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schmericaI asked for prompts the other day; here is the first of them to get written. strobelighted asked for "Charles taking care of Erik, who is sick and cranky." I'm pretty sure this is not at all what she had in mind. Sorry, Ils. I love you!
with the salt on my tongue
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Charles/Erik, PG. ~1000 words. Post-beach.
Summary: Charles takes care of Erik when he's sick. Erik isn't sure how to feel about it.
*****
When Erik woke up, his head clear for the first time in how long he didn't know, he knew where he was immediately. There wasn't a moment of disorientation. He wasn't sure what that said. He had only spent a week here, after all, and it wasn't as if it was a place he had expected to return to. He felt, somehow, that it shouldn't still feel so familiar. It was wrong.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position. It was more difficult than he expected. He ached all over, a deep and ferocious ache in his muscles and bones. He lay back, supporting himself against the headboard, inhaling long lungfuls of air until his breathing was back under his control.
His mouth tasted terrible. He was absolutely parched with thirst. There was a glass on the nightstand, next to the lamp, but it was empty. There was a metal tumbler kept in the bathroom by the sink, Erik seemed to recall, and he reached out with his powers to open the connecting door. The handle twisted unsteadily as he concentrated, but even a small thing like this was more difficult than it should be, and he was exhausted by the time he succeeded in opening it.
He was filled with a kind of disgust at his own physical exhaustion. If there was one thing that he had never expected to betray him, it had been his body, honed and perfected over the years into a singleminded weapon.
There was a flicker, on the outskirts of his mind - and that, too, was perfectly familiar despite his best efforts: the touch of Charles's consciousness, completely unlike anything else on this earth. Charles didn't speak to him, to his credit, sending no thoughts directly into Erik's brain. But it let him know that Charles was aware that he was there, and awake, and it was only a matter of time before Charles would come to the room.
He could feel the metal of the wheelchair while Charles was still a ways down the hall. Just as well, Erik thought. It gave him some time to get used to it, the new shapes and angles and rods, now a part of Charles, fitted to his body. Erik wouldn't see it now, for the first time, completely unprepared.
There was a knock on the door, which struck Erik as faintly amusing.
"Come in," he said, or tried to; it came out almost like a croak, rather than real speech.
He couldn't read the expression on Charles's face as he let himself in. Charles was carrying a plastic tray with him, holding a bowl and another glass.
"I'm glad to see you so awake and alert again," Charles said. "You've given us a rough couple of days, my friend." He crossed the room to the bed, and set the tray carefully over Erik's lap. "I brought you some more water, and a bit of soup."
The soup was steaming hot, and when he breathed in again, the fragrance overtook his senses. Chicken, vegetables, clear broth. He had a clear memory, very suddenly, of being a small child, cranky and ill, and his mother serving him something exactly the same.
It wasn't a coincidence, he was sure.
He ignored the soup for the moment, but took the glass of water and drank deeply. When he spoke again, he sounded more like himself. "What am I doing here?"
Charles folded his hands carefully in his lap. "You've been ill."
"So I gathered," Erik said, raising one of his eyebrows. "But why am I here?"
The look on Charles's face wasn't quite annoyed, but it was ... closer. Erik found that vaguely comforting. "As I said, Erik, you were ill. Very ill. And since you seem to have neglected to have picked up anybody with medical training for your so-called brotherhood, you didn't have a great many options. It's not as if they could just take you to a hospital, considering your reputation."
Privately, Erik wondered why the others hadn't simply kidnapped a human doctor to look after him, anyway. He did not say this out loud, but he could tell when Charles perceived the thought.
"From what I understand, some of your colleagues were of the opinion that they should just leave you on your own while they went on with their plans. Somehow Raven managed to talk them into this idea, instead."
"I see," Erik said. He took another sip of water. "And I suppose I should thank you for playing nursemaid over me all this time, then?"
"You could, yes," Charles said. "Although I'm not sure what the shock of seeing your gratitude might do to me. We wouldn't want another invalid in the house, after all." His mouth twisted into a small, private smile.
"I do thank you, though," Erik said. "Once again, I'm endebted to you." Another mark on the long tally of things he owed Charles. Another burden, never to be repayed. If he did nothing else, Erik could at least acknowledge his debts.
Charles grimaced. "Don't. You know how much I hate that-"
"Oh?"
Charles's cheeks were tinged with color, and his eyes, as he glared at Erik, were a deep and true blue. Erik always suspected himself of exaggerating the vividness of the hue in his own memories, but no, here it was in real life, just as ridiculous as in his mind. He thought once again of their last night together - in this same room, this same bed - the way Charles had twisted around him, pulled him in closer and closer, as if he were trying to meld the two of them into one being, far away from the tension and danger the dawn would bring. Erik had felt like he was drowning, then, losing himself in the waves of Charles's affection, and he hadn't minded. He'd let himself been swept away, far from shore, under the deep waters.
"You don't owe me anything," Charles said. "I meant everything I told you, Erik. What's mine is yours. There will always be a place for you here, whether you want it or not."
Erik had no response.
Charles turned his chair and headed to the door. He stopped for a moment, looking back behind him. "You should get some more rest. If you need anything - well, you know how to reach me."
He left.
Erik stared after him, long after he was gone. After a few minutes, he turned back to his tray and allowed himself to take a first spoonful of his now cooled soup.
strobelighted asked for "Charles taking care of Erik, who is sick and cranky." I'm pretty sure this is not at all what she had in mind. Sorry, Ils. I love you!with the salt on my tongue
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Charles/Erik, PG. ~1000 words. Post-beach.
Summary: Charles takes care of Erik when he's sick. Erik isn't sure how to feel about it.
*****
When Erik woke up, his head clear for the first time in how long he didn't know, he knew where he was immediately. There wasn't a moment of disorientation. He wasn't sure what that said. He had only spent a week here, after all, and it wasn't as if it was a place he had expected to return to. He felt, somehow, that it shouldn't still feel so familiar. It was wrong.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position. It was more difficult than he expected. He ached all over, a deep and ferocious ache in his muscles and bones. He lay back, supporting himself against the headboard, inhaling long lungfuls of air until his breathing was back under his control.
His mouth tasted terrible. He was absolutely parched with thirst. There was a glass on the nightstand, next to the lamp, but it was empty. There was a metal tumbler kept in the bathroom by the sink, Erik seemed to recall, and he reached out with his powers to open the connecting door. The handle twisted unsteadily as he concentrated, but even a small thing like this was more difficult than it should be, and he was exhausted by the time he succeeded in opening it.
He was filled with a kind of disgust at his own physical exhaustion. If there was one thing that he had never expected to betray him, it had been his body, honed and perfected over the years into a singleminded weapon.
There was a flicker, on the outskirts of his mind - and that, too, was perfectly familiar despite his best efforts: the touch of Charles's consciousness, completely unlike anything else on this earth. Charles didn't speak to him, to his credit, sending no thoughts directly into Erik's brain. But it let him know that Charles was aware that he was there, and awake, and it was only a matter of time before Charles would come to the room.
He could feel the metal of the wheelchair while Charles was still a ways down the hall. Just as well, Erik thought. It gave him some time to get used to it, the new shapes and angles and rods, now a part of Charles, fitted to his body. Erik wouldn't see it now, for the first time, completely unprepared.
There was a knock on the door, which struck Erik as faintly amusing.
"Come in," he said, or tried to; it came out almost like a croak, rather than real speech.
He couldn't read the expression on Charles's face as he let himself in. Charles was carrying a plastic tray with him, holding a bowl and another glass.
"I'm glad to see you so awake and alert again," Charles said. "You've given us a rough couple of days, my friend." He crossed the room to the bed, and set the tray carefully over Erik's lap. "I brought you some more water, and a bit of soup."
The soup was steaming hot, and when he breathed in again, the fragrance overtook his senses. Chicken, vegetables, clear broth. He had a clear memory, very suddenly, of being a small child, cranky and ill, and his mother serving him something exactly the same.
It wasn't a coincidence, he was sure.
He ignored the soup for the moment, but took the glass of water and drank deeply. When he spoke again, he sounded more like himself. "What am I doing here?"
Charles folded his hands carefully in his lap. "You've been ill."
"So I gathered," Erik said, raising one of his eyebrows. "But why am I here?"
The look on Charles's face wasn't quite annoyed, but it was ... closer. Erik found that vaguely comforting. "As I said, Erik, you were ill. Very ill. And since you seem to have neglected to have picked up anybody with medical training for your so-called brotherhood, you didn't have a great many options. It's not as if they could just take you to a hospital, considering your reputation."
Privately, Erik wondered why the others hadn't simply kidnapped a human doctor to look after him, anyway. He did not say this out loud, but he could tell when Charles perceived the thought.
"From what I understand, some of your colleagues were of the opinion that they should just leave you on your own while they went on with their plans. Somehow Raven managed to talk them into this idea, instead."
"I see," Erik said. He took another sip of water. "And I suppose I should thank you for playing nursemaid over me all this time, then?"
"You could, yes," Charles said. "Although I'm not sure what the shock of seeing your gratitude might do to me. We wouldn't want another invalid in the house, after all." His mouth twisted into a small, private smile.
"I do thank you, though," Erik said. "Once again, I'm endebted to you." Another mark on the long tally of things he owed Charles. Another burden, never to be repayed. If he did nothing else, Erik could at least acknowledge his debts.
Charles grimaced. "Don't. You know how much I hate that-"
"Oh?"
Charles's cheeks were tinged with color, and his eyes, as he glared at Erik, were a deep and true blue. Erik always suspected himself of exaggerating the vividness of the hue in his own memories, but no, here it was in real life, just as ridiculous as in his mind. He thought once again of their last night together - in this same room, this same bed - the way Charles had twisted around him, pulled him in closer and closer, as if he were trying to meld the two of them into one being, far away from the tension and danger the dawn would bring. Erik had felt like he was drowning, then, losing himself in the waves of Charles's affection, and he hadn't minded. He'd let himself been swept away, far from shore, under the deep waters.
"You don't owe me anything," Charles said. "I meant everything I told you, Erik. What's mine is yours. There will always be a place for you here, whether you want it or not."
Erik had no response.
Charles turned his chair and headed to the door. He stopped for a moment, looking back behind him. "You should get some more rest. If you need anything - well, you know how to reach me."
He left.
Erik stared after him, long after he was gone. After a few minutes, he turned back to his tray and allowed himself to take a first spoonful of his now cooled soup.
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