Work Text:
First
“What’s all this?”
The four youngsters jumped as one and turned toward Erik, faces split between worry and guilt. Erik rolled his eyes, trying to soften his expression and hide his annoyance. After weeks of living together in the Xavier manor, did they have to still be so nervous in his presence?
Raven was the first one to recover. She was the one he got along with best, and it fueled her with some undue pride she used to reinforce her authority on the group. Not that she needed it to rule these idiots.
“Christmas decorations, duh. Don’t you know what those are?
They were indeed surrounded by dozens of boxes spilling tangled tinsel, colorful bulbs, and various hideous items all over the living room. Their first idea had probably been to do something productive with all this plastic. For now, they seemed busy enough spreading everything out as widely as they could. For the global vision, surely.
Sean, Alex, Darwin, and Hank looked at the girl with great admiration, impressed by her bravery, when they were more or less incapable of holding Erik's gaze for more than a few seconds. Erik held back a derisive sigh. It wasn't that he was excessively interested in their answer – the kids could do as they pleased. The chaos that followed in their wake without fail was Charles' to deal with, not him.
But they were just too easy to bully.
“I’m Jewish.”
He would be forgiven for the satisfaction he got from the various degrees of horror and embarrassment painted on their faces as they gaped dumbly at him. He didn’t have much source of joy and distraction, he had to make do.
Before he could make it even worse, a light brush on his mind informed him that Charles was about to put an end to his fun.
“Ah, I see you’ve found what we needed! Erik, will you join us?”
Of course, the telepath was behind all this. Erik could have bet he was one of those people who covered their houses in blinking lights as soon as December started. The others tried, with no subtlety nor success, to communicate to Charles his blunder.
“I was just explaining that Christmas isn’t really in my culture,” Erik answered with a light smile, knowing full well that Charles would be unfazed by what had made the kids so uncomfortable. Indeed, the man’s smile only widened.
“Well, do you want to observe then? Don't run off just yet.”
Erik scoffed, but Charles’ had that knowing little smile because he knew he had already won. Erik conceded the barest of nods, but it was enough for the kid’s gang still sitting on the floor to let out a collective sigh of relief. Erik had to fight against rolling his eyes again. Charles often mocked him with the threat that they would one day roll around for good, leaving him condemned to stare at the void inside his skull. Sometimes he could act as immature as the young mutant under their care.
Erik knew though, that he certainly wasn’t.
“The tree will be delivered today. You have free rein over the decorations, as long as you put them within reach of everyone here,” he said, with a warning look to Raven and Hank, the two most likely to climb the furniture and handrails.
It was hard to remember that these five young people were not that young. Not a lot younger than Charles and Erik anyway. But it wasn’t the years between them that put in the distance, that made them children in Erik’s yes. Charles liked to tease him for this too.
They had just led very different lives. For Erik, it was fairly straightforward – he simply had no memory of ever enjoying such a carefree mindset, like the one pushing Alex to try and stick some tinsel in Hank's mouth. This childish innocence irked him at times, sometimes enraged him even – it had almost cost Darwin his life when Shaw had come to find them at the CIA hideout. But more often than not, he found he was grateful for it. He wouldn't wish his youth and hardships to anyone.
It was different for Charles. Erik had no idea what his childhood had been like – he couldn’t help but notice that as far as he had seen, the family manor didn’t contain any photographs, any reminders of the lives that were led here. Charles never mentioned his parents or anyone else from his family. Raven was the only one to feature in the spare stories of his youth.
But even if he had lived the happiest and most comfortable life possible, he would still look infinitely older than he was. He would still have this maturity, this weary wisdom most people would probably never reach.
Because Charles, behind his lighthearted academic act, behind his fortune and his charming smiles, his rich boy manners, had touched the mind of every single person he had ever met.
It was quite unfathomable. Charles' powers had manifested early, earlier than all the mutants they had met. As a child, he didn't have much control over his telepathy. On his range, on the depth of soul he could dig through, the secrets he could discover. It was remarkable that he could present such a persona, affable and social, when he had seen so much of the most intimate thoughts of his peers.
Erik had no illusion about humankind, and Charles couldn’t have any left either. It was what made his naïve idealism so infuriating.
Erik settled in one of the deep, plush chairs of the living room, and he opened his book back where he had left it the previous night, which had been his original plan upon entering the room. He was a solitary man and preferred silence to the agitation of a crowd, but it wasn't unpleasant to be tangled in the misfits of this little group, even from afar. They knew not to disturb him when he shared their space in such a way. They ignored him, yet he didn’t feel unwelcome or imposing. He just existed by their side. It was huge already.
Charles claimed the nearby couch, teacup in hand, and set to coordinate the operations, though he didn’t join in. A sturdy fire roared steadily in the vast fireplace. Charles had been vexed by Erik’s doubts over his ability to light it on himself. Erik had to do it in the end.
There was less damage than he expected, and some of them even surprised him by demonstrating some passable sense of esthetics and creativity.
Not unpleasant indeed.
.
“I volunteered to ask you a question.”
Erik raised his eyes from his newspaper to raise a pointed eyebrow at Darwin, standing very straight in the kitchen doorway.
“Or you just drew the shortest straw.”
“Let’s not dwell on the details, it’s the result that counts,” the young man mumbled. He had taken Erik’s answer as encouragement and stepped into the kitchen to sit in front of him. Erik made a point of going back to his reading, making it clear Darwin would have to work for the answers he had been sent to obtain.
Still, he decided not to be too mean. Darwin was the more bearable of the lot.
“Okay, let’s cut to the chase. I need to know what we should get you for Christmas.”
“Nothing.”
He expected the question, and the reply was already set. The hardest part would be to convince Darwin he wouldn’t get anything more.
“Oh come on, please! There has to be something.”
“No thanks.”
“Nothing extravagant, it’s just to mark the occasion.”
“Still a no.”
He had to give it to Darwin, he had great patience. He needed it, to endure Sean's constant babble and Alex and Hank's petty squabbles. Raven wasn’t a direct threat to his peace of mind, but she tended to egg the others on, which wasn’t any better.
“You know, the ones saying they don’t want anything for Christmas condemn themselves to receive a mediocre trinket.”
“You could also respect what I want, which is nothing.”
“As if we could do that.”
Erik let out a long sigh, more dramatic than necessary. Beyond how fun it was to tease the kid, he had to admit he had no idea what to tell him. What did he want? Nothing a bunch of idiot kids could obtain in two weeks’ time.
“I don’t have to give an idea to each of you, right?” he asked, a little worried.
“No, no. It will be one present each.”
“Don’t count on me to take you shopping.”
Darwin raised an eyebrow – or rather both, since one was a skill he had not mastered, ridiculously enough. Erik looked away, a little miffed. It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. He had agreed to take them into town every time Charles had come to him with his disappointed husband act. “It would please the kids so much…”
Erik was possibly very weak to Charles’s requests.
“I don’t know… A book then. Something that wasn’t written by an American.”
Charles’ library left much to be desired. Oh, he had plenty of scientific texts and essays. As for literature… Erik was sure Charles would be stripped of his PhD if the faculty heard about his taste in trashy fiction.
“Ah, I told them there was no need to even ask…”
Erik couldn't help a short laugh. He supposed he could be rather predictable.
"All right, dully noted. Thank you for your cooperation," Darwin said as he sat up, looking pleased with himself. He was leaving Erik in peace at last, yet the man stopped him.
“Tell me, do you know what to get for Charles?”
“I think Hank was tasked with this one. Probably a book too? Some science I guess.”
His pout left no doubt about what he thought of that. Mind made, Erik fetched a pen from his pocket and scribbled a title and author on a piece of newspaper, that he tore off neatly and folded to hand to Darwin.
“Find this for him. Not a paperback. A bound edition, something nice. Don’t worry about the price, I’ll take care of it. Ah… for the others too? I mean, I’ll pitch in. If that’s okay with you.”
For a long, awkward moment of silence, Erik stayed with one arm outstretched toward Darwin, and Darwin stayed arms and mouth hanging like a complete fool. He eventually managed to snatch the paper with a mumble that Erik chose to interpret as some form of thanks and fled the room.
Erik pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered, not for the first time, why people inflicted upon themselves the company of others.
.
The realization only dawned on him on the day in question. Erik didn't know much about Christmas.
He had zero interest in the process and only a vague idea of what it entailed. As a child, they only socialized with other Jewish families and kids, and after, ah, it never even crossed his mind. He would barely take note of the decorations and lights appearing in the streets, the promotions in the shops. And that was only in some of the countries he was in come December.
The elaboration of the menu induced an absurdly longue and tense debate, as each of them had a precise idea of what needed to be served at Christmas, and would veto one ingredient or another. Erik didn't participate, as much for disinterest as for self-preservation instincts.
He was put to good use in the kitchen, as usual. It would even be accurate to say he took care of it all and was the one to put to good use the rest of the household, once it appeared yet again that they were hopeless without him. The only useful one was Moira, because she could tell the difference between a spoon and a ladle, and because she had brought dessert, which meant she actually solved problems instead of creating more.
Most of the dishes they asked for were foreign to him, but when he took hold of the full table, laddered with various plates that filled the room with alluring scents, he figured he didn’t do too bad. Especially seeing that Raven and Sean had insisted on giving a hand anyway. Maybe he could do something of them after all.
“Thank you,” Charles said as he came behind him to survey the room. He put a hand around Erik’s elbow, and absent mark of affection he seemed barely aware of. Much less aware than Erik, who found his thoughts brusquely in disarray. “You didn’t have to do all this.
"I wasn't going to let you order food to whoever. I don't mind. Cooking calms me down."
“I know. It’s very perceptible.”
Erik was past getting offended by Charles’ incursions into his mind. The man would do it without thinking, as natural a reflex as smiling when crossing paths in a corridor. In these moments, he would simply absorb their moods and state of mind. Among them all, Charles was the one whose mutation most shaped his way of life, his every move and thought, and would be the most affected to be stripped of it. It was an integral part of his mind, his very being.
They soon gathered around the table, sharing food and drinks, conversations flying from one end to the other. They had dressed up for the occasion, though each to their own interpretation of the concept. Erik had only conceded to a jacket, while Charles was wearing a whole suit, tie and vest included. The boys had dress shirts in diverging states of ironing and buttoning, and all except Alex had dug up something other than jeans to put on. After seeing Moira in her fitted suit, Raven complained that she would be the only one in a dress, and Sean volunteered his support. Erik didn't think he would get through with it, but he was surprisingly at ease in one of the girl's dresses. Enough that it probably wasn’t the first time.
Erik was a little overwhelmed with all this agitation, and only the warm, comforting weight at the base of his skull – Charles' – helped him to bear it without needing to lock himself in a faraway room. The plentiful food and alcohol helped too, both to calm him and to tranquilize the young mutants. As they got their fill, they went from overexcited to content, to vaguely lethargic.
That was, until Sean jumped from his chair after his third piece of chocolate cake to scream, "Time for presents!"
After a brief yet heated exchange around the moral ethic of opening presents on Christmas Eve instead of the next morning, it was decided that, since it was just after midnight, they were good with whatever authority governed this whole thing. Erik didn’t pay attention to the proceeding, simply registering the shouts of delight and gratitude following each paper ripped and boxes opened.
A badly wrapped parcel was shoved into his hands, and in Charles', sitting next to him on the couch. There was an ominous "oh" when Charles, more nibble or less careful, was the first to extract his present from its paper prison. As soon as Erik had won his own hard-fought battle – what need was there for so much tape with such a small object – he understood why a fight had just broken out between the kids.
He was holding a lovely edition of T.H White’s book, The Once and Future King, the title carved in gold on the thick leather cover. The present wasn't the issue, of course, as it was one of his favorites, and one of Charles' too, a rare flash of good taste on his part. They had often discussed it together.
There laid the problem, as Charles held the very same book in his hand, albeit another, if just as nice, edition. Erik could only guess they both had the same suggestion to the kids in charge of the presents.
“I didn’t know then!” Alex shouted. “It was too late to find something else!”
"And so you didn't say a thing?" Raven shot back. "What do we look like now!"
She had drunk a lot of champagne and seemed very on board with a Christmas fight to conclude the evening.
“There, there, calm down. Personally, I think it’s perfect,” Charles tempered with a disarming smile, projecting in passing some peace to the heated room.
“Same,” Erik added, feeling like he had to weigh in as well, even if he would have been entertained by a drunken brawl. Though counting the empty bottles littering the table, it would be unadvisable.
He was rubbing absently at the leather cover, tracing the dips of the letters with his fingertips. The idea that Charles had given this specific title to the kids, that they had the same idea, this thing they shared in the ocean of their differences, filled him with a heady warmth that had nothing to do with the dying fire. The tension vanished, everyone settling in a corner of the room to enjoy their gift or chatter in a low voice. Charles focused back on Erik, and Erik wanted to say something, to express what this whole evening and these last few minutes stirred in his heart, this priceless, fleeting sense of peace and contentment. He longed to keep it close to him, safe beside the few happy memories that still lived in some secluded corners of his mind.
Charles raised a hand and an eyebrow, silently asking for permission. At Erik’s agreement, the hand came to rest at the nape of his neck. Erik relaxed into the now familiar sensation of his mind opening up to his friend’s, but for the first time, Charles didn’t stop at just them both. He allowed the others’ to touch them as well, and Erik realized they were all sharing a similar state of deep plenitude, the satisfaction of being exactly where they wanted to be at this very moment, settled and content.
“I try to collect them,” Charles said in a low voice, as if not to break the spell. He had gotten closer, their thighs and sides pressed together on the couch. “This kind of moment, where people are aware of how special it is, how much they need to cling to it. When we can clearly say, this moment, this happiness, we’ll have to remember it.”
“And what do you do with those?”
Charles’ thumb was tracing a gentle path on the skin of his neck. Erik melted further into the embrace.
“I store them away for harder times. Proof that it’s possible, and hope to find it again.”
Erik brought up to the surface of his mind the memory of his mother guiding his hands to light the candles of the menorah, whispering about how her own mother had taught her as a child. The one Charles had unearthed from the depth of his soul. He wasn’t fully aware back then, to be living a special moment of intimacy and simple happiness, but something in him had known, as the scene had been preserved despite it all. It had survived the years of suffering that followed, the piling of memories that begged to be forgotten, in vain.
He didn’t think he could feel like this again. All of this, it wasn’t for him. He didn’t have any right to it, and no desire for it either – he had resolved to sacrifice this kind of life for the sake of his own goals.
Yet he couldn’t deny that it existed. That it was within his reach.
It lasted an eternity, or maybe just a few minutes, until someone yawned around their intent of going to bed. It prompted a chain reaction of feet dragging through the corridors to their room, lest they fell asleep right there on the carpet. Moira bid them good night and retired to her own room set up for the occasion. Erik followed Charles up the mansion, unwilling to let go. He followed him to the very door of his bedroom.
“Good night, Erik.”
The night always ended the same way. Charles looked at him and there was a question there in his eyes. Or maybe it gave the answer, waiting for Erik to do the same. The decision was his.
He was resisting because he knew none of it could last. He was desperate to spare them future heartache, but tonight he wanted to make sure Charles would remember, as would he. If Erik could count on one hand this ephemeral awareness of his own contentment, Charles was collecting, and Erik was suddenly revolted that this would just be one among many others. That it could be unremarkable to Charles when it would haunt Erik for years to come.
Maybe Erik was simply tired of fighting. So he stopped.
He took a step, leaned forward. Charles didn’t look surprised, which was infuriating, but he was still vibrating with anticipation.
Erik kissed Charles for the first time on the night of the first Christmas of his life, in the doorway of his bedroom. The relief of a long wait coming to an end clashed with the knowledge that nothing would ever be as simple as this kiss let it seem. It would maybe be followed by many others, or maybe it would be the first and last.
“Good night, Charles.”
(Standing on the rails of a helicopter, suspended above the sea, he thought about his mother, but also all those firsts. And lasts.)
Last
Charles had lied about the house.
It was a tiny cottage washed up on the windy English coast that didn’t see enough sunlight that the blue paint of the shutters and doors could be altered. The nearest village was four kilometers away and housed less than five hundred inhabitants. It wasn’t clear where the house’s ground ended and where started the endless roll of the surrounding hills. No one was going to check.
Charles had a very sharp memory of this place. His mother had once decided they needed to “get some fresh air” in the countryside, and his father had followed along, though they had not lived without domestics in decades. They had rented the cottage for two weeks. After two days, his parents were driving back to town to plan their return home. Charles had stayed alone in the small house.
Charles had known peace for the first time since, two years before, he had been woken up with a start by nightmares that weren’t his own.
There had to be plenty of places on earth remote enough to give his telepathy the respite that was impossible closer to civilization. But there was something about this house, this place. Charles had often thought about it in the years since, when the noise got unbearable and before he had learned to tune it out, to protect himself.
Erik had asked when he had bought the cottage, and Charles had lied. “A few years ago, when I started to prepare Scott for taking over at the school.”
He wondered if Erik knew it wasn’t true. Charles had bought the house the day after the first mutant Christmas at the manor.
It had seemed imperative, the idea slipping into his mind as soon as he had woken up for the first time in Erik’s naked arms. It was a distant hope, a wish he was throwing at the future. Let them know peace, one day.
The house had stayed empty for more than forty years.
“I’m back.”
Charles looked away from the large window, where he was contemplating the angry sea beating relentlessly at the beach. He didn’t do much more with his time, these days.
“What’s this?” he asked with unrestrained amusement when he saw Erik by the door. Erik, and the tree he was trying to wrestle through said door, with little consideration to the poor tree.
“The people at the market wouldn’t let me leave without it”, he explained with a clipped tone. They had few contacts with the outside world. Well, Erik had few. Charles had none. It was still too much for his grumpy old man of a friend. Age had done no favor to his already limited social tolerance.
“Did you tell them you didn’t celebrate Christmas?”
“Yes. They pretended like they didn’t hear. It was easier to go with it. And, well…”
He trailed off, busying himself with the tree.
“What?”
“I figured you would like it.”
At the school, they would celebrate all sorts of holidays, since the students were from every culture and religion. Erik had probably not done anything resembling Christmas in years. Or had he? Charles knew so little of the life he had led.
“I didn’t realize. That winter was close.”
Erik set the tree in a corner of the living room. The narrow space was even more cramped then, even if the tree wasn’t all that big.
“It’s the seventh of December.”
“Ah.”
Charles didn’t dare ask the year. It was getting harder and harder to track the passage of time. His mind would at times expand well beyond his consciousness, and then shrink back around itself like a mirror prison he couldn’t escape from. He would have liked to pretend Erik and he had retired to the isolated cottage by choice, because they had decided the fight could go on without them, that they had earned their peace.
The metal ring circling Erik's skull was a constant reminder that it wasn't exactly the truth.
Charles hated not feeling their mind touch and connect, not being able to take shelter in the other man’s thoughts when he was desperate to escape his own, but they had learned the hard way that it was no longer safe. At least they could use a device that was less cumbersome – and hideous – than the helmet Erik favored in their youth. The ring also had the advantage of varying intensity. Charles couldn’t enter Erik’s head, but he wasn’t cut out entirely either. Sometimes, when the drugs were working properly and he thought he had a good enough grasp on his deteriorating telepathy, Erik took off the ring, if only for a few hours. It was enough.
It was more than enough, when it had been so hard to believe, for so many years, that they would ever make it here.
They had fought for a long time, against the rest of the world and each other, with ideas and violence alike, rallying and losing mutants to their cause, always fighting, for their rights, for their survival.
And they had grown tired.
Charles had always known – hoped – that he would retire eventually, long before his telepathy started to become more of a danger than an asset. Over the years, he had balanced between being sure Erik would join him, would fight until his last breath, or would die before half a century of age.
He didn’t know how much the man aspired to the same peace he did, and how much he considered he had the responsibility to protect the world from the wild powers of Charles Xavier. He didn't want to ask, didn't want to know. Erik took care of everything in their lives at the cottage. He took the trips to town for provisions, he cleaned and repaired the house, he grew their garden. He took care of Charles too, body and mind both uncooperative now. Erik never complained. He didn’t talk much.
“Oh, you decorated the tree?” Charles asked, noticing the scattered golden bulbs and blinking lights tangled in the branches. It was dark, but was it early morning or late at night? Days were short lately.
“Yes. Like that one time in the manor. Do you remember?”
He did. He guarded preciously this trove filled with memories that needed to be saved, secured in a corner of his mind age had yet to erode.
Where were all these people? What happened to them? That, he had trouble remembering.
“Merry Christmas, Charles.”
“Is it today? I have nothing to give you.”
The sun was setting on the grey sea. It was snowing.
"It's all right. I still have the last one."
They were comfortable on the plush couch, in front of the fireplace. Erik held a well-worn, leather-bound book, some pages hanging by a thread. Charles recognized it immediately.
“I can’t believe you still have it.”
“What, did you think I would have thrown it away?”
“No… I don’t know. You were never that attached to your possessions.”
Erik stared at him as he often did, filled with tenderness and exasperation.
“Not to most of them, no.”
“I lost mine.”
“Really?”
“During one of the attacks on the manor. I don’t know which. Part of the library was destroyed. I took a while to notice.”
“I’m sure you could find another one.”
“It wasn’t the same.”
Erik didn’t answer anything, though he must have understood. He never had trouble understanding. He just didn’t want to.
“Would you read for me?”
Erik wrapped a hand around his shoulders and pulled Charles against him. He opened the book with one nimble hand.
“Part One, the Sword in the Stone. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, it was Court Hand…”
It was one of the only ways Charles could still knit back the thread of his memories. These words he knew by heart were in every moment he had ever reread this book, and he could see the place again, and the people around, what came before and after.
He could recall the first time Erik had read it to him, naked in their bed after making love. The first time he read it himself aloud to a group of sleepy kids, when he had first introduced it to students in class. The images came and went, but the sensations were still vivid. Everything overlaid without making much sense, but it was pleasant all the same.
Lulled by Erik's voice and the warmth of his body, by the whispers of distant memories floating in his mind, Charles fell asleep.
(Erik would never manage to convince the villagers to spare him the tree, but they never really celebrated Christmas again, nor anything else. They just spent the days, one after the other, all alike. At peace. More than enough.)