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nekosmuseApologies for the lateness of this. As you can see, there are 2 chapters, because I couldn't really post one without the other. Also, I have chicken pox, which is not something you want as an adult, so I've been a little out of it lately.
~
Title: An Ideal Grace (14/17 and 15/17)
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: R
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Notes: A huge thank you toafrocurl both for sharing her wonderful poetry with us and for agreeing to look this parts over. Having a second set of eyes was tremendously helpful.
Also, thank you tostlkrchck for all of her NY info. That being said, the Coney Island bit is largely based off my memory, so if there are mistakes there, they are my own.
Back to chapter 13
"What happened to your hand?" Raven asked, the first words out of her mouth. Charles glanced down at his taped fingers, immobilized by a splint, and frowned.
This hadn't occurred to him. He'd been so excited when Raven had called--after two days of not seeing Erik--that he'd jumped on the next train and rushed to Union Square, not considering what Erik might think when he saw Charles' hand.
"Your brother hit it with a door," Charles said, shrugging apologetically, as though the accident was his fault entirely--they were probably equally to blame, not that Charles blamed Erik in the least. Accidents were called accidents for a reason; and besides, it was only a hairline fracture, coupled with a jammed joint. He'd be good as new in no time.
He only wished it wasn't his dominant hand.
"What?" Raven said, staring at Charles like he'd grown two heads.
"It was an accident. I sort of told him it was less serious than it was. Should he not see it?"
Raven considered for a minute, and then shook her head, apparently deciding it was fine. She glanced briefly to her watch, and then ushered Charles off the street and into Union Square.
He likes to hit the market on Saturdays, she'd said on the phone, and Charles had spent the better part of his subway ride smiling stupidly over the thought of Erik cooking.
The Greenmarket occupied the north half of the park, but according to Raven Erik had to cut through the park on his way home, so she led him to the entrance off 14th street, telling him only to keep an eye out before she disappeared--it wouldn't do for Erik to spot them together.
It left Charles with very little to do save wait and watch, hoping to catch sight of Erik in a park overflowing with people. He suspected it was probably an impossible task, which meant he'd undoubtedly be forced to wait another two days before he saw Erik again.
Raven couldn't give him an estimate of how long Erik would be, save sometime before lunch--it was only 10:00. Charles meandered, scanning the crowd as he did, never once catching sight of Erik. Eventually he found himself drawn to a line of chess tables, a few players already engrossed in games.
He found himself watching one player in particular; a middle aged guy with a mess of dreadlocks only half hidden by the knit beanie on his head. He played like it was second nature, employing strategies and techniques that Charles barely recognized--it had been far too long since he'd last played.
It wasn't long before the guy won his match--handily. He glanced at Charles then, arching an eyebrow and then nodding towards the board. Charles did another quick sweep of the park, and when he didn't spot Erik, nodded his acceptance.
"There's a fifty riding on it," the man said, and in place of the Rastafarian accent he was expecting, Charles was startled to hear a North Devon one.
"All right," Charles said, letting his own accent come through, well aware that a man from North Devon would interpret it as posh.
The man, who Charles would later learn was called Ted, grinned.
It didn't take long for Charles to realize he was in over his head. He'd played a good deal during his younger years--had membership in numerous chess clubs--but it had been a while, and until now, he hadn't played a master. It occurred to him as he lost his second bishop that it was entirely possible he was being hustled. That hadn't happened to him before. Charles was as amused as he was frustrated.
They'd attracted a crowd now--apparently Charles was good enough to keep Ted on his toes, something the regulars had never seen. Doing so required his full attention, though, Charles forgetting why he was in the park--and it was a mark of how challenging the game was that he would forget Erik of all people. He still knew, three moves before it happened, that he was doomed to lose the game. There was only so long Ted could chase Charles' queen around the board before Charles lost her. After that, it was only a matter of time.
"Checkmate," Ted said, holding out his hand for Charles' money. Charles conceded his defeat with a nod of his head.
He retrieved his wallet--a little awkwardly given that he only had one hand--and had pulled out a fifty and handed it over, when someone in the crowd said, "Double or nothing." Charles glanced up, startled to find Erik, laden with bags, watching him intently.
Charles blinked. It was sometime before he could convince his brain to start working again, the sight of Erik, framed by mid-morning sunlight, cheeks pleasantly flushed from the cold and his walk, pretty much derailing Charles' higher brain functions.
"I very much doubt I'll do much better the second time," he said when he was able, unable to tear his gaze away from Erik. How long had been standing there, watching Charles play?
Erik tilted his head, giving Charles a faint smile before he turned his attention to Ted.
"You play me. You win you get his fifty and mine. I win, he gets his fifty back," he said.
Charles was fairly certain his mouth had fallen open, eyes widening as he stared at Erik--and the fact that Erik was wearing a knit hat wasn't helping at all, Charles' brain giving up entirely as all of his blood rushed south.
Ted, who seemed to be considering, eyed Erik speculatively. He must have found something he liked, because eventually he nodded, gesturing Erik forward.
It took Charles a full minute to realize he needed to move, during which Ted reset the board. Blushing, Charles stood so that Erik could take his seat. Unfortunately, doing so required him to move his hand, which had been partially hidden in his lap, Erik noticing the splint then, a frown tugging at his lip. He glanced up to meet Charles' eye.
There was a question there, but Charles merely shrugged, waving it off even as he gestured for Erik to play. Some things were more important than broken fingers.
Judging from Erik's expression, Charles wasn't going to get off that easily, but he seemed willing to let it go for now. He slid into Charles' vacated seat, set his bags down next to him, and then cracked his knuckles. The smile he offered Ted was all teeth. For the first time since Erik's arrival, Ted looked a little uncertain.
His hesitation only lasted a minute, and then he returned the smile and moved his king's pawn up two spaces, officially opening the game.
When Erik countered with the Pirc Defense, Charles arched an eyebrow, more than a little thrilled--though not at all surprised--that Erik knew how to play chess.
Charles spent the next half an hour watching, with rapt attention, as Erik undermined Ted's centre from the flanks, systematically picking off Ted's pieces until it was readily apparent who was destined to win the game. Ted, whose lip was pulled between his teeth, was scowling at the board, beads of sweat dotting his upper lip. Erik, on the other hand, looked almost bored.
Ted shook his head, obviously giving up the game as lost, though he made a half-hearted attempt to keep his king out of checkmate. Erik rolled his eyes, obviously unimpressed by the effort. Within two moves Ted was out of options, Erik taking the game. He cocked his head to the side and held out a hand.
"His fifty," he said.
Ted, who was still staring at the board, glanced up and met Erik's eye. He was frowning, but after a minute an amused smile pulled at the corner of his lip. He chuckled, just under his breath, and pulled out Charles' crumpled fifty from a pocket, handing it to Erik.
"Worth it," he said, inclining his head. Erik returned the gesture and the crowd around them broke into spontaneous applause. Apparently beating Ted was something they had never seen before.
Erik mostly ignored them, though he did look slightly uncomfortable with the attention. He tucked the money into an inside coat pocket, gathered his bags and stood. Charles, who would have joined in the applause had his splint not prevented such a thing, offered Erik a wide grin. Erik returned it, nodding over his shoulder in a gesture that Charles took as an invitation.
A minute later he was falling into step at Erik's side, the two of them heading west on 14th Street.
"Are you going to tell me about the hand?" Erik asked. He was carefully not looking at Charles, though Charles could tell that doing so required effort.
"It's not as bad as it looks. Just a hairline fracture and a jammed joint; I must have caught it wrong," Charles said with a shrug.
Erik stopped walking then, maneuvering them to the edge of the sidewalk, where a stone balustrade and iron railing curved around the corner. He set his bags down at his feet and reached for Charles' hand. Charles felt himself go perfectly still as Erik's fingers curled around his wrist.
"Does it hurt?" Erik asked, staring intently at Charles' fingers, like they were capable of answering.
Charles swallowed, twice, before he felt capable of answering. "Not really," he said, and that was mostly the truth. Certainly they throbbed, and if he banged his hand against something pain spiked up his whole arm, but right now, hand cradled in Erik's grasp, pain was the last thing Charles felt.
Erik nodded, pushing Charles' hand back towards him, ensuring that Charles was prepared before he released his grip. Losing Erik's touch ached. It had nothing to do with the injury.
Erik, who only then seemed to realize what he'd just done, flushed slightly, avoiding Charles' gaze as he reached into his inside coat pocket to retrieve Charles' fifty. He handed it over.
"I didn't need his money," Charles said, staring at the bill between Erik's fingers.
"And he didn't need yours, but he was going to take it anyway," Erik announced. When Charles still made no move to collect the money, he shook his head, leaned forward, and tucked it into the breast pocket of Charles' coat.
"You know," Charles said, "that's probably how he makes his living."
The look Erik shot him was incredulous.
"He's a hustler, Charles," he said.
Charles nodded, because that was true, but even if Ted was, it was still well deserved. It took incredible talent to play chess like that. He told Erik as much.
Erik shook his head. "God, you are so naive," he said. It sounded like he hadn't meant to say it out loud, like he was only thinking it--like it bothered him greatly that Charles would succumb to some dreadlocked chess master hustling for rent money in Union Square.
"Excuse me?" Charles still said.
Erik gave him a pointed look. "You assume everyone's intentions are honourable."
That wasn't precisely true. Charles knew that most peoples weren't, that altruism was a rare trait--it was just that he remained optimistic that the people he met might be the exceptions to the rule.
"Do you assume everyone has an alternative motive, then?" Charles asked, because it would probably explain a lot about Erik--more importantly, it would probably explain a lot about why they were still tiptoeing around what was obviously a mutual interest.
Erik looked almost apologetic as he said, "That's been my experience." Charles decided, then and there, that he was going to be the one to prove Erik wrong.
"So tell me, Erik, what was your ulterior motive back there?" Charles asked, leaning into Erik's space. He let his smile turn coy.
Erik's eyes grew wide, and he opened and closed his mouth several times, but nothing came out. Charles took pity on him.
"Or were you just hoping to impress me?"
And now Erik outright flushed--Charles would never get tired of it, Erik the first person Charles had ever brought to blush. He cleared his throat.
"I suppose that depends," he said, and when Charles raised an eyebrow, he added, "Were you impressed?"
And, oh, Charles thought, delighted, Erik was flirting--even if he looked incredibly uncomfortable doing so, like he was doing something illegal and half expected to be arrested for it. Charles made a mental note to ask Raven if Erik was still in the closet--that would also explain a lot.
"Very," Charles answered, swaying forward. Charles was close enough now that he could see the flecks of blue in Erik's eyes--he'd thought them entirely green. Erik's pupils were dilated, his mouth slightly parted. Charles didn't miss the way he glanced to Charles' lips. Charles licked them just for show and moved forward, fully intent on kissing Erik--because if he'd ever seen an invitation, this was it--but then Erik suddenly jerked, stepping back even as his shoulders tensed.
"Sorry, I have to," he gestured absently, looking so very conflicted in that moment that Charles forgot his disappointment in the face of his concern. "Raven's expecting me."
He bent to retrieve his bags then, purposely not looking Charles in the eye. Charles watched, more than a little dazed, as Erik beat a hasty retreat.
"I'll see you Monday," Charles called, feeling like they'd had this conversation before. Erik was easily the most frustrating person he knew--two steps forward and twelve back. There were days when he made Charles want to pull his hair out.
~*~
Raven glanced up from the magazine she was reading--some celebrity gossip rag--jumping instantly to her feet as Erik came through the door.
"What happened?" she asked, crossing to his side. She retrieved the bags from where they hung, limp, in Erik's hands. "Erik, what happened?" she said again when Erik didn't answer.
But what exactly could he say? I almost kissed Charles. I wanted to kiss Charles. I still want to kiss Charles. I could have invited him back to this apartment and into my room and he would have come and it would have been so easy.
Erik felt bile inch its way up his throat.
"Sorry, I'm fine," he said. Raven's eyebrows hit her hairline. After a moment's consideration, Erik realized that this marked the first time he had deliberately lied to her.
And she knew it.
Erik hung his head and let Raven lead him into the living room, where she deposited him on the sofa before swinging into the kitchen to drop off Erik's shallots and fennel. It was some time before she returned, but when she did she was carrying a steaming mug, which turned out to be this morning's coffee, undoubtedly reheated in the microwave.
Erik made face, but sipped from it anyway.
"I ran into Charles," he said.
Raven waited patiently. There were times when she would coax--drag Erik out of his cocoon inch by inch, but there were other times when she clearly recognized that Erik needed to do things in his own time. This was one of those times, and Erik loved her for it.
"I almost kissed him."
She smiled at him then, soft and wistful, and yet filled with such pride that Erik was shaking his head long before she could say anything.
"I don't think you understand. I almost kissed him, and I shouldn't have, and now I don't know if I can keep seeing him without doing something I'm going to regret."
He couldn't imagine going months without seeing Charles. He thought he might suffocate under longing if he tried.
"Erik, would it really be so terrible to not wait? What is six months in the grand scheme of things?"
Erik waved the question off, because it was obvious she didn't know--couldn't know and he never, ever wanted her to.
She didn't say anything else, probably sensing Erik's determination. Instead she sat back on the couch, folding into the cushions at his side, and sipped from her coffee. After a minute's hesitation, Erik did the same, letting his shoulder lean into hers even as she leaned into his.
They sat.
But Raven was not made to sit idle--not like Erik--so within twenty minutes she was fidgeting. Erik took pity on her and waved her off, giving her a look when she looked set to hesitate. She reached forward and grabbed her magazine, an apparent compromise that saw her still sitting on the couch, though not without distraction. Erik chuckled, took another sip from his coffee--it was no better the second sip--and then promptly spit it back into the mug. He leaned over to set it on the coffee table.
Before he settled again, he pulled out his blackberry. He wasn't entirely sure where the impulse came from, save that it was perhaps what he wanted to do. He pulled up an email, carefully not addressing it--not that he knew Charles' email--and jotted down all the things he wanted to say. When he was done, he saved it as a draft. Maybe six months from now he could send it.
If he lasted that long.
The afternoon bled away on them like that, Raven reading her magazine, then fiddling with her phone, shifting positions every five minutes until her fidgeting started to drive Erik crazy. It was still early--too early for dinner--when Erik pushed himself off the couch and made his way into the kitchen.
Fennel soup wasn't going to make itself.
Raven came to join him just as the shallots were beginning to go translucent.
"You could try telling him," she said. Erik glanced away from the pot and furrowed his brow. "Charles. You could just tell him nothing can happen until he graduates, and then at least you'll be on the same page. You could stop each other."
Erik shook his head. "I'm not asking him to wait for me." He thought he'd made that clear--apparently not.
Raven snorted. "Have you even met this guy? He's going to wait for you, regardless. At least this way he'll know why he's waiting. He'll probably even think it admirable."
"Since when do you know him so well?" Erik asked, tossing in in his shredded fennel bulb. The scent of licorice caught his nose. Erik inhaled against it, and then set about chopping a couple of tomatoes.
Raven, who was strangely quiet, came over to stand at Erik's side, back pressed against the counter as she caught his eye. He knew what she was going to say--had heard her argument more times than he could count--so before she could get the word out, Erik changed the topic.
"I want to do something. With you and Azazel; get to know him," he said, which seemed to startle Raven enough that she dropped Charles as a topic of conversation. Erik pressed his advantage. "Next weekend; the three of us should go somewhere."
For the longest minute Raven didn't say anything, but then, out of the corner of Erik's eye, he saw her nod. "Okay," she said.
Erik nodded and turned back to his soup.
~*~
Charles showed up exactly on time on Monday--he'd even resisted the urge to go back to Central Park and wait by the pond on Sunday. He suspected, after Saturday, that Erik probably needed some time alone. He had, however, texted Raven, but she'd only told him that it wasn't her decision; that Erik would either talk to him about it or he wouldn't--whatever that meant.
Erik glanced up sharply when Charles came through the door, relief flooding his features. He didn't even bother trying to mask his reaction, looking at Charles with what Charles hoped--though he might have been reaching--was open longing. Charles offered a hesitant smile, and got one in return. He took his seat--the only one left open, despite the fact that several students were standing--feeling like at least a little of his equilibrium had returned.
As soon as he was seated Erik launched into Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
As he read, and later, as they discussed the poem, Erik kept Charles' eye, like he was trying to tell him something through someone else's words. Charles struggled to recall what he knew of the poem--they hadn't studied this at boarding school, so he'd spent the better part of Sunday reading it, and then sitting in the library, seeking out every critique he could find.
Certainly, Charles thought, if anyone classified as a Byronic hero, it was Erik.
When the class ended, Charles hesitated, uncertain if he should remain behind. He wanted to approach this cautiously--felt secure enough about Erik's interest after Saturday that the need for reassurance was gone; and that had never happened to him before. Still, he lingered, taking his time packing away his things--which he hadn't really needed, but had taken out simple for the purpose of packing them away at the end of the class.
It seemed to be the right decision, because even before the classroom emptied, Erik approached him.
"How's your hand?" he asked.
"Healing," Charles said, remembering then the way Erik had cradled it on Saturday--gently, so very, very gently. It was almost disappointing when Erik didn't reach for it again.
"I never apologized, but I am sorry."
Charles shook him head. "Don't be ridiculous, it wasn't your fault."
A couple of students, who obviously wanted a minute of Erik's time, hovered in the background.
"I should have been watching where I was going," Erik said. Charles laughed.
"I could say the same," he said, gesturing with a nod of his head to the two girls awaiting Erik's attention. Erik offered him an apologetic smile.
Charles left the classroom, acutely aware that Erik was watching him leave. It felt like something had shifted. There was hesitance on Erik's behalf--he was still holding himself back, even more so now than before, as though his near slip on Saturday had caused him to reset his rules--and Charles still didn't know what those rules were--but it was painfully obvious that he was interested, that it was only a matter of time before this thing between them came to a head.
The realization made him smile, Charles for perhaps the first time in his life feeling secure--enough so that when Raven texted him on Tuesday to let him know Erik was planning on hitting Hamilton Deli at lunch, Charles didn't immediately drop what he was doing and rush to get there ahead of Erik. In fact, he didn't rush there at all--although several times he'd glanced at the clock and then thought about putting on his coat. You can wait a day, he told himself, feeling an odd sense of pride when the lunch hour came and went, Charles still safely ensconced in his office.
He could not, however, stop himself from arriving early to Erik's Wednesday class.
It was almost a shock to get there ahead of Erik. Charles hesitated briefly inside the empty classroom, but after a moment's consideration, he took his seat. The wait seemed endless, the room slowly filling, Charles growing increasingly antsy. Five minutes before the class was due to start, Erik's TA--Janos, Charles thought--rushed into the room, taking Erik's place at the podium. Charles frowned.
"I'll be running today's lecture," Janos said.
Charles' world ground to a halt. He extracted himself from his seat and slipped from the classroom as discretely as he could--a difficult feat considering he was sitting front and centre. He wasn't the only student to do so.
As soon as he was out in the hall, he pulled out his iPhone and called Raven. She answered after one ring.
"Calm down," she said, obviously knowing why he'd called. She sounded particularly hoarse. "We had Dim Sum last night, and it must have been off, because we're both puking our guts out today."
Charles' world lurched into motion, even as he made a face.
"Is he all right?" he asked, well aware of just how pathetic he sounded.
Raven lowered her voice. "He's miserable about not seeing you, but aside from that, fine. So am I, by the way." Charles grimaced, meaning to apologize, but Raven's next question rather distracted him from the thought. "Are you busy on Saturday?" she asked, seemingly out of the blue.
"No," Charles answered without having to think about it. It wouldn't have mattered if he was busy--he'd obviously clear his schedule for Erik.
"We're going to Coney Island," she said. Charles frowned at that. "There's this shark exhibit Erik wants to see, and he thinks it'll be a good way to bond with my new," she hesitated, "friend. You should come."
"Like come come, or meet you there come?" because Coney Island was probably pushing it as far as coincidences went.
"No, come come. Actually, do you have a car?"
"I can get one."
"Awesome. I'll send you details," she said, and then she hung up, though not before Charles heard the sound of retching in the background.
Ten minutes later, his phone chirped, Charles pulling up a advertisement for the New York Aquarium shark exhibit.
Sharks, Charles thought as he pulled it up. Somehow it seemed fitting.
~*~
Two days of the worst food poisoning of his life and Erik still felt stretched a little thin. He'd missed so much over the last two days--Charles, his mind shouted--though the three messages on his phone reminded him that he'd missed his appointment with Dr. Frost, too.
He called her office back, letting Angel know that he'd be in for his next scheduled--she'd cut him off when he'd tried to go into the gory details.
He spent the better part of Friday wandering aimlessly around the campus, hoping to bump into Charles--he ran into the man so often, it was almost as if fate was guiding their actions--but midway through his second search of Brownie's, he realized it probably wasn't going to happen. Raven had texted, to ask what he was doing, but rather than say looking for Charles, he'd said something about spending the afternoon locked in his office. She hadn't responded, so Erik had no idea why she wanted to know.
It was almost comical, when he thought about it, how much he'd wanted some space just to avoid doing something he would regret, and here he was, almost an entire week worth of space, and it was already driving him insane.
He considered that maybe Raven was right. Maybe six months didn't make all that much of a difference.
The thought lasted just until he made it back to the English department, Erik passing by the bulletin board where one of Shaw's gala invitations was posted. Erik paused, staring at it, feeling rage coil somewhere deep inside him as he thought about Shaw on campus only a week from now.
No, six months made all the difference in the world, Erik decided.
It was a miserably long day after that, one that Erik was glad to see the back of. When he arrived home, Raven was already getting ready for work--something about needing to do inventory before the night started.
"Don't forget tomorrow," she said. She'd warmed up nicely to the idea of Erik bonding with Azazel.
"Call me if you want a pick up," Erik said, more than willing to wait up half the night to walk over and get her. She shook her head, like she always did.
"Azazel will give me a lift." Another of Erik's jobs stripped from him, Erik thought, thinking about Azazel cooking. He shoved the thought aside; after all, he'd promised to try.
He didn't see Raven again until the next morning at breakfast--he'd heard her come in; had waited in bed, holding his breath until he was sure she was alone and had made it into her room safely. Only then had he let himself fall asleep.
He'd gotten up early, thinking perhaps he might have time to head to the park, see if Charles was playing chess again--when he'd asked on Monday, Charles had said that he occasionally played. It was startling to find Raven already awake. She was rooting through the kitchen, undoubtedly trying to put together her version of breakfast--which pretty much consisted of cold cereal, something even Raven couldn't screw up.
"You're up early," he said, reaching for the coffee maker.
"I told Azazel to get here for 9:00," she said.
Erik glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was already 7:30. That didn't leave them much time to fight over the bathroom and get ready. So much for going to look for Charles.
He supposed it made sense, though, the aquarium not exactly close, and undoubtedly they'd spend the entire day out that way. Raven probably had a point about the cold cereal. Erik put the coffee on and took down his own bowl.
"Has he been before?" he asked as they ate.
Raven shrugged. "Probably," she said, and then, when Erik arched an eyebrow in her direction, added, "He's been living in New York for like eighteen years now. He's probably been to the aquarium."
Erik knew that wasn't necessarily true. They'd been living in New York for four months now--not quite eighteen years, granted--and hadn't really hit any of the tourist sites. He'd been meaning to--meaning to take an entire day to tour places like Battery Park and the Empire State building--though only because he knew Raven enjoyed doing those sorts of things. He wondered if she'd do those things with Azazel now.
The thought wasn't making the prospect of today any easier, so Erik brushed it aside, concentrating instead on finishing his breakfast. Raven seemed content to let silence spill between them.
Against all odds--and probably because Erik had forgone shaving this morning--they were dressed and out the door shortly before nine. Their doorman let them out onto the street, where Raven pulled her coat a little tighter, fastening its buttons against the early morning chill.
Azazel pulled up right at nine, tucking his bike between two parked cars and then cutting its engine. He didn't seem the least bit perturbed that he was parking it illegally. It occurred to Erik then that he had no idea how they were even getting to the aquarium. He'd assumed the subway, but even after Azazel approached them on the sidewalk--smiling brightly at Raven as he did--Raven made no move to leave. Had she called a cab, he wondered?
He asked as much, but she shook her head. "Charles has a car," she said, as though it explained everything.
It was entirely possible it did, save, "Why does that matter?" Erik asked. Raven rolled her eyes.
"Because I invited him, and he's giving us a lift."
She said it so matter-of-fact, like it was a perfectly logical thing to do. Erik's stomach lurched with nervous excitement at seeing Charles, even as he tried to process the idea of Raven inviting Charles.
How had she even known how to get a hold of him?
It struck him then, the giddy excitement in his stomach turning to bitter nausea.
"Oh, Raven," he said, well aware that Azazel was staring between them even as Raven ducked her head, embarrassed.
"You missed him, so I thought..." she began, but he cut her off.
"This is all your doing, isn't it? I thought it was random, that we just kept bumping into each other because..." Because what? Because it was fate? Because they were destined for each other? The harsh reality of it was suffocating.
To learn that it was all Raven's doing--and he shouldn't be surprised, he really shouldn't--was more than Erik could process.
"Erik, I'm sorry," Raven was saying. "I just thought you needed a push."
And she'd pushed all right. She'd pushed so hard and so far that Erik wanted, for the first time in his life, to push back. He stared at her, horror mixed with betrayal bleeding into his expression.
"How could you?" he asked, because she of all people knew what Shaw had done to him--had been there for Shaw--and now she was... What? Pushing Erik towards Charles, trying to turn Erik into the monster he'd always sworn he would never become.
The ache of it was too much to bear.
It was then that a leaf green Prius pulled up to the curb. The driver's side window rolled down, Charles poking his head outside. He was smiling, but his smile vanished when he caught sight of Erik.
Erik caught his eye, though only for a minute before he shook his head and looked away. He didn't say anything as he headed back into the building, leaving Charles sitting in his idling car; Raven and Azazel standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.
Chapter 15
Raven Interlude
Raven stared at Erik's retreating back, even as a dozen explanations died on her tongue. Only once he was through the door and out of sight did she turned to meet Charles' eye.
Charles looked gutted.
"What happened?" he asked, sounding panicked. Raven shook her head.
"He just found out I've been playing matchmaker," she said.
Azazel, who'd been giving her space, came over to stand at her side. She could feel his heat, but he kept far enough away so as to not overwhelm her. She turned her head and offered him an apologetic smile. So much for their planned aquarium visit.
"What should I do?" Charles was asking, but Raven merely shook her head a second time.
"Leave this to me. It's my screw up; I'll fix it," she said.
Charles looked set to argue--he looked more than a little distraught at the moment, so Raven figured she could forgive him for not immediately following her instructions. She moved over until she was crouching next to his window. She caught his eye.
"It's fine. Just a minor setback. Please let me handle this," she said.
Except, it wasn't a minor setback. This Raven discovered after she'd convinced Charles not to rush inside the building and throw himself at Erik's feet, beg forgiveness. She apologized to Azazel--who'd shrugged and told her to call if she needed anything--and headed inside to find Erik locked in his room.
There was a rule in their house. No one locked doors. This was the first time Erik had violated it.
"I screwed up," she said through the thick wood of his bedroom door. Erik didn't answer, so she sat down on the wall opposite, sitting with her knees dragged up to her chest.
Erik had been mad at her before--it was impossible to live with someone as long as Raven had lived with Erik and not have the occasional spat--but there was something in Erik's silence--deathly still as it was--that made her feel like the world was ending.
And things had been going so well.
She shouldn't have, she realized, invited Charles to come. She'd hoped Erik--who had been moping--would be so thrilled at seeing him that he wouldn't have questions how or why Raven had thought to invite him. She was hoping, too, that his presence would give Erik a shove in the right direction. She could tell it was only a matter of time before Erik caved. He was far too in love to do anything else.
Now she'd likely set him back weeks--she probably owed Charles more of an apology than she'd given.
She wasn't sure how long she sat--though by the time she gave in and stood, her body protested moving, muscles aching from hours of disuse--but this time when she knocked Erik answered.
"I need you to leave me alone, Raven," he said through the door--right through the door, like he was standing on the other side.
"For how long?" she asked. Erik hesitated.
"At least the rest of today," he said. He didn't say anything else, but Raven could hear him breathing, a raspy sound that told her Erik was trying to calm himself. She stepped forward and placed a hand on the door.
"And Charles?" she asked, because Charles was undoubtedly tormenting himself even as they spoke.
For the longest minute, Erik didn't say anything. When he did, he sounded more broken than Raven could ever remember hearing.
"I'll deal with him," he said, like Charles was a chore. Raven knew that wasn't how Erik felt; knew, too, that his efforts to make her think that he did meant that this was going to go so much worse than she'd initially feared.
She probably shouldn't have given him the day, but what other choice did she have?
~*~
After Raven went inside, Charles sat parked outside Erik's building for the better part of twenty minutes. Raven's boyfriend--Azazel, the man had introduced himself--had shaken his head and said something about it not being a good idea to wait. He'd climbed onto his bike then, disappeared beneath his helmet, and took off.
He thought about going inside. He was right here, and there was a possibility that Erik would listen to him. He thought about calling Erik--Raven had left his number in his phone that one time outside Hellfire, oh so long ago now, and Charles had yet to find an excuse to use it. This seemed like a particularly valid one.
Then he thought about the look on Raven's face--something very close to panic--when she'd told him to go; that she would take care of this.
Oh, God, Charles thought. What if she couldn't? What if Erik ended up hating him, never wanting to see him again, all because he'd let Raven talk him into playing this game.
And all right, to be fair, it was nowhere near Raven's fault--because Charles was always doing things like this, and even now, when he was starting to think that maybe--maybe--it wouldn't be necessary with Erik, Charles was still doing it. He was such an utter idiot at times it was ridiculous.
He decide on texting Raven, because that was probably the only thing he could do.
He contemplated her reply for several minutes before deciding that she was right; that his presence was only going to make things worse. His hand was shaking, nausea pooling in the pit of his stomach as he started the car and pulled back out into Saturday morning traffic.
It was a wonder he made it back to his apartment without destroying Moira's car.
Raven didn't text him again on Saturday.
Charles spent the whole of the day pacing the tiny space of his apartment, unable to keep still. He'd pulled out Erik's poems and was reading them when his phone rang, but in place of Raven--and maybe Erik, he thought hopefully--it was only Moira, letting him know he could drop off her car tomorrow.
Charles thanked her, and very purposely didn't mention anything about what had happened--what had happened?--in front of Erik's building. Instead he told her to have a good night with Sean's parents and that he'd make sure the car was parked safely outside her building before she got up.
He sat for a while after that, staring at the back wall of his kitchen, ugly laminate cupboards screwed against them like they were an afterthought. God, Charles thought, maybe Scott was right. Maybe he hadn't grown up; maybe he'd been so neglected in his youth that his internal chronometer had hit seventeen and stopped ticking. It would probably explain his inability to maintain a long-term relationship, not to mention his apparent contentment at living in this shithole of an apartment.
Scott probably had that condo by now, with vaulted ceilings and oak cupboards, spiral staircase climbing up to the loft bedroom. He'd been so specific.
Charles had never wanted anything so grand, but something like Moira's, maybe, with her wide plank-board floors and the pot lights above her island counter. Charles didn't even own any furniture--nothing that counted, anyway.
There were stains on Charles' carpet that were here when he'd moved in.
Feeling suddenly like he was suffocating, Charles grabbed Moira's keys and headed back out to her car. He'd told her he was taking it to Coney Island, so to Coney Island it was going to go.
Despite logically knowing the hour, it was still a surprise to step outside his apartment and realize it was night. He'd somehow lost an entire day to his moping, without noticing. Charles frowned, stomach rumbling then as if to remind him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He ignored it, climbed behind the wheel of Moira's car, and set off towards the 9A.
There was something about driving that had always appealed to him, even when he steadfastly refused to buy a car. There was freedom in it, the feel of the wheel beneath his hands, the smooth flow of tires on pavement, the soft vibration of the engine--not that Moira's Prius had much of an engine--the blaring of Moira's stereo. Charles navigated the city streets, weaving through traffic as though he was born to do exactly that. He felt detached from himself in a way that he hadn't since he was a teenager, isolated and alone in a country he barely had the right to call his own.
Riverside turned into West 79th Street, which brought him to the onramp of the 9A. Charles drove, yellow highway lines vanishing beneath him, the cars he passed streaks of colour in his peripheral vision.
He took the tunnel across to the Interstate 278, and then down and around, until, over an hour later, he had arrived at Coney Island, almost ten hours past when he was originally supposed to be there.
Only now he was very much alone.
The lights of the midway cast an eerie glow against the overcast night sky. Charles found parking in one of the more expensive lots--he didn't particularly want to walk--and then found himself wandering up and down the boardwalk, watching the milling people--the crowds never seemed to disperse, regardless of the hour--even as he contemplated getting something to eat.
He ended up getting a hot dog, because it was Coney Island, and Charles had always been fond of the expression, When in Rome. It didn't particularly sit well, though that was probably because his stomach was still a mess of nerves. He had no idea what was going to happen in Erik's class on Monday. Would all of this be forgotten and forgiven? Or would Erik cut him off, decide Charles wasn't to be trusted--and after their conversation on ulterior motives, no less--and then Charles would never see him again?
Surely it couldn't end like this, could it?
And now the hot dog was threatening to make its reappearance, so Charles stopped himself from thinking along those lines. Instead he concentrated on the crisp night air and the obnoxious strains of music coming from the park. God, Charles really didn't want to be here.
He couldn't even really remember the last time he'd come--certainly not when he was a child, his mother would have died before she'd ever considered such a thing. Charles could remember coming once during a rare summer home from boarding school. He'd come on his own; snuck out of his house and stolen one of Kurt's cars just to make the drive--he hadn't even had a license yet. He'd met a boy whose name Charles could no longer remember. They'd eaten funnel cake and drank orange soda and laughed for hours--Charles had never known the like, his life so bereft of company. That night they'd hidden behind a trailer and traded hand-jobs--Charles' first--illuminated by the wheel of wonder.
He'd never seen the boy again, but to this day the memory was a cherished one. Inside his shortbread tin, in the bottom of his drawer, Charles still kept the very first item to have made its way into his collection: the boy's Coney Island wristband, neatly cut where Charles had clipped it off with the scissors from the boy's Swiss army knife.
He'd given the boy his number, but if he called, Charles suspected his mother, appalled by someone with a Cuban accent asking for her son, had probably ensured it was only once.
Coming to Coney Island was obviously a very bad plan.
Charles headed back to Moira's car.
He took his time getting back, driving aimlessly for a while, always heading in the right direction, but without taking the most direct route. Back in Manhattan, he found himself stopping outside Erik's apartment. I could just ring up and apologize, he thought, but Raven still hadn't contacted him and she'd said she would. After sitting outside the building for ten minutes, Charles gave up and headed towards Moira's flat.
He left her car in its usual space, and took the train the rest of the way home, where he promptly collapsed into bed, intending not to leave it until either Raven--or Erik--called or Monday morning surfaced.
Monday came first.
Except, once again Charles walked into the classroom to find Janos at its head. Janos' eyes grew wide when he saw Charles, and he waved Charles over, ignoring the other students who were clearly as surprised to find him there again.
"He left a message for you," Janos said, ducking his head as he handed over an envelope. Charles' hand trembled as he took it.
There was no point sitting for the class--probably wasn't a point in coming back to the class now--so Charles took the envelope out into the hall and tore it open--carefully, oh so very carefully so as to not rip the page. In place of the long, sprawling letter Charles was expecting--hoping for--there was only a short, terse note.
Charles hand shook slightly as he read and reread the note, not finding anything else in it than what it obviously said. He couldn't tell what Erik had meant by discuss this later. Was he going to break up with Charles--stupid, stupid, considering they weren't even dating--or did he want their relationship to continue its progression?
Charles agonized over that for days. There was relatively little else to do, Erik not on campus and Raven no longer texting. Charles wasn't entirely certain what to do with himself. Mostly he moped, waiting for Erik's later or even Raven's promised call.
The week crept forward, and neither came.
~*~
Erik avoided Raven's gaze as he moved about the apartment. He'd been doing the same for days, despite knowing he was hurting her--but she had hurt him first, damn it. It didn't help that he was home--had feigned illness and taken the week off work--the two of them sharing the small space with more frequency than usual.
"Are you just not going to talk to me ever again?" Raven asked as he came into the kitchen. He'd only wanted a cup of coffee, maybe something for breakfast, before he headed out for the day.
He had nowhere he needed to be this morning, but this afternoon marked his first appointment with Dr. Frost in two weeks; one he suspected he ought to keep. Also, being locked inside this apartment was starting to drive him a little crazy.
"Seriously, Erik. You cannot be this immature," Raven said. She pushed away from the counter she was leaned against and stepped into his space, blocking his access to the cupboard.
"Raven," he warned, but she stood her ground. Erik shook his head, deflating somewhat as he stepped back. "Can you not just give me some time? Is that really too much to ask for?"
It probably was, he realized. He'd never asked her for time before; he'd always been there for her, through some of the worst moments in both of their lives. The worst of it was this wasn't even her fault.
It wasn't Charles' fault either.
It was Sebastian Shaw's fault, and here he was, fifteen years later, hurting Erik and the people Erik loved all over again.
"I'm not that upset with you," Erik conceded. Raven's expression grew hopeful. "It's just a little much to process and I need time."
He needed more than that. He needed Dr. Frost to fix him. He needed Sebastian Shaw to pay for the things he had done. He needed Charles to understand that he deserved better than someone like Erik. He needed Raven to understand that his life was not a game, to be pieced together and played with as she saw fit.
He needed so many things.
"I'll give you time, Erik--as much as you need--but you should call Charles. I would imagine he's pretty miserable right now."
Erik let his expression soften. "I already sent him a note. I told him the same thing I've told you; I just need some time."
That seemed to assuage Raven's worry, because she smiled, nodding like she could now see a light at the end of the tunnel. Erik wasn't so sure such a thing existed, but he let her cling to her hope, ate his breakfast, and then headed out for the day.
He spent the morning wandering aimlessly. He ducked into a few shops, bought some books and then drank bitter coffee bought from a vendor near Union Square. He tried finding the chess hustler who'd tried to take Charles' money, but apparently he only came out on the weekends, because he was nowhere to be found. He sat in the spot he'd beaten him in, and jotted something in his notebook.
When he was done, it was still early enough that Erik decided to start walking towards Dr. Frost's. He stopped on the way at Ma Peche and bought noodles for lunch, eating them from their carton as he walked. He still found himself standing beneath the green awning of Dr. Frost's building long before his scheduled appointment.
To his surprise, when he arrived upstairs, Dr. Frost was out in the hall, waiting for him.
"Your sister called," she said when she saw him, Erik shaking his head--Raven was at it again. "I've cleared my schedule." She gestured Erik into her office, leading him towards his usual chair.
Just to be contrary, Erik headed into the corner and threw himself down on Dr. Frost's white leather couch. It wasn't so bad, he realized when he got there, staring up at the ceiling. He could see now why someone might like the setup.
Dr. Frost, who was always so quick on the uptake, didn't even blink as she pivoted and then crossed the room to claim the art deco chair.
"Are you feeling better this week, Erik?" she asked.
Erik exhaled.
"I'm going to have sex with Charles," he said, because that seemed his most pressing problem. "I'm going to have sex with Charles and it's all Shaw's fault and I hate him for what he did to me."
For the longest minute Dr. Frost didn't say anything, she merely watched Erik with that introspective look that he knew meant she was calculating how best to respond to something he'd said. When she did speak, it was so quiet Erik had to strain to hear, though no less purposeful than anything else she'd ever said.
"You are not Sebastian Shaw. He did not make you. Your actions are, and will always be, your own. But you are still allowed to hate him."
It didn't particularly make Erik feel all that much better.
~*~
Charles sat on Moira's sofa--perched on the edge of the seat cushion this time, not particularly wanting to deal with its appetite--and watched as Moira fretted over shoes.
Ten minutes ago, he'd sat on the edge of her bed watching her fret over dresses.
"Honestly, Moira, the black ones," he said, when she seemed torn between the little black pumps and a pair of blue monstrosity platforms that should have been tossed in 2004. He really didn't see what the big deal was, but then, he supposed he'd been more than a little unenthusiastic lately.
"Fine, the black ones," Moira conceded, slipping them on. She did a final twirl, Charles giving her a half-hearted nod. Moira frowned. "Why are you even going, Charles?"
Charles glanced up at that, well aware of how he looked--sitting dejected and broken, bags under his eyes from not sleeping, hand still splinted, complexion pale and sickly from not eating, and yet dressed to the nines in an Armani tux. He shrugged.
"He might be there," he said, because even though Erik had shown little interest in going, there was still a chance he might turn up at the Poet Laureate Gala, and at this point all Charles wanted was to see him.
Moira frowned at him. "Are you sure you're not taking this a little too hard? I mean..." was as far as she got before Charles was interrupting her.
"Don't you dare. Don't you dare compare this to anything else. I actually have genuine feelings for this man--like am probably in love with this man--and you and I both know I have never felt that before. This isn't just one of my crushes gone wrong. It isn't."
He'd been like this all week--snarky and tense and constantly on edge. This wasn't the first time he'd barked at Moira, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
"If you'd let me finish, I was going to remind you that he only asked for time. He didn't break up with you. He didn't tell you he never wanted to see you again. Hell, it's pretty obvious he's just as crazy about you as you are about him. I think you just need to be patient."
Except patience was the one thing Charles had never had--never would, either. Still, he hung his head.
"I know, I'm sorry," he said, which was precisely when Sean called to say that he was downstairs.
"Come on," Moira said, offering a hand. "Hopefully he'll be there."
Charles hoped so too--he really, really did.
Except, when they arrived at Lerner Hall, and entered the auditorium, Erik was nowhere to be found.
"It's still early," Moira whispered in his ear, giving his arm a brief squeeze before she allowed Sean to lead her through the crowd, undoubtedly wanting to mingle with his fellow musicians.
Charles took heart to that, mustered his best smile, and began a circuit of the room, still searching for Erik, though occasionally allowing himself to get dragged into the odd conversation. He'd been inside twenty minutes when he swiped a glass of champagne off a circulating tray, and then moved back towards the door, hoping to spot Erik if--when--he arrived.
It was only marginally surprising when he ran into Scott.
"He's not coming, you know," Scott said, managing to sound apologetic. Charles straightened his shoulders.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said, although he knew he wasn't fooling anyone.
Scott gave him a look--one that said, please, Charles, I know you, but before he could say anything--before Charles could further protest--a broad-shouldered man joined them, handing a newly retrieved champagne flute to Scott.
Charles frowned.
"I'm sorry, don't we know each other?" he said, because there was something decidedly familiar about the guy.
The guy looked Charles up and down, and then arched an eyebrow.
"I fucked you a couple of years ago," he said, and right; Charles probably should have remembered that.
"The Canadian guy who ruined my rug," Charles tried to say, but at the same time Scott, who until then had been doing a good impression of a gaping fish, turned to the man and said, "Logan!"
Logan--yes that was his name--glanced from Scott and Charles, and then back to Scott again. "Oh, this is your old Charles?" he said, smiling a little sheepishly.
Charles wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended by being referred to as Scott's old anything. It was also fairly obvious that Charles didn't want to get caught in the middle of whatever argument they were about to have--and really, it did go a little beyond weird--so he smiled somewhat apologetically--not that they were paying attention to him--and stepped back.
Or rather, he meant to step back, but doing so caused him to collide with the person standing directly behind him, Charles turning, mortified, apology already passing across his lips before he registered just who it was he was talking to.
"It's quite all right," the man--and even if Charles hadn't looked him up, there was really no mistaking Sebastian Shaw for anyone else--said. Shaw was quite distinctive. He rather made Charles' skin crawl--and that was not a reaction Charles had to too many people.
"Right, still, apologies," Charles managed, wanting only to be away from those piercing eyes that seemed set to devour Charles on the spot--and not in a good way.
"But how rude of me; we haven't even been introduced. Sebastian Shaw," he said, taking Charles' injured hand, and to Charles' surprise--and horror--Shaw brought it to his lips and kissed the back of Charles' bandaged knuckles, like Charles was some lady in waiting, Shaw a prospective husband.
"Charles Xavier," Charles managed, wanting to snatch back his hand, but he would have had to fight Shaw to do so--which he suspected might hurt--so it seemed simply easier to let them man continue cradling it.
~*~
She was wrong. They were both wrong. This was Shaw's doing, and Erik would never be free of him if he didn't do something about it. How could he ever hope to move on--to move forward--if he didn't vanquish his enemies?
Dr. Frost had told him confronting Shaw wouldn't solve anything. Raven had told him going after Shaw would only prove Shaw still held power over him. But they were wrong.
So very, very wrong.
And for the first time in a very long time, Erik knew exactly where to find Shaw.
He shrugged off the man inside the main entrance who asked for Erik's coat. "I'm not staying," he said, as if that wasn't obvious given Erik's lack of attire. He shrugged off the woman at the door to the auditorium who asked for his invitation. "You know who I am," he said, and she did, because in the first week he'd been at the university she'd offered to fetch him coffee more times than he could count. He'd eventually told her he was gay just to get her off his back.
The auditorium was decked out for the occasion--not that Erik had seen it before its transformation, but it looked like all the stops were pulled; there were actually live plants and flowers strewn about like the room was supposed to be some sort of English garden. Oh, Shaw would undoubtedly love it. He loved feeling like the biggest, most powerful man in the room. He loved having people make a fuss over him.
But it wasn't Shaw who drew his gaze--however much Erik was searching for him--but rather Charles--and what was Charles doing here, he wondered. It took him several minutes to recognize who Charles was speaking with. Several more to register that Shaw--and God, it was him--was holding Charles' hand, like he had a God-damned right to touch anything of Erik's.
Erik saw red. The whole of the room narrowed into a single tunnel as he took in Shaw, talking to Charles with that oh-too-familiar look in his eye. Erik was moving before he could stop himself.
He stormed across the room, people physically leaping out of his way when they saw him coming. At one point, Charles glanced over, smile lighting up his face until he registered the look of death on Erik's features. Then he flinched, drew back as though frightened--good, Erik thought, he should be--I'm a monster.
Sensing Charles' distraction--and oh, how that must have burned Shaw--Shaw turned, catching sight of Erik, eyes growing wide, but before he could say anything--before anyone could say anything--Erik had hauled back his fist and punched Shaw right in his ridiculous face.
"Erik!" Charles cried, even as Shaw stumbled back, but Erik wasn't done.
He lunged for Shaw again, but before he could get there a pair of thick arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side and pulling him back.
"Whoa, there, bub. Not gonna happen," his captor said. Erik snarled, even as he struggled.
"Don't hurt him, Logan, please don't hurt him," Charles was saying, even as Shaw rubbed at his jaw, stepping forward until he was close enough that, had Erik not been restrained, he could have reached out and snapped the man's neck.
"Well, if it isn't little Erik Lehnsherr," Shaw said, eyeing Erik speculatively. "Not so little anymore, are you?"
"Sorry to disappoint," Erik said, but before he could say anything else Charles was there, stepping between them, his blue eyes blown wide with panic. Erik's anger faded in an instant--he wanted only then to bundle Charles away from here, to make sure that Shaw hadn't hurt him.
"I don't know what's going on, but you need to stop," Charles said.
Erik opened his mouth to agree--he would have agreed to anything Charles asked--when a familiar head of white hair approached the group.
He'd only met Ororo Munroe, the department head, once, but he'd heard enough to know that she had a reputation for brooking no nonsense.
"Outside," she said, gesturing to Erik. She glanced at the man still holding him--Logan, Charles had called him--as though expecting him to drag Erik from the room.
"Don't think I'm going to let this go so easily," Shaw said, stepping forward. Erik was once again overcome with the urge to kill him--if Logan hadn't still been holding him he might have done exactly that.
"You have my apologies, Professor Shaw," Munroe said, "and the University will do everything in its power to ensure this man is appropriately disciplined. I can assure you, we wouldn't do anything to jeopardize our association with a man of your standing."
Erik growled as she said it, which seemed to be Logan's cue--too late he realized Summers was also there, hovering at Logan's side like he expected to have to join in and make Erik's humiliation complete--to drag him from the room. He caught Charles' gaze when they had him halfway to the door, Charles watching with too-wide eyes. He mouthed something, but Erik had never been good at reading lips, so he had no idea what it was.
At Charles' side, Shaw was smiling.
Logan--the brute--and Summers led him out into the hall, and then into a storage room filled with folded chairs and extra tables. Summers retrieved a couple of the chairs, spreading them around as though they were about to have an engaging conversation. Erik was tempted to flee the second Logan released him, pushing him towards a chair in the process--Charles was still alone with that man!--but before he was able to, Munroe stormed into the room.
"And just what was that?" she asked.
Erik firmly kept his mouth shut, even as he met her gaze and held it. He was expecting her to break first--most people did--but instead she merely arched an eyebrow, as though Erik was a wayward child she expected to have to put over her knee.
Erik glanced down at the floor.
Which was precisely when the door to the storage room opened, and Charles Xavier walked in.
"Sorry, but I think I can probably help with this situation," he said. He glanced briefly to Erik, confusion and something Erik thought might be incredulity reflected in his eyes, and then turned his attention back to Munroe. Munroe caught his gaze, nodded, and then motioned him inside. She moved to sit in one of the chairs, like a queen taking audience on her throne.
"Go on," she said.
"I've spoken to Professor Shaw, and he's agreed not to press any formal charges, or file any formal complaint, on the condition that Professor Lehnsherr apologizes." Here he glanced at Erik again, expression growing apologetic.
Erik felt bile rise in his throat, even as he struggled against the rage threatening to overwhelm him. What had Charles promised, he wondered, to get such an offer. The thought sickened him--almost as much as the thought of apologizing to Shaw.
"Thank you, Professor Xavier. If that's all," Munroe said, nodding Charles out of the room. Charles cast one last glance at Erik, nodded, and then ducked out of the room.
In his rage, it took Erik several minutes to process what Munroe had said. When he did, he turned and caught her eye.
"Professor Xavier?" he asked, Shaw forgotten.
On to chapter 16
~
Title: An Ideal Grace (14/17 and 15/17)
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: R
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Notes: A huge thank you to
afrocurl both for sharing her wonderful poetry with us and for agreeing to look this parts over. Having a second set of eyes was tremendously helpful.Also, thank you to
stlkrchck for all of her NY info. That being said, the Coney Island bit is largely based off my memory, so if there are mistakes there, they are my own.Back to chapter 13
"What happened to your hand?" Raven asked, the first words out of her mouth. Charles glanced down at his taped fingers, immobilized by a splint, and frowned.
This hadn't occurred to him. He'd been so excited when Raven had called--after two days of not seeing Erik--that he'd jumped on the next train and rushed to Union Square, not considering what Erik might think when he saw Charles' hand.
"Your brother hit it with a door," Charles said, shrugging apologetically, as though the accident was his fault entirely--they were probably equally to blame, not that Charles blamed Erik in the least. Accidents were called accidents for a reason; and besides, it was only a hairline fracture, coupled with a jammed joint. He'd be good as new in no time.
He only wished it wasn't his dominant hand.
"What?" Raven said, staring at Charles like he'd grown two heads.
"It was an accident. I sort of told him it was less serious than it was. Should he not see it?"
Raven considered for a minute, and then shook her head, apparently deciding it was fine. She glanced briefly to her watch, and then ushered Charles off the street and into Union Square.
He likes to hit the market on Saturdays, she'd said on the phone, and Charles had spent the better part of his subway ride smiling stupidly over the thought of Erik cooking.
The Greenmarket occupied the north half of the park, but according to Raven Erik had to cut through the park on his way home, so she led him to the entrance off 14th street, telling him only to keep an eye out before she disappeared--it wouldn't do for Erik to spot them together.
It left Charles with very little to do save wait and watch, hoping to catch sight of Erik in a park overflowing with people. He suspected it was probably an impossible task, which meant he'd undoubtedly be forced to wait another two days before he saw Erik again.
Raven couldn't give him an estimate of how long Erik would be, save sometime before lunch--it was only 10:00. Charles meandered, scanning the crowd as he did, never once catching sight of Erik. Eventually he found himself drawn to a line of chess tables, a few players already engrossed in games.
He found himself watching one player in particular; a middle aged guy with a mess of dreadlocks only half hidden by the knit beanie on his head. He played like it was second nature, employing strategies and techniques that Charles barely recognized--it had been far too long since he'd last played.
It wasn't long before the guy won his match--handily. He glanced at Charles then, arching an eyebrow and then nodding towards the board. Charles did another quick sweep of the park, and when he didn't spot Erik, nodded his acceptance.
"There's a fifty riding on it," the man said, and in place of the Rastafarian accent he was expecting, Charles was startled to hear a North Devon one.
"All right," Charles said, letting his own accent come through, well aware that a man from North Devon would interpret it as posh.
The man, who Charles would later learn was called Ted, grinned.
It didn't take long for Charles to realize he was in over his head. He'd played a good deal during his younger years--had membership in numerous chess clubs--but it had been a while, and until now, he hadn't played a master. It occurred to him as he lost his second bishop that it was entirely possible he was being hustled. That hadn't happened to him before. Charles was as amused as he was frustrated.
They'd attracted a crowd now--apparently Charles was good enough to keep Ted on his toes, something the regulars had never seen. Doing so required his full attention, though, Charles forgetting why he was in the park--and it was a mark of how challenging the game was that he would forget Erik of all people. He still knew, three moves before it happened, that he was doomed to lose the game. There was only so long Ted could chase Charles' queen around the board before Charles lost her. After that, it was only a matter of time.
"Checkmate," Ted said, holding out his hand for Charles' money. Charles conceded his defeat with a nod of his head.
He retrieved his wallet--a little awkwardly given that he only had one hand--and had pulled out a fifty and handed it over, when someone in the crowd said, "Double or nothing." Charles glanced up, startled to find Erik, laden with bags, watching him intently.
Charles blinked. It was sometime before he could convince his brain to start working again, the sight of Erik, framed by mid-morning sunlight, cheeks pleasantly flushed from the cold and his walk, pretty much derailing Charles' higher brain functions.
"I very much doubt I'll do much better the second time," he said when he was able, unable to tear his gaze away from Erik. How long had been standing there, watching Charles play?
Erik tilted his head, giving Charles a faint smile before he turned his attention to Ted.
"You play me. You win you get his fifty and mine. I win, he gets his fifty back," he said.
Charles was fairly certain his mouth had fallen open, eyes widening as he stared at Erik--and the fact that Erik was wearing a knit hat wasn't helping at all, Charles' brain giving up entirely as all of his blood rushed south.
Ted, who seemed to be considering, eyed Erik speculatively. He must have found something he liked, because eventually he nodded, gesturing Erik forward.
It took Charles a full minute to realize he needed to move, during which Ted reset the board. Blushing, Charles stood so that Erik could take his seat. Unfortunately, doing so required him to move his hand, which had been partially hidden in his lap, Erik noticing the splint then, a frown tugging at his lip. He glanced up to meet Charles' eye.
There was a question there, but Charles merely shrugged, waving it off even as he gestured for Erik to play. Some things were more important than broken fingers.
Judging from Erik's expression, Charles wasn't going to get off that easily, but he seemed willing to let it go for now. He slid into Charles' vacated seat, set his bags down next to him, and then cracked his knuckles. The smile he offered Ted was all teeth. For the first time since Erik's arrival, Ted looked a little uncertain.
His hesitation only lasted a minute, and then he returned the smile and moved his king's pawn up two spaces, officially opening the game.
When Erik countered with the Pirc Defense, Charles arched an eyebrow, more than a little thrilled--though not at all surprised--that Erik knew how to play chess.
Charles spent the next half an hour watching, with rapt attention, as Erik undermined Ted's centre from the flanks, systematically picking off Ted's pieces until it was readily apparent who was destined to win the game. Ted, whose lip was pulled between his teeth, was scowling at the board, beads of sweat dotting his upper lip. Erik, on the other hand, looked almost bored.
Ted shook his head, obviously giving up the game as lost, though he made a half-hearted attempt to keep his king out of checkmate. Erik rolled his eyes, obviously unimpressed by the effort. Within two moves Ted was out of options, Erik taking the game. He cocked his head to the side and held out a hand.
"His fifty," he said.
Ted, who was still staring at the board, glanced up and met Erik's eye. He was frowning, but after a minute an amused smile pulled at the corner of his lip. He chuckled, just under his breath, and pulled out Charles' crumpled fifty from a pocket, handing it to Erik.
"Worth it," he said, inclining his head. Erik returned the gesture and the crowd around them broke into spontaneous applause. Apparently beating Ted was something they had never seen before.
Erik mostly ignored them, though he did look slightly uncomfortable with the attention. He tucked the money into an inside coat pocket, gathered his bags and stood. Charles, who would have joined in the applause had his splint not prevented such a thing, offered Erik a wide grin. Erik returned it, nodding over his shoulder in a gesture that Charles took as an invitation.
A minute later he was falling into step at Erik's side, the two of them heading west on 14th Street.
"Are you going to tell me about the hand?" Erik asked. He was carefully not looking at Charles, though Charles could tell that doing so required effort.
"It's not as bad as it looks. Just a hairline fracture and a jammed joint; I must have caught it wrong," Charles said with a shrug.
Erik stopped walking then, maneuvering them to the edge of the sidewalk, where a stone balustrade and iron railing curved around the corner. He set his bags down at his feet and reached for Charles' hand. Charles felt himself go perfectly still as Erik's fingers curled around his wrist.
"Does it hurt?" Erik asked, staring intently at Charles' fingers, like they were capable of answering.
Charles swallowed, twice, before he felt capable of answering. "Not really," he said, and that was mostly the truth. Certainly they throbbed, and if he banged his hand against something pain spiked up his whole arm, but right now, hand cradled in Erik's grasp, pain was the last thing Charles felt.
Erik nodded, pushing Charles' hand back towards him, ensuring that Charles was prepared before he released his grip. Losing Erik's touch ached. It had nothing to do with the injury.
Erik, who only then seemed to realize what he'd just done, flushed slightly, avoiding Charles' gaze as he reached into his inside coat pocket to retrieve Charles' fifty. He handed it over.
"I didn't need his money," Charles said, staring at the bill between Erik's fingers.
"And he didn't need yours, but he was going to take it anyway," Erik announced. When Charles still made no move to collect the money, he shook his head, leaned forward, and tucked it into the breast pocket of Charles' coat.
"You know," Charles said, "that's probably how he makes his living."
The look Erik shot him was incredulous.
"He's a hustler, Charles," he said.
Charles nodded, because that was true, but even if Ted was, it was still well deserved. It took incredible talent to play chess like that. He told Erik as much.
Erik shook his head. "God, you are so naive," he said. It sounded like he hadn't meant to say it out loud, like he was only thinking it--like it bothered him greatly that Charles would succumb to some dreadlocked chess master hustling for rent money in Union Square.
"Excuse me?" Charles still said.
Erik gave him a pointed look. "You assume everyone's intentions are honourable."
That wasn't precisely true. Charles knew that most peoples weren't, that altruism was a rare trait--it was just that he remained optimistic that the people he met might be the exceptions to the rule.
"Do you assume everyone has an alternative motive, then?" Charles asked, because it would probably explain a lot about Erik--more importantly, it would probably explain a lot about why they were still tiptoeing around what was obviously a mutual interest.
Erik looked almost apologetic as he said, "That's been my experience." Charles decided, then and there, that he was going to be the one to prove Erik wrong.
"So tell me, Erik, what was your ulterior motive back there?" Charles asked, leaning into Erik's space. He let his smile turn coy.
Erik's eyes grew wide, and he opened and closed his mouth several times, but nothing came out. Charles took pity on him.
"Or were you just hoping to impress me?"
And now Erik outright flushed--Charles would never get tired of it, Erik the first person Charles had ever brought to blush. He cleared his throat.
"I suppose that depends," he said, and when Charles raised an eyebrow, he added, "Were you impressed?"
And, oh, Charles thought, delighted, Erik was flirting--even if he looked incredibly uncomfortable doing so, like he was doing something illegal and half expected to be arrested for it. Charles made a mental note to ask Raven if Erik was still in the closet--that would also explain a lot.
"Very," Charles answered, swaying forward. Charles was close enough now that he could see the flecks of blue in Erik's eyes--he'd thought them entirely green. Erik's pupils were dilated, his mouth slightly parted. Charles didn't miss the way he glanced to Charles' lips. Charles licked them just for show and moved forward, fully intent on kissing Erik--because if he'd ever seen an invitation, this was it--but then Erik suddenly jerked, stepping back even as his shoulders tensed.
"Sorry, I have to," he gestured absently, looking so very conflicted in that moment that Charles forgot his disappointment in the face of his concern. "Raven's expecting me."
He bent to retrieve his bags then, purposely not looking Charles in the eye. Charles watched, more than a little dazed, as Erik beat a hasty retreat.
"I'll see you Monday," Charles called, feeling like they'd had this conversation before. Erik was easily the most frustrating person he knew--two steps forward and twelve back. There were days when he made Charles want to pull his hair out.
~*~
Raven glanced up from the magazine she was reading--some celebrity gossip rag--jumping instantly to her feet as Erik came through the door.
"What happened?" she asked, crossing to his side. She retrieved the bags from where they hung, limp, in Erik's hands. "Erik, what happened?" she said again when Erik didn't answer.
But what exactly could he say? I almost kissed Charles. I wanted to kiss Charles. I still want to kiss Charles. I could have invited him back to this apartment and into my room and he would have come and it would have been so easy.
Erik felt bile inch its way up his throat.
"Sorry, I'm fine," he said. Raven's eyebrows hit her hairline. After a moment's consideration, Erik realized that this marked the first time he had deliberately lied to her.
And she knew it.
Erik hung his head and let Raven lead him into the living room, where she deposited him on the sofa before swinging into the kitchen to drop off Erik's shallots and fennel. It was some time before she returned, but when she did she was carrying a steaming mug, which turned out to be this morning's coffee, undoubtedly reheated in the microwave.
Erik made face, but sipped from it anyway.
"I ran into Charles," he said.
Raven waited patiently. There were times when she would coax--drag Erik out of his cocoon inch by inch, but there were other times when she clearly recognized that Erik needed to do things in his own time. This was one of those times, and Erik loved her for it.
"I almost kissed him."
She smiled at him then, soft and wistful, and yet filled with such pride that Erik was shaking his head long before she could say anything.
"I don't think you understand. I almost kissed him, and I shouldn't have, and now I don't know if I can keep seeing him without doing something I'm going to regret."
He couldn't imagine going months without seeing Charles. He thought he might suffocate under longing if he tried.
"Erik, would it really be so terrible to not wait? What is six months in the grand scheme of things?"
Erik waved the question off, because it was obvious she didn't know--couldn't know and he never, ever wanted her to.
She didn't say anything else, probably sensing Erik's determination. Instead she sat back on the couch, folding into the cushions at his side, and sipped from her coffee. After a minute's hesitation, Erik did the same, letting his shoulder lean into hers even as she leaned into his.
They sat.
But Raven was not made to sit idle--not like Erik--so within twenty minutes she was fidgeting. Erik took pity on her and waved her off, giving her a look when she looked set to hesitate. She reached forward and grabbed her magazine, an apparent compromise that saw her still sitting on the couch, though not without distraction. Erik chuckled, took another sip from his coffee--it was no better the second sip--and then promptly spit it back into the mug. He leaned over to set it on the coffee table.
Before he settled again, he pulled out his blackberry. He wasn't entirely sure where the impulse came from, save that it was perhaps what he wanted to do. He pulled up an email, carefully not addressing it--not that he knew Charles' email--and jotted down all the things he wanted to say. When he was done, he saved it as a draft. Maybe six months from now he could send it.
If he lasted that long.
The afternoon bled away on them like that, Raven reading her magazine, then fiddling with her phone, shifting positions every five minutes until her fidgeting started to drive Erik crazy. It was still early--too early for dinner--when Erik pushed himself off the couch and made his way into the kitchen.
Fennel soup wasn't going to make itself.
Raven came to join him just as the shallots were beginning to go translucent.
"You could try telling him," she said. Erik glanced away from the pot and furrowed his brow. "Charles. You could just tell him nothing can happen until he graduates, and then at least you'll be on the same page. You could stop each other."
Erik shook his head. "I'm not asking him to wait for me." He thought he'd made that clear--apparently not.
Raven snorted. "Have you even met this guy? He's going to wait for you, regardless. At least this way he'll know why he's waiting. He'll probably even think it admirable."
"Since when do you know him so well?" Erik asked, tossing in in his shredded fennel bulb. The scent of licorice caught his nose. Erik inhaled against it, and then set about chopping a couple of tomatoes.
Raven, who was strangely quiet, came over to stand at Erik's side, back pressed against the counter as she caught his eye. He knew what she was going to say--had heard her argument more times than he could count--so before she could get the word out, Erik changed the topic.
"I want to do something. With you and Azazel; get to know him," he said, which seemed to startle Raven enough that she dropped Charles as a topic of conversation. Erik pressed his advantage. "Next weekend; the three of us should go somewhere."
For the longest minute Raven didn't say anything, but then, out of the corner of Erik's eye, he saw her nod. "Okay," she said.
Erik nodded and turned back to his soup.
~*~
Charles showed up exactly on time on Monday--he'd even resisted the urge to go back to Central Park and wait by the pond on Sunday. He suspected, after Saturday, that Erik probably needed some time alone. He had, however, texted Raven, but she'd only told him that it wasn't her decision; that Erik would either talk to him about it or he wouldn't--whatever that meant.
Erik glanced up sharply when Charles came through the door, relief flooding his features. He didn't even bother trying to mask his reaction, looking at Charles with what Charles hoped--though he might have been reaching--was open longing. Charles offered a hesitant smile, and got one in return. He took his seat--the only one left open, despite the fact that several students were standing--feeling like at least a little of his equilibrium had returned.
As soon as he was seated Erik launched into Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
As he read, and later, as they discussed the poem, Erik kept Charles' eye, like he was trying to tell him something through someone else's words. Charles struggled to recall what he knew of the poem--they hadn't studied this at boarding school, so he'd spent the better part of Sunday reading it, and then sitting in the library, seeking out every critique he could find.
Certainly, Charles thought, if anyone classified as a Byronic hero, it was Erik.
When the class ended, Charles hesitated, uncertain if he should remain behind. He wanted to approach this cautiously--felt secure enough about Erik's interest after Saturday that the need for reassurance was gone; and that had never happened to him before. Still, he lingered, taking his time packing away his things--which he hadn't really needed, but had taken out simple for the purpose of packing them away at the end of the class.
It seemed to be the right decision, because even before the classroom emptied, Erik approached him.
"How's your hand?" he asked.
"Healing," Charles said, remembering then the way Erik had cradled it on Saturday--gently, so very, very gently. It was almost disappointing when Erik didn't reach for it again.
"I never apologized, but I am sorry."
Charles shook him head. "Don't be ridiculous, it wasn't your fault."
A couple of students, who obviously wanted a minute of Erik's time, hovered in the background.
"I should have been watching where I was going," Erik said. Charles laughed.
"I could say the same," he said, gesturing with a nod of his head to the two girls awaiting Erik's attention. Erik offered him an apologetic smile.
Charles left the classroom, acutely aware that Erik was watching him leave. It felt like something had shifted. There was hesitance on Erik's behalf--he was still holding himself back, even more so now than before, as though his near slip on Saturday had caused him to reset his rules--and Charles still didn't know what those rules were--but it was painfully obvious that he was interested, that it was only a matter of time before this thing between them came to a head.
The realization made him smile, Charles for perhaps the first time in his life feeling secure--enough so that when Raven texted him on Tuesday to let him know Erik was planning on hitting Hamilton Deli at lunch, Charles didn't immediately drop what he was doing and rush to get there ahead of Erik. In fact, he didn't rush there at all--although several times he'd glanced at the clock and then thought about putting on his coat. You can wait a day, he told himself, feeling an odd sense of pride when the lunch hour came and went, Charles still safely ensconced in his office.
He could not, however, stop himself from arriving early to Erik's Wednesday class.
It was almost a shock to get there ahead of Erik. Charles hesitated briefly inside the empty classroom, but after a moment's consideration, he took his seat. The wait seemed endless, the room slowly filling, Charles growing increasingly antsy. Five minutes before the class was due to start, Erik's TA--Janos, Charles thought--rushed into the room, taking Erik's place at the podium. Charles frowned.
"I'll be running today's lecture," Janos said.
Charles' world ground to a halt. He extracted himself from his seat and slipped from the classroom as discretely as he could--a difficult feat considering he was sitting front and centre. He wasn't the only student to do so.
As soon as he was out in the hall, he pulled out his iPhone and called Raven. She answered after one ring.
"Calm down," she said, obviously knowing why he'd called. She sounded particularly hoarse. "We had Dim Sum last night, and it must have been off, because we're both puking our guts out today."
Charles' world lurched into motion, even as he made a face.
"Is he all right?" he asked, well aware of just how pathetic he sounded.
Raven lowered her voice. "He's miserable about not seeing you, but aside from that, fine. So am I, by the way." Charles grimaced, meaning to apologize, but Raven's next question rather distracted him from the thought. "Are you busy on Saturday?" she asked, seemingly out of the blue.
"No," Charles answered without having to think about it. It wouldn't have mattered if he was busy--he'd obviously clear his schedule for Erik.
"We're going to Coney Island," she said. Charles frowned at that. "There's this shark exhibit Erik wants to see, and he thinks it'll be a good way to bond with my new," she hesitated, "friend. You should come."
"Like come come, or meet you there come?" because Coney Island was probably pushing it as far as coincidences went.
"No, come come. Actually, do you have a car?"
"I can get one."
"Awesome. I'll send you details," she said, and then she hung up, though not before Charles heard the sound of retching in the background.
Ten minutes later, his phone chirped, Charles pulling up a advertisement for the New York Aquarium shark exhibit.
Sharks, Charles thought as he pulled it up. Somehow it seemed fitting.
~*~
Two days of the worst food poisoning of his life and Erik still felt stretched a little thin. He'd missed so much over the last two days--Charles, his mind shouted--though the three messages on his phone reminded him that he'd missed his appointment with Dr. Frost, too.
He called her office back, letting Angel know that he'd be in for his next scheduled--she'd cut him off when he'd tried to go into the gory details.
He spent the better part of Friday wandering aimlessly around the campus, hoping to bump into Charles--he ran into the man so often, it was almost as if fate was guiding their actions--but midway through his second search of Brownie's, he realized it probably wasn't going to happen. Raven had texted, to ask what he was doing, but rather than say looking for Charles, he'd said something about spending the afternoon locked in his office. She hadn't responded, so Erik had no idea why she wanted to know.
It was almost comical, when he thought about it, how much he'd wanted some space just to avoid doing something he would regret, and here he was, almost an entire week worth of space, and it was already driving him insane.
He considered that maybe Raven was right. Maybe six months didn't make all that much of a difference.
The thought lasted just until he made it back to the English department, Erik passing by the bulletin board where one of Shaw's gala invitations was posted. Erik paused, staring at it, feeling rage coil somewhere deep inside him as he thought about Shaw on campus only a week from now.
No, six months made all the difference in the world, Erik decided.
It was a miserably long day after that, one that Erik was glad to see the back of. When he arrived home, Raven was already getting ready for work--something about needing to do inventory before the night started.
"Don't forget tomorrow," she said. She'd warmed up nicely to the idea of Erik bonding with Azazel.
"Call me if you want a pick up," Erik said, more than willing to wait up half the night to walk over and get her. She shook her head, like she always did.
"Azazel will give me a lift." Another of Erik's jobs stripped from him, Erik thought, thinking about Azazel cooking. He shoved the thought aside; after all, he'd promised to try.
He didn't see Raven again until the next morning at breakfast--he'd heard her come in; had waited in bed, holding his breath until he was sure she was alone and had made it into her room safely. Only then had he let himself fall asleep.
He'd gotten up early, thinking perhaps he might have time to head to the park, see if Charles was playing chess again--when he'd asked on Monday, Charles had said that he occasionally played. It was startling to find Raven already awake. She was rooting through the kitchen, undoubtedly trying to put together her version of breakfast--which pretty much consisted of cold cereal, something even Raven couldn't screw up.
"You're up early," he said, reaching for the coffee maker.
"I told Azazel to get here for 9:00," she said.
Erik glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was already 7:30. That didn't leave them much time to fight over the bathroom and get ready. So much for going to look for Charles.
He supposed it made sense, though, the aquarium not exactly close, and undoubtedly they'd spend the entire day out that way. Raven probably had a point about the cold cereal. Erik put the coffee on and took down his own bowl.
"Has he been before?" he asked as they ate.
Raven shrugged. "Probably," she said, and then, when Erik arched an eyebrow in her direction, added, "He's been living in New York for like eighteen years now. He's probably been to the aquarium."
Erik knew that wasn't necessarily true. They'd been living in New York for four months now--not quite eighteen years, granted--and hadn't really hit any of the tourist sites. He'd been meaning to--meaning to take an entire day to tour places like Battery Park and the Empire State building--though only because he knew Raven enjoyed doing those sorts of things. He wondered if she'd do those things with Azazel now.
The thought wasn't making the prospect of today any easier, so Erik brushed it aside, concentrating instead on finishing his breakfast. Raven seemed content to let silence spill between them.
Against all odds--and probably because Erik had forgone shaving this morning--they were dressed and out the door shortly before nine. Their doorman let them out onto the street, where Raven pulled her coat a little tighter, fastening its buttons against the early morning chill.
Azazel pulled up right at nine, tucking his bike between two parked cars and then cutting its engine. He didn't seem the least bit perturbed that he was parking it illegally. It occurred to Erik then that he had no idea how they were even getting to the aquarium. He'd assumed the subway, but even after Azazel approached them on the sidewalk--smiling brightly at Raven as he did--Raven made no move to leave. Had she called a cab, he wondered?
He asked as much, but she shook her head. "Charles has a car," she said, as though it explained everything.
It was entirely possible it did, save, "Why does that matter?" Erik asked. Raven rolled her eyes.
"Because I invited him, and he's giving us a lift."
She said it so matter-of-fact, like it was a perfectly logical thing to do. Erik's stomach lurched with nervous excitement at seeing Charles, even as he tried to process the idea of Raven inviting Charles.
How had she even known how to get a hold of him?
It struck him then, the giddy excitement in his stomach turning to bitter nausea.
"Oh, Raven," he said, well aware that Azazel was staring between them even as Raven ducked her head, embarrassed.
"You missed him, so I thought..." she began, but he cut her off.
"This is all your doing, isn't it? I thought it was random, that we just kept bumping into each other because..." Because what? Because it was fate? Because they were destined for each other? The harsh reality of it was suffocating.
To learn that it was all Raven's doing--and he shouldn't be surprised, he really shouldn't--was more than Erik could process.
"Erik, I'm sorry," Raven was saying. "I just thought you needed a push."
And she'd pushed all right. She'd pushed so hard and so far that Erik wanted, for the first time in his life, to push back. He stared at her, horror mixed with betrayal bleeding into his expression.
"How could you?" he asked, because she of all people knew what Shaw had done to him--had been there for Shaw--and now she was... What? Pushing Erik towards Charles, trying to turn Erik into the monster he'd always sworn he would never become.
The ache of it was too much to bear.
It was then that a leaf green Prius pulled up to the curb. The driver's side window rolled down, Charles poking his head outside. He was smiling, but his smile vanished when he caught sight of Erik.
Erik caught his eye, though only for a minute before he shook his head and looked away. He didn't say anything as he headed back into the building, leaving Charles sitting in his idling car; Raven and Azazel standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.
Chapter 15
Raven Interlude
Raven stared at Erik's retreating back, even as a dozen explanations died on her tongue. Only once he was through the door and out of sight did she turned to meet Charles' eye.
Charles looked gutted.
"What happened?" he asked, sounding panicked. Raven shook her head.
"He just found out I've been playing matchmaker," she said.
Azazel, who'd been giving her space, came over to stand at her side. She could feel his heat, but he kept far enough away so as to not overwhelm her. She turned her head and offered him an apologetic smile. So much for their planned aquarium visit.
"What should I do?" Charles was asking, but Raven merely shook her head a second time.
"Leave this to me. It's my screw up; I'll fix it," she said.
Charles looked set to argue--he looked more than a little distraught at the moment, so Raven figured she could forgive him for not immediately following her instructions. She moved over until she was crouching next to his window. She caught his eye.
"It's fine. Just a minor setback. Please let me handle this," she said.
Except, it wasn't a minor setback. This Raven discovered after she'd convinced Charles not to rush inside the building and throw himself at Erik's feet, beg forgiveness. She apologized to Azazel--who'd shrugged and told her to call if she needed anything--and headed inside to find Erik locked in his room.
There was a rule in their house. No one locked doors. This was the first time Erik had violated it.
"I screwed up," she said through the thick wood of his bedroom door. Erik didn't answer, so she sat down on the wall opposite, sitting with her knees dragged up to her chest.
Erik had been mad at her before--it was impossible to live with someone as long as Raven had lived with Erik and not have the occasional spat--but there was something in Erik's silence--deathly still as it was--that made her feel like the world was ending.
And things had been going so well.
She shouldn't have, she realized, invited Charles to come. She'd hoped Erik--who had been moping--would be so thrilled at seeing him that he wouldn't have questions how or why Raven had thought to invite him. She was hoping, too, that his presence would give Erik a shove in the right direction. She could tell it was only a matter of time before Erik caved. He was far too in love to do anything else.
Now she'd likely set him back weeks--she probably owed Charles more of an apology than she'd given.
She wasn't sure how long she sat--though by the time she gave in and stood, her body protested moving, muscles aching from hours of disuse--but this time when she knocked Erik answered.
"I need you to leave me alone, Raven," he said through the door--right through the door, like he was standing on the other side.
"For how long?" she asked. Erik hesitated.
"At least the rest of today," he said. He didn't say anything else, but Raven could hear him breathing, a raspy sound that told her Erik was trying to calm himself. She stepped forward and placed a hand on the door.
"And Charles?" she asked, because Charles was undoubtedly tormenting himself even as they spoke.
For the longest minute, Erik didn't say anything. When he did, he sounded more broken than Raven could ever remember hearing.
"I'll deal with him," he said, like Charles was a chore. Raven knew that wasn't how Erik felt; knew, too, that his efforts to make her think that he did meant that this was going to go so much worse than she'd initially feared.
She probably shouldn't have given him the day, but what other choice did she have?
~*~
After Raven went inside, Charles sat parked outside Erik's building for the better part of twenty minutes. Raven's boyfriend--Azazel, the man had introduced himself--had shaken his head and said something about it not being a good idea to wait. He'd climbed onto his bike then, disappeared beneath his helmet, and took off.
He thought about going inside. He was right here, and there was a possibility that Erik would listen to him. He thought about calling Erik--Raven had left his number in his phone that one time outside Hellfire, oh so long ago now, and Charles had yet to find an excuse to use it. This seemed like a particularly valid one.
Then he thought about the look on Raven's face--something very close to panic--when she'd told him to go; that she would take care of this.
Oh, God, Charles thought. What if she couldn't? What if Erik ended up hating him, never wanting to see him again, all because he'd let Raven talk him into playing this game.
And all right, to be fair, it was nowhere near Raven's fault--because Charles was always doing things like this, and even now, when he was starting to think that maybe--maybe--it wouldn't be necessary with Erik, Charles was still doing it. He was such an utter idiot at times it was ridiculous.
He decide on texting Raven, because that was probably the only thing he could do.
He contemplated her reply for several minutes before deciding that she was right; that his presence was only going to make things worse. His hand was shaking, nausea pooling in the pit of his stomach as he started the car and pulled back out into Saturday morning traffic.
It was a wonder he made it back to his apartment without destroying Moira's car.
Raven didn't text him again on Saturday.
Charles spent the whole of the day pacing the tiny space of his apartment, unable to keep still. He'd pulled out Erik's poems and was reading them when his phone rang, but in place of Raven--and maybe Erik, he thought hopefully--it was only Moira, letting him know he could drop off her car tomorrow.
Charles thanked her, and very purposely didn't mention anything about what had happened--what had happened?--in front of Erik's building. Instead he told her to have a good night with Sean's parents and that he'd make sure the car was parked safely outside her building before she got up.
He sat for a while after that, staring at the back wall of his kitchen, ugly laminate cupboards screwed against them like they were an afterthought. God, Charles thought, maybe Scott was right. Maybe he hadn't grown up; maybe he'd been so neglected in his youth that his internal chronometer had hit seventeen and stopped ticking. It would probably explain his inability to maintain a long-term relationship, not to mention his apparent contentment at living in this shithole of an apartment.
Scott probably had that condo by now, with vaulted ceilings and oak cupboards, spiral staircase climbing up to the loft bedroom. He'd been so specific.
Charles had never wanted anything so grand, but something like Moira's, maybe, with her wide plank-board floors and the pot lights above her island counter. Charles didn't even own any furniture--nothing that counted, anyway.
There were stains on Charles' carpet that were here when he'd moved in.
Feeling suddenly like he was suffocating, Charles grabbed Moira's keys and headed back out to her car. He'd told her he was taking it to Coney Island, so to Coney Island it was going to go.
Despite logically knowing the hour, it was still a surprise to step outside his apartment and realize it was night. He'd somehow lost an entire day to his moping, without noticing. Charles frowned, stomach rumbling then as if to remind him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He ignored it, climbed behind the wheel of Moira's car, and set off towards the 9A.
There was something about driving that had always appealed to him, even when he steadfastly refused to buy a car. There was freedom in it, the feel of the wheel beneath his hands, the smooth flow of tires on pavement, the soft vibration of the engine--not that Moira's Prius had much of an engine--the blaring of Moira's stereo. Charles navigated the city streets, weaving through traffic as though he was born to do exactly that. He felt detached from himself in a way that he hadn't since he was a teenager, isolated and alone in a country he barely had the right to call his own.
Riverside turned into West 79th Street, which brought him to the onramp of the 9A. Charles drove, yellow highway lines vanishing beneath him, the cars he passed streaks of colour in his peripheral vision.
He took the tunnel across to the Interstate 278, and then down and around, until, over an hour later, he had arrived at Coney Island, almost ten hours past when he was originally supposed to be there.
Only now he was very much alone.
The lights of the midway cast an eerie glow against the overcast night sky. Charles found parking in one of the more expensive lots--he didn't particularly want to walk--and then found himself wandering up and down the boardwalk, watching the milling people--the crowds never seemed to disperse, regardless of the hour--even as he contemplated getting something to eat.
He ended up getting a hot dog, because it was Coney Island, and Charles had always been fond of the expression, When in Rome. It didn't particularly sit well, though that was probably because his stomach was still a mess of nerves. He had no idea what was going to happen in Erik's class on Monday. Would all of this be forgotten and forgiven? Or would Erik cut him off, decide Charles wasn't to be trusted--and after their conversation on ulterior motives, no less--and then Charles would never see him again?
Surely it couldn't end like this, could it?
And now the hot dog was threatening to make its reappearance, so Charles stopped himself from thinking along those lines. Instead he concentrated on the crisp night air and the obnoxious strains of music coming from the park. God, Charles really didn't want to be here.
He couldn't even really remember the last time he'd come--certainly not when he was a child, his mother would have died before she'd ever considered such a thing. Charles could remember coming once during a rare summer home from boarding school. He'd come on his own; snuck out of his house and stolen one of Kurt's cars just to make the drive--he hadn't even had a license yet. He'd met a boy whose name Charles could no longer remember. They'd eaten funnel cake and drank orange soda and laughed for hours--Charles had never known the like, his life so bereft of company. That night they'd hidden behind a trailer and traded hand-jobs--Charles' first--illuminated by the wheel of wonder.
He'd never seen the boy again, but to this day the memory was a cherished one. Inside his shortbread tin, in the bottom of his drawer, Charles still kept the very first item to have made its way into his collection: the boy's Coney Island wristband, neatly cut where Charles had clipped it off with the scissors from the boy's Swiss army knife.
He'd given the boy his number, but if he called, Charles suspected his mother, appalled by someone with a Cuban accent asking for her son, had probably ensured it was only once.
Coming to Coney Island was obviously a very bad plan.
Charles headed back to Moira's car.
He took his time getting back, driving aimlessly for a while, always heading in the right direction, but without taking the most direct route. Back in Manhattan, he found himself stopping outside Erik's apartment. I could just ring up and apologize, he thought, but Raven still hadn't contacted him and she'd said she would. After sitting outside the building for ten minutes, Charles gave up and headed towards Moira's flat.
He left her car in its usual space, and took the train the rest of the way home, where he promptly collapsed into bed, intending not to leave it until either Raven--or Erik--called or Monday morning surfaced.
Monday came first.
Except, once again Charles walked into the classroom to find Janos at its head. Janos' eyes grew wide when he saw Charles, and he waved Charles over, ignoring the other students who were clearly as surprised to find him there again.
"He left a message for you," Janos said, ducking his head as he handed over an envelope. Charles' hand trembled as he took it.
There was no point sitting for the class--probably wasn't a point in coming back to the class now--so Charles took the envelope out into the hall and tore it open--carefully, oh so very carefully so as to not rip the page. In place of the long, sprawling letter Charles was expecting--hoping for--there was only a short, terse note.
Charles hand shook slightly as he read and reread the note, not finding anything else in it than what it obviously said. He couldn't tell what Erik had meant by discuss this later. Was he going to break up with Charles--stupid, stupid, considering they weren't even dating--or did he want their relationship to continue its progression?
Charles agonized over that for days. There was relatively little else to do, Erik not on campus and Raven no longer texting. Charles wasn't entirely certain what to do with himself. Mostly he moped, waiting for Erik's later or even Raven's promised call.
The week crept forward, and neither came.
~*~
Erik avoided Raven's gaze as he moved about the apartment. He'd been doing the same for days, despite knowing he was hurting her--but she had hurt him first, damn it. It didn't help that he was home--had feigned illness and taken the week off work--the two of them sharing the small space with more frequency than usual.
"Are you just not going to talk to me ever again?" Raven asked as he came into the kitchen. He'd only wanted a cup of coffee, maybe something for breakfast, before he headed out for the day.
He had nowhere he needed to be this morning, but this afternoon marked his first appointment with Dr. Frost in two weeks; one he suspected he ought to keep. Also, being locked inside this apartment was starting to drive him a little crazy.
"Seriously, Erik. You cannot be this immature," Raven said. She pushed away from the counter she was leaned against and stepped into his space, blocking his access to the cupboard.
"Raven," he warned, but she stood her ground. Erik shook his head, deflating somewhat as he stepped back. "Can you not just give me some time? Is that really too much to ask for?"
It probably was, he realized. He'd never asked her for time before; he'd always been there for her, through some of the worst moments in both of their lives. The worst of it was this wasn't even her fault.
It wasn't Charles' fault either.
It was Sebastian Shaw's fault, and here he was, fifteen years later, hurting Erik and the people Erik loved all over again.
"I'm not that upset with you," Erik conceded. Raven's expression grew hopeful. "It's just a little much to process and I need time."
He needed more than that. He needed Dr. Frost to fix him. He needed Sebastian Shaw to pay for the things he had done. He needed Charles to understand that he deserved better than someone like Erik. He needed Raven to understand that his life was not a game, to be pieced together and played with as she saw fit.
He needed so many things.
"I'll give you time, Erik--as much as you need--but you should call Charles. I would imagine he's pretty miserable right now."
Erik let his expression soften. "I already sent him a note. I told him the same thing I've told you; I just need some time."
That seemed to assuage Raven's worry, because she smiled, nodding like she could now see a light at the end of the tunnel. Erik wasn't so sure such a thing existed, but he let her cling to her hope, ate his breakfast, and then headed out for the day.
He spent the morning wandering aimlessly. He ducked into a few shops, bought some books and then drank bitter coffee bought from a vendor near Union Square. He tried finding the chess hustler who'd tried to take Charles' money, but apparently he only came out on the weekends, because he was nowhere to be found. He sat in the spot he'd beaten him in, and jotted something in his notebook.
When he was done, it was still early enough that Erik decided to start walking towards Dr. Frost's. He stopped on the way at Ma Peche and bought noodles for lunch, eating them from their carton as he walked. He still found himself standing beneath the green awning of Dr. Frost's building long before his scheduled appointment.
To his surprise, when he arrived upstairs, Dr. Frost was out in the hall, waiting for him.
"Your sister called," she said when she saw him, Erik shaking his head--Raven was at it again. "I've cleared my schedule." She gestured Erik into her office, leading him towards his usual chair.
Just to be contrary, Erik headed into the corner and threw himself down on Dr. Frost's white leather couch. It wasn't so bad, he realized when he got there, staring up at the ceiling. He could see now why someone might like the setup.
Dr. Frost, who was always so quick on the uptake, didn't even blink as she pivoted and then crossed the room to claim the art deco chair.
"Are you feeling better this week, Erik?" she asked.
Erik exhaled.
"I'm going to have sex with Charles," he said, because that seemed his most pressing problem. "I'm going to have sex with Charles and it's all Shaw's fault and I hate him for what he did to me."
For the longest minute Dr. Frost didn't say anything, she merely watched Erik with that introspective look that he knew meant she was calculating how best to respond to something he'd said. When she did speak, it was so quiet Erik had to strain to hear, though no less purposeful than anything else she'd ever said.
"You are not Sebastian Shaw. He did not make you. Your actions are, and will always be, your own. But you are still allowed to hate him."
It didn't particularly make Erik feel all that much better.
~*~
Charles sat on Moira's sofa--perched on the edge of the seat cushion this time, not particularly wanting to deal with its appetite--and watched as Moira fretted over shoes.
Ten minutes ago, he'd sat on the edge of her bed watching her fret over dresses.
"Honestly, Moira, the black ones," he said, when she seemed torn between the little black pumps and a pair of blue monstrosity platforms that should have been tossed in 2004. He really didn't see what the big deal was, but then, he supposed he'd been more than a little unenthusiastic lately.
"Fine, the black ones," Moira conceded, slipping them on. She did a final twirl, Charles giving her a half-hearted nod. Moira frowned. "Why are you even going, Charles?"
Charles glanced up at that, well aware of how he looked--sitting dejected and broken, bags under his eyes from not sleeping, hand still splinted, complexion pale and sickly from not eating, and yet dressed to the nines in an Armani tux. He shrugged.
"He might be there," he said, because even though Erik had shown little interest in going, there was still a chance he might turn up at the Poet Laureate Gala, and at this point all Charles wanted was to see him.
Moira frowned at him. "Are you sure you're not taking this a little too hard? I mean..." was as far as she got before Charles was interrupting her.
"Don't you dare. Don't you dare compare this to anything else. I actually have genuine feelings for this man--like am probably in love with this man--and you and I both know I have never felt that before. This isn't just one of my crushes gone wrong. It isn't."
He'd been like this all week--snarky and tense and constantly on edge. This wasn't the first time he'd barked at Moira, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
"If you'd let me finish, I was going to remind you that he only asked for time. He didn't break up with you. He didn't tell you he never wanted to see you again. Hell, it's pretty obvious he's just as crazy about you as you are about him. I think you just need to be patient."
Except patience was the one thing Charles had never had--never would, either. Still, he hung his head.
"I know, I'm sorry," he said, which was precisely when Sean called to say that he was downstairs.
"Come on," Moira said, offering a hand. "Hopefully he'll be there."
Charles hoped so too--he really, really did.
Except, when they arrived at Lerner Hall, and entered the auditorium, Erik was nowhere to be found.
"It's still early," Moira whispered in his ear, giving his arm a brief squeeze before she allowed Sean to lead her through the crowd, undoubtedly wanting to mingle with his fellow musicians.
Charles took heart to that, mustered his best smile, and began a circuit of the room, still searching for Erik, though occasionally allowing himself to get dragged into the odd conversation. He'd been inside twenty minutes when he swiped a glass of champagne off a circulating tray, and then moved back towards the door, hoping to spot Erik if--when--he arrived.
It was only marginally surprising when he ran into Scott.
"He's not coming, you know," Scott said, managing to sound apologetic. Charles straightened his shoulders.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said, although he knew he wasn't fooling anyone.
Scott gave him a look--one that said, please, Charles, I know you, but before he could say anything--before Charles could further protest--a broad-shouldered man joined them, handing a newly retrieved champagne flute to Scott.
Charles frowned.
"I'm sorry, don't we know each other?" he said, because there was something decidedly familiar about the guy.
The guy looked Charles up and down, and then arched an eyebrow.
"I fucked you a couple of years ago," he said, and right; Charles probably should have remembered that.
"The Canadian guy who ruined my rug," Charles tried to say, but at the same time Scott, who until then had been doing a good impression of a gaping fish, turned to the man and said, "Logan!"
Logan--yes that was his name--glanced from Scott and Charles, and then back to Scott again. "Oh, this is your old Charles?" he said, smiling a little sheepishly.
Charles wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended by being referred to as Scott's old anything. It was also fairly obvious that Charles didn't want to get caught in the middle of whatever argument they were about to have--and really, it did go a little beyond weird--so he smiled somewhat apologetically--not that they were paying attention to him--and stepped back.
Or rather, he meant to step back, but doing so caused him to collide with the person standing directly behind him, Charles turning, mortified, apology already passing across his lips before he registered just who it was he was talking to.
"It's quite all right," the man--and even if Charles hadn't looked him up, there was really no mistaking Sebastian Shaw for anyone else--said. Shaw was quite distinctive. He rather made Charles' skin crawl--and that was not a reaction Charles had to too many people.
"Right, still, apologies," Charles managed, wanting only to be away from those piercing eyes that seemed set to devour Charles on the spot--and not in a good way.
"But how rude of me; we haven't even been introduced. Sebastian Shaw," he said, taking Charles' injured hand, and to Charles' surprise--and horror--Shaw brought it to his lips and kissed the back of Charles' bandaged knuckles, like Charles was some lady in waiting, Shaw a prospective husband.
"Charles Xavier," Charles managed, wanting to snatch back his hand, but he would have had to fight Shaw to do so--which he suspected might hurt--so it seemed simply easier to let them man continue cradling it.
~*~
She was wrong. They were both wrong. This was Shaw's doing, and Erik would never be free of him if he didn't do something about it. How could he ever hope to move on--to move forward--if he didn't vanquish his enemies?
Dr. Frost had told him confronting Shaw wouldn't solve anything. Raven had told him going after Shaw would only prove Shaw still held power over him. But they were wrong.
So very, very wrong.
And for the first time in a very long time, Erik knew exactly where to find Shaw.
He shrugged off the man inside the main entrance who asked for Erik's coat. "I'm not staying," he said, as if that wasn't obvious given Erik's lack of attire. He shrugged off the woman at the door to the auditorium who asked for his invitation. "You know who I am," he said, and she did, because in the first week he'd been at the university she'd offered to fetch him coffee more times than he could count. He'd eventually told her he was gay just to get her off his back.
The auditorium was decked out for the occasion--not that Erik had seen it before its transformation, but it looked like all the stops were pulled; there were actually live plants and flowers strewn about like the room was supposed to be some sort of English garden. Oh, Shaw would undoubtedly love it. He loved feeling like the biggest, most powerful man in the room. He loved having people make a fuss over him.
But it wasn't Shaw who drew his gaze--however much Erik was searching for him--but rather Charles--and what was Charles doing here, he wondered. It took him several minutes to recognize who Charles was speaking with. Several more to register that Shaw--and God, it was him--was holding Charles' hand, like he had a God-damned right to touch anything of Erik's.
Erik saw red. The whole of the room narrowed into a single tunnel as he took in Shaw, talking to Charles with that oh-too-familiar look in his eye. Erik was moving before he could stop himself.
He stormed across the room, people physically leaping out of his way when they saw him coming. At one point, Charles glanced over, smile lighting up his face until he registered the look of death on Erik's features. Then he flinched, drew back as though frightened--good, Erik thought, he should be--I'm a monster.
Sensing Charles' distraction--and oh, how that must have burned Shaw--Shaw turned, catching sight of Erik, eyes growing wide, but before he could say anything--before anyone could say anything--Erik had hauled back his fist and punched Shaw right in his ridiculous face.
"Erik!" Charles cried, even as Shaw stumbled back, but Erik wasn't done.
He lunged for Shaw again, but before he could get there a pair of thick arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side and pulling him back.
"Whoa, there, bub. Not gonna happen," his captor said. Erik snarled, even as he struggled.
"Don't hurt him, Logan, please don't hurt him," Charles was saying, even as Shaw rubbed at his jaw, stepping forward until he was close enough that, had Erik not been restrained, he could have reached out and snapped the man's neck.
"Well, if it isn't little Erik Lehnsherr," Shaw said, eyeing Erik speculatively. "Not so little anymore, are you?"
"Sorry to disappoint," Erik said, but before he could say anything else Charles was there, stepping between them, his blue eyes blown wide with panic. Erik's anger faded in an instant--he wanted only then to bundle Charles away from here, to make sure that Shaw hadn't hurt him.
"I don't know what's going on, but you need to stop," Charles said.
Erik opened his mouth to agree--he would have agreed to anything Charles asked--when a familiar head of white hair approached the group.
He'd only met Ororo Munroe, the department head, once, but he'd heard enough to know that she had a reputation for brooking no nonsense.
"Outside," she said, gesturing to Erik. She glanced at the man still holding him--Logan, Charles had called him--as though expecting him to drag Erik from the room.
"Don't think I'm going to let this go so easily," Shaw said, stepping forward. Erik was once again overcome with the urge to kill him--if Logan hadn't still been holding him he might have done exactly that.
"You have my apologies, Professor Shaw," Munroe said, "and the University will do everything in its power to ensure this man is appropriately disciplined. I can assure you, we wouldn't do anything to jeopardize our association with a man of your standing."
Erik growled as she said it, which seemed to be Logan's cue--too late he realized Summers was also there, hovering at Logan's side like he expected to have to join in and make Erik's humiliation complete--to drag him from the room. He caught Charles' gaze when they had him halfway to the door, Charles watching with too-wide eyes. He mouthed something, but Erik had never been good at reading lips, so he had no idea what it was.
At Charles' side, Shaw was smiling.
Logan--the brute--and Summers led him out into the hall, and then into a storage room filled with folded chairs and extra tables. Summers retrieved a couple of the chairs, spreading them around as though they were about to have an engaging conversation. Erik was tempted to flee the second Logan released him, pushing him towards a chair in the process--Charles was still alone with that man!--but before he was able to, Munroe stormed into the room.
"And just what was that?" she asked.
Erik firmly kept his mouth shut, even as he met her gaze and held it. He was expecting her to break first--most people did--but instead she merely arched an eyebrow, as though Erik was a wayward child she expected to have to put over her knee.
Erik glanced down at the floor.
Which was precisely when the door to the storage room opened, and Charles Xavier walked in.
"Sorry, but I think I can probably help with this situation," he said. He glanced briefly to Erik, confusion and something Erik thought might be incredulity reflected in his eyes, and then turned his attention back to Munroe. Munroe caught his gaze, nodded, and then motioned him inside. She moved to sit in one of the chairs, like a queen taking audience on her throne.
"Go on," she said.
"I've spoken to Professor Shaw, and he's agreed not to press any formal charges, or file any formal complaint, on the condition that Professor Lehnsherr apologizes." Here he glanced at Erik again, expression growing apologetic.
Erik felt bile rise in his throat, even as he struggled against the rage threatening to overwhelm him. What had Charles promised, he wondered, to get such an offer. The thought sickened him--almost as much as the thought of apologizing to Shaw.
"Thank you, Professor Xavier. If that's all," Munroe said, nodding Charles out of the room. Charles cast one last glance at Erik, nodded, and then ducked out of the room.
In his rage, it took Erik several minutes to process what Munroe had said. When he did, he turned and caught her eye.
"Professor Xavier?" he asked, Shaw forgotten.
On to chapter 16
YAY!
Date: 2011-11-19 05:56 pm (UTC)Words cannot express how I'm reacting right now! I'm like jumping off my seat with that last line. OMGOMGOMGOMG!
...Phew, okay, I calmed down a little. But seriously, OMG!
Thank you for the lovely chapters! I'm sorry about the chicken pox though; I hope you're feeling better!
I'm gonna go reread that last chapter now :)
Re: YAY!
Date: 2011-11-19 06:25 pm (UTC)I found it interesting that a newly introduced character, Storm, was the one to reveal Charle's professor status to Erik. I was pretty sure it was going to be either Logan or Scott (or maybe even Shaw) so that definitely took me by surprise. I'm so excited to see Erik's actual reaction to the news.
Oh, and throughout the chapter I wanted to hug both Charles and Erik. Poor boys! So much misunderstanding and manly angst!
I loved the Charles/Shaw interaction and then very much enjoyed Erik punching him in the face; twas much deserved! It's going to be interesting seeing Erik forced to apologize, and I wonder if he's going to reveal to any of the professors there why exactly he punched Shaw in the first place. Gaah, Shaw is such a cocky bastard and I want to punch him in the face too!
And Logan/Scott love!
Re: YAY!
Date: 2011-11-20 02:52 am (UTC)I think that was part of my goal. I wanted people wondering how it was going to happen, without figuring it out, and without getting so frustrated they gave up on the fic (which I'm sure some people did anyway). But, yes, it had to be someone new.
I think the Erik/Shaw "apology" scene will go over well. People will be pleased. We'll see, anyway.
And I totally ship them. I don't mean to, I just can't help it.
Re: YAY!
Date: 2011-11-21 02:32 am (UTC)Oh, and let me just mention that it cannot be healthy the number of times I go to your site to see if there's an update. I know you just gave two wonderful chapters yesterday, and it is highly unlikely that you're able to crank out another fabulously well written chapter in less than 24 hours, but nonetheless I keep coming to your page and hitting refresh!
Re: YAY!
Date: 2011-11-21 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 06:08 pm (UTC)GO ERIK!!! Bust that creep right in the chops!
<3
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 08:29 pm (UTC)Also, you're on your own for Coney Island; I've never been, embarrassingly enough :)
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 02:48 am (UTC)Oh my god.
Date: 2011-11-19 08:54 pm (UTC)This chapter. These chapters. Dear god just UUUUUUGH. This is my brain right now: AS;DLKFJAKSDHJFALKSDJFHAJSDHGFLKSADLFKHASDLKJFHASLKDJFHASDHF
Oh my god I just can't. I have lost my ability to can and just FINALLY. I have been waiting so long and now ITS JUST MORE WAITING.
Why do you torture me so? I love you. I love this fic and just oh my god I can't.
<3
Re: Oh my god.
Date: 2011-11-20 02:48 am (UTC)*g*
Re: Oh my god.
Date: 2011-11-20 01:30 pm (UTC)Re: Oh my god.
Date: 2011-11-20 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 09:04 pm (UTC)And I seriously hope that Charles didn't promise anything untoward to Shaw to not file charges against Erik. From this point on I want the story to be about LOOOOOVE!
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 02:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 02:39 am (UTC)♥
Do feel better soon. Adult chickenpox sounds awful.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 02:46 am (UTC)But again, totally different country, so I have no idea how it works in the US. It might even vary school to school, but yeah, this whole fic pretty much requires the following warning:
Suspend all disbelief, all ye who enter here.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 04:43 am (UTC)THERE WAS ALMOST A KISS! ERIK PUNCHED SHAW! AWKWARD LOGAN/CHARLES/SCOTT CONVERSATION! CHARLES IS IN LOVE AND GROWING UP! ERIK VANQUISHED THE CHESS HUSTLER FOR CHARLES! ERIK HEARS THE WORD "PROFESSOR"!
Oh, I think when they actually kiss (you are giving us that, right?), my heart (or somewhere...south...of my heart) might explode.
Right, must read again.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 04:45 am (UTC)OH! Wait, I was also going to say, I'm reading Survival of the Sickest and the chapter I'm on is talking quite a bit about genetics and mutations. I've been having to re-read often because my brain is so distracted by thoughts of Erik and Charles and mutations.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 02:48 pm (UTC)Also, I can't do anything without thinking of Charles/Erik, so that at least is somewhat on topic. (can you imagine being an XMFC fan while studying/working in genetics? You'd be so screwed.)
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Date: 2011-11-20 05:32 pm (UTC)I think about Charles/Erik (ngl, also about James/Michael) near constantly and am so screwed already! LOL
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Date: 2011-11-20 02:46 pm (UTC)You have no idea how hard it was to not turn that almost kiss into a kiss. *I* want them to kiss. It's been killing me. But probably worth it because then I got to write Erik punching Shaw, which was lots of fun.
But, yeah, you'll get a kiss (amongst other things).
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 05:35 pm (UTC)On my re-read I noticed one thing I had skipped over the first time: ERIK THINKING SHAW CAN'T HAVE WHAT'S ERIK'S. EEEEEE! ERIK THINKS OF CHARLES AS HIS!!! Not that it's not obvious to probably anyone around them with eyes and ears but still. EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
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Date: 2011-11-20 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-21 12:42 am (UTC)And oh. Man. I just.. don't even..!!! X3
Rest and feel better, though! Apparently I was a screaming ball of terror when I had chicken pox when I was younger (I remember most of it and blech, bleeehhchh) so I can only imagine.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-21 03:52 am (UTC)And this pretty much is the worst thing I've ever experienced (save childbirth). You can always tell when a runner's sick, because they stop running. Hell, I ran a triathlon last year with kidney stones (passed out on the other side of the finish line, but I did it). The fact that it's been a week since I last looked at my shoes... This is agony.
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Date: 2011-11-21 07:44 am (UTC)And THEN to have that promising almost-kiss moment get followed up by Erik pretty much shutting Charles out completely, and so abruptly, I... am not safe, no matter what you do in this story because no matter what I always end up all tense and blindsided by something from left field. And it's great! I love it! If that.. makes any normal kind of sense, lol. There's something about them that.. it's almost bittersweet to read. There's so much there between them to figure out-- more than just the (kinda hilarious) misunderstanding of Erik thinking Charles is his student-- that, no matter what, I really can't wait to see where all this goes.
But good lord! Congrats on being awesome enough to run a triathlon! Passing out or not-- and with kidney stones! That's pretty damn good! It's true though. My aunt and my stepfather both run, like clockwork, on the same days at the same times and nothing short of a hurricane or the plague will stop them. Kick your chicken pox(es?) butt(s? lol I don't even know anymore) and you'll be back to running in no time! :D
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Date: 2011-11-21 01:39 pm (UTC)on the same days at the same times and nothing short of a hurricane or the plague will stop them.
You kind of need to if you're training for anything (marathons, triathlons, etc) because otherwise you'll miss the event. So I had a chilly half coming up in January that I'm probably not going to make now. It's too hard to recover from 2 weeks missed training. Your muscles atrophy and your cardio system degrades (so you have to set yourself back and you'll never play catch up). It'll depress me for weeks. They were giving away really nice jackets this year. :(
no subject
Date: 2011-11-21 08:49 am (UTC)You've managed to create interesting parallels to the original characters and their motivations without going about it in a hamfisted one-to-one ratio. You've also done a wonderful job keeping the nature of the original relationships while at the same time building up on them and making something new out of it.
And so much OMFG WHAT NEXT?
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Date: 2011-11-21 01:42 pm (UTC)But thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying this. It's very hard to remove a character's background (like Erik in the concentration camps) and have them stay even close to the same character. Fortunately, I feel like there's a lot of leeway with x-men, because there's so many verses to pull from, and because there have been so many writers that each incarnation is a little different anyway. (XMFC did so many interesting things for Erik and Charles' backstories).
no subject
Date: 2011-11-21 10:24 pm (UTC)Hahaha so true! AU's are pretty much canon.