Chapter Text
No matter how long he had been back from war, Alex Summers always found it strange to be roaming the halls of the School, pretending like what he’d seen and done in the name of a country who would have preferred to see him dead or in a cell wasn’t affecting him as much as it was. For a long time, Alex had believed they wouldn’t choose him because of his past and because of his mutation. But in the end, the government got desperate and took whomever they could get. The screams of men and boys he’d fought beside as they died, or worse, lost limbs and were left to bleed in the battlefield until help arrived echoed through his mind daily, often leading to him walking the halls, but tonight, it wasn’t those screams he heard.
Even though he’d had time, and been able to, process the things that had happened when Apocalypse had been awoken, Alex still hadn’t been able to shake the Professor’s cries (screams, really) of pain as Alex had destroyed Cerebro while the Professor was still connected with it. While he had done so on the Professor’s orders, and a part of him recognized that he had done so for the greater good, he was haunted by how much pain he had caused the Professor in the process. After the chaos of Apocalypse, Alex hadn’t the time to try and talk to the Professor about what he was feeling, and now, he wondered if things were best left alone. Telepath though he was, the Professor seemed to have moved on, and had settled in nicely with Magneto for company.
Thinking of the metal-manipulating-man made Alex’s blood boil, so he quickly moved on from that thought, pushing his mind into a moderately blank void as he increased his speed. His new pace wasn’t fast enough to be considered running, but he certainly wasn’t out for an evening stroll, either. He nodded to any he passed, plastering on a smile to avoid scaring the new or little children. After all, it wasn’t them he was mad at, it was himself.
Alex inevitably ended up outside the door to the Professor’s rooms, which he shared with Magneto. His mind told him to move on, but his body wouldn’t obey; he was frozen in place, unable to go one direction or another. Although he knew the Professor could do something like this with his telepathy, Alex also knew that wasn’t what was happening now - it was simply his mind warring with his heart.
It is safe to come in, Alex, nothing untoward is happening, the Professor’s voice spoke in his head and Alex winced. Was he projecting so loud that the Professor could hear him? A small, soft chuckle echoed in his head, which Alex took to mean ‘always.’ Letting out a heavy sigh to try and release his anxiety, Alex opened the door and entered the main living quarters.
The Professor sat upright on a sofa, which lay near a warm and inviting fireplace, with a dressing robe wrapped around his upper body, a blanket over his legs and a book in his lap. His hands, one wrapped in a bandage from an injury that had happened earlier, rested on top the book, his right hand covering the injured left. Alex’s first thought was that he would likely die from all that heat, but then again, he tended to run a little warmer than most people. The second thing to pop in wasn’t a thought at all, but a memory; the memory. He quickly turned his attention to other things inside the room, hoping he hid what he was feeling (and thinking) from the Professor.
The sitting room wasn’t large, by any means, but it had been comfortably settled. The walls were lined with books, mostly at the Professor’s height, with a small side table sitting next to the only sitting space in the area - the sofa. A door to the right of the entry led to the bedroom and ensuite bathroom, both larger than this to allow ease of movement for the wheelchair and outfitted with the equipment needed for the Professor to be able to tend to his own needs. Alex had never formally visited either, but he knew they were there because he had helped install much of it.
“You’re not to blame, you know,” the Professor said aloud, breaking through Alex’s thoughts and dragging his attention back to the man on the sofa. Alex tried to pretend as though he hadn’t understood, raising an eyebrow in question. The Professor’s own eyebrow quirked, evidently amused at his attempt to lie, then his features schooled themselves into a more serious, albeit reassuring, expression. “You did what I asked you to do, and I am so grateful to you for that.”
Ask?! Alex’s anger snapped, You didn’t ask me to do anything. You ordered me to.
The Professor’s expression saddened, his eyes becoming red with tears. “I know,” he admitted, responding to Alex’s unspoken retort. Was he reading Alex, or was Alex projecting? “And I am so sorry for that.” The Professor’s voice cracked on the word ‘sorry,’ and Alex turned his attention back to the book-lined walls.
Great, not only was the man trying to comfort Alex, but now he was also apologizing. As much as he wanted to forgive as easily as the Professor seemed to, Alex couldn’t. While he had obeyed the order with only a moment’s hesitation, and he could even admit that there hadn’t been time to ask politely, he hadn’t appreciated the order coming at all. It brought up not only bad memories from the battles themselves, but the degradation and bias he had suffered during his boot camp days. The Professor knew this, had empathized with him for going through all of that, and had even used some political reach to ensure those who were the most culpable were demoted. The last bit was surprising, and comforting, but Alex doubted it had done much beyond making the men angrier and even more biased against mutants.
“Had there been any other way, I would have chosen that,” the Professor continued, his voice stronger. Alex’s gaze snapped back to his mentor. How he wished he could be as kind, as caring, as empathetic as the older man. But that just wasn’t in him.
Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t forgive this one transgression. “I know,” he assured, anger coloring his tone to something different than what he was trying to convey. “It doesn’t make any of it any easier.”
“I know,” the Professor said, but Alex couldn’t listen to any more kindness, and so he interrupted, “Do you? Do you know that I hear your agony every time I see you? And even when I don’t?! Do you know that I have spent hours trying to think of a different way just so I can blame you and not myself?!” The anger burned out then, and it was all Alex could do to ask one last question without crying - “Do you know what it’s like to hurt someone you care about so badly that they are screaming from the pain?”
“I do.” Alex froze upon hearing Magneto’s voice, his back stiffening as his body got ready for a fight. The man himself walked into the room, a towering presence which intimidated even him, and Alex wasn’t normally one to be intimidated. Magneto stepped closer, lowering his voice, though why, Alex wasn’t sure. “You weren’t the only one who could hear him.”
The band of restraint which had held Alex back up to this point snapped. Without thinking of the consequences, or anything at all really, he gave the taller mutant a right hook, sending the older man to the ground. When he looked back up at Alex, there was anger in his eyes and a red mark on his cheek. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alex thought he could hear the Professor telling him to stop, commanding him to stop actually, if his tone was anything to go by, but Alex ignored it, staying focused on the mutant at whom all his anger was now aimed.
Magneto stood up then tossed something to the Professor with a, “Put that on your wrist,” before turning to square off with Alex. Annoyingly, his expression now held no anger nor fury. Instead, all Alex saw was understanding. “You want a fight, kid, I’ll give you one,” he evenly promised. “You want to be mad at someone other than yourself or Charles, fine. Be mad at me. After all, I’ve caused Charles more pain than anyone else here.” He spread his arms wide in invitation. “So, come on, be angry.”
“Alex, don’t,” the Professor said with something almost like anger in his own voice. There was a brief pause, then, in a gentler tone, he added, “Please.”
It was the ‘please’ that deflated him. Not the word itself, although that did go a long way on its own, but the tone in which it was said. It wasn’t just a formality; Alex could hear the pleading that was behind it.
There was so much more Alex wanted to say, to both men, but with the fight gone out of him, all he could do was sigh. A dozen sentences jumped to the tip of his tongue before dying just as quickly. Although he no longer wished to brawl, he was still keyed up. “I should train,” he announced, checking the annoyingly sturdy Magneto with his shoulder as he passed.
oOo
Charles watched the young man scurry out of the room as quickly as it was possible to do with a deep regret in his chest. He’d known before the conversation had started that Alex was not only upset, but that he was angry, but he’d hoped he’d be able to calm that on his own. It seemed he was wrong, which was not something he liked admitting aloud.
“I thought I told you to put that on your wrist.” Charles looked up at the man he’d loved since he’d first met him, not registering the change of topic. “The ice pack,” Erik supplied. Right, right, Charles had forgotten about it entirely.
“Are you sure you don’t need it for your cheek,” he asked with a small smirk, eyeing the small red spot which was stubbornly refusing to fade from Erik’s face.
Erik smiled, then winced. “Kid’s got a good swing, I’ll give him that,” he admitted, gingerly touching the spot. “I’m surprised he had it in him. Seems they’ve all spent much of the time avoiding me. Or fearing me.”
“A few are afraid,” Charles admitted, moving the ice pack from his very cold right hand to his left wrist, wincing as the weight settled. This injury was such a ridiculous thing, happening because he’d fallen out of the chair due to a newer student’s powers. Charles was frustrated with himself (for letting the incident happen and for letting the children see it happen), but mostly, he was frustrated with his traitorous body. It kept showing his weaknesses, putting them on display for all to see. This time it was a sprained wrist, hardly anything to be concerned about, but what would happen the next time?
“So they’re all avoiding me, then,” Erik stated with acceptance. I can live with that.
Charles blinked, hoping he hid the wince that Erik’s thought created. His head had been killing him since before Alex and strode up to his door, but now it felt as though it might implode, crushing his skull whilst it did. Gathering strength through the pain, he put up some walls, shutting Alex and Erik outside of them. Normally, he loved letting his mind be open with Erik, but for the moment the German was too emotional for Charles to tolerate. Using the genuine laughter which wanted to bubble out of him at the thought of Erik Lehnsherr being too emotional, Charles smiled at his partner. “Many of them are in awe of you, actually,” he said. “They’re struggling to understand how ‘the great, powerful, and dangerous Magneto’ is not only helping rebuild their school, but is also spending time in their professor’s quarters.”
Un-fooled by the flattery, Erik snorted, moving Charles’ dead legs so he could sit down before putting them back in their place. “They’re worried I’m going to do something to you,” he said once they were both settled, his hands idly rubbing Charles’ legs despite his not being able to feel it. “They’re worried I’m going to hurt you,” he added, looking intensely at Charles.
When they had first gotten together, this type of closeness, this type of trust had not been there. Any time Erik had tried to touch him, Charles had reacted with stubborn pride. In the beginning it was flat-out anger, actually, recoiling from the touch of a man who had done this to him and then left him to suffer, heal, and adapt on his own. Of course, that wasn’t true or fair, as Charles had had many to help him, to be there for him and with him as he did his best to accept his new reality, but it had never been any of them that he’d wanted - it had been Erik. They hadn’t been able to be together at the time, of course, but that hadn’t stopped Charles from wishing he had been there. But, slowly, Charles had allowed himself to be more and more vulnerable with Erik. He inwardly sighed.
It would kill him when Erik left.
oOo
Erik sat on the sofa, rubbing Charles’ calves, though he knew the telepath couldn’t feel it. He tried to give the unfeeling legs some sort of massage every evening; at first he had told himself it was for Charles, some stupid attempt to ward off atrophy, but soon, Erik began to allow himself to admit that it was for himself. He loved touching Charles, being close to him. Normally, Erik would have added Charles’ arms as well, but with the injured wrist and sore left shoulder which he’d conveniently not mentioned to anyone but Erik, the arms would need to wait.
“They are worried about no such thing,” Charles argued with a smile. Erik hated that it didn’t reach the man’s bright blue eyes. He’d been able to tell from the moment that he’d entered the room that Charles was in pain; the softness which usually emanated from Charles’ mind was a staccato violin in the sharpest note the instrument could reach. But his facial expression remained calm, though there were tears in his eyes.
“Alex is,” Erik returned. “If that kid saw even a bruise on you, he would assume it was me and try to kill me.” It was kinda sweet, actually. Too bad Charles was taken.
“Oh, you’re being ridiculous,” Charles said with the tone of a man who would have stood up if he’d been able to. “Alex is hurting,” he explained as though he weren’t stating the obvious. “He feels guilt for what he sees as his part in destroying Cerebro, and likely for leveling the school as well. That is all.”
“I’m not saying the kid is in love with you,” although I’m not denying it either, “but, he is definitely protective of you.”
“Are you saying that you’re not?” Charles challenged with a teasing twinkle in his eye, dulled by pain though it was.
“I’m allowed to be,” Erik answered, refusing to give a definitive answer. “I’m your partner.” And lover. Sadness crept into Charles’ eyes with those words, making Erik’s brows wrinkle in confusion; god only knows what the telepath was thinking. “What’s wrong?”
Charles put on a fake smile, the one he used to reassure the young kids despite how he himself was feeling, and answered, “Nothing.” Erik stared at him, distrusting his answer. Charles chuckled, then winced. “Truly, Erik, I’m fine,” he lied. “If a bit tired. Would you mind terribly if I went to bed?”
“Do you want help, or do you want to cause yourself more pain by getting there yourself?”
“You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Charles held out the half-melted ice pack for Erik to take. The patience in his body language told Erik which option he’d chosen, which Erik was thankful for. Neither of them were up for a battle of wills tonight. “The chair is electric, after all.”
Holding Charles Xavier in his arms would always feel right and tonight was no different. He was gentle as he scooped the smaller man up and pulled him to his chest, unsure if he was hurting elsewhere tonight that he hadn’t thought important enough to mention. With Charles’ telepathy it was nearly impossible to tell unless he wanted you to know. The act of lifting Charles always made regret and pain bloom in Erik’s chest, a small form of grief taking hold as the man who was once so solid became thinner from weight loss, but that never changed the fact that keeping Charles close, his head leaning against Erik’s heart, would always be the moment he knew he was home.
Erik opened his mouth to speak, but upon lowering Charles onto the bed and seeing the pain in his face he kept quiet, choosing to help the other get undressed in silence. The nightly routine had been done enough for it to be considered a routine, but it hadn’t been practiced enough quite yet for Erik to be able to do it seamlessly. He fumbled a couple of times while helping, moving too quickly and making Charles’ breath catch in pain. Rather than apologizing (useless words, really), Erik forced himself to go slower, be more patient. He allowed himself time to now only undress Charles, but to truly look at him.
Yes, Charles had lost weight, but that was to be expected. His clothing hid the slow process of the muscles in his legs shrinking, but there was no hiding when the clothes were removed. Charles’ upper body, meanwhile, was toning more. Oh, Charles had never been flabby, of course, but with his pride necessitating independence, the muscles in his arms and shoulders became more pronounced. Once Hank had built the electric chair, Charles hadn’t stopped exercising his upper body, either. Although it was usually only with Erik, Charles would use the plain wheelchair to go to the gym and train. Using the older chair gave him the cardio, while the weights and sit ups he had Erik help him with helped keep his arms, shoulders, and abs toned.
My god, you’re beautiful, Erik thought, breathless as he stared.
“Are you going to give those to me?” Charles asked, eyeing the pajamas in Erik’s hands. He closed his eyes, his face tightening enough to let Erik know that he was lowering the shields he’d erected earlier and his eyes flew open, surprise making them widen while his cheeks flushed scarlet. “Or would you like to continue staring?”
He would like to continue staring. No doubt in his mind. But that wasn’t rational. “I want to check you over.”
“Check me over for what?”
“I want to make sure you aren’t injured anywhere else,” he answered, coming to kneel in front of Charles. “Known or unknown,” he added when the telepath looked ready to argue.
With a smile that spoke of humoring Erik, Charles held up his hands, wincing when it annoyed the injuries on his left side. “I am at your command,” Charles answered with a smile.
Beginning with the lower half, Erik began his examination. He wasn’t worried about injuries, necessarily, but he wanted to make sure that lack of blood flow wasn’t going to be a problem. Being satisfied with that, he moved on to Charles’ back and torso. No obvious signs of injury stuck out, but he didn’t miss the small intakes of breath that were given whenever he touched Charles’ lower back. He catalogued it and moved on. Charle’s left shoulder appeared fine, but when Erik touched it, thinking that maybe a bit of massaging would do it good, Charles actually gasped and gave a small cry of “Ah!” He hissed in pain, his right hand cradling his left arm to his stomach. Evidently this last movement had been gut reaction, because the minute he realized the protective nature with which he was hold his arm, he released it.
“Sorry,” he apologized, looking a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t expecting that to hurt as much as it did.”
From the first sound of pain from Charles, Erik had withdrawn his hands. “If it’s still hurting that much tomorrow, I’m making you see Hank,” he promised, more than a little concerned by how much pain that seemed to have caused. Then a thought occurred to him and Erik’s brows furrowed. “How did you hurt your shoulder, by the way? You didn’t land on it, your wrist took the brunt of your weight.”
At that, the blush from earlier heightened so much that Erik could see the flush of red in the man’s neck. “It’s an old injury that didn’t heal very well.”
Old injury? From the time he’d known Charles, he’d never seen signs of such a thing, nor had he heard of anything. Goosebumps began to appear on the porcelain flesh, reminding Erik that it was likely time to help Charles get dressed. “Was it from when you were still living in this house?” This time, Erik made sure he was gentle as he helped Charles slip a shirt on, helping the man get it over his left side before he left the man to finish the rest.
“No, although I’m sure some incidents from the past didn’t help.” That drew Erik’s attention. When Erik had first seen the mansion, he had teased Charles about living in hardship. But perhaps Charles’ life hadn’t been as smooth as everyone had assumed it had been?
“Don’t worry, my friend,” Charles said upon noticing Erik’s train of thought. “Nothing that happened here was truly awful.” At least not compared to what you went through. “No, this injury happened some ten years or so ago. I had hoped the workouts in the gym would have helped, but evidently, they did not.”
Erik’s mind raced with the new information (said and unsaid) that he’d been given. It was a good thing they’d finished getting Charles’ pants on while he had been talking because Erik felt almost dizzy with the data he was trying to process. “Wait,” he said, standing up to help get Charles situated in bed. “Ten years or so, you said.” He paused, a moment, the silence feeling heavy. “About the time of the attack on the president, you mean.”
Charles flushed again. “Yes, well, having a stadium dropped on you does tend to leave its marks,” he said, actually sounding nonchalant about the whole thing. Was he seriously going to try and brush this off like it was no big deal? Charles sighed. “No, Erik, I won’t. Not if you don’t want me to. But, please, can we discuss it in the morning?” It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m hurting. I simply cannot do this right now.
As much as he wanted to ask what “this” was, Erik didn’t, though he was sure he projected it. “Alright,” he agreed, settling in behind Charles, supporting him with his weight. Moving slowly, he wrapped his arm over Charle’s left side and gently pulled the man closer. “Tomorrow.”