Chapter Text
When he’d been younger, mutant rights rallies had been the thing that had kept Erik Lehnsherr going, he mused as he listened to the cacophony outside. They had been the one thing that truly excited and clicked with him- it was right, being around other mutants. How amazing, how incredible, how perfect was it to be around people just like him? People who understood his pain and anger and fear, people who could echo his rage and the sentiments that burned in his chest like a metal brand that had been placed there at the age of nine and hadn’t been removed since. He wasn’t sure that it could be removed at this point; his fury and pain had built around it like scar tissue. It was a part of him now, as much as the gift he wielded with expert precision.
But the longer he had attended the rallies and the longer he’d spoken to people, once the initial shine had worn off, he had realized very quickly that the vast majority of people like him didn’t understand. The vast majority of people like him hadn’t experienced the hate and fear and violence that had so shaped his life, and as such, the people who were like him weren’t like him in the slightest.
They didn’t want to carve a place for mutants in the world. They just wanted to be accepted into the world, regardless of how shitty and gritty an acceptance they were given.
He had, eventually, found others who understood what damage humans could actually do, the danger that they posed to his kind, and his life had properly started at age seventeen as he’d thrown himself into the war that so many mutants and humans alike didn’t even realize was ongoing. It hadn’t started in the nineties with the tentative introduction of the Mutant Registration Act. It hadn’t started in the seventies with Stryker and his experiments with adamantium and mind-wipes. It hadn’t started in the forties with the Nazi scum that had killed Erik’s great-grandparents and all but one of their children. It hadn’t even started in the thirties when vast warehouses had been uncovered, filled to the brim with mutants and the scientists who tore them apart looking to see what made them tick.
And back, and back, and back. The list was endless, the horrors were endless. It had started when the very first mutant was found, and it would not end so long as mutants and humans had lived in the same world. Coexisted was a ridiculous term when one species actively sought and destroyed the other- they would never stop. That was what Erik’s life had taught him, and the Brotherhood had refined that knowledge and given him the missing pieces of history that he’d never learned in the juvenile detention schools he’d been forced to attend, doped up and suppressed until he could escape.
Erik shook himself out of his brooding, taking a long drink of the coffee he’d rested on his nightstand. Yes, there were some in those rallies below whose anger burned brightly enough that Erik’s only response in seeing it was a kind of flare of kinship, but for the most part, those in the streets today were just happy to be out, happy to be together, and pushing for some kind of positive change in a way that would never work. Angel was already fulfilling her role, winding her way through the crowd, finding those whose anger was like a knife and using her talents to persuade them that the Brotherhood could help sharpen that knife to a deadly edge.
Erik had never really cared for that persuasive, recruiting role. He didn’t want to spend time with people and crowds anymore and couldn’t be bothered to get them to change their minds on the futility of the pacifist method. Instead, he continued drinking his coffee and waited for the call from Angel or Azazel to alert him that it was time to meet.
He took in his apartment, leaning back against the wall as he did. There were very few things that he could class as his in the world, but this apartment was one of them. He’d painted the walls an off-white, keeping the furniture dark and simple and fairly standard. It was all well-made, and most of it was some sort of metal or alloy. It comforted him, knowing that almost everything in his living space could be utilized as a weapon if need-be.
There were no personal items. No photographs or memorabilia, although he did have a lot of books in the bookcases that sat against the far wall, and a computer and notebooks that sat on the desk. He liked his curtains, a deep blue that reminded him of the ocean and made his chest hurt sometimes when the sun caught them just right, though he never could say why. Some long-buried memory of his childhood, he suspected. Maybe his mother had taken him to an ocean like that once, one the same deep, beautiful blue. His bedspread was gray and plain, his pillowcase a standard sham.
Erik Lehnsherr was not a man of fripperies or unnecessary purchases. He bought very few things, needed very few things, and he found a lot of peace that way. An ascetic lifestyle suited him. He’d never had much money growing up, and opulence actively bothered him now. He found wealthy marks much easier to complete.
He moved into the living room and sat back on the couch, lifting a book from the side table. He had been working his way though a few different foreign novels, and he was currently working his way through The Brothers Karamazov in its original Russian. He’d read the English version, but reading it in the native language was always best. He opened it and found himself restless, unable to sink into the words the way he’d prefer.
He set the book aside, crossing to the bookcase and studying the options available to him. There was The Crucible, Macbeth, Crime and Punishment, Atlas Shrugged… his eyes caught on a book in the back, half-tucked behind a stack of other books. He pulled it out as it hummed to him and frowned, examining it curiously. A Once and Future King. It had been forever since he’d read the Arthurian legends. He smiled as he traced his fingers over the metal-embossed cover, tracing the sword and the arm that held it. He couldn’t even remember where he’d gotten this. Maybe on a job? An antique bookstore?
He opened it, then frowned as the pages fell automatically to the middle of the book, where a Polaroid was stuck. Erik froze, unable to move or breathe for a moment.
It was a photo of him, grinning at the camera like an idiot. That in itself was extremely unnerving, because he hated photos, much less smiling for them in any sort of genuine way. More disturbing than that, however, was the man beside him in the photo.
The slim man there was more than attractive, more than gorgeous, he was stunningly beautiful. He was all freckles that needed to be traced with fingers and tongue, pale skin that deserved to be pinked with biting and sucking, slender wrists that deserved- no, were destined- to have binds wrapped around them, hair that needed to be fisted and pulled, a gorgeous mouth that made Erik’s mind flash to all kinds of erotic scenarios in a split second, and eyes that were so clear and so blue that it was almost disconcerting. Erik was actually struck mute for a moment at the creature in the photo in his hands, a being seemingly made specifically for Erik.
And in the photo, this gorgeous, almost ethereal creature was holding onto Erik, his arms wrapped around him and his smile even brighter than Erik’s was.
That didn’t make sense. Why would Erik be holding someone like that, that close? Why would he have posed like that? He’d never seen the man before in his life, couldn’t remember this book. What the hell was this? He turned it over, confused and hoping for the dream or hallucination to break apart and dissolve into pieces.
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace was scrawled onto the back of the photo, black inked letters delicate and spindly. He stared at it, bewildered. The words were familiar, but he couldn’t place them. Somehow, though, he had a feeling they were… romantic in nature? Something about some stupid love song.
He flipped the picture back over, studying the man’s face intently, trying to dig up the memory of this photo. Nothing came. He didn’t remember this man. He didn’t remember this photo. He couldn’t tell where it had been taken-- it looked like maybe a park? Somewhere green. More confusing still was the fact that it seemed to be a selfie of sorts. Erik himself had taken it, judging by the position of his arm and the angle of the photo.
How could there be a photo like this? One Erik didn’t remember posing for and didn’t remember taking? A photo with a man that Erik had never seen in all his life.
He set the photo aside, then picked it back up, his eyes unable to leave the image. Erik didn’t even own a Polaroid. Why was he holding the man? Why did Erik look like that? He’d never seen that expression on his own face.
The happiness and contentment, the comfort and closeness that practically glowed through the photo, wasn’t something that Erik had ever experienced in relationships. So why was it here, in front of him? He wasn’t that good of an actor. He was a good actor, but this was different, this felt… genuine?
Who was the man? Why was Erik holding him like that? His eyes traced the smile, the laugh, the happy shine of the eyes. He felt no recognition, no memory. None of it made sense, but it was here, in front of him.
He didn’t move for the longest time. He wasn’t able to name how many minutes had passed by the time he stirred himself into motion. He sat at his desk, pulling out his laptop, and typed the words from the back of the photo into Google. Moulin Rouge- Come What May came up immediately. Indeed, a sappy love song, Erik confirmed with distaste, scrolling briefly through the lyrics. He’d never seen Moulin Rouge, but it looked garish and overly loud.
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace was the line from which the phrase had been taken. Oddly, it was the titular words that continued to draw Erik’s attention, more so even than the words that had been written. He read through the lyrics twice more, and found his mind fitting a tune to them, one deeply familiar to him. He’d found it stuck in his head many times, but he’d never been able to look it up as it had no words.
He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Come what may,” he repeated to himself over and over. Come what may. He’d never watched the ridiculous movie, he had never really been a music person too much, so he’d likely not heard it on the radio. He flicked through screen grabs and confirmed- he’d never seen it.
So then why did the title grip him over and over?
He found himself standing, crossing to his closet almost without thinking. He stopped there, frowning at it for a moment. He started sifting through the drawers almost mechanically, unsure of even what he was looking for but following the odd impulse in his fingers. He was halfway through his cleaning supplies drawer when his fingers touched something that hummed in response to them, something cool and round.
He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, the letters carved into the metal standing out in sharp relief against his ability as he mentally felt out the shape of the object. Come what may was engraved into the inside surface, the letters as delicate and spindly as they had been on the back of the photograph. He ran his power over it for a long time, trying to understand what this was, what the hell it could mean. He reached in, pulling out the ring slowly, and studied the sleek black surface, turning it this way and that, confirming the words with his own eyes.
It was real. He could feel the metal humming against his skin, could feel the solidness and the craftsmanship that had gone into it. It was beautiful. It was his. But that didn’t make sense- he didn’t recognize this. He’d never seen the movie, never seen this ring or that man or-
He stopped, remembering, suddenly, months before, almost a year ago now, when he’d woken in his apartment missing time. His conclusion then was that he had gotten himself wiped for some reason, and had left it alone and hadn’t worried about it since. Erik was a man who planned things such as memory modification meticulously. He would have had a motive for doing what he did, and looking into it would have undone his own hard work. But...
Had he wiped this? This ring, that man, everything that was connected? He stared at the ring, trying to understand why he’d do that, and the answer came quietly-
Pain. Erik Lehnsherr only would have done something like that because of a deep pain.
Was the blue-eyed angel dead, then?
Erik turned the ring over in his fingers slowly, watching the words appear and vanish as it spun. It would fit. If Erik had somehow formed a connection to someone, perhaps he had chosen to forget them rather than mourn them. That made sense. He’d lost a lot. Another loss could cripple him, and he could absolutely understand why he’d forced himself to forget someone if he had managed to care enough about someone.
But that left him now with no way to understand who this person had been. If he needed to be avenged, if Erik had done what he was supposed to before he’d cut everything out.
He watched the ring spin for another few moments, then carefully put it on the middle finger of his left hand. It did fit, in fact, and felt normal there, as if he’d been wearing it for a long time and had taken it off. He remembered suddenly how he’d fiddled with that finger a lot after the wipe.
He needed to know. He needed to have clarity.
He picked up his phone, dialing Azazel’s number without really thinking about it as he returned to his desk and picked up the photo. He pressed play on the sound clip as he waited for his friend to pick up and was immediately rewarded with the tune that he so often found rattling around in his head.
“Da?” Azazel asked, voices chattering around in the background. Still at the rally, Erik realized distantly. It felt like it had been hours since he’d thought about it. Maybe it had been.
Erik took in a breath and turned off the music for a moment. “Do you remember, a little under a year ago, when I lost time? I thought maybe I’d made myself be wiped for some reason?”
“Of course,” he confirmed, clearly focusing a little more now. Erik felt a flash of affection for the teleporter. Azazel was a good man. A good friend, better than Erik deserved most of the time.
“Before that, the days or months before that, what was my behavior like?” He shook his head a little. “It’s patchy for me. I remember pieces, normal stuff, but most of the days are just blank for a long time.”
There was silence for a beat, then, “You were good, tovarishch. A little less focused than usual, but you were in a good mood most of the time. You kept saying you had missions to tend to, but you didn’t update us on what they were. You got rough there for about a week, but then you eased up again after you called me that day.”
He’d been happy, making excuses for being gone. He’d been in a good mood and less focused on the work they did together, and he’d been gone more often with no real excuse for why. Erik looked down at the picture again, looked at the ring settled on his hand, and swallowed. “Rough for a week. Rough how?”
“Angry. Unsettled. I’ve not seen you like that since your first few months with the Brotherhood.” The voices in the background of the call faded somewhat, as if he was walking away from them. “You drank often. Your house was messy. You yelled at Angel for being on her phone during a meeting. You didn’t really seem to look at anything- you just looked through it.”
So… the man, whoever he was, he’d died or something, something very bad had happened. Erik sat heavily in his chair, unable to look away from the photo. “I see. Alright. Thank you.” He hesitated, then, “Did you ever see me wear a ring? Black.”
“Of course,” Azazel agreed with a huff of laughter. “You never took it off there for a while. You wore it all last spring, maybe five or six months. Right hand, middle finger. You’d play with it during planning sessions, it drove me crazy.”
And then he’d stopped wearing it, because whatever had happened, happened, and Erik hadn’t apparently been able to deal with it.
He had lost something. He didn’t know what it was, but ’come what may’ was pretty hard not to understand. He took in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said, aiming for normalcy. “You were on an objective, sorry for pulling you.”
Azazel was quiet a moment, then, “If I were to wipe something,” he noted absently, “I would have a professional do it. Particularly since I distrust telepaths. And if I weren’t teleporting to said professional, then there’s only one facility in New York that could acquiesce to that request.”
Erik paused. “We have a wiper here? In New York?” He moved back to the desk. “Where is that?” He picked up a pen. He wouldn’t have used some backroad wiper, he would have found a professional.
He didn’t remember knowing there was a wiper here. Maybe that too was intentional.
“Rhyscorp,” Azazel said. “Do you want a lift?”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he agreed, looking back down at the photo. “I do.”
The call disconnected and Azazel was beside him in an instant. Erik fought down the sudden and welcome urge to laugh at his friend’s casual dress. He was in jeans and a t-shirt (a Mutant and Proud one, of course) clearly with the aim of blending in with the crowd. It was one of the funniest things Erik had ever seen, even with the photograph in his hand tempering his amusement.
He found himself grinning a little. “I like this look.” He gestured. “You should rock the jeans and T-shirt vibe more often.” He hesitated, then held out the photo. If this was all true, there was a reason he’d kept these two pieces of his life separate, but something had happened. The man in the photo was gone.
Azazel took it, studying it closely. “He called you once during a meeting,” he offered after a beat. “His face came up on your phone. You turned it off right away, but I saw the picture. Don’t know if anyone else did.” He tilted his head. “You look disturbingly happy.”
“I agree. I’m not a happy person. So why do I look like that and have this ring and all that time gone? You said I was happy.” Erik started pacing. “And then suddenly I wasn’t. And then a week later I got myself wiped. There’s only a few scenarios for that.” He gritted his teeth. “Why didn’t I just destroy everything? If he died or something, and I wiped myself, why didn’t I guarantee it would never come back up?”
“Maybe you forgot,” Azazel suggested, still looking at the picture. “Maybe you didn’t know or remember that this picture existed. Maybe you couldn’t bear to throw away the ring and thought that, on its own, it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Or maybe you just didn’t really want to forget it all. Who knows?”
Erik growled in frustration. “Well, regardless, now I can’t leave it alone and I need to dig it all back up. I’ll go to Rhyscorp and demand some kind of answer.”
“You got it.” Azazel held the photo out and, when Erik’s fingers closed on the other end to take it, they jumped.
It was always uncomfortably warm, heat singing across Erik’s skin like he’d just opened an oven or furnace. It retreated as quickly as it had come, leaving him then uncomfortably cold in the normal air, and he found himself standing outside a gleaming steel-and-glass building. Rhyscorp was spelled out in white letters above the door, and memory care was written beneath their logo, printed on the glass.
“Okay.” Erik squared his shoulders. “Thank you, Az.” He looked at the door for a moment. Azazel had seen the man's face on his phone. This was real. Opening this door could lead to answers, and to so much pain along with them. Was it worth it? “What would you do in this situation?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t wipe myself in the first place. Memories are important to me.” It was an oddly personal statement coming from the teleporter, but he didn’t spend the time for Erik to analyze it. “Since they are, I would want whatever I could back. I would at least want to know what it was that I was missing, simply so that I was informed. I don’t like the idea of missing time and not knowing what happened during.”
Erik nodded. “I don’t know why I wouldn’t realize that before I did this. I don’t like not knowing things, I don’t like being in the dark. I would have never dealt well with knowing I lost time, and it has been bugging me some, I just figured I’d done it for a mission or something, I tried not to think about it. But I had to know that at some point this would happen and it would all come back up, so I’d need to find out.” He looked back at Azazel. “Thank you. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“You’ll buy me dinner anyway. Call me if you need me.” And then he stepped back, vanishing in his usual cloud of smoke, because he’d always understood how much Erik valued his privacy.
Erik smiled slightly after him, then stepped into the building, looking around. There was no semblance of recognition anywhere, no obvious click. But he didn’t expect there to be. It was often standard procedure to remove memories of going there as well.
The secretary stared at him for a moment before seeming to shake herself. “Hello,” she greeted him, clearing her throat. “Welcome to Rhyscorp. Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” He stepped up to the desk. “My name is Erik Lehnsherr. I believe I may have had some work done here and I want my information.”
“Um.” She swallowed. “Absolutely. Hang on just a moment and I’ll have Leanne down to see you.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard and Erik didn’t move, taking in the lobby. It was nice. Well-furnished, clean, somewhat clinical in appearance. There was something off about the walls, though, he noted after a moment. There was something off about the whole building, actually. It was nearly caved in, the infrastructure warped and cracked and torn like a tin can crushed in someone’s hand. The walls themselves leaned inward, uneven despite the paint job that did its best to mask the effect.
He frowned, tilting his head. “Were you bombed?”
“Uh. No.” Her nervousness increased almost palpably. “I don’t think so, anyway.”
He eyed her. “Your infrastructure is destroyed. You need to fix that before it collapses.”
“I will let them know,” she agreed, clearing her throat, and looked up with intense and obvious relief when the door next to them opened. The woman standing there was elegant and dressed in a soft plum dress, her dark hair captured up in a bun.
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” she greeted him, holding out a hand. “My name is Leanna Lawries. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”
Again, yes, of course. He nodded. “I’m sorry, I don’t shake hands. But I appreciate your time.”
She nodded, letting her hand drop, and waved for him to follow her as she led him back down the hallway she had emerged from, directing him to the right and into an office, settling herself behind a large mahogany desk. “How can I help you today, Mr. Lehnsherr?” she inquired as she logged into her computer.
“I came here for a wipe some months ago?” He sat across the desk from her. “I want to know why and I want any data you collected, information you have.”
She hummed softly under her breath, then turned her monitor to face him, a video lighting up. The main focus was Erik, sitting in a small room with a field painted across the background. She pressed play and Erik drew back, staring at the image there.
He looked like hell. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days. He hadn’t shaved, his eyes were blank and tired and unhappy. He had never seen himself like that, had never seen that kind of hollow look in his eyes. He wasn’t looking at the camera, instead looking dully to the right of it. “I did this because there’s too much going on. I can’t focus, and this is the best way to get clarity. It’s the best option. It’s the only way to move past all of this.” The video stopped and she spread her hands.
“It was voluntary, as you can see,” she assured him.
Erik glanced at her, then back at the video. “What was it that I needed to move past?”
She watched him for a moment, then cleared her throat, turning the monitor back to her. “A relationship. It’s a common motivator for those seeking our services. I’m afraid that disclosing any further details is against our policy.” She tapped something on the computer.
“No.” It came out as a snap. “No, I don’t give a shit about your policy.” He slapped the photo on the table. “I’m well aware that it was because of a relationship, I guessed that much. Why? What happened? Who was he?”
Her eyes dropped to the photo and she licked her lips, taking in a deep breath. “You said you’d removed all memorabilia,” she murmured, picking it up and studying it for a minute. She set it back down. “I’m sorry, sir, but those records are confidential and not to be accessed by the client. You understood that when you signed the forms and underwent your procedure.”
He gritted his teeth. “That’s fucking stupid. I deserve to know, I-“ he paused as he felt the telltale creak of metal around him. He looked around. “Your building is crumpled because I was angry.” He looked at her, fury burning through his veins. “If it was voluntary why did I destroy your building?”
Her jaw worked for a beat, then, “The procedure can be unsettling. We warned you about that, too. You need to leave, or I will have security escort you out.” She stood and he gave a sharp smile. Good luck with that. “You-”
He hadn’t even thought about it. Her stapler rose from the desk and collided with her head, knocking her to the ground, and he tilted his head, assessing. She was still breathing, he identified, focusing on the chain of her necklace rising and falling with her breath. Breathing and he hadn’t hit her hard enough to do anything but give her a headache when she woke up.
Good. He stepped over her and settled before the computer, closing the video of him. They considered that evidence? Anyone could be coerced to say such a thing. That was no evidence at all. He scanned the file that had been open beneath the video.
There were scans of his signed forms, a detailed document that assessed the damage he had done to the building, and a longer video clip. He paused at that one, clicking it open.
It was the same room, Erik looking just as angry and tense and unhappy as he had in the first one. Leanna was explaining the procedure to him, asking him if he was sure, reminding him it was a one-way street. He agreed, shortly, and leaned back in his chair when she told him to.
He was still for a long time, his breathing accelerating as his hands closed around the arms of the chair. A smile crossed his face here and there as the time wore on, his hands fidgeting around as he relaxed further into the chair, Leanna’s hand on his knee. About halfway through, his smile started to flicker.
And then he was moving, twitching, shifting, expression twisting. He was genuinely agitated, upset. Erik noted in shock that he was actually crying on the video, his breathing harsh, hands clenching and unclenching. “Stop,” Erik on the screen moaned, and Erik in reality froze. “Stop, stop, don’t take them. I’m so sorry, Charles, I love you so much, please don’t go, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking stupid, please don’t go, don’t believe me, I’m so sorry. I love you so much. Come what may, I love you, you loved me and I hurt you, I’m so sorry, liebling. I want to stay with you. Please stay with me, I love you so much, please stay with me, I’m so sorry. No please please, please, please-”
Erik’s body on the screen jerked, seeming to wake up somehow, his voice more distinct. “Please don’t take them.” His onscreen self was shaking and gripping the arms of the chair, tears pouring down his face. Erik couldn’t identify the last time he had cried. “Please, I changed my mind. Leave them, leave us alone, please don’t take him.” Erik pressed his hands to the desk, monitoring his breathing. He could almost feel an echo of that pain in his chest, could almost feel something sharp burying itself in him. “Please don’t take him, just leave them. I changed my mind, please don’t. Please just stop, I fucked up, I was so wrong, please.”
“It’s too late for that, Mr. Lehnsherr.” Leanna spoke softly, looking at him as if she pitied him, but not pulling away. “It’s going to fade in ten, nine, eight...”
“No, please don’t.” Erik was outright begging now, and the room around them groaned, various metal objects in the room crumpling in on themselves and yanking toward him as his panic and fury became more apparent. “Leanna, don’t, stop this, I’ll do whatever you want, just stop. I was wrong, I was so wrong, please stop, please make it stop, don’t take him. I need him, I fucked up, I’ll do whatever you want!”
“Five, four, three,” she continued softly, as if he hadn’t spoken, the walls themselves were drawing in now, toward them, the window shattering as its frame bent inward. Panic crossed Leanna’s face.
“Charles, I’m so sorry, tell him I’m so sorry,” Erik onscreen moaned, shaking, and the metal around him screamed louder, cutting out some of the audio.
“One,” Leanna said, a little too quickly, and he was screaming- and then he was silent, sagging forward, his body relaxing as it slumped. Leanna drew back slowly, examining the room around them in overt horror, and the video clip ended.
Erik sat back, taking in a deep breath and forcing himself to stay calm. He couldn’t break the building more, it would collapse and Az wouldn’t be able to get him out in time. He couldn’t do that, he needed to stay calm and work through this.
He hadn’t wanted it, in the end. Maybe he’d agreed with it at first, but he’d begged, begged like a child, for it to stop. He wasn’t sure if she actually could have stopped it then, but still. He had begged. He hadn’t wanted it to end.
How had he fucked up?
He exited the video once he was back under control and studied the rest of the file. There was the shorter clip that she had shown him, and a small summary page. He opened that one instead and found his information at the top, below a summary of what had been taken from him.
He forced himself into calmness and shook himself, then began reading, taking in every word slowly so he could make sure he processed it all.
Erik Lehnsherr arrived at the facility to have a year-long relationship erased, it read. He and his partner broke contact following a fight about his partner’s telepathy and Mr. Lehnsherr’s job. The memories were primarily positive ones, the relationship well-built and supportive over a long term. There were a multitude of memories that had to be taken in which his partner was not featured directly, but in which he was thought of or referred to indirectly. After watching the relationship during the collection process, Mr. Lehnsherr wanted to cancel the procedure and keep his records intact. Unfortunately, this request was not able to be fulfilled. Mr. Lehnsherr was returned to his home without memory of the procedure. The facility will need to undergo extensive repairs to correct the damage that he inflicted in his last moments of panic.
Erik reread it three times. A long-term relationship, mostly positive. Supportive. He tried to stop the harsh breathing, tried to stay calm, and had to stand and move around the room for a moment or two before being seated again.
He hadn’t died, they had just broken up. They’d fought about Erik’s job and the other man’s telepathy. Erik could understand both but… they’d been together a year. How had that fallen apart? Erik didn’t let anyone in, why had he allowed it to go so far? Why had he repeated over and over that he was sorry, that he had fucked up?
What had he done?
It was on his fourth scan that he noticed there was more, a few spaces beneath that:
Addendum: See Client File 254X for further information regarding the situation.
He blinked, then copied the number down and opened up what he hoped was a file bank, scanning through for that number. It took him a few minutes, but he finally located the right file and opened it quickly. It was a mirror of his own. Scanned documents, two videos, a summary page. He opened the longer video first, as the shorter one was more or less useless, and felt as if he’d had a bucket of cold water thrown over him.
It was the man from the photograph. Charles, Erik had called him.
He looked worse than Erik had, dark marks under his eyes and a look of grief-stricken exhaustion on his face. He wasn’t looking at Leanna, instead fiddling with the sleeve of his oversized sweater, plucking at it and smoothing it back down. It was almost surreal to see him in motion-- both familiar and not, a strange sense of deja vu with an indiscernible origin. Even as disheveled and wrecked as he was, he was still beautiful, all dark curls and sapphire eyes and red lips. He bit down on that lip as Erik watched.
“Mr. Xavier,” Leanna began gently, sitting in front of him and crossing her legs just as she had with Erik. “So this process is recorded,” she said, gesturing to the video camera.“I’m sure you understand- if in the future, you learn that you underwent this procedure, we have to be able to prove to you that it was voluntary.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and Erik’s entire body tensed and tightened at the sound of his voice. “Yes, I can understand how that would be alarming,” he agreed quietly, giving Erik more of the words. He leaned closer to the speaker. His partner had an accent. He was British, very British. His voice was so beautiful, so warm and gorgeous.
“It often is, when people find out that they chose this,” she agreed. “So, for the record: you’re sure about this? Memory-wiping is a one-way street. If we take these away from you, they cannot be returned.” Leanna leaned forward and the Brit gave an unsteady laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. She hesitated. “Charles, you don’t look sure.”
Charles. His name had been Charles, Charles Xavier.
“No, I just-” he stopped. Swallowed. “I don’t really believe in all this.” He gestured to the room around them. “I don’t… I think that you can learn from every memory, every positive or negative experience serves to teach you and better you and strengthen you. But I can’t…” He looked up at the ceiling, letting out a breath as his hands curled, then flattened again slowly.
“I can’t run into him and have him not recognize me,” he said finally, an ache in his voice. “I don’t think I could survive seeing his mind with no record of me in it. I just… I couldn’t. And to know that in the end, that’s what he thought of me, that I really am no more than my ability, that the person who knew me best thought I could-” he stopped himself again and pressed the heels of his hand against his eyes for a moment.
He’d done this because Erik had. He may as well have reached out and punched Erik in the face, this truth hitting him that hard. The grief, the pain, in Charles’ face, it was because Erik had hurt him and then had wiped himself, letting himself stop grieving what they’d lost together.
A good relationship, the notes had said. Positive and supportive. Accepting. And he’d left, destroyed his memories of it, and backed Charles into this corner.
Leanna looked sympathetic. “It’s hard,” she agreed.
“Yes,” Charles said with a weary sort of chuckle. “You do understand, don’t you? Memory eaters, they call you. It must be almost as hard.” He dropped his hands and let out a slow breath. “I don’t want this pain,” he admitted quietly. “I would survive it and try to grow from it, but if I run into him… it will be so much worse. And if anyone were to ever find out that we were together…”
He focused on her, a degree of steel in his eyes rather than just pain now. “I know too much about him. What I know could be used against him. I don’t agree with his methods but I will not have our relationship and the details and thoughts that he entrusted me with weaponized against him. Especially if he doesn’t know who it was that gave that information up. It’s safer for him if I know nothing, if I can give up nothing. This is the right decision. This is the only way I have left to take care of either of us. Both of us. It’s the only way to keep him safe. I’m sure. Do it.”
Erik stared at him, unable to breathe for a moment, and reached out, touching his face on the screen. That kind of fierce protectiveness was something he had never had access to. He’d seen other people loved like this, but he’d never seen it directed toward himself.
“Okay,” Leanna agreed softly after a moment, and gestured to the camera. “Normally I have you record a message to yourself, but… I’d say that works.” She leaned forward. “You may see snippets of some of the memories as we move backwards through them and collect them for disposal. Try not to panic. It will be over soon. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.” He leaned back in his chair, taking in a deep breath. “Thank you, Leanna,” he added, then shut his eyes.
As with Erik, Charles smiled as time passed, soft or warm or amused or bittersweet. Every fluctuation of his face had a meaning, and Erik realized distantly that he could identify every single one. He didn’t remember this man, he didn’t remember learning those expressions, but he still identified them all the same, in a way he couldn’t have identified Charles himself.
He didn’t ask Leanna to wait. He didn’t beg her to stop. There was no panic or rage, just grief, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. “Please hurry,” he whispered at one point, voice unsteady. “Please get it over with,” he begged at another point, hands white-knuckled on the arms of the chair.
When it stopped for a moment, he let out a rush of breath. “Come what may,” he murmured quietly as Leanna counted down. “I will love you until my dying day.” And then she’d reached one and he was slumping forward, finally quiet and still.
Erik slowly closed the video, shocked to find that there was a lump in his throat, that his chest burned, that his eyes hurt. He sat back, staring at the still image, and slowly called Azazel.
He’d caused this pain. He didn’t know the extent of it, didn’t know what had been said or what had happened. But it had happened, and he had ended up hurting Charles, someone who had loved and trusted him, someone that, Erik suspected, he hadn’t deserved. Someone so seemingly good. He hadn’t wanted to lose his memories, but the fear of seeing Erik without him knowing who Charles was and the concern that someone could get information about Erik from Charles was enough to make him do it anyway.
He didn’t know what to do.
“Hey,” Azazel answered almost immediately. “Do you need backup?”
Erik looked at the screen and shook his head a little. “I don’t know what I need.” His voice sounded wrong even to him. “Az, I really fucked up.”
Silence, and then there was the telltale crack from his left, his friend giving Leanna a brief and assessing glance before focusing on Erik. “What happened?” He asked, pocketing his phone.
Erik gestured to the screen before them. “I was with him. For a year. We were happy and everything was fine and then we fought and I wiped myself. And he found out.” He took in a breath that shook on the way in. “And he couldn’t see me and me not know him, and he didn’t want to risk someone learning about me from him, so he wiped himself.” He looked away. “He was so good, Az. I made him hurt.”
Azazel watched him a moment, then glanced at the frozen video on the monitor. “He’s still alive, so far as we know?”
Erik nodded a little. “Doesn’t say he’s gone, you’d think they would mention that.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.” Azazel leaned back against the wall. “He didn’t want to break up with you in the first place. He’s still alive. Just go date him again.”
Erik stared at him. “It’s not that easy, Azazel. I hurt him bad enough that we broke up, and then I pushed out and wiped myself, and then he was forced to do the same. That’s not okay. I can’t just go date him again.”
“First,” Az said, holding a finger up, “You didn’t force him to wipe his memories. That was his choice. Second, he doesn’t remember it. You don’t remember it. You can’t begrudge someone for something neither of you remember doing. You worked together once. For a year, and you’re not an easy person to handle long-term. Who says you wouldn’t work together again? If he didn’t want the relationship to end in the first place and you want it back, I don’t see why you can’t go see him.”
Erik hesitated, turning the ring around and around his finger. This made sense. This was perfectly understandable; Erik wasn’t an easy person to get along with and somehow they had worked before. Why wouldn’t they work again? They’d fallen apart once, but maybe if he was careful, if he took things slow and didn’t allow it to fall apart and kept his temper… he’d said something hurtful about Charles’ telepathy, that had been what had broken them. If he was careful, maybe this would work.
“Okay,” he said after a moment, scribbling down Charles’ address. “I’ll at least go see him. Make sure he’s doing okay. Make sure he’s healthy, maybe talk to him. Maybe there’s something still there.” There was something there for Erik- the man was beautiful and kind, and apparently he’d loved Erik enough that he’d undergone this to protect him and stop everything from hurting.
Azazel eyed him. “I’m not dealing with your moping longer than I need to,” he informed him brusquely, focusing on Charles’ face onscreen for a moment before catching Erik’s arm. The world blazed with heat for a moment, then settled, and they were standing in a crowded hallway, people bustling back and forth. “Ugh,” Az said immediately, eyeing the group with distaste. “That’s the problem with locking on faces and not locations. Is this a school? Blyat, look at all these children.” He grimaced at them and Erik’s eyes caught on the door across the way, Charles Xavier, biochemistry and X-Gene studies written neatly on a plaque there.
“He’s a teacher,” Erik said in astonishment, then looked at the ceiling. “He’s a teacher. Jesus. Go, save yourself. I’ll get a taxi home. Thank you.” He grasped Azazel’s arm. “You’re a good friend.”
“I know,” Azazel informed him. “And yet you have yet to buy me proper quality vodka.” And then he was gone, puffing out of existence in a way that had some of the students looking around in alarm. Erik focused on the door just as a girl walked through it as if she were a ghost.
“Thanks, professor!” she called through the door, half-jogging down the hallway.
Erik let his mind run with exactly how useful a gift like that could be in his line of work, then shook himself and approached the door, feeling truly unsure for the first time that he could remember in years and years. He knocked, wincing at how it sounded less like knocking and more like banging. Edie Lehnsherr would be so disappointed in his manners.
“Come in,” a low, beautifully accented voice called, muffled by the door but with none of the weight or exhaustion that had burdened it in the video.
Why was he so nervous? He fought it down, focusing. He was here to see how Charles was. He was here to see how he was, to sense if there was a chance they could work again, if that was something they both wanted, and he needed to calm his ass down because he was about to be close enough that Charles would be able to hear everything.
He turned the doorknob and stepped inside, looking around to find the telepath he’d come here to see.
He was surrounded by actual mountains of books and paperwork, tracing his pen across his lips absently without looking up at Erik. He was beautiful, almost startlingly so, just as clean and crisp as he’d been in the photograph. Azure eyes flicked up to Erik and he paused, looking stunned for a moment. He cleared his throat after a moment, setting his pen down quickly. “Ah. Hello. My name is Charles Xavier, I don’t believe we’ve met?” He stood, holding out a hand.
Erik moved forward, taking his hand and shaking it, giving a small smile. Their fingers and hands fit together, like they’d held hands a thousand times. Maybe they had. Erik was a tactile person.
“Hello,” he agreed. “My name is Erik Lehnsherr. Do you have a moment?” How the fuck he was going to have this conversation he didn’t know, but here Charles was, beautiful and alive and vibrant and directly in front of him.
“Of course.” Charles smiled at him, eyes crinkling up warmly, and he released Erik’s hand to return to his chair behind the desk. “If it’s about Professor Danvers, I’m afraid I have very little control over her actions. I know she’s a little intense during midterms, but…” He laughed, shuffling piles of paper aside so he and Erik could actually see each other.
Erik gave a laugh. “No, it’s not about Professor Danvers. You’re in the middle of midterms?” Maybe that was why it was so insane in here. “How is that going?” He’d make small talk for a bit, ease into it. There was too much to go into at once, he’d need to be careful and cautious.
“Well enough for my students, anyways. Tea?” He glanced at Erik, who nodded, and turned to pour some from a teapot on his desk. “Other students in the department feel less prepared.” He chuckled, setting one cup aside for himself, sipping from the other, and then holding it out. He paused, confusion flickering briefly across his face as he looked down at his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling the cup back with a frown. He cleared his throat, picking up the untouched cup and offering it to Erik instead. “It’s an odd habit, I don’t always realize I’m doing it.”
Erik looked up at him, feeling a strange little squeeze in his chest and accepting the cup. He had an idea of why it would be a habit. “When did it start?”
“Oh, a year or two back.” He waved a hand, picking his own cup up again and taking a drink. “Hard to say, things have been so busy lately. Everything blurs. I didn’t even realize I did it until the third time a student gave me a funny look.” He offered Erik a grin over the rim of his cup. “I’m just one step away from being Typhoid Mary.”
Two years back. Around the time they’d have started seeing each other. Erik was paranoid, and if Charles had offered him tea frequently, he could easily see how it would become habit for Charles to demonstrate that he was drinking something safe. Erik smiled a little and took a drink. “I appreciate it anyway.” He put down the cup, turning his ring around his finger idly. “So you teach biochemistry and the X-gene? That’s interesting.”
“I do,” Charles agreed, setting his cup aside. “It’s a lovely position, one I quite enjoy. I have an entire class this semester on the history of elemental mutants, it’s incredibly fascinating. There are the basic four elements, of course, and then there’s an extension of the resources- metal, blood, weather, and so on. Some people actually see them as a subgenus of mutant, which is an extraordinarily interesting theory…” He paused. “I’m sorry. I’m constantly babbling like that, you didn’t come here to hear me wax poetic about my class.”
Erik felt a smile cross his face. He was so passionate about his job. “I like your babbling: you have a nice voice.” He watched him over his cup. He didn’t know how to start this conversation in the slightest. Didn’t know if he should wait, ask Charles out again somewhere, ease into it that way, or if it was better to rip it off like a band aid.
Charles’ lips twitched and he cleared his throat. “I do respect privacy, Mr. Lehnsherr, but your… stress, let’s say, is impossible to miss. It’s like a neon billboard in my office. How can I help you?” He searched his face.
Erik ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t actually know how to have this conversation,” he admitted. “I don’t talk to many people about things. That’s not the way I operate. And I don’t know how you will react, if you’ll be upset or happy or angry.” He’d have the right to be angry. Erik could handle that. The upset, he wasn’t sure about. “This isn’t something I’m good at.” Erik looked away, at the stacks of books.
Had they sat together reading? Had Erik helped criticize papers? Had he helped with the syllabus? Did Charles talk about things that Erik had taught him about elementals, not knowing where that information had come from but relaying it on all the same?
“Okay,” Charles agreed, and moved around his desk to lean back against the front of it, closer to Erik, the space between them much closed. “What do you need help with?”
Erik looked up at him, bewildered for a moment. Was he serious? No one could be that good, that kind or free with their time or talents. “I’m a complete stranger to you. I walked in unannounced with a request and stress and you just want to know what you can do to help?”
“Of course,” Charles said in surprise, frowning a little. “No one should have to feel like you do right now. If I can alleviate any of it, I would like to. I am more than willing to try, at the very least.”
No wonder I loved you. Erik searched his face, then slowly pulled the photo out of his jacket and held it out wordlessly.