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FIC: Guilty by Association - Charles/Erik, XMFC - (12/13)
Title: Guilty by Association (12/13)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~4,800 for the chapter (total: 50,000+)
Warnings: discussion of murder, violence and prostitution
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Everything I know about law enforcement and investigative journalism, I learned from watching television. Don't expect any more realism here than you'd find on an episode of CSI or L&O. There is also State of Play influence in this fic as well, although you don't need to have seen it to understand anything in this fic.
Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
Guilty by Association (Part 12)
The world was still a little shaky as Charles tried to open his eyes and the ache in the back of his head hadn't subsided but he could dimly hear voices coming from somewhere and something told him it was very important that he listen to them.
After a few seconds his surroundings began to focus and he realized he was in a very nice apartment, full furnished but almost impersonal enough to be hotel -- which it might've been, for all he could tell. The voices he heard weren't in the bedroom with him but coming through the half-opened door that seemed to lead to some kind of sitting area.
It took less than a minute for Charles to realize he'd been tied to his chair.
Handcuffed, actually; he was more than aware of what the metal cuffs felt like around his wrists and that was what he felt then, the chain threaded through a slat in the chair's metal backrest. He gave an experimental yank only to reinforce his original hypothesis that he was well and truly restrained, his feet similarly immobilized, tied as they were to the chair legs.
It took maybe three minutes for his next realization, which he blamed on the head injury: he'd been kidnapped.
Charles stilled his struggles against his bonds, straining to pick up the voices he'd first heard when he'd regained consciousness. The one he could hear speaking at that moment was dreadfully recognizable, distinct and familiar.
"...trouble, Azazello," the voice was saying. "Do you even know who you have in there?"
"I thought it was just some whore that Muñoz said Lehnsherr had taken up with," the second voice -- Azazello, Charles supposed -- said. "I heard him talking to Muñoz about how he'd figured it out, so I snatched him."
"Really? A prostitute?" The first voice said and, yes, Charles was sure. It was definitely Sebastian Shaw, Governor of New York, and he definitely sounded...lethal, at least to Charles's ears.
Without thinking, he started working at the cuffs again, twisting at them until he was sure he was drawing blood.
"That's what Muñoz said," Azazello said. "I figured no one would miss him."
"I don't think you've ever been more wrong," Shaw told him. Charles could hear the edge in the man's voice and he wondered if the other man could as well. "That isn't some hooker you've got. That's Charles Xavier -- not only is he a journalist, but his father is Brian Xavier, one of biggest bastards I've ever had the misfortune to meet, either personally or professionally. This is not a man who we can make disappear quietly like Elliot."
Disappear was such a quaint euphemism for murder, Charles thought grimly as he continue to pull at the cuffs and yank at whatever they'd used to bind his feet. In all his years of investigative reporting, he'd never actually gotten himself kidnapped before and it was something he hoped never to repeat again. His blood was rushing in his ears, panic spiking like he'd never experienced, growing exponentially as he made little headway on his bindings. He'd never given much thought to dying but he certainly had no plans to do so at the hands of Shaw or his henchman.
"...do exactly?" Azazello was saying. "If we let him go, he'll tell someone."
"And if we kill him, it won't do much to quell the questions around Smith, will it?" Shaw added sourly. "There's nothing I hate worse than messy complications."
Charles had to bite back a laugh at that, which his logical mind told him was probably hysteria from shock. The amused part of his mind just couldn't quite reconcile his probable-murderer with someone who talked about it like he was a red wine stain on a white carpet.
"We need to figure out how much Lehnsherr knows," Azazello said. "That's why I didn't just kill him straight out."
"Yes, Detective Lehnsherr," Shaw repeated with a sigh. "It's not going to be easy to kill him quietly either."
Funny, Charles would think later, that it was that sentiment -- their discussion of killing Erik -- that finally wrung a noise of fear from him, one loud enough that it was heard by his captors. The entire apartment went quiet in the wake of it, and finally the half-opened door was pushed opened until Shaw, still dressed in the same suit that he'd worn at the Times offices, stood before him with another man that Charles recognized from Shaw's press conference and also from the last few seconds of lucidity he'd had before being rendered unconscious and kidnapped.
"Look who's decided to join us," Shaw drawled, all politician-smooth politeness. "Good to see you again so soon, Charles."
He tugged at the cuffs, forcing himself to hold his head high, defiant. "I can't say I feel the same way, Governor."
"No, I don't suppose you do." Shaw leaned over a little, peering intently into Charles's face. "I didn't realize you knew so much when I spoke to you earlier today. Azazello tells me you think you've figured it all out."
"That you had Elliot Smith killed? If I hadn't, you confirmed it for a few minutes ago," he pointed out. "Thanks for that."
Shaw snorted. "It's not as if you're going to leave here under your own power, Charles. Let's not kid ourselves by pretending like you'll be able to do something with that information."
Azazello stepped up with a nod from Shaw as the governor stepped away, as if ceding the floor. He was a rough-looking man with several scars on his face -- it was one Charles would likely never forget. "I need to know what you've told Lehnsherr," he said. When Charles answered with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, Azazello shifted forward, deliberately casual in the way the move highlighted the wicked-looking knife he carried on his belt.
Charles remembered the autopsy reports on Elliot Smith's stab-ridden body and tried not to visibly swallow at the thought of what the man could do with a blade.
"Detective Lehnsherr is hardly your problem," Charles said, relieved that his voice didn't waver. "Because there's also what I've told his partner and my partners and, I don't know, my father? This story isn't the kind I could keep to myself, even for a few hours. Not to mention who they've told since." When his two captors exchanged a look, he added, "You can hardly kill all of them without raising suspicion."
"Right now, that's all speculation," Shaw said. "However, you are a very real problem that I need to get out of the way."
"I'd rather you not kill me and dump me in an alley if it's all the same to you," Charles retorted. "Especially since it won't do you a bit of good. I'm sorry, Governor, but whatever you killed Elliot for wasn't worth it."
"I'm beginning to see that," Shaw admitted. "I should've just paid him off."
Even given the danger he was in, Charles's mind was working and it connected the dots quickly on the Governor's throwaway remark. Smith must've found out about the connection between Shaw and The Hellfire Club somehow and, instead of taking it public, he'd tried to extort money from him. It made sense, he admitted, given what Angel had said about Smith's willingness to take the next step with his escort work in order to move from mid-class to high-end. Still, he hadn't deserved to be murdered for it, not when all it had been for was to preserve Shaw's political aspirations and the dirty money he'd been using to fund them.
"So what are we going to do with him?" Azazello asked and Charles could see that the henchman looked more than prepared to do whatever Shaw decided, up to and including gladly killing him where he sat, defenselessly shackled to his chair. It wasn't a pleasant position to be in.
"I haven't decided," Shaw said. "If he's right, there are a lot of loose ends to tie up after we're finished here."
"I suggest you start gassing your jet and getting the hell out of Dodge, as they say," Charles advised with bravado he didn't really feel. "You can kill me if you want but it won't change the fact that you're finished, Shaw. Your everything ends now."
Now Shaw frowned, clearly unhappy with Charles's truthful estimation of his situation. "I have some phone calls to make," he announced which could've meant anything from he had real calls to make or he needed time to plot how slowly he wanted Azazello to take when he finally carved into Charles. "Keep our friend quiet here, why don't you?"
Shaw swept out of the door and closed the door behind him, leaving Charles to desperately hope that the phone call line and exit hadn't just been some elaborate signal to the henchman to start in with the interrogation methods he seemed ready to employ. Charles was of the opinion that he was tough, but he didn't want to test it with actual torture.
For some strange reason, Charles thought back to the scars he'd seen on Erik's back the first time they'd slept together, how he'd wanted to ask about the one on his shoulder that was obviously a gunshot wound, but he hadn't, not then or any other nights they'd spent in the same bed. It was a strange thing to think about but he didn't want to die without knowing that and more about Erik, including how he would've reacted when he learned the truth about Charles.
How he would react, Charles corrected himself. The last thing he needed to do was start thinking of himself in the past tense.
Fortunately, Azazello didn't seem to be in a hurry to do anything but glare at him, leaving Charles's limbs in perfect working order for the moment. When he tried to twist his wrists again in the cuffs, he noticed the slickness that was obviously his blood from the cuts he'd sustained from his efforts but he didn't feel any pain from it, at least not yet. Again, he figured he could probably blame the shock and adrenaline.
Even with the door closed, Charles could strain his ears and follow the rise and fall of Shaw's voice, and that cadence told him that Shaw was not pleased, the sharp tones of his words carrying easily through the thin wood that separated them. Charles couldn't help but hope he was taking his advice about arranging an escape plan and not focusing his ire on trying to find a way to eliminate the witnesses of his crimes -- witnesses like Charles.
He'd tried to ignore it but Azazello was still watching him rather more interest than Charles thought was necessary given the circumstances. Charles stole a glance or two in the henchman's direction before Azazello finally spoke. "I still want to know what you've told Lehnsherr."
Charles shrugged. "I don't really think it's going to matter, is it? You'll be going down with the Governor regardless."
"I should've known this was going to happen," he cursed, mostly under his breath. "Fucking Lehnsherr."
"You seem awfully focused on Erik," Charles pointed out. "Is there...?"
Azazello turned to glare at him and Charles might've finished his sentence if he didn't suddenly connect the dots that had eluded him since he'd woken up kidnapped. Again, he blamed the concussion he most probably was suffering from for the fact he hadn't instantly recalled a certain detective's name scrawled in the notes he'd taken from Erik. "You're a cop, aren't you?" Charles asked.
Azazello's dark look answered for him, that and the way his long fingers went to his knife, as if he were making a subtle point by drawing Charles's attention to it. Charles was sure his face made it clear that the threat had been communicated most effectively.
"Oh, bloody hell," Charles said, trying to hold on to his last vestiges of hope. There was nothing reassuring about knowing that Erik had been correct to suspect corruption and collusion amidst his fellow police officers; it was just a pointed reminder of how dire the situation was and how out of depth Charles knew himself to be.
He'd done everything he usually did to keep himself safe when he was working on a hot case but, in the end, it hadn't mattered, now when the culprit was able to spirit him away from a police station and most likely cover his tracks. Charles wasn't even sure how much time had passed since his abduction or if anyone other than Moira had started to miss him, and Erik didn't even know...
With a sinking heart, Charles truly realized that he might not make it out alive.
**
Even though it had barely taken an hour, it had seemed to take way too long before Moira's list had been properly vetted and he, Darwin, and Frost and anyone else available had used their vaulted police skills to narrow the choices down to the most viable place that Azazello or Shaw might've taken Charles after they'd made off with him.
"By the book," Frost had warned as she'd made good on her promise to let Erik and Darwin be the ones to check it out, her expression transmitting both her hope that Erik would listen and her doubt that he'd bother. If he hadn't been so distracted by everything else going on in his head, he might've at least tried to assure her that, for once, making Shaw pay wasn't the first thing on his agenda.
Charles was.
The drive to the trendy little set of apartments was terse, Darwin silent at his side as they, and a team of uniforms, flashed their lights silently as they sped through traffic. The procession stopped just short of the building where they wouldn't be visible by anyone watching from windows in the suspected apartment and, once everyone was suited up and apprised of their action plan, Erik led the way as he, Darwin and back-up quietly climbed the steps on their way to the sixth floor apartment.
Darwin had barely finished the required announcement of "Police!" before Erik had kicked open the apartment door open, weapon drawn as he rushed inside, eyes scanning for danger as well as any detail that could help them locate Charles. He took two more steps inside, gun still at the ready, clearing the small alcove that spilled into the large living room only to find Sebastian Shaw standing in the middle of it, cell phone in his head, somehow looking both startled and smug.
"Hands where I can see them," Erik snapped, gesturing with his gun.
Shaw just smiled, like he wasn't standing there with three guns pointed at his head. He slowly lifted his arms up, still holding his cell in one hand. "Well, well," he drawled. "Detective Lehnsherr."
"Where's Charles Xavier?" Erik demanded. "Where?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Shaw began, eyes darting down the hall when he saw Darwin start to move toward it. "And I'm very sure you don't have permission for this search, Detective Muñoz."
Darwin hesitated, glancing in Erik's direction quickly for guidance on how he wanted to handle the situation.
The decision was made, not by Erik, but the loud sounds of a struggle coming from down the hall that Shaw had tried to distract them from.
"Watch him!" he barked at the officers who'd been flanking his back while he nodded for Darwin to rush the hall, Erik at his heels. Darwin took the first door they passed but it was an empty closet, while Erik took the second, which was a small bathroom. That left the second door on the left, and the two detectives didn't waste any time before zeroing in it, the flimsy door offering little resistance as Darwin shouldered it opened.
It only took Erik a split-second to register the details, alarming as they were: Charles was alive, but he was tied to a chair that had been upturned and there was blood coming from somewhere, given the splatter Erik could see on the cream-colored carpet. Charles had somehow worked one foot free of the ropes he'd been restrained with and looked as if he'd managed to plant that foot in Azazello's gut, if the other man's hunched-over position was any indication. Azazello had a long, sharp blade in his hand, nostrils flaring with anger, and he seemed intent on doing some damage with it even with Erik and Darwin both pointing guns in his direction.
"Drop it, Azazello," Erik warned, even though he would've liked nothing better than to pull the trigger. When Azazello didn't quite stop the shift of his weight onto his front foot, Erik took another step toward him. "If you don't, I'll drop you."
For another beat it looked like Azazello might've done something stupid, but then he released his grip on the knife and it fell from his fingers, landing harmlessly on the silken comforter spread over the bed.
"Darwin," Erik said, jerking his head in Azazello's direction. Darwin understood and, after quickly holstering his gun, he moved toward Azazello, padding him down before he pulled his arms behind his back to cuff him. Erik risked a glance toward Charles who was still tied to his over-turned chair, but he couldn't see his face from where he stood. As much as he wanted nothing more than to rush to his side, Erik had to make sure the scene was secure first.
"Malone!" Erik called out to one of the officers he knew was keeping an eye on Shaw, one he knew wouldn't be too intimidated by the forthcoming order.
"Yeah, Lehnsherr?" Malone called back.
"If you don't mind," Erik said, watching with satisfaction as Azazello hissed when the cuffs slid around his wrists. "Could you cuff the Governor and read him his rights?"
There was only the faintest pause. "If you say so!"
Erik's eyes swung back to Darwin who still had a hold of Azazello's arm. His partner must've seen something in Erik's gaze because he nodded, then began to drag the former detective out of the room. "I've got this and Shaw," Darwin promised, before he began to recite Miranda Rights at Azazello as they headed down the hall.
Darwin had barely shoved Azazello out of the room before Erik was holstering his gun. "Charles?" he said, heart hammering in his chest when he didn't get a response. He dropped to his knees at Charles's side, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Charles's alert blue eyes looking back at him above a makeshift gag that looked to have started life as a pillow case.
"Mein Gott," he muttered as he pulled the gag away and Charles coughed, clearing this throat. "Are you all right?"
"I'm much better now that you're here," Charles managed to say, coughing a little more as Erik righted the chair and Charles along with it. Charles's head bobbed with movement, and he blinked a few times before he finally glanced up and caught Erik's worried gaze. "You are quite possibly the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life," he said, with a shaky smile even as he winced. "Although that could be the concussion talking."
Erik snorted in amusement despite the seriousness of the situation. He ran a gentle hand through Charles's hair, letting his fingers linger on his cheek for a few seconds before he dug into his pockets for his cuff key so he could undo the handcuffs that held Charles to the chair.
His mood darkened further when he realized that the blood he'd seen earlier had come from Charles's wrists, a fact he noticed as he knelt first to unlock the cuffs, then to free Charles's still-tied foot from the chair leg. Once all the bindings had been completely removed, Erik didn't resist the impulse to take hold Charles's damaged wrists, inspecting the injury as he ran a careful thumb over the bruised and bloodied skin.
"We should probably get these looked at," Erik said quietly, still holding on. As light of a touch as it was, it was a visceral reminder that Erik hadn't lost him and he was loathed to lose it.
Instead of answering in words, Charles slumped forward until his head was resting against Erik's shoulder. Erik could feel the tremors in Charles's body and his training supplied the reason -- adrenaline, fear, shock. It didn't make it easier to stand, though, not when it was Charles who shook in his arms. Erik released Charles's wrists, only to slide his arms around his waist and carefully pull him to his feet. Charles didn't resist, leaning into Erik's embrace like it was the only thing he had to keep him going. Erik tightened his hold a little when he realized it might've been the truth.
Erik wasn't exactly sure how long he allowed himself to be so completely unprofessional as to ignore his crime scene in order to hold on to Charles like he was afraid to let him go, but the clack of heels on the apartment's polished wood floor told him it was ending far sooner than he would've liked.
"Erik," Emma was saying even before she made it inside, the use of his first name a testament to how distressed she was. "Why aren't you...?" Surprise flashed over her face when she took in the sight they made but her face quickly smoothed into its usual impassive mask. "I see."
Erik eased away from Charles a little. "What are you doing here?" he asked his captain.
She rolled her eyes. "I know how well you and "by the book" actually mix." She glanced toward Charles who was starting to stand under his own power instead of Erik's. "Are you all right, Mr. Xavier?"
"Fine," Charles told her, words belied by the tremor in his voice and the bright ring of bloodied bruises on his wrists. "Certainly better than before the police arrived."
"He thinks he might have a concussion," Erik volunteered, ignoring the admonishing look Charles shot him. "We need a bus."
"Already thought of that," Emma said. "They should be here in less than five minutes." It was Emma's turn to favor Erik with a chiding look. "Not to mention who came with me."
"Where the hell is my son?" Xavier's voice was whip-crack sharp and Erik didn't miss the way the sound of it made Charles's spine straighten a little.
"Dad?" Charles asked incredulously when Xavier appeared a few seconds later, sliding past Emma with a nod and not-so-subtly elbowing his way around Erik to reach his son. "What are you --"
Charles didn't have a chance to finish before his father grabbed him by his shoulders, shaking him a little. "You reckless, arrogant little bastard, I swear on your mother's grave, if you ever do this to me again, I'll kill you myself, do you hear me?"
Of all the ways he could've reacted, Erik wasn't expecting Charles to manage a real, delighted smile despite the situation and to sling an arm around his father much like he'd once seen Raven embrace Charles. "Thanks, Dad," Charles murmured.
It didn't take long before Xavier relaxed and returned it with a quick squeeze. "Arrogant little brat," Xavier said under his breath, though the affection in the words were unmistakable. "Pain in my arse since the day you were born."
"I know," Charles said, still grinning at his father, before he glanced over at the officers. "I just...how did you find me?"
"Moira," Xavier said immediately. When Emma glared at him, he added grudgingly, "And Lehnsherr and his partner, too. But Moira's the one who realized you'd gone missing, and she came to me with it."
"I'm glad you used that card," Charles told his father, with a fond look in Erik's direction.
"I didn't expect I'd have to explain who you were to him," Xavier said with a paternal frown that made Charles duck his head. "I'm very eager to find out what you did that made him think you were an escort, Charles."
Charles laughed a little, but none of them missed the way he winced afterward, or the furrow of pain in his brow that didn't quite smooth out. Erik shot Emma a look and she mouthed, any minute now on the ETA of the ambulance. "It really was a misunderstanding," Charles told his father, unconsciously echoing Erik's own words on the matter. "I was trying to get an interview with a street worker and, ah, Detective Lehnsherr got the wrong idea."
Erik couldn't help but defend himself. "That thing you were doing with your finger and that ring? I could've cited you for lewd acts then and there."
Charles's expression flitted to something very fond for a moment, despite the pain lines around his eyes. Then Xavier snorted. "So that's what happened to your wedding band, is it?"
Erik, already having been on a roller coaster of revelation for the day, tried not to let it all flash across his face as he stared at Charles and asked, "You're married?"
Charles looked so pained and guilty that Erik could already feel the confirmation like a stone in his stomach, but then Charles reached out, sliding his fingers across the back of the hand Erik had clenched into a fist without realizing. "No," he said, big blue eyes begging Erik for something. "Not for a very long time."
Emma cocked her head to listen as there was a sudden influx of sound from the apartment's living room. "EMTs," she explained to the men, looking almost sincere as she said, "I'm glad you're safe, Mr. Xavier." Then her face hardened as she glanced behind her and saw the EMTs waiting for their chance to enter. "Come on, Lehnsherr," she said.
With one last glance at Charles as the EMTs swarmed him, Erik followed Emma back into the living room where Azazello and Shaw waited in cuffs, flanked by Darwin and Malone. Shaw's eyes turned steely when Emma stopped before him.
"You and your detectives have made a very grave mistake, my dear," he told.
Emma's voice was icy. "No, Sebastian. This wasn't the mistake." She sighed, then pointed at Malone and another officer. "Take them down to a black-and-white. We need to get them back to the station."
Malone still looked a little shell-shocked that he'd arrested the Governor, but he nodded and led the man away, his partner towing Azazello behind him.
"This isn't your fault, Frost," Erik offered, despite the grudge he'd held only hours before. But with Charles safe and Shaw in handcuffs, he found it easier to be magnanimous.
"No," she said. "But I didn't help matters and there will be consequences for it. But that's not important now." She almost managed to smile. "You did good work, Detective. You and Muñoz."
"Thanks, Captain," Darwin said.
She nodded. "Someone still has to book the Governor, Erik," she said as she headed toward the door. "I figured you'd like the honor."
Erik watched her leave as Darwin came to stand beside them. They both watched as the EMTs came out of the bedroom with Charles on a stretcher and Xavier hovering menacingly in their wake. "What's with the stretcher?" Erik asked and only Xavier stopped to answer.
"He most definitely has a concussion," Xavier explained. "It's a precaution but they're taking him in for observation. So if you..." Xavier stopped, shook his head. "Nevermind. Nice to meet you, Detective, let's never do it again."
As the officers stood there, watching as the apartment emptied of activity, Darwin's phone beeped. Erik watched as he frowned, reached for his phone and then cursed under his breath when he read the text message he'd received.
"What?" asked Erik.
Darwin winced. "I forgot to call Alex," he explained. "And I was already in the dog house over that little scene this morning. Not that it was my fault I thought my boyfriend was chummy with a hooker instead of a reporter." He mock-glared at Erik. "Anything I can do to stop you from sabotaging my relationship at every turn?"
"Nope," he said, grinning a little.
"You be that way," Darwin said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "I'll just remember to return the favor when I get the chance."
It reminded Erik that, for all they'd accomplished, there was still a lot he needed to figure out.
"Let's hope you get it."
**
End of Part 12
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~4,800 for the chapter (total: 50,000+)
Warnings: discussion of murder, violence and prostitution
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Everything I know about law enforcement and investigative journalism, I learned from watching television. Don't expect any more realism here than you'd find on an episode of CSI or L&O. There is also State of Play influence in this fic as well, although you don't need to have seen it to understand anything in this fic.
Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
Guilty by Association (Part 12)
The world was still a little shaky as Charles tried to open his eyes and the ache in the back of his head hadn't subsided but he could dimly hear voices coming from somewhere and something told him it was very important that he listen to them.
After a few seconds his surroundings began to focus and he realized he was in a very nice apartment, full furnished but almost impersonal enough to be hotel -- which it might've been, for all he could tell. The voices he heard weren't in the bedroom with him but coming through the half-opened door that seemed to lead to some kind of sitting area.
It took less than a minute for Charles to realize he'd been tied to his chair.
Handcuffed, actually; he was more than aware of what the metal cuffs felt like around his wrists and that was what he felt then, the chain threaded through a slat in the chair's metal backrest. He gave an experimental yank only to reinforce his original hypothesis that he was well and truly restrained, his feet similarly immobilized, tied as they were to the chair legs.
It took maybe three minutes for his next realization, which he blamed on the head injury: he'd been kidnapped.
Charles stilled his struggles against his bonds, straining to pick up the voices he'd first heard when he'd regained consciousness. The one he could hear speaking at that moment was dreadfully recognizable, distinct and familiar.
"...trouble, Azazello," the voice was saying. "Do you even know who you have in there?"
"I thought it was just some whore that Muñoz said Lehnsherr had taken up with," the second voice -- Azazello, Charles supposed -- said. "I heard him talking to Muñoz about how he'd figured it out, so I snatched him."
"Really? A prostitute?" The first voice said and, yes, Charles was sure. It was definitely Sebastian Shaw, Governor of New York, and he definitely sounded...lethal, at least to Charles's ears.
Without thinking, he started working at the cuffs again, twisting at them until he was sure he was drawing blood.
"That's what Muñoz said," Azazello said. "I figured no one would miss him."
"I don't think you've ever been more wrong," Shaw told him. Charles could hear the edge in the man's voice and he wondered if the other man could as well. "That isn't some hooker you've got. That's Charles Xavier -- not only is he a journalist, but his father is Brian Xavier, one of biggest bastards I've ever had the misfortune to meet, either personally or professionally. This is not a man who we can make disappear quietly like Elliot."
Disappear was such a quaint euphemism for murder, Charles thought grimly as he continue to pull at the cuffs and yank at whatever they'd used to bind his feet. In all his years of investigative reporting, he'd never actually gotten himself kidnapped before and it was something he hoped never to repeat again. His blood was rushing in his ears, panic spiking like he'd never experienced, growing exponentially as he made little headway on his bindings. He'd never given much thought to dying but he certainly had no plans to do so at the hands of Shaw or his henchman.
"...do exactly?" Azazello was saying. "If we let him go, he'll tell someone."
"And if we kill him, it won't do much to quell the questions around Smith, will it?" Shaw added sourly. "There's nothing I hate worse than messy complications."
Charles had to bite back a laugh at that, which his logical mind told him was probably hysteria from shock. The amused part of his mind just couldn't quite reconcile his probable-murderer with someone who talked about it like he was a red wine stain on a white carpet.
"We need to figure out how much Lehnsherr knows," Azazello said. "That's why I didn't just kill him straight out."
"Yes, Detective Lehnsherr," Shaw repeated with a sigh. "It's not going to be easy to kill him quietly either."
Funny, Charles would think later, that it was that sentiment -- their discussion of killing Erik -- that finally wrung a noise of fear from him, one loud enough that it was heard by his captors. The entire apartment went quiet in the wake of it, and finally the half-opened door was pushed opened until Shaw, still dressed in the same suit that he'd worn at the Times offices, stood before him with another man that Charles recognized from Shaw's press conference and also from the last few seconds of lucidity he'd had before being rendered unconscious and kidnapped.
"Look who's decided to join us," Shaw drawled, all politician-smooth politeness. "Good to see you again so soon, Charles."
He tugged at the cuffs, forcing himself to hold his head high, defiant. "I can't say I feel the same way, Governor."
"No, I don't suppose you do." Shaw leaned over a little, peering intently into Charles's face. "I didn't realize you knew so much when I spoke to you earlier today. Azazello tells me you think you've figured it all out."
"That you had Elliot Smith killed? If I hadn't, you confirmed it for a few minutes ago," he pointed out. "Thanks for that."
Shaw snorted. "It's not as if you're going to leave here under your own power, Charles. Let's not kid ourselves by pretending like you'll be able to do something with that information."
Azazello stepped up with a nod from Shaw as the governor stepped away, as if ceding the floor. He was a rough-looking man with several scars on his face -- it was one Charles would likely never forget. "I need to know what you've told Lehnsherr," he said. When Charles answered with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, Azazello shifted forward, deliberately casual in the way the move highlighted the wicked-looking knife he carried on his belt.
Charles remembered the autopsy reports on Elliot Smith's stab-ridden body and tried not to visibly swallow at the thought of what the man could do with a blade.
"Detective Lehnsherr is hardly your problem," Charles said, relieved that his voice didn't waver. "Because there's also what I've told his partner and my partners and, I don't know, my father? This story isn't the kind I could keep to myself, even for a few hours. Not to mention who they've told since." When his two captors exchanged a look, he added, "You can hardly kill all of them without raising suspicion."
"Right now, that's all speculation," Shaw said. "However, you are a very real problem that I need to get out of the way."
"I'd rather you not kill me and dump me in an alley if it's all the same to you," Charles retorted. "Especially since it won't do you a bit of good. I'm sorry, Governor, but whatever you killed Elliot for wasn't worth it."
"I'm beginning to see that," Shaw admitted. "I should've just paid him off."
Even given the danger he was in, Charles's mind was working and it connected the dots quickly on the Governor's throwaway remark. Smith must've found out about the connection between Shaw and The Hellfire Club somehow and, instead of taking it public, he'd tried to extort money from him. It made sense, he admitted, given what Angel had said about Smith's willingness to take the next step with his escort work in order to move from mid-class to high-end. Still, he hadn't deserved to be murdered for it, not when all it had been for was to preserve Shaw's political aspirations and the dirty money he'd been using to fund them.
"So what are we going to do with him?" Azazello asked and Charles could see that the henchman looked more than prepared to do whatever Shaw decided, up to and including gladly killing him where he sat, defenselessly shackled to his chair. It wasn't a pleasant position to be in.
"I haven't decided," Shaw said. "If he's right, there are a lot of loose ends to tie up after we're finished here."
"I suggest you start gassing your jet and getting the hell out of Dodge, as they say," Charles advised with bravado he didn't really feel. "You can kill me if you want but it won't change the fact that you're finished, Shaw. Your everything ends now."
Now Shaw frowned, clearly unhappy with Charles's truthful estimation of his situation. "I have some phone calls to make," he announced which could've meant anything from he had real calls to make or he needed time to plot how slowly he wanted Azazello to take when he finally carved into Charles. "Keep our friend quiet here, why don't you?"
Shaw swept out of the door and closed the door behind him, leaving Charles to desperately hope that the phone call line and exit hadn't just been some elaborate signal to the henchman to start in with the interrogation methods he seemed ready to employ. Charles was of the opinion that he was tough, but he didn't want to test it with actual torture.
For some strange reason, Charles thought back to the scars he'd seen on Erik's back the first time they'd slept together, how he'd wanted to ask about the one on his shoulder that was obviously a gunshot wound, but he hadn't, not then or any other nights they'd spent in the same bed. It was a strange thing to think about but he didn't want to die without knowing that and more about Erik, including how he would've reacted when he learned the truth about Charles.
How he would react, Charles corrected himself. The last thing he needed to do was start thinking of himself in the past tense.
Fortunately, Azazello didn't seem to be in a hurry to do anything but glare at him, leaving Charles's limbs in perfect working order for the moment. When he tried to twist his wrists again in the cuffs, he noticed the slickness that was obviously his blood from the cuts he'd sustained from his efforts but he didn't feel any pain from it, at least not yet. Again, he figured he could probably blame the shock and adrenaline.
Even with the door closed, Charles could strain his ears and follow the rise and fall of Shaw's voice, and that cadence told him that Shaw was not pleased, the sharp tones of his words carrying easily through the thin wood that separated them. Charles couldn't help but hope he was taking his advice about arranging an escape plan and not focusing his ire on trying to find a way to eliminate the witnesses of his crimes -- witnesses like Charles.
He'd tried to ignore it but Azazello was still watching him rather more interest than Charles thought was necessary given the circumstances. Charles stole a glance or two in the henchman's direction before Azazello finally spoke. "I still want to know what you've told Lehnsherr."
Charles shrugged. "I don't really think it's going to matter, is it? You'll be going down with the Governor regardless."
"I should've known this was going to happen," he cursed, mostly under his breath. "Fucking Lehnsherr."
"You seem awfully focused on Erik," Charles pointed out. "Is there...?"
Azazello turned to glare at him and Charles might've finished his sentence if he didn't suddenly connect the dots that had eluded him since he'd woken up kidnapped. Again, he blamed the concussion he most probably was suffering from for the fact he hadn't instantly recalled a certain detective's name scrawled in the notes he'd taken from Erik. "You're a cop, aren't you?" Charles asked.
Azazello's dark look answered for him, that and the way his long fingers went to his knife, as if he were making a subtle point by drawing Charles's attention to it. Charles was sure his face made it clear that the threat had been communicated most effectively.
"Oh, bloody hell," Charles said, trying to hold on to his last vestiges of hope. There was nothing reassuring about knowing that Erik had been correct to suspect corruption and collusion amidst his fellow police officers; it was just a pointed reminder of how dire the situation was and how out of depth Charles knew himself to be.
He'd done everything he usually did to keep himself safe when he was working on a hot case but, in the end, it hadn't mattered, now when the culprit was able to spirit him away from a police station and most likely cover his tracks. Charles wasn't even sure how much time had passed since his abduction or if anyone other than Moira had started to miss him, and Erik didn't even know...
With a sinking heart, Charles truly realized that he might not make it out alive.
**
Even though it had barely taken an hour, it had seemed to take way too long before Moira's list had been properly vetted and he, Darwin, and Frost and anyone else available had used their vaulted police skills to narrow the choices down to the most viable place that Azazello or Shaw might've taken Charles after they'd made off with him.
"By the book," Frost had warned as she'd made good on her promise to let Erik and Darwin be the ones to check it out, her expression transmitting both her hope that Erik would listen and her doubt that he'd bother. If he hadn't been so distracted by everything else going on in his head, he might've at least tried to assure her that, for once, making Shaw pay wasn't the first thing on his agenda.
Charles was.
The drive to the trendy little set of apartments was terse, Darwin silent at his side as they, and a team of uniforms, flashed their lights silently as they sped through traffic. The procession stopped just short of the building where they wouldn't be visible by anyone watching from windows in the suspected apartment and, once everyone was suited up and apprised of their action plan, Erik led the way as he, Darwin and back-up quietly climbed the steps on their way to the sixth floor apartment.
Darwin had barely finished the required announcement of "Police!" before Erik had kicked open the apartment door open, weapon drawn as he rushed inside, eyes scanning for danger as well as any detail that could help them locate Charles. He took two more steps inside, gun still at the ready, clearing the small alcove that spilled into the large living room only to find Sebastian Shaw standing in the middle of it, cell phone in his head, somehow looking both startled and smug.
"Hands where I can see them," Erik snapped, gesturing with his gun.
Shaw just smiled, like he wasn't standing there with three guns pointed at his head. He slowly lifted his arms up, still holding his cell in one hand. "Well, well," he drawled. "Detective Lehnsherr."
"Where's Charles Xavier?" Erik demanded. "Where?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Shaw began, eyes darting down the hall when he saw Darwin start to move toward it. "And I'm very sure you don't have permission for this search, Detective Muñoz."
Darwin hesitated, glancing in Erik's direction quickly for guidance on how he wanted to handle the situation.
The decision was made, not by Erik, but the loud sounds of a struggle coming from down the hall that Shaw had tried to distract them from.
"Watch him!" he barked at the officers who'd been flanking his back while he nodded for Darwin to rush the hall, Erik at his heels. Darwin took the first door they passed but it was an empty closet, while Erik took the second, which was a small bathroom. That left the second door on the left, and the two detectives didn't waste any time before zeroing in it, the flimsy door offering little resistance as Darwin shouldered it opened.
It only took Erik a split-second to register the details, alarming as they were: Charles was alive, but he was tied to a chair that had been upturned and there was blood coming from somewhere, given the splatter Erik could see on the cream-colored carpet. Charles had somehow worked one foot free of the ropes he'd been restrained with and looked as if he'd managed to plant that foot in Azazello's gut, if the other man's hunched-over position was any indication. Azazello had a long, sharp blade in his hand, nostrils flaring with anger, and he seemed intent on doing some damage with it even with Erik and Darwin both pointing guns in his direction.
"Drop it, Azazello," Erik warned, even though he would've liked nothing better than to pull the trigger. When Azazello didn't quite stop the shift of his weight onto his front foot, Erik took another step toward him. "If you don't, I'll drop you."
For another beat it looked like Azazello might've done something stupid, but then he released his grip on the knife and it fell from his fingers, landing harmlessly on the silken comforter spread over the bed.
"Darwin," Erik said, jerking his head in Azazello's direction. Darwin understood and, after quickly holstering his gun, he moved toward Azazello, padding him down before he pulled his arms behind his back to cuff him. Erik risked a glance toward Charles who was still tied to his over-turned chair, but he couldn't see his face from where he stood. As much as he wanted nothing more than to rush to his side, Erik had to make sure the scene was secure first.
"Malone!" Erik called out to one of the officers he knew was keeping an eye on Shaw, one he knew wouldn't be too intimidated by the forthcoming order.
"Yeah, Lehnsherr?" Malone called back.
"If you don't mind," Erik said, watching with satisfaction as Azazello hissed when the cuffs slid around his wrists. "Could you cuff the Governor and read him his rights?"
There was only the faintest pause. "If you say so!"
Erik's eyes swung back to Darwin who still had a hold of Azazello's arm. His partner must've seen something in Erik's gaze because he nodded, then began to drag the former detective out of the room. "I've got this and Shaw," Darwin promised, before he began to recite Miranda Rights at Azazello as they headed down the hall.
Darwin had barely shoved Azazello out of the room before Erik was holstering his gun. "Charles?" he said, heart hammering in his chest when he didn't get a response. He dropped to his knees at Charles's side, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Charles's alert blue eyes looking back at him above a makeshift gag that looked to have started life as a pillow case.
"Mein Gott," he muttered as he pulled the gag away and Charles coughed, clearing this throat. "Are you all right?"
"I'm much better now that you're here," Charles managed to say, coughing a little more as Erik righted the chair and Charles along with it. Charles's head bobbed with movement, and he blinked a few times before he finally glanced up and caught Erik's worried gaze. "You are quite possibly the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life," he said, with a shaky smile even as he winced. "Although that could be the concussion talking."
Erik snorted in amusement despite the seriousness of the situation. He ran a gentle hand through Charles's hair, letting his fingers linger on his cheek for a few seconds before he dug into his pockets for his cuff key so he could undo the handcuffs that held Charles to the chair.
His mood darkened further when he realized that the blood he'd seen earlier had come from Charles's wrists, a fact he noticed as he knelt first to unlock the cuffs, then to free Charles's still-tied foot from the chair leg. Once all the bindings had been completely removed, Erik didn't resist the impulse to take hold Charles's damaged wrists, inspecting the injury as he ran a careful thumb over the bruised and bloodied skin.
"We should probably get these looked at," Erik said quietly, still holding on. As light of a touch as it was, it was a visceral reminder that Erik hadn't lost him and he was loathed to lose it.
Instead of answering in words, Charles slumped forward until his head was resting against Erik's shoulder. Erik could feel the tremors in Charles's body and his training supplied the reason -- adrenaline, fear, shock. It didn't make it easier to stand, though, not when it was Charles who shook in his arms. Erik released Charles's wrists, only to slide his arms around his waist and carefully pull him to his feet. Charles didn't resist, leaning into Erik's embrace like it was the only thing he had to keep him going. Erik tightened his hold a little when he realized it might've been the truth.
Erik wasn't exactly sure how long he allowed himself to be so completely unprofessional as to ignore his crime scene in order to hold on to Charles like he was afraid to let him go, but the clack of heels on the apartment's polished wood floor told him it was ending far sooner than he would've liked.
"Erik," Emma was saying even before she made it inside, the use of his first name a testament to how distressed she was. "Why aren't you...?" Surprise flashed over her face when she took in the sight they made but her face quickly smoothed into its usual impassive mask. "I see."
Erik eased away from Charles a little. "What are you doing here?" he asked his captain.
She rolled her eyes. "I know how well you and "by the book" actually mix." She glanced toward Charles who was starting to stand under his own power instead of Erik's. "Are you all right, Mr. Xavier?"
"Fine," Charles told her, words belied by the tremor in his voice and the bright ring of bloodied bruises on his wrists. "Certainly better than before the police arrived."
"He thinks he might have a concussion," Erik volunteered, ignoring the admonishing look Charles shot him. "We need a bus."
"Already thought of that," Emma said. "They should be here in less than five minutes." It was Emma's turn to favor Erik with a chiding look. "Not to mention who came with me."
"Where the hell is my son?" Xavier's voice was whip-crack sharp and Erik didn't miss the way the sound of it made Charles's spine straighten a little.
"Dad?" Charles asked incredulously when Xavier appeared a few seconds later, sliding past Emma with a nod and not-so-subtly elbowing his way around Erik to reach his son. "What are you --"
Charles didn't have a chance to finish before his father grabbed him by his shoulders, shaking him a little. "You reckless, arrogant little bastard, I swear on your mother's grave, if you ever do this to me again, I'll kill you myself, do you hear me?"
Of all the ways he could've reacted, Erik wasn't expecting Charles to manage a real, delighted smile despite the situation and to sling an arm around his father much like he'd once seen Raven embrace Charles. "Thanks, Dad," Charles murmured.
It didn't take long before Xavier relaxed and returned it with a quick squeeze. "Arrogant little brat," Xavier said under his breath, though the affection in the words were unmistakable. "Pain in my arse since the day you were born."
"I know," Charles said, still grinning at his father, before he glanced over at the officers. "I just...how did you find me?"
"Moira," Xavier said immediately. When Emma glared at him, he added grudgingly, "And Lehnsherr and his partner, too. But Moira's the one who realized you'd gone missing, and she came to me with it."
"I'm glad you used that card," Charles told his father, with a fond look in Erik's direction.
"I didn't expect I'd have to explain who you were to him," Xavier said with a paternal frown that made Charles duck his head. "I'm very eager to find out what you did that made him think you were an escort, Charles."
Charles laughed a little, but none of them missed the way he winced afterward, or the furrow of pain in his brow that didn't quite smooth out. Erik shot Emma a look and she mouthed, any minute now on the ETA of the ambulance. "It really was a misunderstanding," Charles told his father, unconsciously echoing Erik's own words on the matter. "I was trying to get an interview with a street worker and, ah, Detective Lehnsherr got the wrong idea."
Erik couldn't help but defend himself. "That thing you were doing with your finger and that ring? I could've cited you for lewd acts then and there."
Charles's expression flitted to something very fond for a moment, despite the pain lines around his eyes. Then Xavier snorted. "So that's what happened to your wedding band, is it?"
Erik, already having been on a roller coaster of revelation for the day, tried not to let it all flash across his face as he stared at Charles and asked, "You're married?"
Charles looked so pained and guilty that Erik could already feel the confirmation like a stone in his stomach, but then Charles reached out, sliding his fingers across the back of the hand Erik had clenched into a fist without realizing. "No," he said, big blue eyes begging Erik for something. "Not for a very long time."
Emma cocked her head to listen as there was a sudden influx of sound from the apartment's living room. "EMTs," she explained to the men, looking almost sincere as she said, "I'm glad you're safe, Mr. Xavier." Then her face hardened as she glanced behind her and saw the EMTs waiting for their chance to enter. "Come on, Lehnsherr," she said.
With one last glance at Charles as the EMTs swarmed him, Erik followed Emma back into the living room where Azazello and Shaw waited in cuffs, flanked by Darwin and Malone. Shaw's eyes turned steely when Emma stopped before him.
"You and your detectives have made a very grave mistake, my dear," he told.
Emma's voice was icy. "No, Sebastian. This wasn't the mistake." She sighed, then pointed at Malone and another officer. "Take them down to a black-and-white. We need to get them back to the station."
Malone still looked a little shell-shocked that he'd arrested the Governor, but he nodded and led the man away, his partner towing Azazello behind him.
"This isn't your fault, Frost," Erik offered, despite the grudge he'd held only hours before. But with Charles safe and Shaw in handcuffs, he found it easier to be magnanimous.
"No," she said. "But I didn't help matters and there will be consequences for it. But that's not important now." She almost managed to smile. "You did good work, Detective. You and Muñoz."
"Thanks, Captain," Darwin said.
She nodded. "Someone still has to book the Governor, Erik," she said as she headed toward the door. "I figured you'd like the honor."
Erik watched her leave as Darwin came to stand beside them. They both watched as the EMTs came out of the bedroom with Charles on a stretcher and Xavier hovering menacingly in their wake. "What's with the stretcher?" Erik asked and only Xavier stopped to answer.
"He most definitely has a concussion," Xavier explained. "It's a precaution but they're taking him in for observation. So if you..." Xavier stopped, shook his head. "Nevermind. Nice to meet you, Detective, let's never do it again."
As the officers stood there, watching as the apartment emptied of activity, Darwin's phone beeped. Erik watched as he frowned, reached for his phone and then cursed under his breath when he read the text message he'd received.
"What?" asked Erik.
Darwin winced. "I forgot to call Alex," he explained. "And I was already in the dog house over that little scene this morning. Not that it was my fault I thought my boyfriend was chummy with a hooker instead of a reporter." He mock-glared at Erik. "Anything I can do to stop you from sabotaging my relationship at every turn?"
"Nope," he said, grinning a little.
"You be that way," Darwin said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "I'll just remember to return the favor when I get the chance."
It reminded Erik that, for all they'd accomplished, there was still a lot he needed to figure out.
"Let's hope you get it."
**
End of Part 12