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It was, Erik thought, going to be a good afternoon.
He’d spent the morning going for a run, still learning the grounds and the curves and the spaces around the mansion. He’d come back sweaty and tired and confident that he now had at least three possible escape routes in mind, in case of necessity, and the coins and paperclips in his pocket chattered happily to each other, and the hum of all the tiny little metal elements in the mansion’s construction had welcomed him back, comfortably.
He hadn’t seen Charles, who had announced that he had a paper to write and should therefore be very much left alone by everyone, since breakfast, which had been the one cloud in the otherwise sunny morning. He really wasn’t sure why he felt so disconcerted by that absence. He’d spent years on his own, and he’d been fine. He shouldn’t have this strange feeling of incompleteness at his side, just because it had been too long since he’d looked down into brilliant blue eyes or heard a cheerful British accent.
But he was going to see Charles momentarily. They were supposed to be working on extending Erik’s range this afternoon, and probably Charles would make him lift heavy objects that would leave him exhausted all over again, and then smile at him when he managed it, and so Erik wouldn’t mind the exhaustion at all.
He tried not to grin, thinking about that, in the shower, and then decided that it really didn’t matter, since no one else was there to witness the grin anyway. And he did not try to make his hair behave because he was seeing Charles. He just wanted it to look decent, really. No other reason.
Charles always had very attractive hair. Every time it fell into blue eyes, Erik had to fight with himself from reaching out to brush it away. So far he’d won, but it was getting more difficult each time.
He glanced at himself one more time, in the mirror, and headed downstairs.
Oddly, Charles was nowhere to be found on the front steps of the mansion, where they’d agreed to meet. Erik looked around, puzzled. Well, he was a few minutes early. Perhaps Charles was still eating lunch.
He wandered into the kitchen. Raven was there, perched on a bar stool and eating a sandwich. She looked up when Erik appeared, and licked jam from one blue fingertip. “Hello.”
“Ah…hello. Have you seen—”
“Charles?” She grinned at him, and for just a second Charles sat in the kitchen and took a thoughtful bite of the sandwich. And then turned blue, and back into Raven. “He came down and made tea about half an hour ago. I think he’s busy being angry at his paper.” She took another bite, and added, “I offered to make him a sandwich. He said he wasn’t hungry. Which I don’t believe. There’s pineapple jam.”
Erik considered this. Charles rarely turned down food, and never anything with pineapple in it. “Do you know where he is now?”
“Probably still in the study. I bet he’ll need you to dig him out from under a pile of books, and he won’t be happy about it.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “You could leave him alone, and you and I could go practice on our own…”
“Maybe later,” Erik offered, as politely as he could. He was thinking about Charles, who might be as easily distracted as a kitten, and overflowingly enthusiastic about every new avenue of research, but who would never forget an appointment, a responsibility, a promise to his students or to someone he cared about. That just wasn’t something Charles could do. He knew that the same way he knew the sound of that eloquent voice, in his bones.
Raven grinned, as if she understood something he didn’t. “Oh, go find him. I don’t have to read your mind to know you want to.”
“Enjoy your sandwich,” Erik said, and tried not to run in the direction of the study.
Charles was at his desk, yes. And surrounded by books, and sunlight from the open windows, and scattered notes, in his own messy handwriting. But he wasn’t working.
Erik’s feet, without conscious intervention from his brain, froze in place. Charles. At his desk. Head buried in his arms. Not asleep. Erik knew the difference between sleeping bodies and bodies trying to hide away from pain.
He pushed his treacherous feet into action and ran across the room. Charles didn’t move. And that wasn’t right. Erik knew that he didn’t make much noise—years of practicing stealth had become habit—but he never had been able to sneak up on Charles, because Charles could hear his thoughts, and that was terribly annoying, except that right now Charles hadn’t heard him coming, and that wasn’t annoying, it was terrifying.
He started to reach out, to touch one thin shoulder, and stopped. There was an aspirin bottle sitting on the desk, and when he picked it up, it felt far too light in his hand.
A shiver of dread crept its way into his bones. Fears he couldn’t name, and didn’t want to. That might make them real.
This time he did reach out and shake Charles, probably harder than he should have.
Charles bolted upright, looking astonished. “Erik! I didn’t hear you, I’m so sorry, what time is it? Were you waiting for me?” His face was pale, marked with little red lines like scars from the folds of his sleeve. Blue eyes stood out like tired sapphires against the weariness.
Erik, shocked, momentarily forgot how to form words in English. He waved the aspirin bottle at Charles instead, mutely.
“Oh…it’s all right, it’s just a headache. It was already almost empty, and I only took three, Erik, don’t look so worried.”
Three? “You—are you all right? You look—”
“It’s really just a headache. There are a lot of new people around these days, most of them with very strong minds, and I’ve been failing to write this paper all morning, and I think I forgot to eat lunch—I’m sorry, we were supposed to be working on your precision, with larger objects, this afternoon, weren’t we? Shall we go?”
Charles put both hands flat on the desk, and stood up. Thunderclaps of purple and black, lit up by yellow lightning flashes of pain, exploded through both their heads.
Erik dropped the aspirin bottle, fingers suddenly unable to hold on to anything. Just as abruptly, though, the storm snapped back out of his head, leaving behind only silence and the ghosts of throbbing pain.
“Sorry!” Charles gasped, and then wobbled a little bit on his feet, and Erik dove around the desk and put both arms around him, automatically. When they made contact, Charles’s dizziness knocked them both to the ground.
Erik, desperately, managed to twist them around mid-fall so that he ended up underneath. His left shoulder encountered the floor first, very emphatically, and that was going to hurt tomorrow, but at least he’d successfully made himself into a cushion for Charles, who landed on top of him with enough force to create matching bruises on that side as well.
“Charles! Say something!”
“All right, it’s quite a bad headache…I’m very sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No!” Erik sat up, ignoring protesting muscles, and tugged Charles upright, too, looking him over for any bruises, any injuries. Any worse injuries.
“I’m fine—”
“You are not fine.”
“I will be fine, then. Give me a few minutes. It’ll go away. It always does.” Charles leaned against him, and put his head on Erik’s shoulder, settling into his arms. Erik, who had never actually held another person before, at least not for nonviolent purposes, tried not to panic, for multiple reasons.
“Always?”
“Oh…well, no, this doesn’t happen frequently, if that’s what you’re asking. It hasn’t been this bad for ages; it’s just today, for some reason. And usually I have better control when it does happen. I’m sorry about projecting at you.”
“Don’t apologize. Can I help?” Unruly hair curled over Charles’s face; Erik, carefully, used one fingertip to brush it back. It felt the way he’d thought it would, like silk against his skin. Charles made a little contented sound, and burrowed in closer.
“You are helping. You feel warm. Also, you smell lovely. Like soap. And the ocean.”
“I…showered?” Erik really wasn’t certain what to say to that. He was fairly sure that that wasn’t the typical sort of comment people made to each other, but then, Charles had no sense of personal boundaries whatsoever, and in any case personal boundaries were probably a less than important concept, considering the fact that he was sitting on the floor with Charles in his arms.
The carpet was surprisingly comfortable, upon closer acquaintance. Luxurious and fluffy. Trust Charles to have a fluffy carpet.
A tiny part of him wondered whether Charles was now thinking about him in the shower, and then he tucked that idea firmly away and stacked other ideas, primarily banal tidbits about the loveliness of the carpet, on top of it. If there ever was an appropriate time for those thoughts, this most certainly was not it.
Charles looked up at him. “Erik?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“What? No. Of course not.” His shoulder was going to ache, later, but he’d been hurt worse. Besides, he’d sacrificed it in a good cause.
“You look distracted.”
“I was just…you realize no one has ever commented on the smell of my soap before.”
“Oh. Did you mind?”
“No.” True. Somewhat frightening to think about, but inarguably, definitely, true.
Charles actually smiled, a little. He was starting to look better, Erik thought. His face wasn’t quite as white as it had been, and, if his eyes were still a bit bruised, they managed to smile in Erik’s direction, too.
“I’m sorry about today’s training session—”
“Charles…”
“—but actually…I think this might’ve been a good thing. For you, I mean.”
“What?”
“Well, you tried to catch me.”
“Of course I—”
“Isn’t it nice,” Charles interrupted, calmly, “to know that your instincts are to save people?”
Erik stared at him.
One question. One single question, and Charles had flipped his world around. Had undermined a lifetime’s worth of Erik’s own assumptions about himself.
He held onto Charles, a little numbly, like a lifeline. Of course he’d tried to save his mother. He’d failed. But everything he’d done, he’d done because of that moment. Because vengeance meant everything, but only after rescue’d become impossible. He’d tried to save Charles, without even thinking about it. Of course.
Something very ancient, and very cold, cracked open inside his heart, unexpectedly, like the first tentative thaw of spring. It felt that way, too. Shaky and uncertain, melting and flowing into a different shape, painful and new. Would he see a face he didn’t recognize, if he looked into a mirror?
I would recognize you, said a familiar voice in his head. I’d always recognize you. Erik, are you all right?
Charles? Didn’t it hurt Charles, to be inside his head this way, at this moment? Should you be—?
Well…you were being a bit loud. I couldn’t help overhearing.
I’m sorry—
No, don’t be. Thank you for sharing that, with me.
Charles, Erik said, helplessly, and then laughed. Or maybe he was crying. He couldn’t quite tell. Charles, you—what did you do to me?
Nothing, I promise. This is who you are. Charles gazed at him, blue eyes shining with shared emotion, but there was also a grin there, through the tears. Erik reached out, and flicked a drop of wetness away from the curve of one cheekbone.
I quite like who you are, you realize. Also… Charles actually managed to sound like he was blushing, even in their heads, which Erik thought was fascinating. He hadn’t known blushes could be audible.
…you might like to know that, well, yes, I was thinking about you in the shower, earlier. I like that thought, too.
For the third or fourth time that afternoon, Erik found himself speechless. This time, though, it was out of amazement, and anticipation that wasn’t all his, and astonishingly unexpected joy. That last one, he thought, wasn’t all his, either.
Out loud, inadvertently, he said, “You heard that?” and Charles laughed, and observed, “Similar thoughts do tend to reinforce each other, they make themselves louder, you see, when they echo back on each other…” and Erik held onto him and thought, all right, then, what about this one?
And Charles laughed again, and kissed him. I like that one very much.
“Charles…” Charles tasted like the sugar in his tea, and warm skin, and pain, and laughter, and the sharp saltiness of tears, and Erik wanted to kiss him forever, sitting there on the comfortably fluffy carpet with the sunshine streaming in from the windows behind them.
I could be happy with that, I think.
I think I could be happy with you.
I think we could be happy together.
Yes. Oh, yes. Erik paused. “How’s your headache?” He could, he thought, feel the echoes of it, still hovering around the edges of shared thoughts.
“Ah…mostly gone. Not completely. Mostly.” Kiss me again, and we’ll see if that helps?
“I don’t think that’s an approved medical treatment, Charles.” Not that he was opposed to trying.
“Well, I approve of it…” I hope you do, as well?
Wholeheartedly, Erik told him. He’d picked the adverb carefully out of his English vocabulary. He’d never used it before.
Right now, he thought, it felt like everything he wanted to say.