guideshapelead | XMFC/Erik the slave driver

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XMFC/Erik the slave driver

Going to sleep with food and drink in his stomach for the first time in a while, Charles sleeps far more deeply than he ever has since coming home from hospital. It's gone midday when he comes to again, the sun high in the sky and bleeding through his thick bedroom curtains.

Despite the long sleep, the telepath still somehow manages to feel utterly drained. He supposes it would be too much to hope, to suddenly feel better the second he decides to pull himself together and sort his life out. Burying his face into his pillow, it's with great effort that he makes himself press his fingers to his temple and seek out Erik, to let him know that he's awake. He knows the easier option would be to keep quiet, but he's determined not to fall back into that.

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Erik leans forward, frowning.

"It's to be expected, Charles. Your body has been through a lot in the past weeks."

He knows that Charles won't want to go back to bed, not so soon after that struggle to wash and dress, and he thinks he might have an answer.

"Will you...allow me to lift you?"

"Where to?" Charles asks at once. It's not that he doesn't trust Erik to carry him, more that he doesn't want to have to be carried anywhere.

Erik pats the sofa. "Just to here. You should lie down."

"Alright," Charles nods his acceptance. He'd quite like to be back in his bed, but Hank's told him to try and keep himself up and about.

Erik stays exactly where he is, drawing Charles towards him with his mind. He wonders idly if he should insist on Charles wearing a metal belt in case of emergency.

He stops the chair short of the sofa and settles himself against one high arm before flicking up the chair arm and reaching out to pull Charles across.

Holding up his arms, the only help he can give, Charles closes his eyes and lets the lift happen. He doesn't like it, but he also knows there's no alternate option.

Erik tugs Charles into his space, his back to Erik's chest, resting between his legs.

He finds a book on the coffee table, one he'd left there all those weeks ago and no one had thought to put away. "In the mood for Dumas?"

"There's nothing wrong with my eyes, I can still read," Charles shoots out, rather snappily, before sighing and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"I am sorry. Please, continue." Settling himself against Erik's chest, he lets his eyes drift closed.

Erik ignores the outburst and shifts to make himself comfortable, one hand holding the book and the other resting in the centre of Charles' chest, more for reassurance than protection.

He reads in a low murmur beside Charles' ear, calming his mind to encourage Charles to do the same.

Aside from the near constant wheezing emanating from his chest, Charles remains quiet as he listens to Erik read, drifting further and further towards sleep despite his best intentions.

Erik feels Charles heart beating beneath his hand, the slowing of his laboured breathing and smiles to himself.

He spots Sean hovering in the doorway with what appears to be a mug of tea and beckons him in with the book.

"Hank said he should drink plenty," Sean says quietly, shooting worried glances at his professor.

"He has a name," Charles mutters, not quite asleep and hearing the conversation around him. Forcing his eyes back open, his heart close to breaks at the look of worry on Sean's face. This is why he didn't want the children seeing him like this.

"I'll be fine," he promises the boy, holding out his hands for the mug.

Sean looks embarrassed and hands over the mug, before bizarrely looking to Erik for reassurance. Hiding his surprise, Erik nods to the boy, who flashes him a quick smile before fleeing the room.

"You worry about them," he says, quietly. "You cannot possibly expect them not to do the same."

"They shouldn't have to worry about me," Charles states, and there's almost a growl in his voice. Too out of it yesterday to really realise the attention he'd received, this is really the first time he's truly seen the worry in the face of one of his students. It's something he hates, and it's more than enough to increase his resolution to sort himself out, immediately.

"I plucked them out of their normal lives, Erik," he points out, continuing to rant even as he finds it harder and harder to get breath into his lungs. "I owe it to them to be their protector."

Alarmed by Charles' gasping breaths, Erik clutches at his shoulders, book falling forgotten on the floor.

"Breathe, Charles. Air into your lungs now."

His hands flutter soothingly over Charles' arms, struggling with his own worry.

"You need someone to protect you." It's meant as a joke, but it comes out more seriously than intended, hanging in the air between them.

"I'll be fine," Charles repeats before starting to cough again, the muck in his lungs filling his airways and making breathing even harder.

Erik leans them both forward, arm coming round the front of Charles' chest for him to brace himself as he coughs.

"Oh, certainly. You're the very picture of fine, Charles."

Unable to prevent the inevitable, Charles coughs up a good deal of the filth sitting heavy in his lungs, clamping a hand to his mouth like he's about to be sick. He supposes there's not much different.

Erik extricates the mug of tea from Charles' grasp and fishes a handkerchief out of his back pocket, pressing it into Charles' hand.

Then, he just holds him through the coughing, hating the sound of it.

Unable to help the loud gulp for air as he finally manages to stop coughing, not caring how undignified he's being, Charles wipes his mouth with the hankerchief and keeps it clasped in his palm. He doubts Erik wants it back now, anyway.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, collapsing back against Erik's chest.

Erik settles them both back against the arm of the sofa, arm still firmly clasped across Charles' chest.

"Don't be absurd, Charles."

"You shouldn't have to be doing this," Charles continues, regardless. He's still wheezing painfully, but the coughing fit does feel as if it's loosened up his airways slightly.

"You should be... doing your own thing. Not looking after me for my own stupidity."

Erik tenses. They both know what "doing his own thing" involves - killing Shaw, aiming missiles, shooting his best friend in the back.

This is the first time he's felt the war hanging between them, the realisation that this is a brief respite before they once again find themselves on different sides. Which is inevitable - haven't they already proved that?

"At this time," he says slowly, "this is exactly where I need to be."

Sighing, aware that this is a conversation that will never reach a satisfactory conclusion, Charles just lets himself nod.

"And I am glad of it, my friend."

He may not be a telepath, but he can read Charles' thoughts in the tense line of his shoulders and the soft sigh escaping his lips.

"We can...talk about it when you're well."

And he sinks into the sofa cushions, drawing Charles closer to him. For now.

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guideshapelead - 2011-07-18 22:26 (UTC) - Expand

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