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“Oh God, Erik! Is that your blood?”
Rogue’s voice cracked as she stumbled backward, her eyes wide and horrified. Blood, a deep crimson and glistening, was smeared across Erik’s black battle suit, staining the fabric, including the large white M on his chest, and pooling in dark streaks down his arms. The stark contrast against his pale skin made the sight even more ghastly. Her stomach lurched at the sheer amount.
“No.” His reply was maddeningly calm, too calm. As if he hadn’t just walked into the X-Mansion’s foyer looking like a scene out of a war film.
She blinked, stunned, and shouted, rightfully so. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
Her tone was sharp, but underneath it trembled with concern. Of course it wasn’t his blood, probably. With Magneto, it was always a toss-up. She had half a mind to slap him right then and there, but her hand curled into a fist at her side instead. What good would it do? Erik Lehnsherr had always carried chaos like a second skin. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she hated seeing him like this.
Bloodied. Worn. Quiet.
“I’m fine, Rogue. No broken bones or excessive bleeding on my part.” He added after a beat, though he didn’t protest when she grabbed his arm and began guiding him with determined urgency toward the medical ward.
“Yeah, yeah.” She muttered under her breath, ignoring how her fingers tightened slightly around his glove. “You’ll say that even when your leg’s hangin’ off.”
He didn’t argue with her. It would have made it worse, and he had no desire of further upsetting her.
Rogue practically shoved him onto the cot with a stern glare before she whirled away to fetch supplies. Gauze, alcohol wipes, antiseptic cream as her hands moved with experience despite her heart racing.
When she returned, she found him sitting obediently, still as a statue, watching her with that unreadable expression of his. It only made her nerves itch more.
“What were ya thinkin’?” She snapped, removing the battle-worn gloves and began inspecting his hands first, then his arms. There were only small cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Thankfully, nothing life-threatening. But that didn’t stop the fire of frustration from bubbling in her chest. “You should’ve been more careful. Dammit, Erik.”
The older man had said nothing, but there was a flicker of both amusement and fondness in his eyes at seeing Rogue act all caring and concerned over his well-being. She was too good, he thought to himself.
Rogue took his hand firmly, silently grateful for the gloves that kept her powers at bay. She began cleaning the cut on his finger with gentle precision, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“It’s just a cut, my dear.” His voice was soft, almost amused.
Rogue didn’t even look up. She simply blew on the cleaned wound, her lips pursed. She did look up when he chuckled, though.
“Oh, shush!” She warned, eyes narrowing.
Erik could only chuckle, a gentle smile gracing his withered, exhausted face. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Nothin’ to smile about.” Rogue mumbled under her breath and rolled her eyes, tossing the alcohol wipe into the bin before carefully applying a couple of gauzes to his cuts. She didn’t have to do this, but it was a kind and caring gesture despite the mood.
“There! All done.” She said with a huff, then met his eyes and paused. She saw him already looking at her. That same unreadable look, though this time softened by something unmistakable.
“What?” She asked blinking and tilting her head with suspicion.
Erik tilted his head slightly, smiling. “I must admit that your concern over my well-being is most admirable. And dare say adorable.”
She flushed, the warmth creeping up her neck and muttered. “Shut up...” She muttered again as he reached out to her, taking her hand in his. Then, gently, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead with the utmost respect and devotion for this incredible woman before him. It was almost as if he did not deserve to be graced by her kindness.
“Ah’m not cute.” She grumbled, lips tugging into a reluctant smile.
He squished her cheeks together, smirking. “I beg to differ.”
And for a moment, in that blood-stained quiet, Rogue let herself forget the chaos outside and simply leaned into the moment, into him. However, the silence that followed was thicker than it should’ve been. Heavy with unsaid things. A conversation needed to be discussed.
Rogue lingered at the edge of the cot, watching Erik from the corner of her eye. His white hair unkept in debris and dried blood, his recent uniform tattered, and his skin already broken with fresh cuts and old scars. His body language spoke louder than words just from how he presented himself: slouched, battered, eyes heavy from exhaustion, physically and emotionally. She hated seeing it like this. It made everything feel more real. Too real.
“How bad was it?” She asked finally, trying to break the silence between them in the empty medical ward.
Erik’s smile faded. “Worse than anticipated. The Brotherhood were sloppy. The humans were reckless. I arrived only to find the city block already in ruin.”
“And you made it worse.” She finished for him, voice clipped.
“I prevented it from becoming another mass grave.” He said quietly. “If that qualifies as making it worse, then perhaps you should be grateful I didn’t try harder.”
That sharp edge in his voice was familiar. Defensive. Wounded, in a different way.
“Don’t twist my words.” She snapped, then softened. “Ah just… you didn’t need to go in alone.”
“I did.” He looked at her then, tired eyes cutting through layers of armor. “Because if I didn’t, someone else would’ve, and another life would have been lost.”
Rogue dropped her gaze to the floor. That was the cruel paradox of Erik Lehnsherr. Beneath the iron and fire, he bore every burden on his back until it bent him.
“Don’t do that.” She whispered.
“Do what?”
“Act like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.” Her voice cracked again, lower this time. “You come in here lookin’ like hell, covered in blood, and act like it’s just another day on the job. Don’t pretend it doesn’t scare the hell outta me.”
That silenced him. Erik looked at her long and hard, then finally patted the space on the cot beside him. Rogue hesitated before sitting. Close. Not touching, but near enough to feel the weight of him.
“You do matter, Erik.” She said again, this time softer. “Maybe not to the world. Maybe not even to Charles or to the X-Men half the time. But to me… you do. You still matter to me, sugah.”
Erik exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that came from somewhere deeper than lungs. His throat went dry, taking in her words as it weighted more than gold. “And you to me, Anna.”
Rogue looked up, startled by the use of her real name. He rarely called her that. Rarely dared to. Yet, she did not correct him. Instead, it felt more real, more organic, more vulnerable. Perhaps that’s what was needed tonight.
Their eyes locked and something shifted. Without warning, Erik reached over and gently wiped a streak of someone else's blood from her cheek with a gloved thumb.
Silence again. Electric. Fragile.
Then Rogue reached out and pulled his hand into hers, holding it like something precious and breakable.
“You scared me.” She whispered.
“I scare myself sometimes.” He admitted, his voice heavy and exhausted. Exhaustedly, he released a heavy sigh.
Her thumb brushed over his knuckles to comfort the battle-worn man. “You don’t have to keep doing this alone, Erik. You’ve got people now. The X-Men. Me. If you’d just stop shutting everyone out—”
“I’m trying.” He said before she could finish. And he meant it. She could hear the sincerity buried in his gravel voice, deeper than regret. “I’m trying so hard despite the many years of solitude.”
Rogue frowned some, but she slowly nodded and turned, pulling a blanket from behind them on the cot and drapes it over his shoulders to provide some comfort and warmth to him. He needed it.
“I’m so sorry, my dear.” He said finally.
“For what?”
“For scaring you. For bleeding all over the floor. For who I am and what I have become.” It was rare for Erik to be this vulnerable. To every show an ounce of just being human. That’s what scared Erik. Being human because he acknowledges what that pertained. But with Rogue, he felt safe.
She reached down, lacing her fingers through his. “Don’t ever be sorry for bein’ who you are. Especially now when you’ve come a long way. Ah’m sure even the Professor would be proud of ya.” She tightened her grip on his hand just a bit. “Just promise me next time, you’ll come back in one piece.”
Erik gave her hand the faintest squeeze, staring deep into her eyes. Just by staring at them alone, he found peace in them. A feeling of home he has long forgotten. “Only if you promise to be here when I do.”
Her voice wavered. “Always.”
Hours had passed.
With his bloodied uniform discarded, Erik had drifted into an uneasy slumber on the cot. His body was too aching to move, much less to fly off. Rogue had suggested he stay in the medical ward, and though he had grumbled about it with some resistance, he hadn’t truly protested. As much as the cot wasn’t as soft as a bed, it did not take long for the older man to surrender to exhaustion. His body desperately needed it. Muscles slackened, shoulders eased from their rigid line and sleep claimed him.
Rogue remained by his side, quiet and vigilant. She slipped beneath the blanket, careful and cautious, until his head nestled against her chest, her heartbeat soft and steady against his temple. His hand scarred and calloused stayed curled in hers. And hers, unafraid and ungloved, moved to stroke slowly though his white strands of his hair, gently, again and again.
In that silence, she lay laid there with her eyes wide open and her mind locked somewhere deep in thought while the older man in her arms finally rested.
Erik was trying. She knew that now, noy just with her mind, but with her whole heart. She'd known it before, somewhere beneath the frustration and lectures, underneath the tension that never quite dissolved in the War Room or the constant side glances the X-Men gave him during mission briefings. She'd seen it on the battlefield, in the decisions he made, in the way he never let any harm come to them no matter how reckless.
He was trying. Despite his nature. Despite his instincts. Despite the way the world had carved its lessons into him with violence and betrayal. She could not blame him for trying to do things alone. That was all he had known for so long.
Erik had always been a fortress. Not just in power, but in spirit. Years of solitude, of independence, of relying on only himself… it was hard to unlearn. Hard to tear down walls built for survival.
But he was trying. Even if he didn’t say it out loud. Even if he bled in silence and carried the weight of the world like he was meant to.
Rogue felt the way his breathing deepened against her ribs. Felt the tremble that sometimes moved through him when whatever haunted him in sleep returned to the surface. She’d seen him like this only once before back in the Savage Land. A wave of guilt claimed her heart. She left him thinking their demons were far too great to continue. And despite of all that, she witnessed a man trying to be better for all mutants, for mankind. And, yes, even himself.
Her fingers moved again through his hair in circle motions to help him settle down. “It’s okay, sugah. You don’t gotta do it alone. Ah don’t want you to feel as if all this weight must be carried by you and only you.”
She wasn’t sure if he could hear her, but maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe, just maybe, he already knew. Erik stirred faintly, shifting against her. His fingers curled tighter into hers.
Her breath caught. Even in sleep, he clung to her.
A man like him, made of iron, hardened by history, feared by nations, and here he was, seeking warmth and anchoring himself to the very woman who welcomed him with open arms despite having opposed him on the battlefield. It made her chest ache and swell. Because now, in this quiet moment, all that mattered was that he was safe.
Alive. And hers. Even just for now.
She let her head fall back against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed. The soft hum of the hallway light above cast a pale glow across the room, but she didn’t mind. It reminded her that the world was still spinning. That there was still time.
Still a chance.
The rest of the X-Men didn’t understand. Neither did Remy. To them, Magneto and Erik Lehnsherr will always be complicated. Dangerous. A man walking the edge of redemption and rebellion. Charles had believed in him once, but even he hadn’t fully trusted him in the end.
But Rogue… she believed. She believed in giving him a second chance and she was going to play by the Professor’s rule book in this one.
She’d seen him raise cities to defend children. She had watched him lower his voice when speaking to Jubilee and Roberto when needed to be taught valuable lessons due to being the youngest members in the team or raise his voice, when he needed, in reprimanding Gambit whenever he would decide to go his own route and nearly jeopardize the mission and safety of the X-Men. She’d caught the smallest of gestures. When he left food out for Kurt or lingered near Scott and Jean during briefings, giving them space but staying within reach. Giving words of solace when needed, in good times and in bad times. Always near, always watching, always leading.
A protector, despite himself. A leader, even when unwanted.
A man. Not a symbol. Not a mutant messiah. Just a man with too much of a painful past and not enough peace.
Rogue pressed a soft kiss into his white hair. He didn’t stir and she quietly whispered again to him. “You matter to me, Erik.”
And this time, she felt it. The tiniest shift. The softest hum in his chest.
He had heard. And in her arms, she was his salvation. His heaven on earth.