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Entry tags:
FIC: An Earlier Heaven - Charles/Erik, XMFC - (2/??)
Title: An Earlier Heaven (2/??)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~6,000 for the chapter (total: 40,000+)
Warnings: mpreg
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: None.
Summary: In the wake of Cuba, Charles and his students are ready to pick up the pieces and work toward achieving Charles's dream of a safe haven for young mutants. Those plans, however, take a surprising turn thanks to a very unexpected complication. As he slowly builds a future for his students and for his child, Charles struggles with the loss of Erik and the secrets he's willing to keep to protect his family, but those strides are shattered when Erik makes a startling reappearance into his life. [mpreg, kidfic, ensemble]
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
An Earlier Heaven (Part 2)
No matter how hard he tried, Charles had a difficult time accepting the reality of his condition. It wasn't that he doubted the truth of it, or the proof of it, or even necessarily wanted it to be false; he just couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.
He was pregnant.
By Erik.
Charles was going to give birth to a child that he'd conceived with his friend-turned-lover-turned-adversary, and all the help he had from a world that could barely tolerate the existence of men who loved other men -- let alone ones who got themselves pregnant from it -- was three outrageously young mutants who knew even less about the world than he did.
For a week, he tried to digest it in such plain terms, but all he won for his trouble was a series of powerful headaches that only aggravated his nausea and left his telepathy unreliable and oversensitive. Hank had hypothesized that it might've had something to do with the hormonal fluctuations his body was experiencing but Charles had been too ill to care much for the science of it.
It took another few weeks before the nausea dropped off, but Charles was grateful when it did, glad to be able to both enjoy his food and keep it down. The fatigue lessened as well, to the point where Charles actually began to feel more like himself than he had since the New Year. Training was still going well for Alex, Sean and Hank, and the boredom of confinement that came with the frigid New York winter had the boys agreeing to do some of the reading Charles recommended, books on everything from battle strategy to genetics to the history of equatorial Africa -- anything in an effort to broaden their horizons further than what was commonly taught in public schools.
It was these secondary assignments that gave Hank the idea that they needed to expand the Xavier library's offerings on a particular topic.
"There's not much on pregnancy," Hank pointed out. "Or even much in general biology that's helpful."
"That's because my father was a nuclear physicist and my specialty is genetics," Charles explained. "There wasn't much need for obstetrics in either of our disciplines."
"It's not my area of expertise either," Hank admitted. "Which is why we need some guidance." He paused and scratched the back of his head. "I know we don't really have any other options, but I'm flying blind here, Charles."
"What he means," Sean offered from where he flipped through a book on the evolution of aerial locomotion in the animal kingdom, "is that he don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies."
Eventually Charles made plans for a trip into town and agreed to let Alex and Sean accompany him, which delighted them but sent Hank into a sulk that no one was sure how to break. It was even more difficult when Hank had to watch them pile into the car, Sean bouncing excitedly in the back while Charles tried to make himself comfortable in the front passenger seat. Through his lowered window, Charles clasped Hank's furry blue hand and tried to convey everything he felt for his young friend in that moment -- his sympathy, his understanding, his determination that it would be different one day. When Hank gave him a weak smile and nodded, Charles hoped it meant he'd succeeded, if only a little.
"You guys watch it," he warned Alex and Sean with a wagging finger. "Make sure you don't let the Professor stay outside too long, he can't regulate his temperature like he used to, and then there's his other condition to think about it."
Charles wanted to protest being talked over and coddled like a child, but Alex just gave a short bark of a laugh. "We've got it, Hank," Alex said. "But thanks to that little speech, I've got a new nickname for you." Alex waited until the car was already rolling down the drive before he revealed it, shouting it back at Hank as they sped up. "Mama Beast!"
Charles wasn't sure if he could make it out with his ears, but Hank's annoyed growl was clear in his mind, leaving no doubt that his superior hearing had discerned Alex's words.
As they made their way into town, Charles realized with a shock that it was the first time he'd left his home since returning from the hospital. His wealth made it easy to have his needs met without travel -- lawyers, grocers, bankers and everyone in between had all been happy to accommodate him by bringing their services to him instead of the other way around.
Navigating the world in his chair was a new experience and not a pleasant one, even with Alex's and Sean's assistance. The thoughts he encountered in strangers weren't necessarily pleasant either -- they tended to range from pity to disgust, solicited only from the sight of him in his chair. It was one of those times when he could understand Erik's impatience with the world's intolerance, even when he couldn't condone it.
There had been some discussion among his self-appointed young caretakers if Charles should even risk going into town himself in his "other condition," as they were fond of referring to his pregnancy. He'd put a stop to that discussion quickly, pointing out that he was, in fact, the adult in the house and the only one who'd be making decisions about his life. Once they'd been sufficiently put off by that, Charles had also reminded them that he was barely showing, especially through the layers of warm clothing demanded by the winter weather. Between his shirts, sweater, jacket and the blanket thrown over his legs, Charles was fairly certain the slight thickening in his middle was hardly noticeable to the world at large, especially when most of said world flinched at the sight of the man in a wheelchair.
The third stop while in town was the bookshop, a real hole-in-the-wall that specialized in second-hand and rare books. He didn't recognize the girl working behind the counter, but the high shelves of books in every direction were just like he'd remembered from years ago, a maze of ink and paper and glue that made his hands itch in excitement. Unfortunately, one thing that had changed over the years was Charles, and his wheelchair was not equipped to squeeze through the small spaces between rows.
So he approached the counter instead, smiling at its attendant. "Hello, there, I was wondering if you could help me?"
She looked at him, and Alex and Sean behind him, with nothing more than the friendly detachment of an experienced retail worker. "Sure, what are you looking for?"
"Books," Sean answered. At the looks that answer earned him, he added, "About babies."
Charles couldn't help but laugh, both at the remark and the raised eyebrow it earned from the clerk. "Biology texts," he clarified. "Particularly those dealing with the study of the body." Then, with a look at Sean, he finished with, "And, yes, things relating to the human reproductive systems would also be beneficial."
"Teacher?" she asked.
"How could you tell?"
That earned him a real smile, not the one worn to placate customers. "I think I have some books that might work," she told him. "I'll be right back."
"And I'll be right here," Charles assured her with a smile. Once she was gone, he turned to the boys still loitering behind his wheelchair. "Go, browse," he told them. "If you find something you like, bring it up. You've more than earned a few books."
By the time the clerk returned with a stack of books for his approval, the boys had wandered away into the various shelves, looking for something that piqued their interest. Charles flipped through each of the books she recommended, weighing its usefulness given their need. He quickly had a stack of books that would do, one of books that wouldn't, and ones for the texts he wasn't sure about.
"What do you teach?" the clerk asked him as he deliberated on the next set she offered.
"A little of everything," he said. "Whatever it's needed."
"Sounds like you know must know a lot."
"Well, I try," he said. "But I've been told I often fail."
Her smile widened a little. "Now that I find hard to believe."
I can't believe you're flirting with her! came Alex's scandalized voice in his head. What the hell?
I'm not flirting with her, Alex, he sent back. Even if I was, it's not like I could do anything beyond it. Or have you forgotten my conditions? It was a little sharper than he'd intended, but Alex didn't seem too upset as he answered with a wave of wordless remorse. Charles sighed, trying to ignore the headache he felt coming on.
After that exchange, Charles was glad to leave the bookstore, with their rather impressive number acquisitions in tow. Alex and Sean had even picked out several they liked, some of which Charles even approved of, classics mixed in with the used comics and dime store detective novels.
Outside, Sean continued his rather passionate defense of his favorite potboiler novelist while Alex fetched the car. The human traffic had thickened on the sidewalk and it was much easier to wait in front of the bookshop than to try and push his way through it once more, and the press of all those minds could get tedious in a crowd, especially since he'd become so unused to it. It was almost a relief to stay where he was.
Professor? he heard Alex's voice in his head, reaching out. Is everything okay there?
Charles frowned. Yes, of course. Are you all right?
Yeah, it's just...I thought maybe someone was paying me a little too much attention.
Charles, who had been lightly shielding his thoughts, immediately dropped them as he glanced around. Sean had stopped talking when he saw Charles lift his fingers to his temple and he could focus on skimming across the thoughts of the hundreds of people on the street, stretching his examination to include the people in the shops and the cars, every inch of human activity between the bookshop and where Alex had parked the car. He didn't sense anything unusual, but he didn't take that as proof of much, not when he was only able to touch the lightest thoughts of those around him. There were just too many of them for him to delve more deeply.
By the time Charles had finished his sweep, Alex had arrived with the car, a troubled look on his face. He and Sean quickly helped Charles in, then Alex slid into the driver's seat once the wheelchair had been loaded into the trunk. "Did you pick up anything?" he asked Charles.
Charles shook his head. "I didn't, I'm afraid."
Alex huffed a shaky laugh and ran a hand through his hair. "I just I'm just paranoid."
"Not at all, Alex," Charles assured him. "There may have been someone but with so many people to check, I missed it. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Professor," he told him, shoulders relaxing a little. "It was probably just my imagination."
On the drive back to the manor, Charles made a promise to himself that he'd work more with Alex on his self-confidence, something that was still obviously suffering from the effects of the past. The simple fact -- one Charles had accepted -- was that now that he was in the chair, if there were ever a repeat mission for the "X-Men," someone else would take the lead on the ground, and Alex's powers and instincts made him the best choice. He wanted Alex to be prepared both mentally and physically if that day ever came.
Focused as he was on more important issues -- working with Alex and Sean, his and Hank's crash course into the medical profession, his own ambivalent feelings toward his "other condition" -- he didn't think much about Alex's perhaps-stalker until a few days later when he was roused from his reading by an anomaly on the edge of his mind. It was like a black hole, a blind spot that made the edges all the more noticeable for its presence. Charles had only experienced it once, but he'd never forget it, not for the rest of his life.
It was Erik, wearing Shaw's helmet.
Charles reached out to find his pupils at various tasks throughout the house: Hank was eating a solitary lunch since he'd missed the communal one while holed up in his lab; Sean was in the den, glued to the television; and, Alex was in the bunker, working with Hank's newest tweak of his suit.
Hank?
Yeah, Charles?
Erik is on his way here, Charles explained, soothing over Hank's shock with his own calm. He's alone, but he's wearing the helmet. I want you to go to the bunker and stay there with Alex until he's gone.
What? No! We can't leave you alone with him. There's no telling --
Sean is just across the hall in the den. He'll be close if I need him, but it's not like Erik is going to harm me.
Hank's worry refused to be calmed. Charles...what about your condition?
I'm wrapped up like a mummy, just like I was when I went into town. He'll notice nothing. Charles assured him. I need you to go to Alex, Hank. I know he has some issues with Erik and I'd rather hear what he's come to say without a fire fight.
As the blank spot that signified Erik reached the front lawn, Charles felt Hank's grudging compliance as he hauled himself out of the kitchen and down into the basement. He had just enough time to fill Sean in about what was happening before the metal of the study's doorknob began to rattle along with the light fixtures that lined the walls.
Then the door opened and Erik was there.
He looked good, was Charles's first, irrational thought, despite the redesigned helmet and the strange new clothing. Erik stood tall and proud as he stepped inside the room, flicking the door closed with his powers.
His eyes remained fixed on Charles as he circled toward him, handsome face half-obscured by the telepathic-proof metal he wore as a shield. Despite his absolute conviction that Erik had not come to hurt him or anyone else, Charles also couldn't stop the frisson of fear he felt as being alone with this new, unknown version of his dearest friend, one that was essentially a stranger thanks to the months they'd been separated. For all Charles knew, nothing remained of the Erik he'd known but the attractive, impassive shell.
It seemed Erik was content to stand in the middle of the room and stare, so Charles took it upon himself to start the conversation.
"Erik," he said in greeting, clearing his throat a little when the name caught there. "This is a surprise."
"Charles," Erik said in return, voice rough and gravelly. His pale, flinty gaze remained steady on Charles where he sat in his wheelchair.
It was unnerving, and Charles unconsciously tugged at the blanket where it draped over his stomach, then folded his hands over the same spot to keep it as hidden from scrutiny as possible. "I assume you came here for a reason?" he asked. "I mean, I'd like to believe it was just to visit with an old friend, but I'm hardly that sentimental."
"You're right, in a way. I came to see you," Erik said, expression obscured by the contours of the helmet. "To see if it was true."
For one terrible moment, Charles felt the grip of real fear, terror at the idea that Erik had somehow learned of his pregnancy. But then he felt a slight vibration in the metal of his wheelchair, as if Erik was touching it with his powers, and Charles released a steadying breath. "The wheelchair, you mean?"
A sharp nod was his answer as Erik finally broke his stare. His eyes darted away to take in the room, lingering on the untouched chess board in the corner. "I only learned of it recently," he admitted. "I didn't know before." His eyes slid back toward Charles but seemed unable to hold the connection. When he spoke again, his voice was even rougher, almost trembling. "I am sorry, Charles."
Charles didn't want to acknowledge the ache in Erik's voice, even though it cut through him as surely as the bullet once had; he wasn't sure if he could trust himself if he let himself think about it. Instead, he focused on the clue in Erik's words, which made sense of Alex's observations from their trip into town.
"It was you, wasn't it? That Alex saw in town. Or someone that works for you." Charles shook his head, unable to mask his disappointment. "You've been spying on us, Erik?"
"Janos is not here to spy on you." The tremble of emotion was gone from Erik's voice, from his body language. "He's here to protect you."
"Thank you for the concern but it's not necessary," Charles told him. He let some steel creep into his voice as he added, "I'd appreciate if you called him off."
"You need it more than anyone," Erik argued, the sudden gust of anger like a furious wind. The metal in the room rattled with it. "Just because you're willfully blind it what's out there doesn't mean I am. I'm not going to let --- "
"With all due respect," Charles began, raising his volume just enough to make sure Erik stopped speaking to listen. "That's no longer your responsibility since we've parted company." Erik looked wounded by the observation even from behind the shadows of the helmet and it cracked the last of Charles's resolve to be strong. He couldn't stop himself from asking, with longing evident in every line of his body. "Unless you've changed your mind?"
Erik looked away. "No," he said quietly. "I haven't."
It was amazing, Charles reflected, that something he expected could still sting so sharply. "Was there anything else you wanted?"
Erik made a noise in his throat, one Charles had learned to associate with frustration. He stepped forward. "Charles..."
Charles couldn't fight the instinct to raise his hand, an unambiguous signal for Erik to keep his distance. It was probably the only time he'd never denied Erik anything of himself, but it wasn't just about himself anymore. "Is there anything else, Erik?"
He drew his dignity and reserve around him like the cloak he now wore. "Other than my sincere apology? No, nothing else." He turned away. "Goodbye, Charles."
Somehow it felt more final than the beach had and it hurt almost as badly. "How's Raven?" he asked softly, watching as his words stilled Erik's departure.
He didn't turn around. "She's well."
"Will you give her my love?"
Erik bowed his head in agreement. "Of course."
"And tell her...I miss her." Even without telepathy, they both knew he wasn't just talking about Raven. "Very much."
And then Erik was gone, nothing left to speak of his presence aside from the rumbling echoes in the metal and the hollow ache in Charles's chest.
Charles made sure to wipe the wetness from his face before he alerted Hank, Alex and Sean that he was once again alone.
**
Charles realized a great deal in the wake of Erik's surprise visit.
He realized that for all the moving on he'd thought he done in the four previous months, his heart was still as broken as it ever was, something that didn't seem likely to change any time soon. Seeing Erik again had only reminded him of the raw, empty place inside him that he'd been intent on ignoring for as long as possible. He knew pretending it didn't exist wouldn't heal it, but he was beginning to think nothing ever would.
Charles also realized that for all the ambivalence he'd felt about having a child, especially through such an unusual manner, he was already on his way to loving his theoretical offspring with a fierceness he hadn't expected. For that moment when he'd thought that Erik knew, he'd been filled with a protectiveness for his unborn child that rivaled the ones he'd felt for any other person, even Erik or Raven. The thought of Erik somehow harming or separating him from his child had invoked a terror that still left him shaken days later, one that confirmed the decision he'd made when he'd refused to let Erik near him.
He had no plans of ever letting Erik know of this child's existence or its extraordinary origins.
If he'd thought it would be difficult to secure promises from his pupils that they'd help him with that decision, Charles would've been very mistaken. In fact, the three young men had been demonstrably relieved when he'd brought it up to them in the weeks following Erik's visit, relaxing the nebulous tension he'd noticed from them but been unable to understand without going beyond his typical level of telepathic nosiness.
"When Erik showed up, we thought maybe you'd tell him," Hank explained for the group. "We didn't think that was a good idea but it was your decision, so...we didn't want to say anything."
"You three must know you can tell me anything you're thinking," Charles said. "For one thing, I've probably already picked it out of your thoughts but, more importantly, I value your opinions immensely. Just because I may not allow your advice doesn't mean I don't need it."
"Do you think he actually called off his spy?" Alex asked. "How can we trust that he's not looking in the windows at night?"
"We can't, but I think Erik spoke the truth when he said his associate's surveillance was confined to town," Charles answered. "He came because he'd only just learned about my paralysis. If Janos was, ah, "looking in the windows," he would've known long before now."
Alex was still suspicious and distrustful, but Charles didn't expect anything different. Alex, more than Hank or Sean, felt strongly about Erik's actions on the beach, especially in regards to abandoning them at the mercy of the ships which had so recently tried to destroy them. That resentment had been compounded by the news of the pregnancy and the realization that Erik had abandoned more than just a close friendship that day.
Between training, their studies and the chores that kept their household running smoothly, the four of them also began to contemplate the necessities of life after the child was actually born. Charles had already adjusted his long-term goals as soon as Hank had confirmed it, pushing back his timelines for opening the school to accommodate the months before and after when the child would necessarily be the central subject of his attention. But there were other, more mundane matters to think about, such as clothing, formula and other supplies, as well as how he'd obtain legal paperwork for a child born in secret, to a male mutant.
The boys, on the other hand, filled much of their free time when their own baby-related project: the nursery.
The choice of room for the nursery was common sense since it needed to be as close to Charles's suite as possible. Of the ones adjacent to his own, he chose the room directly across the hall for the purpose, liking both the easy access and the west-facing window with its pastoral view of the grounds. He didn't have many ideas on decor past needing the basics, but that was where Alex, Hank and Sean shined, brimming with suggestions and recommendations. Charles couldn't help but be amused by their enthusiasm and touched by their pure, honest excitement.
Hank wanted to design a better crib and Alex wanted to build it himself, though Charles had doubts about trusting him with the power tools necessary for the job. Sean stayed out of the crib discussion entirely; he was more interested in amassing enough toys and decorations and baubles to entertain the most demanding newborn.
One evening at dinner, Hank and Alex were bickering over the designs for the crib when Hank surprised him with an unexpected question.
"What if the baby can bend metal?" he asked. "Would it manifest early enough that we should minimize its use in the design?"
As unbelievable as it was, Charles hadn't actually thought about what mutations, if any, a child born of two mutants might have. "I'm not sure," Charles admitted. "I don't have a large sample but some mutations manifest earlier than others. I could always read minds, but I didn't understand what it meant for many years." He cast a look toward Hank and Alex before he continued, waiting to gauge reactions. "Raven, too, manifested at birth, but Erik didn't realize he had an ability until after puberty."
There was a wave of sadness from Hank but it didn't show on his face. "My feet were always a little larger and shaped differently," he told them. "But it wasn't really noticeable until I was older."
"I could always wail one out," Sean laughed. "But I didn't start breaking glass until I was walking, or so my ma told me."
Alex didn't seem inclined to add to the discussion, eyes focused on his uneaten meatloaf like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
"An answer as diverse as our mutations," Charles noted.
"Maybe they'll be a metal-bending telepath," Sean said. "Best of both worlds."
"Or maybe, he or she will be completely human," Charles told them. "There's really no guarantee either way."
"It's not like it matters," Alex finally said, looking up from his plate. "You'll love the kid regardless."
He could feel Alex's conviction radiating from him, his belief that Charles would love his child, no matter what. It was humbling to feel it from someone else when Charles hadn't even been certain of it himself until recently.
"Yes," was all he said aloud. "I absolutely will."
Everything was as normal as it could be in a household belonging to a telepath and his three mutant students when the news came via one of the wire services that Charles monitored about a suspicious attack against a government research facility in Louisiana. The information was sparse but he had a feeling it was the work of Erik's band of mutants, labeled as it was by the reports as the work a fringe group with a radical ideology. Charles knew from his time of cooperation with the CIA that numerous installations like the one they'd used as a base existed; it made sense that Erik would choose one as a target, once he'd located it.
The attack was a sober reminder that it wasn't just rhetoric that stood between him and Erik. They'd been splintered by real differences, ones that meant life or death to themselves and others. Erik had killed three agents when he'd freed Emma Frost from the CIA headquarters and another five at the Louisiana location -- lives Charles didn't consider as inconsequential as Erik had.
Charles didn't share his suspicions about the attack with the others, knowing it would only ignite tempers that would have no real outlet. Though the complication of a birth had delayed many of Charles's plans, none of them had ever involved open warfare, not of the kind Erik wanted to instigate. Charles's first concern would be finding other mutants and offering them a safe haven where they could learn to control their powers and live their lives in peace. He was also willing to protect those same mutants from any threat, but he would not be the one responsible for the opening salvo -- not against Erik or the government.
With Raven and Erik so present in Charles's mind, it was little wonder that Hank came looking for him that night, his mind leaking messy emotions even as he politely inquired if Charles was busy.
"Not if you need something," he said, pushing aside the newspaper he'd been reading. "What can I do for you?"
"If you don't want to, it's okay," Hank hastened to say. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable or sad."
"You won't," he promised. "What is it?"
Hank let out a great sigh and sank down onto the sofa, slouching much in the same way Charles had seen him do before his transformation. "It's just that I've been thinking a lot," he explained. "About Raven."
"You don't have to be afraid to say her name, you know," Charles told him. "I won't break if you mention her or Erik."
Hank nodded a little but he was still nervous, a feeling that overlaid the deep sadness that had driven him to seek Charles out in the first place. "It's just...I miss her," he confessed. "And I think about her a lot."
"That's understandable," Charles said. "You shouldn't feel guilty about it."
"I just wonder, you know?" Hank sighed. "If she left because of me. What if I hadn't made the serum or offered it to her? She went with Erik because he accepted her natural blue form and I didn't."
"Nor did I," Charles admitted. At Hank's surprised look, Charles gave him a sad smile. "I didn't mean to reject her, but I did, often and probably more badly than anything you did to her." From Hank's mind, he could sense the echoes of a memory rising up: Hank telling Raven that they needed his serum, that they'd never been accepted otherwise, then Raven's tears as he'd left the second injection with her and went to use his own.
"She was my dearest friend and I made her afraid, Hank. I'm the one who taught her to hide, who made her so ashamed of her true form that she asked for your serum in the first place." Charles leaned forward a little in his chair. "If there's anyone here that needs to shoulder the blame, it's me, not you."
"Don't you blame her, even a little? For going with Erik?"
"No," he said. "I put Raven in a cage her whole life and Erik set her free. Why wouldn't she want to go with him?" Charles managed another weak smile. "If I would've asked, she would've stayed, I think. But it wasn't what she wanted and it would've been wrong of me to put my needs before hers."
Hank was contemplating his answers, turning them over in his head. He was quiet for so long that Charles was ready to excuse himself and leave the young scientist alone with his thoughts when Hank spoke again. "Do you blame Erik?"
"Sometimes, I wish I could. I think it would be easier if I did." Charles glanced toward the chess board, its game forever left unfinished. "But no, I don't. It's hard to explain to someone who's not a telepath but once you've touched almost every corner of someone's mind, you understand them almost as well as you do yourself. It's hard to cast blame when you know them as well as that."
Curiosity was something that Charles often felt from Hank and he felt it then, coming off him in waves. "You can ask whatever you'd like," Charles said in gentle encouragement. "I won't mind, although I may choose not to answer."
Hank couldn't meet his eyes, yellow gaze focused on the floor. Or maybe on his feet, now as well-matched to his new form as they'd been ill-suited for his former one. "You loved him."
It wasn't a question, exactly, but Charles knew what he meant. "Yes," he said softly. "I still do. That, perhaps, is the one thing that hasn't changed."
"Even after everything?" How can I still care when she left me, too?
"Listen to me." Charles laid a hand on the blue arm he could reach. "There are no right or wrong answers when it comes to how you feel. However you feel about Raven now or come to feel about her in the future, it's fine. You don't have to beat yourself up over it."
Hank pulled away, towering over Charles as he stood to leave with a mumbled excuse. He waited until he was almost out the door before he spoke again. "I blame them," he said. "I blame Erik for deciding to leave us on the beach and I blame Raven for going with him, just like I blame Angel for what happened to Darwin. I don't want to -- I want to be the better man. But I can't, not yet."
When the door shut behind him, Charles shook his head, sighing. Oh, Hank.
He tried to speak to Hank again about what he'd shared that night, but Hank was firm in his deflections, so Charles gave him the space he wanted. He understood how Hank felt -- and Alex and Sean. They all still had their wounds from that day on the beach, and some would heal more quickly than others. It had taken months before they'd made their first strides, and Charles was committed to making sure they continued on that path. He vowed that he'd help them deal with their anger and grief in the way he'd been too late to help Erik.
Despite the complications added to his life by the strange little matter of a pregnancy, Charles also found himself being grateful for it. As distractions went, it was a better one than he could've ever imagined and planning for the event was the part of the glue that held them together through their individual crises. There was an entire week dedicated to preparing the nursery room for the eventual arrival of its furniture, during which the room was cleared of its antique trappings and cleaned thoroughly, a task that threw up far more dust than any of them had been expecting and left them all sneezing for days. The boys had even banded together to paint the walls, something Hank was still bemoaning days after they'd finished when he realized how hard it was to remove the smudges of paint from his fur.
"Now I'm not just furry, I'm spotted and furry," he complained to Charles one morning from where the young scientist sat at the kitchen table with him, watching Charles slice fruit for breakfast. Hank picked at a spot of pale yellow paint near his elbow in emphasis.
Charles tried to hide his amusement, but it was almost impossible in the face of Hank's comically tragic expression. "It will come out, Hank. Honestly, you've gotten rid of most of it. Another day or two and it'll be gone entirely, I'm sure."
"At least it wasn't a horrible color like chartreuse or magenta," Hank said wryly.
"Neither of which are appropriate colors for any walls, let alone a nursery." Charles grinned as he reached for another apple. "I believe the goal isn't to scar the child from day one."
Charles's comment made Hank grin in return. "That's going to be hard with Alex and Sean around," he pointed out.
"I can see your point." He allowed himself a laugh. "But I have faith -- in all of you." He pushed his chair back from the table to move toward the sink. "I know I don't say it enough, but I've been very grateful for everyone's support and help."
"It was weird in the beginning," Hank admitted. "Okay, no, it's still weird. But it's exciting, too, you know? It's something good."
Charles set the used knife near the sink to be washed later and was turning to look at Hank when it happened. It was so very light, like the faintest stirrings of butterflies in his stomach. But it wasn't butterflies and the realization of what it was caught Charles by surprise. Without thinking, he stopped, reaching to lay a hand on the swell of his abdomen.
"Charles?" Hank must've noticed the abrupt change in his movement because he sounded concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," he said, pleasure lighting up his words and his face. "More than fine, actually. I think I just felt the baby."
Hank's yellow eyes were wide behind his glasses, mouth approximating an "O" of surprise before he began nodding. "Makes sense," he said. "All the books say quickening happens between 18 and 20 weeks."
Hand still pressed to his stomach, Charles let himself focus his telepathy inward for once instead of out, to see if he could sense anything. There was something there, something as faint as the movement had been, a small awareness that fluttered like hummingbird wings against the touch of his mind. It was the most incredible thing he'd ever felt.
It was, as Hank had said, something good.
**
End of Part 2
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~6,000 for the chapter (total: 40,000+)
Warnings: mpreg
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: None.
Summary: In the wake of Cuba, Charles and his students are ready to pick up the pieces and work toward achieving Charles's dream of a safe haven for young mutants. Those plans, however, take a surprising turn thanks to a very unexpected complication. As he slowly builds a future for his students and for his child, Charles struggles with the loss of Erik and the secrets he's willing to keep to protect his family, but those strides are shattered when Erik makes a startling reappearance into his life. [mpreg, kidfic, ensemble]
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
An Earlier Heaven (Part 2)
No matter how hard he tried, Charles had a difficult time accepting the reality of his condition. It wasn't that he doubted the truth of it, or the proof of it, or even necessarily wanted it to be false; he just couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.
He was pregnant.
By Erik.
Charles was going to give birth to a child that he'd conceived with his friend-turned-lover-turned-adversary, and all the help he had from a world that could barely tolerate the existence of men who loved other men -- let alone ones who got themselves pregnant from it -- was three outrageously young mutants who knew even less about the world than he did.
For a week, he tried to digest it in such plain terms, but all he won for his trouble was a series of powerful headaches that only aggravated his nausea and left his telepathy unreliable and oversensitive. Hank had hypothesized that it might've had something to do with the hormonal fluctuations his body was experiencing but Charles had been too ill to care much for the science of it.
It took another few weeks before the nausea dropped off, but Charles was grateful when it did, glad to be able to both enjoy his food and keep it down. The fatigue lessened as well, to the point where Charles actually began to feel more like himself than he had since the New Year. Training was still going well for Alex, Sean and Hank, and the boredom of confinement that came with the frigid New York winter had the boys agreeing to do some of the reading Charles recommended, books on everything from battle strategy to genetics to the history of equatorial Africa -- anything in an effort to broaden their horizons further than what was commonly taught in public schools.
It was these secondary assignments that gave Hank the idea that they needed to expand the Xavier library's offerings on a particular topic.
"There's not much on pregnancy," Hank pointed out. "Or even much in general biology that's helpful."
"That's because my father was a nuclear physicist and my specialty is genetics," Charles explained. "There wasn't much need for obstetrics in either of our disciplines."
"It's not my area of expertise either," Hank admitted. "Which is why we need some guidance." He paused and scratched the back of his head. "I know we don't really have any other options, but I'm flying blind here, Charles."
"What he means," Sean offered from where he flipped through a book on the evolution of aerial locomotion in the animal kingdom, "is that he don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies."
Eventually Charles made plans for a trip into town and agreed to let Alex and Sean accompany him, which delighted them but sent Hank into a sulk that no one was sure how to break. It was even more difficult when Hank had to watch them pile into the car, Sean bouncing excitedly in the back while Charles tried to make himself comfortable in the front passenger seat. Through his lowered window, Charles clasped Hank's furry blue hand and tried to convey everything he felt for his young friend in that moment -- his sympathy, his understanding, his determination that it would be different one day. When Hank gave him a weak smile and nodded, Charles hoped it meant he'd succeeded, if only a little.
"You guys watch it," he warned Alex and Sean with a wagging finger. "Make sure you don't let the Professor stay outside too long, he can't regulate his temperature like he used to, and then there's his other condition to think about it."
Charles wanted to protest being talked over and coddled like a child, but Alex just gave a short bark of a laugh. "We've got it, Hank," Alex said. "But thanks to that little speech, I've got a new nickname for you." Alex waited until the car was already rolling down the drive before he revealed it, shouting it back at Hank as they sped up. "Mama Beast!"
Charles wasn't sure if he could make it out with his ears, but Hank's annoyed growl was clear in his mind, leaving no doubt that his superior hearing had discerned Alex's words.
As they made their way into town, Charles realized with a shock that it was the first time he'd left his home since returning from the hospital. His wealth made it easy to have his needs met without travel -- lawyers, grocers, bankers and everyone in between had all been happy to accommodate him by bringing their services to him instead of the other way around.
Navigating the world in his chair was a new experience and not a pleasant one, even with Alex's and Sean's assistance. The thoughts he encountered in strangers weren't necessarily pleasant either -- they tended to range from pity to disgust, solicited only from the sight of him in his chair. It was one of those times when he could understand Erik's impatience with the world's intolerance, even when he couldn't condone it.
There had been some discussion among his self-appointed young caretakers if Charles should even risk going into town himself in his "other condition," as they were fond of referring to his pregnancy. He'd put a stop to that discussion quickly, pointing out that he was, in fact, the adult in the house and the only one who'd be making decisions about his life. Once they'd been sufficiently put off by that, Charles had also reminded them that he was barely showing, especially through the layers of warm clothing demanded by the winter weather. Between his shirts, sweater, jacket and the blanket thrown over his legs, Charles was fairly certain the slight thickening in his middle was hardly noticeable to the world at large, especially when most of said world flinched at the sight of the man in a wheelchair.
The third stop while in town was the bookshop, a real hole-in-the-wall that specialized in second-hand and rare books. He didn't recognize the girl working behind the counter, but the high shelves of books in every direction were just like he'd remembered from years ago, a maze of ink and paper and glue that made his hands itch in excitement. Unfortunately, one thing that had changed over the years was Charles, and his wheelchair was not equipped to squeeze through the small spaces between rows.
So he approached the counter instead, smiling at its attendant. "Hello, there, I was wondering if you could help me?"
She looked at him, and Alex and Sean behind him, with nothing more than the friendly detachment of an experienced retail worker. "Sure, what are you looking for?"
"Books," Sean answered. At the looks that answer earned him, he added, "About babies."
Charles couldn't help but laugh, both at the remark and the raised eyebrow it earned from the clerk. "Biology texts," he clarified. "Particularly those dealing with the study of the body." Then, with a look at Sean, he finished with, "And, yes, things relating to the human reproductive systems would also be beneficial."
"Teacher?" she asked.
"How could you tell?"
That earned him a real smile, not the one worn to placate customers. "I think I have some books that might work," she told him. "I'll be right back."
"And I'll be right here," Charles assured her with a smile. Once she was gone, he turned to the boys still loitering behind his wheelchair. "Go, browse," he told them. "If you find something you like, bring it up. You've more than earned a few books."
By the time the clerk returned with a stack of books for his approval, the boys had wandered away into the various shelves, looking for something that piqued their interest. Charles flipped through each of the books she recommended, weighing its usefulness given their need. He quickly had a stack of books that would do, one of books that wouldn't, and ones for the texts he wasn't sure about.
"What do you teach?" the clerk asked him as he deliberated on the next set she offered.
"A little of everything," he said. "Whatever it's needed."
"Sounds like you know must know a lot."
"Well, I try," he said. "But I've been told I often fail."
Her smile widened a little. "Now that I find hard to believe."
I can't believe you're flirting with her! came Alex's scandalized voice in his head. What the hell?
I'm not flirting with her, Alex, he sent back. Even if I was, it's not like I could do anything beyond it. Or have you forgotten my conditions? It was a little sharper than he'd intended, but Alex didn't seem too upset as he answered with a wave of wordless remorse. Charles sighed, trying to ignore the headache he felt coming on.
After that exchange, Charles was glad to leave the bookstore, with their rather impressive number acquisitions in tow. Alex and Sean had even picked out several they liked, some of which Charles even approved of, classics mixed in with the used comics and dime store detective novels.
Outside, Sean continued his rather passionate defense of his favorite potboiler novelist while Alex fetched the car. The human traffic had thickened on the sidewalk and it was much easier to wait in front of the bookshop than to try and push his way through it once more, and the press of all those minds could get tedious in a crowd, especially since he'd become so unused to it. It was almost a relief to stay where he was.
Professor? he heard Alex's voice in his head, reaching out. Is everything okay there?
Charles frowned. Yes, of course. Are you all right?
Yeah, it's just...I thought maybe someone was paying me a little too much attention.
Charles, who had been lightly shielding his thoughts, immediately dropped them as he glanced around. Sean had stopped talking when he saw Charles lift his fingers to his temple and he could focus on skimming across the thoughts of the hundreds of people on the street, stretching his examination to include the people in the shops and the cars, every inch of human activity between the bookshop and where Alex had parked the car. He didn't sense anything unusual, but he didn't take that as proof of much, not when he was only able to touch the lightest thoughts of those around him. There were just too many of them for him to delve more deeply.
By the time Charles had finished his sweep, Alex had arrived with the car, a troubled look on his face. He and Sean quickly helped Charles in, then Alex slid into the driver's seat once the wheelchair had been loaded into the trunk. "Did you pick up anything?" he asked Charles.
Charles shook his head. "I didn't, I'm afraid."
Alex huffed a shaky laugh and ran a hand through his hair. "I just I'm just paranoid."
"Not at all, Alex," Charles assured him. "There may have been someone but with so many people to check, I missed it. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Professor," he told him, shoulders relaxing a little. "It was probably just my imagination."
On the drive back to the manor, Charles made a promise to himself that he'd work more with Alex on his self-confidence, something that was still obviously suffering from the effects of the past. The simple fact -- one Charles had accepted -- was that now that he was in the chair, if there were ever a repeat mission for the "X-Men," someone else would take the lead on the ground, and Alex's powers and instincts made him the best choice. He wanted Alex to be prepared both mentally and physically if that day ever came.
Focused as he was on more important issues -- working with Alex and Sean, his and Hank's crash course into the medical profession, his own ambivalent feelings toward his "other condition" -- he didn't think much about Alex's perhaps-stalker until a few days later when he was roused from his reading by an anomaly on the edge of his mind. It was like a black hole, a blind spot that made the edges all the more noticeable for its presence. Charles had only experienced it once, but he'd never forget it, not for the rest of his life.
It was Erik, wearing Shaw's helmet.
Charles reached out to find his pupils at various tasks throughout the house: Hank was eating a solitary lunch since he'd missed the communal one while holed up in his lab; Sean was in the den, glued to the television; and, Alex was in the bunker, working with Hank's newest tweak of his suit.
Hank?
Yeah, Charles?
Erik is on his way here, Charles explained, soothing over Hank's shock with his own calm. He's alone, but he's wearing the helmet. I want you to go to the bunker and stay there with Alex until he's gone.
What? No! We can't leave you alone with him. There's no telling --
Sean is just across the hall in the den. He'll be close if I need him, but it's not like Erik is going to harm me.
Hank's worry refused to be calmed. Charles...what about your condition?
I'm wrapped up like a mummy, just like I was when I went into town. He'll notice nothing. Charles assured him. I need you to go to Alex, Hank. I know he has some issues with Erik and I'd rather hear what he's come to say without a fire fight.
As the blank spot that signified Erik reached the front lawn, Charles felt Hank's grudging compliance as he hauled himself out of the kitchen and down into the basement. He had just enough time to fill Sean in about what was happening before the metal of the study's doorknob began to rattle along with the light fixtures that lined the walls.
Then the door opened and Erik was there.
He looked good, was Charles's first, irrational thought, despite the redesigned helmet and the strange new clothing. Erik stood tall and proud as he stepped inside the room, flicking the door closed with his powers.
His eyes remained fixed on Charles as he circled toward him, handsome face half-obscured by the telepathic-proof metal he wore as a shield. Despite his absolute conviction that Erik had not come to hurt him or anyone else, Charles also couldn't stop the frisson of fear he felt as being alone with this new, unknown version of his dearest friend, one that was essentially a stranger thanks to the months they'd been separated. For all Charles knew, nothing remained of the Erik he'd known but the attractive, impassive shell.
It seemed Erik was content to stand in the middle of the room and stare, so Charles took it upon himself to start the conversation.
"Erik," he said in greeting, clearing his throat a little when the name caught there. "This is a surprise."
"Charles," Erik said in return, voice rough and gravelly. His pale, flinty gaze remained steady on Charles where he sat in his wheelchair.
It was unnerving, and Charles unconsciously tugged at the blanket where it draped over his stomach, then folded his hands over the same spot to keep it as hidden from scrutiny as possible. "I assume you came here for a reason?" he asked. "I mean, I'd like to believe it was just to visit with an old friend, but I'm hardly that sentimental."
"You're right, in a way. I came to see you," Erik said, expression obscured by the contours of the helmet. "To see if it was true."
For one terrible moment, Charles felt the grip of real fear, terror at the idea that Erik had somehow learned of his pregnancy. But then he felt a slight vibration in the metal of his wheelchair, as if Erik was touching it with his powers, and Charles released a steadying breath. "The wheelchair, you mean?"
A sharp nod was his answer as Erik finally broke his stare. His eyes darted away to take in the room, lingering on the untouched chess board in the corner. "I only learned of it recently," he admitted. "I didn't know before." His eyes slid back toward Charles but seemed unable to hold the connection. When he spoke again, his voice was even rougher, almost trembling. "I am sorry, Charles."
Charles didn't want to acknowledge the ache in Erik's voice, even though it cut through him as surely as the bullet once had; he wasn't sure if he could trust himself if he let himself think about it. Instead, he focused on the clue in Erik's words, which made sense of Alex's observations from their trip into town.
"It was you, wasn't it? That Alex saw in town. Or someone that works for you." Charles shook his head, unable to mask his disappointment. "You've been spying on us, Erik?"
"Janos is not here to spy on you." The tremble of emotion was gone from Erik's voice, from his body language. "He's here to protect you."
"Thank you for the concern but it's not necessary," Charles told him. He let some steel creep into his voice as he added, "I'd appreciate if you called him off."
"You need it more than anyone," Erik argued, the sudden gust of anger like a furious wind. The metal in the room rattled with it. "Just because you're willfully blind it what's out there doesn't mean I am. I'm not going to let --- "
"With all due respect," Charles began, raising his volume just enough to make sure Erik stopped speaking to listen. "That's no longer your responsibility since we've parted company." Erik looked wounded by the observation even from behind the shadows of the helmet and it cracked the last of Charles's resolve to be strong. He couldn't stop himself from asking, with longing evident in every line of his body. "Unless you've changed your mind?"
Erik looked away. "No," he said quietly. "I haven't."
It was amazing, Charles reflected, that something he expected could still sting so sharply. "Was there anything else you wanted?"
Erik made a noise in his throat, one Charles had learned to associate with frustration. He stepped forward. "Charles..."
Charles couldn't fight the instinct to raise his hand, an unambiguous signal for Erik to keep his distance. It was probably the only time he'd never denied Erik anything of himself, but it wasn't just about himself anymore. "Is there anything else, Erik?"
He drew his dignity and reserve around him like the cloak he now wore. "Other than my sincere apology? No, nothing else." He turned away. "Goodbye, Charles."
Somehow it felt more final than the beach had and it hurt almost as badly. "How's Raven?" he asked softly, watching as his words stilled Erik's departure.
He didn't turn around. "She's well."
"Will you give her my love?"
Erik bowed his head in agreement. "Of course."
"And tell her...I miss her." Even without telepathy, they both knew he wasn't just talking about Raven. "Very much."
And then Erik was gone, nothing left to speak of his presence aside from the rumbling echoes in the metal and the hollow ache in Charles's chest.
Charles made sure to wipe the wetness from his face before he alerted Hank, Alex and Sean that he was once again alone.
**
Charles realized a great deal in the wake of Erik's surprise visit.
He realized that for all the moving on he'd thought he done in the four previous months, his heart was still as broken as it ever was, something that didn't seem likely to change any time soon. Seeing Erik again had only reminded him of the raw, empty place inside him that he'd been intent on ignoring for as long as possible. He knew pretending it didn't exist wouldn't heal it, but he was beginning to think nothing ever would.
Charles also realized that for all the ambivalence he'd felt about having a child, especially through such an unusual manner, he was already on his way to loving his theoretical offspring with a fierceness he hadn't expected. For that moment when he'd thought that Erik knew, he'd been filled with a protectiveness for his unborn child that rivaled the ones he'd felt for any other person, even Erik or Raven. The thought of Erik somehow harming or separating him from his child had invoked a terror that still left him shaken days later, one that confirmed the decision he'd made when he'd refused to let Erik near him.
He had no plans of ever letting Erik know of this child's existence or its extraordinary origins.
If he'd thought it would be difficult to secure promises from his pupils that they'd help him with that decision, Charles would've been very mistaken. In fact, the three young men had been demonstrably relieved when he'd brought it up to them in the weeks following Erik's visit, relaxing the nebulous tension he'd noticed from them but been unable to understand without going beyond his typical level of telepathic nosiness.
"When Erik showed up, we thought maybe you'd tell him," Hank explained for the group. "We didn't think that was a good idea but it was your decision, so...we didn't want to say anything."
"You three must know you can tell me anything you're thinking," Charles said. "For one thing, I've probably already picked it out of your thoughts but, more importantly, I value your opinions immensely. Just because I may not allow your advice doesn't mean I don't need it."
"Do you think he actually called off his spy?" Alex asked. "How can we trust that he's not looking in the windows at night?"
"We can't, but I think Erik spoke the truth when he said his associate's surveillance was confined to town," Charles answered. "He came because he'd only just learned about my paralysis. If Janos was, ah, "looking in the windows," he would've known long before now."
Alex was still suspicious and distrustful, but Charles didn't expect anything different. Alex, more than Hank or Sean, felt strongly about Erik's actions on the beach, especially in regards to abandoning them at the mercy of the ships which had so recently tried to destroy them. That resentment had been compounded by the news of the pregnancy and the realization that Erik had abandoned more than just a close friendship that day.
Between training, their studies and the chores that kept their household running smoothly, the four of them also began to contemplate the necessities of life after the child was actually born. Charles had already adjusted his long-term goals as soon as Hank had confirmed it, pushing back his timelines for opening the school to accommodate the months before and after when the child would necessarily be the central subject of his attention. But there were other, more mundane matters to think about, such as clothing, formula and other supplies, as well as how he'd obtain legal paperwork for a child born in secret, to a male mutant.
The boys, on the other hand, filled much of their free time when their own baby-related project: the nursery.
The choice of room for the nursery was common sense since it needed to be as close to Charles's suite as possible. Of the ones adjacent to his own, he chose the room directly across the hall for the purpose, liking both the easy access and the west-facing window with its pastoral view of the grounds. He didn't have many ideas on decor past needing the basics, but that was where Alex, Hank and Sean shined, brimming with suggestions and recommendations. Charles couldn't help but be amused by their enthusiasm and touched by their pure, honest excitement.
Hank wanted to design a better crib and Alex wanted to build it himself, though Charles had doubts about trusting him with the power tools necessary for the job. Sean stayed out of the crib discussion entirely; he was more interested in amassing enough toys and decorations and baubles to entertain the most demanding newborn.
One evening at dinner, Hank and Alex were bickering over the designs for the crib when Hank surprised him with an unexpected question.
"What if the baby can bend metal?" he asked. "Would it manifest early enough that we should minimize its use in the design?"
As unbelievable as it was, Charles hadn't actually thought about what mutations, if any, a child born of two mutants might have. "I'm not sure," Charles admitted. "I don't have a large sample but some mutations manifest earlier than others. I could always read minds, but I didn't understand what it meant for many years." He cast a look toward Hank and Alex before he continued, waiting to gauge reactions. "Raven, too, manifested at birth, but Erik didn't realize he had an ability until after puberty."
There was a wave of sadness from Hank but it didn't show on his face. "My feet were always a little larger and shaped differently," he told them. "But it wasn't really noticeable until I was older."
"I could always wail one out," Sean laughed. "But I didn't start breaking glass until I was walking, or so my ma told me."
Alex didn't seem inclined to add to the discussion, eyes focused on his uneaten meatloaf like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
"An answer as diverse as our mutations," Charles noted.
"Maybe they'll be a metal-bending telepath," Sean said. "Best of both worlds."
"Or maybe, he or she will be completely human," Charles told them. "There's really no guarantee either way."
"It's not like it matters," Alex finally said, looking up from his plate. "You'll love the kid regardless."
He could feel Alex's conviction radiating from him, his belief that Charles would love his child, no matter what. It was humbling to feel it from someone else when Charles hadn't even been certain of it himself until recently.
"Yes," was all he said aloud. "I absolutely will."
Everything was as normal as it could be in a household belonging to a telepath and his three mutant students when the news came via one of the wire services that Charles monitored about a suspicious attack against a government research facility in Louisiana. The information was sparse but he had a feeling it was the work of Erik's band of mutants, labeled as it was by the reports as the work a fringe group with a radical ideology. Charles knew from his time of cooperation with the CIA that numerous installations like the one they'd used as a base existed; it made sense that Erik would choose one as a target, once he'd located it.
The attack was a sober reminder that it wasn't just rhetoric that stood between him and Erik. They'd been splintered by real differences, ones that meant life or death to themselves and others. Erik had killed three agents when he'd freed Emma Frost from the CIA headquarters and another five at the Louisiana location -- lives Charles didn't consider as inconsequential as Erik had.
Charles didn't share his suspicions about the attack with the others, knowing it would only ignite tempers that would have no real outlet. Though the complication of a birth had delayed many of Charles's plans, none of them had ever involved open warfare, not of the kind Erik wanted to instigate. Charles's first concern would be finding other mutants and offering them a safe haven where they could learn to control their powers and live their lives in peace. He was also willing to protect those same mutants from any threat, but he would not be the one responsible for the opening salvo -- not against Erik or the government.
With Raven and Erik so present in Charles's mind, it was little wonder that Hank came looking for him that night, his mind leaking messy emotions even as he politely inquired if Charles was busy.
"Not if you need something," he said, pushing aside the newspaper he'd been reading. "What can I do for you?"
"If you don't want to, it's okay," Hank hastened to say. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable or sad."
"You won't," he promised. "What is it?"
Hank let out a great sigh and sank down onto the sofa, slouching much in the same way Charles had seen him do before his transformation. "It's just that I've been thinking a lot," he explained. "About Raven."
"You don't have to be afraid to say her name, you know," Charles told him. "I won't break if you mention her or Erik."
Hank nodded a little but he was still nervous, a feeling that overlaid the deep sadness that had driven him to seek Charles out in the first place. "It's just...I miss her," he confessed. "And I think about her a lot."
"That's understandable," Charles said. "You shouldn't feel guilty about it."
"I just wonder, you know?" Hank sighed. "If she left because of me. What if I hadn't made the serum or offered it to her? She went with Erik because he accepted her natural blue form and I didn't."
"Nor did I," Charles admitted. At Hank's surprised look, Charles gave him a sad smile. "I didn't mean to reject her, but I did, often and probably more badly than anything you did to her." From Hank's mind, he could sense the echoes of a memory rising up: Hank telling Raven that they needed his serum, that they'd never been accepted otherwise, then Raven's tears as he'd left the second injection with her and went to use his own.
"She was my dearest friend and I made her afraid, Hank. I'm the one who taught her to hide, who made her so ashamed of her true form that she asked for your serum in the first place." Charles leaned forward a little in his chair. "If there's anyone here that needs to shoulder the blame, it's me, not you."
"Don't you blame her, even a little? For going with Erik?"
"No," he said. "I put Raven in a cage her whole life and Erik set her free. Why wouldn't she want to go with him?" Charles managed another weak smile. "If I would've asked, she would've stayed, I think. But it wasn't what she wanted and it would've been wrong of me to put my needs before hers."
Hank was contemplating his answers, turning them over in his head. He was quiet for so long that Charles was ready to excuse himself and leave the young scientist alone with his thoughts when Hank spoke again. "Do you blame Erik?"
"Sometimes, I wish I could. I think it would be easier if I did." Charles glanced toward the chess board, its game forever left unfinished. "But no, I don't. It's hard to explain to someone who's not a telepath but once you've touched almost every corner of someone's mind, you understand them almost as well as you do yourself. It's hard to cast blame when you know them as well as that."
Curiosity was something that Charles often felt from Hank and he felt it then, coming off him in waves. "You can ask whatever you'd like," Charles said in gentle encouragement. "I won't mind, although I may choose not to answer."
Hank couldn't meet his eyes, yellow gaze focused on the floor. Or maybe on his feet, now as well-matched to his new form as they'd been ill-suited for his former one. "You loved him."
It wasn't a question, exactly, but Charles knew what he meant. "Yes," he said softly. "I still do. That, perhaps, is the one thing that hasn't changed."
"Even after everything?" How can I still care when she left me, too?
"Listen to me." Charles laid a hand on the blue arm he could reach. "There are no right or wrong answers when it comes to how you feel. However you feel about Raven now or come to feel about her in the future, it's fine. You don't have to beat yourself up over it."
Hank pulled away, towering over Charles as he stood to leave with a mumbled excuse. He waited until he was almost out the door before he spoke again. "I blame them," he said. "I blame Erik for deciding to leave us on the beach and I blame Raven for going with him, just like I blame Angel for what happened to Darwin. I don't want to -- I want to be the better man. But I can't, not yet."
When the door shut behind him, Charles shook his head, sighing. Oh, Hank.
He tried to speak to Hank again about what he'd shared that night, but Hank was firm in his deflections, so Charles gave him the space he wanted. He understood how Hank felt -- and Alex and Sean. They all still had their wounds from that day on the beach, and some would heal more quickly than others. It had taken months before they'd made their first strides, and Charles was committed to making sure they continued on that path. He vowed that he'd help them deal with their anger and grief in the way he'd been too late to help Erik.
Despite the complications added to his life by the strange little matter of a pregnancy, Charles also found himself being grateful for it. As distractions went, it was a better one than he could've ever imagined and planning for the event was the part of the glue that held them together through their individual crises. There was an entire week dedicated to preparing the nursery room for the eventual arrival of its furniture, during which the room was cleared of its antique trappings and cleaned thoroughly, a task that threw up far more dust than any of them had been expecting and left them all sneezing for days. The boys had even banded together to paint the walls, something Hank was still bemoaning days after they'd finished when he realized how hard it was to remove the smudges of paint from his fur.
"Now I'm not just furry, I'm spotted and furry," he complained to Charles one morning from where the young scientist sat at the kitchen table with him, watching Charles slice fruit for breakfast. Hank picked at a spot of pale yellow paint near his elbow in emphasis.
Charles tried to hide his amusement, but it was almost impossible in the face of Hank's comically tragic expression. "It will come out, Hank. Honestly, you've gotten rid of most of it. Another day or two and it'll be gone entirely, I'm sure."
"At least it wasn't a horrible color like chartreuse or magenta," Hank said wryly.
"Neither of which are appropriate colors for any walls, let alone a nursery." Charles grinned as he reached for another apple. "I believe the goal isn't to scar the child from day one."
Charles's comment made Hank grin in return. "That's going to be hard with Alex and Sean around," he pointed out.
"I can see your point." He allowed himself a laugh. "But I have faith -- in all of you." He pushed his chair back from the table to move toward the sink. "I know I don't say it enough, but I've been very grateful for everyone's support and help."
"It was weird in the beginning," Hank admitted. "Okay, no, it's still weird. But it's exciting, too, you know? It's something good."
Charles set the used knife near the sink to be washed later and was turning to look at Hank when it happened. It was so very light, like the faintest stirrings of butterflies in his stomach. But it wasn't butterflies and the realization of what it was caught Charles by surprise. Without thinking, he stopped, reaching to lay a hand on the swell of his abdomen.
"Charles?" Hank must've noticed the abrupt change in his movement because he sounded concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," he said, pleasure lighting up his words and his face. "More than fine, actually. I think I just felt the baby."
Hank's yellow eyes were wide behind his glasses, mouth approximating an "O" of surprise before he began nodding. "Makes sense," he said. "All the books say quickening happens between 18 and 20 weeks."
Hand still pressed to his stomach, Charles let himself focus his telepathy inward for once instead of out, to see if he could sense anything. There was something there, something as faint as the movement had been, a small awareness that fluttered like hummingbird wings against the touch of his mind. It was the most incredible thing he'd ever felt.
It was, as Hank had said, something good.
**
End of Part 2