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In the past five years, Charles had become accustomed to falling asleep at night to the soothing, unending hum of an oxygen concentrator. He heard it constantly, day and night, and it was what coaxed Charles into the waking world as he blearily took in the feel of Erik’s arm draped over his stomach and the soft whuffs of breath going across his ear and neck. Cracking an eye open, Charles glanced over to the midmorning sun peeking in through the blinds and then turned to kiss the crown of Erik’s head, lips brushing nothing but smooth skin.
Erik wheezed, breathing in sharply and burying his face into Charles’ shoulder. Charles winced at the dig of plastic from the respirator in Erik’s nose, but turned onto his side so he could wrap his arms around his husband’s shoulders and kiss his forehead.
“Wh’time’sit?” Erik mumbled, sighing out a yawn into Charles’ throat and rustling the hair at the nape of his neck. Charles glanced beyond Erik’s ear for a second before he ducked down to kiss just below the lobe.
“Ten thirty.”
Erik groaned, wrapping his long arms behind Charles’ lower back and squeezing him tight. (Three years ago, the same action would have had so much strength that it crushed the breath from Charles, now it just made him huff in surprise.) “Too early,” Erik whined tiredly, kissing Charles’ throat with a lazy, wet press of his lips. Charles chuckled, stroking a hand down Erik’s back and ghosting his fingers along every ridge in his spine.
“I’ll make us something to eat.“ Charles said, kissing Erik’s cheek. Erik moaned, curling up and trying to hide his face into Charles’ neck. Charles sighed, “Come on, Erik, you slept all day yesterday, darling. You should move around a bit today.” He coaxed, nuzzling Erik’s jaw. Erik shook his head, a bony leg pushing its way between Charles’ thighs to hook his knee and drag his husband’s body even closer.
“Got exercise last night.” Erik protested, half his words distorted through a wheezy yawn. Charles, chuckling, nipped lightly at Erik’s throat.
“If by exercise, you mean sitting there while I did all the work.” Charles shot back, though there was no malice or regret in his words. Erik shrugged, head lifting to stare at Charles with a droopy-eyed smile. (It had been a long time since Erik hadn’t constantly looked tired, and Charles didn’t know if he should blame the cancer, or the chemo.) Charles reached up, palm cupping Erik’s jaw and petting soft skin that no longer held the constant bristle of thick facial hair.
“You love it.” Erik shot back. Charles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on a small laugh and then leaning in to kiss Erik slowly.
“Maybe a little.”
Erik took a long, deep breath through his respirator, mouth parting to deepen the kiss. He lifted shaking, tired hands and buried them in Charles’ hair, petting the chestnut locks reverently. Charles let his hold fall to Erik’s hips, thumb slowly petting across the sharp poke of bone while he nipped at Erik’s top lip and followed up with an apologetic, soothing press of his mouth.
Erik tried to go further, one hand moving to cup the swell of Charles’ bum, but Charles laughed and pulled back. “Nice try, but you always fall asleep after sex. I’d like if you at least ate breakfast first.”
Erik pouted, “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, trying to drag Charles back into another kiss. Charles shook his head, sighing and disentangling himself from Erik’s weak hold.
“You never are, but could you at least try to get something down for breakfast?” Charles pleaded as he slid his legs off the side of the bed and sat up. Twisting his body, Charles reached back to run his palm over Erik’s bald head. Erik scowled, and Charles’ thumb brushed over the bare curve of his brow, where the flesh was smooth and soft to the touch.
“Pancakes?” Erik asked hopefully, face falling when Charles shook his head remorsefully.
“Eggs,” he didn’t even finish the word before Erik was sighing and turning away to face his back to Charles. Charles rolled his eyes, leaning over the bed and kissing the bony base of Erik’s neck.
“Eggs are good for you, love.” Charles chastised affectionately, patting Erik’s boxer-clad bottom and then pushing himself out of bed. Erik curled up, burying his face into his pillow and yawning quietly. Charles let him be, slipping on a pair of pajama bottoms and heading out of the bedroom towards the kitchen.
Charles was halfway to flipping over Erik’s omelet whenever he heard the bedroom door open, followed by the whirr of Erik’s portable oxygen tank (lovingly named Magneto) and then by warm, thin arms sliding around Charles’ stomach and hugging him gently. Charles glanced over his shoulder, taking note that Erik must have been too tired to get dressed, and had merely slung Magneto’s carry bag over his chest and shoulder.
Erik leaned heavily onto Charles, mumbling a song under his breath and trying to coerce the body in his arms into swaying to a silent beat with him. Charles went easily, pushing the omelet around the pan and leaning left and right while Erik continued singing.
“Little bitty pretty one,” Erik hummed quietly, lips tracing the words into Charles’ skin, “come on and talk to me,” Erik’s hand started to stroke Charles’ tummy and Charles grabbed the salt shaker to dash a bit of it onto the omelet. “Lovey dovey, lovey one. Come sit down on my knee,” Erik kissed Charles’ shoulder, finally lifting his head and hooking his chin over his husband’s collarbone to watch Charles slide the omelet onto a plate.
“Mmh mm-mmhh, mmmh mmh mmh, mm-mmhh.” Erik continued up with the beat of the song, draped across Charles’ back like a limpet and letting Charles half-drag him across the kitchen and to the small dining table. Erik repeated the tune in a mumble, laughing as Charles leaned forward to let Erik slide off his back and down into one of the kitchen chairs.
“I still don’t know why you didn’t bother to be a singing burlesque dancer, with those skills,” Charles said sarcastically, laughing and giving Erik a kiss as he set down the omelet. He returned to the kitchen to grab a glass of orange juice (diluting it with water, because Erik’s stomach couldn’t take much acidity) and a fork. Once Erik was all set, Charles got his own food and sat down beside Erik, the omelet he’d made for himself littered with much more peppers, onion, and spices.
“How is it?” Charles asked, taking a bite of his food while Erik struggled to cut off another corner of his omelet. Erik grinned wearily, biting another mouthful and forcing himself through chewing and swallowing.
“Its good,” Erik mumbled. Charles sighed, reaching out to pet the top of Erik’s head.
“Good as in, it tastes good, but I’m not hungry? Or good as in, I think I’m going to vomit but I’ll wait until you’re doing the dishes so I think you don‘t notice?”
Erik laughed tiredly, shaking his head and drinking his watery orange juice. “I’m not hungry, is all.” Charles dropped his hand, returning to his food with a shrug.
“Try to get down at least five more bites? I slaved over a hot stove for that omelet,” he joked, trying to cover the flicker of sadness that struck him when he recalled how much of an appetite Erik once had. Erik nodded, forcing himself through another forkful.
“Professor X is getting low,” he mumbled. Charles hummed, chewing and then swallowing. They’d recently had to keep the stationary tank (Professor X, according to Erik) at the highest level of output because Erik was having trouble breathing in his sleep.
Charles took a swig of juice, “Can it wait until Monday? I can get a refill on my way home from work.” He speared another bit of omelet while Erik mentally calculated how much oxygen he had left and then nodded.
“I’ll be good until then, don’t worry.” As soon as Erik had his fifth bite, he shoved the plate away from himself and crossed his arms on the table, head resting atop them like a pillow. Charles forced himself to smile and nod, taking his time with eating while Erik’s eyes fell shut sleepily.
Once he’d finished, Charles took their plates up to the sink, rinsing and washing them while Erik dozed at the table. Setting everything in the dishwasher, Charles returned to Erik’s side and rubbed his thin back, kissing the base of his skull to try and urge Erik into waking.
“Come sit on the couch, and I’ll get your medication.”
Erik yawned, letting Charles help him stand and shuffling to the couch, where he flopped down after grabbing his Nintendo DS from the coffee table.
“Can you get me Animal Crossing?” Erik asked tiredly, holding up his DS and squishing the foam nerf case, “I left Brain Age in it last night.”
“Of course, darling,” Charles said, crouching by the television and opening the drawer on the entertainment center that was filled with video games. He grabbed the game Erik wanted, as well as Final Fantasy and Pokemon (just in case Erik got bored) and brought them over. Erik grinned, snagging Charles’ hand when he took the games and kissing the back of his knuckles.
“Thank you,”
Charles rolled his eyes, knowing that Erik was barely keeping himself from making comments on chambermaids and personal servants, and headed for the kitchen to grab Erik’s medication. They kept his pills in a large container labeled with morning, noon, evening and night of every day, making it easier to keep track of what Erik had and hadn’t taken yet.
Popping open the morning medication slot, Charles dumped them into a small plastic cup before filling a glass with water and carrying both items out to his husband. Erik swallowed down all six of them without so much as a flinch, gulping his water and then snuggling up into the couch to play his game. Charles grabbed the remote control, detouring for a moment to grab a book he’d been meaning to finish.
Coming back to the couch, it took a moment of maneuvering to pick up Erik’s upper body enough to wriggle in under him, pillowing Erik’s head on his thighs. Erik squirmed, adjusting Magneto onto his stomach so the strap didn’t pull his shoulder, and continued mashing buttons through a Pokemon battle. (Charles was rather proud with the fact that he had an idea of what Erik was more than likely to play - especially after having been married to the man for eight years, and helping him through the past four years of his cancer and treatment.)
“Still tired?” Charles asked softly, opening his book to the dog-eared page. Erik shrugged, wheezing to himself.
“Yeah, little.”
Charles scowled, reaching to the end table so he could grab his glasses and put them on. “I think we did too much last night,” Charles mumbled worriedly. Erik scoffed, coughing softly and then wheezing again.
“I regret nothing.” Erik said flatly, throwing a poke ball at a Crobat and cursing under his breath when it burst out without being captured. Charles leaned on the arm of the couch, peering down at his book and using his free hand to pet along Erik’s bald head.
“You won’t be saying that when you’re too tired for anything tonight,” Charles said under his breath, laughing when Erik shot him a dirty look. Charles bent forward, kissing Erik’s nose. “I’m just being honest, love.”
Erik dropped his DS onto his chest, reaching up to drag Charles down for a crooked kiss. “I’ll show you how tired I am,” he growled, nipping and sucking Charles’ bottom lip. Charles folded the corner of his page absently, shutting the book and sitting up so it was more comfortable to continue kissing. He shifted, reaching up to adjust the tubes of Erik’s respirator from where they were bent awkwardly and poking into his cheek, grinning into the kiss when Erik gave an irritable grumble at the device.
They didn’t get very far, kissing slowly with a few moments of wandering hands, when Erik had to turn away to cough. It didn’t get better at first, each hack wracking his body before he snapped his mouth shut and grimaced. Charles sighed sadly, kissing Erik’s forehead and sliding out from under his head to grab the wastebasket by the television. Erik pushed himself up, leaning to the side to spit a mouthful of bloody mucus into the trash. Charles pressed his palm to Erik’s heaving back, running his hand up and down in a soothing motion while Erik struggled to get back control of his breathing.
Charles waited until Erik nodded and spat out the last bit of pink phlegm, setting the wastebasket down beside the couch. He tried to ignore the panicked tightening in his chest, having gotten used to not dealing with Erik coughing every day after his previous chemo. Erik, now settled back onto the couch, seemed to have recovered somewhat - though his face was still sickly pale and he was wheezing something awful.
“Should we call the doctor?” Charles asked softly, grabbing Erik’s water and handing it to him. Erik shook his head, swilling his mouth and spitting into the trash when Charles picked it up again.
“I’m probably purging, don’t worry so much.” Erik said weakly, letting Charles sit back down and rearranging himself against his husband until they were pressed tightly, side by side. Charles set his head on Erik’s shoulder, the bone poking painfully into his temple now that it no longer had any fat or muscle to cushion it. Charles grabbed Erik’s thin hand, clasping it between his palms and playing with long, shaking fingers.
“It would be good to visit them Monday, at least,” Charles mumbled. Erik sighed, and grabbed his DS from where it had fallen and gotten stuck between the cushions. Silence filled the room before Charles spoke again with a dramatic sigh while Erik sagged half onto him and half onto the couch. “You know, I have to do laundry at some point.”
Erik grunted, using Magneto’s case as a prop for his arms so he didn’t have to hold them up to play the DS. “We’ll be nudists, and never leave the house.”
Charles laughed, but it felt weak when his mind brought up a comparison of how much Erik’s body had changed in the past few years - how much weaker and more frail he looked. Chest tightening, Charles leaned up more into Erik’s warm body and turned the television on.
Its second nature, a half hour later, to reach out and pluck the running DS from Erik’s limp hands after he’s dozed off sitting up. Charles shut the game off, putting it on the end table and glancing up at the clock before changing the channel to a historical film to help the time pass.
When noon rolled around, Charles wrapped an arm around Erik’s back, rubbing his bicep and trying to coax Erik awake with soft kisses to his cheek, neck, and the corner of his mouth.
Erik mumbled softly to himself, turning to groggily capture Charles’ lips before slitting his eyes open and giving his husband a soft pout. “M’head hurts,” he whined. Charles cooed, rubbing the back of Erik’s skull.
“I’ll get your medicine, are you hungry?” Charles asked, sighing when Erik shrugged and shook his head.
“I’ll still eat,” Erik protested, groaning and pressing his fingers to his temples, “You still need to do laundry, I can make something easy….”
Charles shook his head, pushing himself from the couch as Erik grunted from the jostling movement. “I can make sandwiches before I start laundry.”
Erik’s face contorted into a pissy look, fiddling with the strap of Magneto’s carry case. “Five years ago, I could carry you across the house and into the bedroom and fuck your brains out, so I think I can handle some sandwiches.” Erik muttered irritably, though he looked angrier at himself than anything. Charles could recall those times easily, roughhousing drunkenly with Erik some nights for the chance to top, and spending hours in bed on the weekends, learning and re-learning each other’s bodies.
Sighing, Charles dropped his shoulders in acceptance. “Ham and cheese, nothing fantastic, you hear me?” Erik’s face lit up, and Charles lifted a finger to point it at him, “If you get tired, call me and sit down - don’t worry about the food.”
Erik gave him a brilliant, but tired grin and held his arms out to get a hand up off of the couch. It was painfully easy, now, to pull Erik to his feet, and just as easy to walk into his embrace for a quick kiss.
Charles helped Erik into the kitchen (despite Erik’s protests that he could walk on his own, as he had for the past thirty five years of his life) and then made a quick trip around the house to search for all the darks that needed washing. He returned momentarily to grab Erik’s medication and coerce him into taking it, and then slipped into the laundry room to run a load of clothes.
Charles was measuring out a cup of detergent to toss in when he heard the crash of porcelain hitting the tile of the kitchen floor. Charles didn’t think, dropping everything in his hands bolting back into the house.
He very nearly tripped over Erik’s body in his haste, stumbling and halting when he caught sight of Erik on the ground, body seizing painfully and his eyes rolling about in his head. Charles’ stomach lurched painfully and he dropped to his knees, mindful of the broken plate scattered everywhere and grabbed Erik’s shoulders, rolling him on his side.
Bloody saliva dribbled from the corner of Erik’s mouth, a low, uncontrollable groan leaving him as he continued to spasm and his boxers went dark the second he lost control of his bladder.
“Oh god, Erik, please don’t do this to me,” Charles pleaded quietly, hands hovering his husband’s body, helpless to stop the seizing.
Erik stilled after another painstaking minute, body slumping lifelessly against the ground. Charles went over their doctor’s instructions in his head for reacting to such a situation, grabbing Erik’s arms and legs and moving him into the recovery position. It took another second to realize that Erik was utterly, deathly still.
“Erik?” Charles reached a trembling hand out, fingers bumping under Erik’s nose and over his mouth and feeling no breath leave him - despite the respirator. He ignored the urine pooling across the kitchen floor, choking on a sob and lunging to his feet.
Charles ran like a madman for his cell phone, grabbing it out of the bedroom and shakily dialing the first number that came to mind, because Hank was a doctor, Hank knew what to do, he could fix things - he was the one who had first noticed when Erik’s health had started to decline.
“Pick up, please pick up,” Charles babbled, stumbling back towards the kitchen to see if Erik’s body had started breathing on its own.
“Charles?”
“Hank, Hank he’s not breathing and I don’t know what to do because he started having a seizure and he’s not breathing he won’t wake up, Hank, what do I do?” Charles cried, unable to even take a breath or speak past a rush of hysterical words.
“Charles, you need to calm down, you have to hang up, and you have to call 911, do you understand me?” Hank’s voice was low, serious and sharp. Charles sucked in another sob, nodding and reaching out to check Erik’s erratic pulse.
“Charles, hang up now.” Hank barked. Charles fumbled with his cell phone, hanging up and dialing 911 with bleary, tear-clouded eyes. Reaching out, he hesitated to turn Erik on his back.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“My-my husband, he’s not breathing, I don’t know what to do, you have to help!” Charles sobbed, shaking his head and curling up over Erik’s body, uncaring of the scent of urine or how Erik had pinkish saliva sticking to the side of his face.
“I need you to calm down, sir. Can you tell me what happened?”
“He- he was having a seizure, we just finished his chemo last week, I don’t know why this happened!” Charles babbled, one hand pressing up to Erik’s mouth and waiting anxiously for the exhale of breath that never came. “He’s dying, I don’t know what to do, he’s dying.”
“Do you know CPR? I need you to try to get him breathing again, sir. Can you do that?”
“Y-yes, yes I can,” Charles whimpered, gently easing Erik onto his back and moving the respirator out of the way. He held the phone between his head and shoulder, going through the chest compressions - the oxygen concentrator doing the breathing for him. Sirens grew loud in the distance, but Charles felt numb to anything else but the feel of Erik’s weak, jutting ribs bending under his palms - the creak and huff that came with each downward drop of his body.
The door rang, and Charles ignored it, the back of his hands smeared with tears that he didn’t realize had fallen from his eyes. He knew, if he kept trying, Erik would come back to him, but if he stopped, he would lose his chance. There was no way Erik would leave him, not like this.
Charles felt hands grabbing his biceps and trying to pull him from Erik’s body as a man in an EMT uniform crouched on Erik’s other side and hurriedly started to inspect his vitals. Charles jerked, trying to get back to Erik and restart the chest compressions, but he was tugged away by strong arms that refused to let him go.
“No-no! He’s my husband! Let me go!” Charles protested, struggling as he was dragged further away from Erik’s body.
“I need you to calm down, can you tell me what happened?”
The EMS worker’s voice was garbled against the frenzy in Charles head, trying to look over the man’s shoulder and see what was happening with Erik.
“Sir, please.”
Charles shook his head, whimpering. “No, he’s my husband. I need- he can’t… I don’t want him to die alone, please.” Charles pleaded, grabbing the man’s shirt and giving it a forceful pull in hopes that he could move him out of the way.
“He won’t die if you let us do our job. Can you come outside with me and tell me what happened?”
Charles, torn between arguing and agreeing, found himself being led out of the house and into the driveway where the ambulance sat.
Charles recited information, their entire day, and everything he could remember like it was some horrible dream. He felt drained, shorn of all knowledge in what was going to happen and gasping when he saw a gurney coming out of the house. He squinted, trying to tell if the sheet had been pulled over Erik’s head or not, and instead being forced to turn by the EMT.
“Sir, I think it would be best if you stayed here.”