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“Will you just admit that the conflict in Indochina isn’t going to turn out as you hope, Charles?”
“I will not. Colonies have and always will be held captive to their masters, no matter what. The people of Indochina will do nothing but silently give in with the French leaving and the British not bothering to care what happens. The South already shows signs of progress.”
“Have you forgotten about this country that you currently call home, then? That Revolution turned out pretty well.”
“No, I have not. But revolutions are tricky and, as you know, haven’t been particularly successful since 1848. I’ll leave the unification of Germany and that Revolution in France as my case in chief,” Charles says with a flourish, looking to the small space of their hotel room.
“You know how that turned out for the French, Charles. Never use the French.”
“Then why are we debating Indochina as it currently stands, with the French being forced out and the British not stepping in? There is self-determination for both sides.”
“Because everyone wants to leave there, and nothing good will come of it. Think of the revolution there? Thousands upon thousands of the Indochinese hungry for power. These peacekeepers will do nothing. War is looming between the countries. Jungle war.”
“Erik, please. Now is not the time to discuss the perils of combat. There are other worries we should be focusing on.”
“You’re mistaken, Charles, if you think me incapable of thinking about more than one strategic discussion at a time.
“Shaw still needs to be stopped. No matter what.”
“And what will his death bring you, Erik?”
“Justice.”
Charles looks up at his partner, hiding the smile that threatens to curl itself into his lips and admiring the heated flush of the man opposite him, deeply moved by the debate.
-
”Jakob, will you stop that?”
“I will not. It is too much, too soon, and we must prepare.” His energy bubbles out and has, in a few hours, created a maelstrom in their small apartment. Documents clutter the table, and one loose floorboard is propped open, revealing a small metal box.
“Prepare for what?” Edie wonders, looking carefully at the chaos that has befallen her kitchen and the manic look in her husband’s eyes.
“Leaving. We’re not safe here. No Jew is.”
“What about Erik? How will you explain it to him?”
“It’s about protecting you both--he’s been taught well to know how that matters above all else.”
-
Charles watches, carefully and closely, as the days pass and the road trip drags on. It’s been five days and they finally arrive in Los Angeles.
Methodically, Erik unpacks. Quick, spartan movements with no energy wasted.
In the moment, Charles listens (it can’t be helped) to the organized mind near him. It’s telling, if nothing else.
-
The bangs and clatter around their even smaller apartment are enough to rattle all of them awake.
When the officers arrive in his room, they make quick work of removing him from the small blanket that covered him before pushing him into the hallway.
His mother’s voice, her scream echoes in his ears, as they pull him into the kitchen and out of the space.
Footfalls come from behind him, and as he’s shoved into a truck; he finally meets the warm brown eyes of his mother. Erik lays eyes on his father moments later.
“You must always protect what you can, Erik. Remember that,” his father whispers.
-
Charles can always feel Erik nearby. To him, he’s not unnerving, but he can always pick out Erik’s mind--closed off as it usually is--in the compound.
Erik’s mind is awash with the need to protect--Charles, and the rest of their team--but Charles above all else.
He’s not sure if that desire is well founded. It won’t be accepted by society at large, that much he knows.
He’s never been accepted though. The parade of women was a carefully crafted facade, meant to hide what he felt as clear as day. With Erik, it doesn’t seem to bother him as much. He’s been careful for far too long.
Erik, he’s sure, won’t approve of being so open. For once, Charles can’t seem to care, though.
-
He watches men with pink triangles working next to him, shoveling the same dirt around in a large courtyard.
This work, he likes. Better than the time with Herr Doktor.
He’s heard stories about those men. They enjoy the company of other men.
Unnatural, he thinks.
When he’s summoned into Schmidt’s office later, though, he’s sure that those triangles won’t matter. He’s already unnatural.
-
“You’re far too quiet, Erik.”
“Am I?” he asks.
“You haven’t said anything at all and we’ve been playing,” Charles looks up from the chess set to the clock against the wall, “for thirty minutes. What’s the matter?”
“Just thinking.”
“It’s distracting you, I can tell. Would you either resign the game or let me in on this trip down memory lane?” Charles says with an exasperated sigh.
“You’ve not been looking already, Charles?”
“No, not intentionally. I can tell your focus is on your thoughts and not the game, without having to slip in. You know that.”
Erik’s laugh is bitter as it leaves his throat--hoarse, ragged, and wistful in ways Charles didn’t think possible.
“Another day my friend,” he finally replies, before he clinks his king against the chessboard.
“Goodnight, Charles.”
-
In the quiet of his hotel room, Erik remembers.
He thinks back on the happiness of his home in Düsseldorf.
The smile across his mother’s face when his father walks through the door.
The joy in their eyes as the family sat for Shabbas dinner.
Tears fall without regard, and Erik doesn’t push them away.
Looking at the snow-capped mountains behind the window, his favorite toy pushes into the sketch of Herr Doktor. The tears stop falling, replaced with a quiet rage and a determination to right every wrong from his life.
-
“A word, please?”
The sound of Erik’s footfall follows. Charles’ attention is drawn to the effects of Shaw’s visit--losing Darwin, losing Cerebro, what to do with the “children”, but that all shifts in an instant.
Fingers graze across his pant leg, lighting up Charles’ mind with the waves of emotion from Erik.
Emotions directed at Charles, and only Charles.
Those settle against Charles’ mind, and he smiles quickly before turning to face his team.
-
Fear and hatred were responsible for the series of numbers set against his skin.
He wishes for nothing more than to erase the numbers, the stigma.
But one stigma would still remain. Hard battles with his own resistance fall.
Only the desire for the touch of another man remains.
-
The wave of lust that comes from Erik as he enters the small room for their chess match is almost too much for Charles.
“Are you all right my friend?” he queries.
“Never better, Charles.”
The slow, deliberate pace towards him is enough to knock Charles off his chair.
Overpowered by want.
He settles in, waiting for Erik before he feels the slow trail of Erik’s hand against his cheek.
“What are you doing? Charles manages to breath out.
“What I’ve denied myself for too long.”
The kiss is anything but gentle, but Charles doesn’t mind in the least.
Open seems to be the thought his mind’s capable of forming.
-
“Protect those that you love, my son. Never let them go.”
His father’s last words.
They haunt him.
But they become his mantra--his last dying memory of family.
-
The martini glass next to Erik hasn’t moved all night.
“Are you well, Erik? You’ve barely touched your drink.”
“I’m fine, Charles. You can stop worrying.”
“It’s in my constitution to worry. Too many thoughts around me.” To illustrate, he moves his hand as to explain the ever-present humming of minds.
“Shouldn’t you be able to overcome that?” Erik retorts, arching an eyebrow.
“I have, but it doesn’t mean I’m not perceptive to minds around me,” he paused, extending his mind just enough. “You’re lost in thought again.”
“I am. I was just thinking about my parents: their relationship with each other.”
“Oh,” Charles adds, not wishing to press the matter anymore.
“I see so much of my father in myself now, I suppose. He instilled this need to protect those that he loved.”
“Wonderful sentiment.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“What else is there to say, Erik?”
“Do you agree with it, Charles?”
“I think that’s fairly obvious, Erik. There’s a house full of teenagers who needed protecting. We left the CIA after it was attacked. I think that’s protecting them.”
“And who’s to protect you, Charles?”
“I had thought you would.”
Erik grabs for the martini glass, takes a very long pull, and nearly slams it against the table.
“Calm yourself, Erik, please.”
“Do you enjoy making me frantic, Charles?”
“I thought you quite liked it. You didn’t mind it on the road trip. Or at the CIA.”
“You’re every bit like my mother, Charles. You do nothing but goad me, and press for what you already know.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before Erik walks towards Charles, eyes dark, and the hum of want radiating off him.
For the second time in as may weeks, Charles is overcome by emotions.
As they wash into his mind, though, Charles relishes them.
It’s all he needs to know that Erik is his. Will be, now and forever.
It’s just enough.