Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The signature of metal sings in Erik’s veins in a way that is difficult to describe. It’s liquid, ancient, a pulling from his very bones and the current of every atom in his body, calling out to him, from every microscopic piece of iron dust to the hulking steel girders holding up the facility. Erik feels that euphoric choir return in increments as he and Peter ascend through the floors of the Pentagon, coming to a crescendo when the elevator stops gently and he can feel every single utensil and table and pan in the well-stocked kitchen just beyond the doors. Then they open with a hiss, and Erik stops feeling anything at all.

Charles Xavier is standing on the other side of the door, still turned to address a scruffy looking man on his other side.

“Charles?” After ten years in that plastic prison, Erik is no stranger to hallucinations; as a matter of fact, Charles is the most common star of them. Those are typically less complex, though. Most of the time it’s just his voice, a ghost of that life-altering moment in the sea when he begged Erik to calm his mind and let go of the submarine. Occasionally he’d be blessed with a watery vision of Charles himself, still ten years younger and bright with naivete. But after everything he and Charles have been through, the idea that Erik has simply lost his mind entirely is significantly more believable than Charles coming to break him out of prison.

Just as a moment disguised as eternity passes and Erik dimly registers that Charles’ hair is much longer than he remembered, Charles’ face scrunches up in fury, and Erik is on the floor.

He only gives himself a moment to recover before glancing back up and mumbling, “Good to see you too, old friend,” unable to keep his eyes off of Charles’ face no matter how much rage lines it. “...and walking.”

“No thanks to you.” The old guilt that has taken up residence in nearly as much fervor as his ingrained anger flares, and Erik looks away.

“You’re the last person in the world I expected to see today.” Erik’s voice is thin and cracked with disuse, and he clears his throat ineffectually.

“Believe me,” Charles starts, his voice barely held together by simmering rage, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to.” Charles steps closer, those blue eyes that have haunted Erik since that day in the blood soaked sand never leaving his face. “If we get you out of here we do it my way. No killing.” He doesn’t flinch, staring Erik down from less than six inches away now.

“No helmet.” Erik gestures to his head with a wry smile. “I couldn’t disobey you even if I wanted.” Charles takes another step forward and crowds Erik against the wall of the elevator, and Erik can’t stop the repressed surge of want that courses through him. It’s been ten years, and truthfully, Erik had never expected to see Charles again, let alone be this close to him. He doesn’t have time to unpack whether that want is directed at Charles himself, or at the idea that Charles could simply force him to be a better man. Force him to be someone that Charles would stand beside.

Everything saps out of him, though, when Charles growls out, “I am never getting inside that head again.” Even more guilt, now, as he remembers how thoroughly he betrayed Charles in Cuba, and he feels a wave of despair as he realizes that Charles has lost the last shred of hope he had left for whatever supposed goodness he’d found in Erik in their youth. “I need your word.”

Gray eyes rake over Charles’ face for a brief second as though committing him to memory, and Erik gives him a solemn nod.

Before there’s time for any further conversation, or for Erik to do something monumentally stupid like try to touch Charles, several security guards burst into the kitchen beyond the elevator.

“Nobody move!”

Erik attempts to take control of their guns as Charles whips around and curses when he realizes that, of course, they’re made of plastic. He glances at Charles, a beat of panic flooding him when he notices that he stands between the guards and Erik, and he quickly moves forward.

“Charles?” Erik prompts warily, looking between him and the guards. They should already be frozen - why hasn’t he taken control of them yet?

“Hands up! Or we will shoot!”

“Freeze them, Charles.” He refuses to take his eyes off the guards now. If Charles won’t do anything out of some sudden moral opposition to telepathic control, Erik will be damned if he lets him get shot for it. The metal in the room groans in sympathy as he stretches his abilities for the first time in a decade.

“I can’t.”

Erik allows himself one last glance at Charles as he feels an icy settling of dread in his gut that he doesn’t have time to sit with at the moment. Gritting his teeth, he sets his focus on the copious amount of knives scattered about the kitchen, as well as mindlessly grabbing every other utensil he can get ahold of. Charles slams a hand into his chest and shoves, a distant “Erik, no!” echoing in Erik’s ears as he prepares to swiftly slit the throats of the half dozen-odd guards in the room, but it already seems to be over.

Before he has the chance to send the metal anywhere, all of their assailants are in graceless heaps on the floor, seemingly unconscious or otherwise incapacitated.

Charles’ hand lingers on his chest for a few seconds longer than Erik thinks is necessary, and then he’s heading across the room without a second glance.

Erik tries not to ruminate on Charles’ inability to stop the guards as he follows, and he most certainly refuses to acknowledge the infinitesimal seedling of hope that had sprouted when he allowed himself to consider Charles simply making him do the right thing.

Chapter Text

The tension on the plane feels like a rubber band stretched nearly to its breaking point, shivering with potential energy. Charles stares at Erik with unabashed loathing, his face screwed up with disdain.

Erik glances at Charles and back to the floor, unable to maintain eye contact when Charles is radiating hatred like this. Those blue eyes should never be simmering with anger; that should be reserved for Erik and his tainted soul. Never Charles.

He casts about for some sort of subject change that might get Charles’ mind off of how much he hates Erik right now, and somehow manages to land on “How did you lose them?”

“The treatment for my spine affects my DNA.” Charles’ voice is flat when he answers, and his eyes never waver from what now feels like an attempt to bore a hole straight through Erik’s skull with the intensity of his gaze. A shock of disbelief tinged with guilt and hopelessness tears through Erik as he swings around to stare at Charles, and the fact that Charles can’t feel it might be the only silver lining to his current lack of power.

“You sacrificed your powers so you could walk?” Erik asked, his voice stark with disbelief. How could Charles inhibit something so integral to his personality, his existence, for something so trivial as walking? No matter where they stood ideologically or what past might stand between them, Erik would never even give a second thought to put together an exceptional chair for him, or any number of aids that would assist him in mobility. Anything other than this. This is barbaric. Before he has much time to think on it, however, Charles seems choked up with some kind of emotion, gritting his teeth and somehow managing to glare even harder than he was before.

“I sacrificed my powers so that I could sleep.” The last word is choked off and Charles finally, finally turns that stare away from him, shaking his head. “What do you know about it?”

Erik furrows his brow and answers, “I’ve lost my fair share.”

“Ah, dry your eyes, Erik.” Charles bares his teeth in a cruel facsimile of a smile. “It doesn’t justify what you’ve done.” Despite the ever-present undercurrent of guilt, Erik allows the familiar warmth of anger begin to tighten his muscles. He knows Charles is baiting him; he rises to it anyway.

“You have no idea what I’ve done.”

“I know you took the things that mean the most to me,” Charles whispers, and now that rage in his eyes is tempered by a grief and betrayal that seems almost written into the lines of his face.

“Well, maybe you should’ve fought harder for them.” For me, Erik almost says. He knows he’s being unfair, but he can’t help it. The guilt that’s been his companion for over a decade hasn’t been enough to erase the pain he felt when Charles dismissed him all those years ago, sending Erik to leave him on that beach.

“If you want a fight, Erik, I will give you a fight!” Charles and Erik both stand up, and the rubber band shivers before it snaps. Charles surges forward, grabbing Erik by his collar. His eyes fill with tears as his expression twists into something devastating. If it wasn’t for the context, Erik would be tempted to reach out to smooth the expression from Charles’ face, but as it stands, all he can do is tremble and hope Charles doesn’t feel it.

“You abandoned me!” Erik’s breath hitches in his throat, and the temptation to soothe Charles is gone faster than it came. Erik abandoned Charles? “You took her away, and you abandoned me!”

“Angel.” Charles’ eyes narrow in confusion before Erik carries on. “Azazel. Emma. Banshee.” The plane they’re in shudders as Erik speaks, and control eludes him as he continues. “Mutant brothers and sisters, all dead!” Charles is still staring at him, his blue eyes still bright with anger, but they start to darken with fear as the plane begins to list. It tilts suddenly and Charles is thrown backwards, scrabbling ineffectually for a hold on the walls as he stumbles. Erik pays him little mind, continuing onwards. “Countless others experimented on! Butchered!”

Hank calls his name from the cockpit, but Erik can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

“Where were you, Charles? We were supposed to protect them!” Erik just barely stops his voice from cracking as he relives that last decade. The friends he lost not long after Cuba, picked off during missions or snatched from the streets. “Where were you when your own people needed you?”

With a jolt, Erik realizes that the treatment for Charles’ spine must be some sort of derivative of that foul serum Hank had tried to convince Mystique to take to masquerade as a human. He tastes bile in his mouth, and his rage rises to a fever pitch. How dare he? How dare Hank erase what makes Charles so beautifully, wonderfully powerful? How dare Charles squander what makes him perfect?

And just as quickly as that traitorous hope was born back in that elevator, it dissipates. The thought that Charles might possibly, maybe embrace his mutation long enough to make Erik stay by his side seems like a dream now.

“Hiding! You and Hank! Pretending to be something you’re not!” The plane pitches forward and the hull crumples as Erik lets all of his ugly emotions grab hold of the metal and squeeze. Hank calls again, and Erik blinks, realizing that he’s thrown Charles to the other side of the cabin and he’s sending them all on a swift descent towards the ocean.

Erik breathes hard through his nose and focuses. With surprisingly little effort, he raises the plane back to cruising altitude and smoothes out the crinkled panels in the hull. After taking a moment to steady his balance and his breathing, Charles stands up and sends an unreadable glare to Erik before storming off to sit in the cockpit with Hank.

Erik shakes off the lingering remnants of his rage and sits down in the rear of the plane. He already regrets his cruel words. Who was he, someone who felt the euphoric singing of metal in his veins, to judge Charles for wanting some respite from the cacophonous cries of humanity? It isn’t fair. But that doesn’t stop him from ruminating on the selfish idea of Charles putting away that serum and allowing himself to settle fully into the danger and beauty of his mutation. How devastatingly beautiful could he be if he fulfilled his potential?

How beautiful could he make Erik if he would use that potential to mold him into something Erik could never allow himself to be on his own?

-----

Erik swallows his nerves as he approaches Charles, a travel chess set in hand. He’s tired of how they always seem to leave things, and now that he’s out of that hellish prison, he refuses to leave things on bad terms with Charles any more than is absolutely necessary. He glances at the half-drained glass of scotch in Charles’ hand, and feels a twinge of concern for the fact that that appears to be at least his 4th glass of the flight. Charles looks up over his glass as Erik approaches, his eyes churning with emotion that Erik can’t quite seem to read.

“Fancy a game?” Erik gestures lamely with the chess set. It shouldn’t feel this awkward talking to Charles. “It’s been a while.”

Charles holds his gaze for a beat before looking out the window at the night sky.

“I’m not in the mood for games, thank you,” he whispers. Erik’s heart clenches as he glances around the cabin, attempting not to let the hurt show on his face. With a sigh, he sits down anyway, grabbing the bottle of scotch without asking to pour himself a glass. If Charles won’t play with him, at least he can’t stop Erik from having a drink with him.

“I haven’t had a real sip in ten years,” Erik says quietly, savoring the taste for a moment. Once again he finds himself floundering for something, anything to say that might break the frosty tension between them, and he almost smiles when he thinks of it. “I didn’t kill the president.”

A muscle feathers in Charles’ jaw for a second as he clenches it before muttering, “The bullet curved, Erik.” Erik is tempted to laugh at Charles’ stubborn morality, but manages to keep a straight face.

“Because I was trying to save him. They took me out before I could.” A deep furrow works its way between Charles’ brows.

“Why would you try and save him?” Erik can see the gears turning in Charles’ head, and realizes with a thrill that his earlier assumption had been wrong: Charles hasn’t lost all hope for him. He still believes Erik can be a good man. He must, otherwise he would have objected to the notion entirely. It’s a real struggle now for Erik to reign in the grin that threatens to crack his somber poker face as he goes in for the kill.

“Because he was one of us.”

There are a few fraught seconds before Charles reacts, and Erik feels the icy claws of anxiety reaching down his spine as he waits what feels like minutes for his reaction. Perhaps he was wrong, maybe that isn’t enough, maybe it doesn’t matter what he did or why, maybe his fate was sealed ten years ago when that bullet wrenched itself out of Charles’ spine-

Charles breaks Erik’s spiraling with a shaky inhale as he finally looks away and glances at the ceiling, and strangely enough, he seems to be even closer to tears than he was during their earlier argument. He looks back at Erik, and that furrow finally smoothes out, and all that’s left is an odd expression of relief and guilt. Erik feels his shoulders relax.

“You must think me so foolish,” Charles says with a shake of his head. “You’ve always said they would come after us.” Erik closes his eyes.

“I’ve never been more regretful of being right.” He opens his eyes and gives Charles a hard stare. “You aren’t foolish. You believed the best in them, and they failed you. They are the fools, all of them.” Charles’ lips tip up briefly with the ghost of a smile before draining the rest of his scotch and scooting closer to the chess board.

“You have first move,” Charles says shortly, looking pointedly at the board. Erik hesitates for a moment before extending the smallest thread of his power forward to move his first piece; the metal chess pieces are rather convenient. He doesn’t miss the strained expression that takes over Charles’ face at that, and once again, that tide of grief and guilt overtakes him, and he can’t help himself.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Erik whispers, unable to take his eyes off of him. His chest is tight and he breathes shallowly. Given the chain of events afterwards, this is the first time he’s been able to address what happened in Cuba directly. Charles looks up at him, his lips thin and an air of resignation about him. “For what happened, I…” Erik can’t look at him. He knows he’s a coward, but he can’t face what he’s done to him. “I truly am.”

Charles clears his throat and tilts his head before shaking some of the tension out of his shoulders. He opens his mouth for a moment but shakes his head, instead lifting a hand to hover over his chess pieces.

“It’s a been a while since I’ve played.” His voice is quiet, revealing nothing of what he thought of Erik’s apology. Erik gives a false smile.

“I’ll go easy on you then. Might finally be a fair fight.”

Chapter Text

Erik is not a good man.

He does what he thinks is right, and every single time it seems to turn out to be the wrong decision. He knows for fact that his ideologies are pure; mankind fears and detests mutants, and there are dark futures ahead. Logan alone is proof of that. And yet, every time he takes action to prevent those futures, it turns out to be a fool’s errand, and he does little but hurt and betray the ones he loves.

Charles was wrong. Cruelty is etched into Erik’s very bones, his very being. He loses himself to his rage, and it’s not entirely involuntary. If it were, he wouldn’t pick up that helmet every single time. He wouldn’t block out the only person that could bring him back to himself. He lashes out, willing to kill anyone standing in his way, barring Charles himself. He could’ve simply incapacitated Logan, but instead Erik wound him through with rebar and flung him across the city without a second thought. He sent sentinels after his own kind, and - he will never forgive himself for allowing this to happen again, never - nearly killed Charles with falling wreckage.

All for what? A show of power? An attempt to intimidate what is clearly an already terrified population? One that already attacks out of fear? He knows that there must be some other way, but he can’t stop himself. He can’t hold back the tidal waves of anguish and fury that settle into the very fabric of his mind, and every time he finds himself wishing that he could, he throws on that goddamn helmet to sever his only lifeline.

But he doesn’t have it on now. Raven took it off of him only moments ago, and his eyes threw themselves open involuntarily as he rose to release Charles from the debris trapping him. It’s strange and alarming, not being in control of his own body, his powers, but he can almost feel a sort of peace in it. He doesn’t have to fear hurting anyone, or giving in to the temptation to destroy. Erik can simply sit by and watch himself as a spectator while Charles uses his body as his own. Oddly enough, he doesn't feel any apprehension at the idea that Charles might be able to hear his thoughts; in fact, part of him hopes that he can, that he can feel the conflict within Erik and take some of it away.

Once Charles is standing again, leaning heavily against Hank with the remaining strength in his legs, Erik feels control return to him as Charles’ presence drains out of his mind. Panic numbs him, and Erik almost physically moves to stop Charles from leaving.

Wait, stop, don’t go, make me stay, help me-

If Charles hears him, he doesn’t show it. His mouth is twisted in an expression Erik can’t seem to decipher, somewhere between disappointment and exhaustion.

At least he doesn’t seem to hate Erik anymore - he simply seems resigned to the fact that this is Erik’s nature, and Charles can’t stop him any more than he can stop the tides themselves from rising and falling. Erik isn’t sure which is worse.

Erik glances at the crowd still cowering in the ripped open bunker behind him. They’re still frozen in time, breathing but unblinking, and he looks back at Charles in pleading.

“If you let them have me I’m as good as dead.” He knows it’s unfair, after what he’s done today, but the fight is drained from him. He can’t do this anymore. He wants to run, to hide, to cover his ears and ignore the nature of the world until it rights itself into some sort of normalcy. His mind is a whirling maelstrom of fear and anger and sadness and hatred, and something must have changed in the past decade because he no longer wants Charles to stay out of his head, he wants him to hear him and take it all away. But Erik knows that the very first time he told Charles to stay out, he listened, and despite everything, Erik still has too much pride to beg for him to come back in.

“I know.” The crowd remains frozen, and so does Erik for a moment.

He looks warily at the helmet in the grass, indecisive. His rage and justice scream at him to pick it up, that he’ll need it the next time he picks a fight on the wrong side of Charles, but his muscles won’t move. He just can’t bring himself to pick it up. He wants that lifeline, he wants to hold on to the possibility that maybe, just maybe he could change, maybe Charles can help, if he only gives time for them both to heal their wounds. He takes a step towards Charles and stops, opening his mouth to say something more, but all that comes out is, “Goodbye, old friend.”

Charles’ eyes tighten with disappointment, like he was expecting something else, but whatever his concern, he doesn’t voice it; he simply nods and irons out his expression.

“Goodbye, Erik.”

Chapter Text

Erik manages to keep himself away from Charles and his school for a while. Raven went with Charles to help re-establish the academy, and while they do still keep in contact, Erik doesn’t see her very often. Every phone call between them is somewhere between cold and professional, and Erik really isn’t entirely sure why she still talks to him after everything that happened between them. In spite of his constant attempts at convincing himself that he doesn’t care what Charles is up to, he finds himself looking forward to Raven’s calls, if only to hear how he’s doing now that the school is up and running and he’s off of the serum. Interestingly, he never needs to ask; she seems to know exactly why he keeps taking her calls, despite them being somewhat generally unnecessary.

Being imprisoned for a decade tends to put a damper on your ability to form and lead a revolutionary group. During Erik’s stay at the Pentagon, the Brotherhood dissolved itself, most of its formative members either having been captured by the government themselves or fleeing for safety. Erik only has contact with a handful of his previous associates, but that doesn’t stop him from spending the first few months of his newfound freedom attempting to reestablish his following.

He spends most of his time skulking around hotels and hostels, making phone call after phone call that all seem to end with a dial tone and Erik reigning in his anger to avoid crumpling the receiver. It feels like he’s a windup toy, unable to stop himself from moving forward when he still has the ability to do so. That churning storm of rage and revenge still dominates his mind, and while the calls from Raven put a momentary pause on it, the thunder returns the moment he hangs up.

Erik has lost track of the weeks and days by the time Raven calls him again. His attempts thus far have been unsuccessful, with only a few of his contacts even being willing to exchange words with him, and he finds himself spending more and more time just sitting in his hotel room, waiting by the phone. He feels the minute surge of electricity through the wiring just before it rings, and despite his recent frustration, a brief smile cracks the mask of irritation that seemed molded to his face.

“Hello?”

“Erik.” Raven’s voice is flat, almost bored.

“Hello, Raven. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He can almost feel her rolling her eyes through the phone.

“A little out of the ordinary, actually. I need to ask you a favor.” Erik quirks an eyebrow at that.

“What favor?”

Raven hesitates for a moment before sighing, almost as if she wished she didn’t need to ask at all.

“There’s an… issue. With the mansion.” Instantly, Erik’s nearly jovial mood dissolves, and he feels a sharp stab of apprehension in his stomach. An issue with the mansion? Was there some sort of break in? Are the defenses compromised? What could’ve happened that Raven would be asking for his help? “Calm down, I can hear you huffing over the phone. It’s nothing crazy, it’s just got to do with the wiring. I just feel stupid for asking you about something so trivial, but you’re the only person I could think of off the top of my head that would be able to help. Hank decided we needed some fancy new type of wiring for the electricity because it was outdated, and bit off way more than he could chew.”

Erik takes a deep breath to settle his nerves. Of course. The wiring.

“What did he do?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as relieved as he is.

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure, but half of the house doesn’t have electricity, and that includes Cerebro. He’s been working on it for weeks and insists he can do it himself, but there’s too many teenagers here to only have hot water in one shower.” She snorts, and Erik almost laughs. “I know you’ve probably got your hands full with… whatever it is that you do, but is there any chance you’d be able to come here for a few days to help fix it? I’m sure Charles wouldn’t mind paying you.”

The apprehension is back, but for an entirely different reason. Erik hesitates, chewing his lip before he answers.

“He’ll be fine paying, I’m sure, but are you certain he’d be fine with me being the one to fix it?”

Raven scoffs before answering, “Honestly, I really don’t care. He doesn’t have a choice. He might chew you out, but he’s not going to send you away once you’re here, and we really need the help.”

Erik takes one more deep breath. “All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Chapter Text

It’s not a terribly long trip to Westchester, but it’s long enough that Erik has started to frustrate himself with his own anxiety. What more could Charles have to say to him that he didn’t already scream on that plane all those months ago? What does it even matter? It’s not like he’s looked for him; current circumstances barred, he certainly could’ve found him and talked to him with Cerebro if he had something to say. This is a glorified service call, a favor for Raven as repayment for her sporadic updates on Charles and an unspoken apology for his actions in the past, and nothing more. There’s nothing for him to be nervous about.

Regardless of his insistence to himself that it’s no big deal, Erik finds himself absently manipulating two coins in the air as he walks up the obnoxiously large driveway to the mansion. Just some random pocket change, stretching itself out into thin wires before compressing into marbles, then forming back into coins and through the sequence again. Before he can muster up the nerve to knock on the door, it swings open, and Erik is suddenly lost for words as he looks down at Charles.

Right. He’s not on the serum anymore. He’s in a wheelchair, as a result of Erik’s recklessness.

Charles’ face shutters as he opens the door, any emotion that might’ve been in those owlish eyes of his carefully guarded and replaced with cool observation.

“Erik. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Erik almost snorts when Charles repeats the same words he’d said to Raven on the phone a few hours before, but regains his composure.

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve got some sort of… electrical issue,” Erik says. He keeps his eyes on Charles’ face, barely catching a ghost of annoyance flit across his features before being replaced with that mask again. “Raven asked me if I would mind lending some assistance.” As he speaks, he scans the thin lines of metal snaking throughout the house, and this time a choked laugh actually does escape him as he feels the mangled mess of wiring and cables. Charles looks confused, so he explains, “I can feel the wiring. Hank really has made a mess of things. It shouldn’t take me long to fix it.”

Erik assumes he must imagine the brief shadow of wistfulness in Charles’ eyes.

“Ah. Well, I do wish she would have consulted me before giving you a call; I’m sure I could’ve found a suitable electrician.” Erik feels himself grin, sharklike and predatory.

“I’m sure you could have, but you know I can do it quicker and cheaper, and likely better. Is it really that much of a bother?” Charles’ eyes linger on him for a moment longer before he turns around, leaving Erik’s question unanswered. Erik’s smile fades quickly, and the coins begin their rotation around his hand once more as his nerves pick back up. He finds his mind warring with itself, trading back and forth sentiments of Why do you even care what he thinks? and Apologize and beg his forgiveness, he’s all that’s ever mattered. Instead of voicing either, Erik gives a quick shake of his head and follows Charles into the mansion.

“I think the biggest issue is, to no one’s surprise, Cerebro itself,” Charles calls over his shoulder. He’s wheeling rather fast down the hallway, and Erik almost feels like he’s jogging to keep up. “There’s quite a lot of wiring involved as I’m sure you know, and Hank had the bright idea to start there.” Erik snorts.

“How did he even build the thing in the first place if he can’t comprehend the concept of an electrical foundation?” Charles glances at Erik where he’s now keeping pace with his chair. Erik’s chest feels hollow every time he sees that blank facade Charles has decided to wear with him now. There was a time when Charles bore every emotion freely in those eyes, and Erik was welcome to drink them up.

“You might have a more solid grasp on the physical understanding of the cabling, Erik, but make no mistake that you never could’ve even dreamed of Cerebro’s prototype blueprints, let alone the masterpiece it is today.” Ouch. Charles' face is still mostly blank, with a slight twist of annoyance marring it.

Erik feels a twinge of anger rise up in him, but he tamps it down, determined to keep the shaky peace the two have maintained in their time apart.

“Fair enough.”

The rest of their journey down to Cerebro is silent but for the whirring of Charles’ wheelchair. In spite of his tangled feelings about the man, Erik can’t help but notice the smallest of defects in its design preventing it from being perfectly smooth. He hopes Charles doesn’t notice the subtle flick of his fingers as he adjusts one of the components, straightening out some tiny piece of metal responsible for the minute clicking noise he could just barely hear.

If Charles notices, he doesn't say anything.

---

“What reason could he possibly have for being here? Especially this close to Cerebro!” Hank is standing in the hallway, crouching in front of an open piece of paneling, a mangled clump of wires clutched in one furry blue hand. Erik and Charles have just turned the corner, and they’re both startled to a stop by Hank’s irritated shouting. In lieu of laughing directly in his face, Erik instead chooses to relieve Hank of the circuitry. A delicate wave of his fingers pries the individual wires apart from each other, and neatly settles them into place.

“Apparently I make service calls now,” Erik returns drily. Another scan of the metal around him tells him that there’s a good bit of work for him to do here; the main supply of electricity to the house is directly below them, and the walls are a labyrinth of branching wires and bundled cables leading to separate wings, the bulk of them headed towards Cerebro. It seems Hank has already done most of the actual installing of the new hardware, he’s just gotten a bit tangled in the replacement and removal of the old pieces. Hank stares at the work Erik just did and actually growls before turning to Charles.

“I could’ve done it myself,” he says tightly, looking at Erik out of the corner of his eye. “There’s no reason to bring him here.” Erik says nothing, just walks to where Hank was working and squats in front of the open panel. He feigns interest in the mechanical bird’s nest before him and listens for Charles’ response.

“I don’t disagree with you, Hank, but I wasn’t the one to invite him.” Erik frowns, but Charles’ voice is almost amused; it’s the most emotion he’s shown since Erik got here. “But I have to say, Raven wasn’t entirely wrong in calling him; he’ll be able to get this done much quicker.”

Erik spends another moment getting a solid grasp on every single bit of metal twined around the area and stands up. Sensing the direction the currents are meant to go in, he settles his power on every wire and fuse before stepping back and taking a deep breath. With a wide grin, he clenches his fist, twists his hand, and pulls; a baritone groan seems to shudder through the upper levels of the mansion, and he steps back with satisfaction as he feels the lightbulbs and background activity resume in this wing of the house.

“Damn right I can.” He feels a thrill in his chest when he turns and catches Charles’ smile, those blue eyes lighting up for the first time Erik has seen in over a decade. The two lock eyes, and it’s several moments before Charles can bring that shutter back over himself, but there’s still a subtle glimmer in that flat blue when he shakes his head.

“Brilliant.” It’s whispered, almost seeming involuntary, and Erik finds it a bit odd to feel both delighted and heartbroken.

Hank breaks their reverie with another growl and an animalistic shake of his head, and Erik quirks an eyebrow as the man stalks away.

“Touchy.”

Absentmindedly, Erik replaces the panel he’d been working behind with a thought before turning back to Charles. Although he knows there’s more work to be done (he’s really hardly done anything at all), he can’t help but long for just a moment to sit with him. A moment not overtaken by work to do, or favors, or futuristically apocalyptic catastrophes, or anything else other than a conversation about what’s happened between them. What’s happened to them. Ten years ago, in another life, Erik would have shirked solidly away from any possibility of showing vulnerability to anyone, let alone the world’s most powerful telepath. But war changes you, and so does an eternity spent in prison with nothing but your own thoughts. And despite all that time to sit and ponder about what to say, Erik still finds himself floundering.

“Tea?” Erik finally chokes out after staring at Charles for a disconcerting amount of time.

Charles hesitates, a tiny crack in his mask allowing just a fragment of that wistfulness Erik thought he saw in mansion's foyer, and nods.

Chapter Text

The scent of Earl Grey tea curls through the air around Erik, and he wonders how a scent so peaceful can permeate a situation so tense. He and Charles are seated at a small table in Charles’ study, surrounded by towering shelves teeming with books. It’s early evening, and strong beams of orange sunlight illuminate the light swirling of dust in the air, the heat of day having abated into something warm and soft.

Despite the sleepy, tranquil atmosphere of the study, Erik’s shoulders are drawn up tight, and Charles looks to be trying to ignore the fact that he feels equally as strained. Charles glances around them at his collection of books as though it’s his first time seeing them, as if the things he’s meticulously curated are infinitely more interesting than Erik.

Erik’s fingers clench around his mug. He’s not even entirely sure what he wants to say; he feels like there’s so much more between them than he can even begin to broach. He stares helplessly at the side of Charles’ head, desperately wishing Charles would just look inside and talk for him.

Please, Charles, just come in, I don’t even know how to explain myself, don’t make me try, just come and see.

Charles’ eye twitches, but he doesn’t turn to look at Erik. Instead he takes a shaky sip from his tea, and Erik laments the fact that Charles’ head is turned and he can’t tell whether the tremors are from fury or something Erik can work with. He’s about to open his mouth when Charles speaks.

“You know, Erik, I do my best to stay out of your head, but you make it very hard when you’re throwing thoughts at me like javelins.” His voice is cold and hard, like shards of ice, and Erik can do nothing but continue staring at his profile. Once again, the two parts of him begin warring, yowling like screaming cats in his mind about Just leave, this is pointless, you knew he would give up on you eventually and Apologize, apologize, apologize. It’s the least you can do. “Stop. I told you already, I never want to be in your head again. I went to great lengths to avoid having to hear your thoughts themselves and only move your body the last time I was forced to get in your head, and I’d rather not have to hear them now.”

A real jolt of anger courses through Erik now, and it’s all he can do to avoid rattling the metal chess set on the table adjacent to him. He breathes slowly through his nose and shuts his eyes before speaking.

“I’m sorry, it’s mostly unintentional. I just wanted to talk,” Erik says quietly, his voice tight. Charles gives a soft scoff and finally, finally turns to look at Erik, and he’s taken aback by the electric anger in his eyes. It’s almost as disorienting as being moved by Peter, the way that Charles’ attitude toward him seems to fluctuate, although he can’t be too surprised given his own dueling thoughts.

“I said everything I needed to say on that plane,” Charles grinds out. He’s deadly quiet and his gaze is intense, and Erik suddenly feels that anger flare. This again? I thought we already went through this, he thinks. He surreptitiously summons the coins from his pocket again; he’ll give Charles another fight if he wants one, but he needs some sort of outlet for his power before he inadvertently damages something important. Erik narrows his eyes, solid gray steel meeting a churning, vicious ocean.

“Is this what we’ve been reduced to, Charles? Are our only options to ignore each other or bicker like children?” Charles’ face breaks out into a disbelieving grin.

“‘Like children?’” Charles repeats incredulously. “‘Like children? Erik, the feelings I have for you aren’t childlike in the slightest.” His eyes are hard now, and he leans forward, his hair falling forward to shade his face. “I am angry. I may have let it go then, but I meant everything that I said on that plane. Every single word.”

Erik clenches his fists and the coins melt, suspended liquid in the air now. It’s a concerted effort now to retain that heat to the coins themselves.

“What reason could you possibly have for hating me this much? I understand that we have opposing ideologies, but this is personal, and I don’t understand.” Erik starts out pleading, but as the memories of their argument on the plane come flooding back to him, he straightens his spine, and that cold steel in his eyes sharpens to flint. “That day in Cuba, you told me to leave,” he reminds Charles emphatically. “You sent me away! You don’t get to tell me that I abandoned you, and hold that over me a decade later! As a matter of fact, I should be holding it over you!”

Erik is well and truly riled up now, his face flushed with emotion, and Charles is no better off. It’s a testament to whatever lingering trust remains for Erik that he doesn’t seem concerned by the now-unrecognizable coins zipping in complicated patterns around Erik’s hand, but there's a sardonic smile on his face, and his voice is dry when he speaks.

“Oh, pardon me for speaking in impropriety, Erik, I believe I was a bit distracted at the time if I recall!” His expression darkens as he continues, “Let me remind you: in the previous fifteen minutes, I had not only felt a coin pushed excruciatingly slowly through my skull, a bullet shot into and subsequently extracted from my spine-” Erik feels something crack in his chest, like his sternum had suddenly split in two.

Charles is still speaking harshly, but Erik can’t hear anything but the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. The coins drop unceremoniously to the floor, suddenly forgotten, and Erik thinks he might be sick. His heartbeat is staccato and stuttered in his chest, and it's a fight to tear the words from his throat.

“What do you mean, ‘a coin pushed through your skull?’” Erik’s voice is barely above a whisper and it tremors, cutting off whatever Charles had been heatedly shouting at him. Charles freezes for a moment and chuckles in disbelief.

“What? You can’t tell me that after all that time hunting down Shaw, you’ve already forgotten how you killed him?” The blood drains from Erik’s face, and Charles’ anger wavers.

“Forget - of course I didn’t forget, Charles, I know how I killed him. What do you mean, ‘a coin pushed through your skull?’” Erik’s hands are trembling now. Of course, it’s silly to be this upset over a decade since the incident, but this far exceeds anything else he thought Charles blamed him for. Charles’ brow furrows with confusion before comprehension dawns on his face and his eyes widen.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” Charles’ expression softens. The fight has drained from both of them, and Erik looks stricken. “I was holding him, Erik. I was in his mind, I had to be; if I let him go he would’ve killed you.” Charles’ voice is impossibly soft, his expression unreadable.

Erik is barely breathing, and Charles’ hand twitches in his direction.

“You felt it?” Erik’s voice cracks, and Charles nods. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Charles felt it, he was holding him still telepathically, manually keeping him still. Erik had given him the impossible task of either letting Erik die, or vicariously feeling every moment of Shaw’s death. He’d been so blinded by his rage, his burn for revenge, that the thought had never even crossed his mind; he’d used Charles as a tool, as a means to an end, and of course he hated Erik now. “Why didn’t you let him go?”

“I just told you. If I let him go, he would’ve killed you. I wouldn’t…” Charles trails off, and he almost seems close to tears. “I couldn’t let that happen. So I held him.” Erik’s chest somehow feels even tighter. His mind is reeling, an overwhelming crush of guilt that threatens to drown him, and he sees the subtle flinch Charles gives when he feels it.

“And then I sent a bullet into your spine, and left you paralyzed on the beach,” Erik finishes flatly. “I understand now.” Erik stands up, and Charles fully reaches towards him.

“Wait, Erik, don’t go, I thought you knew-” Erik flinches away like Charles’ touch is a brand, and he barely remembers to extract the molten coins from the carpet before moving mechanically towards the door of the study, his abandoned cup of tea now cold and forgotten alongside Charles’.

“I’m…” Erik hesitates, unable to meet Charles’ eyes. “I’m sorry, Charles. I’ll finish the electrical work and stop bothering you.” His voice is thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to leave, Erik,” Charles pleads. None of the words are sinking in for Erik; He feels bad, he doesn’t like seeing anyone upset, he’ll ask me to leave again eventually.

Erik looks up at him, steel eyes now molten, and shakes his head.

“I didn’t know. If I had, I would have preferred that you let him go,” Erik murmurs with devastating sincerity, and shuts the door behind him with a trembling twitch of his fingers, leaving Charles alone once again.