Chapter Text
Charles
'I'm coming back for you. I'm not giving up until you are by my side. I'm coming back and you will come with me. Whether you like it or not.'
Charles Xavier woke up slowly, lifting his head enough to catch a glimpse at the fading sunlight.
It was going to rain today. He knew that. Hank had told him to plan on a day inside a few days ago and he had stocked up on books accordingly in his study. (He also had a hankering stack of bills and odd paperwork he could work on, but he didn't even want to mention it.)
It still came as a shock as he blinked awake.
Charles used to always go up to the observatory on days like this, curl up in the old swinging chair and read book. A cup of tea possibly sitting on the coffee table with steam crawling off the top. Sometimes, Raven would even come in and have him read to her. Usually British literature period pieces. (Jane Eyre was her favorite book.)
He could still do that . . . But it wouldn't be the same.
First of all, he wouldn't be able to feel the cold nipping at his legs, which would cause him to get the large, beige, fleece blanket (which sat in a closet down the hall from the library). It smelled like parchment and musk and that's why Charles loved it so much. It was the only other thing in the mansion -- besides his library -- that didn't smell like dust and mildew.
Secondly, it wouldn't be the same because . . . No. He wouldn't think about the second reason. It was stupid and illogical, compared to everything else.
He sighed. He would go today. He would do it because it wasn't healthy for him to sit in the library all day, or lay in his bed and be waited on. He would go because it had been five months and he needed to start doing well on the terms of being a functional human being.
He would go because he wanted to, and that was final.
He pulled himself up with the lever Hank had designed. His bed was modified by the boys so he could raise and decline it at will, but he thought he should try exercising a bit today.
His injury allowed him to feel everything above the tops of his thighs. It was an odd injury, but it was his. He could sit up by himself, and acquired a decent core through his only means of moving. He could turn and twist his upper body all he wanted . . . he just couldn't get his legs to work.
After a moment of catching his breath, he somehow made it into his wheelchair. He had done this yesterday and the day before and the day before all by himself, but it didn't cease to amaze him what he could do. Usually he needed Hank's assistants, but he had gotten tried of relying on the boys so much and had learned to do some remedial things such as this all by himself.
They needed to live their own lives.
He had encouraged them to leave after they had gotten back. After the accident, they had nursed him back to a reasonable state. He had fervently refused help at first. Not because he wanted to prove something, but because they were young.
They needed to start preparing for their future.
He had told each of them that they could go to Erik. That he wouldn't have been mad or hurt. That if that's what they wanted -- that future -- he wouldn't deny them.
They didn't bite.
They were, actually, somewhat angry at him for suggesting it.
Alex had spoken for the three of them by saying, "Personally, Professor, if we had wanted to go it, we would have done it long before Erik went AWOL. And besides, you saved us. You gave us a home and people to love. Let us do this for you."
Which had been surprisingly sentimental for Alex, but it had brought a blush to Charles's cheeks none-the-less.
But, as much as he needed the help and as much as he loved having them around, he didn't want them to waste their futures based off of gratitude.
Other things were discussed, but with the medication he had been under, he had a hard time remembering.
He still had the wheelchair the hospital gave him. Hank was working on an electrical, more advanced one, but for right now, Charles preferred the manual. It helped him get used to his surroundings and it built him a good set of upper arms.
He started wheeling in the hallway. He should have gotten some clothes on -- real clothes, besides the sweater he had fallen asleep in and the plaid pajama pants -- but he almost felt like that would have ruined it. (Before, he would have just worn his pajamas.)
He felt Alex's mind before he was in line of sight.
"Professor!" He hissed, nearly sprinting towards Charles. "What are you doing out of bed?" He asked him incredulously.
Charles smiled innocently. "I'm going up to the observatory, over the green house." He said simply. "Walk with me if you'd like." The unsaid: 'Not for me.' Was louldly heard, judging by Alex's face.
Alex looked forward with indecision. He wasn't sure if he should urge the professor back into bed or if he should go with him.
Alex, too, loved the rain.
There pleasant memories he had lost about sitting peacefully by a window or on the stairs of his old home, watching the rain fall in a steady downpour. It, too, had clamed his nerves as a child when he got upset or angry. (Of course, worse things happened when Alex got angry compared to Charles.)
It was a common thing they shared: the rain.
"If I go with you, you can't tell hank." He wagered softly, getting behind the chair and pushing it down the hall. Charles growled. "He'll have my head if he finds out I didn't stop you, or at least tried to help you."
Charles wanted to argue. He felt so out of control when someone else was maneuvering the chair. Not that he didn't trust Alex, but it was the idea that someone could control where he was going . . .
When they got to the end of the hall, Charles stopped him by putting up a hand.
"I need to grab something." But when he reached forward to pull open the door, Alex's heated hand stopped him. "Alex-"
"Just tell me what you need. It'll be less for me to get snapped at for later."
And Charles couldn't argue with that.
Hank had become quite the doctor for Charles, and he was little but overbearing to Charles. Not that Charles wasn't grateful, but he was a grown man! He knew what he could and could not handle.
Still, though, he knew it made them all feel better when they could do things for him. They felt terribly awful about The Beach and the fact that they didn't step in in time (even though the logical part in all of them knew there could have been no way to know that that was going to happen.)
Charles sighed, silently giving in. "Just the old blanket. The beige one."
Alex did and sat it in Charles lap.
They continued on without talking until they got the observatory.
Erik
Erik Lensherr was sitting up in the study in the safe-house, gripping a glass of brandy to his chest.
His promise to Charles was ringing in his ears.
'I'm coming back for you. I'm not giving up until you are by my side. I'm coming back, and you will come with me. Whether you like it or not.'
And he would. He would drag Charles out of that mansion and strap him to the plane if he had to. It didn't matter. By the end of the year, Charles would be by his side and in his arms.
Where he belonged.
He wanted to go back now, but now wasn't the time. He missed Charles. He was worried about him. He thought about him and what he was doing and who he was with. Of course he was worried he would find someone else, but that would not deter Erik. Charles was his salvation; a drug that he would never come off of.
He was brought back into the present when his door was opened softly.
"Erik?" It was Rav- Mystique. He had to call her Mystique, he reminded himself.
"Yes?" He asked her. "What is it?"
She sighed. "Can I come in?"
No. "You might as well." He got up, poured another glass and refilled his. "Take a seat." He gestured to the armchair across from the green leather sofa.
She sat and took the glass.
"What's on your mind?" He asked her softly, taking a comfortable seat in his sofa. He took a long pull, almost emptying the glass.
She sighed. "I . . . Miss him." She said quietly, pulling her knees to her chest.
He encouraged being proud and not hiding. He really didn't mind that she didn't wear clothes in her blue form. Preferred it almost. But in this position, he was glad she was wrapped in a blanket.
He nodded, his eyes probably looking like he was in deep thought. "I suppose you do. He is your brother after all."
Erik was many things. Sympathetic, usually wasn't one of them. However, even in his nastiest of moods, Erik would never deny or say that Raven and Charles weren't brother and sister. Ever. It didn't matter that they weren't blood.
She nodded, obviously reluctant to say whatever she was planning to.
He sighed. "Raven, I'm not going to be mad at you because you miss your brother, or Beast, or Havoc, or Banshee." He said as gently as possible. "I'm not expecting you to cut ties with them either. They aren't our enemies." He said plainly.
Because they weren't. Erik wished that he thought they were because it would have been so much easier. But they weren't.
It was a team: a team of children he had found out and helped train, and a man he was hopelessly . . . Infatuated with?
No, that term was too bleak
Raven looked hopeful when he started paying attention. Apparently she had been saying something.
"I'm sorry, can you say that again?" He asked of her, rubbing his eyes.
She giggled. "What have you got up in that head of yours?" But she knew he wouldn't answer seriously, so she continued. "I asked if . . . I could go visit?"
He nodded, finishing off his glass and going to refill. Again.
"Would you disguise yourself?" He asked, his back to her. But he didn't ask harshly. Simply curious.
She knew the difference.
She considered this. "I'm still trying to decided." She told him. "I don't want to lie, but I don't want to be turned out." She had obviously given this a lot of thought with a lot of self-conscious.
Erik chuckled, know it probably wasn't the best way to treat this delicate situation. Turning to face her but leaning on the mini bar, he spoke calmly and with humor. "Your brother? Turning anyone out? I'd bet a million dollars that he wouldn't turn out Azazel if he came knocking, let alone his own sister."
And it was true. Erik didn't have a doubt that Charles might even be happy that she had showed up on his doorstep.
She smiled sadly. "True. But then there's Alex . . . and Sean . . . And, Hank." She said the Beast's name in a whisper and that did not go unnoticed by Erik.
He nodded, after a moment. All of the children loved their mighty professor. Even Angel and Darwin had loved him in their short time with him. He was sure that they would be doubly protective of him after . . .
But that was Erik's fault. Even though she went with him, everything bad that could be stuck with the little family was all on Erik. Surely, at least, Charles would see that.
He shook his head in swift, short motions so Raven wouldn't notice. "I see your point. But Charles runs a tight ship over there. He wouldn't let one of his boys be unkind to a lady."
"I think he stopped regarding me as a lady when I walked into his room without any clothes on, clad in blue scales."
Erik winced at that.
True, Charles had been upset. After Erik had sent Raven off to bed, wrapped in his sheet, Erik had walked to Charles's study to see how he was doing.
Charles had damn near had a panic attack! He was curled up on his own green leather divan, clutching a glass of whiskey to his chest looking like he was contemplating the meaning of life. Erik, after having a good laugh, had . . . comforted Charles best he could.
It had been so hard for him, though, not to simply pull Charles in his lap and card his hands through Charles's luxurious locks.
He sighed again, not wanting to relive the memory, filled with regret.
"No." He said, adamant again. "No. You just surprised him. He was fine with it. He was just scared."
"Sacred?" She stood up quickly. He was surprised at her gusto, but he figured it was justified. "What would have to be scared about? It isn't him who has the blue skin! It isn't him with the clashing red hair! It isn't him who looks like a freak!"
He stood up too, but he didn't shout. "Of losing you." He said simply, plopping back down again.
The brandy was starting to get to him.
She looked to be at the edge of tears. "What?" Her lip quivered.
"Of losing you. That's what he was scared of. He didn't care about you hiding. He never wanted you to be anybody but who you were. However, he didn't want you hunted down, captured, and experimented on.
"He didn't want you as somebody's lab rat or somebody's hunt." He sat down the glass. "There are a lot of things you can say about your brother. That he's an egotistical bastard, for example. But the one thing you can't say was that he ever wanted you to feel anything less that what you're worth; that he ever meant to do anything to harm you."
With that, he left the study and stumbled down the stairs to his bedroom.
/
He lay in bed that night wondering of what he could try and dream of. He was sure he was going to have a nightmare. Usually that's what he had: nightmares. But now they were always about Charles now.
Even the good dreams eventually turn into that day at the beach.
He shuddered. He wanted to get to the other safe house before he got to Charles. He wanted to get somewhere where the government couldn't get them; where the people couldn't get them.
It would just be him and Charles.