fic; "A book of promises written in braille", X-Men First Class; Charles/Erik, NC-17
Title: A book of promises written in braille
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5000
Genre: post movie
Copyright: Title from Ani DiFranco's "Heartbreak Even".
Summary: This is Charles Xavier, losing his mind: One memory at a time.
just break me to small parts
let go in small doses
regina spektor
--
You already died once today. The thoughts of doctors and paramedics run through your mind like electricity, making your skin tingle. They push you through endless corridors, a constant flashing of white neon lights on the ceiling. This, you imagine, is how it feels: Blinding lights, the distant rumble of voices, your body a coffin for your mind.
--
Erik sits in the room he uses for work, pouring over the papers scattered on the tabletop, when Emma walks in without knocking, heels clicking impatiently on the floor.
"It's Xavier.", she says, and the name is like a gunshot, making his ears ring. Erik has to force himself not to flinch. When he looks up at her, his face is carefully blank. She is rubbing her temple as if to ward off a headache.
"I..." Her gaze is unfocused, and then she blinks, one, two, three times in rapid succession, like she's seeing something that shouldn't be there. Erik opens his mouth to ask her about it, but apparently the moment has passed, and when she looks at him, he can see the same bored indifference she's been showing ever since they arrived at their hiding spot.
"I think Xavier is trying to contact me.", she says. She runs her hand over the papers on his desk, long, red fingernails like razorblades. He catches her wrist, stopping her movement without thinking. She bares her teeth, but her hand in his stays perfectly still. Whatever game it is they're playing, he is not sure either of them knows the rules.
"At first I thought he was trying to find our current location.", she says, and Erik doesn't bother saying: If he wants to know where we are, he probably already does.
Emma raises an eyebrow. "But then I realized that his efforts were... unfocused. Sluggish."
Erik releases her wrist. "What is that supposed to mean?", he asks.
She doesn't answer right away, and just when he thinks she is going to make him ask again, she says: "I think it's not me he's looking for." The tiny golden pocketwatch on the desk picks up speed, ticking away just a little too fast before it falls back into its rhythm, the spring coil winding itself in its tiny metal body.
It's been two days, and Erik has been busy shoving every little reminder of Charles Xavier out of his mind. Someone like him doesn't survive without a map of roads he can never go down again if he wants to maintain his sanity.
"He seems to have recovered quickly, then.", Erik says, pointedly looking down at his papers again.
Emma doesn't hesitate this time. "That is the point. He hasn't. I managed to pick up impressions of his own feelings: Confusion, disorientation." A beat of silence. "Pain."
Erik's hand balls into a fist under the table.
"His skills are not remotely close to the level they used to be. His mental barriers are weak. You seem to have wounded him more severely than we thought."
Erik thinks about Charles' voice in his head - It's all right, I'll guide you, just let me-, he thinks about the potential of Cerebro, of that time he woke up with his heart pounding wildly in his ribcage when Charles had projected a nightmare from four rooms away.
"I'm not sure what you expect to discover in his mind that he used to hide from me.", Erik says brusquely.
"But we can't have a telepath with his knowledge reaching around without restrictions.", he adds. "He might compromise our plans."
Emma shrugs. "Whatever you want, Erik."
It's only after she closes the door behind her that Erik realizes that the pocketwatch is silent, tiny metal wheels suspended in place, motionless like a corpse.
---
The air is hot and dense on your face as you push the door open, inside, the smoke curls at the ceiling. You look around the bar, allow your eyes to linger on a redhead in a skirt printed with flowery ornaments who sits alone in a booth by the window. You order a beer and slide on one of the barstools. You browse thoughts, occasionally zooming in to listen closer.
Raven must be sitting at home right now, frowning at her textbooks. It's been a while since you went out without her. When you turn around, there's a face right next to you: Long lashes, a cute little nose, lips dark with lipstick.
"You look lonely, so I thought...", she trails off, one hand coming down to rest on your thigh. She's bold, you think, more agressive than many of the females you meet on campus. You wonder if she bears a secret like you do, but shifting through her thoughts shows you nothing but an image of yourself, unbuttoning her blouse in a bedroom you don't know.
"Charles, sorry I'm late." You turn around just in time to see Erik sit down next to you, face red from the cold. He takes off his scarf and gloves just as the redhead pulls her hand back, retreating into the crowd, and you suddenly realize that no, this...- This is Oxford, this is way before you met him. You feel dizzy, hands gripping the sticky tabletop to steady yourself. "Are you alright, my friend?", Erik asks. He looks a lot younger. Much younger, you now realize, than you've ever seen him. This is not what happens, you think, before you are enveloped in nothing but darkness.
--
Moira is keeping watch in Charles' room at the ICU, and when they arrive - Emma in a low-cut dress and ridiculously high heels, Raven eerily silent -, she spots them through the window in the door and jumps to her feet, hands gripping her tiny black purse like an anchor.
Like a good little wife, Emma says in his head. Get out., he growls back, and she laughs - a weird, unhappy sound that makes his teeth ache. Raven is first to push through the door, steering clear of Moira and stopping short in front of the bed. Erik, wo has been fighting to just get through the door feels the low-level terror that is gripping him around doctors and surgical instruments ampilfy to something that would make a weaker man gasp for air.
The man in front of him is connected to an array of machines, each of them blinking and humming, living, breathing metal and plastic that he can feel under his skin. Charles is so pale he seems translucent, only his forehead is red with what Erik supposes is a feverish flush, his eyes are closed, his hair curling against his temples, dark with sweat. Erik feels anger swell up inside him like thunder, but he just clasps his hands behind his back and takes a step into the room.
"You. You really have the audacity to-" Moira taks a deep breath as if to steady herself. Erik wonders if she finds it difficult to breathe in his presence. He doesn't blame her for being angry. If she wants to tell him that it's his fault though, there is so reason to bother: Erik knows perfectly well that she wishes he couldn't have deflected the bullets. It's a yearning he's not unfamiliar with.
"Why is he unconscious?", he asks, while all he really wants to do is shatter something into a million pieces.
Moira's gaze wanders to Emma, who is standing closer to the bed now. Erik wonders what she can hear in her head. "Not with her in the room.", Moira says. Erik doesn't tell her that if she doesn't trust her, there's probably no reason to trust him, either. He flicks his hand, and Emma leaves without a word.
Raven has pulled up a chair, her hands clasped around Charles' pale fingers. There's a plastic tube in his mouth, a machine orchestrating the rise and fall of his chest.
"They did surgery on his spine.", Moira says. Her face looks grey, tired, like she hasn't slept in days. "Apparently he lost blood on the way to the hospital, they... They said he got worse during the procedure, and he didn't wake up afterwards."
Raven's back is shaking. Erik is not surprised that she can cry without making a sound.
"It's some kind of... shock, they assume."
"A coma?", Erik asks. His mouth is dry, and he finds it difficult to form the words.
Moira presses her lips together, like she's about to say something she doesn't mean to.
"The doctors said they can't find a reason why he's still unconscious. They've been trying different medications, but-" She runs her hands over her bare arms even though the temperature in the room is perfectly reasonable. "They said it seems like he doesn't want to wake up.", she finally says.
Behind them, Raven pushes her chair back. She flees the room without a single word. Erik silently wonders if she's running from Charles' presence or his own.
---
You jump, your body hitting the water before your brain has caught up. The man is still concentrated, arms outstretched like he wants to pull the submarine back by the force of his will, and you sense it: The metal straining up to meet him, the push and pull of the untertow, a roaring and screaming in his mind.You push yourself closer, swallowing water, lungs burning from the exertion. Erik doesn't let go. You scream, arms paddling uselessly against the water around you, and in your mind you can hear his voice: 'It's alright, Charles, don't fight it.' Suddenly your legs freeze in motion, heavy like sandbags dragging you down. You wonder if you ever get used to dying.
---
The moonlight shining through the window hits the machines at an odd angle, painting a pattern of lines on the floor. Like a cage, Erik thinks, swallowing the rest of his cold coffee. There has been no change in Charles' condition. Sometimes, dimly, he feels the ghost of a thought touch the borders of his mind. Maybe he's imagining things.
Erik straightens his spine, he aches all over from sitting in the hospital chair all day. He holds the medical report in his hands, absently flipping through the pages. When he closes his eyes, he can still sees the face of Charles' doctor, a young woman with curly hair and freckles on her nose.
"It is a severe injury.", she said, when he asked her about his state.
"Surgery is always stressful, but the human body is able to withstand a great deal more than we usually assume. You'd be surprised."
She gave him a careful smile, one of her hands resting on his arm. Instinctively, he wanted to pull away, but she removed her hand before he could.
"The long-term repercussions will be another story altogether, though."
Suddenly, all the air drained out of his lungs. "What type of repercussions?", he asked, his voice weak, too weak on the words.
She looked at him, blue eyes suddenly soft and so familiar to Charles' that he could barely stand it.
"Nobody told you?", she had asked.
---
You put the helmet down on your head, and suddenly the world around you shifts and changes, incredible power unleashed from within your mind. All of these others, out there, and your mind is connected to all of them. It is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and you want to turn to Erik, to share this moment with him, but when you turn around, there is barbed wire climbing up your legs, you are inside a glass cage with a tiled floor, holding a coin in your hands, and it's not your memory, but the pain is all the same, pain and grief and shame and blinding, blinding rage, and you reach out and break everything you can reach.
---
"Some of the patients are sleepwalking.", Emma says, stirring sugar into her coffee in the remarkably ugly hospital cafeteria.
Erik stares out of the window. There is rain pounding against the windows like it's the end of the world.
"The doctors say he's getting better.", he replies. There's a piece of chocolate cake in front of him that he hasn't touched. He ordered it and only later remembered that it is Charles who likes sweets, not him. The fact that he wasn't able to tell the difference scares him more than anything should.
Emma takes a sip of coffee. "Better in this case means 'not dying anymore'.", she says. She looks like an exotic bird between the old plastic chairs and the shabby grey floor.
"They have no idea about his abilities. He is a powerful telepath, and having his mind affected in any way is dangerous, no matter how much self-restraint he usually possesses."
Erik raises an eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you are scared of him."
Emma looks up from her cup. Her make-up and hair are flawless as usual, but there is something about her that seems off.
"I am, Erik. I'm not stupid enough to think I could stop Xavier if he snaps and starts killing people with his mind." She leans in a little, probably because a couple on the far end of the cafeteria has been watching them for a while. "That little shapeshifting girl has been having rather vivid dreams lately. I'm pretty sure he could make her do anything he wants to without really trying."
"Charles would never hurt anybody on purpose, neither mutant nor human."
"All I'm saying is that if I were you, I'd be a little more worried about a powerful mutant having unlimited access to my brain." She smiles, a predator ready to attack. "Especially since you are the reason he's in this hospital bed to begin with."
With that, she gets up and leaves.
In his pocket, the little golden watch is ticking quietly away.
--
You walk the hallways like a ghost. This is where your parents live, no, your mother, no, you, yourself; this is place of your childhood and your future. Your naked feet on the worn wood make no sound: You know where to step to avoid being detected. There is the library, your safe place. There's a fire burning, a chess piece sits on the coffee table. You're not a child and yet you are. Suddenly, there's a hand on your shoulder. You turn, and it is your mother, sad, disppointed, swirling a glass of wine in hand. She shudders, her form shrinks and turns into Raven, dear Raven with her blonde hair and sad eyes, and you want to reach out to her, tell her that you're sorry, when she shivers and transforms, broad shoulders and capable hands and eyes that have seen too much suffering for one soul to keep inside them. It's Erik, it always is.
---
"Are you letting me win?"
Erik turns around. He puts the bottle down and takes the refilled tumbler in his hand, moving it around. The light catches in the glass, reflecting in the ice cubes. Most of the things in the mansion are of the same classical, expensive beauty. Eric takes a sip, slowly, stalling for time. His heart isn't in the game, and Charles' face gives nothing away. Still, his voice lacks the note of bitterness that Erik expected.
"Manipulating a game when a telepath is involved seems like a fruitless effort.", he explains, letting himself sink back into his chair. It's the only one left in the study - Charles is sitting in his wheelchair, unusually stiff and upright. Erik still sees him lounging on the sofa, sitting cross-legged on the floor in an ocean of papers and books. It's a mental image like a phantom limb; it hurts.
"I am not reading your mind, Erik." Charles' smile is too sharp to be reassuring.
His hand hovers in the air for a second before he makes his move. Erik wants to say "I couldn't tell if you did, so I'll have to take your word for it" or "You never thought I'd go easy on you before" or-
"And I'm sure you understand that the last thing I expect from you is pity."
The word is like a slap in the face, and Erik is at his feet and moving towards Charles before he knows what he's doing. He pushes the coffee table aside so he can stand right in front of him, hands coming down to grip the armrests on either side. Charles doesn't recoil, he has never been one to back away from him, blue eyes watching his every move.
"You have my permission.", Erik growls, a low, feral sound. Charles eyes widen imperceptibly. If you suggest going back to the game, Erik thinks, I swear I'm tearing this place down to the ground.
"I wouldn't dream of suggesting a game now.", Charles says, and Erik is torn between wanting to push him back for being an intrusive bastard flipping through his mind like a novel and pulling him closer for more contact.
Charles' tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Erik realizes that his control must still be fragile, a broken piece of porcelain held together by glue. "You want to read my mind? How about this, then.", Erik mumbles, one hand gripping Charles' wrist and pressing his fingers against Erik's temple, projecting as hard as he can what he can't say out loud, and it only takes a second before -
Charles mouth forms a surprised "Oh", his eyes wide and surprised. Without a warning he janks Erik down by the collar and presses their lips together.
The feeling is electrifying, Erik is not sure whether he feels his own arousal or Charles'. He lets go of Charles' hand and brings his own palms up to cup Charles' face, his throat. Charles is tangling his hands in his hair, as if trying to come closer still. Erik feels like all of the tension in his body has coiled itself in the pit of his stomach, he breaks the kiss to move down and lick a line along Charles' throat, his pulse point, the line of his jaw. I've wanted this so much., he hears in his head, and god, if he gets any more turned on he's going to embarass himself right there in his pants.
Erik pulls back. Charles looks incredible, mouth red and swollen, eyes glassy and unfocused, hair in disarray. "Erik.", he says, and it's almost a plea.
It's okay. I want all of it, Erik. Don't be afraid.
He wishes they could take this up to the bedroom to make it more comfortable for Charles, but he doesn't get a chance to say so because Charles is right there in his space again, pulling at his sweater, mouth hot and wet on the exposed skin above his collar.
Erik manages to get out of the sweater, then leans forward to unbutton Charles' shirt, tongue exploring every inch of skin that he uncovers.
He is so hard it's almost painful, and when he looks down, he can see Charles' erection straining against the front of his pants.
"Can you...?", he starts, before cutting himself off in horror, but Charles only laughs, gentle, understanding, wonderful Charles who has forgiven him even the biggest sins. He pulls him closer, hands warm and sure on his neck.
"Just because I don't feel it anymore it doesn't mean that the mechanics stopped working.", he says.
"You're such a romantic.", Erik quips, and gets rewarded with another enthusiastic, sloppy kiss. The angle is weird, his back hurts and at one point he must have hit his knee on the damn wheelchair, but none of it matters. Erik leans down to stroke Charles through his pants, mouthing his nipples and running his tongue over his chest, and Charles throws his head back, making those soft, desperate noises that drive Erik insane.
It doesn't take long for both of them; Charles bites his lip so hard he must be drawing blood, a strangled moan escaping his mouth. He doesn't waste any time afterwards before shoving his hand down Erik's pants and jerking him off fast and rough, and Erik feels his knees give away as the orgasm rushes through him.
They stay like that for a moment, Erik sitting awkwardly next to the chair, both trying to catch their breath.
"I... this..." Charles makes a gesture with his hand, he's beaming, and Erik is not sure he's ever seen him so happy.
"Why haven't we done this before?" Erik asks. Charles' hand comes down, stroking his hair. The gesture is weirdly intimate, and Erik has to remind himself how to breathe.
"We are both fools, apparently.", Charles says.
"I have a terrible craving for pancakes now.", he offers, then, and Erik feels laughter bubbling up in his chest. He manages to get up to his feet, collecting his clothes.
"I think I can manage pancakes.", Erik says after he put on his sweater. Charles, who is currently busy buttoning his cuffs, gives him an easy smile.
"We should ask Raven if she would like some, as well."
Erik feels something cold settle in his stomach.
"Raven?", he asks. Charles looks up from his hands. His expression is open, unguarded.
"Yes", he says, "I'm sure she is up in her room, she's probably -"
"Raven doesn't live here anymore.", Erik says. He can feel the euphoria draining out of his body with every word.
"Sure she is, Erik, she's been living here with me since we were children." There is something else in his smile now, a desperate edge to it. "You must be a little confused, Erik. Maybe you need rest more badly than I do.", he adds, the cheerful tone not matching his worried eyes.
"Charles, how did you get out of the hospital?", Erik asks, suddenly too aware of everything: The sound of the ice cubes melting in the glass, the hot air between them, the glittering dust rising up in front of the window.
"You picked me up. The doctors released me and you and Raven picked me up and drove me to the mansion."
"I don't remember.", Erik mubles, suddenly feeling like the ground is rising up to meet him, "I don't remember how we got here at all."
Charles looks up at him with his saddest smile.
"That's because it's been such a long road we've travelled together, my friend.", he says, and then all around him the walls are shaking, cracks appearing everywhere, books tumbling down from the shelves.
Erik's body jumps on his own accord but there is nowhere else to run, all he can do is stand and watch while the room shakes apart around them.
He blinks, eyes falling shut for a split-second, and he is- he is-
His hands are clenched around the handles of the hospital chair. Across from the room, Emma is kneeling on the floor, breathing hard, fingertips pressing against her temples. When she pushes herself up from the ground, her legs are shaking with exhaustion.
"What did just happen?", Erik asks. His voice sounds small and far away to him.
"You were trapped in an illusion." She looks visibly shaken. Erik remembers that she told him how she wasn't sure she could stop Charles if he tried to use his powers.
"When I came in, you were asleep, and I couln't wake you. I didn't get mental access to either of you, and believe me, I've tried." For a moment, she looks around the room like she hasn't seen it in a long time. "I was only able to end the illusion when you realized that it wasn't real.", she adds.
Erik stares at the bed, at Charles' pale, fragile body.
"Do you think he knows that he was doing it?", Erik asks.
"He seems to be too much of a good guy to trap somebody in an illusion.", she allows, and then: "I guess you've just gotten a first-hand look at his subconscious." She leans back in the chair, the suggestive grin switching right into place.
"I didn't get a look at it, so I wonder: Did you like it?"
Erik gets up without another word. With his fingers almost touching the door, he can hear a soft coughing sound behind him, and then Emma: "Erik, I think he's waking up!"
Erik walks away for the second time.
--
They drive back with Erik's car, while Emma prefers traveling back on her own. It's a silent, uncomfortable ride.
Raven stares moodily out of the window, constantly changing stations on the radio until Erik flicks it off with his mind. He knows that she went to the hospital after Charles woke up, but he is not interested in knowing the details. She still wants to come with him, and nothing else matters.
"Moira said that his telepathy got out of control while he was unconscious. That he was... getting into people's minds, talking to them. Letting them see things."
Raven wets her lips, a nervous gesture. She stares at him like she can find the answers in the lines on his face.
"Charles said to me that sometimes it's not enough to love somebody."
Erik's hands tighten on the steering wheel.
"I'm not really sure why he said it. It seemed kind of important to him, though, even though I don't know what it means. So maybe- I thought, maybe he wasn't saying it to me, you know?"
Erik doesn't answer. The sun is high and bright, the car smelling of leather and warm plastic and the end of summer.
Raven has pushed her jacket against the window to support her head, her eyes are closed against the sun. When she speaks, her voice is already thick with sleep.
"Do you think there was something he wanted you to know?"
The road in front of them is empty, a vast expanse stretching into the horizon. He can feel the movements of the engine, every little piece of it running, turning, moving in a perfectly orchestrated rhythm.
"I've known all this time.", he says, when he is sure that she has fallen asleep.
--
It's a relief and a pain to be back at the mansion. Moira drives him up to the front entrance, and there is a weird, uncomfortable moment when he has to get from the seat into the wheelchair.
The boys are standing in line, waiting for him.
Charles smiles and follows them inside, listens to all the things he missed while he was in the hospital. Moira is by his side these days, a careful, worried presence. She has a good heart, he knows, but he will have to modify her memory anyway - he can't take the risk.
When they enter the hall, Charles sees it for the first time: Ramps, railings, little changes to help him navigate a house that is not meant to accomodate a wheelchair.
He instinctively turns to Hank, the first real smile of the day showing on his face.
"I can't believe you managed to do all this in the short time.", he says.
Hank rubs the back his neck with his hand, a gesture Charles recognizes as embarassment.
"Well, I... I haven't, actually."
Charles feels something familiar move in his chest, like a trapped animal fluttering in his ribcage.
"I see.", he says. All of the ramps are made of metal, polished and flawless - an excellent piece of work.
Later, when he wheels the chair into the study for the first time, he finds something on the coffeetable where the chess piece used to sit. He doesn't resognize it at first - it's a pocketwatch, a small, delicate thing with a golden chain attached. It fits into his palm, a tiny machine, every little piece of it running, turning.
Something stirs in his memory like a wave breaking the surface of a quiet lake.
Charles closes his eyes, probing the dark spot in his mind that the last days have left behind.
"It's a shame that we don't remember our dreams.", he says into the silence of the study, his eyes fluttering open again. There's noise from downstairs, and so many things to do.
If it was a good memory, maybe it will come back to him later.
-- fin