poor_medea (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
poor_medea) wrote2011-10-30 03:13 pm
poor_medea) wrote2011-10-30 03:13 pm
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Forgive Us Our Transgressions 3/?
“Hello?”
Erik’s voice was different. Softer. Hesitant in a way that Erik had never been, even before he took over Shaw’s mantle, his quest for world domination.
“Is someone there?”
“Yes,” Charles answered, pushing himself fully into the dimly lit bedroom. “How are you?”
“I’m…tired, I suppose,” the man answered thoughtfully. “Who are you?”
Charles drew nearer to the side of the bed. Erik had been sleeping all day, but Hank warned him that the man would need to regain his strength after such an illness. He would be tired constantly, easily worn out. His mind was still an unsettling blank, a thick fog carpeting everything that Charles knew to be Erik.
“I’m a friend,” Charles answered, his voice even, the rehearsed words barely catching in his throat.
“Oh.” Erik’s brow creased. “Where am I?”
“My house.”
“Oh,” he said again. “Then we must be good friends. For you to take care of me.”
“We have been very close,” Charles agreed, still being careful with his words. Despite his attempts to probe at Erik’s mind, he still wasn’t sure what the man remembered, what he knew of their past.
“It’s still very good of you,” Erik said. And then he smiled, a simple, uncomplicated smile. A mere turning up of the lips, and yet so much easier, freer than any smile he had granted Charles before.
Even when they had been truly close.
Charles averted his eyes. It hurt, that smile, that freedom with which this man who looked like Erik was willing to give him his friendship. “You should sleep,” he said. “You need your energy.”
“I am tired,” Erik said agreeably, turning his face into the pillow. “Will you stay with me?”
“I—“ Charles began.
“I feel so much better knowing someone’s here.”
Charles bit his lip, watching Erik’s eyelids fall shut. “Alright,” he whispered.
It was dangerous, watching Erik sleep—a deep and uncomplicated sleep. It brought back memories, but worse than that, it dredged up old desires, things he had once longed for that had never come to pass.
He had once wished with all his heart for Erik to give up his vendetta, to forget Shaw, to forget the crimes committed against him. To let it all go and accept that he could be happy.
With Charles.
It had been all the worse, knowing that it was within his power to make that a reality. He could have snuck into Erik’s mind at any point before the final confrontation. He had known what was coming, and Erik’s mind had still been open to him. He could have taken what he wanted, removed the blackness and rot from within his friend, and left only the parts that he desired.
It would have been easy.
It would have been so, so wrong.
And yet, it had been hard to hold back, that final night.
“Peace was never an option,” Erik had declared, and Charles knew. In that moment it had been like clairvoyance was his power, the future had been so clear. Erik would take his revenge, and he would turn his back on Charles in doing so.
That night, when they went to bed together, stripped bare in every way, bodies pressed tightly together in an effort to forget what the morning would bring, it would have been so easy to just…modify Erik.
But Charles had his morals and his ideals. It was what split them apart in the first place, and it was what prevented Charles from holding them together.
And so Erik had walked way. Had left him bleeding on that beach.
And yet now, it seemed his wish had belatedly come true. Somehow a serene, untroubled Erik had been left on his doorstep, a man who, rather than world domination, only wanted someone to stay with him while he slept.
So why did it trouble Charles so deeply?
He stared down at Erik’s familiar-but-not face, his gaze tracing the delicate veins in his eyelids, the soft brush of his eyelashes against his cheeks. His brow was smooth, his lips slack. His breath—easier now that the illness was passing—whistled softly against the soft down of his pillow.
“Oh, my friend,” Charles whispered. “I can’t tell if this is a gift to me, or a curse to you.”
He reached out, just brushing his fingers over Erik’s face, his breath catching as the man unconsciously turned into the touch.
He wanted this to be real, so badly. And yet, he knew to wish that was to wish his friend away, to erase what made Erik the man that he had fallen in love with.
But, Charles thought, staring down at his friend. Would that not be worth it, in the end?
_______________________________________________________
“You’re looking better today,” Charles said briskly as he rolled into the room.
Erik was propped up in bed, the curtains open, and the warmth of the sun heating his face.
“I feel better,” Erik replied proudly. “Practically as good as new.”
“Practically?” Charles asked.
“Well,” Erik’s brow creased, ever so slightly. “I can’t seem to remember much about…before,” he admitted vaguely.
“Before?” Charles prompted, though of course he knew.
“Before my illness,” Erik frowned.
“Well, you had a terrible fever. I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned about.” Charles said blandly, fussing with the tray that bore Erik’s lunch. “But I’ll ask the doctor, just to be sure.” He knew what Hank thought, of course. Knew that Hank was more than concerned about the potential damage done to Erik’s brain. Knew that Hank was even more concerned about what it meant for the X-Men, for the Brotherhood. For Charles.
“I’m sure you’re right. I’ll be myself in no time.” Erik assured him cheerfully.
“I’m sure,” Charles agreed, settling the tray over Erik’s lap. “I’m afraid it’s soup again, my friend.”
“Well,” Erik said, granting him another smile. “It won’t be long until I’m well enough for something more substantial.”
The optimism never failed to catch Charles off guard. This Erik was so good-natured. Easy-going and positive.
It was a bit disconcerting.
“That’s the spirit,” he said instead. Coolly he lifted the spoon to Erik’s mouth, trying to ignore the way the man’s lips parted around the utensil, exhaling onto the hot liquid before letting it dribble inside. Lips that he had become accustomed to seeing set in a hard, uncompromising line. Now they parted easily for him, and Charles had to look away, focusing instead on the dip of the spoon into the swirl of cloudy broth, on chasing down bits of vegetable.
When lunch was finished, Erik settled back down in bed. “Thank you, my friend,” he said groggily. “For taking such good care of me.”
“Well,” Charles said, turning away slightly. “That’s what friends are for.”
A warm hand pressed over his own. “Then I’m glad to have you for a friend.”
Charles had to bite his lip against the pain that blossomed in his chest. “And I you,” he whispered.
________________________________________________
“What is he still doing here?” Alex asked, exasperated, over breakfast the next morning.
“He’s recovering,” Charles replied shortly, staring down into his tea.
The blond rolled his eyes. “He’s fine. He’s up there watching Gilligan’s Island and eating our soup. He could do that anywhere. Give him back to the people who actually want him.”
“Alex, he doesn’t remember anything. We can’t send that man back to a terrorist organization.”
The blond snorted rudely. “It’s a terrorist organization run by your sister.”
“Alex!” Hank snapped, before Charles could open his mouth. “You’re an asshole.”
“So’s Magneto, and yet he gets soup.”
“Alex, this is our chance to do something about the Brotherhood. If we send Erik back down, they’ll just re-indoctrinate him. But if we can change his mind while he’s here…just think of the difference it will make.”
“I’d agree with you, Professor,” Alex said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “If I thought that was the whole reason you wanted to keep him here.”
Charles’ chest tightened. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s always been like that,” the other man disagreed. “Every time we come up against the Brotherhood, it’s there, lurking in the background. It’s there affecting every decision you make. You don’t want to let him leave, because you’ve finally got your boyfriend back.”
“Alex, that’s enough,” Hank said firmly.
“You know I don’t care.” Alex dismissed Hank with a wave of his hand. “I don’t care that you’re in love with a man. But I care that you’re in love with that man.”
Charles turned his face away. Was there any point in denying it? His love for Erik had been written all over him since the moment he pulled the other man out of the water in Miami, all those years ago.
“I’m just trying to do what’s best for all of us,” he said quietly.
Alex sighed, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. “I believe that you believe that.”
____________________________________________________
“You used to like to play chess,” Charles said. “With me,” spilled, unbidden, over his lips.
Erik hesitated at the other side of the board. “I’m not sure I remember how.”
“I’ll show you.”
Erik nodded slowly. “Alright.” He reached out a hesitant hand, brushing a finger over the nearest black knight. “This looks…familiar, somehow.”
“You’ve played with this board before,” Charles said, trying to keep his tone light. “Many times.”
“Ah,” Erik smiled. “See? I’m remembering already.”
Oh, I hope not, my friend. Charles smiled wanly.
He guided Erik through the opening moves of the game, watching him closely. If anything in the mansion was going to trigger a memory of before, it would be this; the two of them, bent close over a chessboard.
Memories flooded through Charles, at least, every move and every look reminding him of years gone by, of a time when the careful strategy of chess was merely a prelude to something more.
He glanced at Erik, seeing the way the man frowned over the board, biting his lip in concentration. Watching the way his hand hovered over the pieces; large, broad hands, whose touch he remembered all too well.
And yet not well enough.
“Are you alright?” Erik asked.
“Hmm?” Charles wrenched his eyes back to the other man, well aware that a blush was creeping up his neck. “I’m fine, my friend. Just planning how to beat you.”
“Ah!” Erik laughed, a full, rich sound. “Taking advantage of my weakness.”
Charles froze. “I—I would never—“
“Charles,” Erik said, reaching out to brush his hand. “I was only kidding. I know you wouldn’t.”
And yet he was. Charles bit his lip. He was taking the advantage Erik’s illness had given him, trying to exploit it for all it was worth.
And seeing Erik look at him, with so much trust in his eyes, he felt like the bad guy for the first time in many, many years.
_____________________________________________
~
no subject
He is taking advantage of the situation, but what else could he possibly do? Give Erik Back to the Brotherhood, and they will indoctrine him. Let him go on his own, with the authorities probably looking for him in the entire country? If he tells him everything and Erik still can't remember, it could hurt him.
I hope, if there is indeed brain damage, that it didn't affect his abilities too much. And what a problem it will be when Erik uses them again...
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Thanks for reading and commenting!
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“I don’t care that you’re in love with a man. But I care that you’re in love with that man.”
“I’m just trying to do what’s best for all of us,” he said quietly.
Alex sighed, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. “I believe that you believe that.”
The way you wrote Alex in this was just great.
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I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! Thanks very much for reading and commenting!
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Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
Volume 69, Issue 28
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The blond snorted rudely. “It’s a terrorist organization run by your sister.”
“Alex!” Hank snapped, before Charles could open his mouth. “You’re an asshole.”
“So’s Magneto, and yet he gets soup.”
In these four lines you have captured the different characters so well.
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