refused to go to anyone cheaper, seeing someone in the same building, two floors down. She also refused to scale back the frequency of her appointments. Raven was particular like that. She told him once that her psychiatrist had said it was because she'd been stripped of control during her childhood, and so now wanted complete control over every aspect of her life, the choice of psychiatrist included.
It seemed like hogwash to Erik, but then, he studied poetry, not psychology.
It was pretty straight forward getting to Dr. Frost's office from his apartment in Union Square, though the trip to the school after would require three transfers and an extended walk. Erik paused outside the door, under the green awning that held off the day's slight drizzle. He thought seriously about turning around--and why he didn't just give up on the whole thing, Raven be damned, Erik didn't know. Instead he pulled open the door, stepped inside and headed towards the elevator.
Dr. Frost's office was decorated entirely in white, like something out of a winter wonderland--Erik often wondered if it was meant as an allusion to her name. Certainly it matched her personality--and that, Erik suspected, was the main reason he continued to see Dr. Frost, because she was distant and professional and didn't spend their sessions trying to get him in touch with his feelings.
There was really only so much Erik was willing to do for Raven.
Dr. Frost's assistant, Angel, greeted Erik the second he came through the door.
"She's already waiting," she said, Erik noticing then that Dr. Frost's door stood open. He wasn't even that late.
Erik nodded his thanks, drew his coat around himself--a pathetic shield, but it made him feel marginally better--and entered Dr. Frost's office.
She was sitting behind her desk--a cream coloured French oak monstrosity that spanned the entire width of the narrow room. Dr. Frost was dwarfed by it. In front of the desk sat two wing-backed chairs, both covered in white Italian leather. Offset from the desk and chairs, and tucked under the room's bank of windows, was a white leather couch and an art-deco looking chair arranged in a parody of every single 'patient visits his psychiatrist' film scene Erik had ever seen. When he'd asked, Dr. Frost told him that sometimes it was important to meet a patient's expectations. Erik always chose to sit in the chairs, trapping Dr. Frost behind her desk.
"Good morning, Erik," Dr. Frost said, gesturing for Erik to close the door. Erik hated doing so--one less avenue of escape--but he did as instructed, and then crossed the room to claim his usual seat.
"Sorry about last week. I lost my cellphone and had to get a new one," Erik said, not quite sure why Dr. Frost inspired the confession.
"That's all right. Just make sure you give Angel your new number on the way out." Erik nodded.
Usually, during these sessions, Erik sat in his chair and stared across Dr. Frost's desk, while Dr. Frost stared back. Eventually, she'd grow tired of waiting him out and prompt him with a question--usually something benign. Erik didn't begrudge Dr. Frost her job, but he didn't like to volunteer information. He was perfectly content to sit and wait; answer the few questions she shot in his direction.
Today was no different. Dr. Frost lasted ten minutes before she glanced down at her desk, making a show of looking over her notes from last week. She cleared her throat.
"Last week we were talking about your sister, and why she feels you need to be here."
Dr. Frost said stuff like that all the time. It was never why she thought Erik should be here, or whether Erik wanted to be here. She had a way of sidestepping the things she wanted to ask, somehow manipulating Erik into coming to the topic on his own.
Today Erik merely waited.
"You said," here she glanced down at her notes again, French manicured nail moving across the page as she read, "your sister worries about you, and that coming here makes her not worry so much."
"That's true," Erik said.
"Does it bother you that she worries?"
Erik shifted, repositioning himself in his seat. He had no doubt Dr. Frost had read all sorts into the movement, but it couldn't be helped. Dr. Frost's office made him intensely uncomfortable.
"She's had enough to worry about in her life. She doesn't need to worry about me too."
Erik had always been fiercely protective of Raven. She was six, Erik eleven, when she'd come to stay with the Eisenhardt family. By that point Erik had already been through four foster homes, his parents two years dead. The Eisenhardt house was by far the worse. It was certainly no place for a six year old girl.
Raven had latched on to Erik after he'd protected her from one of the middle-aged children. That first night, he'd shared his extra heel of bread with her. She'd been his responsibility, and his only family, since. He'd failed her more times than he could count in that house, but as soon as he'd been accepted into university, he'd taken her with him. It wasn't a perfect life, Erik forced to work two jobs on top of going to school just to keep food on their table, but it sure beat the hell they'd spent the last six years living in. She'd been following him around ever since.
"Why does your sister worry about you, Erik?" Dr. Frost asked when it became clear that Erik had no intention of elaborating.
Erik wasn't an idiot. He knew what Dr. Frost was driving at. She wanted to know why he was here--regardless of who it was who wanted him here. He'd already deduced that she wasn't the sort of doctor who wanted only to make a diagnosis, but it undoubtedly frustrated her that she knew next to nothing about Erik's history--or his present for that matter.
She didn't, for example, know that Raven was Erik's foster sister, and not his biological one.
She also didn't know that he used to find Raven hiding in her closet, sniffling into the blanket he'd bought her first her tenth birthday--that she still had today--all because Erik had woken screaming from a nightmare and the sound had frightened her. Entschuldigung, Entschuldigung, he used to tell her, kissing her brow and mumbling words of comfort into her hair. It was something his mother used to do for him, when she was still alive and Erik was in need of comforting.
"I guess I don't sleep well. And she says I work too much. That I don't socialize enough."
Dr. Frost perked up at that. She knew that Erik was a visiting professor at Columbia, and that he taught in the English department, but little else. Erik suspected he'd just given her an entire avenue for discussion. He relaxed a little; discussing his job was something Erik had absolutely no problems doing.
"The last time I saw you, the school year hadn't started yet. You said you were eager for it begin. Is it going well?"
Erik nodded; a non-committal answer that earned him one of Dr. Frost's arched eyebrows.
"It's still early, the students warming up, but my classes seem popular," he didn't tell her how popular, "and I have a pretty good batch of kids, I think." Certainly he had no one who was outright disrespectful, though there was only a handful, spread across his classes, who genuinely seemed prepared to go above and beyond what was expected of them.
Unbidden, Erik found himself thinking of Charles Xavier. He had no idea why the boy was so firmly stuck in his head. He wondered if he ought to broach the topic with Dr. Frost. It was probably the sort of starting point she was looking for--a way of getting inside Erik's head.
Erik kept his silence.
The rest of the session continued in the same vein, Dr. Frost asking innocuous enough questions--about his course material, the school environment, and his schedule--Erik answering each, always wondering exactly what it was she was getting from them. By the end of their ninety minute session, Dr. Frost seemed marginally satisfied, while Erik felt like he'd just wasted an hour and a half of his time.
"Don't forget to give Angel your new number," Dr. Frost said as Erik prepared to leave--an easy thing, considering he hadn't even bothered taking his coat off. Dr. Frost had stood, and now circled around her desk, the jacket of her white pants-suit seeming oddly like a doctor's coat. She walked him to the door. Erik did his best to ignore her presence.
On the way out, Erik stopped by Angel's desk to update his contact information.
~*~
Operation seduce Erik Lehnsherr--which was now an official name, Charles having prepared a worksheet, with procedures and everything--was becoming increasingly complicated.
His procedures had backup plans.
Charles had spent the better part of Wednesday afternoon and evening too giddy with excitement to do anything but fantasize about what it might be like to suck on Erik's fingers. On Thursday, he'd decided it would probably be prudent to devise a plan, and so had created his worksheet. His mood soured slightly Thursday night when he came home to a message from his mother--left at three in the afternoon and from the lilt of her voice, it was obvious she was drunk. She'd reminded him of his stepfather's birthday--this weekend, Charles, and you ought to at least consider telephoning.
Charles had spent the remainder of the evening scrubbing the grout in his tub. He found cleaning marginally therapeutic, although he suspected that was largely because his mother would faint if she ever learned her son was doing manual labour--kind of like she'd fainted when Charles first announced he was gay. She tended to ignore any reference to his sexuality now, changing the subject or ignoring him outright whenever Charles brought the subject up. Certainly, though, she'd made certain--and this was probably his stepfather's doing--to include a clause in her will that stated Charles' inheritance was forfeit if he hadn't by the time of their deaths married and produced one heir--and the fact that they'd found a lawyer both willing and capable of adding the clause was astounding.
Charles was looking forward to showing up at the funeral with his husband and conceived-via-surrogate child. Not that he particularly wanted their money.
At least Friday began well, Charles spotting Erik leaving Brownies just as Charles was heading in. Charles shouted, but between the din of the early morning crowd and the distance between them, Erik didn't hear, Charles left with the option of chasing Erik down or waiting until Monday to initiate his operation.
Stick to the plan, Charles told himself, which was probably for the best, because a night of scrubbing tiles with harsh chemicals had left his hands red and raw and his eyes so dried out he was forced to continually blink. Charles rather wanted to look his best the next time he saw Erik.
Fridays were easily his favourite day of the week--though not for the usual reasons. He got to teach his only 4000 level course, Molecular Genetics, and while the course was open to anyone with the prerequisites, a good number of his students were graduate students. He was hoping, if he managed to convince Moira, that they might allow him to host one of the seminars next semester. He'd written a paper over the summer that he thought might make for a good topic. If he thought he could get away with it, he would spend the rest of his career teaching only seminars.
That wasn't until this afternoon, though, and this morning Charles on a mission. As soon as he had his coffee in hand, he headed over to Book Culture, hoping they might still have copies of the required texts for Erik's Romantic Poetry class. It was iffy--they tended to order these things according to class list, and from what Charles had uncovered, a good number of Erik's students weren't actually registered--but Charles had high hopes that at least half the students had waived buying the books in favour of googling the required poems.
The store was practically empty at this time of day--morning classes well underway, the long lines commonplace in the first week having vanished. Charles ducked inside, breathing deep the scent of newly printed paper and binding glue. Most people liked the scent of old books--musty and antiquated--but their scent tended to remind Charles of growing up in Westchester. He liked the scent of new, modernity the cornerstone of his existence.
The girl behind the counter looked like she would rather be sleeping. She leaned, half slumped over the counter, fighting the start of a yawn in what Charles could tell was a losing battle. Charles watched her for a moment, and then crossed to stand at her side, clearing his throat briefly when she failed to notice his arrival.
"Yeah," she said with disaffected interest.
"The required reading list for English 4402, please," Charles said.
From the red of the girl's eyes, Charles suspected she was very hung over. Certainly she moved gingerly, as though not wanting to jostle a headache.
She printed him out a list, gesturing to the back of the store before reassuming her half slumped position. Charles glanced at the slip of paper--only three texts, and two of those optional--as he crossed to the English section.
Unsurprisingly, there was one copy of the required anthology, and dozens of the optional texts. Charles picked up all three and headed back to the counter.
He'd met Scott when he was just starting his PhD work. Scott had been into motorcycles--still was as far as Charles knew--so Charles had spent weeks reading up on the subject. By the time he had finished, he knew everything there was to know about bikes, including how to ride one. It was just something he did--getting a little too interested in the things that made the people he was interested in interesting.
Moira had told him once that it was a little creepy, like Charles was some kind of stalker. She told him that he should just be himself; let people get to know the real him and then decide if he was someone they wanted to know. Charles hadn't found the advice terribly useful. For one thing, the real him was an intensely boring person who was far too arrogant for his own good and constantly in danger of putting his foot in his mouth. Charles wasn't good with people--however much he wanted to be. It was easier to simply pretend he was someone else.
Moira seemed to think that one day that wouldn't be good enough, and she was probably right--after all, Charles' interest in motorcycles had waned fairly quickly, his relationship with Scott fizzling long before it had officially ending.
Still, he paid for his books and tucked them into his messenger bag, and then headed out to the street to catch a bus bound for the Medical Center.
Moira, when he saw her, was fighting a pleased smile that seemed to light up her entire face. Charles only had to glance at the vase on her desk--filled with day lilies, her favourite flower--to discover its origin.
Charles crossed the room to sink into one of the chairs facing her desk. He set his bag on the floor.
"I've re-done your lab schedule," Moira said, handing Charles over a slip of paper. "I'm emailing you a copy as well," she said, just as Charles' phone chimed.
"Nice flowers," Charles said. Moira blushed.
"And I've arranged for you to sit in as a lab mentor during Dr. Ashnar's Somatic Mutations in Cancer Genomes seminar." Charles winced. Moira was clearly punishing him for something. Still, he was unperturbed.
"You're not going to tell me who they're from?" he asked.
Moira glanced up at that, making eye contact for the first time since Charles had arrived. Her cheeks were stained red--smile still tugging at her lips--but she held Charles' gaze.
"How is Operation Seduce Erik Lehnsherr coming along?" she asked. Charles knew he shouldn't have emailed her his worksheet.
"I'm working on it," Charles said. He reached down and pulled his bag onto his lap, retrieving his newly purchased books. He set them on the desk. Moira frowned at the titles.
"Oh, Charles. If you weren't so much of a complete dork, I might actually despair for you. As it stands right now, you at least have a fifty-fifty chance of coming across as adorable."
Charles was fairly certain he was meant to feel insulted, but the day had started on a high note and he wasn't willing to forfeit that quite yet.
"Has this ever not worked?" Charles asked. Moira conceded the point with a nod.
"The flowers, by the way, are from Sean, and he and some friends are having dinner tonight down in the Flatiron district, I was hoping you might come, balance things out. I don't really know his friends all that well yet, and Sean said I could invite you provided you kept your tongue out of his mouth."
Charles laughed at that. He had no intention of putting his tongue anywhere that wasn't connected to Erik Lehnsherr, so he nodded, enduring Moira's exasperated eye roll as he packed away his books and stood to leave.
"Dinner's at 8:00, but we were going to take a cab, so if you want to meet here at 7:30, we could split one. And please wear something nice."
Charles knew that was code for nothing you'd wear in front of your students, which pretty much discounted ninety percent of Charles' wardrobe. Still, he nodded, and then went in search of Hank, hoping now that his lab schedule was set they could start working out the logistics of their latest research project.
~*~
Charles hated riding in the front seat of a cab. He avoided it whenever possible, but at the moment it was either that or squeeze into the back with Moira, Sean and Sean's sister--certainly he couldn't make either Moira or Sean's sister take the front seat, and Moira would have killed him if he'd insisted Sean take it, so Charles was forced into conversation with a man who seemed convinced Charles was going to pull out a weapon and rob him at any given moment.
The trip wasn't particularly far--not usually--but it was a Friday night, and traffic was bad, so tonight it seemed to take an eternity. By the time they pulled to a stop in front of Gramercy Tavern, Charles was taut with awkward tension. He flew out of the cab the second it stopped moving, leaving Sean to pick up the tab--it was the least he could do--Charles relaxing the second his feet hit the sidewalk. He breathed deep against the chill in the air, thankful that for once it wasn't raining.
Gramercy Tavern wasn't Charles' favourite place in the city, but he'd been before--a few times--and the food was good, the atmosphere inviting. It was certainly a popular place, one of the top ranked restaurants in Manhattan--Charles had no idea how Sean had scored a weekend reservation--which was probably one of the reasons Charles tended to avoid the place. It reminded him of the trendy restaurants his mother dragged him to whenever she deigned to visit. She never made a reservation, always counting on the Xavier name to clear them a table. It always did.
The cab pulled away as Moira joined him on the sidewalk, Sean chatting amicably with his sister.
"I haven't been before," she said, sounding more than a little delighted. God, she was utterly smitten. Charles smiled.
"It's all right," he said, then promptly realized that he was completely unprepared for dinner.
Oh, he'd showered, and shaved, and put on cologne. He'd even managed a flattering slate grey suit--no tie, though--complete with polished shoes. He looked what his mother would call presentable. Moira had said he looked edible, whatever that meant. What he hadn't done was stop at an ATM. He had maybe twenty dollars in his pocket and with dinner likely to run over a hundred--for him alone--he was going to be a little short.
"I just realized I have no cash," Charles said, glancing around the street while trying to recall where the nearest ATM was.
"That's all right, I can spot you," Moira said, but Charles shook his head. He didn't accept loans, from anyone, ever, no matter for how short a period. It didn't seem to matter how hard he tried to escape his family, he couldn't seem to escape the Xavier family pride.
"It's fine. I'll just hit an ATM and then meet you inside," Charles said.
Sean, who had obviously overheard their conversation, came to stand at Moira's side. "There's one around the corner," he said, gesturing. Charles nodded, bowed to both Moira and Sean's sister--Sean had introduced her, but Charles had promptly forgotten her name, and was now too embarrassed to ask. It would undoubtedly come up in tonight's conversation.
He left Sean to lead Moira and his sister into the restaurant, Charles jogging around the corner, spotting the glowing orange sign advertising an ATM inside a convenience store. He headed towards it, and was about to slip in through the door when a familiar--and somewhat surprising--figure stepped out. Charles skidded to a stop.
Erik, who obviously recognized Charles--and Charles took that as a very good sign--stopped in the doorway. He blinked.
"Mr. Xavier," he said, moving aside then, stepping out onto the sidewalk when a woman carrying an oversized handbag tried to shoulder her way past.
"Hello," Charles said, the power of speech having seemingly abandoned him. He wanted to ask Erik what he was doing here--wanted to invite Erik to dinner, to jump straight ahead to flirting mercilessly because oh God did Erik look particularly attractive tonight.
And that was probably why Charles' brain had short circuited and he was left standing, incapable of speech.
Erik was wearing a soft brown leather jacket, hung open to reveal a plum-coloured turtleneck that was so fitted Charles imagined he could make out the definition of Erik's abs--and okay that was definitely his imagination. His slacks, soft grey and immaculately cut, perfectly framed his crotch--and Charles wasn't looking there, really he wasn't; he did have some tact--and he stood with the kind of casual ease that had drawn Charles' attention during Erik's lecture.
Erik was staring at him now, as though uncertain how best to proceed. Charles opened his mouth to say something--anything--when the door to the store swung open and an attractive looking blond came forward to link her arm through Erik's.
Charles' world crashed to a resounding halt. He felt a little like throwing up.
Erik didn't wear a ring--and neither did this woman, Charles realized at a closer glance--which would mean she was a girlfriend. It was still a point against Charles' first hypothesis, never mind that he really wasn't the kind of guy to poach someone else's man.
The woman, who seemed to realize now that Charles and Erik knew each other, glanced first to Charles, then to Erik, and then back to Charles. She shook her head.
"Erik's a bit of an idiot when it comes to social conventions," she said, "so he's not going to introduce us. I'm his sister, Raven."
Charles' world stuttered to a start again, because of course, sister--not that the pair looked anything alike, but Charles, of all people, knew genetics could be odd like that. He smiled--rather more brightly than he'd perhaps intended, and offered a hand.
"Charles Xavier," he said. He probably should have elaborated on how he knew Erik, but his mind was still caught on sister, hope beating so fiercely in his chest it was all he could do not to throw himself in Erik's arms--although, that technique, Charles had learned, tended to scare off more suitors than win them.
"A pleasure," Raven said. She'd released Erik's arm and had stepped forward, eyeing Charles in what Charles quickly realized was an expression of interest. He felt a momentary surge of amusement before realizing he should probably put her straight--so to speak---before she embarrassed herself.
"Sorry," he said, gesturing to himself. "Gay."
Raven faltered, but then she smiled--a knowing thing that made Charles' heart flutter. She glanced at Erik, shooting him a smirk, before turning her attention back to Charles.
"Really," she said, and Charles didn't miss the innuendo in her tone.
Charles could have kissed her. He really could have. She'd just effectively outed her brother, which meant Charles' first experiment was a rousing success. Apparently Operation Seduce Erik Lehnsherr was going to be a lot easier than Charles had first anticipated.
Charles glanced at Erik to offer him a sly smile--the one he reserved for people he wanted to take to bed; the same one that Moira said made him look like a lab rat chasing a piece of cheese--but the expression on Erik's face--thunderous and embarrassed--made him hesitate.
"My apologies, Mr. Xavier, but my sister and I must get going," Erik said, grabbing Raven's arm--a little roughly Charles thought--and pulling her down the street, in the opposite direction of the restaurant that was Charles' destination.
"Okay," Charles called after them, not entirely certain what had just happened. "It was nice meeting you, Raven, and I'll see you on Monday, Erik," he shouted. Too late he realized doing so probably made him look incredibly pathetic.
Oh well, at least he knew now that Erik Lehnsherr was interested in men. That had to count for something, didn't it?
On to chapter 4
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: Eventual NC-17 (R for now)
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Back to chapter 2
On Wednesday morning, shortly after Erik's first class ended, Raven had texted to remind him of his missed psychiatrist appointment.
If it were up to Erik, he wouldn't even be seeing a shrink--as Raven so eloquently called them. If it were up to Raven, Erik would go twice a week--that was how often she saw hers. And if it were up to his psychiatrist, Erik would go once a week. Erik had compromised with once every other week, and while neither of the women in his life--and he only had two--were particularly happy, at the very least it kept them off his back.
He was hoping, when he'd called Wednesday morning, that his shrink would be so overbooked that she would dismiss his missed appointment and simply have him come in for his next scheduled one. Obviously, it didn't work that way--which was why Erik was trying to fit in an appointment before his only Thursday class.
Dr. Emma Frost's office was located in one of New York's nicer neighbourhoods--the Upper East Side, Raven had told him after she'd found it, quite serious as she listed Frost's credentials. She was on the eighth floor of a tall, pressure-washed grey stone building, not half a block away from Central Park. Erik had spent a lot of time wandering around this neighbourhood, always in a vain attempt to avoid his appointments--and no matter how many times he tried, Dr. Frost always called. He hadn't received the last call because he'd lost his handy--and he really needed to remember to call them cellphones now that he was in the States--and she didn't have his replacement number.
Erik expected that would be the first order of business.
Appointments with Dr. Frost were ridiculously expensive, and although the university provided mental health benefits--even to visiting professors--Erik outright refused to submit a claim. If there was a chance that someone, somewhere, might be able to connect his name to Dr. Frost's, then Erik wanted no part of it. It was better to simply pay out of pocket and consider the appointment a fixed expense.
Raven didn't have benefits--or a job for that matter--and complained--bitterly at times--about the cost. She refused to go to anyone cheaper, seeing someone in the same building, two floors down. She also refused to scale back the frequency of her appointments. Raven was particular like that. She told him once that her psychiatrist had said it was because she'd been stripped of control during her childhood, and so now wanted complete control over every aspect of her life, the choice of psychiatrist included.
It seemed like hogwash to Erik, but then, he studied poetry, not psychology.
It was pretty straight forward getting to Dr. Frost's office from his apartment in Union Square, though the trip to the school after would require three transfers and an extended walk. Erik paused outside the door, under the green awning that held off the day's slight drizzle. He thought seriously about turning around--and why he didn't just give up on the whole thing, Raven be damned, Erik didn't know. Instead he pulled open the door, stepped inside and headed towards the elevator.
Dr. Frost's office was decorated entirely in white, like something out of a winter wonderland--Erik often wondered if it was meant as an allusion to her name. Certainly it matched her personality--and that, Erik suspected, was the main reason he continued to see Dr. Frost, because she was distant and professional and didn't spend their sessions trying to get him in touch with his feelings.
There was really only so much Erik was willing to do for Raven.
Dr. Frost's assistant, Angel, greeted Erik the second he came through the door.
"She's already waiting," she said, Erik noticing then that Dr. Frost's door stood open. He wasn't even that late.
Erik nodded his thanks, drew his coat around himself--a pathetic shield, but it made him feel marginally better--and entered Dr. Frost's office.
She was sitting behind her desk--a cream coloured French oak monstrosity that spanned the entire width of the narrow room. Dr. Frost was dwarfed by it. In front of the desk sat two wing-backed chairs, both covered in white Italian leather. Offset from the desk and chairs, and tucked under the room's bank of windows, was a white leather couch and an art-deco looking chair arranged in a parody of every single 'patient visits his psychiatrist' film scene Erik had ever seen. When he'd asked, Dr. Frost told him that sometimes it was important to meet a patient's expectations. Erik always chose to sit in the chairs, trapping Dr. Frost behind her desk.
"Good morning, Erik," Dr. Frost said, gesturing for Erik to close the door. Erik hated doing so--one less avenue of escape--but he did as instructed, and then crossed the room to claim his usual seat.
"Sorry about last week. I lost my cellphone and had to get a new one," Erik said, not quite sure why Dr. Frost inspired the confession.
"That's all right. Just make sure you give Angel your new number on the way out." Erik nodded.
Usually, during these sessions, Erik sat in his chair and stared across Dr. Frost's desk, while Dr. Frost stared back. Eventually, she'd grow tired of waiting him out and prompt him with a question--usually something benign. Erik didn't begrudge Dr. Frost her job, but he didn't like to volunteer information. He was perfectly content to sit and wait; answer the few questions she shot in his direction.
Today was no different. Dr. Frost lasted ten minutes before she glanced down at her desk, making a show of looking over her notes from last week. She cleared her throat.
"Last week we were talking about your sister, and why she feels you need to be here."
Dr. Frost said stuff like that all the time. It was never why she thought Erik should be here, or whether Erik wanted to be here. She had a way of sidestepping the things she wanted to ask, somehow manipulating Erik into coming to the topic on his own.
Today Erik merely waited.
"You said," here she glanced down at her notes again, French manicured nail moving across the page as she read, "your sister worries about you, and that coming here makes her not worry so much."
"That's true," Erik said.
"Does it bother you that she worries?"
Erik shifted, repositioning himself in his seat. He had no doubt Dr. Frost had read all sorts into the movement, but it couldn't be helped. Dr. Frost's office made him intensely uncomfortable.
"She's had enough to worry about in her life. She doesn't need to worry about me too."
Erik had always been fiercely protective of Raven. She was six, Erik eleven, when she'd come to stay with the Eisenhardt family. By that point Erik had already been through four foster homes, his parents two years dead. The Eisenhardt house was by far the worse. It was certainly no place for a six year old girl.
Raven had latched on to Erik after he'd protected her from one of the middle-aged children. That first night, he'd shared his extra heel of bread with her. She'd been his responsibility, and his only family, since. He'd failed her more times than he could count in that house, but as soon as he'd been accepted into university, he'd taken her with him. It wasn't a perfect life, Erik forced to work two jobs on top of going to school just to keep food on their table, but it sure beat the hell they'd spent the last six years living in. She'd been following him around ever since.
"Why does your sister worry about you, Erik?" Dr. Frost asked when it became clear that Erik had no intention of elaborating.
Erik wasn't an idiot. He knew what Dr. Frost was driving at. She wanted to know why he was here--regardless of who it was who wanted him here. He'd already deduced that she wasn't the sort of doctor who wanted only to make a diagnosis, but it undoubtedly frustrated her that she knew next to nothing about Erik's history--or his present for that matter.
She didn't, for example, know that Raven was Erik's foster sister, and not his biological one.
She also didn't know that he used to find Raven hiding in her closet, sniffling into the blanket he'd bought her first her tenth birthday--that she still had today--all because Erik had woken screaming from a nightmare and the sound had frightened her. Entschuldigung, Entschuldigung, he used to tell her, kissing her brow and mumbling words of comfort into her hair. It was something his mother used to do for him, when she was still alive and Erik was in need of comforting.
"I guess I don't sleep well. And she says I work too much. That I don't socialize enough."
Dr. Frost perked up at that. She knew that Erik was a visiting professor at Columbia, and that he taught in the English department, but little else. Erik suspected he'd just given her an entire avenue for discussion. He relaxed a little; discussing his job was something Erik had absolutely no problems doing.
"The last time I saw you, the school year hadn't started yet. You said you were eager for it begin. Is it going well?"
Erik nodded; a non-committal answer that earned him one of Dr. Frost's arched eyebrows.
"It's still early, the students warming up, but my classes seem popular," he didn't tell her how popular, "and I have a pretty good batch of kids, I think." Certainly he had no one who was outright disrespectful, though there was only a handful, spread across his classes, who genuinely seemed prepared to go above and beyond what was expected of them.
Unbidden, Erik found himself thinking of Charles Xavier. He had no idea why the boy was so firmly stuck in his head. He wondered if he ought to broach the topic with Dr. Frost. It was probably the sort of starting point she was looking for--a way of getting inside Erik's head.
Erik kept his silence.
The rest of the session continued in the same vein, Dr. Frost asking innocuous enough questions--about his course material, the school environment, and his schedule--Erik answering each, always wondering exactly what it was she was getting from them. By the end of their ninety minute session, Dr. Frost seemed marginally satisfied, while Erik felt like he'd just wasted an hour and a half of his time.
"Don't forget to give Angel your new number," Dr. Frost said as Erik prepared to leave--an easy thing, considering he hadn't even bothered taking his coat off. Dr. Frost had stood, and now circled around her desk, the jacket of her white pants-suit seeming oddly like a doctor's coat. She walked him to the door. Erik did his best to ignore her presence.
On the way out, Erik stopped by Angel's desk to update his contact information.
~*~
Operation seduce Erik Lehnsherr--which was now an official name, Charles having prepared a worksheet, with procedures and everything--was becoming increasingly complicated.
His procedures had backup plans.
Charles had spent the better part of Wednesday afternoon and evening too giddy with excitement to do anything but fantasize about what it might be like to suck on Erik's fingers. On Thursday, he'd decided it would probably be prudent to devise a plan, and so had created his worksheet. His mood soured slightly Thursday night when he came home to a message from his mother--left at three in the afternoon and from the lilt of her voice, it was obvious she was drunk. She'd reminded him of his stepfather's birthday--this weekend, Charles, and you ought to at least consider telephoning.
Charles had spent the remainder of the evening scrubbing the grout in his tub. He found cleaning marginally therapeutic, although he suspected that was largely because his mother would faint if she ever learned her son was doing manual labour--kind of like she'd fainted when Charles first announced he was gay. She tended to ignore any reference to his sexuality now, changing the subject or ignoring him outright whenever Charles brought the subject up. Certainly, though, she'd made certain--and this was probably his stepfather's doing--to include a clause in her will that stated Charles' inheritance was forfeit if he hadn't by the time of their deaths married and produced one heir--and the fact that they'd found a lawyer both willing and capable of adding the clause was astounding.
Charles was looking forward to showing up at the funeral with his husband and conceived-via-surrogate child. Not that he particularly wanted their money.
At least Friday began well, Charles spotting Erik leaving Brownies just as Charles was heading in. Charles shouted, but between the din of the early morning crowd and the distance between them, Erik didn't hear, Charles left with the option of chasing Erik down or waiting until Monday to initiate his operation.
Stick to the plan, Charles told himself, which was probably for the best, because a night of scrubbing tiles with harsh chemicals had left his hands red and raw and his eyes so dried out he was forced to continually blink. Charles rather wanted to look his best the next time he saw Erik.
Fridays were easily his favourite day of the week--though not for the usual reasons. He got to teach his only 4000 level course, Molecular Genetics, and while the course was open to anyone with the prerequisites, a good number of his students were graduate students. He was hoping, if he managed to convince Moira, that they might allow him to host one of the seminars next semester. He'd written a paper over the summer that he thought might make for a good topic. If he thought he could get away with it, he would spend the rest of his career teaching only seminars.
That wasn't until this afternoon, though, and this morning Charles on a mission. As soon as he had his coffee in hand, he headed over to Book Culture, hoping they might still have copies of the required texts for Erik's Romantic Poetry class. It was iffy--they tended to order these things according to class list, and from what Charles had uncovered, a good number of Erik's students weren't actually registered--but Charles had high hopes that at least half the students had waived buying the books in favour of googling the required poems.
The store was practically empty at this time of day--morning classes well underway, the long lines commonplace in the first week having vanished. Charles ducked inside, breathing deep the scent of newly printed paper and binding glue. Most people liked the scent of old books--musty and antiquated--but their scent tended to remind Charles of growing up in Westchester. He liked the scent of new, modernity the cornerstone of his existence.
The girl behind the counter looked like she would rather be sleeping. She leaned, half slumped over the counter, fighting the start of a yawn in what Charles could tell was a losing battle. Charles watched her for a moment, and then crossed to stand at her side, clearing his throat briefly when she failed to notice his arrival.
"Yeah," she said with disaffected interest.
"The required reading list for English 4402, please," Charles said.
From the red of the girl's eyes, Charles suspected she was very hung over. Certainly she moved gingerly, as though not wanting to jostle a headache.
She printed him out a list, gesturing to the back of the store before reassuming her half slumped position. Charles glanced at the slip of paper--only three texts, and two of those optional--as he crossed to the English section.
Unsurprisingly, there was one copy of the required anthology, and dozens of the optional texts. Charles picked up all three and headed back to the counter.
He'd met Scott when he was just starting his PhD work. Scott had been into motorcycles--still was as far as Charles knew--so Charles had spent weeks reading up on the subject. By the time he had finished, he knew everything there was to know about bikes, including how to ride one. It was just something he did--getting a little too interested in the things that made the people he was interested in interesting.
Moira had told him once that it was a little creepy, like Charles was some kind of stalker. She told him that he should just be himself; let people get to know the real him and then decide if he was someone they wanted to know. Charles hadn't found the advice terribly useful. For one thing, the real him was an intensely boring person who was far too arrogant for his own good and constantly in danger of putting his foot in his mouth. Charles wasn't good with people--however much he wanted to be. It was easier to simply pretend he was someone else.
Moira seemed to think that one day that wouldn't be good enough, and she was probably right--after all, Charles' interest in motorcycles had waned fairly quickly, his relationship with Scott fizzling long before it had officially ending.
Still, he paid for his books and tucked them into his messenger bag, and then headed out to the street to catch a bus bound for the Medical Center.
Moira, when he saw her, was fighting a pleased smile that seemed to light up her entire face. Charles only had to glance at the vase on her desk--filled with day lilies, her favourite flower--to discover its origin.
Charles crossed the room to sink into one of the chairs facing her desk. He set his bag on the floor.
"I've re-done your lab schedule," Moira said, handing Charles over a slip of paper. "I'm emailing you a copy as well," she said, just as Charles' phone chimed.
"Nice flowers," Charles said. Moira blushed.
"And I've arranged for you to sit in as a lab mentor during Dr. Ashnar's Somatic Mutations in Cancer Genomes seminar." Charles winced. Moira was clearly punishing him for something. Still, he was unperturbed.
"You're not going to tell me who they're from?" he asked.
Moira glanced up at that, making eye contact for the first time since Charles had arrived. Her cheeks were stained red--smile still tugging at her lips--but she held Charles' gaze.
"How is Operation Seduce Erik Lehnsherr coming along?" she asked. Charles knew he shouldn't have emailed her his worksheet.
"I'm working on it," Charles said. He reached down and pulled his bag onto his lap, retrieving his newly purchased books. He set them on the desk. Moira frowned at the titles.
"Oh, Charles. If you weren't so much of a complete dork, I might actually despair for you. As it stands right now, you at least have a fifty-fifty chance of coming across as adorable."
Charles was fairly certain he was meant to feel insulted, but the day had started on a high note and he wasn't willing to forfeit that quite yet.
"Has this ever not worked?" Charles asked. Moira conceded the point with a nod.
"The flowers, by the way, are from Sean, and he and some friends are having dinner tonight down in the Flatiron district, I was hoping you might come, balance things out. I don't really know his friends all that well yet, and Sean said I could invite you provided you kept your tongue out of his mouth."
Charles laughed at that. He had no intention of putting his tongue anywhere that wasn't connected to Erik Lehnsherr, so he nodded, enduring Moira's exasperated eye roll as he packed away his books and stood to leave.
"Dinner's at 8:00, but we were going to take a cab, so if you want to meet here at 7:30, we could split one. And please wear something nice."
Charles knew that was code for nothing you'd wear in front of your students, which pretty much discounted ninety percent of Charles' wardrobe. Still, he nodded, and then went in search of Hank, hoping now that his lab schedule was set they could start working out the logistics of their latest research project.
~*~
Charles hated riding in the front seat of a cab. He avoided it whenever possible, but at the moment it was either that or squeeze into the back with Moira, Sean and Sean's sister--certainly he couldn't make either Moira or Sean's sister take the front seat, and Moira would have killed him if he'd insisted Sean take it, so Charles was forced into conversation with a man who seemed convinced Charles was going to pull out a weapon and rob him at any given moment.
The trip wasn't particularly far--not usually--but it was a Friday night, and traffic was bad, so tonight it seemed to take an eternity. By the time they pulled to a stop in front of Gramercy Tavern, Charles was taut with awkward tension. He flew out of the cab the second it stopped moving, leaving Sean to pick up the tab--it was the least he could do--Charles relaxing the second his feet hit the sidewalk. He breathed deep against the chill in the air, thankful that for once it wasn't raining.
Gramercy Tavern wasn't Charles' favourite place in the city, but he'd been before--a few times--and the food was good, the atmosphere inviting. It was certainly a popular place, one of the top ranked restaurants in Manhattan--Charles had no idea how Sean had scored a weekend reservation--which was probably one of the reasons Charles tended to avoid the place. It reminded him of the trendy restaurants his mother dragged him to whenever she deigned to visit. She never made a reservation, always counting on the Xavier name to clear them a table. It always did.
The cab pulled away as Moira joined him on the sidewalk, Sean chatting amicably with his sister.
"I haven't been before," she said, sounding more than a little delighted. God, she was utterly smitten. Charles smiled.
"It's all right," he said, then promptly realized that he was completely unprepared for dinner.
Oh, he'd showered, and shaved, and put on cologne. He'd even managed a flattering slate grey suit--no tie, though--complete with polished shoes. He looked what his mother would call presentable. Moira had said he looked edible, whatever that meant. What he hadn't done was stop at an ATM. He had maybe twenty dollars in his pocket and with dinner likely to run over a hundred--for him alone--he was going to be a little short.
"I just realized I have no cash," Charles said, glancing around the street while trying to recall where the nearest ATM was.
"That's all right, I can spot you," Moira said, but Charles shook his head. He didn't accept loans, from anyone, ever, no matter for how short a period. It didn't seem to matter how hard he tried to escape his family, he couldn't seem to escape the Xavier family pride.
"It's fine. I'll just hit an ATM and then meet you inside," Charles said.
Sean, who had obviously overheard their conversation, came to stand at Moira's side. "There's one around the corner," he said, gesturing. Charles nodded, bowed to both Moira and Sean's sister--Sean had introduced her, but Charles had promptly forgotten her name, and was now too embarrassed to ask. It would undoubtedly come up in tonight's conversation.
He left Sean to lead Moira and his sister into the restaurant, Charles jogging around the corner, spotting the glowing orange sign advertising an ATM inside a convenience store. He headed towards it, and was about to slip in through the door when a familiar--and somewhat surprising--figure stepped out. Charles skidded to a stop.
Erik, who obviously recognized Charles--and Charles took that as a very good sign--stopped in the doorway. He blinked.
"Mr. Xavier," he said, moving aside then, stepping out onto the sidewalk when a woman carrying an oversized handbag tried to shoulder her way past.
"Hello," Charles said, the power of speech having seemingly abandoned him. He wanted to ask Erik what he was doing here--wanted to invite Erik to dinner, to jump straight ahead to flirting mercilessly because oh God did Erik look particularly attractive tonight.
And that was probably why Charles' brain had short circuited and he was left standing, incapable of speech.
Erik was wearing a soft brown leather jacket, hung open to reveal a plum-coloured turtleneck that was so fitted Charles imagined he could make out the definition of Erik's abs--and okay that was definitely his imagination. His slacks, soft grey and immaculately cut, perfectly framed his crotch--and Charles wasn't looking there, really he wasn't; he did have some tact--and he stood with the kind of casual ease that had drawn Charles' attention during Erik's lecture.
Erik was staring at him now, as though uncertain how best to proceed. Charles opened his mouth to say something--anything--when the door to the store swung open and an attractive looking blond came forward to link her arm through Erik's.
Charles' world crashed to a resounding halt. He felt a little like throwing up.
Erik didn't wear a ring--and neither did this woman, Charles realized at a closer glance--which would mean she was a girlfriend. It was still a point against Charles' first hypothesis, never mind that he really wasn't the kind of guy to poach someone else's man.
The woman, who seemed to realize now that Charles and Erik knew each other, glanced first to Charles, then to Erik, and then back to Charles. She shook her head.
"Erik's a bit of an idiot when it comes to social conventions," she said, "so he's not going to introduce us. I'm his sister, Raven."
Charles' world stuttered to a start again, because of course, sister--not that the pair looked anything alike, but Charles, of all people, knew genetics could be odd like that. He smiled--rather more brightly than he'd perhaps intended, and offered a hand.
"Charles Xavier," he said. He probably should have elaborated on how he knew Erik, but his mind was still caught on sister, hope beating so fiercely in his chest it was all he could do not to throw himself in Erik's arms--although, that technique, Charles had learned, tended to scare off more suitors than win them.
"A pleasure," Raven said. She'd released Erik's arm and had stepped forward, eyeing Charles in what Charles quickly realized was an expression of interest. He felt a momentary surge of amusement before realizing he should probably put her straight--so to speak---before she embarrassed herself.
"Sorry," he said, gesturing to himself. "Gay."
Raven faltered, but then she smiled--a knowing thing that made Charles' heart flutter. She glanced at Erik, shooting him a smirk, before turning her attention back to Charles.
"Really," she said, and Charles didn't miss the innuendo in her tone.
Charles could have kissed her. He really could have. She'd just effectively outed her brother, which meant Charles' first experiment was a rousing success. Apparently Operation Seduce Erik Lehnsherr was going to be a lot easier than Charles had first anticipated.
Charles glanced at Erik to offer him a sly smile--the one he reserved for people he wanted to take to bed; the same one that Moira said made him look like a lab rat chasing a piece of cheese--but the expression on Erik's face--thunderous and embarrassed--made him hesitate.
"My apologies, Mr. Xavier, but my sister and I must get going," Erik said, grabbing Raven's arm--a little roughly Charles thought--and pulling her down the street, in the opposite direction of the restaurant that was Charles' destination.
"Okay," Charles called after them, not entirely certain what had just happened. "It was nice meeting you, Raven, and I'll see you on Monday, Erik," he shouted. Too late he realized doing so probably made him look incredibly pathetic.
Oh well, at least he knew now that Erik Lehnsherr was interested in men. That had to count for something, didn't it?
On to chapter 4
