Better Outrun My Gun 73
Okay, I just tried to post this to the kink meme like TWENTY TIMES and it won't let me....so here's the long-awaited update, and hopefully people will still come across it? *hopes*
Erik recovers slowly, but steadily. His hand and shoulder are stiff and uncomfortable. The doctor's informed him that while he will regain use of his hand, it's unlikely that he'll ever be quite as good a shot as he was before. He doesn't know if it's relief or regret that passes through him. It's almost as though it doesn't matter now. Shaw's dead. What use is his gun hand now? He's done what he always intended to and yet, here he is. Still alive. What purpose is there to his life now? He's adrift and uncertain for the first time in so many years.
Charles sits next to him, and reads, until Erik can no longer bear the sound of his voice, and pulls him close to kiss him into silence. When Charles is in his arms, he can pretend that whatever happens after he's recuperated doesn't matter. Only this, Charles, warm against him, matters.
It doesn't change the fact that he doesn't deserve Charles. He didn't deserve him when he was a killer; he certainly doesn't deserve him now that he's a useless, former shell of himself.
Erik knows he needs to leave as soon as he's capable.
He doesn't want to.
Emma comes to the saloon one evening before sunset. She stands there in the middle of the room, eyes on Erik who steadies himself at the bar, while the others listen to what she has to say. She's selling the ranch and going back east.
“There's nothing for me here...there hasn't been in a long time.” She sounds resigned.
“I think that's a wise decision.” Erik bears Emma no ill will. He cannot fault her for her choices any more then he can blame Charles for making him want to stay here in this town.
Emma turns to Moira hesitantly. “I wanted to give you this.” She holds out a folded slip of paper. “You deserve it...after everything. I know it doesn't make up for everything he did, but...”
Moira looks at it. It's a check for ten thousand dollars. Her pride would like to refuse it, but there's Charles and Raven and the girls to think about it. So she takes it and thanks Emma.
Emma Frost leaves on the next stagecoach out of town. Erik's the only one to see her off.
“You should stick around.” She tells him.
Erik shakes his head. “I don't belong here.”
“None of us belong here,” Emma tells him dryly. “It's the person you belong with.” Her hand touches his arm for the briefest moment. “You've got family here, Erik. Don't be so quick to throw that away.”
He watches until the stagecoach is gone and the dust has settled, before he turns to head back to the saloon to pack his bags.
Charles finds him in his room packing. He stands in the doorway, watching silently until Erik finally turns and faces him.
“It's time I was on my way.”
Charles has gone over this moment a thousand times in his head. He's come up with argument after argument why Erik should stay. But in the end it comes down to whether Erik wants to stay, and Charles can't make him want that. He won't force Erik to say here with him purely out of guilt. So he says nothing.
Erik looks around the room and picks up his hat from the bed along with his saddlebag.
“Are you going to say goodbye to the others?” Charles asks at last.
“No.” Erik puts his hat on, pulling the brim down. “I only promised I'd say goodbye to you, Charles. And I am.”
Charles nods silently.
He follows Erik down the stairs and out the back to where his horse is tied.
“Where will you go?”
“I don't know yet.” Erik fastens his saddle bag and looks at him. “You should go back east, Charles. This is no place for you.”
“Is that right?” Charles leans on the hitching post, just looking at him.
“Yes, that's right.” Erik leans in, wrapping his hand around Charles's neck as he kisses him deeply one last time. When he pulls back, Charles looks like he's about to ask him to stay. Erik can see it in his eyes so he turns away away quickly.
“You should go to school back east. It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?” He swings up into the saddle.
“And how do you know what I've always wanted?” Charles asks.
“Just a hunch.” Erik grips his reins. There's a lump welling up in his throat, and this is it... he can't go back. So he nods wordlessly to Charles and wheels his horse around, heading out.
Charles stands there on the porch, watching him until Erik's faded into the horizon. And then even then he doesn't want to go inside.
The saloon feels empty. He stocks the shelves, wipes down the bar and just listens to the silence.
“Charles?” Moira comes in the door. “We need to be opening up. Charles?”
“I heard you.” He doesn't mean to snap. All the anger that's welling up at Erik for leaving is coming out now, and he presses his hands flat against the bar until his knuckles are white.
“Charles?” Moira looks at him with concern.
“He's gone.” Charles whispers. “He's gone.”
Erik recovers slowly, but steadily. His hand and shoulder are stiff and uncomfortable. The doctor's informed him that while he will regain use of his hand, it's unlikely that he'll ever be quite as good a shot as he was before. He doesn't know if it's relief or regret that passes through him. It's almost as though it doesn't matter now. Shaw's dead. What use is his gun hand now? He's done what he always intended to and yet, here he is. Still alive. What purpose is there to his life now? He's adrift and uncertain for the first time in so many years.
Charles sits next to him, and reads, until Erik can no longer bear the sound of his voice, and pulls him close to kiss him into silence. When Charles is in his arms, he can pretend that whatever happens after he's recuperated doesn't matter. Only this, Charles, warm against him, matters.
It doesn't change the fact that he doesn't deserve Charles. He didn't deserve him when he was a killer; he certainly doesn't deserve him now that he's a useless, former shell of himself.
Erik knows he needs to leave as soon as he's capable.
He doesn't want to.
Emma comes to the saloon one evening before sunset. She stands there in the middle of the room, eyes on Erik who steadies himself at the bar, while the others listen to what she has to say. She's selling the ranch and going back east.
“There's nothing for me here...there hasn't been in a long time.” She sounds resigned.
“I think that's a wise decision.” Erik bears Emma no ill will. He cannot fault her for her choices any more then he can blame Charles for making him want to stay here in this town.
Emma turns to Moira hesitantly. “I wanted to give you this.” She holds out a folded slip of paper. “You deserve it...after everything. I know it doesn't make up for everything he did, but...”
Moira looks at it. It's a check for ten thousand dollars. Her pride would like to refuse it, but there's Charles and Raven and the girls to think about it. So she takes it and thanks Emma.
Emma Frost leaves on the next stagecoach out of town. Erik's the only one to see her off.
“You should stick around.” She tells him.
Erik shakes his head. “I don't belong here.”
“None of us belong here,” Emma tells him dryly. “It's the person you belong with.” Her hand touches his arm for the briefest moment. “You've got family here, Erik. Don't be so quick to throw that away.”
He watches until the stagecoach is gone and the dust has settled, before he turns to head back to the saloon to pack his bags.
Charles finds him in his room packing. He stands in the doorway, watching silently until Erik finally turns and faces him.
“It's time I was on my way.”
Charles has gone over this moment a thousand times in his head. He's come up with argument after argument why Erik should stay. But in the end it comes down to whether Erik wants to stay, and Charles can't make him want that. He won't force Erik to say here with him purely out of guilt. So he says nothing.
Erik looks around the room and picks up his hat from the bed along with his saddlebag.
“Are you going to say goodbye to the others?” Charles asks at last.
“No.” Erik puts his hat on, pulling the brim down. “I only promised I'd say goodbye to you, Charles. And I am.”
Charles nods silently.
He follows Erik down the stairs and out the back to where his horse is tied.
“Where will you go?”
“I don't know yet.” Erik fastens his saddle bag and looks at him. “You should go back east, Charles. This is no place for you.”
“Is that right?” Charles leans on the hitching post, just looking at him.
“Yes, that's right.” Erik leans in, wrapping his hand around Charles's neck as he kisses him deeply one last time. When he pulls back, Charles looks like he's about to ask him to stay. Erik can see it in his eyes so he turns away away quickly.
“You should go to school back east. It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?” He swings up into the saddle.
“And how do you know what I've always wanted?” Charles asks.
“Just a hunch.” Erik grips his reins. There's a lump welling up in his throat, and this is it... he can't go back. So he nods wordlessly to Charles and wheels his horse around, heading out.
Charles stands there on the porch, watching him until Erik's faded into the horizon. And then even then he doesn't want to go inside.
The saloon feels empty. He stocks the shelves, wipes down the bar and just listens to the silence.
“Charles?” Moira comes in the door. “We need to be opening up. Charles?”
“I heard you.” He doesn't mean to snap. All the anger that's welling up at Erik for leaving is coming out now, and he presses his hands flat against the bar until his knuckles are white.
“Charles?” Moira looks at him with concern.
“He's gone.” Charles whispers. “He's gone.”