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nekosmuseTitle: An Ideal Grace (8/?)
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?
Author's note: Erik's untitled poem was written by the lovely afrocurl. She is incredibly talented, so please take a minute to extend your thanks to her for sharing her work. Her poem completely captures exactly what it is Erik is feeling at this point in the story. It is lovely and haunting and sad and utterly heartbreaking and this chapter wouldn't be half as meaningful without it. Thank you.
Also, thanks to anonymous for pointing out the awesome gif I've borrowed. Not sure who to credit for the original, so if it's yours let me know--and thanks!
Warning: brief allusion to Raven's childhood abuse.
Back to chapter 7
It felt like someone had fastened a vice around his heart, and was slowly tightening it. Erik stared at his intruder, even as he struggled to breathe.
He'd wanted to explain. He'd wanted to tell Xavier--Charles, dear God, he'd called him Charles--that he consumed Erik's every waking thought. He wanted to explain why this couldn't be--to ask when Charles would graduate, because maybe there was a chance for them. For one brief, hysterical moment, he'd considered offering to leave the university--but where would he go, save back to Heidelberg, and then what? A long distance relationship with a man he barely knew?
Professor Summers, whom Erik had only had the pleasure of meeting a handful of times--and whom inspired absolutely nothing in Erik--was still standing in the doorway, file folders limp in his hands. He looked exceedingly awkward. Erik glared at him.
Summers had used Charles' name.
"How do you know him?" Erik asked. He didn't mean for the question to come out an accusation, but it did. Summers flinched.
It occurred to him then that perhaps this was simply the American way. Perhaps professors here were just friendly with their students. Perhaps Charles was not wrong in asking Erik to use his given name.
"Um," Summers said, shuffling awkwardly. "He's my ex."
Erik's eyes grew wide at that, mouth falling open. He felt the sudden urge to throttle Summers--wanted to dive across the room and wrap his hands around Summers' throat. Some of that must have shown on Erik's face, because Summers took a step back and raised his hands in a defensive gesture.
"It was a long time ago, and very, very much over. We're civil now, but we don't even really see each other all that often. I swear you have nothing to worry about."
Erik frowned at that, because that wasn't at all what had bothered Erik--and did Summers really think that Erik would do something like that? That Erik would take advantage of someone like that? Bad enough that Summers had--although Summers was a few years younger than him, so it was entirely possible he was a graduate student at the time. But even that was a little suspect, because Charles wouldn't have been far into his undergraduate studies and, dear god, was this just the sort of thing that happened? Had Erik completely blown his ordeal with Shaw out of proportion?
Erik felt his legs go a little rubbery. His vision swam. He gripped the edge of his bookshelf to keep from toppling over.
"Are you all right?" Summers asked, taking a step into Erik's office. All Erik could think was get out, get out, get out.
"I'm fine," Erik said. "And I'm not sleeping with Charles Xavier," he added, rather defiantly. This time it was Summers' eyes that widened.
"Okay. Sorry, I just meant, you know, if the two of you," here he made a gesture that Erik supposed was meant convey everything Summers had done with Charles--and God how it angered him--"it wouldn't be a problem. For any of us."
And what was Erik meant to say to that? Because it should have been a problem; it should have been a very large problem, and the fact that Summers didn't think it was--the fact that a department advisor was advising him to sleep with a student--sent bile inching its way up the back of Erik's throat. Was this why Charles was interested in him? Had Summers broken him like Shaw had broken Erik? He wanted to throw Summers out of his office--to pick him up and toss him out the window, have him land in the middle of Amsterdam Avenue traffic.
"What do you need me to sign?" he asked instead, letting his hostility bleed into his tone.
Summers hesitated, and then moved cautiously into the room, handing over the file folder he was carrying like Erik was a viper capable of attacking at any moment. Erik snatched it from his hand. Inside, he found several departmental documents. He brought them back to his desk, and then systematically signed them, one by one. When he was done, he crossed back to Summers' side and thrust the folder in his hand.
"Now get out," he said.
Summers shook his head. "Right," he said, already halfway out the door.
Erik was glad to see the back of him. He waited until Summers had vanished down the hall to cross back over to his desk--to sink into his chair and let his head fall onto the desk.
He wanted to go after Charles. He also wanted to let Charles go--thought it might even be better this way, a clean break exactly what Erik needed to get over this... crush, or infatuation, or whatever it was. Perhaps now they could move past this awkward flirtation and concentrate on a professional relationship. Charles was still one of his best students--even if his name didn't appear on any of Erik's official documentation. Erik admired Charles; he respected him. He shouldn't have been lusting after him to begin with.
Erik would do his job. He would help foster Charles' innate talent--and he had innate talent, Charles' capacity for critical analysis already well-honed. Erik wondered if he wrote his own poetry--found himself wanting to see it if he did. He could put aside these feelings--love his traitorous heart told him, as ridiculous as it was--and do what he was trained to do.
It was funny how making the decision only served to tighten the vice around his heart.
~*~
Moira knew--the second she laid eyes on him, she knew. Charles offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but knew it fell flat when she dragged him aside--mindless of stalling Dr. Ashnar's seminar--and asked if he wanted her to cancel her appointment.
"I'm fine. Go, I've got this," he said, ignoring Dr. Ashnar's glare. When Moira hesitated, he pushed her towards the door.
Charles wasn't a stranger to rejection. It happened more often than not--usually first thing in the morning, when regret reared its ugly head and sent Charles' bed partners running. In his younger years, Charles had had a habit of picking up would-be straight men incapable of facing their drunken homosexuality come morning. He'd had a few, too, who had turned down his advances--told him point blank to back off--but this marked the first time someone had let him get to the point of asking and then rejected him.
It hurt.
But it hurt more so because it was Erik--which was ridiculous, because, really, how well did he even know the man? Still, he liked Erik; genuinely liked Erik and Charles hadn't liked anyone in a really, really long time. He'd even started thinking long term, things Charles hadn't thought for anyone--not even Scott.
Dr. Ashnar's seminar seemed to go on forever, though if asked, Charles couldn't have repeated a word of it. He spent most of the time fumbling around, fetching Dr. Ashnar supplies and fielding questions, which he answered half-heartedly, wanting to be anywhere but where he was.
When the seminar was over, Dr. Ashnar harrumphed at him, glaring icily while Charles cleaned up after the departing students. Charles had a feeling he wouldn't be asked to mentor another of Ashnar's labs.
It was fast approaching 11:00 by the time Charles got back to his office, where he found Moira waiting for him. She was sitting on Charles' couch--the one he'd bought second hand, exclusively for the purpose of napping on whenever a late night at the lab left him too tired to stumble home, something that happened more often than not. She was half buried in Charles' mess of pillows, munching on something from inside the white paper bag she held in her lap.
Charles' office was a chaotic mess of... well, mess. He kept it that way on purpose, mostly because it tended to scare people off and Charles rather liked keeping his office as his own personal sanctuary. There was another reason, though; because once, in the height of a very busy week, his mother had turned up for a visit, Charles' office a mess simply because he hadn't had time to worry about it. She'd been so horrified that she hadn't been back, and Charles was rather keen to keep it that way.
"What happened?" Moira asked as soon as Charles stepped in the door. She offered chocolate dipped biscotti from inside the bag.
Charles glanced over his shoulder, and then pulled the door shut behind him. He dragged off his lab coat and tossed it onto one of his chairs, then crossed the room and threw himself onto the couch at Moira's side. He snatched the biscotti from her hand.
"Hello to you, too," he said, but Moira merely rolled her eyes, so Charles knew there was no getting out of this. "I asked him to dinner. He said no. End of story."
Moira's expression softened, but Charles shook her off. He didn't particularly want her sympathy just now.
"I really thought... Do you know he gave me a book of his poetry? Right before, I mean. He just handed me this binder," Charles hadn't had time to read any of them yet, the binder a heavy weight in his messenger bag, "and then smiled at me like I was the love of his life, and then..." Charles gestured absently.
"I'm sorry," Moira said. She stood then and crossed to Charles' desk, leaning against it so that she could look him in the eye.
"It's fine. It's just..."
"You like him," Moira finished. Charles nodded.
"I actually thought he might be the one, you know," which was probably stupid, because Charles had never believed in fairy tales--certainly he didn't believe in soul mates or falling in love once and forever. Since meeting Erik, though, Charles was starting to want to believe in those things.
Moira was watching him, soft smile tugging at her mouth--and Charles couldn't even begin to figure out where it was coming from. He shot her a questioning look, and when she didn't explain, Charles narrowed his gaze.
"What?" he asked.
"You've grown up," Moira said. She sounded proud.
Charles shook his head, although he suspected she was probably right. Once upon a time he would have run screaming from a commitment, but now he was starting to think it might be nice; having someone who was entirely his, who he could come home to night after night. He wanted that--wanted to build a life beyond his work and the occasional lay.
"I still made a complete fool of myself," he said, but try as he might to convince himself that that was the worst part, it really, really wasn't.
~*~
Raven Interlude
She could do this, Raven decided, returning home from her first day of training--it had consisted mostly of a tour, a lecture on house rules (there weren't many) and instructions for mixing pretty much every drink under the sun. She was perfectly suited to doing this job--to doing any job, really. She was a chameleon, capable of adapting to any environment; of filling any role that required filling.
It was probably her only useful life skill--and that honed over years of trauma she didn't like to think of if she didn't have to.
More importantly, though, she wanted this job. She wanted to contribute to the household income--even if Erik made more than enough money for the both of them, and even if he'd never once made her feel any less for not working.
It was something her shrink had said--and Raven liked this one, thought she was making good progress under her care--something about needing to learn to stand on her own two feet, and she wasn't going to do that as long as she remained entirely dependent on Erik.
Who knew, maybe one of these days she'd get her own place, take a stab at being a real adult.
Not that she didn't love living with Erik--she loved everything about Erik, Erik the only person in her life who had ever cared, who had ever taken care of her. He was more like a father than a brother, and while she'd never tell him that, she wanted more than anything to make him proud.
If she got enough money together, she might even see about going to college. Erik would be so proud of her if she did. She'd study drama, and maybe someday see her name in lights on Broadway. It was the sort of thing she'd dreamed about doing as a child, a way to escape the everyday horror of her existence. Only Erik had made it bearable--Erik, who'd snuck her treats and blankets and then bundled her out of that house in the dead of the night. She remembered so clearly that first apartment. Even today she still associated the scent of dank basements with happiness--with safety. Erik had bought her her first stuffed animal in that apartment. It still occupied a place of honour on her bed.
"I'm home," she called as she entered their shared apartment. She'd only been gone a few hours, but Erik hadn't been home when she'd left, and she knew he'd get back before she did. When he didn't answer, she grew instantly worried.
There was only once in their life Erik hadn't returned home. She'd waited, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from their door, body taut with tension as the hours ticked by. He'd arrived six hours late, and when he'd found her there, his face fell and he bundled her into his arms and cried into her shoulder.
It was the day that horrible man Sebastian had finally shown his true colours. Raven had seen it coming almost from the beginning.
She found Erik curled on the couch, looking almost as dejected--certainly he looked very much like that lost little boy who'd come home to her, Raven for the first time feeling far older than her adopted older brother. Raven suspected it was only slumber which kept lines from his face, his body lax as he slept, breathing even and deep. She crouched down on the floor next to him.
"Oh, Erik," she said, brushing aside a lock of his hair. He didn't stir.
She knew what it was that plagued him, of course--she saw the way his eyes lit up whenever he talked about this Charles Xavier, even if it was only him sharing Charles' contribution to his lectures. Her brother was falling in love, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he continued to deny himself what his heart clearly wanted.
There was little else for her to do save wait for Erik to wake up, so she twisted, sitting with her back pressed against the couch, Erik a warm weight behind her. When he woke, she'd suggest they order curry--she was craving something spicy, and she didn't think Erik would be up for cooking. Until then she sat, something on the coffee table catching her attention.
It was Erik's notebook--one of many, though he always bought the exact same kind, colour and everything. He always marked the year on the inside left corner of the cover. She flipped this one open and read 2011. He was writing again. As far as Raven knew--and she liked to think she knew everything about Erik--he hadn't written in a very long time. Several years, in fact.
Erik kept no secrets from her, and she none from him--secrets, in Raven's world, were horrid, unbearable things, and she never wanted to have another one--so she snatched Erik's book off the table and let it fall open to the bookmarked page.
Raven read no more than the first few lines before she knew he was writing about Charles. The silly, ridiculous man, worrying over something as stupid as ethics when it came to matters of the heart. Raven had met Charles only twice, but she knew he was worth pursuing. There was something about him that inspired confidence, and considering how few people inspired that emotion in Raven, that pretty much meant he was perfect.
He also seemed genuinely interested in Erik. Why couldn't Erik see that? Why couldn't he push past whatever was stopping him and see what was right in front of him?
It was probably a stupid question to ask, because Raven knew what was stopping him. He was afraid of becoming Sebastian. Years ago, after he'd finished his PhD and begun teaching, he'd spent a year debating whether to leave the field, terrified that he might somehow destroy the very minds he was trying to sculpt.
Raven had thought it silly at the time--she could have told him he was nothing like Sebastian and never would be--but Erik had agonized over it daily throughout his entire time at Oxford, and then again when he'd begun teaching in earnest at Edinburgh.
There were days when Raven wished fervently that she could travel through time. She would go back and kill Sebastian before he ever set eyes on Erik. She had never felt more powerless than she had when Erik met the man. Erik had always kept her so safe, and she wasn't able to return the favour.
She flipped through the notebook, the marked page the only complete piece--more often than not Erik's work ended in angry scribbles and tears in the paper. A few pages had been torn out, a few more hastily taped back in. It was clear he was having a hard time focusing his feelings--and now Raven wondered if she was spending entirely too much time on her shrink's couch, using words like focusing his feelings. She shook her head.
"Did you like it? That last one, I mean," Erik asked.
Raven startled, having not realized that he'd woken. She glanced over her shoulder.
"It's sad," she said, breath catching at the hollowness she found in his eyes. She didn't have Erik's talent for analysing poetry. She could only express what it had made her feel. It had made her feel sad.
Erik didn't comment, instead saying, "He asked me out, you know. To dinner."
Raven knew, even without asking, that Erik had declined the invitation--he wouldn't have done anything else. She knew, too, that having had to do so had made him miserable.
"Did you even ask when he was due to graduate?" she asked.
Erik, who was in the process of struggling into a seated position, shook his head. She understood his reasoning. He wouldn't have wanted to promise Charles anything--wouldn't have wanted Charles to think he had to put his life on hold waiting for Erik.
"What if you just didn't have sex with him? I mean, date him, but don't have sex with him." She was grasping at straws now, but she would have done anything to cheer Erik up--to remove that haunted, bleak expression from his face.
It obviously worked, because Erik cracked a smile, chuckling slightly at the prospect.
"You're such an optimist," he said, which wasn't at all true--except where Erik was concerned. He leaned forward then and ruffled her hair, a familiar gesture from their childhood. Raven rolled her eyes.
"Then I guess I can be optimistic about the chances of you buying me dinner," she said, still craving that curry. Erik laughed, even as he nodded, Raven congratulating herself for at least distracting him from his misery.
It wasn't ideal, but it was a start.
~*~
Charles was still moping--had moped straight through teaching his Bioethics course, something at least two of his students had commented on--when he made it back to his office. Hank would undoubtedly be expecting him--he'd sent three texts in the last hour alone, each completely unrelated to the last, Hank's thought patterns as random as they were brilliant, but Charles wasn't particularly in the mood to dive into research. He wanted...
He had no idea what he wanted. He wanted to march back to Erik's office and demand an explanation. He wanted to ask why Erik had been leading him on--because reflecting back, it was clear that was exactly what Erik was doing--when he'd had no intentions of this going anywhere. It was entirely possible Charles was entering the anger stage of his rejection.
He still had Erik's poems--hadn't brought himself to read them yet, terrified of what he'd find. He was half afraid he'd find his answer, written right there in the open, the exact reason for Erik's reluctance in black and white, but more than that, he was terrified he'd find nothing; that reading Erik's work would yield absolutely no answers.
He'd set them aside before he'd left his office the first time--they still sat on the edge of his desk, beckoning him now. He had no idea why he felt the need to torture himself. He should have just slipped them in an envelope, unread, and shipped them back to Professor Lehnsherr in the English Department--just another package from one professor to another, commonplace in a school like Columbia.
He'd half convinced himself to read them when there was a knock on his door. He bolted upright, smoothing his hair even as he crossed to the door, but in place of Erik--and why he was expecting Erik of all people, he didn't know--Moira was standing on the other side of the door.
"Hey," she said, slipping into Charles' office when Charles stood aside to grant her entrance. She took her customary seat on his couch.
"You don't have to keep checking on me, you know," Charles said. He leaned against the back of his now closed door and gave her a pointed look. He'd grown up without the benefit of a mother; he didn't need one now.
"I know," Moira said, "but I was talking to Sean..."
"What?" Charles interrupted, pushing himself off the door and coming to stand in the middle of the room. "You talked to Sean about this?"
It wasn't that Charles didn't like Sean--he liked him very much--but the last thing he needed was this getting all over the school, and while Sean was hardly the gossiping type, the more people who knew about it the more likely that was to happen. He could just picture his students whispering about him. Did you hear Professor Xavier got shot down by the visiting English professor? they'd say.
"I was talking to Sean," Moira said again, "because he's my S.O. and we share everything, and he suggested we go out this weekend. Perhaps to a club, where you can find a--and these are his words--hot bodied young guy to drag through your bed."
It was a typical male solution--get over a crush by finding a new one. Charles had done it before, and would undoubtedly do it again, but there was something about the thought of clubbing that left a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe Moira was right; maybe he really was growing up.
"Come on, Charles. It might do you some good, and I'll even let you drag us to Hellfire."
Charles paled at that, because the last time he'd gone to Hellfire... Actually, it had been a pretty good night, and he'd scored enough phone numbers to last him two months.
"Fine," he conceded, "but if I get drunk and end up hitting on one of my students, I'm holding you responsible for it."
That probably wasn't entirely fair, because the one and only time that had happened was at Pride, and the kid in question had been dressed in drag at the time. Charles hadn't recognized him until he'd grinned and said, "I live just around the corner, Professor," after which Charles had blanched, stammered an apology, and took off running. He'd never felt so embarrassed in his life. He hadn't been able to look at the kid in the eye for weeks after it had happened.
"I will do my utmost to steer you towards the twenty-five and older crowd," Moira promised, raising her hand in a pledge.
Charles still wasn't looking forward to going--he would have preferred a quiet dinner with Erik, preferably someplace within walking distance of a bed--but Moira probably had a point. If Erik wasn't interested--and Charles was grudgingly starting to admit that he wasn't--then there was no use crying over spilled milk. There had to be someone in this city he hadn't already slept with.
On to chapter 9
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?
Author's note: Erik's untitled poem was written by the lovely afrocurl. She is incredibly talented, so please take a minute to extend your thanks to her for sharing her work. Her poem completely captures exactly what it is Erik is feeling at this point in the story. It is lovely and haunting and sad and utterly heartbreaking and this chapter wouldn't be half as meaningful without it. Thank you.
Also, thanks to anonymous for pointing out the awesome gif I've borrowed. Not sure who to credit for the original, so if it's yours let me know--and thanks!
Warning: brief allusion to Raven's childhood abuse.
Back to chapter 7
It felt like someone had fastened a vice around his heart, and was slowly tightening it. Erik stared at his intruder, even as he struggled to breathe.
He'd wanted to explain. He'd wanted to tell Xavier--Charles, dear God, he'd called him Charles--that he consumed Erik's every waking thought. He wanted to explain why this couldn't be--to ask when Charles would graduate, because maybe there was a chance for them. For one brief, hysterical moment, he'd considered offering to leave the university--but where would he go, save back to Heidelberg, and then what? A long distance relationship with a man he barely knew?
Professor Summers, whom Erik had only had the pleasure of meeting a handful of times--and whom inspired absolutely nothing in Erik--was still standing in the doorway, file folders limp in his hands. He looked exceedingly awkward. Erik glared at him.
Summers had used Charles' name.
"How do you know him?" Erik asked. He didn't mean for the question to come out an accusation, but it did. Summers flinched.
It occurred to him then that perhaps this was simply the American way. Perhaps professors here were just friendly with their students. Perhaps Charles was not wrong in asking Erik to use his given name.
"Um," Summers said, shuffling awkwardly. "He's my ex."
Erik's eyes grew wide at that, mouth falling open. He felt the sudden urge to throttle Summers--wanted to dive across the room and wrap his hands around Summers' throat. Some of that must have shown on Erik's face, because Summers took a step back and raised his hands in a defensive gesture.
"It was a long time ago, and very, very much over. We're civil now, but we don't even really see each other all that often. I swear you have nothing to worry about."
Erik frowned at that, because that wasn't at all what had bothered Erik--and did Summers really think that Erik would do something like that? That Erik would take advantage of someone like that? Bad enough that Summers had--although Summers was a few years younger than him, so it was entirely possible he was a graduate student at the time. But even that was a little suspect, because Charles wouldn't have been far into his undergraduate studies and, dear god, was this just the sort of thing that happened? Had Erik completely blown his ordeal with Shaw out of proportion?
Erik felt his legs go a little rubbery. His vision swam. He gripped the edge of his bookshelf to keep from toppling over.
"Are you all right?" Summers asked, taking a step into Erik's office. All Erik could think was get out, get out, get out.
"I'm fine," Erik said. "And I'm not sleeping with Charles Xavier," he added, rather defiantly. This time it was Summers' eyes that widened.
"Okay. Sorry, I just meant, you know, if the two of you," here he made a gesture that Erik supposed was meant convey everything Summers had done with Charles--and God how it angered him--"it wouldn't be a problem. For any of us."
And what was Erik meant to say to that? Because it should have been a problem; it should have been a very large problem, and the fact that Summers didn't think it was--the fact that a department advisor was advising him to sleep with a student--sent bile inching its way up the back of Erik's throat. Was this why Charles was interested in him? Had Summers broken him like Shaw had broken Erik? He wanted to throw Summers out of his office--to pick him up and toss him out the window, have him land in the middle of Amsterdam Avenue traffic.
"What do you need me to sign?" he asked instead, letting his hostility bleed into his tone.
Summers hesitated, and then moved cautiously into the room, handing over the file folder he was carrying like Erik was a viper capable of attacking at any moment. Erik snatched it from his hand. Inside, he found several departmental documents. He brought them back to his desk, and then systematically signed them, one by one. When he was done, he crossed back to Summers' side and thrust the folder in his hand.
"Now get out," he said.
Summers shook his head. "Right," he said, already halfway out the door.
Erik was glad to see the back of him. He waited until Summers had vanished down the hall to cross back over to his desk--to sink into his chair and let his head fall onto the desk.
He wanted to go after Charles. He also wanted to let Charles go--thought it might even be better this way, a clean break exactly what Erik needed to get over this... crush, or infatuation, or whatever it was. Perhaps now they could move past this awkward flirtation and concentrate on a professional relationship. Charles was still one of his best students--even if his name didn't appear on any of Erik's official documentation. Erik admired Charles; he respected him. He shouldn't have been lusting after him to begin with.
Erik would do his job. He would help foster Charles' innate talent--and he had innate talent, Charles' capacity for critical analysis already well-honed. Erik wondered if he wrote his own poetry--found himself wanting to see it if he did. He could put aside these feelings--love his traitorous heart told him, as ridiculous as it was--and do what he was trained to do.
It was funny how making the decision only served to tighten the vice around his heart.
~*~
Moira knew--the second she laid eyes on him, she knew. Charles offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but knew it fell flat when she dragged him aside--mindless of stalling Dr. Ashnar's seminar--and asked if he wanted her to cancel her appointment.
"I'm fine. Go, I've got this," he said, ignoring Dr. Ashnar's glare. When Moira hesitated, he pushed her towards the door.
Charles wasn't a stranger to rejection. It happened more often than not--usually first thing in the morning, when regret reared its ugly head and sent Charles' bed partners running. In his younger years, Charles had had a habit of picking up would-be straight men incapable of facing their drunken homosexuality come morning. He'd had a few, too, who had turned down his advances--told him point blank to back off--but this marked the first time someone had let him get to the point of asking and then rejected him.
It hurt.
But it hurt more so because it was Erik--which was ridiculous, because, really, how well did he even know the man? Still, he liked Erik; genuinely liked Erik and Charles hadn't liked anyone in a really, really long time. He'd even started thinking long term, things Charles hadn't thought for anyone--not even Scott.
Dr. Ashnar's seminar seemed to go on forever, though if asked, Charles couldn't have repeated a word of it. He spent most of the time fumbling around, fetching Dr. Ashnar supplies and fielding questions, which he answered half-heartedly, wanting to be anywhere but where he was.
When the seminar was over, Dr. Ashnar harrumphed at him, glaring icily while Charles cleaned up after the departing students. Charles had a feeling he wouldn't be asked to mentor another of Ashnar's labs.
It was fast approaching 11:00 by the time Charles got back to his office, where he found Moira waiting for him. She was sitting on Charles' couch--the one he'd bought second hand, exclusively for the purpose of napping on whenever a late night at the lab left him too tired to stumble home, something that happened more often than not. She was half buried in Charles' mess of pillows, munching on something from inside the white paper bag she held in her lap.
Charles' office was a chaotic mess of... well, mess. He kept it that way on purpose, mostly because it tended to scare people off and Charles rather liked keeping his office as his own personal sanctuary. There was another reason, though; because once, in the height of a very busy week, his mother had turned up for a visit, Charles' office a mess simply because he hadn't had time to worry about it. She'd been so horrified that she hadn't been back, and Charles was rather keen to keep it that way.
"What happened?" Moira asked as soon as Charles stepped in the door. She offered chocolate dipped biscotti from inside the bag.
Charles glanced over his shoulder, and then pulled the door shut behind him. He dragged off his lab coat and tossed it onto one of his chairs, then crossed the room and threw himself onto the couch at Moira's side. He snatched the biscotti from her hand.
"Hello to you, too," he said, but Moira merely rolled her eyes, so Charles knew there was no getting out of this. "I asked him to dinner. He said no. End of story."
Moira's expression softened, but Charles shook her off. He didn't particularly want her sympathy just now.
"I really thought... Do you know he gave me a book of his poetry? Right before, I mean. He just handed me this binder," Charles hadn't had time to read any of them yet, the binder a heavy weight in his messenger bag, "and then smiled at me like I was the love of his life, and then..." Charles gestured absently.
"I'm sorry," Moira said. She stood then and crossed to Charles' desk, leaning against it so that she could look him in the eye.
"It's fine. It's just..."
"You like him," Moira finished. Charles nodded.
"I actually thought he might be the one, you know," which was probably stupid, because Charles had never believed in fairy tales--certainly he didn't believe in soul mates or falling in love once and forever. Since meeting Erik, though, Charles was starting to want to believe in those things.
Moira was watching him, soft smile tugging at her mouth--and Charles couldn't even begin to figure out where it was coming from. He shot her a questioning look, and when she didn't explain, Charles narrowed his gaze.
"What?" he asked.
"You've grown up," Moira said. She sounded proud.
Charles shook his head, although he suspected she was probably right. Once upon a time he would have run screaming from a commitment, but now he was starting to think it might be nice; having someone who was entirely his, who he could come home to night after night. He wanted that--wanted to build a life beyond his work and the occasional lay.
"I still made a complete fool of myself," he said, but try as he might to convince himself that that was the worst part, it really, really wasn't.
~*~
Raven Interlude
She could do this, Raven decided, returning home from her first day of training--it had consisted mostly of a tour, a lecture on house rules (there weren't many) and instructions for mixing pretty much every drink under the sun. She was perfectly suited to doing this job--to doing any job, really. She was a chameleon, capable of adapting to any environment; of filling any role that required filling.
It was probably her only useful life skill--and that honed over years of trauma she didn't like to think of if she didn't have to.
More importantly, though, she wanted this job. She wanted to contribute to the household income--even if Erik made more than enough money for the both of them, and even if he'd never once made her feel any less for not working.
It was something her shrink had said--and Raven liked this one, thought she was making good progress under her care--something about needing to learn to stand on her own two feet, and she wasn't going to do that as long as she remained entirely dependent on Erik.
Who knew, maybe one of these days she'd get her own place, take a stab at being a real adult.
Not that she didn't love living with Erik--she loved everything about Erik, Erik the only person in her life who had ever cared, who had ever taken care of her. He was more like a father than a brother, and while she'd never tell him that, she wanted more than anything to make him proud.
If she got enough money together, she might even see about going to college. Erik would be so proud of her if she did. She'd study drama, and maybe someday see her name in lights on Broadway. It was the sort of thing she'd dreamed about doing as a child, a way to escape the everyday horror of her existence. Only Erik had made it bearable--Erik, who'd snuck her treats and blankets and then bundled her out of that house in the dead of the night. She remembered so clearly that first apartment. Even today she still associated the scent of dank basements with happiness--with safety. Erik had bought her her first stuffed animal in that apartment. It still occupied a place of honour on her bed.
"I'm home," she called as she entered their shared apartment. She'd only been gone a few hours, but Erik hadn't been home when she'd left, and she knew he'd get back before she did. When he didn't answer, she grew instantly worried.
There was only once in their life Erik hadn't returned home. She'd waited, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from their door, body taut with tension as the hours ticked by. He'd arrived six hours late, and when he'd found her there, his face fell and he bundled her into his arms and cried into her shoulder.
It was the day that horrible man Sebastian had finally shown his true colours. Raven had seen it coming almost from the beginning.
She found Erik curled on the couch, looking almost as dejected--certainly he looked very much like that lost little boy who'd come home to her, Raven for the first time feeling far older than her adopted older brother. Raven suspected it was only slumber which kept lines from his face, his body lax as he slept, breathing even and deep. She crouched down on the floor next to him.
"Oh, Erik," she said, brushing aside a lock of his hair. He didn't stir.
She knew what it was that plagued him, of course--she saw the way his eyes lit up whenever he talked about this Charles Xavier, even if it was only him sharing Charles' contribution to his lectures. Her brother was falling in love, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he continued to deny himself what his heart clearly wanted.
There was little else for her to do save wait for Erik to wake up, so she twisted, sitting with her back pressed against the couch, Erik a warm weight behind her. When he woke, she'd suggest they order curry--she was craving something spicy, and she didn't think Erik would be up for cooking. Until then she sat, something on the coffee table catching her attention.
It was Erik's notebook--one of many, though he always bought the exact same kind, colour and everything. He always marked the year on the inside left corner of the cover. She flipped this one open and read 2011. He was writing again. As far as Raven knew--and she liked to think she knew everything about Erik--he hadn't written in a very long time. Several years, in fact.
Erik kept no secrets from her, and she none from him--secrets, in Raven's world, were horrid, unbearable things, and she never wanted to have another one--so she snatched Erik's book off the table and let it fall open to the bookmarked page.
Raven read no more than the first few lines before she knew he was writing about Charles. The silly, ridiculous man, worrying over something as stupid as ethics when it came to matters of the heart. Raven had met Charles only twice, but she knew he was worth pursuing. There was something about him that inspired confidence, and considering how few people inspired that emotion in Raven, that pretty much meant he was perfect.
He also seemed genuinely interested in Erik. Why couldn't Erik see that? Why couldn't he push past whatever was stopping him and see what was right in front of him?
It was probably a stupid question to ask, because Raven knew what was stopping him. He was afraid of becoming Sebastian. Years ago, after he'd finished his PhD and begun teaching, he'd spent a year debating whether to leave the field, terrified that he might somehow destroy the very minds he was trying to sculpt.
Raven had thought it silly at the time--she could have told him he was nothing like Sebastian and never would be--but Erik had agonized over it daily throughout his entire time at Oxford, and then again when he'd begun teaching in earnest at Edinburgh.
There were days when Raven wished fervently that she could travel through time. She would go back and kill Sebastian before he ever set eyes on Erik. She had never felt more powerless than she had when Erik met the man. Erik had always kept her so safe, and she wasn't able to return the favour.
She flipped through the notebook, the marked page the only complete piece--more often than not Erik's work ended in angry scribbles and tears in the paper. A few pages had been torn out, a few more hastily taped back in. It was clear he was having a hard time focusing his feelings--and now Raven wondered if she was spending entirely too much time on her shrink's couch, using words like focusing his feelings. She shook her head.
"Did you like it? That last one, I mean," Erik asked.
Raven startled, having not realized that he'd woken. She glanced over her shoulder.
"It's sad," she said, breath catching at the hollowness she found in his eyes. She didn't have Erik's talent for analysing poetry. She could only express what it had made her feel. It had made her feel sad.
Erik didn't comment, instead saying, "He asked me out, you know. To dinner."
Raven knew, even without asking, that Erik had declined the invitation--he wouldn't have done anything else. She knew, too, that having had to do so had made him miserable.
"Did you even ask when he was due to graduate?" she asked.
Erik, who was in the process of struggling into a seated position, shook his head. She understood his reasoning. He wouldn't have wanted to promise Charles anything--wouldn't have wanted Charles to think he had to put his life on hold waiting for Erik.
"What if you just didn't have sex with him? I mean, date him, but don't have sex with him." She was grasping at straws now, but she would have done anything to cheer Erik up--to remove that haunted, bleak expression from his face.
It obviously worked, because Erik cracked a smile, chuckling slightly at the prospect.
"You're such an optimist," he said, which wasn't at all true--except where Erik was concerned. He leaned forward then and ruffled her hair, a familiar gesture from their childhood. Raven rolled her eyes.
"Then I guess I can be optimistic about the chances of you buying me dinner," she said, still craving that curry. Erik laughed, even as he nodded, Raven congratulating herself for at least distracting him from his misery.
It wasn't ideal, but it was a start.
~*~
Charles was still moping--had moped straight through teaching his Bioethics course, something at least two of his students had commented on--when he made it back to his office. Hank would undoubtedly be expecting him--he'd sent three texts in the last hour alone, each completely unrelated to the last, Hank's thought patterns as random as they were brilliant, but Charles wasn't particularly in the mood to dive into research. He wanted...
He had no idea what he wanted. He wanted to march back to Erik's office and demand an explanation. He wanted to ask why Erik had been leading him on--because reflecting back, it was clear that was exactly what Erik was doing--when he'd had no intentions of this going anywhere. It was entirely possible Charles was entering the anger stage of his rejection.
He still had Erik's poems--hadn't brought himself to read them yet, terrified of what he'd find. He was half afraid he'd find his answer, written right there in the open, the exact reason for Erik's reluctance in black and white, but more than that, he was terrified he'd find nothing; that reading Erik's work would yield absolutely no answers.
He'd set them aside before he'd left his office the first time--they still sat on the edge of his desk, beckoning him now. He had no idea why he felt the need to torture himself. He should have just slipped them in an envelope, unread, and shipped them back to Professor Lehnsherr in the English Department--just another package from one professor to another, commonplace in a school like Columbia.
He'd half convinced himself to read them when there was a knock on his door. He bolted upright, smoothing his hair even as he crossed to the door, but in place of Erik--and why he was expecting Erik of all people, he didn't know--Moira was standing on the other side of the door.
"Hey," she said, slipping into Charles' office when Charles stood aside to grant her entrance. She took her customary seat on his couch.
"You don't have to keep checking on me, you know," Charles said. He leaned against the back of his now closed door and gave her a pointed look. He'd grown up without the benefit of a mother; he didn't need one now.
"I know," Moira said, "but I was talking to Sean..."
"What?" Charles interrupted, pushing himself off the door and coming to stand in the middle of the room. "You talked to Sean about this?"
It wasn't that Charles didn't like Sean--he liked him very much--but the last thing he needed was this getting all over the school, and while Sean was hardly the gossiping type, the more people who knew about it the more likely that was to happen. He could just picture his students whispering about him. Did you hear Professor Xavier got shot down by the visiting English professor? they'd say.
"I was talking to Sean," Moira said again, "because he's my S.O. and we share everything, and he suggested we go out this weekend. Perhaps to a club, where you can find a--and these are his words--hot bodied young guy to drag through your bed."
It was a typical male solution--get over a crush by finding a new one. Charles had done it before, and would undoubtedly do it again, but there was something about the thought of clubbing that left a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe Moira was right; maybe he really was growing up.
"Come on, Charles. It might do you some good, and I'll even let you drag us to Hellfire."
Charles paled at that, because the last time he'd gone to Hellfire... Actually, it had been a pretty good night, and he'd scored enough phone numbers to last him two months.
"Fine," he conceded, "but if I get drunk and end up hitting on one of my students, I'm holding you responsible for it."
That probably wasn't entirely fair, because the one and only time that had happened was at Pride, and the kid in question had been dressed in drag at the time. Charles hadn't recognized him until he'd grinned and said, "I live just around the corner, Professor," after which Charles had blanched, stammered an apology, and took off running. He'd never felt so embarrassed in his life. He hadn't been able to look at the kid in the eye for weeks after it had happened.
"I will do my utmost to steer you towards the twenty-five and older crowd," Moira promised, raising her hand in a pledge.
Charles still wasn't looking forward to going--he would have preferred a quiet dinner with Erik, preferably someplace within walking distance of a bed--but Moira probably had a point. If Erik wasn't interested--and Charles was grudgingly starting to admit that he wasn't--then there was no use crying over spilled milk. There had to be someone in this city he hadn't already slept with.
On to chapter 9
no subject
Date: 2011-11-05 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-05 07:49 pm (UTC)*facepalms*
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Date: 2011-11-05 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-05 11:30 pm (UTC)Yay!
Date: 2011-11-07 06:31 am (UTC)I can't wait until Erik finds out. I don't know if it'll be super angsty or more like a WTF?!?!? moment. Should be fun to read whenever that happens (and Charle's reaction. "waaiittt. you seriously thought I was a student?")
Oh, and that James McAvoy gif was adorable! I just want to hug him and keep him forever!
Re: Yay!
Date: 2011-11-07 12:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 07:05 am (UTC)Of course, that would cancel out all this lovely UST you're giving us. Seriously, you've ratcheted it up so much that parts of me got all wibbly wobbly when Erik called Charles "Charles" for the first time.
Poor Charles, actually asking Erik out and then being turned down.
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Date: 2011-11-19 07:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 02:15 pm (UTC)