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nekosmuseTitle: An Ideal Grace (13/?) <- I think it'll be 16 or 17
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: R
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Thanks toafrocurl for once again honouring us with her poetry. We are so very lucky to have her sharing her talent with us.
Back to chapter 12
Erik paused outside the door to his apartment, a pungent, earthy food smell catching his nose. He breathed deep, stomach rumbling--he hadn't had anything to eat since his coffee with Charles--and then promptly panicked.
Raven was cooking again.
He fumbled with his keys in his haste, needing three tries to get the door unlocked. Once he was inside, he dropped the papers he'd brought home with him on the floor, and then rushed towards the kitchen. He made it as far as the threshold between the hall and the living room before he caught sight of Raven, standing in the kitchen, her hip pressed against the counter. She wasn't cooking.
Azazel was.
Erik tensed, even as Raven caught his eye and smiled.
"Azazel's teaching me to cook," she said, grinning then, like she had high hopes that Azazel could do what Erik had never been able to--and Erik had tried, but teaching Raven to cook required patience the likes of which he would never have.
Azazel, who was stirring something on the stove, waved a spoon in Erik's direction.
"It is possible the task is impossible," he said, shrugging.
"Hey, I'm not doing too badly," Raven said. Azazel chuckled, which made Raven smile at him, comfortable in a way Raven was only ever comfortable with Erik. Erik tried to process that, and found he couldn't.
"You didn't even know what a beet was," Azazel said. He moved about the kitchen like he belonged there--like he'd spent his boyhood hanging from his mother's apron strings.
Raven tutted. "It's not like they're an important vegetable. So what if I'd never seen them before."
Azazel shook his head. He wasn't looking in her direction, still intent on his task, but Erik could tell she had the full of his attention.
"You can't make Borscht without beets," he said, like this explained everything. Raven laughed, and then glanced to Erik--who still hadn't moved. She pushed away from the counter, and slowly made her way over to him.
"Is this okay?" she asked when she got to him, speaking under her breath so that only Erik would hear. Erik, who was still a little shocked at seeing someone else in their apartment--that had never happened, not in all the years he'd been living with Raven--nodded.
Azazel was doing his best to ignore them, but Erik could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was expecting to be thrown out. Erik swallowed, and then said, "It's fine," loud enough for him to hear.
Raven beamed at him then, though her expression suggested that she was still a little concerned. She should have known better--there was nothing Erik would deny her, and at least this way he could keep an eye on them, ensure Azazel's intentions were honourable.
"You're not going to learn anything talking to me," Erik said, shooing Raven back into the kitchen. He nodded in Azazel's direction, earning a tight, almost apologetic smile, and then headed back to the door to collect his papers.
He brought them into his office, pausing there to exhale, still completely thrown by this turn of events. He was used to their routine--it had never varied, regardless of where they lived. Raven seeking out friends--people outside of Erik--was new. He wondered if this was entirely his doing. If Raven felt like she needed to show Erik she was capable of living without him. Was this because of Charles, he wondered.
He tossed his papers on the desk, and then pulled his satchel over his head, rooting through it to find his notebook. He'd intended to cook them dinner and then sit on the couch and transfer the piece he'd written over coffee into his book. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do now.
Certainly he'd eat dinner, but they had never had company before--not even when Erik was with Shaw, Shaw always preferring Erik to come to him. Erik wasn't even entirely certain they owned the right bowls for Borscht--did Borscht require special bowls?
When he'd avoided the inevitable for as long as he thought he could manage without seeming antisocial, he headed back to the kitchen, where he found Azazel guiding Raven's hand over the pot. He was standing just to her left, the only part of him touching her two of his fingers, where they rested on the back of her wrist. Erik wondered if he had instinctively known she didn't like to be touched, or if she had told him. Raven told so few people.
Even separated as they were, Erik felt like he was witnessing an intensely personal moment, so he moved silently into the living room, sinking down on the corner of the couch furthest from the kitchen. Raven was laughing again, saying something about the dish smelling like dirt, to which Azazel told her she had no taste.
Erik did his best to ignore them, pulling out his notebook instead, but rather than copying the piece from earlier, he found himself jotting down something new.
It came quick and furious, something that hadn't happened to him before. He was used to coaxing his words, fighting them tooth and nail until they settled on the page. There was so much in his head these days it was all he could do to get the words onto paper before they vanished. He'd never, not in the whole of his career, been as prolific as he was right now. He couldn't remember a time when he'd written so much, in so short a span of time. Not even Shaw had inspired such creation.
It was Charles' doing, Erik knew. Even now, the thought of the man brought a soft smile to Erik's face. He thought back to their coffee; to his initial panic, and then the quiet acceptance that he could speak with Charles outside of a classroom without becoming his nightmare.
He'd panicked again after, though only for a little while. He'd been so caught up in the moment that, at the time, it hadn't felt like he'd crossed a line, but later he'd considered that maybe he had--that maybe he was justifying what had been, in hindsight, far too intimate a meeting given their respective positions. He'd convinced himself then that the entire affair had been grossly inappropriate.
But then he'd remembered the look on Charles' face as he'd offered Erik back the journal that was so clearly meant for him. He thought perhaps he might have been angrier, learning that Charles had lied, but at the time he'd been so relieved that Charles wasn't rejecting him--as he had initially thought--that his anger had dissipated into quiet acceptance.
He'd known then that he had not crossed a line; that he had told Charles point blank that they couldn't date, that he had no reason to feel guilty for a chance meeting and a shared table.
Dr. Frost, he suspected, would be proud of him.
A sharp bark of a laugh echoed from the kitchen. It drew Erik from the memory. He glanced up to find Raven and Azazel tossing little hunks of bread at one another. When Raven caught his eye, she immediately stopped, blushing slightly--something he'd never seen her do.
"It's ready," she called out, nodding to the small table that sat in the far corner of their living room. It was already set, Erik noted with surprise--and apparently their cereal bowls were fine for serving Borscht. Raven gave Azazel a look, grabbed the bowl of bread pieces, and then headed towards it.
Erik closed his notebook, snapping the elastic around it, and then went to join her at the table. Azazel came in after, carrying the soup pot in a gloved hand, ladle at the ready.
~*~
Charles didn't see Moira until Wednesday afternoon.
She'd been away Tuesday, Charles too preoccupied by the journal, and then his coffee with Erik, and then his giddy happiness, to notice until Tuesday evening, and by then he'd simply assumed she was sick. He'd meant to call, but Hank had been especially excited about the direction of their research, Charles soon swept up in tests and samples.
He'd left Erik's Wednesday morning class feeling more than a little giddy--Erik had outright flirted with him today, even earning them a few snickers from the back of the class. Charles had stayed afterwards, and they'd talked about the advancement of Charles' project and Erik's excitement about starting Byron next week. He was still feeling giddy when he made it back to the Medical Center, humming just under his breath as he headed inside.
He got maybe a foot into the lobby before a familiar voice stopped him. Charles turned to find Moira heading towards him.
"Are you all right?" he asked when she got to his side. He was half tempted to ask if it was anything catchy--the last thing he wanted was a cold.
"Sorry, fine," she said, and then smiled, expression searching. "But shouldn't I be asking you that?"
Charles frowned, needing several seconds--during which they boarded the elevator and began their journey up to their offices--to process what she was talking about. Their last conversation came back to him then. He smiled.
"You'll be happy to know I followed your advice. I told him the truth, apologized, and offered him the journal back."
Moira seemed startled to hear that. Her gaze became piercing. "And?" she asked, though it would have been impossible to misread Charles' good mood.
"And he told me to keep it and then bought me a coffee. We're practically dating."
Moira raised an eyebrow at that. "Dating dating, or Charles dating?" she asked. Charles frowned.
"Thank you for that," he said, feeling more than a little vindicated when Moira ducked her head, cheeks flushing in her embarrassment.
"You're right, sorry. And I'm sorry for Monday night, too. I was a little preoccupied, but it was no excuse to brush you off like that."
Moira did things like that; apologized for offenses she hadn't actually caused. Charles might have wanted her advice, but she was right--he was being an idiot. He'd worried so much over the poetry that it hadn't occurred to him just how beneficial admitting the truth would be. Opening up to Erik had created an entirely new bond between them, and Charles probably had Moira to thank for it.
"It's fine," he said, stepping out of the elevator and into the hall. He followed Moira towards her office. When he got there, he claimed a space on her couch and asked, "Are you going to tell me what was preoccupying you?"
Moira didn't say anything, instead pulling off her gloves and bringing up a hand, even as a blush spread across her cheeks. Charles blinked at the rock on her finger.
"He proposed," he said, more than a little overwhelmed by the idea. It was startling to realize that he'd reached that age; the age where the people he knew were getting married--and here he was, only just sorting out his love life.
"He did," Moira said, and she looked worried, like she was honestly afraid of Charles' reaction. Charles rolled his eyes and then pushed himself off the couch, crossing the room to Moira's side.
"That's fantastic," he said, genuine smile creeping onto his face even as he drew her into a fierce hug. He felt his bottom lip waiver, but his eyes stayed pleasantly dry. Moira, on the other hand, tucked her face into his shoulder and set about ruining his shirt.
Well, that would explain why she'd taken the day off yesterday.
"Sorry," she said when she pulled away, Charles glancing briefly to the mess of tears and mascara she'd left on his shoulder.
"It'll wash," he said, grinning at her then. "Does this mean I get to be your man of honour?"
Moira laughed at that, but she nodded. She still seemed incapable of forming complete sentences, so Charles grabbed her hand and began a thorough examination of the ring. Sean, it seemed, had good taste--and more importantly, he hadn't tried to pawn off a cubic zirconia on her.
"I have an excellent idea for the bachelorette party," Charles said when he was done with the ring, letting Moira's hand fall back to her side. She immediately tensed.
"We are not going to a strip club."
"Actually, I was thinking the Russian Tea Room."
Moira blinked at that, a tentative smile tugging at her lip. "You could arrange that?" she asked. Charles snorted, even as he rolled his eyes.
"Please. This is New York, and I'm an Xavier." He wouldn't use his name for just anyone, but for Moira, certainly. Besides, he was hoping, provided they had a fairly lengthy engagement, that he might be able to impress Erik into attending as his plus one.
If he had to be related to his family, he might as well get some benefit out of it.
~*~
"I thought he was gay," Erik said into his phone, earning the attention of half the people sharing his subway car. He scowled in their direction.
It was amazing how quickly people found something else to occupy their attention--amazing too to see how subtly people could migrate away from him without actually looking like they were trying.
"He's flexible," Raven was saying, "not that it matters, because we're just hanging out."
That wasn't what it looked like yesterday, when they'd flirted all throughout dinner, and then Azazel had stayed and done the washing up--without having been asked--Raven hanging out in the kitchen with him the entire time.
"Does he know that?" Erik asked, because he'd seen the way Azazel had looked at his sister. There was no mistaking his interest.
The little old lady--she had to have been at least seventy--across the way was apparently braver than most. She glared at Erik even as she brought her finger to her mouth, effectively shushing him. Erik lowered his voice.
"Will you stop already? He's a good guy. I like him." Raven paused, and Erik was about to launch into his you don't know anything about him speech when she said, "He reminds me of you."
"What?!" he sputtered, loudly--too loudly for the old woman, who grabbed the bag on the seat next to her, leaned forward and used it to smack the side of Erik's leg. Erik stared at her, affronted, but she merely stared him down until Erik had little choice but to look away.
"He feels safe," Raven said, as if that was all the explanation he needed. It was nowhere near good enough, but Erik suspected he wasn't going to get anything else out of her. He made a mental note to stop by the club later and have a little chat with Azazel.
No one was allowed to hurt his sister. Not even him.
"Look, we'll talk about this later," Erik said, just under his breath, mindful of the old lady. "I'm at my stop."
Raven mumbled something non-committal, which undoubtedly meant he was going to have to be the one to bring it up.
The old lady nodded her approval as soon as Erik disconnected the call, so he tipped his head in her direction and then stood. He felt light today--save the underlying simmer of worry where Raven was concerned. He suspected he could mostly thank Charles for that. This morning had been good--really good. Erik was smiling to himself as he got off the train.
He was still smiling as he made his way into Dr. Frost's office, and when she saw him she raised an eyebrow, like she'd already figured out the reason for his good mood and didn't particularly approve.
"Hello, Erik," she said once Erik had claimed his usual seat. "You're in a good mood today."
Erik shrugged. "It's been a good week."
Naturally she asked what had made it a good week, and there was really nothing Erik could say that didn't begin and end with Charles, so he shrugged and said something about getting into the routine of the semester.
It was clear she didn't believe him, because her eyebrows shot up again, and she said, "Last week we talked about Charles. Have you seen him this week?"
A little seed of guilt bloomed in his chest, but Erik pushed it aside--he wasn't doing anything wrong, he told himself--and said, "He'll be done his PhD this spring," because it seemed like the most relevant thing to say.
Dr. Frost gave him a considering look.
"Have you decided to pursue a relationship with him once he's done?"
Erik hesitated, because that was exactly what he planned on doing--provided Charles was still interested--but the way Dr. Frost said it made it seem like a phenomenally bad idea. He frowned.
"Can't I?" he asked.
Dr. Frost, who was watching him intently, smiled. "Of course you can. You could pursue a relationship with him now if you liked."
They'd discussed this the last time, so Erik knew she was only speaking in the hypothetical. She didn't believe he should pursue a relationship--not with Charles, not with anyone; at least, not until he'd worked out some of his issues. Erik had to admit, it was a valid point, but surely he could do that before this spring.
"Raven's seeing someone," he said. He hadn't planned on changing the topic. It just sort of happened. Dr. Frost blinked at him. It was a measure of her professionalism how quickly she changed gears.
"That must be difficult for you," she said, and it wasn't until she said it that Erik realized it was true.
He'd been taking care of Raven for so long that the thought of someone else taking his place felt a lot like rejection. Too late Erik realized that he didn't really want to talk about Raven.
"I just worry about her," he said, which was probably about as honest as he was willing to be on the subject.
They talked about Raven for a while, but inevitably the conversation came back to Charles--everything in Erik's life seemed to come back to Charles. Erik was well aware that he was trapped inside Charles' orbit--that he had been for a while.
"I want to be able to talk to him about his work," Erik said near the end of their session, and what he was essentially asking was whether putting in the effort of understanding Charles' field would somehow constitute crossing his line.
Naturally, Dr. Frost's answer was far from simple. She told him that the boundaries were his own and that he dictated what constituted crossing the line--which was nothing she hadn't already told him. When Erik left, he was no closer to having an answer than he was when he went in.
There were days when he really wasn't sure what he was getting out of these sessions, even though it was strangely reassuring to have someone--not Raven--to talk to.
He stepped out of Dr. Frost's office into later afternoon sun, a steady flow of traffic already building towards the rush hour. He turned east and headed towards the subway.
It wasn't long before the press of buildings obscured the sun the openness of Central Park had permitted. The buildings cast long shadows; entire corridors of cool shade that made it feel colder than it actually was. Erik drew his coat tighter and looped his scarf around his throat. It was almost a relief to get underground and out of the wind.
On impulse and with Dr. Frost's warning still ringing in his ears--she had vehemently opposed his decision to visit Azazel--Erik boarded a train headed towards the Hellfire Club. By the time he got there, he had mostly silenced her cautions against such action.
He hadn't been to Hellfire since the day of Raven's interview, when he'd stormed inside and tried to drag her away. This time he found the door locked. Erik paused to consider his best course of action.
It was entirely possible Azazel wasn't even here--for all Erik knew he was with Raven. Erik peered in the darkened window, but nothing moved inside the club. He moved around to the side alley and found a set of steps leading to an emergency exit. Erik tried the door, but found it locked. He was about to give up, head home and see if Raven wanted to go out for dinner tonight, when the dull roar of a motorcycle drew his attention.
Erik returned to the street, watching as an AWO Simson 425 S pulled to a stop in front of the club. Erik didn't care much about bikes--never had--but he recognized the model. They were popular in East Germany, and even now collectors coveted them. Erik was surprised to see one in New York.
He recognized Azazel even before he removed his helmet. He didn't seem particularly surprised to find Erik there, though he did take his time stowing his helmet before crossing over to where Erik was standing.
"Are you sure you're a poet?" he asked. Erik frowned.
"And a teacher," he said, but Azazel only shook his head.
"You remind me of Vympel. They were KGB. When I was kid, you stay out of their way." He shrugged, and then gestured to the club. Erik nodded. Azazel led the way inside.
The place was just as Erik remembered it, as unseemly in the light of day as it was the last time. He did his best not to touch anything, and followed Azazel over to the bar.
"You want drink?" Azazel asked. Erik shook his head. "Okay then, you give speech."
Erik wasn't at all surprised that Azazel knew why he was here. He was probably surprised it had taken Erik so long to get around to this.
"She's had a rough life," Erik began, "and I do my best to look after her, and that means keeping her safe from people who might take advantage of her. I may only be a poet, but I'm perfectly capable of killing you if you hurt her."
Azazel smiled, even as he nodded. "I believe that," he said. He leaned his elbows on the bar then, so that he was encroaching on Erik's space. "You know I fought in the First Chechen War. I was just sixteen; too young to really know what I was doing--I had to lie so that they'd take me--but I remember when the Soviets left we had nothing, not even our independence, and then when we tried to assert it, they came back like they hadn't just abandoned us to our misery."
He paused here, as though making sure Erik had understood the importance of his words. Erik wasn't sure he had, but when he didn't interrupt, Azazel kept talking.
"My father died when I was young, and my mother, instead of remarrying, she took care of us on her own. She was strong. We were never in want, even when people were starving, she always made sure we had enough. Your sister, she reminds me of my mother. She is stronger than you give her credit for."
Erik felt something uncoil in his chest upon hearing that, some unnamed tension easing. He nodded.
"She is," he said, because she was easily the strongest person he knew. Azazel nodded, like the matter was settled, which, when Erik thought about it, it probably was.
~*~
Charles woke to the sound of his phone chirping.
He opened his eyes and blinked. From the light streaming in through the window, it was late. Charles wasn't used to sleeping late. Granted, he had taken Moira and Sean out for drinks last night--to celebrate their engagement--so it had been fairly late by the time he'd crawled into bed. He'd debated calling Erik and inviting him, but had changed his mind at the last minute, half afraid he'd scare Erik off--he also didn't trust himself to spend time around Erik while intoxicated.
Charles rolled over, reaching out to pat absently at his nightstand. He found his phone, and on it a text from Raven.
Charles stared at it for several minutes before realizing that if he wanted to run into Erik, he was probably going to have to hurry. He wondered briefly if this was too soon--how long could he excuse his constant presence as coincidence before Erik caught on? He wondered if he should leave it a day or two, give Erik a chance to miss him.
But would Erik miss him? It was entirely possible he wouldn't even notice Charles' absence, in which case Charles would be well served by ensuring Erik was constantly reminded of his existence.
This was probably one of those circumstances where he ought to call Moira and ask her opinion. Unfortunately he already suspected he knew what she'd say. In the end he decided on going, because regardless of how bad an idea it was, Charles wanted to see Erik.
It was amazing what the incentive of seeing Erik could do for Charles' efficiency. He was up and dressed and out the door within a fraction of his usual time. It didn't occur to him until he was standing outside the library that there was a slight flaw in Raven's plan.
Butler was huge, and there was no way he could search the entire building--he could spend hours searching for Erik without ever finding him. The better plan would probably be to wait outside--which he realized could be a long wait, because he wasn't even sure if Erik was here yet, or if he was, how long he intended to spend inside.
He took up position just outside the main entrance, wishing then that he'd thought to stop and grab a coffee. He scanned the mingling crowd, searching the face of each person who came and went from Butler. Raven had sent the text over half an hour ago. Charles had no idea how long it took to get from their house to the school. Would Erik even be here yet?
He glanced in the direction of Brownie's, thinking of grabbing a coffee for his vigil, and just as he did he spotted Erik, heading towards the library. Charles panicked. Would it be better to catch him coming in or coming out? Out, he thought, ducking behind the pillar, watching as Erik slipped into the building, seeming intent on whatever task had sent him there--Raven had said he wanted to discuss science stuff, but what did that even mean?
Charles waited until he was sure Erik was out of sight, and then emerged from his hiding place. It occurred to him, as he went in search of coffee--he figured he had the time--that he had probably hit a new low. Surely after yesterday he didn't need to stoop to this, did he?
No, he decided, he didn't, so instead of buying a coffee to go and taking it back to the library, he grabbed a table--though it physically pained him to do so, and he spent the entire time twitching with the need to rush back to the library in hopes of catching Erik.
He forced himself to sit there for half an hour, taking his time finishing his coffee. It was early enough that he mostly had the cafe to himself, save for the steady flow of people looking for their morning to-go cups. When he had drained the last of his coffee, he stood, feeling remarkably proud of himself for his restraint. He tossed his empty cup in the trash and headed towards the door, but just as he reached out to pull it open, it swung in, catching the back of Charles' knuckles. Charles cursed, cradling his hand even as he offered a glare to the person who had injured him.
It was almost fitting that that person ended up being Erik.
"Mein Gott, Charles," Erik said as soon as he recognized him. He reached forward, hesitating with his hand mid-air as though he wanted to touch but wasn't sure if he was allowed.
Charles offered a reassuring smile. "It's fine, just a little stunned," he said, still cradling his hand, which throbbed something fierce but otherwise seemed undamaged.
It was then that he noticed the book clutched in Erik's other hand. Charles blinked. He hadn't realized Butler even carried something like that.
When Erik registered what Charles was looking at, a slight flush spread across his cheeks and he dropped his hand, moving it slightly behind his back so that the book was mostly out of sight. He cleared his throat.
"I figured I should brush up," he said, sounding oddly guilty.
Charles glanced up to meet his gaze, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face.
"Well, when you're finished with that, if you want something more advanced, you're welcome to borrow some of mine," he said.
The thought of Erik reading something he'd written was enough to set Charles' stomach fluttering. He wondered if that was how Erik had felt, handing over his book of poems. Erik, who still looked decidedly flustered, grunted something that might have been agreement, and Charles decided then that if he wasn't smitten already, he would have fallen in an instant. There was just something about Erik, embarrassed over having been caught with a Genetics for Dummies book--and Charles would never, ever be able to contain the giddy delight that surged in his chest at the thought of Erik reading up on genetics just so that he could talk to Charles--that made Charles realize just how besotted he was.
Erik, who still looked more than a little mortified, glanced to the counter, and then again to Charles' hand.
"I should probably..." he said, gesturing absently. "Are you sure your hand's okay?"
"It's fine," Charles said. He wanted so badly to drag this moment out--maybe ask Erik if he wanted to grab another coffee, never mind that Charles had just finished his, or that he had actual obligations this morning.
There was something about Erik's hesitance, though, that suggested offering might push his luck, so Charles stepped aside and gestured Erik towards the counter.
"I suppose I'll see you Monday," he said, though he hoped they would see each other sooner than that--and they would, if Charles had anything to say about it.
"Yeah, Monday," Erik said, and the way that he said Monday suggested that he too hoped it would be sooner. Charles smiled at that, his smile lingering even as he headed through the doors, up the stairs and outside, hand still cradled to his chest.
On to chapters 14 & 15
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: R
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Thanks to
afrocurl for once again honouring us with her poetry. We are so very lucky to have her sharing her talent with us.Back to chapter 12
Erik paused outside the door to his apartment, a pungent, earthy food smell catching his nose. He breathed deep, stomach rumbling--he hadn't had anything to eat since his coffee with Charles--and then promptly panicked.
Raven was cooking again.
He fumbled with his keys in his haste, needing three tries to get the door unlocked. Once he was inside, he dropped the papers he'd brought home with him on the floor, and then rushed towards the kitchen. He made it as far as the threshold between the hall and the living room before he caught sight of Raven, standing in the kitchen, her hip pressed against the counter. She wasn't cooking.
Azazel was.
Erik tensed, even as Raven caught his eye and smiled.
"Azazel's teaching me to cook," she said, grinning then, like she had high hopes that Azazel could do what Erik had never been able to--and Erik had tried, but teaching Raven to cook required patience the likes of which he would never have.
Azazel, who was stirring something on the stove, waved a spoon in Erik's direction.
"It is possible the task is impossible," he said, shrugging.
"Hey, I'm not doing too badly," Raven said. Azazel chuckled, which made Raven smile at him, comfortable in a way Raven was only ever comfortable with Erik. Erik tried to process that, and found he couldn't.
"You didn't even know what a beet was," Azazel said. He moved about the kitchen like he belonged there--like he'd spent his boyhood hanging from his mother's apron strings.
Raven tutted. "It's not like they're an important vegetable. So what if I'd never seen them before."
Azazel shook his head. He wasn't looking in her direction, still intent on his task, but Erik could tell she had the full of his attention.
"You can't make Borscht without beets," he said, like this explained everything. Raven laughed, and then glanced to Erik--who still hadn't moved. She pushed away from the counter, and slowly made her way over to him.
"Is this okay?" she asked when she got to him, speaking under her breath so that only Erik would hear. Erik, who was still a little shocked at seeing someone else in their apartment--that had never happened, not in all the years he'd been living with Raven--nodded.
Azazel was doing his best to ignore them, but Erik could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was expecting to be thrown out. Erik swallowed, and then said, "It's fine," loud enough for him to hear.
Raven beamed at him then, though her expression suggested that she was still a little concerned. She should have known better--there was nothing Erik would deny her, and at least this way he could keep an eye on them, ensure Azazel's intentions were honourable.
"You're not going to learn anything talking to me," Erik said, shooing Raven back into the kitchen. He nodded in Azazel's direction, earning a tight, almost apologetic smile, and then headed back to the door to collect his papers.
He brought them into his office, pausing there to exhale, still completely thrown by this turn of events. He was used to their routine--it had never varied, regardless of where they lived. Raven seeking out friends--people outside of Erik--was new. He wondered if this was entirely his doing. If Raven felt like she needed to show Erik she was capable of living without him. Was this because of Charles, he wondered.
He tossed his papers on the desk, and then pulled his satchel over his head, rooting through it to find his notebook. He'd intended to cook them dinner and then sit on the couch and transfer the piece he'd written over coffee into his book. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do now.
Certainly he'd eat dinner, but they had never had company before--not even when Erik was with Shaw, Shaw always preferring Erik to come to him. Erik wasn't even entirely certain they owned the right bowls for Borscht--did Borscht require special bowls?
When he'd avoided the inevitable for as long as he thought he could manage without seeming antisocial, he headed back to the kitchen, where he found Azazel guiding Raven's hand over the pot. He was standing just to her left, the only part of him touching her two of his fingers, where they rested on the back of her wrist. Erik wondered if he had instinctively known she didn't like to be touched, or if she had told him. Raven told so few people.
Even separated as they were, Erik felt like he was witnessing an intensely personal moment, so he moved silently into the living room, sinking down on the corner of the couch furthest from the kitchen. Raven was laughing again, saying something about the dish smelling like dirt, to which Azazel told her she had no taste.
Erik did his best to ignore them, pulling out his notebook instead, but rather than copying the piece from earlier, he found himself jotting down something new.
It came quick and furious, something that hadn't happened to him before. He was used to coaxing his words, fighting them tooth and nail until they settled on the page. There was so much in his head these days it was all he could do to get the words onto paper before they vanished. He'd never, not in the whole of his career, been as prolific as he was right now. He couldn't remember a time when he'd written so much, in so short a span of time. Not even Shaw had inspired such creation.
It was Charles' doing, Erik knew. Even now, the thought of the man brought a soft smile to Erik's face. He thought back to their coffee; to his initial panic, and then the quiet acceptance that he could speak with Charles outside of a classroom without becoming his nightmare.
He'd panicked again after, though only for a little while. He'd been so caught up in the moment that, at the time, it hadn't felt like he'd crossed a line, but later he'd considered that maybe he had--that maybe he was justifying what had been, in hindsight, far too intimate a meeting given their respective positions. He'd convinced himself then that the entire affair had been grossly inappropriate.
But then he'd remembered the look on Charles' face as he'd offered Erik back the journal that was so clearly meant for him. He thought perhaps he might have been angrier, learning that Charles had lied, but at the time he'd been so relieved that Charles wasn't rejecting him--as he had initially thought--that his anger had dissipated into quiet acceptance.
He'd known then that he had not crossed a line; that he had told Charles point blank that they couldn't date, that he had no reason to feel guilty for a chance meeting and a shared table.
Dr. Frost, he suspected, would be proud of him.
A sharp bark of a laugh echoed from the kitchen. It drew Erik from the memory. He glanced up to find Raven and Azazel tossing little hunks of bread at one another. When Raven caught his eye, she immediately stopped, blushing slightly--something he'd never seen her do.
"It's ready," she called out, nodding to the small table that sat in the far corner of their living room. It was already set, Erik noted with surprise--and apparently their cereal bowls were fine for serving Borscht. Raven gave Azazel a look, grabbed the bowl of bread pieces, and then headed towards it.
Erik closed his notebook, snapping the elastic around it, and then went to join her at the table. Azazel came in after, carrying the soup pot in a gloved hand, ladle at the ready.
~*~
Charles didn't see Moira until Wednesday afternoon.
She'd been away Tuesday, Charles too preoccupied by the journal, and then his coffee with Erik, and then his giddy happiness, to notice until Tuesday evening, and by then he'd simply assumed she was sick. He'd meant to call, but Hank had been especially excited about the direction of their research, Charles soon swept up in tests and samples.
He'd left Erik's Wednesday morning class feeling more than a little giddy--Erik had outright flirted with him today, even earning them a few snickers from the back of the class. Charles had stayed afterwards, and they'd talked about the advancement of Charles' project and Erik's excitement about starting Byron next week. He was still feeling giddy when he made it back to the Medical Center, humming just under his breath as he headed inside.
He got maybe a foot into the lobby before a familiar voice stopped him. Charles turned to find Moira heading towards him.
"Are you all right?" he asked when she got to his side. He was half tempted to ask if it was anything catchy--the last thing he wanted was a cold.
"Sorry, fine," she said, and then smiled, expression searching. "But shouldn't I be asking you that?"
Charles frowned, needing several seconds--during which they boarded the elevator and began their journey up to their offices--to process what she was talking about. Their last conversation came back to him then. He smiled.
"You'll be happy to know I followed your advice. I told him the truth, apologized, and offered him the journal back."
Moira seemed startled to hear that. Her gaze became piercing. "And?" she asked, though it would have been impossible to misread Charles' good mood.
"And he told me to keep it and then bought me a coffee. We're practically dating."
Moira raised an eyebrow at that. "Dating dating, or Charles dating?" she asked. Charles frowned.
"Thank you for that," he said, feeling more than a little vindicated when Moira ducked her head, cheeks flushing in her embarrassment.
"You're right, sorry. And I'm sorry for Monday night, too. I was a little preoccupied, but it was no excuse to brush you off like that."
Moira did things like that; apologized for offenses she hadn't actually caused. Charles might have wanted her advice, but she was right--he was being an idiot. He'd worried so much over the poetry that it hadn't occurred to him just how beneficial admitting the truth would be. Opening up to Erik had created an entirely new bond between them, and Charles probably had Moira to thank for it.
"It's fine," he said, stepping out of the elevator and into the hall. He followed Moira towards her office. When he got there, he claimed a space on her couch and asked, "Are you going to tell me what was preoccupying you?"
Moira didn't say anything, instead pulling off her gloves and bringing up a hand, even as a blush spread across her cheeks. Charles blinked at the rock on her finger.
"He proposed," he said, more than a little overwhelmed by the idea. It was startling to realize that he'd reached that age; the age where the people he knew were getting married--and here he was, only just sorting out his love life.
"He did," Moira said, and she looked worried, like she was honestly afraid of Charles' reaction. Charles rolled his eyes and then pushed himself off the couch, crossing the room to Moira's side.
"That's fantastic," he said, genuine smile creeping onto his face even as he drew her into a fierce hug. He felt his bottom lip waiver, but his eyes stayed pleasantly dry. Moira, on the other hand, tucked her face into his shoulder and set about ruining his shirt.
Well, that would explain why she'd taken the day off yesterday.
"Sorry," she said when she pulled away, Charles glancing briefly to the mess of tears and mascara she'd left on his shoulder.
"It'll wash," he said, grinning at her then. "Does this mean I get to be your man of honour?"
Moira laughed at that, but she nodded. She still seemed incapable of forming complete sentences, so Charles grabbed her hand and began a thorough examination of the ring. Sean, it seemed, had good taste--and more importantly, he hadn't tried to pawn off a cubic zirconia on her.
"I have an excellent idea for the bachelorette party," Charles said when he was done with the ring, letting Moira's hand fall back to her side. She immediately tensed.
"We are not going to a strip club."
"Actually, I was thinking the Russian Tea Room."
Moira blinked at that, a tentative smile tugging at her lip. "You could arrange that?" she asked. Charles snorted, even as he rolled his eyes.
"Please. This is New York, and I'm an Xavier." He wouldn't use his name for just anyone, but for Moira, certainly. Besides, he was hoping, provided they had a fairly lengthy engagement, that he might be able to impress Erik into attending as his plus one.
If he had to be related to his family, he might as well get some benefit out of it.
~*~
"I thought he was gay," Erik said into his phone, earning the attention of half the people sharing his subway car. He scowled in their direction.
It was amazing how quickly people found something else to occupy their attention--amazing too to see how subtly people could migrate away from him without actually looking like they were trying.
"He's flexible," Raven was saying, "not that it matters, because we're just hanging out."
That wasn't what it looked like yesterday, when they'd flirted all throughout dinner, and then Azazel had stayed and done the washing up--without having been asked--Raven hanging out in the kitchen with him the entire time.
"Does he know that?" Erik asked, because he'd seen the way Azazel had looked at his sister. There was no mistaking his interest.
The little old lady--she had to have been at least seventy--across the way was apparently braver than most. She glared at Erik even as she brought her finger to her mouth, effectively shushing him. Erik lowered his voice.
"Will you stop already? He's a good guy. I like him." Raven paused, and Erik was about to launch into his you don't know anything about him speech when she said, "He reminds me of you."
"What?!" he sputtered, loudly--too loudly for the old woman, who grabbed the bag on the seat next to her, leaned forward and used it to smack the side of Erik's leg. Erik stared at her, affronted, but she merely stared him down until Erik had little choice but to look away.
"He feels safe," Raven said, as if that was all the explanation he needed. It was nowhere near good enough, but Erik suspected he wasn't going to get anything else out of her. He made a mental note to stop by the club later and have a little chat with Azazel.
No one was allowed to hurt his sister. Not even him.
"Look, we'll talk about this later," Erik said, just under his breath, mindful of the old lady. "I'm at my stop."
Raven mumbled something non-committal, which undoubtedly meant he was going to have to be the one to bring it up.
The old lady nodded her approval as soon as Erik disconnected the call, so he tipped his head in her direction and then stood. He felt light today--save the underlying simmer of worry where Raven was concerned. He suspected he could mostly thank Charles for that. This morning had been good--really good. Erik was smiling to himself as he got off the train.
He was still smiling as he made his way into Dr. Frost's office, and when she saw him she raised an eyebrow, like she'd already figured out the reason for his good mood and didn't particularly approve.
"Hello, Erik," she said once Erik had claimed his usual seat. "You're in a good mood today."
Erik shrugged. "It's been a good week."
Naturally she asked what had made it a good week, and there was really nothing Erik could say that didn't begin and end with Charles, so he shrugged and said something about getting into the routine of the semester.
It was clear she didn't believe him, because her eyebrows shot up again, and she said, "Last week we talked about Charles. Have you seen him this week?"
A little seed of guilt bloomed in his chest, but Erik pushed it aside--he wasn't doing anything wrong, he told himself--and said, "He'll be done his PhD this spring," because it seemed like the most relevant thing to say.
Dr. Frost gave him a considering look.
"Have you decided to pursue a relationship with him once he's done?"
Erik hesitated, because that was exactly what he planned on doing--provided Charles was still interested--but the way Dr. Frost said it made it seem like a phenomenally bad idea. He frowned.
"Can't I?" he asked.
Dr. Frost, who was watching him intently, smiled. "Of course you can. You could pursue a relationship with him now if you liked."
They'd discussed this the last time, so Erik knew she was only speaking in the hypothetical. She didn't believe he should pursue a relationship--not with Charles, not with anyone; at least, not until he'd worked out some of his issues. Erik had to admit, it was a valid point, but surely he could do that before this spring.
"Raven's seeing someone," he said. He hadn't planned on changing the topic. It just sort of happened. Dr. Frost blinked at him. It was a measure of her professionalism how quickly she changed gears.
"That must be difficult for you," she said, and it wasn't until she said it that Erik realized it was true.
He'd been taking care of Raven for so long that the thought of someone else taking his place felt a lot like rejection. Too late Erik realized that he didn't really want to talk about Raven.
"I just worry about her," he said, which was probably about as honest as he was willing to be on the subject.
They talked about Raven for a while, but inevitably the conversation came back to Charles--everything in Erik's life seemed to come back to Charles. Erik was well aware that he was trapped inside Charles' orbit--that he had been for a while.
"I want to be able to talk to him about his work," Erik said near the end of their session, and what he was essentially asking was whether putting in the effort of understanding Charles' field would somehow constitute crossing his line.
Naturally, Dr. Frost's answer was far from simple. She told him that the boundaries were his own and that he dictated what constituted crossing the line--which was nothing she hadn't already told him. When Erik left, he was no closer to having an answer than he was when he went in.
There were days when he really wasn't sure what he was getting out of these sessions, even though it was strangely reassuring to have someone--not Raven--to talk to.
He stepped out of Dr. Frost's office into later afternoon sun, a steady flow of traffic already building towards the rush hour. He turned east and headed towards the subway.
It wasn't long before the press of buildings obscured the sun the openness of Central Park had permitted. The buildings cast long shadows; entire corridors of cool shade that made it feel colder than it actually was. Erik drew his coat tighter and looped his scarf around his throat. It was almost a relief to get underground and out of the wind.
On impulse and with Dr. Frost's warning still ringing in his ears--she had vehemently opposed his decision to visit Azazel--Erik boarded a train headed towards the Hellfire Club. By the time he got there, he had mostly silenced her cautions against such action.
He hadn't been to Hellfire since the day of Raven's interview, when he'd stormed inside and tried to drag her away. This time he found the door locked. Erik paused to consider his best course of action.
It was entirely possible Azazel wasn't even here--for all Erik knew he was with Raven. Erik peered in the darkened window, but nothing moved inside the club. He moved around to the side alley and found a set of steps leading to an emergency exit. Erik tried the door, but found it locked. He was about to give up, head home and see if Raven wanted to go out for dinner tonight, when the dull roar of a motorcycle drew his attention.
Erik returned to the street, watching as an AWO Simson 425 S pulled to a stop in front of the club. Erik didn't care much about bikes--never had--but he recognized the model. They were popular in East Germany, and even now collectors coveted them. Erik was surprised to see one in New York.
He recognized Azazel even before he removed his helmet. He didn't seem particularly surprised to find Erik there, though he did take his time stowing his helmet before crossing over to where Erik was standing.
"Are you sure you're a poet?" he asked. Erik frowned.
"And a teacher," he said, but Azazel only shook his head.
"You remind me of Vympel. They were KGB. When I was kid, you stay out of their way." He shrugged, and then gestured to the club. Erik nodded. Azazel led the way inside.
The place was just as Erik remembered it, as unseemly in the light of day as it was the last time. He did his best not to touch anything, and followed Azazel over to the bar.
"You want drink?" Azazel asked. Erik shook his head. "Okay then, you give speech."
Erik wasn't at all surprised that Azazel knew why he was here. He was probably surprised it had taken Erik so long to get around to this.
"She's had a rough life," Erik began, "and I do my best to look after her, and that means keeping her safe from people who might take advantage of her. I may only be a poet, but I'm perfectly capable of killing you if you hurt her."
Azazel smiled, even as he nodded. "I believe that," he said. He leaned his elbows on the bar then, so that he was encroaching on Erik's space. "You know I fought in the First Chechen War. I was just sixteen; too young to really know what I was doing--I had to lie so that they'd take me--but I remember when the Soviets left we had nothing, not even our independence, and then when we tried to assert it, they came back like they hadn't just abandoned us to our misery."
He paused here, as though making sure Erik had understood the importance of his words. Erik wasn't sure he had, but when he didn't interrupt, Azazel kept talking.
"My father died when I was young, and my mother, instead of remarrying, she took care of us on her own. She was strong. We were never in want, even when people were starving, she always made sure we had enough. Your sister, she reminds me of my mother. She is stronger than you give her credit for."
Erik felt something uncoil in his chest upon hearing that, some unnamed tension easing. He nodded.
"She is," he said, because she was easily the strongest person he knew. Azazel nodded, like the matter was settled, which, when Erik thought about it, it probably was.
~*~
Charles woke to the sound of his phone chirping.
He opened his eyes and blinked. From the light streaming in through the window, it was late. Charles wasn't used to sleeping late. Granted, he had taken Moira and Sean out for drinks last night--to celebrate their engagement--so it had been fairly late by the time he'd crawled into bed. He'd debated calling Erik and inviting him, but had changed his mind at the last minute, half afraid he'd scare Erik off--he also didn't trust himself to spend time around Erik while intoxicated.
Charles rolled over, reaching out to pat absently at his nightstand. He found his phone, and on it a text from Raven.
Charles stared at it for several minutes before realizing that if he wanted to run into Erik, he was probably going to have to hurry. He wondered briefly if this was too soon--how long could he excuse his constant presence as coincidence before Erik caught on? He wondered if he should leave it a day or two, give Erik a chance to miss him.
But would Erik miss him? It was entirely possible he wouldn't even notice Charles' absence, in which case Charles would be well served by ensuring Erik was constantly reminded of his existence.
This was probably one of those circumstances where he ought to call Moira and ask her opinion. Unfortunately he already suspected he knew what she'd say. In the end he decided on going, because regardless of how bad an idea it was, Charles wanted to see Erik.
It was amazing what the incentive of seeing Erik could do for Charles' efficiency. He was up and dressed and out the door within a fraction of his usual time. It didn't occur to him until he was standing outside the library that there was a slight flaw in Raven's plan.
Butler was huge, and there was no way he could search the entire building--he could spend hours searching for Erik without ever finding him. The better plan would probably be to wait outside--which he realized could be a long wait, because he wasn't even sure if Erik was here yet, or if he was, how long he intended to spend inside.
He took up position just outside the main entrance, wishing then that he'd thought to stop and grab a coffee. He scanned the mingling crowd, searching the face of each person who came and went from Butler. Raven had sent the text over half an hour ago. Charles had no idea how long it took to get from their house to the school. Would Erik even be here yet?
He glanced in the direction of Brownie's, thinking of grabbing a coffee for his vigil, and just as he did he spotted Erik, heading towards the library. Charles panicked. Would it be better to catch him coming in or coming out? Out, he thought, ducking behind the pillar, watching as Erik slipped into the building, seeming intent on whatever task had sent him there--Raven had said he wanted to discuss science stuff, but what did that even mean?
Charles waited until he was sure Erik was out of sight, and then emerged from his hiding place. It occurred to him, as he went in search of coffee--he figured he had the time--that he had probably hit a new low. Surely after yesterday he didn't need to stoop to this, did he?
No, he decided, he didn't, so instead of buying a coffee to go and taking it back to the library, he grabbed a table--though it physically pained him to do so, and he spent the entire time twitching with the need to rush back to the library in hopes of catching Erik.
He forced himself to sit there for half an hour, taking his time finishing his coffee. It was early enough that he mostly had the cafe to himself, save for the steady flow of people looking for their morning to-go cups. When he had drained the last of his coffee, he stood, feeling remarkably proud of himself for his restraint. He tossed his empty cup in the trash and headed towards the door, but just as he reached out to pull it open, it swung in, catching the back of Charles' knuckles. Charles cursed, cradling his hand even as he offered a glare to the person who had injured him.
It was almost fitting that that person ended up being Erik.
"Mein Gott, Charles," Erik said as soon as he recognized him. He reached forward, hesitating with his hand mid-air as though he wanted to touch but wasn't sure if he was allowed.
Charles offered a reassuring smile. "It's fine, just a little stunned," he said, still cradling his hand, which throbbed something fierce but otherwise seemed undamaged.
It was then that he noticed the book clutched in Erik's other hand. Charles blinked. He hadn't realized Butler even carried something like that.
When Erik registered what Charles was looking at, a slight flush spread across his cheeks and he dropped his hand, moving it slightly behind his back so that the book was mostly out of sight. He cleared his throat.
"I figured I should brush up," he said, sounding oddly guilty.
Charles glanced up to meet his gaze, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face.
"Well, when you're finished with that, if you want something more advanced, you're welcome to borrow some of mine," he said.
The thought of Erik reading something he'd written was enough to set Charles' stomach fluttering. He wondered if that was how Erik had felt, handing over his book of poems. Erik, who still looked decidedly flustered, grunted something that might have been agreement, and Charles decided then that if he wasn't smitten already, he would have fallen in an instant. There was just something about Erik, embarrassed over having been caught with a Genetics for Dummies book--and Charles would never, ever be able to contain the giddy delight that surged in his chest at the thought of Erik reading up on genetics just so that he could talk to Charles--that made Charles realize just how besotted he was.
Erik, who still looked more than a little mortified, glanced to the counter, and then again to Charles' hand.
"I should probably..." he said, gesturing absently. "Are you sure your hand's okay?"
"It's fine," Charles said. He wanted so badly to drag this moment out--maybe ask Erik if he wanted to grab another coffee, never mind that Charles had just finished his, or that he had actual obligations this morning.
There was something about Erik's hesitance, though, that suggested offering might push his luck, so Charles stepped aside and gestured Erik towards the counter.
"I suppose I'll see you Monday," he said, though he hoped they would see each other sooner than that--and they would, if Charles had anything to say about it.
"Yeah, Monday," Erik said, and the way that he said Monday suggested that he too hoped it would be sooner. Charles smiled at that, his smile lingering even as he headed through the doors, up the stairs and outside, hand still cradled to his chest.
On to chapters 14 & 15
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Date: 2011-11-16 01:08 pm (UTC)I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith
I love thee with a love I seem to love
With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning