The Secret of the Knights Templar - madneto - X-Men: First Class (2011) (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It was high noon in Jerusalem in the middle of August, which meant that if you weren’t in the shade you were a slowly melting human popsicle. Fortunately for Erik, the cafe Azazel had chosen -- and therefore the site of Erik’s stakeout -- had a shaded outdoor section, so while he and his drink were sweating, at least they both weren’t evaporating quite as quickly as the tourists in the crowded street.

Erik hardly noticed the heat anyway. He’d been trained to ignore things like his own body’s reaction to stimulus. Ignoring your own body was a useful skill to have when you were being tortured or in a long-distance pursuit on foot, and it was useful now as well in the sweltering outdoors. The newspaper Erik was using for camouflage was not holding up as well, the paper slowly wilting in his sweaty palms, but luckily it was still stiff enough that he could hold it up to cover his face if Azazel ever glanced his way.

Azazel, however, appeared much too distracted to care about any of the other cafe patrons, shifting often in his seat on the other side of the cafe from Erik. The heat undoubtedly had something to do with Azazel’s discomfort -- the waitress had been over to refill his water four times now by Erik’s count -- but the devil-like mutant had been drawing frequent stares this close to the Temple Mount, and by the way he kept glancing down at his phone, it was apparent that whoever he was meeting was running late. For his own part, Erik hoped that Azazel’s contact would show up soon. He was tired of waiting.

His phone flashed suddenly at him from its resting place on the tabletop, and he looked down automatically. It was an alert from the online chess app he’d installed last year. His long-time opponent, groovy_prof had apparently just put him in check. Damn it. Annoyance flashed quickly through him, but he didn’t have time to counter now, not while he was on the job, and especially not when he was shadowing Sebastian Shaw’s right-hand man.

For ten years now, since before he’d become an agent with the CIA’s Mutant Operatives Division, Erik had been following Shaw’s movements. In fact, Shaw had been the reason Erik joined the CIA in the first place, and it was testament to the quality of work Erik did that even though the director Moira knew about the history between them, she didn’t take him off the case. She also probably knew that if she did, he’d leave them in the dust. Being with the CIA was convenient. You got information and advanced tech for free, and yes, you had to jump through some hoops on occasion, but Erik always managed to come out on top. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have stayed. Moira knew this and respected it, and in turn Erik respected her. Erik liked knowing where he stood with people, and he and Moira had always understood each other, even if they hadn’t always gotten along.

Unfortunately, Moira had given him very little information before sending him off to chase Shaw this time. All their sources knew, she’d told him, was that Azazel was going to be meeting an undisclosed contact at 12pm in the city. No word was given on why they were meeting or what sort of exchange was going to take place -- whether this meeting was for information or an artifact -- and without another way to answer his burning questions, Erik had hopped on a plane to intercept Azazel’s rendezvous. From the openness of the spot, though, Erik thought it was unlikely that Azazel would be getting anything material from his contact. It was much more likely that Azazel was waiting to give or receive information on a new piece to add to his boss’ gallery.

Shaw was a collector and distributor of rare items; a euphemism for a black market dealer, and an eclectic one at that. For years, Erik had followed the trail of priceless paintings, occult items, drugs, and illegal arms Shaw left in his wake. With all the aliases and random projects, the man would have been almost impossible for anyone else to track; but Erik was like a bloodhound, and from the second he’d caught Shaw’s scent, he’d chased him relentlessly, always one maddening step behind.

The many near brushes just made the anger in Erik, which constantly simmered beneath the surface like magma, burn that much hotter and brighter. In the almost fifteen years since his parent’s death, nothing had cooled his temper, and he was beginning to resign himself to the fact that nothing ever would. Some things helped, of course. Whenever he was feeling particularly hopeless, on long nights when he’d toss and turn in his bed for hours without being able to fall asleep, Erik would go for a run, exhausting his body so his mind had no option but to turn itself off. Work was good, too. Around the office he’d developed a reputation for being a joyless workaholic who refused to go out for drinks with anyone, but Erik didn’t mind this. It kept his coworkers off his back -- well most of them -- and it meant he got twice the paperwork done.

Lately, in the past year, Erik had discovered another rather unexpected balm for those bad days when nothing seemed to be working right and he couldn’t focus on anything but his anger.

“You know, you’re giving me a headache,” Emma Frost had said to him one day in the break room as he stomped in to get more coffee. She was leaned up against the counter next to him, steeping a tea bag, and he had been studiously ignoring the way she was staring at him until she spoke.

Erik grunted, refusing to apologize. If he was in a foul mood it was because he had every right to be: two operatives had had a lock on one of Shaw’s safe houses the night before, but right as they were about to swoop in and arrest him, the safe house had blown itself up and Shaw, of course, had been long gone.

“You should do yoga, sugar,” she said as she swirled the tea bag around in the hot water. “I’m sure your blood pressure is through the roof. I know mine is skyrocketing just looking at you.” Erik turned and glared at her. She raised one immaculate eyebrow, unimpressed. “Seriously. I’ve had a stress headache all morning since you got in and its only getting worse. Find some way to unwind or I’ll have to talk to Moira about it. You know you’re not the only one in this building who has important work to do, and I can’t concentrate on my cases when you’re three doors down, smashing my shields in with your emotional battering ram. It’s not cute.”

“I can’t go for a run,” Erik said gruffly, not even sure why he was responding to her other than maybe that would make her leave him alone. “I’ve got to stay in the office, there’s so much sh*t to clean up after last night.”

“Well, what about something less physical,” Emma replied, dumping her used tea bag in the trash. “Don’t you play chess? Mystique said last time you were out on a mission together you brought a travel set for the plane ride. She thinks it’s cute, but I beg to differ.”

Erik frowned. “Mystique shouldn’t be talking about my personal life all over the office,” he said.

“Honey, if that’s what qualifies as your personal life, you don’t have any reason to be worried about gossip.” She gripped Erik’s forearm as he brought the coffee cup up to his lips, and he startled, looking her full in the face for the first time their whole interaction. The look in her eyes was icy, and highly unamused. “Play some chess. Get an app or something, I don’t care. But if this headache isn’t gone by lunchtime I’m calling Moira and suggesting you take some time off. I wouldn’t get into that head on purpose for a million bucks and a new mink coat, but there are things that have gotten through my shields today and they are not pretty.” She released his arm and he drew it back immediately, swallowing. “You’ve got three hours, Lehnsherr.”

Emma waltzed out the door, and for a full two minutes afterwards Erik fumed silently, unmoved from the spot where she had left him. On the one hand he hated being ordered to do things, and he hated that Emma apparently thought she had enough authority to give him orders in the first place. On the other hand, he couldn’t afford a forced leave from the department, especially not after last night. And there was no doubt in his mind that Emma would be true to her word and talk to Moira if she didn’t get what she wanted.

Gritting his teeth, Erik had strode back to his office with such stormy intent that it had scattered the two agents he came across in the hallway, and stared at his phone for another minute before grudgingly downloading the first chess app he’d found in the store and pulling up a new game.

Not surprisingly, his first three opponents had been easy to beat. They were beginners, and for all Erik was out of practice -- he hadn’t really played since he flirted with hustling in college to make some extra cash -- he was still very, very good. What did surprise Erik was when he looked up at the clock after his last match and saw that an hour had gone by. An hour in which he’d gotten exactly zero done on the Shaw case. Even more surprising was the fact that he wasn’t all that upset about it. In fact his head felt clearer, fresher. Maybe, just maybe -- and Erik thought it quietly in case she was listening -- Emma had been right.

From that day on, the online chess games had been another very effective de-stressor, but it wasn’t until two weeks later that he got paired with groovy_prof for the first time. Groovy_prof was the first actual challenge; in fact, it was the first game Erik had lost in maybe seven years. Erik had laid in his bed, staring disbelievingly at the animated letters and chess pieces dancing across his phone screen declaring “CHECKMATE” in far too smug a manner. The chess app had a chat option and it pinged with a new message. Up until then, Erik had ignored the few messages he’d received, but now he was intrigued despite his better judgement. His finger lingered over the chat box for just a second before he clicked it.

groovy_prof: good match. the best one i’ve had so far, in fact.
groovy_prof: i had fun. rematch?

Erik hesitated only a moment before replying.

Magneto: As long as I get to be white this time.
groovy_prof: i suppose that's only fair.

They’d played through another game before groovy_prof had said he needed to go to bed.

groovy_prof: i have an 8:30 class to teach tomorrow, but if you’d be amenable, i’d like to add you to my friends for a rematch.
groovy_prof: you seem to be the only person worth playing on here.

Erik had smiled wolfishly at that, hardly one to sniff at a compliment. With anyone else, Erik might have refused, seeing the friend request as an invasion of his incredibly large personal bubble. But he’d lost both of their games and groovy_prof hadn’t talked to him other than to request a rematch. It wouldn’t hurt, he supposed.

Magneto: Sure. I’m game whenever you are.
Magneto: No pun intended.
groovy_prof: excellent. i’ll send you a game request when i’m free.

A little red notification bubble appeared above Erik’s otherwise blank friend list, and he clicked it to accept groovy_prof’s request.

Magneto: I look forward to it.
groovy_prof: me too. until then, magneto.

The chess games had continued like that for the past year, and almost so gradually Erik didn’t realize what was happening, he and groovy_prof started to become something like actual friends. He still didn’t know his opponent’s real name, but he knew he was a professor of archaeology, that he had a sister who lived in New York City, and that he and his sister were both mutants. Groovy_prof was apparently a telepath, but he didn’t say what his sister could do, only that she had been very uncomfortable with her mutation until recently -- something groovy_prof was very proud of her for overcoming.

In return, Erik had opened up to groovy_prof almost more than he had to anyone else since his childhood. Groovy_prof knew he was Jewish but not practicing, that he lived very much alone, that he was metallokinetic, and that cooking elaborate meals was his secret passion. This was only because Erik had been unable to hold back his mortification when he learned that groovy_prof ate takeout almost every night, and had let slip about the myriad of containers in his freezer and fridge, filled with homemade goulash and chicken ziti and matzo soup. Groovy_prof had been impressed, which made Erik preen before he realized what he was doing.

Somehow or another, after about a year of matches with neck-and-neck wins, groovy_prof had wormed his way into Erik’s life. Which was why, in the sweltering August heat of Jerusalem Erik gave just a moment’s actual regret as he looked down at the chess notification on his phone. He didn’t have long to dwell over the matter, however, because just a few seconds later he saw Azazel sit up straighter in his chair, his eyes locked on the crowd passing by the cafe.

Erik straightened up too, dropping the drooping newspaper just far enough to see a man with shoulder-length dark hair striding through the tourists and street vendors. He had a determined look on his face, which made his features look almost like they were carved from olive-colored marble, and as he wove his way over to Azazel’s table Erik did a cursory sweep of his person. There were no weapons that he could make out on the newcomer, unlike Azazel who as always was carrying his two curved blades hidden away under his blazer. The only thing Erik could feel was a heavy cell phone in the man’s left pocket. Harmless, then.

The man sat down across from Azazel, much to Erik’s relief. He was too far away to hear them, but not far enough away he couldn’t read their lips. It wasn’t ideal, but any closer and he might blow his cover: he’d met Azazel several times over the years and he knew Shaw was too careful not to give instructions to keep a sharp eye out for Erik and the other CIA agents on his trail. Even if Azazel wasn’t on the lookout for Erik specifically, he’d be on his guard.

The waitress came over and filled up the newcomer’s glass. He smiled thinly at her, then turned to Azazel.

“No one followed you?” Azazel asked. He was speaking English, so most likely his informant was American or British. Erik made a mental note.

The man shook his head. “All clear. I took the route you told me to.”

“Good,” Azazel replied. He stretched, looking casually around the cafe.

Erik hurriedly put the newspaper up again to shield his face. The movement caught Azazel’s eye, and he paused for a moment. For the first time all day, Erik felt himself really beginning to sweat. He couldn’t screw this up now. The informant had only just got here. He held his breath, held the paper steady, and waited. Azazel reached into his suit jacket, and Erik immediately tensed even more in preparation for a fight, his metal-sense reaching out to the small gun hidden in the jacket he had draped on the chair beside him as well as to Azazel’s knives. He breathed in and out slowly through his mouth, watching Azazel for any minute shift in movement. But after a pause, Azazel seemed to abandon whatever suspicion he had. He turned back around to face his informant, and when he drew his hand out of his jacket, Erik saw he held a small USB drive between his fingers.

“This has all the information you need for our next rendezvous, everything you’ll need to get the artifact out safely. The money will be sent to you separately. My employer doesn’t want you traced back to this; your connection could be too valuable.”

The man placed the USB quickly into his pocket. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“No, you won’t,” Azazel said.

A shiver passed visibly through the other man, but Azazel ignored it, looking around the cafe surreptitiously again. Erik quickly went to raise his newspaper, but just then, the waitress walked up to his table, holding out a jug of water for a refill. He opened his mouth to shoo her away, but it was too late. Her bright yellow uniform had drawn Azazel’s eye instantly.

Erik didn’t even have to turn his head to know he’d been spotted and recognized. He saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and he felt the sudden movement of the hidden blades in Azazel’s jacket. He was on his feet in an instant, the small revolver flying into his outstretched left hand while he used his right to push the waitress down out of the line of fire.

Screaming erupted around them. The cafe’s patrons dropped to the ground and hid themselves under tables, but Erik hardly noticed them. Azazel had raised one of his curved blades as he rushed across the distance between them. Erik fired off a round, but it was too late; with an audible pop, Azazel was gone, the bullet curving and passing through the center of the smoke cloud he left.

Erik whirled around, heart hammering even as he schooled his expression into something more neutral. A split second later, Azazel had reappeared right in front of him, the sharp edge of the blade catching the sun as it slashed through the air straight at Erik’s head. He jerked right at the last moment, close enough to feel the rush of air the blade made as it swept past him, and flicked his fingers again. The first blade flew from Azazel’s grasp and imbedded itself in the flagstone patio before melting, spreading out into a puddle like a cracked egg.

Azazel let out a noise of frustration and aimed a kick at Erik’s midriff, which Erik dodged, knocking his water glass off the table to shatter on the ground next to the waitress’ broken pitcher. Glass crunched under his feet as he aimed a punch at Azazel’s midriff, ripping at the remaining blade with his power, trying to tug it free. Azazel’s grasp was strong, but Erik’s powers were stronger: he kept his grip on the sword as Erik dragged it through the air, but in doing so he lost his balance and went crashing into Erik.

The two of them fell to the ground, eliciting a shriek from the waitress who was cowering behind the potted plant next to them. Erik gasped, feeling grit and glass dig into the skin of his shoulder and the side of his cheek as he landed painfully. The fall was the surprise he needed, however. He tugged once more at the blade, landing a strong punch at Azazel’s solar plexus at the same time. Azazel groaned and dropped the sword’s handle. Instantly, it embedded itself in the floor beside its twin before it, too, melted.

Triumph sizzled under Erik’s skin for the first time since the whole ordeal began. He flung his good hand out, calling for the dampening handcuffs that always rested in his jacket beside his gun. Shaw was not going to win this time. He wasn’t. Azazel aimed a punch at Erik’s jaw, which he blocked and countered. The cuffs were in his hand.

And then Azazel was gone. The smell of sulfur hit Erik’s nose, sending him reeling. He turned over on his back and saw Azazel standing next to his contact back at the table. His grin was wide as he took in the look of shock and anger on Erik’s face, and Erik struggled to his feet, determined not to let them get away no matter how futile that might be.

“Do svidaniya,” Azazel shouted, over the screams from the crowd.

Desperately, Erik reached out again with his power for something, anything that would keep Azazel and his contact pinned under his control. But it was too late, and with a quiet pop, the two of them were gone.

Erik breathed hard, his chest feeling like it was caving in on itself. He blinked in disbelief, hand still outstretched and powers still straining as he stared at the spot Azazel and the man had just vacated. A thousand thoughts ran through his head -- how stupid he was to have come so unprepared, how Moira should have sent more than one agent, how he would have to go back to the office right away to have any hope of catching up with Shaw.

Then he felt something smack into his palm. Something small and rectangular. Hope and incredulity surged through him, and he brought the thing up to his face to see more clearly. It was the USB. Erik felt a grin spreading across his face. He stood up and, ignoring the onlookers, started to stride back to his hotel room. Perhaps the day hadn’t been a total disaster after all.

Charles was trying very hard not to be disheartened as he finished up the last dregs of his tea and stepped out of the mess hall tent and onto the dig site. He had told himself all along that it was very unlikely they were going to find anything of great import during this excavation. He’d even told his students as much, though it hadn’t dampened their enthusiasm at all. The students, bless their hearts, had been busier than bees for the past two weeks, plotting out their trenches and marking them with caution tape, working scrupulously through each layer of topsoil with little trowels and brushes and all the other bits of their toolkit.

Charles was very proud of them, even though the most they’d found were some pieces of pottery and some nails. Still, he thought as he stood at the mouth of the mess tent, surveying the dig site and the five or six students digging and brushing away within it, it would have been nice not to have flown 4,000 miles with barely anything to show for it.

That was not the students’ fault, though. Charles should have known better than to organize a dig at a site that had already been excavated so often, especially when he was coming up for tenure and Dr. Weisman had been breathing down his neck about expanding their university’s gallery. It had been a silly call, but the lure of the Knights Templar was one Charles had a hard time turning away from. And the Holy Grail was the loudest siren song of all.

Not that Charles took all the stories seriously. He was a well-respected, up and coming historian, and you didn’t get as far in history as Charles had chasing fairy tales and legends. But the Knights Templar did have a history, obscure as it inevitably was, and the mystery surrounding them was almost dizzying to Charles. It electrified him. It kept him awake sometimes, though in a good way; thinking through all the obscure bits of information he’d uncovered from primary documents or other historical texts and trying to piece it all together to make some sort of cohesive thing.

Maybe it was because, as a telepath, there wasn’t a lot of mystery in his life to begin with. Charles made a point to stay out of people’s heads -- telepaths were never trusted to mind their own business and Charles hated giving anyone reason to carry on with that particular stupid suspicion -- but often, people thought quite loudly. Asking him not to hear them would be like asking him not to breathe the oxygen in the air, to sort it out from the other chemicals before inhaling. If any of his coworkers at the university were excited about a new find, for instance, he’d know it immediately the second they thought about it. That’s the way being a telepath went, as far as Charles was concerned. But it did mean that it was hard to surprise him, and that was what Charles liked most that about his line of work; all the people concerned with his interests were dead. He couldn’t pick up their thoughts and they couldn’t get mad at him for being who he was.

But Charles was not thinking about all this as he made his way lazily through the grad students diligently excavating their little grid-marked plots. He was currently worrying about the dark clouds rolling in over the distant hills, bringing with them the clean scent of a thunderstorm. Most of their dig had been spent in the rain, which probably helped account for the low turnout of artifacts. Students couldn’t excavate properly in the mud.

Today marked the start of their last week in Champagne, at the ruins of a castle that once belonged to the Vicomte Frederick de Forest, and a rumored hiding place of the Holy Grail. The site had been excavated six times before, but there was still a lot of ground to cover and a lot of artifacts to find. No one was kidding themselves that they’d find the Grail, of course, but still, it was exciting to think about.

As he idled his way around the site, Charles looked down into the plots to see who was still working. Most of the students he met -- Alex, Marie, Sean -- were all digging happily away and hardly noticed him as he passed. But when he came to the mouth of the next plot, Charles’ eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw Janos, sitting in a corner of his site, sipping from a water bottle and flicking through his phone. Janos looked up as he caught Charles’ movement, but when Charles gave him a small wave, he simply nodded mutely and returned to his work.

Janos was a transfer student trying for his PhD. Charles was not very familiar with him, but he had come highly recommended from other professors in the department, and on top of that, he was a mutant. Charles had a soft spot for mutant students. It hadn’t been so long ago when people like himself had been persecuted just for walking down the street, and there were still some baseline humans that were militantly uncomfortable that unsuppressed mutants were free to live their lives out and proud. In order to counteract some of the stigma associated with them, Charles tried to give as many mutant students a leg up as he could. As a result everyone on this dig -- Kitty, Clarice, Armando, Marie, Sean, Jubilee, Alex, and Janos -- had the x gene. Many of them were his advisees as well, but Janos was not the only new face; there were only so many digs a year and all students in the PhD program needed to get practicum in order to graduate.

Since they were all mutants, the only thing that really set Janos apart from the others was his attitude. Charles understood that not everyone was a extravert like himself, but Janos was almost reclusive. Whenever Charles and the others had called it a day and headed back to the mess hall tent to eat and socialize before bedtime, Janos sat at the fringes of the group, barely speaking to anyone, sometimes skipping communal bonding time all together and taking his food back to his solitary tent.

On a few occasions, Charles had specifically tried to draw him into conversation, sitting close by and asking him about the details of his dig that day or what he thought about the courses he would be taking in the fall. Every time he was given a monosyllabic answer or a sentence or two at most. Janos hadn’t even made eye contact half the time. Normally, Charles would have made it his sovereign duty to befriend his troubled student in order to broaden their social and academic horizons, but the dig had gone so poorly and he had been so distracted by the questions and speculations of the others who immensely enjoyed trading “what-ifs” about Templar artifacts they might find, that Janos had somehow fallen by the wayside.

Well, Charles said to himself as he meandered along, his hands in his pockets, it’s too late to be his best friend now. Might as well spend your energy on making sure everyone else is having a good experience.

He stopped up short at the far end of their excavation site, his back to the others as he looked consideringly up at the sky. The clouds would be on them within an hour -- two if they were lucky. Maybe it would be best to stop the digging a little early so everyone could focus their efforts on waterproofing their trenches as best as they could. Charles was thinking regretfully of how he should have asked Professor Munroe to co-host the dig with him when he heard a sudden shout behind him.

“Professor! Professor!”

He spun around and saw Jubilee and Kitty waving their arms frantically at him from a trench in the middle of the site.

“Over here!” Kitty shouted. “I think we found something!”

Adrenaline sparked suddenly through him, and Charles had to fight to keep his expression open and unassuming as he strode quickly over to the two women. “What is it?” he asked when he reached the lip of their trench.

“We think its a box,” Kitty said, gesturing to two metal corners sticking up out of the earth, spaced about three feet apart. “I was working on one end and Jubilee was working on the other.”

“We didn’t realize it was the same thing until more of it got uncovered,” Jubilee said. “There’s a symbol here, Professor. I think its a Templar cross.”

Charles jumped down into the trench, which was only about three and a half feet deep. “You think?” he asked, moving to crouch down to the corner Jubilee had indicated, the two ladies following him. He could sense the inquiring minds of the others drawing closer as well.

“Well, I know its a Templar cross,” Jubilee said sheepishly. “I just can’t bring myself to believe it.”

Grabbing an abandoned brush nearby, Charles gently smoothed over the corner of the box. About four inches of metal had been uncovered, and sure enough, emerging just above the earth was the square edge of a Templar cross. The breath went out of Charles in a rush, and he suddenly found himself sitting in the dirt rather than crouching. He looked up at Jubilee and Kitty, his eyes wide and mouth open in wonder.

“Ladies,” he said, beginning to grin, “I believe you’ve uncovered a lost Templar artifact.”

Kitty and Jubilee looked at each other, excitement and disbelief radiating from them in equal measures, but then Jubilee grabbed Kitty’s hands and in an instant they were laughing and hugging and jumping up and down. Charles couldn’t help but laugh along with them, glancing around at the other students who were now standing at the edge of the pit, craning their necks for a glimpse of the box as they chattered feverishly and shouted their congratulations to Kitty and Jubilee.

“Excellent work, you two,” Charles said over the din. “But the job’s not finished. There’s a lot of work to be done and a storm that’s rolling in.” At Charles’ words, several of the students looked up at the sky glumly. “Clarice, Marie, Armando, could you pop into the supply tent and get some more tarps and poles? I’d like to make a tent around this whole area.”

Clarice nodded. “Sure thing,” she said, before throwing an arm out behind her to create a portal and taking Armando and Marie’s arms to guide them through it.

“Sean, isn’t your site the next one over?”

“Yeah,” Sean replied. “You want me to go get my stuff? Alex, could you help?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Charles said, and Sean and Alex set off at once.

“What can I do?”

Charles turned to see Janos standing expectantly on the lip of the trench just to his left. “Oh,” Charles said, immediately fixing on a bright smile to hide his surprise. “How about you help Sean and Alex collect more tools from around the dig site? We’re going to need all hands on deck to get this thing uncovered.”

Nodding, Janos walked in the direction Sean and Alex had disappeared. A second later, Clarice, Marie, and Armando returned laden with tarps, poles, and several coils of rope.

“Come on, you two,” Charles said, clapping Jubilee and Kitty on the shoulder as he passed. “Let’s get the tent going and then the real fun can begin.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Mystique was already in the small conference room by the time Erik got there, coffee in hand and stomach in anticipatory knots. She nodded at him as he walked in and took a seat towards the front, several chairs down from her.

“Morning, Lehnsherr.”

“Mystique.” Erik nodded. “Back on the Shaw case? Moira didn’t tell me I’d have a partner.”

Mystique was a good agent. She’d earned Erik’s respect several times over during their handful of missions together since she’d started with the Mutant Operatives Division a little over two years ago. Several times, she’d saved his hide. They made an undeniably good team, even Erik had to admit, but after the stakeout in Jerusalem, he could feel the noose around Shaw’s neck tightening. He’d really hoped this next mission would be solo.

To his great relief, Mystique shook her head. “Not back on it, I don’t think. I’m just here for the briefing. Moira’s orders. No worries, Lehnsherr, I’m not trying to edge in on your turf.” Her teeth flashed pearl-white in contrast to her dark blue skin.

Erik floundered for a moment. Mystique was only half-joking, and he did like her, as much as he liked anybody, anyway. Social niceties dictated that he should say something reassuring back, but he’d already let the silence drag on for too long, and Mystique’s smile widened perceptibly. Erik took a hasty sip of his coffee. She opened her mouth to say something else, but mercifully, the door opened to admit the Director of the Mutant Operatives Division, Moira MacTaggart, and Hank McCoy who was rolling a trolley from the tech department, laden with a laptop and a Stark hologram machine.

“Mystique, Lehnsherr,” Moira said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Thank you for arriving on time. If everyone’s ready, I’ll begin while McCoy gets his part set up.” She paused, turning to Mystique. “Right. Just to get you up to speed, Lehnsherr has been working on a lead for the Shaw case, as I’m sure you’ve been able to figure out. His right-hand man, Azazel was meeting an informant in Jerusalem two weeks ago, but Lehnsherr’s stakeout went south.”

“As they tend to,” Mystique said. “But McCoy’s here. You must have gotten some tech?”

Moira nodded, smiling. “Did we ever. But that’s for McCoy to explain. On my end of things, the surveillance footage from the cafe where the rendezvous took place was a bust. Azazel must have had some sort of scrambling device that knocked the cameras out.”

Erik clenched his jaw, but nodded. “Not surprising.”

“Of course he also paid for his hotel room in cash, no trail there either.”

“But?” Mystique asked. Erik leaned forward in his seat, expectantly.

“But, he did have to pay for his plane ticket with a card. He must have been in a hurry or he wouldn’t have been so sloppy, so Shaw must be moving fast, whatever it is he’s doing. We’ve traced more card activity to a safe house of Shaw’s in Canada.”

“So I’m going to Canada?” Erik asked.

Moira shook her head. “No, you’re not going to Canada. This might be a good time for you to jump in, Hank. Are you ready?”

McCoy, who had been fiddling with something on the lower level of the rolling trolley popped his furry blue head up suddenly. “What? Yes, yes, Director MacTaggart, just let me--” he pressed a button on his laptop and the Stark projector suddenly flashed into life, projecting a blue screen with a dossier into the middle of the room. In the upper right hand corner was a picture of a young man with sallow olive skin and long dark hair.

“That’s the informant,” Erik said incredulously, swiveling his chair to better face the screen. “You found him?”

“It took some digging, but yes,” McCoy said. The picture in the corner expanded to fit the entire screen. “The encryptions on the USB drive took several days to crack, but it was a goldmine once we did. This is Janos Quested. He has no previous affiliations with Shaw or anyone in the Hellfire Club, but he has been involved in crime circles in the Philadelphia area and most recently, New York City, where he was found with drug paraphernalia and had to pay a fine.”

“Menace to society,” Mystique said, unimpressed. “He’s probably just in over his head.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge,” McCoy said, minimizing the picture and bringing up the rest of the dossier. “He was involved in a loan sharking scheme that helped to pay for his Masters degree. Nothing as big as Hellfire, of course, but it’s nothing to scoff at. Quested has ties to several crime syndicates in the Philadelphia and Washington D.C.. He goes by the alias ‘Riptide’ when he’s on the job.”

Erik sat back in his chair, eyes flickering over the dossier with lightning speed. Seven suspected instances of racketeering, connections to the cocaine industry, and yet he had never been charged with any stand-out offenses; just a few speeding tickets from his teenage years and the recent paraphernalia charge. He obviously knew what he was doing when it came to keeping his public record squeaky clean. On top of that, Quested had apparently gotten his Masters in Ancient Studies with an emphasis in religious practices of the Mediterranean. Sneaky and smart. He was the perfect recruit for someone like Sebastian Shaw.

There was a click of keys being pressed on the laptop and then the picture changed again. Quested’s dossier disappeared to be replaced with a map of Western Europe, stretching into Turkey in the east. The picture enlarged itself to take up the entire back wall of the conference room, a handful of red and yellow dots scattering themselves around Iceland, France, Scotland, Romania, and Israel.

“Now, we know Shaw has been obsessed with occult items of late: The Spear of Destiny, The Book of Thoth, The Shroud of Turin, things along those lines,” McCoy said. “But according to the encrypted files on his USB drive, he’s decided to go for the big tuna. The Holy Grail.”

Mystique swiveled abruptly in her seat, looking from Erik to Moira to McCoy incredulously. “You're joking,” she said. “Like. The Holy Grail?”

“Not even Shaw is that stupid,” Erik said, staring down Moira. “You can’t be serious.”

“Whether the Grail exists or not doesn’t matter, Lehnsherr; what matters is that Shaw thinks it exists,” Moira said, frowning. “No more outbursts from either of you until Hank has finished talking or I’ll end this briefing right now and find someone else who is more willing to listen.”

Erik clenched his jaw. It was an empty threat, surely. Nobody else in the Mutant Operatives Division -- nobody else in the CIA -- knew Shaw’s case as well as he did. But Moira had a point. If Shaw really had gone off the deep end this time, if he really believed in the existence of the an actual Grail, then he’d start making some very serious mistakes very soon. Erik didn’t have to believe in any sort of religious mumbo-jumbo, but he did have to understand it if he had any hope of getting his revenge.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “So Shaw’s looking for the Grail.”

McCoy cleared his throat nervously. “It would appear so. There’s years of sifting through data here. Apparently the Grail was originally taken from the Holy Land, somewhere near what is now the Temple Mount.” With a quiet whirr, the hologram zoomed in to the red dot marking Jerusalem. A small list of GPS coordinates appeared in the top right corner, some locations marked off with red strikethroughs. “It looks like that’s why Azazel set the rendezvous there in the first place: he needed to make sure the Grail wasn’t still there. Shaw’s nothing if not thorough.

“All of the red locations on the map represent GPS coordinates on the USB that were checked off.” McCoy hit a button and the map returned to full screen. “I think we can infer that Azazel was unable to find what he was looking for. But that raises the question of where to look next. And that’s where Quested comes in.”

“And you, Mystique,” Moira added.

“Me?” Mystique asked, nonplussed. “I’m sorry, I’m a little lost.”

The buttons on the laptop clacked again and the map moved, this time to the yellow dot in the northeast of France. “This is the Champagne region of France, specifically the former castle of Vicomte Frederick de Forest, a rumored Templar and guardian of the Holy Grail.”

“Oh my god,” Mystique breathed, realization stealing over her features. “This is about my brother. This is about Charles?”

“The dig he hosted there ended two and a half weeks ago,” Moira said, nodding. “On the last week, two of his graduate students found something astonishing: a large, completely solid metal trunk, marked with the Templar cross. There were no hinges or visible openings, but Professor Xavier and his team are convinced it is hollow and holds something of immeasurable significance to the Knights Templar. If not the Grail itself, it very likely holds clues to its hiding place.”

Mystique was shaking her head more and more vigorously as Moira went on. “I’m not comfortable with this,” she said firmly. “My brother stays out of my professional life here. I’m not going to bring him or anyone he might know in for questioning and I’m not going to try and sneak an answer out of him somehow. He’s a high-level telepath, but more than that, he knows me. He’ll know what I’m trying to do.”

Immediately, Erik bristled. “If anyone from that dig has the information we need--”

“Let me handle this,” Moira said, cutting Erik off and keeping him silent with a warning look. “I don’t need you to interrogate anyone, Mystique. I don’t want to jeopardize your family any more than you do. But Janos Quested was a member of that excavation team, and if he’s trying to make a deal with Shaw, we need our people in there before things get too hairy, for everyone’s sakes including your brother’s. That’s why I need you and Lehnsherr to think up a good cover story and go in there to see this secret trunk tomorrow.”

“There’s surprisingly lax security on the Templar box from the University’s end, all things considered, ” McCoy said, his brow furrowed in apprehension over his yellow, cat-like eyes. “All of the professors in the department, administrative faculty, and the two women who discovered the artifact are allowed basically unlimited access to it, and there’s nothing to suggest Professor Xavier wouldn’t be able to get you in to see it if you asked. For someone with a background like Quested’s, it wouldn’t be too difficult to sneak in if he really wanted to. We need to get you in as soon as possible.”

The hologram suddenly disappeared, leaving the room in a dim half-light until McCoy reached over and flicked the fluorescents on. Erik sat, still facing the wall, wracking his brain. He knew almost nothing about the Knights Templar. Shaw’s taste in relics was so diverse that he had only learned about individual artifacts themselves as they became of interest, not about any larger mythology surrounding the artifact’s history. Besides that, outside of work Erik wasn’t one to buy into fairytales. He’d never really been interested in books or television programs that claimed to reveal the lost secrets of some mystical organization. Mystique’s brother, this professor, was definitely their best hope of figuring out what Shaw was doing.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Moira said, standing up and adjusting her crisp brown blazer so it lay perfectly flat again over her shoulders. “Someone’s using the room again in half an hour so make it quick or move somewhere else. And come and see me with the details of your cover before the end of the day.”

She turned on her heel and exited without another word, McCoy giving them both a twitch of a wave before following after her with the tech cart. Mystique rolled her chair up to the table, propping herself up on her elbow with her fist under her chin as she thought.

“So, the key to getting in is making a story that’s detailed enough Charles won’t question it but not so detailed that he’ll start to get suspicious,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think he’d be surprised by me asking to see the box, but you’re definitely going to be an odd thing out.”

Erik nodded, running a finger along his bottom lip as he mentally flipped through the possible cover stories. “Friend who’s interested in the Templars?”

Mystique raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You’d better know your stuff. Charles’ PhD thesis was on Templar relics. He’s a complete nut for this history stuff and he’s not afraid to talk shop if he thinks he’s found a true kindred spirit.”

“Okay,” Erik said, sighing and sitting back in his chair in defeat. “Not that one, then.”

“What about the boyfriend ploy?” Mystique asked, smiling knowingly.

It took every ounce of Erik’s not inconsiderable willpower not to fall forward flat onto the table and bury his face in mortification. Erik hated the boyfriend ploy. It had almost definitely been thought up by some hormone-crazed fifteen year old agent who had a crush on their partner and wanted to live vicariously through a fantasy for a week or two while they were on a job, except Erik knew that the CIA did not employ fifteen year olds. It did, however, employ lots of people who were apparently willing to pretend to be romantically involved on a regular basis for the sake of international security. To Erik, who found most people to be at best generally tolerable at worst the bane of existence, the thought of pretending to be in love with someone for an extended amount of time was incredibly draining, and there was nothing Erik liked less on high-stakes operations than being drained.

“Wouldn’t your brother knew if you had a boyfriend?” Erik asked desperately.

Mystique shrugged. “I could be trying to get one. You could be my handsome co-worker who I’m trying to impress into asking me out for dinner. Charles loves being my wingman. He thinks it’s supportive sibling behavior. He’ll eat it up for sure.”

Erik frowned. His hatred for the boyfriend ploy was eternal, but Mystique’s brother being a telepath did pose a lot of problems, even with the both of them well trained in psychic shielding. It would probably be best to go with the cover story that the professor would be most willing to buy. And if that backstory had to involved feigning an interest in Mystique for a few days, well, Erik considered, he really had gone through worse things for the sake of catching Shaw.

“Okay, then,” Erik sighed. “Boyfriend ploy it is.”

Magneto: Bishop to A3.
Magneto: It’s going to be another Day from Hell at work. Hope yours is going better.

Charles frowned down at his Starkpad in sympathy.

groovy_prof: sorry to hear that.
groovy_prof: big day for us at the university. can’t really discuss at the moment, but i’ll let you know when i can. pawn takes pawn.
Magneto: Fair enough. Queen takes Rook.

Charles’ frown quickly morphed into a smile. Magneto had just unknowingly walked into a trap. He sent his next move, circling Magneto’s Queen for the kill, before sliding the phone back into his pocket, heading out of his office and down the hall to the elevator. As soon as the doors dinged open, however, his face fell again.

“Janos. Hello.” He quickly pasted a smile back on as he edged past an anxious-looking Janos into the elevator, praying he would step out and stay on the Archaeology floor. He didn’t. The doors closed and Charles was forced to unlock the unit that allowed him to hit the B button. “Are you going down to the lobby?”

“Actually, professor, since you’re going down to the basem*nt, I was hoping to accompany you. I thought you could use an extra pair of hands.”

Charles sighed. “Janos, I’m sorry. This is Jubilee and Kitty’s project. They and their thesis faculty are the only ones who are allowed to work with the box.”

“Professor, with all due respect, I helped to excavate that box--”

“But you weren’t the one to find it.” Charles turned to Janos, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I understand it’s hard to part with something as big as a Templar artifact. But there will be other digs and other finds and your day in the sun will come, too. I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”

Janos glared down his aquiline nose, and Charles couldn’t help but flinch away a little from the sheer animosity radiating out from him. Sniffing dismissively, Janos looked away, pressing the button for the lobby, and Charles internally let out a sigh of relief. He had always been bad with conflict, probably another side-effect of being able to hear everyone’s thoughts and emotions at all times, but something about Janos had changed since the dig. He actually spoke now, for one thing, but it seemed the only thing he ever wanted to discuss was the Templar box that now officially belonged to the university’s museum. He was actually starting to become rather aggressive about seeing it, and in turn Charles was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his presence.

It was a blissfully silent ride after that. The doors dinged open again at the lobby level, and Janos stepped off without another word, much to Charles’ relief. The doors shut and a moment later, Charles was looking out into the long, dimly-lit basem*nt hallway that led to the archives. His shoes squeaked quietly across the pale tile floor as he walked down it, taking a left at the end and pushing open a swinging oak door. Jubilee and Kitty were already inside, watching Professor Ororo Munroe as she crouched before a small table, holding a brush in her gloved hand as she examined a cross on the Templar box.

“I just can’t get over how amazingly its held up all these years,” said Professor Munroe. “There’s hardly any sign of wear.”

“Which is making it even harder to figure out if there’s some sort of secret opening,” Kitty said, crossing her arms and frowning down at the box. “I keep coming back to the crosses. Look at how they’re raised above the rest of the box, almost like they’re not quite part of it. Maybe we need to brush them off some more. Something’s got to be there.”

“Isn’t there any lore about it?” Jubilee asked. “I’ve looked all through the textbooks we used last year for the Ancient Relics class and I couldn’t find anything at all. It just doesn’t make any sense for something to be nondescript and yet so heavily guarded. Does it, professor?”

Professor Munroe stood, shaking her head. “No. I agree, it doesn’t.”

“And we know there’s something in there,” Kitty said. “We felt it when we moved it. It wasn’t heavy… Just there. Are you sure I can’t phase through?”

“We can’t be sure that wouldn’t damage the artifact,” Jubilee said quickly with the tone of someone who had heard the argument many times before. “This is our ticket to the big leagues. We agreed not to do anything that might compromise it.”

Kitty sighed heavily, but didn’t push the subject. The three women stepped a little ways away and returned to staring at the box in silence. Charles stepped up and joined them.

“What do you think, Professor Xavier?” Ororo asked without looking over at him. “Do you recognize it from anything?”

Charles shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head dejectedly. “I’m afraid not. I’ve been spending my evenings pouring over my Templar books and not even a hint.”

“Then its been very well covered up,” Ororo said. “Excusing the pun.”

The three of them snorted, then silence descended again, all of them lost in thought. It would be three weeks on Sunday since the dig ended, and Charles was still wracking his brains for a way to open the box that didn’t involve potentially damaging it. He, Ororo, Jubilee, and Kitty had all looked over the box maybe a hundred times individually and together since it was brought back to the university. But none of them had been able to find any sort of welding mark or any other indicator of where an opening might once have been.

A few days ago, Kitty had remarked on the heaviness of the box near the crosses. “It’s almost like there’s some sort of unlocking mechanism just inside. It feels the way a lock feels,” she’d said. Charles and Jubilee had jumped on the idea right away, but Professor Munroe remained skeptical. She felt it was highly unlikely an unlocking mechanism would still be in working condition after so long in the damp, dark ground. In his heart of hearts, Charles had to concede she had a point, but he didn’t want to give up so easily, so he’d gone digging through his books on Templar relics, called colleagues from grad school, but so far to no avail.

Still, even though it was slow going, Charles couldn’t deny that the puzzle of the Templar box was almost intoxicating to the extreme. Whatever lay inside that box, just a few feet away and covered in steel, it was sure to be one of the most important finds of the century. Charles was endlessly proud of the work Kitty and Jubilee had done so far. He would hate for the mystery to go unsolved.

“Maybe the answer of how to open the box isn’t in the box itself, but where we found it,” Jubilee said slowly. “What do we know about the Vicomte de Forest?”

“Well, we know he was a Templar,” Kitty said. “No surprises there. And he had a great-great-great uncle who had fought in the Crusades. That was his initial link, right?”

“Right,” Charles said. “His uncle is thought to be one of the founding members of the Knights Templar; the original handful of knights who escorted pilgrims through the Holy Land safely.”

“While escorting priceless artifacts out,” Ororo put in dryly.

Charles nodded, sucking a breath in through his teeth and grimacing. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“But we know generally when the uncle was in Jerusalem. Would there be a way to find artifacts that were rumored to have been taken at the same time?” Jubilee asked.

“Probably,” Ororo said, turning to look from her to Charles to Kitty with mounting excitement showing both on her face and in the tenor of her thoughts. “Charles, is that something you think you could find?”

Charles nodded enthusiastically. “Yes,” he replied. “I have some books I could look over. Most of it is speculation of course--”

“Of course,” Kitty said exasperatedly.

“--But its a start at any rate. Kitty, Jubilee, would you like to come with me to my office and take a look?”

The two women nodded, Jubilee looking considerably more convinced of the possibility of a lead than Kitty, and followed Charles from the room to go back upstairs. They had just stepped off the elevator on the third floor of the history building on their way to Charles’ office when his phone buzzed, announcing a call.

“Just a moment,” Charles said apologetically, pulling the phone from his pocket and gesturing for Kitty and Jubilee to go on ahead of him.

The screen was flashing insistently, displaying a picture of a picture: him and Raven splashing in the lake behind the Westchester mansion one summer in the early 90’s. It was taken before digital cameras were widely used, and as such the quality was a little grainy -- not that being a second-hand photo helped. But Charles had always loved this particular picture. It marked one of the rare occasions in their childhood when Raven had been comfortable enough to wear her blue skin, and her head was tilted back, white teeth flashing in the sun as she laughed, her arms thrown up mid-gesture at something Charles was in the middle of saying, a matching grin on his face.

He smiled back down at the picture and accepted the call.

“What’s up?” he asked, making a quick detour into the break room.

“Are you busy?” Raven asked.

Over the years, when cell phones and constant communication had become a part of everyday life, Charles had gotten much better at reading voices over the phone without the aid of telepathy. Right now, Raven sounded a little breathless with maybe a hint of something else like danger or excitement. Without having her mind close it was difficult to tell which, but Charles had learned to err on the side of caution with Raven.

Charles shook his head. “No. Is something the matter?”

“Uh, not really,” she said. “But uh… I remember you told me you came back with something big from that dig a few weeks ago.”

“Oh. Yes, I did,” Charles answered, a little nonplussed. It was rare Raven took an interest in his studies. She mostly did it when she wanted something from him. This did not bode well. Wearily, he began fill the break-room’s kettle. “What about it?”

“Well, there’s this guy at work who is a total history buff -- ” Charles couldn’t hold back his snort. Thankfully Raven ignored it, “--and we were chatting during lunch today… And I might have told him about it.”

Charles frowned. “Well, that’s fine, Raven. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“And I might have told him something else.”

“What?”

“That I could get him in to see it.”

“Ah.”

“Please, Charles,” Raven wheedled. “He’s so cute and you know I haven’t been on a date in months. He doesn’t want to mess with it or anything -- I told him he couldn’t anyway -- he just wants to see it. He said we could grab coffee afterwards. This is my chance!”

Charles sighed. Helping Raven had been his achilles heel since the day she was born and she knew it. “Raven… These artifacts aren’t toys.”

“I know that, I know,” she said seriously. “Look, I’m calling this one in as a favor. Sibling to sibling. I really, really like this guy, okay? He’s really nice and smart and we really click. Think about what a fantastic first date this would be. It’ll be a story we can tell our children one day!”

Charles chuckled. “All right, all right,” he relented. “As long as you promise not to make a habit of it, I don’t see that it could do any harm. You swear he’s from the bank and not from a rival university?”

“I swear,” Raven said, laughing. “Thank you so much, Charles. Thank you, thank you. Are you busy now? Can we come now?”

“Whoa!” Charles said, mashing the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could pour the now hot water into a cup and add a tea bag. “That’s not a whole lot of notice. Some students and I were planning on doing some research this afternoon. Lots of books to sift through. We probably won’t be done for several hours.”

“How about later, then? Erik and I could come over after dinner. Maybe around seven? Surely you’re not planning on working through the night. And your students would be gone by then, too, right?”

Charles bit his lip, considering for a moment while the tea steeped. “I suppose. That would probably work best. No one’s ever in the building after six on Fridays.”

On the other end, Raven made a strangled noise that sounded excited all the same. “Thank you again, Charles. I owe you one. You’re the most amazing brother in the whole wide world.”

“You bet I am,” Charles replied, smiling. “I’ll see you then. This Erik person better be as great as you say he is.”

“Oh, he’s something else, trust me,” Raven said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

They rang off. Charles slid the phone back into his pocket and made his way, tea in hand, back down the hallway towards his office. There were many hours between now and the evening, and there was a lot of work to fill them.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Mystique was already waiting on a bench at near the Garabaldi statue in Washington Square Park when Erik arrived. It was twenty to seven, plenty of time to walk to the Archaeology and Ancient Studies building on the NYU campus, and Erik was practically twitching with anticipation. He’d spent last night looking through Wikipedia articles and watching Netflix documentaries on the Knights Templar, soaking in as much information as he possibly could. As long as Professor Xavier didn’t ask too many specific questions, he thought he’d fare okay in the role of self-proclaimed history buff.

Besides, it was more important to sell his and Mystiques feigned relationship. If her brother bought that, Mystique seemed to think, he would be happy enough to chatter on to them about the nature of the box and what it contained, and from there they could narrow down possible reasons for Shaw’s involvement and what their next step should be. The whole thing couldn’t be over fast enough, Erik thought, letting his mind drift to thoughts of a long night of research ahead and perhaps a chess game later if groovy_prof was on as he walked up to Mystique.

“Howdy partner,” she said, smiling and standing up as he approached.

She was dressed in a knee-length yellow summer dress that brought out her eyes becomingly, and a pair of kitten-heel sandals. On her right wrist dangled a clutch purse. Her hair was long and curled, half-up and half-down rather than slicked back into a ponytail as it normally was at the office, and an expensive looking bracelet glittered on her left hand. For perhaps the first time Erik realized how pretty Mystique actually was -- how much confidence exuded from her. He felt a twinge of shame twist in his stomach for being so short with her earlier at the meeting and probably countless times before. His mother would not have been pleased with him.

“Hi,” Erik said, thrusting his hands in his pockets and attempting a smile. “You ready to go?”

Mystique nodded and silently they began to walk together through the park towards campus. They had only made it to the edge of the park when she said suddenly, “Oh, I forgot to tell you the most important thing. My name’s Raven.”

“Oh,” Erik said, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, then. Raven.”

Mystique smiled. “You seem surprised.”

Erik frowned, shaking his head. “No. It just seems odd. You’re Mystique to me.”

“Well, don’t say that too loud,” she said jokingly. “Someone might be following us.” She knocked his shoulder with hers companionably and Erik bit the inside of his cheek and fought the urge to put more space between them. “I like to keep my personal life and my work life separate. How I am with my brother is… quite different than how I am with other people. Usually I’d assume you’d understand the feeling but I’m not sure you actually have a life outside of work.”

“Fair enough,” Erik grunted, making Mystique snort.

They made it the rest of the way to the university without speaking, much to Erik’s relief. Mystique led them to a large, old-looking brick building with six floors and tall, floor-to-ceiling windows. A sign next to the front steps declared it as the Antiquities and Archaeological Studies building. Erik reached out with his powers experimentally, feeling the strong steel girders in the building’s framework, electrical wiring, an elevator descending, and a confused jumble of pens, paper clips, and loose change that came with any inhabited building.

But there was something else, too. Something buzzing and humming away at the heart of the building. Erik frowned, pulling up short without thinking as he reached out further, straining to get a definite hold on the thing that was calling out to him. It was pulsing gently, almost like a generator, but it couldn’t be that; Erik could feel the actual generator sitting idle in another part of the basem*nt. Besides that, the feel of the metal was slick, almost like rain-wet pavement. It was familiar, too, in a way Erik couldn’t quite place, but that made him inexplicably sick in the pit of his stomach the longer he thought about it.

He stared into space breathlessly, his left hand stretched slightly in front of him, reaching for that nameless thing. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until he was suddenly shaken back to life by a rough hand on his shoulder.

“Erik. Erik,” Mystique said urgently. “Snap out of it!”

Erik shook his head, dropping his hand and reigning in his powers as quickly as if the thing were a hot poker. “I’m fine,” he said, shrugging off Mystique’s hand. He started forward again jerkily, ignoring Mystique’s concerned gaze.

“What was that?” she asked under her breath. “Is everything okay?”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Erik practically growled. “Let’s stop wasting time.”

He was about to push open the doors when Mystique caught him arm again, pulling him to the side and cornering him between herself and the brick facade. Her eyes were flinty when Erik finally met them, so much so that he felt some of the impatience drain out of him, suitably chastised.

“I am your partner,” she said coldly. “We are in this together. Don’t pull some bullsh*t Stoic Lone Wolf act on me because you’ve got a chip on your shoulder from your last mission. I am not here to play second fiddle to you. Communicate. Capiche?”

Erik took in a long breath through his nose. “Capiche,” he said, setting his jaw. “It was nothing. Just some weird wiring or something.”

“Good,” Mystique said, stepping back. “Now look happy. We just went on a good date. And for god’s sake, follow psych protocol, please. My brother is an Omega level telepath, more powerful than Emma even. He doesn’t pry, but if you’re screaming in your head about whatever happened, he won’t be able to not pick up on it. Calm. Good date thoughts.”

Erik nodded jerkily. “Good date thoughts,” he agreed. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Nodding, Mystique turned and led the way back to the front doors, smiling at Erik as he pulled them open with his power and gestured for her to go first. “How chivalrous.”

The layout of the building was very open. Old, stained oak panels lined the high-ceilinged walls, and in the center of the foyer hung an antique gold chandelier which cast a warm light that offset the fluorescents Erik could see further down in the hallway, making it feel almost like the interior of a manor house rather than an academic office building. To their left was a large welcome desk, also made of stained oak, and to their right was a waiting area with a handful of cozy-looking armchairs and several weather-beaten end tables littered with brochures and academic journals. Sitting in one of these armchairs, staring intently at his Starkphone, was a young man with slightly tousled, dark brown hair.

Erik would have ignored the man entirely after his initial sweep; apart from his dress he looked for all intents and purposes like a grad student bumming around killing time. But then the man looked up, saw the two of them, and broke out the most jaw-droppingly radiant smile Erik had ever seen. It made his eyes sparkle -- literally sparkle -- in a way that made Erik feel completely off-kilter, and he had to fight to keep his facial expression from going slack with amazement as the man practically bounced up to them and pulled Mystique into a tight hug.

“Raven!” he said brightly. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Hi, Charles,” Raven replied, smiling back just as widely as she pulled away. “It’s good to see you, too. Can I introduce you to Erik? Charles, this is Erik Lehnsherr, Erik this is my brother, Charles.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Charles said, holding out his hand.

Erik took it. Charles’ fingers were short and strong. His grip on Erik’s hand was firm and his smile warm when he turned it on Erik, and for the first time in his life, Erik had to remind himself to stay focused on the task at hand. Find the box. Get the information. Track down Shaw. Get his revenge. He swallowed, thankfully not audibly, and released Charles’ hand.

“Likewise,” he replied.

“I hear you’re something of an amateur history buff,” Charles said, smile turning almost mischievous.

Erik shrugged. “I dabble,” he said. “Thanks for letting us into the archives.”

“Oh, it was no problem,” Charles said, waving a hand in dismissal. “As long as you swear not to touch anything, it’s perfectly all right. I used to do this all the time on dates when I wanted to impress someone. Truth be told I like showing off a little.”

“He likes showing off a lot,” Raven said, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “Come on, are you going to take us down or not?”

“All right, all right,” Charles replied. “This way.”

He turned and led them out of the foyer and into a hallway, taking a right and continuing on until he reached an elevator. The heels of Raven’s shoes clicked as they followed a few spaces behind, the only sound in an otherwise deserted building. As if she were the mindreader, Raven spoke up.

“Man, this place is dead.”

Charles shrugged. “It’s after five on a Friday. What did you expect?”

“Aren’t you all workaholics in this building, though? I seem to remember someone actually forgetting to sleep while grading midterms last year.”

“It’s only the first week of classes,” Charles said, laughing and pushing the call button for the elevator. “There’s not a whole lot to keep us here after hours yet. That’ll change in a few weeks, though. So, Erik. What exactly is it that interests you about the Templars?”

“Uh…”

Erik wracked his brains for the tiniest sliver of information he’d crammed in last night. Most of it had gone in one ear and out the other, but the one thing that had caught Erik’s attention in the miasma of red crosses and mysticism had been the Templar’s interest in mutants and their abilities. They had been one of the first groups as a whole to embrace and support mutants, mostly for incredibly self-serving purposes, but still, they were better than the rest of the Western world, which at that time had still been burning mutants as witches and demons.

Once, on Erik’s ninth birthday, his father had taken him out of school and driven them an hour away to Berlin to watch Erik’s favorite team play a football match, without his mother’s permission. On the way back home, with the imminent doom of Edie Lehnsherr’s wrath looming, Erik’s father had told him, “It’s always best when you’re telling a little white lie to mix in a bit of the truth. That makes it easier to tell and doesn’t make the lie so bad.”

That day they’d told Edie they were late coming home after school because they were out getting a special birthday treat, pulling a giant Black Forest Cake out of the backseat of the car. Whether or not his father had told her the truth eventually, Erik didn’t know. In the end it didn’t matter, Erik supposed; the lesson was what ended up being important.

“I’m mainly interested in the Templar’s treatment of mutants,” Erik said, and he immediately saw Charles’ face light up again. “We’ve always been a marginalized group. Historically speaking, the Templars stand out in their treatment of mutants, don’t they?”

“They certainly do,” Charles replied enthusiastically. “You’re a mutant, then, as well? Do you mind if I ask what your ability is?”

Erik let a genuine smile spread slowly across his face. “Metallokinesis.” He raised a hand and flicked his fingers, tugging gently at Charles’ watch just enough so he felt it, eliciting a startled laugh. “It extends to magnetic fields as well.”

“That’s astounding,” Charles said, looking from his watch to Erik and back to the watch again, evidently pleased.

The door to the elevator dinged open, and Charles gestured for the two of them to enter first. Once they were all inside, Charles pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, flipping through several until he reached one with a red plastic band around the top.

“I don’t know why you need me to get into the archives, then,” he said, tossing Erik a smile as he inserted the key into a little slot next to the button marked “B”. “You and Raven could have waltzed right into here without me if you wanted, no key required. Manipulation of metal is a wonderful mutation. I’ve never heard of someone with that ability before.”

“My mother always told me I was one of a kind,” Erik replied.

Charles’ chuckle was as rich and warm-sounding as the rest of him appeared, and Erik let his smile grow a few teeth.

“We prefer to do things the legal way,” Raven said, shooting Charles a pointed look.

Immediately, Charles’ smile faded, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks instead. He pushed the button that would take them to the basem*nt, and leaned his back against the side of the elevator, suddenly much more interested in the ceiling than he was in meeting Erik’s gaze.

Erik swallowed, shaking himself. Had they been flirting? Had he actually just almost compromised their entire mission by flirting with his partner’s brother? He was mortified with himself as soon as he realized, yes, he had. Abruptly, he turned to Raven.

“It’s a good thing, too. You could get into a lot of trouble with your mutation, I expect.”

Raven smirked. “Oh Erik, you have no idea.”

The elevator pulleys whirled above them, dropping them further and further into the structure of the building, and Erik let the motion calm him, breathing steadily in and out as he refocused his thoughts into a more productive avenue.

“Cute” was not the word Charles would use to describe Raven’s date. More immediate adjectives were “stunning” or “gorgeous” or “sinfully handsome”. Damn Raven and her good luck; Erik was exactly the kind of guy Charles would have picked up back in his wilder university days, before work took over his life, when he still prioritized sex over getting a good night’s sleep.

Back in the day, Charles had been quite the deviant, a fact which had horrified Raven to no end when it was happening, but which she now often liked to tease him about when she was feeling particularly malicious. He’d dated quite frequently in both undergrad and graduate school with more than a few one night stands thrown into the mix as well. He’d never been particularly picky about his bedfellows -- all he really asked for was a willing partner who looked like they’d be enthusiastic inside the bedroom and a good conversationalist outside of it. But if Charles could have ever have been said to have a “type”, Erik was it. If Charles and Erik had met, say, six years earlier, he wouldn’t have wasted any time in making Erik his new conquest.

But of course, those days were over, Charles thought with an internal sigh as he stared up at the elevator’s ceiling. He was petrified with himself. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing until Raven projected a sudden, sharp, ::Stop flirting:: at him, punctuated with a glare he hadn’t seen in years but that was still as intimidating as it had been when they were teenagers and Charles flirted with anything that breathed.

It had simply been too long since Charles had come into contact with someone that actually interested him so quickly right off the bat. In fact, the longer Charles thought about it, the more he realized it had been too long since anything interesting had happened in his romantic life. He’d had a handful of one night stands in the past few years, but his last serious relationship had been almost four years ago with Gabby in graduate school, and it hadn’t ended exactly well. He winced internally. Maybe it was time to put forth a little more effort on that front so he didn’t end up accidentally flirting with Raven’s potential love interests.

Raven and Erik continued flirting as they descended, and Charles tried his best to block them out, to think of other, more pressing matters. But he still couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of Erik’s palm against his, the prying weight of his eyes, the slow slide of his smile.

A bell dinged as the elevator shuddered to a halt, and Charles very nearly jumped as he was flung back to reality so abruptly. “This way,” he said quietly, leading the way out of the open doors and down the hallway. Their footsteps echoed in the empty space, and behind him, Charles could hear Raven and Erik murmur interestedly.

“So, how many artifacts exactly did you bring back from your trip?” Erik asked.

“Well, we were fortunate enough to get some old pottery and what looks like some kind of dagger. This was the majority of the students’ first professional dig and I was very pleased with what we were able to find.”

“Charles is a bit like a proud dad,” Raven said conspiratorially. “He never wants to pick favorites. Go on, tell him what you really want to say, Charles.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “The Templar box is undoubtedly the most important find. In fact, it’s probably one of the biggest discoveries of the century. If we can ever get it open, that is.”

Raven frowned. “You can’t open it? Why not?”

Charles pushed open the door to the archives and nodded his head, gesturing them to go through first. “See for yourself,” he said.

Raven raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed at his laconic response, and stepped confidently into the room, but just at the threshold, Erik stopped in his tracks, a sudden frowning creasing between his eyebrows, irritated and surprised.

Charles paused as well, equally taken aback by the sudden transformation. It was as if Erik was in a trance, his blue-grey eyes glassy as they stared into nothing. No, not nothing, Charles corrected himself; something far away and untouchable, almost like what it felt to dive completely into someone’s mind. That’s what Erik’s eyes looked like now.

Maybe he’s having a seizure, Charles thought. Maybe he needs medical attention.

Very carefully, Charles reached out and placed a hand on Erik’s forearm, brushing a questioning tendril across his mind at the same time. What he saw there was completely unexpected. He tightened his grip unknowingly on Erik’s arm, seeing the gears of his mind whirling at break-neck speed. Confusion, wonder, and astonishment colored Erik’s thoughts, but under everything else there was a determined fixation, an unshakable will to break something, to find it and crush it. Whatever this thing was, Charles couldn’t tell, but it was covered in red in Erik’s mind, big angry red gashes.

Charles’ own head spun, and he staggered, falling almost into Erik before he was able to pull himself back out of the other man’s consciousness. He was still orienting himself when Erik broke away from him, shaking off his hand and striding into the archives. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Everything had been going relatively well, Erik thought -- as well as these types of missions could go, anyway. Even the minor slip up of flirting with the professor could be forgotten as long as Erik played up the fake relationship with Raven enough. As Charles had stayed silent in the elevator and let him and Raven talk, Erik thought his minor hiccough in that regard had already been overlooked. Perhaps Charles was the kind of person that flirted with everyone so they didn’t realize when they were doing it. He almost certainly was the kind of person that got flirted with a lot, at least Erik thought so.

But as soon as he opened the door to the archives, everything changed. It was like being hit by a tsunami. Sudden, overpowering waves of electricity washed over Erik’s senses, tingling like a downed power line, but so much stronger it almost made him gasp. Once more, he was unaware of anything except that pulsing, quivering bundle of energy; he’d felt it outside and he was sure he was feeling it again. It hadn’t been a generator. It was something laying in wait in the archives. And, he realized, it was a feeling he’d first felt years and years ago, back in the days he’d tried very hard to bury under his anger and determination.

Something or someone was trying to hold him back from the door, but he shook it off his arm easily and strode through the doorway toward the thing that was calling him. He rounded a corner, following after Raven as if in a trance until suddenly it was in front of him: A large, metal box, the waves radiating from it so strong Erik could almost swear he could see them. All around the top corners were Templar crosses, boxy and equilinear, protruding just slightly from the rest of the structure.

Erik could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, the iron in his blood coursing like lightning through his veins. Energy radiated out from the box, almost like an unstable atom on the verge of exploding, and still with that inexplicable familiar feeling that brought bile to the back of Erik’s throat. He raised his hand, wrapping his power around the box when suddenly everything stopped.

::Who in the hell are you?:: an icy voice echoed in his head. Charles’ voice, but no longer warm and sweet as chocolate. There was something equally steely as Charles’ voice that was holding Erik’s powers in check, reigning them in with surprising ease.

Erik was shaken to the core. He’d never lost control of his abilities like that before, never had them ripped from him. He rounded on Charles, completely forgetting about Raven who was staring between the two of them, looking bewildered at their mutinous expressions.

::Get out of my head,:: Erik shot back, pushing with all his mental energy at the presence he could feel there, just as he had been trained by Emma.

He thought of strong iron walls laced with concertina wire that tore and snagged savagely at anything that came near it. Across the room, Charles winced. The presence receded, but before Erik could feel any sort of victory, Charles’ fingers shot to his temple and the mental bonds came roaring back, stronger than ever.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t wipe your memory and make you walk out of here and never come back,” Charles said.

Erik started forward, but just as abruptly he was stopped in his tracks, the mental hold spreading to his limbs as well. He snarled like a caged animal, thrashing even more at the presence in his head, but it remained sturdy as an old oak with strong roots.

Raven’s jaw dropped as she suddenly realized what was happening. “Charles, stop. Let him go.”

“He’s playing you, Raven. He’s not here for you, he’s here for the box.”

“Charles, let him go now. I can explain.”

“Explain,” Charles spluttered. “What’s to explain?”

“A lot of things,” Raven sighed, her face becoming set with determination. “Erik and I are both agents with the CIA. We work for the Mutant Operatives Division.”

Charles gaped at her, his hand slowly dropping away from his temple although his presence in Erik’s head still lingered like a bad itch just out of reach. And Erik still couldn’t move. “What do you mean? You work at the bank.”

“No, I don’t,” Raven said firmly. “I’m a special agent. Erik and I are here to take a look at the box. There’s a man we’ve been trying to catch for a long time that has his eye on it, too, and we need to know why before he tries to come and get it.” Charles was speechless, staring at Raven as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. “We didn’t want my position at the agency to be compromised and we didn’t want to bring any outsiders in if we didn’t have to. This was the best option, we thought. But Erik--”

“I’m not doing anything on purpose, Raven,” Erik spat, slowly flexing his fingers as the use of his body returned to him the longer Charles stayed silent. “The box is... There’s something about it that -- I need to open it.”

“You can’t,” Charles replied. He was no longer in Erik’s mind, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating as he stood there, shaking his head at Erik as if he was a precocious student. “You can’t compromise this artifact. It belongs to the university and the two students who found it. It’s their project.”

Erik glared. “There are more important things at stake here than someone’s academic prestige, Professor,” he snapped. “If Sebastian Shaw wants this box, he’ll get it. And when he does, the result won’t be pretty.”

“Erik’s right, Charles,” Raven said, and Erik couldn’t help but admire her professionalism. “Shaw is a dangerous man.”

Charles sighed, apparently in defeat. “Whether or not I want you to open the box is irrelevant anyway,” he said, walking up to it, “because no one can. There are no hinges, no anything. It’s completely solid.” He reached out almost as if he was going to touch the worn metal surface, but seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped his hand back to his side again. “I suppose if I called Kitty--”

Erik shook his head, stepping up next to Charles in front of the box while Charles watched him with raised eyebrows. “I can open it. Metallokenetic, remember?”

And without pausing for permission Erik raised his palms over the box. The metal was still crackling and undulating with jellyfish-like tendrils of energy, and a sweet sense of rightness washed over Erik as he wrapped his own abilities around it, coaxing gently, warping the surface until it rippled. Beside him, Charles gasped.

His power felt like hot wax as it flowed down Erik’s arm and into the metal, a hole opening in the top of the box, the sides peeling up and away slowly like wrapping paper on a present. Automatically, Charles raised a hand and covered his nose and mouth, but Erik couldn’t tear his eyes away as the box opened fully. He felt Raven come over on his other side just as the movement of the metal stopped, and together, the three of them peered over the lip and into the box.

“Papers,” Erik said, not trying to disguise his disappointment.

“Instructions? A map?” Raven went to reach into the box, but Charles swatted at her hand.

“Put some gloves on,” he instructed. “You’ll get oil all over and ruin everything. There’s some in the cabinet by the door.”

Raven nodded, turning on her heel and taking one clacking step. Then the world turned upside down.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Charles was spinning. They were all spinning, crashing into each other first and then the walls. Erik’s elbow rammed painfully into Charles’ hip. At the same time, Charles’ knee knocked into the top of the metal box with a dull thunk, sending the contents spilling as they both sailed into the opposite wall, Charles hitting a light fixture and knocking it down before he slumped to the floor.

Pain shot through every nerve. He struggled to get a breath, to get some of his equilibrium back, but the wind had been knocked completely out of him and his head wouldn’t stop swimming. Distantly, he could hear Raven shouting at someone. There was the noise of a struggle, grunting and fists connecting with flesh. Raven was fighting someone. He blinked blearily around the room, half-expecting to see Erik in hand-to-hand combat with Raven after his earlier display and the sheer hatred that had poured from him when he spoke of that character Shaw.

But no, Erik was unconscious on the floor next to him. The person fighting Raven was--

“Janos?” Charles gaped.

He pressed a hand to the side of his head as if the touch would anchor him, but the image in front of him didn’t change. Janos was the one who was ducking and dodging as Raven swung at him with her fists and feet, controlled and precise in a way Charles had never seen her move before. He swallowed and began to struggle to his feet once more, but his legs were weak -- no, not legs plural, leg singular. He looked down, and saw a gash just below his knee seeping dark red blood slowly but painfully all the same. It must have happened when his knee hit the jagged edge of the box. Charles had never been good with blood, especially his own, and the sight of the cut made him sink back to the floor again, his vision swimming and heart beating suddenly in his ears.

Flicking his eyes up again, he saw Raven was definitely the more skilled fighter. Janos had already been forced to retreat several steps, and didn’t seem to be doing much other than defending himself. But he’d had the element of surprise and, Charles saw, his heart sinking further, Raven was a bit wobbly on her left ankle. The longer she put pressure on it, kicking out with her right leg, the more ashen her face became, but still, she fought determinedly against the pain Charles could see building behind her eyes.

Fortunately, Erik chose that moment to return to consciousness, groaning softly as he blinked awake. He must have been in just as much pain as Charles was, but as soon as he registered where he was, he scrambled to his feet, slightly off-balance, but focusing in on the new assailant with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. He lifted a hand and Janos suddenly lurched into the air with a shout of alarm. Charles was transfixed, utterly in awe with the effortlessness with which Erik used his powers, the sheer amazement Charles couldn’t help feeling whenever he saw someone’s mutation in action. But then Janos went soaring into the file cabinet on the far side of the wall, crumpling to the floor in a heap without a sound, and Charles was dragged harshly back to reality.

He watched as Erik crossed the room in five confident strides and bent to check Janos’ pulse. Whatever he felt there must have been good, because he nodded and with a flick of his fingers, tore a piece of the filing cabinet away, wrapping it around Janos’ wrist before securing the piece back to the rest of the filing cabinet. Then he straightened up again and went to Raven, who had sunk to the floor as soon as she saw Janos lift into the air. Charles used the wall as leverage and stood up too, hobbling to sit next to his sister.

“He’s still alive,” Erik said quietly. “Good job holding him off.”

Raven gave him a look. “He was hardly a karate master,” she said sarcastically. “But thanks all the same, sleeping beauty.” She shifted and in doing so, accidentally moved her leg. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I think my ankle’s twisted, though. These f*cking heels. I was trying to duck out of the way of his whirlwind.”

“Is that what that was?” Erik said, frowning. He sat cross legged in front of Raven and pulled her foot carefully into his lap, his long fingers probing at her jutting ankle bone. “This is sprained, not twisted.” He said after a moment’s examination. “Actually, you’re lucky you didn’t break it. You’re probably going to have to wear a boot.”

Charles gulped. “I’ll call an ambulance,” he said, patting Raven’s hand, but Raven shook her head.

“No. We need to call MOD first. They can bring an ambulance with them, but we also need to arrest Quested.”

Charles’ jaw dropped for what felt like the thirtieth time that night. “You know Janos?”

Erik nodded. “He’s been in contact with Shaw. He must have found a way down here and come for whatever’s in the box when he thought everyone else had gone home. He could have climbed down the elevator shaft. Luckily we were already here.” He made a movement as if to stand, but in doing so, he looked down at Charles’ injured leg and his almost perpetual frown deepened. “You’re hurt, too,” he said.

Charles tried a laugh, but even to his own ears it sounded rather unbalanced. “Don’t remind me,” he said. Then added a little lamely, “I’m not very good with blood.”

Erik didn’t say anything. He simply nodded as if Charles’ squeamishness didn’t surprise him all that much and, as naturally as anything, he ripped off a section of cloth from the bottom of his untucked shirt and pressed it to the gash in Charles' leg. Charles swallowed. For some reason, out of all the things he’d seen and learned today -- his sister’s status as a government agent, the sudden betrayal and attack by Janos, his own involvement with the take-down of an international criminal who apparently had a thing for Templar artifacts -- out of all that, Erik dabbing gently at his leg with a makeshift bandage was perhaps the most disarming.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” he said shakily, unable to say anything else but feeling strangely like he needed to speak.

Erik snorted. “Don’t worry. I’ll get a new one.” He pressed the cloth a little harder against the cut, making Charles wince, but then, just as matter-of-factly as he had done everything else, he took Charles’ hand where it had been resting on his thigh and moved it to the bandage, removing his own hand to press over the top of Charles’. “Hold that,” he said. “It’s not as bad as it looks, but we can’t have you bleeding all over priceless artifacts.”

Erik shifted away and Charles, blinking back to himself, looked around at the ground they were sitting on for the first time. Sure enough, they were surrounded by papers from the overturned Templar box. The hand Charles was using to prop himself up, in fact, was only centimeters away from a cracked and yellow scroll of parchment, and he instinctively drew his hand away from it with a startled yelp. Erik, however, was undeterred by the frailty of the papers and reached out to grab the very one Charles had just shied away from.

“Don’t!” Charles shouted. “You’ll damage the paper!”

“The gloves in the cabinet,” Raven reminded Erik testily.

Erik stood again and walked briskly to the cabinet Charles had gestured to earlier. Charles waited until he was busy rummaging around in it before he turned and whisper to Raven, “So, you’re a secret agent, huh?”

She nodded. “But don’t go digging for any government secrets or anything now that you know. You could be charged with treason. The director will already have my head already for telling you. Silly, really.” But she smiled despite the words, a mischievous glint in her eye when she turned to meet Charles’ gaze. “I can’t believe you really didn’t know.”

“Not even the faintest inkling,” Charles admitted, grinning back. “And here I was thinking you were terrible at keeping secrets.”

Raven smirked. “That’s because you see what I want you to see,” she said. After a pause, her expression softened and she added, “I’m sorry you felt like we were using you. We were I guess, technically speaking, but its for something really important. I promise.”

It was true; Charles’ knee-jerk reaction to finding out Raven had lied to him about wanting to see the box and lied to him about Erik had been something very close to betrayal. But after all they’d gone through since then -- and it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes but it felt like hours somehow -- he knew he’d been in the wrong. Raven was many things. She had always been. Just because she was a CIA agent didn’t mean she wasn’t also his sister. He patted her shoulder in reassurance.

“Of course,” he said. “I trust you.”

Then Erik interrupted their little moment by dropping the box of latex gloves loudly next to Raven’s splayed legs.

“Suit up, professor,” he said. “I need help digging through all this before he wakes up.”

Charles glanced ruefully at Janos’ still crumpled form by the filing cabinet. After considering a moment, he raised his hands to his temple and delved into Janos’ mind, finding the bundle of neurons at the base of the skull that would send him into a true sleep and coaxing them gently to work.

“He won’t wake up any time soon,” he said with a sigh, pulling on a pair of gloves. “But all the same if you need to call someone you’d better do it sooner rather than later.”

Raven groaned. “I’ll get it.” She scooted over to her purse which was laying nearby and began to dig her phone out of it. Satisfied that the situation was being taken care of, Charles turned back around to crouch next to Erik on the linoleum and examine their prize.

There were five or six different pieces of parchment, some large, some small, some rolled up into scrolls and some not, all laying scattered about the floor. While Erik seemed fixated on the large scroll Charles had almost touched, Charles was more interested in a nearby piece that was much smaller -- a square only about five inches tall and five inches wide -- on which a dark red Templar cross had been inked. He picked it up carefully by one of its edges and brought it closer to examine, cradling it gently in the palm of his hand.

Besides the cross, there were other markings, crabbed script written in what appeared to be Latin and a sketch of something large and boxy with lines radiating out of the top. Were they light, perhaps, Charles wondered, or some other kind of energy? He frowned, skimming the text for some kind of clue as to what the picture was referring to, but his Latin was a little rusty.

In the background he could hear Raven on the phone negotiating for a doctor and a CIA unit with a suppressor collar for Janos. His frown deepened. Of course it would be a necessary precaution now that they knew what Janos was capable of, but suppressor collars had always made Charles’ skin crawl. He tried to tune her out and focused more intently on the text, but the more he stared at it the less the writing seemed to make sense. In fact, he could be hallucinating after everything that had happened already, but some of the text didn’t even look like Latin -- it looked like Old English.

“Asca”. That was river in Old English, definitely not Latin. “Soþlice” -- another word Charles recognized as Old English. “Sætunge” -- a trap, lying in wait. Well, he reasoned as he continued to skim finding more and more Anglo-Saxon rather than Latin, this wasn’t all that surprising; the Knights Templar had been born out of the Crusades, and many English nobility had taken part. It was slightly more surprising when you considered that Old English was not spoken very widely by English nobility at the time because of the Norman Conquest, but there were exceptions to every social rule, Charles supposed.

Then, almost at the bottom of the block of text, Charles saw them; two words that made him freeze suddenly in disbelief, his heart thudding against his ribcage. “Sanctus calix”. The Holy Grail.

Frantically, he searched the rest of the sentence, the sentence before it, two sentences before, the sentence after. “Áfandest” -- to attempt, to find, to seek; “egesa” -- fear, a monstrous thing; “forsciepaþ” -- to transform; “cræftum” -- skill, might. He knew a handful of the words off the top of his head, but not enough to make sense of what they were trying to convey. Of course, “afandest” would make sense -- many had attempted to find the Grail. They would need skill -- “cræftum” - to do so. Did searching for it -- “fosciepaþ” -- transform the seekers into “egesa” -- something monstrous? The thought was enough to send a shudder through Charles. Whoever this Shaw person was, he couldn’t be any good. He turned his attention back to translating, and became so absorbed that when Raven spoke again a few moments later he hardly registered her voice.

“Moria’s on her way with Hank, Erik,” she said from the doorway. “I’m going to go upstairs and meet them.”

“On your foot?” Erik asked. He sounded skeptical, but Charles was completely absorbed in the words and the sketch now, dead to the rest of the world. He didn’t even think to object when he felt the keys being lifted from his pocket and floated away by an invisible force.

“I’ll manage. I’ve managed with worse before. You two have a lot to sift through down here, I’m going to go put my foot up after a job well done.”

“Be careful,” he managed to mumble before she stepped out into the hallway. He heard a vague noise of affirmation in reply and then she was gone.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Erik said, and Charles started at the low, deep voice so near.

When he looked up he saw Erik was watching him intently. It would have been off-putting to some people to be watched like that, Charles supposed, except Charles could tell from the tenor of Erik’s mind, like tranquil waves lapping at a shoreline, that he wasn’t looking for trouble. In fact, it might have been the calmest Erik had been the entire night, now that Charles thought about it. Of course he hadn’t been looking, but people gave off a certain energy all the time whether they meant to or not: an energy which could be read by anyone, but telepaths are the best at translating it. At first Charles had attributed the low buzz of adrenaline coming off Erik and Raven to a date gone well and the possibility for more later on in the evening. Now he knew better.

All that excitement was gone from Erik now, though. Or, more appropriately, it was transformed; rather than jittery and anticipatory, Erik’s mind now felt focused, poised, composed. Even on the surface that kind of energy was a beautiful thing to behold, and Charles found himself leaning forward just a tad as if being physically closer would lessen how much he wanted to dive headlong into Erik’s thoughts, feeling them illuminate all around him.

He cleared his throat.

“I think I found something,” he said. “I’m not exactly sure what, but its definitely something.”

He held the paper out like a peace offering in the palm of his hand, cradled between them. Erik gave him one more searching look before scooting forward to peer down at it.

“What language is this?” he asked. “Latin?”

Charles shook his head. “That’s what I thought at first too, and there is some Latin there, but its mostly Old English. The part that isn’t, though--” the pointed carefully with a gloved hand to the words “--Sanctus Calix. The--”

“The Holy Grail.”

Their words overlapped each other, and Charles looked up to meet Erik’s gaze, eyebrows raised. “You speak Latin?”

Erik’s smile was slow and sweet as honey, and it drew Charles in like a starving honey bee trying to make it through a long winter from a short pollen-gathering season. Together the two of them could undo colony collapse disorder. “Not really. But I know enough to get by. After a while you pick it up.”

“At the CIA?” Charles asked. “Somehow I thought you dealt with more… I don’t know. Cyberspace type of people. You know, stolen government files, children accidentally hacking to the controls for our missile silos while trying to play computer games, that sort of thing.”

Charles had been teasing, trying to cajole Erik and make those stunning blue-grey eyes sparkle again with a smile. But his levity seemed to have an adverse effect, and Erik looked away again, shaking his head, his expression turning serious. “Not Shaw. He’s old school.” He cleared his throat, frowning down at the paper again. “Anything else?”

Charles shrugged. “My Old English is rusty, but it doesn’t seem particularly important. It’s more of… a warning, I suppose is a good way of putting it. ‘Many have searched and failed and gone off the deep end doing it’ kind of thing as far as I can tell. I’d be able to do a better job of translating if we took this upstairs to my--”

Suddenly, Charles was cut off by a loud crack from the hallway and two male voices, coming quickly towards them. As soon as Erik heard them, his face went completely ashen, terror flaring quick and white-hot from him, mixed with a jumble of anger and indecision.

“Erik, what’s--”

Erik clamped a hand over his mouth, almost knocking him over, whispering, “Shaw,” before Charles could protest further. And suddenly Charles saw the reason for Erik’s panic.

The voices were just outside the door and the two of them were in the middle of the room, easy targets for anyone, much less a crime lord. Thinking fast, Charles raised his fingers to his temple, dropping the piece of paper as he grabbed the fabric of Erik’s turtleneck with the other.

::We are not here there is nothing to see we are not here we are not here:: he thought frantically, shrouding the both of them in gossamer layers of nothing the way he’d learned to do with Raven when they were younger and Cain had wanted a punching bag. ::We are not here we are not here we are not--::

The door swung open and two men stepped into the archives.

One was obviously a mutant, with red skin and a sharp pointed tail that flicked behind him like a cat’s. He had a scar over one eye that bisected his eyebrow and deepened the sour frown on his face, but beyond than that his skin was unblemished, giving him a distinct sense of agelessness. Certainly with his demon-like appearance he was a fearsome sight to behold, but his companion was somehow even more intimidating.

A shiver went down Charles’ spine as he looked at the other man. Tall and almost as slender as Erik, with wide shoulders, he might have been handsome, if it wasn’t for his eyes. They were light blue -- so light blue Charles could make them out even as far away as the doorway -- and as cold and dead as a corpse’s. Nothing human could be seen behind them, and Charles instinctively knew that if he tried to dive into his mind, he’d find nothing human there either.

His hand in Erik’s shirt tightened. ::Don’t make a sound,:: he sent. ::Stay as still as you can. They can’t see us.::

Erik stayed as still and tense as he’d been the second he first heard the voices, but something in the tenor of his mind changed, turning from a frantic whirling to a strong, steady apprehension. To be truthful it wasn’t a huge improvement, but at least now Charles felt Erik wouldn’t do something stupid, like bring the building down on top of them by ripping out the girders in the infrastructure from sheer desperation. Charles and Erik watched in silence as Shaw stepped more fully into the room, cold eyes scanning the mess of papers on the ground, the overturned metal Templar box, and the crumpled body of Janos in the corner.

“I should have known he wouldn’t be able to take on Lehnsherr all by himself,” he said. His voice was thin, almost as if it was being blown from somewhere far away on a wind, with just the tiniest hint of disappointment. “Such a waste.”

Without a change of expression, he picked his way around the detritus towards the box and the scattered papers, zoning in on them with the focus of a trained dog. Charles resisted the urge to flinch as he felt the air from Shaw’s long legs rush by, striding past them unseeing. He felt Erik’s thoughts spike again with anger and the drive to do something, but Charles brushed an impatient tendril across them, a reminder to be quiet, to stay focused. Begrudgingly, Erik calmed.

Meanwhile, Shaw had crouched on the floor next to them and was examining the papers from the box, pulling a pair of leather gloves from his pocket and sliding them on before picking up the nearest parchment. For a long moment he examined it, then dropped it carelessly to the floor, picking up another. Charles’ knees began to ache from resting so long on the hard tile floor, but both he and Erik remained as silent as the grave and watched as Shaw picked through three more pages before stopping.

“Ah,” he said to himself. “Pay dirt.”

“The map?” Azazel asked, straightening up from where he had been crouching, examining Janos’ slack face.

“Not quite,” Shaw replied, standing up himself. “But a lead.”

“Do you think Lehnsherr took the map?”

Shaw sucked a breath in through his teeth and paused for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “Why take the map but leave Quested? He’ll be nearby somewhere, most likely outside with his blue arm candy, waiting for reinforcements. They’d need someone fluent in Old English and Latin to read these. Someone at the CIA certainly will know, but I’d be very surprised if Erik ever bothered to learn. The map was never confirmed anyway. And this will be just as good.” He pulled a manilla envelope out of his jacket and carefully slid his prize parchment into it. “Let’s go,” he said, holding out an elbow.

Azazel walked up and took it. “Should we take Quested?”

Shaw shook his head. “Let the CIA have him. He knows what happens if he talks.”

Azazel nodded, and in an instant, in a puff of sulfurous smoke, they were gone.

The air went out of Charles in a rush and he crumpled, falling forward almost into Erik, catching himself with the hand still on his chest. Erik’s hands came up to his forearms, steadying him.

“All right?” he asked, dipping his head down to make Charles look at him.

Charles nodded shakily, allowing himself to finally let go of Erik and sit back on the floor, giving his knees some much-needed relief. For a moment he just breathed, willing his heartbeat to slow back to normal as he gently re-spooled the threads of his power he’d used to cloak them. By the time he was done he felt at least semi-normal, and when he looked up at Erik his gaze was steady.

“You did well,” Erik said quietly. From anyone else the sentiment might have felt cliche or insincere, but from Erik, steady, serious Erik, Charles took it for the high compliment it was.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice more even than he thought it would be. He sighed. “Although I am sorry. It seems… Shaw…. got away with what he wanted. I should have thought to stop him, but I was too--” Charles paused, seeing Erik raise one smug eyebrow. “What?”

“He didn’t.”

“What?”

“He was looking for a map in that box. He thought it wasn’t there. It was.” And without any further ado, Erik pulled the long rolled up scroll out from inside his blazer. “I hid it when I heard him coming.”

Charles gasped. “Well open it, open it!”

With a grin, Erik obliged. Charles’ eyes flicked frantically over the yellow, age-worn surface. It was a map of Europe, drawn up sometime in the 1400’s from the looks of it, with four dark red Templar crosses splashed across it. The first, Charles saw with mounting excitement, was in France, exactly in the area the Templar box had been discovered. The second was in Jerusalem, the Holy Land. And the third and fourth were in Scotland, one near the border of England and one all the way up in the Orkney Islands.

Charles’ mouth fell open and he looked up suddenly at Erik, daring to hope. “This is… this is a treasure map,” he said breathlessly. “This is a treasure map for the Holy Grail. We found it in a Templar box. Erik, this is real. It’s got to be.”

“Yes,” he replied, looking positively wolfish. “Charles, this is the best lead I’ve had my entire life.”

“You’re going to follow it?” Charles asked. “Right now?”

Erik stood up abruptly, and Charles was forced to join him. “Shaw’s already following his lead. I’m going to follow mine.” He tossed Charles another quick smile before striding towards the door.

Frowning stubbornly, Charles limped after him, having to almost run to keep up with Erik’s broad strides. When Erik noticed he wasn’t alone he stopped, looking confused.

“Our lead,” Charles said, setting his shoulders firmly in his best authoritarian professor pose. “That means we’re following it.”

Erik eyebrows raised in surprise. Then, just as quickly, his expression changed to an unamused frown. “I’m not here to play games, Charles.”

“Neither am I,” Charles replied seriously. “Whoever this Shaw person is he’s obviously very knowledgeable. He knows what he’s looking for, maybe even better than we do with a map. You on the other hand admit to not knowing anything about the Knights Templar at all, much less the Holy Grail.” Erik’s frown deepened, but Charles stood his ground, knowing his next line would be the nail in the coffin. “And you can’t read Old English.”

Charles was right. Erik opened his mouth, looking ready to protest -- his thoughts were certainly stormy enough. But after a second’s contemplation, he seemed to realize the truth of Charles’ words. It only took a moment longer of warring with himself to make a decision. His expression turning steely, Erik stepped in close, so close Charles almost had to go cross-eyed to maintain eye contact. When just seconds before he had been resolutely holding his ground, Charles found himself momentarily caught off guard, drawn in by the intensity of Erik’s gaze.

“You are a civilian. I’m not signing you up for a fight with Shaw. If you knew the half of what he’s capable of you wouldn’t be so--”

“If the Grail is going to be found, it’s going to be found by someone worthy of finding it. Someone who can keep it safe. I wouldn’t trust that man with my worst enemy.” The hardness in Erik’s eyes softened at that, and Charles mustered all his courage to continue. “You need me to see this thing through. I won’t let that artifact fall into the hands of the likes of him.”

For a moment, it looked as though Erik was going to press him again. But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped away, taking his warmth and steadily buzzing mind with him. His face was unreadable. “You brought his on yourself, then,” he said, and he turned on his heel and set off towards the elevators once more.

Letting out a sigh -- whether of relief or apprehension, he didn’t know -- Charles followed him.

In the end their escape had been quick and painless, although that had been largely due to Erik and in spite of Charles’ protests. They had taken the back exit out of the building. Charles wanted to take the front, but Raven was out there, and possibly Moira and Hank, and Erik didn’t want to deal with the bureaucracy of signing off a new mission and getting clearance for a civilian to come along. They had the advantage of time now, and Erik fully intended to exploit it. And, he had to admit begrudgingly to himself, Charles had been right. Erik needed him. There was no way he could pull off this mission on his own, knowing so little of the material required to complete it.

They’d taken a taxi together to save time, first to Erik’s apartment so he could pack a quick suitcase of essentials and send a quick e-mail to Moira explaining that he was following a lead, and then to Charles’, where packing of course had been more of an ordeal. Charles wasn’t sure what books to bring, what journal articles might be useful, and in the end, impatiently checking his watch, Erik had suggested as calmly as he could that maybe if Charles couldn’t decide it would be best to bring all of them. It meant paying a fortune for checked luggage at the airport, but that didn’t matter in the end. What mattered was getting to the Grail before Shaw could use it for whatever ungodly scheme he had planned.

It was only forty minutes later in the back of the taxi that was taking them to the airport that the adrenaline began to wear off and Erik, who had been turning the ordeal in the archives over and over in his mind, began to wonder if maybe they were walking into a trap. Shaw had realized Erik would be in the archives, that he would open up the Templar box when no one else could. What if somehow he knew Erik and Charles would be following the map to the Grail, too? It was a dangerous thought, one that made Erik’s jaw clench, and he unthinkingly looked over at Charles, taking in his profile illuminated by the dirty street lamps.

Shaw was Erik’s vendetta, and he would gladly go to the ends of the Earth in order to wipe him off the face of it, even if that meant Erik had to be dragged down, too. But could he do that to Charles?

He swallowed, turning away. He had to. There was no other option, not really. Hell, after his performance with the Templar box which Raven had seen (and been visibly shaken by) and now running off with a civilian to go on a potential wild goose chase without Moira’s permission, it was entirely probable she would pull him out of the case altogether. The potential for discovery from both sides was too great. Erik and Charles would have to come up with another cover story with fake names to boot. He cleared his throat, and Charles turned.

“We should come up with a cover story,” he said. “In case we’re being followed. With Shaw you never know.”

Charles considered this for a moment. “I think he knows my name. Janos would have said.” An odd expression clouded his features, one Erik couldn’t quite identify in the half-light of the back of the cab, but it passed quickly and he spoke again. “How about Pembroke? Diana Pembroke was one of my favorite authors growing up.”

Erik nodded approvingly. “Charles Pembroke.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Charles said dryly. “How about you?”

“After this I’d be surprised if Shaw didn’t know all my aliases,” Erik answered with a frustrated sigh.

“Well, what about your favorite children’s book author?”

Erik tried not to flinch away; after all, Charles didn’t know what he was asking really. To anyone else it would have been a normal question. But something in his manner must have changed despite his efforts to maintain his calm exterior because Charles’ smile dimmed in concern. “He would know that,” Erik said simply before the silence could stretch on for too long. He picked at a small rip in the faux leather seat, tearing it a little wider.

Charles cleared his throat nervously, and Erik could practically hear him filing away a question for later. “Okay. Well, you could have my name.”

Erik looked at him sharply, confused. “Xavier? Don’t you think that’s--”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head insistently. “Pembroke.”

He bit his lip and looked away, as if that would disguise the bright red blush dusting his cheeks and creeping up his neck towards his ears. “We need a cover story,” he said, his voice far too nonchalant. “Two birds with one stone. And that way we could travel everywhere together without looking too suspicious. We could be on our honeymoon. It would probably be my dream honeymoon anyway,” he added with a deprecating laugh.

Flabbergasted, Erik sat back in his seat hard, staring blankly out the windshield. Were the Xavier siblings trying to kill him? There had to be some conspiracy behind this, some giant cosmic conspiracy for the two of them to have jumped straight to the boyfriend ploy. Well, no, not the boyfriend ploy. Now it was the husband ploy. Erik let out a slow, steady breath and thought.

Actually, Charles did have a point, he had to admit. They were going to have to travel everywhere together with no splitting up since Erik had virtually no knowledge of the Templars, and it would be much easier to talk about what they were looking for at each destination if they were already supposed to be together. On top of that, this mission had the potential to be the most dangerous yet; Erik couldn’t deny the safety of sharing a hotel room. But perhaps most importantly, if Shaw was somehow keeping tabs on them he would never in a million years expect Erik to be traveling as someone’s husband.

And truthfully, Erik had to admit to himself that it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship to pretend to be in love with Charles Xavier. He forced himself to swallow the rest of his protests and turned back to Charles whose face was set in a very neutral expression that somehow managed to look not neutral at all.

Erik raised his hand and wrapped his power around the spare change in both their pockets, bringing the coins to spin lazily above his palm until they warped and melted together, fusing into two silver bands. He floated one over to Charles, who obligingly lifted his left hand so Erik could slide the ring down his fourth finger, using his power to correct the fit and smooth out any imperfections. Charles watched the whole thing with slightly parted lips, turning his hand to look at the ring from different angles, the way he might if it were the real thing and they really were married.

Still looking a little dazed, Charles lowered his hand slowly to stare at the ring resting in Erik’s palm. Erik had been too busy watching the different emotions flicker across Charles’ face, studying the minute changes in those striking blue eyes to do anything with his own ring, and he found himself transfixed now too as he watched Charles reach out and take it.

“Your turn,” he said quietly. He took Erik’s left hand from where it still hovered stupidly in the air, and lifted it to slip the band around his ring finger. “Til death do us part.”

Erik swallowed and the ring tightened to the proper fit, smoothing out like Charles’ until it was a was a perfect circle resting against his skin. When he looked up he saw Charles was smiling gently at him, the smallest crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the smallest upturn of his lips. Those lips, Erik noticed for not the first time that night, were so incredibly red.

“I’m Jewish,” he blurted out stupidly, but he’d had to say something or he might have leaned forward, reeled in by those blue eyes and that cherry mouth.

Charles laughed, deep and rich. “I’m afraid I don’t know any Jewish vows,” he said apologetically.

“Well, they vary,” Erik explained. “But my parents’ were…” He took a steadying breath. “With this ring you are made holy to me, for I love you as my soul. You are my husband.”

Charles’ smile was soft and genuine. “You are my husband.”

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

The airport was unsurprisingly packed and noisy. The couple in line behind them had not one, not two, but three screaming toddlers they were trying to juggle between them to shush frantically, and the person in front of them smelled so strongly of incense Erik was surprised she hadn’t set off a fire alarm. At times like these during missions, Erik would find himself slipping irritatedly into a distant kind of headspace, thinking of nothing, trying to focus himself for whatever lay ahead and block out the rest of the annoying world around him.

Today, Erik had still partially allowed himself to go to that faraway quiet place. The difference was he wasn’t completely gone from himself. Instead, a part of him was kept conscious and engaged, because Charles was leaning on him, resting his back against Erik’s chest like a prop, warm and familiar like an old sweater. He had angled his head so his soft brown hair brushed against the side of Erik’s neck, and one hand was wrapped gently around the arm Erik had braced across his chest while the other typed away at his Starkphone, flicking through hotel listings in Edinburgh.

“This one looks nice,” he said after a moment, bringing the phone up to hold in front of Erik’s face. “Don’t you think?”

::It’s in a quieter part of the city,:: he sent in addition. ::I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, statistically speaking. It’s a bed and breakfast, though. I thought the fewer guests the better.::

“Mmm,” Erik said, moving the phone closer and pretending to consider it.

::How quiet?:: he asked, trying to project the way Emma had taught him back in training, knowing he was more than a little out of practice.

::On the outskirts, about twenty minutes bus ride from the city centre,:: Charles replied. ::But its closer to the Templar mark than the others.::

“Do they have any open rooms?” Erik asked.

Charles nodded, his hair tickling at Erik’s skin. “One. The honeymoon suite, actually. If I call now we might get it.”

“Go ahead and call, then,” Erik said, letting himself brush his cheek against the top of Charles’ head like a caress.

But just then, the incense woman ahead of them floated away from the counter, taking her cloud of scent with her, and the flight attendant smiled and beckoned them forward.

“Hello,” he said, brightly. “How can I help you?”

“We were wondering if we could purchase two tickets on your overnight flight to London, please,” Charles said.

“First class,” Erik added pointedly, sending Charles the mental image of the three screaming toddlers sitting behind them in cramped seats. He could have imagined it, but he thought he felt a trickle of thought like laughter in response.

They already knew the answer -- Erik had done some incredibly intricate work with his mutation as soon as they’d arrived at the airport and found the next flight to the UK -- but he rested a hand on Charles’ shoulder, feigning hope while the flight attendant looked down at his computer screen. “The 11:30 flight?” he asked. They nodded back in unison. “You’re in luck,” he said, giving them a genial smile. “It seems the computer glitched and two seats were put on hold that weren’t supposed to be. May I see your passports?”

“Brilliant, yes, thank you,” Charles said, sighing in relief. He opened the zip on the front of one of his bags, tossing a pointed look over his shoulder at Erik. “Darling?”

Erik nodded. “Getting it.” He closed his eyes, shutting out everything except the hum of electricity and metal around him, zoning in on the working, moving parts. Feeling quickly along the walls, he sought out the video cameras that were scattered like weird constellations around the space, turning them the slightest bit so they wouldn’t pick up him and Charles at the front desk.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the flight attendant’s eyes had gone ever so slightly glassy. He was staring down at a piece of paper with a smiley face drawn in the center of it, nodding vaguely. “Thank you,” he said, his voice eerily distant. “And you, sir?” Without waiting for Erik to respond, he looked back down at the paper and typed a few numbers into his computer. “Thank you.” He handed the piece of paper back to Charles, who tucked it back into the front of his bag.

“No, thank you,” he said, and the man’s eyes refocused, his artificial smile sticking back into place as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Do you mind if my husband finishes checking the bags? There’s a call I’ve got to make.”

The flight attendant shook his head. “Not at all, sir. Have a lovely flight.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, turning to hand Erik the handle of one of his rolling bags and standing on tip-toe to whisper in his ear. “I’ll meet you by security.”

When he was gone, Erik lifted his luggage onto the scale next to the flight attendant’s desk. The flight attendant gave him a wry look.

“Newly weds?” he asked knowingly, wrapping a white bar-coded tag around the bag’s handle before sending it down the conveyor belt .

Erik cleared his throat, feeling off-balance. “Uh, yes,” he said, trying to force a smile. “It’s our honeymoon, actually. We’re going to Scotland.”

“How romantic,” the flight attendant went on. “Scotland is lovely in the fall. Well, it’s lovely any time.”

“Ah, yes,” Erik said vaguely.

He always made a point to avoid small talk; he never quite knew the proper response. The flight attendant started on about a very nice coffee shop near the castle that made delicious pastries and Erik found himself wishing Charles hadn’t gone. Maybe then the wouldn’t feel so adrift in this sea of noise and smells and metal.

And when, a small voice asked, did you become dependent on Charles Xavier to keep you steady?

He cleared his throat, stood up a little straighter and took out his checkbook. Shoving all his uncomfortable thoughts away, he quickly wrote out a check and ripped it off, sliding it across the counter for the flight attendant to take. “Thanks for the recommendation,” he said smoothly. “We’ll have to check it out.”

“You won’t regret it,” the flight attendant said. He held out two tickets, which Erik tucked into his pocket. “Have a nice flight, and congratulations.” He winked.

“Oh.” Erik felt his face heat. “Thank you.”

And with that he walked away as quickly as was socially acceptable to find Charles.

He found him, as promised, standing right outside the queue for security. The smile he gave Erik upon seeing him made his stomach flip unexpectedly, and he had to fight the insane urge to take Charles and pull him close again like a security blanket. Instead he gestured for Charles to go ahead of him and together they slid into the mercifully short line.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Good news,” Charles said conspiratorially. “The room is ours. I said we’d check in sometime tomorrow. I can pay you back for the plane ticket, by the way. It can’t have been cheap.”

Erik smiled. “I’ve got it covered for now,” he said, adding before he could stop himself, “I should have known you married me for my money.”

Charles’ jaw dropped in surprise, and for a fraction of a second he stared at Erik as if he had grown two heads. Then he snorted, sounding uncannily like Raven, and punched Erik gently in the shoulder. His smile was brilliant and embarrassed at the same time, and it made something in Erik feel soft and warm, like swallowing hot chocolate on a cold day. He didn’t let any of this show on his face, of course, merely offering Charles a smile.

“Very funny,” he said. “Remind me to tell you how funny you are when we get to the hotel. Guess who’s going to be sleeping on the couch for his honeymoon.”

Erik barked out a laugh at that.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting outside their gate, tucked into corner seats nearest the window and furthest from the rest of the small crowd waiting to board. Charles was still flicking through his phone, and Erik, without anything to do, had turned to the chess app to see if groovy_prof was by any chance online. He wasn’t currently, but the board had changed from the last time Erik saw it, the white Queen moving dangerously forward to a Knight. Erik considered for a moment, looking for possible traps before moving the piece to safety. It wasn’t a brilliant move, but then they were down to their last five and six pieces respectively. There weren’t many other moves to make. He paused a moment, then added a message.

Magneto: I hope your day was saner than mine.

Just as he slid the phone back into his pocket, Charles resurfaced, throwing his head back against the seat and stretching like a cat.

“Once we get settled on the plane I want to take a closer look at that paper I found,” he said tapping his carry-on satchel meaningfully. “I’ve been brushing up on my Old English. I think I can give us a better idea of what we’re looking for.”

Erik nodded. “Good idea. We’re going to need to move as fast as possible. Shaw has a teleporter; he can’t be too far behind.”

Right on cue, the flight attendant’s high, monotone voice came over an intercom to announce the flight would now be boarding first class and club members passengers.

“All right, then,” Charles said trepidatiously. The smile he gave Erik was forced, but when he walked up to the queue his stride was as determined and steady as ever. Erik had to admire his pluck.

They shuffled through line and down the boarding ramp without speaking, Charles apparently in his own little world and Erik more than happy to leave him to it. He gave the flight attendants polite nods as they walked past, following behind Charles on autopilot, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the doorframe, but otherwise letting Charles guide them around the other passengers stowing their luggage and shedding jackets. Then he collided with Charles’ back.

“Charles, what--?”

Charles turned, and Erik was surprised to see him frowning. “Erik did you order us champagne?”

Erik gaped. “What? No.”

Charles’ frown deepened, and he ducked into their aisle, bending to look at something. Sure enough, when Erik rounded the corner and crowded in behind him, he saw a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket that rested up against the seats in front of them. A little card was tied with red ribbon around the cork. The armrest that should have divided their seats had also been pushed back out of the way, as if to facilitate in-flight canoodling.

“Compliments of the airline, congratulations,” Charles read. He raised an eyebrow at Erik. “My, aren’t we popular.”

Erik shrugged, flopping into his seat and hoping he looked amused rather than insanely pleased. “I’ve never been one to turn down free booze,” he said, and Charles rolled his eyes, settling into his own seat.

“Born romantic, you are,” he grunted as he shoved his satchel carefully next to his seat.

::Seriously, though, I hope this isn’t bothering you,:: he sent quietly, making Erik, who was still unused to mind-to-mind communication, startle. Charles noticed the sudden movement, and his expression turned stony. ::Oh. It is. I apologize. We can stop talking this way, too. I just thought--::

Erik surprised himself with the vehemence of his objection, leaning across the space where the armrest should have been and reaching out to touch Charles’ forearm. ::No!:: he said, and this time it was Charles who jumped. Immediately, Erik backpedaled, lifting his fingers uncertainly from Charles’ cuff. ::I mean. It’s a good idea. And your mutation, is... we shouldn’t waste it.::

It was lame explanation, Erik knew, but what could he tell Charles when he couldn’t figure out for himself the reason why instant anger and objection had washed over him at the hurt in Charles’ mental voice and at the thought of him walling himself away from Erik’s mind. One thing was obviously clear to him in that instant though; they had only known each other a handful of hours but already Erik was more drawn to Charles than he had been to anyone else in his life. It was dangerous, Erik knew. When you let yourself get distracted, you opened up the potential to get hurt, possibly even killed. Before, the knowledge of the risks had been enough to keep Erik at a distance from the rest of the world -- after all, he’d been hurt already at a very formative age, and Shaw had made sure the lesson stuck.

Was a pair of deep blue eyes and a multitude of warm smiles really enough to undo such strict conditioning so quickly?

But Charles was already so much more than that, Erik argued. He was kind and optimistic and driven. He was intelligent and compassionate and cunning and ridiculous and he’d insisted on helping Erik without a second thought, without considering if maybe being around Erik wasn’t in his best interests. Erik couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so immediately and unconditionally accepted by someone and trusted the feeling.

Unable to hold Charles’ questioning gaze any longer, Erik blinked and looked away. He sat back in his chair, looking straight ahead at the seat in front of him, ignoring Charles’ stare as the rest of the passengers continued to inch past.

At last, he felt something like a gentle tap across the surface of his thoughts, a request for entry from Charles. Without moving, he sent the mental equivalent of a question mark in response. The tendril of power, wavered uncertainly for a moment, and then Charles spoke.

::You like my mutation?::

The question was so hesitant and so hopeful it made Erik whip his head to look at Charles’ face in case he was misinterpreting. But no. Charles was looking at him as if he’d just found him after years of searching and couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. The barest whisper of a smile twitched uncertainly at the corner of his lips like he was waiting for Erik to scoff and turn away again.

Erik didn’t. Instead, he smiled, feeling almost shy under the weight of that gaze. ::I do,:: he replied simply. ::I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.:: And out loud he added, “I married you, didn’t I?”

Charles laughed, a light blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Yes, I suppose you did,” he replied, still chuckling, and when he reached across the armrest to link their elbows together it was surprising, but not unpleasant. “Now what would you say to some pre-flight champagne?”

“Your wish is my command,” Erik said, inclining his head.

The champagne was the cheap kind with a twist top instead of a real cork. Erik gestured it open with a flick of his wrist before grabbing one of the flutes tucked into his armrest while Charles took the other. The bottle was too far away to grab and still maintain contact with Charles, so he lifted it over to them with his powers instead, floating it into his hand and then pouring them both a respectable amount before sending it back.

Charles turned to Erik and raised his flute for him to tap. “Happy honeymoon, darling,” he said with a smile.

“Happy honeymoon,” Erik echoed. Then he lifted his arm, and as naturally as if he did it every night, Charles ducked under it, tucking himself into Erik’s side to sip his champagne.

They drank in silence, Charles relaxing more and more against Erik’s side as the plane filled up behind them. The champagne was too sweet as all cheap champagne always is, but it was cool and the bubbles fizzed pleasantly in Erik’s stomach, helping him unwind in a way he hadn’t quite allowed himself to since seeing Shaw in the archives. Surrounded by the plane’s metal frame and with Charles resting lazily against him, Erik let himself pretend for a moment that this was his real life; that instead of spending his days trekking around the globe in search of revenge, he was a man with a regular nine to five job who was had just gotten married to a brilliant, enthusiastic, unfairly attractive and astoundingly powerful telepath who taught archaeology at NYU.

It was a life Erik could see himself getting used to. He looked down at Charles, trying to picture what a relationship between them might be like in real life. Would Charles seem to always be touching him as he did now? Would he still let endearments tumble from his lips carelessly like jewels in a fairytale? As much as Erik liked to fantasize that Charles was at least partially serious in his flirtations, he had to admit that it was probably nothing more than that -- a fantasy. Setting his jaw, he forced himself to cut off that line of thinking immediately; nothing good could come from it.

Of course that was when Charles chose to look up at him, smiling wryly, melting Erik’s resolve effortlessly. “This is so sweet,” he whispered. “It's like grape juice. Good thing that’s not a real size bottle, things could get dangerous.”

“I’ll be sure to cut you off, then,” Erik said. “We have work to do before bed.”

Charles took another sip, nodding pensively. “They gave us a privacy curtain,” he said slowly after a moment. “Do you suppose many people on their honeymoons try to…” He left the sentence unfinished, but Erik knew exactly what he meant and the thought made him blush. Charles saw, and his expression turned suddenly smug. “Oh, I’m sorry. Raven didn’t tell me you’re a wilting flower.”

“I’m not a wilting flower,” Erik growled, but that only seemed to heighten Charles’ amusem*nt. “I’m not.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Charles said, patting Erik’s knee placatingly.

It would have been infuriating if he hadn’t’ve done it with the most obvious sh*t-eating grin. Erik refused to rise to the bait, however, settling back against the seat instead to sip the last of his champagne stoically. When he saw Erik was resolved to ignore him, Charles let out a long-suffering sigh and rested his head against Erik’s shoulder.

::I’m just thinking,:: Charles said, mental voice tentative, ::do you think they’ll expect it of us?::

A shock of arousal shot through Erik at the suggestion behind Charles’ words, but he forced himself to be logical about the situation. He considered for a moment before sending, ::What are you asking?::

Charles shifted uncomfortably against him and when Erik looked down he saw with no small amount of triumph that Charles was the one blushing now. ::Well, I think maybe if it seems like they do… then we should make it look like we did. For the cover. Unless that makes you uncomfortable, of course.::

::It doesn’t,:: Erik said quickly. Charles glanced at him, surprised but also more than a little pleased if the gleam in his eye was anything to judge by. ::It might even be for the best. They’ll leave us well alone if we make it seem like we’re… preoccupied. That’ll give us time to plan, and to look at the documents.::

The passengers had finished boarding by now. Flight attendants were moving up and down the rows, helping the stragglers stow their luggage and sliding their hands along the overhead bins to make sure they were securely fastened. Charles leaned across Erik to set his now empty flute down on the armrest just as one walked past, flashing them a quick, indulgent smile. A considering frown creased Charles’ brow for a moment.

“What?” Erik asked. ::Is something wrong?::

Charles turned, his gaze turning soft as the flight attendant spun around and made her way back towards them. “Nothing,” he said, scooting closer to Erik, who tried his best not to shy away from force of habit. ::I’ve got an idea,:: Charles added. ::You don’t mind if I…?::

It took Erik only a fraction of a second to realize what Charles was asking, and then he was leaning forward with more enthusiasm than Charles had probably counted on, meeting him over halfway to press their lips together hard. Truthfully, it was a little too hard, their noses bumping like inexperienced teenagers’ and their teeth very nearly clacking together, but then Charles tilted one way and Erik went the other and their mouths slotted perfectly against each other at last. Erik had to stifle an embarrassing groan, nearly spilling champagne over the both of them when he went to thread his fingers through Charles’ hair, remembering just in time he still was holding a glass.

Charles laughed into the kiss and pulled away so their lips hovered just inches apart, resting his hands on Erik’s chest with a familiarity that made Erik ache. ::We should definitely wall ourselves away as soon as possible,:: Charles said, sounding delighted. ::She literally thought ‘Every time’ as she passed us. It’s kind of sweet, actually.::

::All that to see if the crew thinks we’re going to join the mile high club?:: Erik asked, trying not to sound petulant, but at least to his own ears failing miserably.

Charles shrugged minutely. ::I’m dedicated to the cause now.::

He sat back in his chair, straightening his cardigan matter-of-factly before buckling his seatbelt. Erik had to tamp down a sudden surge of disappointment, seeing Charles so composed when he felt so completely undone just by one kiss. Perhaps Erik had been reading too much into it. Perhaps Charles really was just surprisingly good at this fake relationship farce. Erik swallowed. At least Charles apparently hadn’t picked up on Erik’s attraction whatsoever; he wouldn’t be so forward if he knew how deeply he had already rooted himself in Erik’s entire being, of that Erik was sure. Small mercies.

The screen on the back of the chair in front of Erik flickered into life, playing the standard pre-flight safety routine as the lights in the rest of the plane dimmed and they began taxiing down the runway. Erik let it all fade into the background, shutting his eyes and slumping back against the headrest, not even opening his eyes when the plane shuddered to a brief halt before the engines roared again and they shot suddenly down the runway, the air picking up the wings and launching them finally into the sky.

Charles chewed on his lip, looking at Erik uncertainly. He had been pretending to sleep since… well, since just after they kissed. When Erik had said he didn’t mind Charles’ voice in his head, that he actually liked Charles’ mutation, Charles had allowed himself to hope for a moment that maybe he hadn’t been reading Erik incorrectly, that Erik was in fact attracted to him, maybe more than just physically.

Charles was no stranger to physical attraction -- he knew his youthful features and flirtatious attitude had a certain effect on people from the way they thought about him. But once people found out that on top of the boyish charm he was a telepath, their perception of him tended to shift to suspicious. Even fellow mutants were guilty of it, and Charles supposed he couldn’t really blame them, much as he wanted to; after all, he had felt how strange it was for other people to have another presence in their head. He knew what it meant for something to feel strange and invasive, even if he didn’t associate those feelings with telepathy himself.

Erik had been different, though. His thoughts as he had projected them to Charles had been uncertain at first, and a little uncomfortable, but soon, Charles had realized that the discomfort arose not out of the medium of their speech, but out of Erik’s being out of practice with projection. The more they spoke mind-to-mind the easier their flow of conversation became until it was just like talking out loud. It had been ages since Charles had been able to do that with someone besides Raven.

Then there was the kiss. It had been a big gamble on Charles’ part, and truthfully he had done it to try and get a reading from the stewardess, but he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been thinking about kissing Erik since the moment he first saw him in the lobby of the Ancient Studies building. And, Charles thought, his gaze flicking down to Erik’s mouth, he couldn’t pretend that he very much wanted to do it again. Erik’s kiss had been resolute and precise, just like everything else about him. Just the memory of it was enough to make Charles’ pulse beat a little faster and his breathing quicken, and he reached out, unable to keep from touching Erik any longer.

As soon as Charles’ hand touched Erik’s shoulder his eyes flew open -- not startled, just awake -- and he turned to meet Charles’ gaze. His expression was as inscrutable as ever, but Charles didn’t let that deter him.

“Ready to turn in?” he asked. For emphasis he pointed to the seatbelt light which had just turned off.

Erik nodded, glancing down with a frown at his armrest until he found the button that made the seat slowly recline. Charles quickly did the same and soon they were lying side by side on their separate seats, looking at each other evenly across a foot or so of distance.

“Can you get the curtain?” Charles asked, not waiting for Erik to respond and instead flipping over to grab his satchel.

Unclasping the top, he grabbed the two pairs of plastic gloves on the inside pocket first, glancing behind him to make sure Erik had already closed the curtain before he reached again and pulled out the long leather map case that held the documents they’d found in the Templar box. He tossed one pair of gloves to Erik, pulled on the other and finally opened the map case like a treasure chest, taking out the ancient parchment with loving fingers to rest once more in his hand.

“þu ábeþecest… níehst ætforanweallas ciricland… þæs combes…” he muttered to himself, his eyes flicking quickly over the page.

The wheels began turning rapidly in his head, translating the Old English as fast as he possibly could, all the while feeling Erik’s intense gaze boring into him. It was a little awkward; the overhead light was maddeningly dim and he had to prop himself up uncomfortably on his elbow in order for enough light to hit the page, but with such an indescribably important bit of history literally in the palm of his hand it was easy to forget such minor inconveniences. After a moment he looked up, giving Erik a broad grin. “I think I’ve got it,” he whispered.

“Well, don’t keep it to yourself,” Erik murmured, scooting closer so he could look over the page as well, but his head blocked out the light and Charles had to push him lightly back.

“Here,” he said, pointing to the first word. “It talks about a journey. That’s easy enough to figure out, obviously; it’s the quest for the Grail. It says that in order to find what we’re looking for, we need to find some land with a castle and a church, and that the map will help us. It’s in the ‘green hills’, as well, so I’m going to go ahead and assume that we’re already headed towards the first destination. It’s in Scotland.”

“Land in Scotland with a church and a castle doesn’t really narrow things down,” Erik said, annoyed, but Charles’ grin widened.

“Actually, I can think of a good place to start. Rosslyn Chapel, just outside Edinburgh,” he explained. “For centuries people have associated it with the Knights Templar and named it as a possible hiding place for the Grail. It’s filled to the brim with Templar symbols -- the Green Man, the upside down angel, all the classics, and it was even built by a Templar knight. I’d say it’s a good place to start.”

That finally earned him a smile. “Good,” Erik said. “Fantastic work, Charles. Does it say anything else?”

“Well,” Charles said, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t propping him up. “Yes. But it’s really just a lot of the same old superstitious mumbo-jumbo. ‘The Grail has great strength and will transform you. Enter at your own risk. Only the Chosen will find success.’ That kind of thing. You see it all the time in these kinds of old documents, although none other that I have seen has also given such blatant instructions on where exactly to look for it. That bodes well, too.”

A sudden frown creased Erik’s brows. “What kind of strength is the Grail supposed to have?”

Charles raised his eyebrows, surprised, but when Erik just continued to look at him with growing impatience he realized he was serious. “Erik, I thought you said you studied this,” he said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“I lied. I watched four Netflix documentaries on it, three of which were done by the history channel.” Charles winced, and Erik gave him an appropriately ashamed look. “Believe me when I say I would be sh*t out of luck if you weren’t here. I don’t know anything about the Grail other than Shaw wants it, and if Shaw wants it, it can’t be anything good.”

A wave of anger hit Charles with such strength it actually made him reel backwards, unprepared as he was. Immediately, Erik’s stony expression switched to concerned. He caught Charles’ free arm, steadying him, but Charles shook the arm off gently, not needing to be coddled.

“What?” Erik asked, sounding surprisingly hurt.

Charles looked up at him, trying to find words for the question he wanted to ask. There was something Erik wasn’t telling him about Shaw. It was one thing to be dedicated to your job, and to want to track down a dangerous criminal so they couldn’t hurt anyone else. But Erik’s thoughts about Shaw were much more personal than that, tinged with feelings Charles never found in someone’s mind unless a relationship was very deep rooted and long-lasting. Charles needed to know the secrets Erik kept locked away if he was going to trust him, and without trust, this expedition would never work.

But Charles also knew that if he were to ask Erik directly, Erik would never tell him why he hated Shaw so much. Not now, anyway, when they’d barely known each other for four hours. With the kinds of things Charles had been able to pick up from Erik about Shaw, he wouldn’t blame Erik for wanting to keep mum to an almost stranger. Charles set his jaw. Erik would have to tell him about Shaw, he decided. Maybe not right this minute, but someday, and the sooner the better. Right now, though, he did need some information.

“I’ll tell you about the Grail,” he said. “But you need to tell me about Shaw.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Erik’s entire demeanor changed as soon as the words left Charles’ mouth. He leaned back as if the words had put a physical barrier between them, his gaze turning icy and his thoughts shuttering off like venetian blinds.

“What do you need to know?” Erik asked testily. “He’s a maniac. There’s not much else.”

Charles fought down the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, Erik, there is. I have no idea what his background in the Templars is or what other interests he might have that have led him to the Grail. It’s a spellbinding artifact, I’ll be the first to admit, but hardly anyone I’ve met takes it seriously, and Templar history is my life.” He sighed, sitting up and putting the Templar document back with the map while Erik warred silently with himself, his thoughts tangled up in a way Charles was too exhausted to attempt to unravel. When he laid back down, parchment free, he saw Erik looking at him with resignation.

“Shaw is a rare artifacts dealer on the black market who specializes in occult items,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trailing him for ten years now. He’ll usually deal in anything that he thinks will get him money -- cursed items from all different religions, old relics. He stole one of the Shrouds of Mary and sold it, but you wouldn’t have heard about it. The cathedral he took it from didn’t want the bad press.”

Erik swallowed hard, visibly steeling himself before he added in a rush, “He also is obsessed with mutation. He believes mutants are superior to humans, and that their abilities are the key to unlocking some sort of master race. He’s a mutant himself, actually, with the ability to absorb energy and spit it back out again in different forms. He could break your arm just by touching it if he wanted to.”

Charles bit his lip, fighting back a shudder. So Shaw was more than just some common criminal; he was someone with an agenda, and a dangerous one at that. The coldness in Erik’s words shook Charles to the core. He suddenly realized the position he had put himself in when he insisted he go with Erik, and although he knew Erik would have been completely lost without him, he could now understand why Erik had been so reluctant to let him join up.

“So,” Erik pressed, looking at Charles again with an almost defiant expression. “You can see why you need to tell me all about the Grail. Everything you know. If we know why Shaw wants it, we can have a better plan moving forward.”

Charles nodded, blinking rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts. “Right. Yes. Well, it’s no surprise that Shaw would be drawn to the Grail, then, if he’s interested in power. Of all the Templar artifacts -- legendary and real -- it’s the one that is said to bring them the most acclaim and to have made them the strongest.” He frowned, thinking. “There are many different accounts of the Grail, describing it as different things -- a cup, a bowl, even a woman or simply an idea. That’s one of the reasons no one in my field really takes it seriously. But some of the lore links the Grail with the Templar’s early study of mutation.”

Erik face darkened. “Study?”

“Yes,” Charles nodded, scooting a little closer so Erik could still hear him easily as he whispered quickly. “As I’m sure you were able to find out from your documentaries, the Templars were one of the first groups to really embrace mutants. In fact, there were many mutants -- men and women -- who were knighted and rose to power within the Templar ranks, which was basically unheard of in other parts of society. You’d be thrown in jail at the very least for using powers in public in those days.

“But the Templars were fascinated with the abilities mutants showed, and many baseline Templars kept journals about their powered peers’ abilities, documenting the tasks they did,” Charles went on. “It wasn’t very scientific, but they did do things to try to enhance the powers -- drinking certain potions or trying different rituals, things of that nature -- although the feelings the mutants themselves had about this seem to be pretty mixed. It appears they either knew their powers had limits or they were so drawn in by the idea of unlimited power that they got a little drunk off of it.”

Erik soaked up all this new information as effectively and laconically as a sponge. For several moments afterward, he was silent, obviously thinking very hard, so Charles simply watched him, feeling his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He’d had a long day, and this conversation and the alcohol from before was just making Charles even more tired. Finally, Erik spoke.

“Shaw wants this for whatever he thinks it will do to his mutation, that much is certain,” he murmured. “It’s just maddening that even after all the years of research we can’t find a definite answer. But it’s enough to work with. Enough to know that whatever Shaw is planning, it’s bigger than just a business deal.”

Charles nodded, suppressing a yawn. “From what you’ve told me of him I would definitely agree.”

Suddenly, Erik turned and looked at Charles as if he was seeing him for the first time in hours. His eyes roved over Charles' face, brow furrowing in a way that would have made Charles smile at its concern if he hadn’t been so exhausted. This time when a yawn threatened, he didn’t hold it back.

“You’re tired,” Erik said.

Charles raised a sleepy eyebrow at him, snorting quietly. “You probably are too, you just don’t know it yet. We need a solid few hours of sleep if we’re going to be functional tomorrow.”

Not waiting for a response, Charles began unbuttoning his cardigan, shrugging it off and folding it neatly before setting it down to rest on the floor. He paused a moment, then did the same with his button down so when he was finished he was dressed only in his white undershirt and jeans. Quickly, before he got too flustered at the way Erik was staring, he undid his belt as well and left it to rest on the top of the pile.

Feeling a bit more comfortable, he lay back down, curling up on his side. “Well?” he said, laughing slightly at Erik’s incredulous expression. “I want to be at least halfway presentable tomorrow. You ruin a button down if you sleep in it, surely you know that.”

For a moment, Erik’s frown stayed fixed in place, and he seemed to be mentally flipping through questions. Charles waited patiently as he thought, and in the end, when he seemed to decide it was better not to ask anything at all, he gave Erik an encouraging smile. Shrugging, Erik reached into the pocket in his armrest and pulled out a plastic covered airline blanket, tearing it open and throwing it over the both of them swiftly.

When Erik lay back down to face Charles, his face was a calm neutral mask that did little to disguise his swirling thoughts beneath. There was uncertainty there, a distinct sense of wondering if he’d crossed a boundary that wasn’t meant to be crossed, but underlying everything else that was a quiet swell of hope. Charles blinked, wondering if Erik was projecting his emotions on purpose, but somehow that seemed unlikely; it was much more probable that he simply didn’t know how loudly and purposefully he was thinking. Still, Charles couldn’t help the way his own heart flipped at the realization that he hadn’t been reading Erik wrong; he did have feelings for Charles, even though he was skittish about acting upon them.

But that was something he could work with, Charles thought with delight, only just managing not to smile. If Erik hadn’t wanted him after all he would have been disappointed, but he would have remained as professional as possible given their circ*mstances until the mission was over and they were forced to go their separate ways. But now Charles knew they didn’t have to make themselves miserable. All Erik needed was a little gentle encouragement, something Charles was more than happy to give him, and with luck Erik would come to the same realization he just had. It would take time, but Charles was willing to wait.

For now, he simply gave Erik a quick smile. “Sleep tight,” he said pleasantly, before he shut his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep.

Five and a half hours later, Charles woke to the soft light of dawn filtering in underneath the window shade, his right arm and leg thrown over Erik’s body and his face pressed into Erik’s armpit. Miraculously, when Charles blinked his eyes blearily open he saw that Erik was actually still asleep, and, he noticed with no small amount of satisfaction, holding onto Charles like an octopus. He lay on his back, Charles’ leg trapped between both of his own and held secure by the ankles, which he had hooked together presumably in his sleep. The arm that was not trapped under Charles was slung low over his back, dipping almost beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt as if he was searching out in his sleep what he so resolutely denied himself when he was awake.

Charles’ gaze travelled up to Erik’s face, drinking in the way the perpetual lines around his eyes smoothed away, making him seem younger and more carefree than he had before, and making Charles’ heart clench in sympathy for all the pain Erik put himself through in his waking hours. Erik had also turned towards Charles during the night, his head tilted down, searching out Charles’ face even in his sleep, mouth slightly open as he breathed steadily in and out.

Unsurprisingly, he was giving off heat like a furnace, which explained why Charles -- who was perpetually cold on the best of days -- was still warm in just his t-shirt and the thin blanket, even on an overly air conditioned plane. Not wanting to give up the warmth just yet, Charles let himself snuggle up to Erik once more moving his head to rest on Erik’s shoulder and tightening the arm he’d slung across Erik’s waist.

He drifted in and out of sleep, skimming lightly over Erik’s brain waves as they arced in REM, but not dipping in to see what he was dreaming about. Amazingly, Erik stayed completely out next to him, dead to the world up until the moment the captain came on the overhead to announce their imminent descent. As soon as the intercom crackled into life, Erik jerked awake with a startled breath, the fingers on Charles’ waist digging in ever so slightly before he froze, realizing the thing he was clutching so desperately to him was actually Charles.

Erik looked down wide, still-sleepy eyes and Charles took the opportunity to shift onto his stomach, still close but not so much they had to go cross-eyed to see each other.

“You know,” he said, grinning, “for someone with such bony shoulders you make a surprisingly good pillow. I could get used to this.”

He looked innocently up at Erik as he said it and was rewarded with a twitchy smile in return. It was apparent that Erik had no idea how to respond to that. He shifted a little unsurely, the fingers on Charles’ back flexing and relaxing, but ultimately he stayed where he was, apparently sizing Charles up with careful eyes. Charles let him, basking in Erik’s gaze like a cat in a sunbeam. There may be many stressful hours ahead of them today, but right now Charles felt warm and safe and admired; he was going to enjoy it while it lasted, consequences be damned.

“You’d better put your shirt on,” Erik said at last, running a hand casually up Charles’ spine. “We’re going to land soon. I need to open the curtain.”

Charles sighed, rolling away from Erik and stretching out languidly with a groan, but eventually he acquiesced, sitting up and tugging on his shirt first and cardigan second, buttoning them up and tucking the shirt in as well as he could in his current position. Behind him, he felt the chair moving back to an upright position and figured Erik must have used his powers to hit the button; good thing too, since at that moment a flight attendant chose to request over the intercom that the passengers prepare for landing.

He flopped back in his seat just as Erik pushed the curtain back, buckling his seatbelt and opening the window to get his first glimpse of London in five years. It would be cliche and inaccurate to say he felt like he was coming home, but he couldn’t deny the twinge of nostalgia that flooded over him as he saw the city sprawled out underneath them, an unruly web of sinewy streets and blocky buildings that grew more and more distinct as they descended.

“It’s a straight shot on the tube to St. Pancreas,” Erik said quietly, leaning into Charles’ space and looking out the window. “We’ll take a train up to Edinburgh. It’s better to vary our transport in case Shaw has someone following us.”

Charles turned to give him a skeptical frown. “Do you really think that’s likely?”

Erik shrugged a shoulder. “It’s a possibility I’m not going to rule out. Especially since the Templar box was meant to be a trap for me. I should have realized it, but I didn’t and now I have to be twice as on my guard.”

Pity rose up in Charles at the bitterness behind Erik’s words, but he didn’t say anything and tried not to let it show on his face. He knew Erik wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment, heartfelt though it was. Erik was not a man to be pitied. Instead, Charles decided to take a more practical route.

“Why would Shaw try and lure you into a trap, do you think?” he asked. “I mean, you specifically.”

Somehow, that was still the wrong thing to say. Erik’s face darkened, his eyebrows contracting and deep lines furrowing across his brow as his thoughts clouded over, almost as stormy as they had been when Shaw had stumbled upon them in the archive.

“He just would,” Erik said shortly.

The answer was purposefully unsatisfactory, and Charles opened his mouth to press the issue, annoyed at Erik’s bull-headed refusal to open up and just talk to him, but at that moment the plane gave an almighty jerk as the wheels touched down, and Charles was jerked back against his seat. A collective sigh went around the plane -- both mental and in some cases physical -- and the engines abruptly changed tone as they slowed and began to taxi. When Charles turned to Erik again, he was surprised to see Erik was already gazing at him, looking equal parts uncomfortable and apologetic. He opened his mouth, paused, closed it, then opened it again.

“I don’t know why Shaw is trying to make me a part of his plan,” Erik said steadily, “but it makes me very nervous. I don’t like being a pawn. But I didn’t mean to lash out at you. I apologize.”

Charles raised his eyebrows, genuinely impressed. He was beginning to think Erik wasn’t half as prickly as he pretended to be. “I can understand how that would be upsetting,” he replied, resting a hand lightly on Erik’s forearm. “You’re forgiven. So long as you don’t make a habit of it, of course.”

Erik’s returning smile was a little thin around the edges, but it was a smile all the same. “I promise,” he said quietly.

And Charles truly believed him.

For a moment, Charles wondered if perhaps he should let go of Erik’s arm, if Erik would have found the touch to be too forward, even though they had woken up clinging to each other, acting for all intents and purposes like they were really husbands on their honeymoon. To his surprise, Erik made the decision for him, resting one of his broad, long fingered hands on top of Charles’ own. Their rings clinked gently together as Erik intertwined their fingers just so -- just enough to be connected. It took a considerable amount of Charles’ self-restraint not to kiss him again for that.

“God, I’m starving,” Charles said by way of greeting as Erik walked up to him and their luggage where they waited by a bench in the train station. “Please say we have time to grab a coffee and a breakfast roll or something. I’ll be no use to you if I die before we get to Rosslyn.”

Erik couldn’t help the smile that stole over his features. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think, Charles?” he asked, but he grabbed the handle of Charles’ luggage anyway, their arms brushing as he rolled it over to him. “I’ll stay and watch these if you bring me something as well.”

“You’re the best husband I’ve ever had,” Charles said with a sigh of relief. He bounded off towards the Costa in the corner of the station, hand trailing along the small of Erik’s back briefly as he passed, and then Erik was alone again.

As always, when he was by himself, Erik’s thoughts and worries crowded in on him with abrupt force, and he had to suddenly sit down on the bench in front of him. The most pressing issue was the one Charles had brought up last night on the plane -- that of the Grail’s mystical powers concerning mutation and what Shaw could possibly hope to do if the Grail ever got into his clutches. With the spotty history of the Grail, it was hard to tell Shaw’s intentions, but Erik thought it must have something to do with enhancing his own powers with the intent of taking something.

In fact, Erik wouldn’t be surprised if Shaw planned to control an entire country if he got strong enough from the Grail’s powers. The sorts of plans he’d made when Erik was a child had been exactly that lofty and insane; Erik could only guess that Shaw’s ambition had grown as he gained more and more power in the criminal world. Maybe one country wouldn’t be enough for him. He swallowed hard, clenching his hands until the nails bit little white sickles into the skin of his palm. Shaw wasn’t going to win this time, Erik promised to himself. The line ended here.

Forcing his thoughts away from Shaw, Erik found they could only settle on one other topic -- one that still made Erik’s pulse race, but for a much more pleasant reason: Charles Xavier. Despite his best efforts, Erik was unable to keep from re-playing their kiss over and over in his head. He wished he had been somehow more suave, appeared more experienced and less frantic, but in the moment, he’d been too surprised and eager to focus much on technique.

That, and Erik had hardly had any experience in the romantic department. There had been a few flings, as brief as they were unmemorable, save for Magda, who had stayed with Erik almost a full year before leaving him for his “emotional constipation”. Erik hadn’t been able to fault her; she’d been right, after all. Thinking of Charles now, though, her accusation made Erik skittish. As ridiculous as it was, there was something about Charles that drew Erik in and made the thought of driving him away anathema.

But somehow, he hadn’t driven him away; at least, not yet. On the contrary, when they woke up tangled together this morning, Charles’ expression had been soft, content, even a little bit mischievous. There had been a spark dancing in those bright blue eyes and a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Yes, Charles was almost definitely up to something, but Erik couldn’t allow himself to hope that it was anything serious, anything that might carry on past this charade of marriage they were fastidiously performing.

Erik scowled down at the ground, picking at a crack in the concrete floor with the toe of his boot, the metal in the handle of Charles’ suitcase handle buzzing slightly where Erik still held it. He whipped out his phone and pressed a button that would illuminate the screen to check the time, but when he did, he also saw the black Queen icon of the chess app, notifying him that groovy_prof had sent a message. He swiped the screen open and tapped open the app. Groovy_prof had indeed messaged him, as well as moved a bishop toward Erik’s king. Erik bit his lip, pondering the board, and decided to check the message as he mulled over his options.

Magneto: I hope your day was saner than mine.
groovy_prof: i’m actually sure it wasn’t.
groovy_prof: would you believe me if i said i eloped?

Erik felt his eyebrows creep heavenward. Married? Groovy_prof had never mentioned a significant other. The revelation made an unexpected wave of something like possessiveness wash over him, but immediately he submerged it, more than a little horrified with himself. What was groovy_prof to him other than a faceless chess partner? He didn’t even know his name; he had to think of him with that stupid username. He probably had loads of friends and obviously now a wife. Just because they were friends online didn’t mean that he was obligated to tell Erik everything about his personal life. He forced himself to think about this from a more rational perspective. What did people normally do when they heard someone got married?

Magneto: Congratulations.

He tapped out slowly, hitting the send button. To his surprise, he’d barely turned his attention to the board again for ten seconds when the message box lit up again. He opened it.

groovy_prof: thanks. :)
Magneto: … May I ask why you’re playing chess with me when you should be with your spouse?

The message was a little diffident, but he hoped groovy_prof knew him well enough at least to not take offense. He had suffered through Erik’s much worse moods before, after all. The typing icon appeared next to groovy_prof’s name and after a moment, there was another message.

groovy_prof: he sent me off to get brunch. got to kill time somehow. or are you just testy because you know i’m going to win?

He snorted at that. It was very obvious who was going to win this round, now. Smiling, he made his next move, getting in position to take his opponent’s Queen, and wrote his reply.

Magneto: Yes, that must be it.

There was a pause, so long Erik almost put his phone back in his pocket, convinced groovy_prof had returned to his husband and forgotten completely about him. Then the phone buzzed again with a message, groovy_prof’s Queen untouched and obviously given up as a lost cause as a bishop moved forward, sneaking into Erik’s defenses instead.

groovy_prof: damn you.

Erik huffed out a laugh at that, knowing his partner wasn’t actually angry. Taking groovy_prof’s Queen at last, he typed out a quick “Sorry :)”, and tucked the phone back in his pocket. When he looked up at last, Charles was winding his way through the crowd towards him, a coffee in each hand and a small brown bag tucked under his arm. There was a slightly annoyed crease between his eyebrows that made Erik wonder when he saw it, but the next moment Charles glanced up and saw Erik looking at him and smiled, closing the space between them.

Holding out one of the styrofoam cups for Erik to take, Charles sank down on the bench beside him, flipping the hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. He took a sip, Erik watching his adam's apple bob surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye, and let out a contented sigh.

“Happy?” Erik asked, smirking into his own cup.

Charles turned on him, a beatific serenity settling over his features. “Very,” he said. Setting his coffee down between his knees, he reached into the paper bag and pulled out something warm and covered in tinfoil, handing it to Erik before pulling out his own. “Toasties,” he explained. “I bought a few other snacks as well. We’re going to be on that train for six hours. There’s an apple in here, and an orange if the sandwich isn’t enough.”

“Thanks,” Erik said, unwrapping the tinfoil and taking a bite. Emmental and mushroom. Not bad. “I think this will tide me over for a while. We only have fifteen minutes anyway.”

Charles hummed acknowledgement and dug in more ravenously with so little time to waste. By the time their train’s boarding announcement flickered across the giant screen over the ticket booth, they were both finished and wrapping up their empty containers. With a careless brush of his powers, Erik took Charles’ crumpled up tinfoil from his hands and sent it with his own into a trash bin across the way, catching the startled glances of several passers by who found themselves suddenly dodging flying garbage. Charles, for his part, laughed.

“Are you ready to go?” Erik asked, only just managing not to preen at Charles’ approving glance.

Nodding, Charles stood up, taking back his bag from Erik and holding out a hand for his ticket. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.

They passed through the turnstile and boarded the train, finding two unoccupied seats towards the back of the second to last compartment. Charles lifted his suitcase onto the overhead rack, standing on tip-toe in order to properly reach and Erik was too dazed from the view it afforded him of Charles’ ass that he forgot to protest when Charles reached back and did the same for his small duffle.

“Window or aisle?” he asked with a smile.

“Aisle,” Erik answered.

It was an automatic response -- a quick exit with the added perk of allowing him to stretch out his long legs on such a lengthy trip, and he tried to silence the tiny voice at the back of his mind that pointed out it also made him a shield between Charles and anything or anyone that might try to harm them. He cleared his throat, following after Charles and taking his seat, looking out the window as they finally began to pull out of the station.

Most of the passengers around them were absorbed in their own antisocial retreats, listening to headphones or reading a book or newspaper. One or two people clacked away at laptop keyboards, heedless of the sparse murmured conversations around them. Nobody looked as if they were particularly focused on anything besides themselves, which was a good sign, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t someone following them somewhere else on the train. He turned to Charles, clenching his hand nervously, half afraid of the look he was sure Charles would give him when he asked what he was going to ask.

Charles was looking out the window, watching the graffiti-covered bridges and tall buildings whip past, but he turned as if he felt Erik’s gaze on him. ::Yes?::

::Would you mind doing a sweep of the train?:: Erik asked. ::Just to be sure.::

Charles gave him a wry smile. ::I didn’t feel anyone following us earlier, Erik,:: he said, exasperation mixed with amusem*nt in his voice. ::But yes, if it’ll make you feel better.:: His eyes slipped shut momentarily and he breathed deeply through his nose, holding it for a moment. His eyebrows twitched briefly as he dug through the other minds of the passengers and Erik waited with equally bated breath. Then Charles’ eyes slid open again and he released the breath, smiling again at Erik. ::Totally clear,:: he said brightly.

Muscles Erik didn’t know he’d been tensing relaxed. ::Thanks,:: he said.

Charles merely nodded, falling silent again and looking distractedly out the window. He was thinking of something -- Erik could practically hear the gears of his mind turning -- but when he finally spoke again, his question was unexpected.

::How do you think we met?:: he asked, still not looking at Erik.

::What?:: Erik sent, nonplussed. ::Did something… Your sister--::

::No, I know that,:: Charles said, turning over his shoulder to roll his eyes. ::It’s just, I was talking with someone while I was standing in line to get food and it got me thinking, what if we’re asked about, you know. Our relationship? We should have a credible story, don’t you think? The B&B owners for one are almost certainly going to ask out out of politeness sake. It’s what you do when you find out someone’s on their honeymoon.::

Erik sighed, thinking for a moment. ::What’s wrong with your sister introducing us?::

::Well, nothing in theory,:: Charles said, a small grin dancing at the corner of his lips, ::but the part about it being a fake date between you two isn’t very romantic. Or believable. What about at an office holiday party or something?::

Erik shrugged. ::It’s as good a place to meet your future spouse as any, I suppose. How long do you think… do you think we’ve been together?:: he asked, pushing the words more forcefully towards Charles than necessary in a vain effort to make them sound nonchalant.

Charles winced, shooting Erik an unimpressed look and rubbing at his temple with two fingers. Embarrassed, Erik flushed and looked away. ::Three years?:: Charles sent. ::Four? I feel it’s easier to play a more comfortable kind of romance, like we’ve broken each other in a bit. In love, but not with the sort of rose-tinted glasses that might come from still being in the honeymoon stage. No pun intended.::

Erik nodded coolly, trying to swallow back the disappointment at the words Charles had used: “easier to play a romance”. ::Right,:: he said, the projection sounding mercifully even, though Erik’s heart was still sinking. ::Sounds good to me. Been together four years, married for… a week or so?::

::Sure,:: Charles said. ::Maybe it was an impromptu thing. That would explain why we hadn’t booked a room yet for our honeymoon. I suppose I couldn’t resist securing you once and for all and insisted on a courthouse wedding right after I proposed.::

Surprised, Erik turned and raised an eyebrow at Charles who was watching him innocently, the ghost of a smile on his face. ::So you proposed, then?::

::Didn’t I anyway?:: Charles asked.

Despite being convinced not five minutes before that he had imagined all of Charles’ interest, Erik’s stomach flipped anew with the look in Charles’ eyes, soft and purposeful at the same time. But underneath all that hid the slightest trace of uncertainty, as if Charles wasn’t sure he could get away with being so bold but was trying to hide it under as much bravado as possible. The look was curious to Erik, making Charles even more an enigma than he had been before, but at least there was the slightest bit of hope again rising up in his chest, a hope that surged even higher, making Erik’s heart thump obnoxiously as Charles leaned over and tucked himself up against Erik’s side, resting his head on Erik’s shoulder as naturally as he had on the plane.

::Do you mind?:: he asked, and his mental voice really did sound less confident than normal. ::Even with the coffee, I’m afraid five hours wasn’t nearly enough time for my subconscious to process yesterday evening.::

Not quite trusting himself to form a coherent reply, Erik paused a moment before lifting his arm and settling it around Charles’ shoulders, keeping him close as the train jostled gently on the tracks. Figuring that it was better to try and join Charles than sit staring aimlessly out the window for another few hours, he rested his head gently on top of Charles’ floppy hair, relaxing more against that small but sturdy frame when Charles relaxed more against him, and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the train to rock them both to sleep.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

A particularly violent jostle shook Erik from a sleep he didn’t realize he’d fallen into. He inhaled sharply, remembering where he was as soon as he felt the metal around them and stretching out ahead and behind them in what felt like infinite directions, his powers grounding him faster than any of his other senses ever could. Charles had been shaken awake, too. When Erik looked down he saw him blinking dumbly, bright blue eyes still hazy with sleep. A realization seemed to dawn on Charles as Erik watched, and he groaned suddenly, scrunching his face up against the dim fluorescent lights of the car and burying his face in Erik’s shoulder again.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Erik said, unable to keep an appropriate check on his amusem*nt. Against his better judgement, he curled his arm more tightly where it still rested around Charles’ shoulders and told himself it was to keep up appearances. The movement brought his wrist closer and he craned his neck, checking the time. “The day’s almost half over. We’ve been asleep for three hours.”

“As I recall, Sleeping Beauty had a much less rude awakening,” Charles said petulantly, the words half-muffled by Erik’s turtleneck.

Erik rolled his eyes, ignoring the gentle flutter of his insides at the suggestion. Summoning as much boldness as he could, he tipped his head down and pressed a kiss to Charles’ crown. The compartment around them was a little less than half full, and no one was sitting near them -- Erik could tell from the various belt buckles, clusters of loose change, and Starkphones scattered throughout their car -- a fact that made it that much harder to pretend to himself that his intentions were anything but selfish, but to his great relief, Charles didn’t seem to mind.

Quite to the contrary, he tipped his head back, meeting Erik’s gaze with a slow grin. “Better,” he said. “I suppose I can let you off the hook this time.”

He leaned back then, stretching his arms up to the ceiling and his feet out as far in front of him as they would go, casting a curious glance out the window as he fought down a yawn. The city had given way to moorland, misty and wide as every romantic Victorian novel had ever made it out to be, the red-scrubbed hills rolling like waves off in the distance; a vast ocean of moss, Caledonia, and bog asphodel stretching as far as the eye could see. Erik had never been to this part of England before, and while he had always found such rainy scenes a bit dreary, he couldn’t deny there was also a certain ethereal beauty to the whole thing. Especially, he mused, with Charles watching the passing scenery so intently, his almost too-pale skin and wide blue eyes making him look almost like a waif fallen straight out of one of those romantic Victorian novels.

Ridiculous, Erik admonished himself, turning away and scrubbing a hand across his eyes. Silly, really, to allow himself to think such fanciful thoughts.

Charles sighed, tearing his gaze from the window. “Could you let me out, please?” he asked. “I think I’ll get one of my books from my bag. Would you like to borrow one? It might help get you up to speed.”

Erik shrugged. “Sure,” he said, standing. “But you stay there, I’ll grab it for you.”

He held out a hand, gripping the screws and metal rods in the suitcase with his power, tugging it down and sitting it in his seat. “Pick, and I’ll put it back.”

“Brilliant,” Charles said, his eyes sparkling in delight.

Quickly, Charles unzipped the suitcase and began rifling through the myriad books he’d packed. One hand braced on the overhead rack and the other on the headrest of his seat, Erik watched patiently for several minutes while Charles selected a handful of books, skimming the backs and the tables of contents before finally making his choices and putting all but two of the books back.

“Done,” he said, giving Erik a smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Erik replied, using his powers to zip the suitcase closed once more and levitating it back on the rack. Taking a seat, he accepted the proffered book from Charles’ hand and flipped it over to read the back.

“It’s a general history of the Templars origins,” Charles said, “although there’s a few chapters devoted entirely to the Grail. I figured you would find it the most interesting.”

::There’s also information on the role of mutants in Templar activities, and if my memory serves me right, a bit about Rossyln Chapel,:: he added, already digging into his own book with unconcealed relish. ::Best to get yourself up to speed while you can.::

::What are you reading?:: Erik asked, glancing over at the cover of Charles’ book.

::“Arcane Iconography”,:: Charles replied distractedly. ::Refreshing the meaning behind Templar symbols and how they may related to the resting place of the Grail.::

He didn’t offer any more explanation; he was too deeply ensconced in his reading already. Shrugging, Erik flipped to the introduction of his own book and joined him.

Over an hour passed in mutual silence. By the time it was four o’clock it had already gone dark outside and another handful of passengers had alighted at their stops. He and Charles were now nearly alone in their car apart from an orange-skinned woman in the furthest corner who had been listening to her headphones for hours and sipping a cup of tea that never seemed to go cold, and an elderly gentlemen and his wife who were sitting near the door, arguing quietly over their third crossword puzzle of the trip. About twenty minutes earlier Charles had produced a water bottle from the satchel stowed under his chair and offered some to Erik, along with half the orange he’d mentioned buying earlier, but apart from that, Charles had remained completely absorbed in his book.

Erik, on the other hand, was getting bored. He had always had a difficult time of keeping still; even when he was younger his mother would have to scold him gently when they went to synagogue and he’d kick the seat in front of them impatiently, or for sitting sideways on his chair at mealtimes, always ready to hop down from his seat and take off outside. He stood up and walked the length of the train car, pausing at the window furthest away from the others to peer outside. As it was dark and they were still apparently in the country, he couldn’t see a thing, but it helped him stretch his legs and gave him an excuse to not return to his book quite yet.

Wanting to prolong his freedom for as long as possible, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the chess app. Groovy_prof hadn’t written him back, but he had made another move, one that cost Erik his last knight. He was still just prolonging the inevitable -- Erik was poised for checkmate in two separate instances -- but his opponent had yet to go down without a fight, and Erik respected that about him. He would make this as painless as possible.

He moved his bishop into checkmate. Groovy_prof’s white king toppled dramatically and the dancing chess pieces announced Erik’s victory.

“PLAY AGAIN?”

The app asked in broad blue lettering. Automatically, Erik tapped yes button and the board re-set itself. Erik sent a message.

Magneto: Got you with my bishop. Re-setting the game so it’s there. Waiting for your move whenever you have time.

But to his great surprise, no sooner had he sent the message than a white pawn crept forward on the board, the typing icon appearing next to his partner’s name.

groovy_prof: it was inevitable, i suppose. how kind of you to offer me a chance of revenge so quickly, though.

Erik moved his left knight ahead of the row of pawns with a grin, making his leisurely way back to his seat.

Magneto: Does your husband not play chess?
groovy_prof: i don’t know, actually. i’ve never asked.
groovy_prof: to be honest, we haven’t known each other that long. but i suppose when it feels right it feels right, cliche as that is.

Unbidden, Charles’ bright eyes and warm laughter danced across Erik’s thoughts and he flushed, swallowing thickly.

Magneto: I suppose.

He replied diplomatically. He reached his seat and sunk back into it with a sigh, picking up the book and flipping it open, but resting his phone in between the pages. Charles, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, was also on his phone, but he let him have his privacy, too preoccupied with his own conversation to be nosy and see what he was doing.

Another white pawn slid forward, and the game continued on for a few more moves until groovy_prof caught Erik’s rook in a trap, scoring the first piece of the game. Erik frowned, annoyed at having left a hole in his defenses. He moved his queen, zeroing in on a wandering knight and tapped out a message.

Magneto: Touche.

Beside him, Charles snorted, but though he was tempted to ask what it was he was laughing about, he saw groovy_prof was writing a reply, and he waited to see what it said first.

groovy_prof: told you i would get my revenge. i can feel my winning streak coming on.

Erik rolled his eyes and moved a pawn to block his King.

Magneto:> We’re neck and neck 167 to 169. Don’t think you can shake me off that easily.

Just then, Erik had a thought. He frowned as he typed out,

Magneto: Hey, where are you on your honeymoon anyway? You’re on East Coast time, normally, but right now I’m in Europe and we’re still in the same time zone.

Charles made a noise of surprise, something interesting from his book, probably. Groovy_prof was typing out another reply.

groovy_prof: i’m in europe, too! on a train to scotland.

It was as if Erik had suddenly lost his footing and gone tumbling ass over ankles. His jaw dropped open in surprise and he jerked around, watching Charles as he typed out something on his phone, smiling delightedly down at the screen, completely oblivious to Erik’s astonishment. Erik’s phone buzzed. He looked down at it, disbelieving.

groovy_prof: where are you?

He turned to Charles again, his mouth suddenly dry as he thought wildly what to say. Nothing seemed adequate to express his utter delight and confusion at having found in the flesh his long-time chess partner and only friend without even knowing it. That groovy_prof was Charles -- already perfect Charles who was everything Erik had ever allowed himself to want in the quiet desperate moments where he allowed himself to think of a life beyond his anger, beyond Shaw -- seemed impossible. Erik was never allowed to be that lucky.

But here they were, all the same.

“Charles?” he croaked.

Charles head shot up, looking concerned. “Erik?” he asked, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

Still not quite trusting his voice, Erik took his phone and raised it to show Charles the screen, shaking it gently so Charles would look at it and not his own dumbstruck face. Frowning, Charles took Erik’s hand, bringing the phone closer to examine. The frown stayed in place a millisecond longer, and then Charles was looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth open, just as surprised as Erik was.

“You’re--?”

“I’m Magneto,” Erik said, chuckling at how silly it was to hear himself speaking his own screen name aloud. “You’re--”

“Yes,” Charles said, laughing along as well. “Yes. I know it’s a stupid name. My sister came up with it. Yes, it’s me.”

“Myst--Raven?” Erik asked, shaking his head. “That’s. Why didn’t she tell me?”

Charles laughed again at that, his fingers still wrapped gently around Erik’s wrist. “How could she have known? You don’t show her our chess games, do you?”

“Of course not,” Erik said, which only seemed to make Charles more delighted. “They’re for us, not for anyone else.”

The look Charles gave Erik was inscrutable. Erik felt something in his insides jump and twist in anticipation with the weight behind it, and he shifted in his seat, turning closer to Charles, who shifted as well. The hand with which Erik held the phone lowered so both their hands now rested on his thigh, light and a little tentative. Charles’ gaze flickered down to their fingers, then back up at Erik, biting his lip, his eyes wide and dark. Somehow they’d drawn closer still without either of them quite realizing what they were doing. Their knees brushed gently together, and when Charles leaned in further still, Erik could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Just for us?” he asked quietly. Unable to keep his eyes off Charles’ red, red lips Erik saw the corners of them twitch up in the cautious beginnings of a smile.

Erik’s heart was thundering against his ribcage. “Yeah,” he breathed. His voice was as shaky as he was sure his hands would be if he raised them to cup Charles’ cheek, which he so badly wanted to do. But he was frozen, staring at Charles and waiting with bated breath for him to make the next move.

Each second felt like an eternity as Charles’ gaze flickered over Erik’s features, searching for Erik didn’t know what – an invitation or a resignation. How could Charles not know, he asked himself. He was sure he’d been unable to keep his emotions from his face. Perhaps their intensity had been a warning flag to Charles, rather than an incentive to move forward, and now he was calculating the best way to retreat without causing too much damage to their professional relationship.

Charles moved in and for the second time in less than 24 hours, pressed their lips together in a soft, reassuring kiss.

This time, at least, Erik was caught less by surprise and instead of mashing their mouths together, he tilted his head to the side and slid his hand gently into Charles’ hair, responding as enthusiastically as he thought he could get away with. To his infinite relief, Charles didn’t shy away, but rather pressed further into Erik’s space, one hand coming to rest on Erik’s shoulder and the other braced against his ribcage. The touch seemed to burn through Erik’s clothing, a brand only Erik could see or feel, and he hoped against all hope that he had at least half the effect on Charles that Charles had on him.

They kissed slowly, almost lazily to any potential onlookers –- the kind of comfortable embrace that might be expected of a newlywed couple -– but in reality they were exploring; what would happen if Erik moved to cup the back of Charles’ neck? What noise would Erik make if Charles drew his bottom lip into his mouth to gently nip?

Erik groaned, the involuntary noise snapping him out of the almost trancelike state kissing Charles apparently put him in, and the extremely public nature of their current situation rushing back to him. He pulled away with reluctance, watching Charles’ eyes blink open again to frown up at him.

“What’s the matter?” Charles murmured. The hand on Erik’s ribcage slid down to the jut of his hip and he felt goose bumps spring up in the wake of its trail.

Erik felt a blush begin to spread across his cheekbones, and he darted a pointed glance to the other passengers in the car, none of whom were looking at them, but all the same, their presence made Erik feel awkward and a little nonsensically jealous. The kiss on the plane had been different. It had been a kiss of necessity, a tactic to make sure their cover story was believable and that they would be able to seek much-needed privacy without drawing undue attention to themselves. This kiss was just for themselves, and Erik didn’t like the idea of anyone else being privy to it.

Charles craned his neck around to look. When he saw the other passengers were all absorbed in their own little worlds without paying any attention to the two of them at all, he turned a wry smile on Erik. “They haven’t seen a thing,” he said around a chuckle, but he extricated himself from Erik’s arms all the same, shaking his head fondly. “All right. PDA isn’t for everyone.”

“Sorry,” Erik said, his blush deepening, but Charles dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand.

“It’s not a thing to apologize about,” he said firmly. He gave Erik’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll talk about it later, yes?”

Swallowing, Erik nodded.

Seemingly pacified, Charles lifted his own phone imploringly. “Your move,” he said with a grin.

For the next half hour or so, they played out the game on their own separate phones. It was a little awkward, and Charles vowed to buy a travel chess set as soon as they arrived in Edinburgh, but their banter was as good natured and engaging as it had been over text and they spoke idly about nothing in particular as the time wore on. The periodic silences were as comfortable as their conversation; Charles was one of those people who didn’t feel the need to fill every single gap in conversation with pointless prattle -- something that relieved Erik to no end.

Gradually, lights began to flash by the window as they drew closer and closer to the city. Hamlets gave way to towns gave way to the suburbs and finally, at a little past five thirty, the train pulled into its final stop at Prince’s Street Station in Edinburgh. It had been Erik’s move next, but they were almost finished with the game and he didn’t want to rush any crucial moves, so as soon as the brakes clicked into action, he stood up and reached out with his powers once more to pull their luggage down from the rack.

Charles held out one hand for his bag’s handle, and the other for Erik, and together, they made their way out of the train station and to the nearby bus that would take them to their hotel.

The bus ride to the B&B was crowded at first. Prince’s Street was packed with end-of-the-day commuters, shoppers, and people heading off to dinner, and Charles was forced to squish up against Erik’s front like a sardine, their luggage pinned upright between them as more and more passengers shuffled onto the cramped bus. Not that Charles was complaining at all, of course. Any excuse to be close to Erik was good enough for him, and though having his nose mashed hard up against Erik’s shoulder wasn’t his preferred position, at least it was something.
The further they got from the castle, however, the more the crowd thinned, until finally when they reached the stop closest to the Bed and Breakfast there was at least a clear path to the front doors and Charles didn’t have to run over anyone’s toes with his rollaway. He said thank you to the driver as they hopped down and began walking up the street.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Erik asked. “You look very confident.”

Charles nodded brightly, gesturing forward vaguely with his hand. “They gave directions, and after I called to make the reservation I even checked on google maps.” Feeling much more confident from the previous display on the train, he took a chance and reached out to take Erik’s hand again. “Trust me, okay?”

Erik’s shoulders tensed up on instinct at the sudden movement. It was painfully clear that he wasn’t used to casual touches or practically any kind of affection at all, and the knowledge of this sent a spike through Charles’ insides. He wished he knew everything about Erik, why he was so guarded, why he closed off when his mind was screaming for him to open up, and why he refused to talk about Shaw. They all had to be related somehow, Charles realized, but without digging he had no idea how to figure out the correlation, and he absolutely would not let himself dig.

He went to release Erik’s hand, but before he could, Erik seemed to steel himself -- setting his shoulders squarely even as he let the tension drain from them -- and held on back. “How far is it?” he asked, his voice purposefully nonchalant.

“Just a few blocks,” Charles replied. “Dibs on the shower, by the way. I don’t know about you, but I feel a little indecent.”

A wave of faux annoyance was pushed at him, but it only made him laugh, tossing his head back to look up at the dark sky. Even though it was only September, the night was already cool enough to merit a light jacket which Charles had not thought to pack, so he settled instead for wrapping his cardigan a little tighter around himself with the hand still intertwined with Erik’s. Luckily, he saw a familiar looking three storey house just up ahead, a sign posted to the wrought-iron fence surrounding it.

“There it is,” he said, indicating with a nod. “The Crown. Come on.”

He picked up the pace, trailing Erik slightly behind him. The iron gate swung open without being touched and they walked through the small but impressive front garden and up the slightly worn stone front steps, Charles pressing the button for the doorbell. They hardly had to wait ten seconds before the door swung open, revealing a middle aged woman with blonde hair pulled back in a long french braid that went all the way down to her belly button. She smiled winningly at them.

“Mr. and Mr. Pembroke, I presume?” she asked in a light Scottish accent.

Charles nodded, offering a hand, which she took. “That’s us, but please call me Charles, and this is my husband Erik. You must be Margaret.”

“That I am, that I am,” she said, taking Erik’s hand as well. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding us?”

“None at all,” Erik said as they shuffled inside.

“Your directions were very helpful,” Charles added.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Margaret replied. She held out a hand and their luggage, which had been standing beside them in the narrow foyer, floated suddenly down the hallway and towards a young woman who was standing there expectantly, and who bore a very striking resemblance to Margaret, even down to the braid. “Joan, dear,” Margaret called to her. “This is Charles and Erik Pembroke, they’re staying in the honeymoon suite. Will you take these up?”

Joan nodded and grabbed the bags out of midair, turning and heading up a nearby staircase. “Joan is my daughter,” Margaret explained, a quiet kind of affection radiating from her that made Charles feel almost as if he was being wrapped in a warm blanket.

He smiled. “How lovely to have such an enduring family legacy,” he said. “Your website said you’ve been running this place for five generations?”

Margaret nodded proudly. “That’s exactly right, Charles. We know our stuff here.” She gestured them down the hallway and towards the staircase where Joan had disappeared. “If you follow me, I’ll show you to your suite.”

“Is your daughter telekinetic as well?” Erik asked as they began to climb, startling a chuckle out of Margaret.

“Oh, no,” she called over her shoulder. “She’s what her father likes to call a ‘Plant Whisperer’. They both are. They’re the reason why our produce is always so fresh and delicious; we have a wonderful garden out back that we use to stock our kitchen year-round. I’ll tell you, it’s a lucky thing I met Simon, I’ve never been able to find my way around a garden my whole life.”

They reached the top of the stairs and followed Margaret down another hallway with a four doors, behind three of which Charles could sense the faint humming of several minds. Reaching out a little bit further, he brushed each of them: a young baseline couple whose thoughts had the rich quality of German chocolate, two older women -- one baseline, one mutant -- who were discussing where to go to dinner, and behind the third door, a man wondering loudly if he should make the croissant dough tonight or if he could get away with a slap-bang job in the morning. Charles smiled to himself. That must be Simon.

“What about you, if I may ask?” Margaret said pleasantly.

Charles pulled himself back from the minds around them and turned to Erik who gave him a look that seemed to say, What are you waiting for? He let their arms brush companionably as they made their way down the hallway, and Charles’ stomach flopped.

“I’m a telepath,” he said. “And Erik can control metal.”

“Impressive,” Margaret said, stopping before the final door and shooting them an appraising look.

Erik shrugged, feigning bashfulness. “It’s just a low-level thing,” he lied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I can do this.”

He raised a hand and the handle of the door they were standing in front of turned, the door opening just a crack. Seeing this slight display of powers made Margaret’s face light up, a broad smile stretching across her face, and she brought a hand to her chest, flipping her braid back over her shoulder with a toss of her head.

“Oh, that’s grand!” she said. “I always love meeting fellow mutants.”

“Us too,” Charles replied with an encouraging smile.

Just then, quick, light footsteps on a staircase sounded from behind the door, Charles’ sense of another mind growing brighter until all at once, the door swung open again and Joan was standing once more before them. She jumped upon seeing them, obviously not knowing they’d be waiting right outside, but she quickly regained her footing and stepped out of the way.

“Your bags are in your room by the bed,” she said, holding out a heavy old key which Charles took.

Margaret took her daughter by the shoulder and began leading them back towards the downstairs. “Make yourselves at home,” she said. “If you need anything, at least one of us should be down in the kitchen or dining room area until about nine o’clock. Breakfast is served anywhere from 7am to 9, just come down whenever you like.”

“Thank you,” Charles said with a wave of acknowledgement before turning back to Erik, who was staring at the staircase with something like trepidation. Charles quirked an eyebrow up at him. ::Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?:: he asked.

The words had their desired effect. Instantly, Erik turned, forgetting his trepidation and frowning down at Charles uncertainly, but when he saw Charles was teasing, his expression softened and he merely scoffed, a wave of embarrassed affection rolling off him that Charles wasn’t sure if he had intended for him to see or not.

“Come on, then,” Erik said, sounding highly put upon. “Let’s get cleaned up and then you can take me to dinner.”

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

It appeared that the honeymoon suite took up the entire top floor of the house. The staircase opened up into an enormous, open floor-plan room. A sitting area with a love seat and a large wingback chair were situated in front of a merrily crackling fire just next to the staircase, and behind that, a small kitchen area with a tap, tea service, and a small refrigerator. On the far wall there was a large four-poster bed with soft red hangings that matched the bedspread, and on the small trunk by the bed’s foot was their luggage.

Paused behind Erik at the top of the stairs, Charles whistled low. “The pictures weren’t lying,” he said, brushing a hand across Erik’s back as he headed towards his suitcase. “If we didn’t have a job to do we could easily not leave this please for a week.” He left Erik’s sputtering mind behind him, successfully fighting back a smile and picking up his whole suitcase to take into the bathroom to the right of the bed.

Washing off two days worth of sweat and grime only brightened Charles’ spirits exponentially. He’d always been more than a little vain about his hygiene and appearance. In high school, he’d insisted that dyeing his hair and gelling it up in spikes was the height of fashion, which now meant Raven had many, many blackmail tools in old photo albums stashed somewhere in her apartment -- Charles still hoped on occasion that they’d somehow caught on fire or had horrible, permanent water damage. But these days, Charles was much less wild about his appearance, content just to indulge in a long shower with a high quality shampoo that smelled like tea tree oil and expensive body wash. Simple pleasures.

Knowing Erik would grow impatient and probably cranky if he spent too much time washing up, Charles forced himself not to luxuriate under the rainfall shower head as much as he wished, and was clean, shaved, and even brushed his teeth in just over twenty minutes -- a record that he was very proud of. All finished, he wrapped his towel around his waist and pushed open the door, stepping into the considerably less steamy bedroom.

Erik was sitting on the bed, flipping through a magazine about the tourist sites of Scotland that he must have picked up from one of the bedside tables. He looked over at Charles, and started slightly, apparently surprised by Charles’ state of undress.

“Don’t you have any clothes?” he asked.

Charles laughed. “Yes, but I thought you might want to go ahead and take a shower, too,” he replied, hoisting his suitcase onto the bed, watching as it made Erik bounce just a little on the mattress. “The bathroom’s amazing. Feel free to use my shampoo, if you like.”

Erik looked dubiously at him, sizing him up and very obviously doubtful that Charles could have such innocent intentions, but after a moment, he simply stood, leaving the magazine on the bed, and went into the vacant bathroom. Charles rolled his eyes. Such stoicism, he thought, smiling anyway and pulling a new pair of underwear out of his bag.

After he was dressed, Charles picked up the abandoned magazine and began thumbing through it, looking for restaurants. There were several top contenders on the Royal Mile near the castle; a few pubs and a fancier looking almost literal hole-in-the-wall bistro. He dog-eared the pages for Erik to look at once he got out of the shower, but no sooner had he set the magazine aside than the water turned off, and a minute later, Erik exited the bathroom dressed in a button-down and slacks, still toweling off his hair.

“I think your shampoo costs more than my rent,” he said through bits of flying towel.

Charles grinned, picking up the magazine and hopping off the bed. “Worth every penny, though,” he replied sagely. “Your hair will thank me later.” He waited, watching as Erik finished scrubbing violently at his hair before stepping forward and handing him the magazine. “I picked out a few options while I was waiting,” he said. “I thought we could go to the Royal Mile. Maybe see the castle or the cathedral or something. No reason not to do a little actual sightseeing while we’re here, right?”

Erik frowned, settling the towel around his shoulders to flip through to the pages Charles had marked. “I suppose not,” he said. “That’s the kind of thing people do on their honeymoons, isn’t it?”

Charles snorted. “So I’ve been told,” he said dryly. “What looks good to you?”

The pages of the magazine flipped slowly, Erik’s frown deepening as he considered each restaurant, finally settling on the bistro. He smirked and held it out for Charles to take. “I refuse anything but the best on my honeymoon.”

Without waiting for Charles to respond, he turned around and disappeared into the bathroom, swinging the towel from his shoulders, and Charles was powerless to do anything but watch him go, a pleasant fluttering in his chest.

The restaurant Erik had picked was set far back from the road down a dimly lit close with an ornate wrought iron gate that sent a thrill through Erik when they’d walked by; something Charles must have picked up on because he smiled at Erik and squeezed his hand affectionately, making Erik’s heart leap in his chest. Though it was just off the Royal Mile and filled nearly to capacity at the dinner hour, the restaurant was surprisingly tranquil; the largest group was only six people and they were seated far away from Erik and Charles, who had managed to snag a table near the back that had a window that overlooked a small, windy street lit with dim streetlamps below.

Erik was not one to be impressed by things as trivial as restaurant decor, but even he had to admit that the whole setup was just as fancy and romantic as the magazine had made it out to be. If this had actually been his and Charles’ honeymoon, with the original dark wood moldings on the walls, high ceilings, and tasteful, minimalist interior design, he couldn’t have found a more romantic date spot if he’d tried. No wonder Margaret had looked at them so knowingly when they’d asked for directions.

Erik twirled the stem of his wine glass. They’d filled the time between being seated and placing their orders with general small talk, remarking on the setting and how nice it felt to be clean and relaxing after such a long trip. Their table was secluded enough from the rest of the patrons that they could have spoken about their upcoming trip to Rossyln if they so wished, and Erik had thought about it, but he soon dropped the idea. The wine was dark and rich, the atmosphere tranquil and Erik didn’t want to spoil the pleasant hum that had been building underneath his skin all evening since Charles had kissed him with thoughts about Shaw.

It was selfish, he knew, more selfish than he’d allowed himself to be in many, many years. But, he reasoned, there was no sense in over-analyzing the situation when it appeared they still had the upper hand, thanks to the map and the parchment. They couldn’t visit the chapel until the next day, anyway. Best not to lose any sleep over what-ifs and let himself relax while he had the chance.

He was looking out the window, trying to think of a way to amend the lull in their conversation when Charles spoke up.

“Raven must be worried sick. She called almost ten times while we were on the plane, even though I texted her right when we left campus so she wouldn’t think we’d been kidnapped or something.”

“I hope you didn’t tell her where we went,” Erik said. “If she finds out she’ll tell Moira and then we’ll have the agency breathing down our necks, wanting to control everything. Things are so much smoother without the red tape.”

Charles gave him a look. “Of course I didn’t say anything,” he replied, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty keeping her in the dark. We were always so close, we told each other everything. Well, I thought we did, anyway.” He looked out the window, the dim streetlights illuminating his face as he smiled ruefully.

Erik’s hand twitched, itching to move forward and rest on top of Charles’ on the table, but he was unsure if Charles would welcome the touch at the moment. He seemed lost in thought, a long way away all of the sudden, and Erik realized the air seemed suddenly more stagnant as if it too was watching Charles, trying to find a way to comfort him without being too obtrusive.

“Mysti-- Raven would have told you if she could,” Erik said haltingly. “No one is supposed to know what we do -- it’s too dangerous. That she kept what she does a secret for so long just proves how much she cares about you, and how good she is at her job.”

The corner of Charles’ mouth jerked uncomfortably, and he paused, turning away from the window to look down at his plate. “I know,” he said quietly, chewing at his lip. “It’s stupid to get upset about it when she really had no choice. I suppose I always have this selfish wish that things would be as straight-forward as they were when we were kids. We sort of… lost touch for a while a few years back.” He busied himself with straightening his already perfectly straight silverware. “I don’t ever want things to go back to that.”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Erik reached across the table and rested his fingers gently on the sliver of exposed skin at Charles’ wrist. “She talked about you all the time whenever we were on an assignment together,” he said reassuringly. “Seriously, sometimes she’d never shut up about you. I found it quite annoying at the time.”

That made Charles scoff and he finally looked up to meet Erik’s eye with the beginnings of a grin. “All good things, I hope.”

“Hardly,” Erik replied. “I seem to remember something about you dragging her to a special exhibit at the Natural History Museum under false pretenses and not even letting her pick the restaurant for dinner after she walked around with you for hours.”

Charles laughed outright at that. “That was years ago!” he said indignantly. “And she wanted to go for Indian when she knows I have no spice tolerance. She was deliberately trying to make me suffer.”

“She seemed to think turnabout was fair play,” Erik said, not even trying to suppress his smile.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Charles muttered, but he was grinning back at Erik once more, his melancholy completely forgotten. He took another sip of his wine, rolling his eyes heavenward in exasperation, and the image was so melodramatic Erik couldn’t help laughing. “She’s still going to give me the verbal thrashing of the century when we get home,” Charles went on. “I’m just going to tell her it was all your doing and then it will be your problem.”

A sudden image of Raven blushing almost purple with anger and yellow eyes sparking flashed across Erik’s mind. He looked at Charles, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You wouldn’t,” he said lowly.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out,” Charles said, raising his eyebrows. “At any rate, I’ll be in enough trouble with the university for leaving so suddenly and without any notice. My teaching assistants will be okay for a while. Darwin and Marie could teach class themselves if push came to shove, they know the material so well, but Ororo’s going to kill me. Not to mention the President and the Dean, probably.”

Erik felt a sudden spike of guilt in his gut. “I’ll have Moira speak with them,” he promised. “You won’t lose your job over this.”

Charles smiled at him and reached across the tabletop to take Erik’s hand properly. “Thank you, Erik,” he replied.

Luckily for Erik, he didn’t have to think of an appropriate reply as the waiter chose that moment to bring out their food and refill their wine glasses. The lamb Erik ordered smelled mouth-wateringly of rosemary and garlic and across the table he heard Charles make a quiet noise of pleasure as he took in his own plate of mussels. Erik looked up and saw Charles was biting at his lip, trying to contain himself but failing miserably. It would have been endearing if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

::All that over a plate of mussels?:: he sent, raising his eyebrows pointedly as he began to cut his first bite.

::I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry in my life,:: Charles answered. ::Catching criminals is hard work.::

Erik grinned into his lamb. “All you did today was nap and play chess.” ::I hate to see how you fare tomorrow after running around ruins all day and dodging Templar traps or whatever it is we’re going to be doing.::

Charles gave Erik an unimpressed look over and popped a mussel into his mouth. ::I hardly think its going to be that romantic,:: he said. ::Although you bring up a good point about the traps. How… how exactly does your mutation work? Can you always feel metal? Or is it something you have to turn off and on.::

“What do you mean?” Erik asked, a little confused by the change of subject.

“Well, I feel minds around me all the time,” Charles explained. “I can’t see everyone’s specific thoughts unless they’re very loud, but surface emotions, that kind of thing are always there. It means I always know if there’s a person nearby and is why I would probably be able to tell if someone was following us. If you can constantly feel metal the way I do minds, it might help locate anything that was lying in wait for us.”

“Like a trap?”

“Like a trap,” Charles agreed, inclining his head.

Erik sat back in his chair, impressed. For someone so charming and unassuming, Charles certainly did seem to be acclimating to his unexpected adventure quite well. If he didn’t know any better, Erik might think Charles had done this kind of thing before. He couldn’t think of any other civilian who could have acted so quickly on their feet and shielded them from Shaw as Charles did in the archives, and Erik found himself wondering what other tricks Charles might have up his sleeve under that unassuming exterior.

“As long as it’s metal, I would most likely be able to feel it if I was concentrating hard enough,” Erik replied, considering. “Usually I’ll be able to feel metal but not be able to tell what it is, unless it’s something huge like a car or a plane, that sort of thing.”

“Something tells me the Templars didn’t bury a plane with the Grail,” Charles teased. “But that’s good to know. I’m sure your powers will be much more useful than mine once we actually start looking.”

“Well, yours are the reason we’re here in the first place,” Erik replied. “I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you for stopping Shaw from seeing us.”

Charles smiled. “Mmm. Maybe later, then,” he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

A deep and obvious flush spread across Erik’s face and ears, and he found he didn’t know exactly how to respond. In the end he decided maybe a dignified silence was the best reaction anyway; no doubt anything he said would have made Charles’ already sh*t-eating grin that much more unbearable. Ignoring Charles’ weighty gaze, Erik very carefully cut a piece of asparagus and wondered how he was going to survive the night.

By the time they finished dinner it was past nine o’clock. They’d gone through three glasses of wine each, the effects of which -- along with a filling meal -- were leaving Charles feeling loose and a little floaty. A quick examination of Erik’s surface thoughts showed that he was similarly affected, although far less inclined to embrace the feeling than Charles was, but Charles determined not to let Erik’s seriousness get in the way of enjoying their date.

As promised, Charles paid the bill when it came, and when they left, he took Erik’s hand and led him back up the steps of the close and onto the Royal Mile. The majority of shops were closed or closing, and the number of tourists had dwindled to a handful of couples and groups of young people strolling slowly up and down the cobbled streets, enjoying the idyllic scenery. The chill night air brushed across Charles’ face, cooling his wine-warmed cheeks, smelling very faintly of clean sea air. He breathed in deeply.

“It’s too early to head back,” he said, tugging Erik’s hand. “Let’s go up to the esplanade and look around. I’ve never been to the castle before.”

Erik shrugged. “Lead on, then, captain.”

They walked in silence, their shoulders brushing, the only noise their footsteps on the pavement and the quiet conversation of a group of school-aged kids shuffling down the hill in the opposite direction. It was peaceful -- a calm before the storm Charles knew would come tomorrow -- but for now they could enjoy their time together and hopefully, Charles thought, get better acquainted.

If someone had told him a two days ago that in less than twenty four hours he’d be chasing after a wanted criminal mastermind with his long-time online chess partner who also happened to be one of the most attractive people Charles had set eyes on, he would have told them they were insane. Unless, of course, it had been Raven’s on-again-off-again girlfriend Irene. Actually, now that Charles thought about it, he almost wished Irene wasn’t off on a Fulbright in South Korea and instead had been in New York to warn him.

All things considered, Charles thought he was taking everything pretty well in stride, but there was a quiet nagging at the back of his mind that threatened to take over every once in a while that was screaming in terror. Charles had never had any kind of relevant training in his life to prepare for something like this, other than the PhD in archaeology. In the very likely event that they got into some kind of combat situation, Charles wouldn’t know how to defend himself, other than putting the person to sleep or freezing them, which, to be fair, worked ninety-nine percent of the time. But there were still those rare cases when someone was impervious to telepathy -- his TA Darwin was one shining example -- or, of course, was a telepath themselves.

Charles decided to keep these thoughts to himself. There was no reason to worry Erik yet, and besides they both had enough on their minds already. Erik was also undoubtedly skilled enough with his training and his abilities to take care of the both of them, should the need arise. Together, they were far from helpless.

The esplanade, when they reached it, was also mostly deserted, and it wasn’t difficult for Charles to steer them over to a secluded section that looked down on the lights of Prince’s Street. He leaned up against the rough stone wall, feeling all the little divots and imperfections against his palms as he looked down and surveyed the castle grounds.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been to Scotland before,” he said quietly. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve been missing out.”

“If you like this you should see further north, in the highlands,” Erik replied. “It’s all green fields and red moss and cliff faces and mist. I think you’d enjoy it.”

Charles looked up at him, smiling in surprise. “You’ve been here before? Why didn’t you say?”

But Erik shook his head. “Not here. I flew into Glasgow and took a train north for a job... oh about seven years ago. There was an old druid relic Shaw was after on the Isle of Skye. He got there before I did,” he finished, a frown creasing his brow at the memory.

Charles frowned as well, and leaned against Erik’s side. “Not this time, though,” he said firmly.

Surprised out of his revere by Charles’ vehemence, Erik looked down at him, considering for a moment. At last, the corners of his lips twitched briefly; not a smile, but almost. “No,” Erik answered. “Not this time.”

A comfortable silence descended once more as they looked down at the diminishing crowd on the street below. Erik’s mind was fluttering with activity, but Charles decided to give him his privacy; if Erik wished to share his thoughts, he would. For now, Charles was content to let his own mind wander -- to the classes he’d be missing, to Raven and her injured ankle, to what he had read that day about all the Templar symbols in Rossyln and their possible relations to the Grail’s resting place. He was so far away he almost didn’t notice Erik wrapping a tentative arm around his waist, his fingers resting so gently against Charles’ hip they almost weren’t there.

Charles turned into the touch like a flower turning to the sun, grinning slowly up at Erik. “Hello, there,” he murmured.

“Hi,” Erik replied. His eyelids were already at half mast, but they fluttered completely closed when Charles stood on tip-toe and pressed their lips together.

It was a chaste kiss, close mouthed and short, but it still sent a thrill up Charles’ spine, even more so when the arm around him curled in tighter, pressing him to Erik’s chest so that when they broke apart a moment later, they were close enough that he only had to lean in to rest their foreheads together. He looped his arms around Erik’s neck, toying with the short hair at his nape, and sighed in contentment.

“It’s so silly,” Erik said quietly after a moment. “We’ve really only known each other for two days, but…”

He paused, and then seemingly unable to find the right words, simply pushed all his emotions at Charles in messy bundle: attraction, excitement, possessiveness, doubt, and also a hint of wariness. Erik was nothing if not a creature of habit, and the sudden onslaught of new thoughts and feelings Charles had awakened in him was understandably confusing and disorienting; he wanted to give into his instincts and trust Charles, but that was something he had never done before and the very notion of it made him nervous. Charles couldn’t fault Erik for that, not when he was more than a little bewildered by the whole thing himself.

He smiled, shaking his head. “To be fair, we’ve been speaking almost every day for a year,” he said. “I always hoped I’d meet you one day, I just never expected it would happen quite like this.”

Erik laughed. “I’d be concerned if you had.”

He ducked his head down and kissed Charles again, more comfortable than before, as he finally let himself relax into their situation and trust that Charles wouldn’t suddenly bolt. Encouraged, Charles tilted his head and deepened the kiss, sliding his fingers all the way into Erik’s hair and drawing him closer as he licked imploringly at his lower lip. Erik made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, something high and needy that sent a shock straight through Charles, and opened his mouth, letting Charles slip his tongue inside.

Conscious that they had to keep things at least semi-appropriate, Charles contented himself with merely coaxing Erik’s tongue into action while running his hands gently through his hair, making it stick up in awkward angles. The arm around Charles’ waist drifted so Erik’s hand was resting at the small of his back, dipping into the divot of his spine just above his belt. From the tenor of his thoughts, Charles could tell that Erik was thinking very hard about how much he wanted to reach lower, and also how much the fact that he'd been thinking that mortified him. Charles suppressed a laugh and nipped at Erik’s lip.

“Maybe we should head back to the room?” he suggested, his voice sounding thick even to his own ears.

Erik swallowed, pressing in close to nuzzle at Charles’ lips while his thoughts stuttered, trying to collect themselves. “Yes,” he said quietly. “We should do that.”

Charles let himself laugh at last, the sound bubbling up from his chest gleefully. “Come on, then,” he said, and he took Erik’s hand again, leading them both away from the castle.

The bus ride that followed felt like the longest of Charles’ life. He and Erik had retreated to the top of the double decker in the hopes that maybe they would be able to steal some more kisses, but they had been met by a rowdy group of university students who, although they had been sitting at the back, had killed the mood considerably. So instead, they’d had to settle for pressing themselves close together on the seat their fingers intertwined, Erik’s leg jumping anxiously against Charles’.

They finally reached the stop for the B&B, Charles practically flying down the steps, out the door, and down the street, Erik right at his heels, pushing open the garden gate and front door with his powers. The light was still on in the hallway, but a quick sweep revealed that they were blissfully alone -- Margaret and Simon were in the kitchen near the back of the house and the rest of the guests were either upstairs or still out. Charles held a finger to his lips, smiling roguishly. Erik mirrored the movement, then tip-toed into the hall, leading the way towards the stairs, shutting the front door silently behind them.

Hand-in-hand they managed to make it to the second floor without incident. If any of the other guests heard them rushing down the hallway, they didn’t think to investigate, and Charles was far too preoccupied with trying to stay quiet to check to see if they’d interrupted anyone’s sleep. Erik opened the door to their bedroom with a quick sweep of his hand and then they were climbing the last set of stairs, suddenly and blissfully alone.

It was dark in the room, and almost silent except for the gentle hum of the radiator in a far-off corner and the sound of their ragged breathing. Erik’s heart was pounding against his ribcage, a ceaseless tattoo that had only a little to do with their sprint from the bus stop and more to do with the way Charles had wormed his way into his space once more, pressing him back up against the wall next to the stairs and pinning him there with his hands on Erik’s hips. They were standing so close their chests brushed as they inhaled, trying to catch their breath, but air became a somewhat moot point as Erik leaned down and Charles leaned up and they resumed kissing almost frantically.

Erik was woefully out of practice, but he responded enthusiastically to every brush of Charles’ lips, every change in angle, or flick of his tongue across Erik’s. He threaded one hand through Charles’ hair, keeping him as close as possible without becoming faint from lack of oxygen between kisses, while the other curled around Charles’ bicep, kneading at the soft fabric of the cardigan with his thumb.

“I didn’t prepare for this,” Charles whispered against Erik’s lips. “We don’t have any condoms or lubricant or anything.”

Erik sighed, trying desperately to grab ahold of some working brain cells to piece together a sentence. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We-- we’ll think of something. Come here.”

“I think it very does matter,” Charles murmured, but he came along as Erik tugged him stumblingly across the floor towards the bed, still kissing as well as the situation would allow.

The backs of Erik’s legs hit the side of the mattress first, knocking him nearly off-balance, but he managed to catch himself on one of the bedposts with a free hand. The movement made them break apart, however, and when they did, Charles pressed at Erik’s chest, keeping him from leaning in again.

“Let’s catch our breath,” he said. “Hang on a minute.”

Erik nodded. He took the opportunity to flop onto the bed and toe off his shoes, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling when he was finished, one hand resting on his stomach, rising and falling more slowly as he calmed. Beside him, the mattress dipped as Charles joined him, sighing quietly and stretching out his hand so it just brushed against Erik’s above the duvet, their pinkies overlapping. In the corner, the radiator rattled away.

Feeling a bit more clear headed, Erik turned on his side, propping his head up on a fist to look down at Charles. Even though the only light in the room came from the faint half-moon outside, Erik could still make out Charles’ brilliant smile; a sight which made Erik’s pulse begin to quicken again. Charles’ teeth flashed as they caught the light, and his mouth was red and still glistening from Erik’s earlier kisses -- a considerable temptation, but Erik wasn’t quite ready to dive in again. Instead, he watched as Charles’ smile softened and he slowly reached up, tracing a hand down the side of Erik’s face, from his temple to the corner of his jaw.

“I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be right now than here with you,” he said quietly.

Erik felt his face heat, and he looked away, wanting to hold Charles’ gaze but unable to. “If I’d known you were going to be so sappy I wouldn’t have agreed to let you come after all.”

Charles scoffed, completely unconvinced. He began to smooth Erik’s hair back away from his face, petting him gently. “Such posturing,” he chided through a smile. “So needlessly prickly. You aren’t going to scare me away so easily. I’ve got your number.”

In retaliation, Erik turned his head abruptly to the side and nipped at Charles’ fingers, but Charles merely tossed his head back and laughed, loud and bright, poking playfully back and dodging Erik’s gnashing teeth. Erik grabbed Charles’ hand and rolled suddenly on top of him, pinning his wrist to the mattress above their heads with a smirk.

A frown creased Charles’ brow momentarily at being so thwarted, but then he shifted, bringing his knees up to pin Erik’s hips against his own. He arched with an exaggerated groan, grinding them together so Erik could feel his half-hard co*ck through his jeans.

His eyelids fluttered, the lashes dipping almost to his flushed cheek and he sighed throatily. “Erik.”

The bottom dropped out of Erik’s stomach and he lurched involuntarily, which only exacerbated the problem. “f*ck,” he breathed.

Charles grinned wolfishly up at him. “That’s the idea.”

Erik didn’t have the mental energy to even roll his eyes. He could tease Charles about making a horrible pun in the middle of sex later. For now, all Erik could focus on was the best way to divest Charles of his cardigan and button-up while somehow also shimmying out of his own clothes. They fumbled together, all uncoordinated hands and awkward elbows, but at long last, Erik managed to tear the last button of his own shirt free while Charles pulled his undershirt off and they both threw their clothing away to land with a thump over the side of the bed.

They pressed together again. Charles’ skin was warm against Erik’s, and the contact sent a shiver of pleasure down Erik’s spine. He leaned down to capture Charles’ mouth once more, sliding his tongue along the seam of his lips and gaining a contented sigh as he cupped his hand against Charles’ cheek briefly before moving down to trail across his throat and collarbone. Charles’ pulse raced against Erik’s fingers, so warm and close Erik almost thought he could feel the iron as it coursed through the other man’s veins, but he shoved the thought away at the same time that he broke away from Charles’ mouth, mapping kisses to Charles’ throat instead, following the path his fingers had just taken.

Charles’ arms wrapped around Erik, one hand threading through his hair, and the other pressing into the space between his shoulder blades. His fingernails were blunt -- Erik had noticed earlier he bit them down to the skin -- but that meant he didn’t scratch Erik when Erik nipped a mark into the side of his throat and he dug his fingertips in, groaning.

Erik smiled against Charles’ skin, trailing his lips lower onto Charles’ chest, dipping a hand between them to palm at his crotch. ::Okay?:: he asked smugly.

::No,:: Charles replied petulantly, wriggling and managing to both push Erik away and tug him back at the same time. ::No, I want more.:: “Get your bloody pants off, right now,” he demanded, rocking up into Erik’s palm. “Take them off, let me see you. Please, God, tell me there’s some lotion here or something.”

“In the bathroom,” Erik panted.

He sat back on his heels to undo his belt frantically, and Charles followed him up, pressing kisses to his shoulders, chest, and collar bone, and generally getting in the way. Not that Erik would have ever told him to move. He felt almost drunk off Charles’ mouth, his scent, the indescribable sensation of his thoughts snaking through and around Erik’s. How had he survived almost thirty years on Earth without knowing what it meant to feel like this? If only he’d met Charles ten years ago -- twenty, even, as impossible as it would have been -- how different would his life be now?

“No, don’t,” Charles said, tilting Erik’s head down for a kiss. “Don’t do that to yourself. Tell me where you saw the lotion.”

Erik swallowed. “In the medicine cabinet.”

“Be right back,” Charles said.

Dropping one last kiss to Erik’s chest, Charles slipped out from underneath him with surprising dexterity and disappearing into the bathroom, giving Erik just enough time to twist out of his pants and underwear before returning with a white, oblong bottle. Charles tossed it onto the bed, undoing his button and zip with fumblingly impatient fingers, getting in the way as Erik tried to help with his powers. Finally, he was able to shove both his pants and his boxers off in one go, kicking them away as he launched himself onto the bed and back into Erik’s waiting arms.

Charles braced his hands on Erik’s shoulders, guiding them both back down as they kissed so they lay side by side on the mattress. The bottle of lotion got momentarily trapped under Erik’s hip until Charles pried it free, dropping it somewhere near their heads out of the way. Erik reeled him in again until they were so close he could feel almost every inch of Charles along his front from his chest all the way down to their interlocked ankles. His skin broke out in goosebumps and he moaned, breaking off their kiss for breath. Huffing against Charles’ lips, he ran a hand down his side, trailing behind to grab Charles’ ass.

Charles made a noise of surprise -- half groan, half squeak -- and nipped at Erik’s bottom lip in retaliation. He pushed gently at Erik’s sternum, scooting a little ways down the bed to rest his head against Erik’s heaving chest, the other hand resting on Erik’s hip. Erik shifted a little nervously; Charles’ gaze on his co*ck was practically tangible in its acuteness, and Erik was unused to being so blatantly assessed that he wasn’t quite sure what he should do or say, if anything.

“God,” Charles breathed at last, laughing slightly. “Good thing I’m not completely out of practice.”

It surprised a laugh out of Erik, who couldn’t help shaking his head, too, at the absurdity. “Do I pass muster?” he asked. “Jesus, Charles.”

“Sorry,” Charles said, tipping his head back to smile at Erik again. “Sorry. I promise I didn’t mean it that way. I just wanted to see you. Come here.” He pulled Erik to him, hooking a leg over Erik’s knee so he could thrust up against him, drawing a surprised gasp from him when their co*cks brushed. He did it again, and Erik’s hand flew mindlessly to the crook of Charles’ leg, holding him in place.

“I want us like this,” Charles breathed. “Tomorrow we’ll get condoms and you can f*ck me. I want you to f*ck me.” Erik’s stomach flopped. “Later we can-- but right now I just want you like this. Our hands together.”

The hand not knotted in Erik’s hair flew up the bed and after a moment’s fumbling, returned with the bottle of lotion. Erik held out a hand and watched dumbly as Charles uncapped the bottle and squeezed a dollop into both their palms. Then he tossed the lotion away again and took Erik’s hand, guiding it down between them to wrap around both of their co*cks.

The moment Erik touched him, Charles whimpered with relief. Erik had seen when Charles first kicked off his trousers that he was just as hard as Erik, and from the waves of arousal that had been washing off him, it was evident that he had only grown more agitated since then. But feeling the emotion, feeling Charles’ erection glancing against his hip, was a completely different thing to feeling it full and leaking pre-cum in his hand.

Erik let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, rocking experimentally into his and Charles’ interlocked fingers. The glide was a little imperfect -- they had been too rushed to apply the lotion properly -- but the sensation of Charles’ co*ck against his own sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he sucked in a quick breath that hitched as Charles thrust back, running his thumb over the head of Erik’s prick.

He leaned down and sealed their lips together once more, sucking at Charles’ bottom lip as they stutteringly found a rhythm fast enough to make Erik’s heart beat frantically against his ribcage, but slow enough that he thought they wouldn’t both come embarrassingly fast. Every so often Charles would swipe a finger along the underside of their co*cks, earning a groan or a hiss from Erik. He had never considered himself to be that vocal in bed before, but the slick glide of Charles’ co*ck against his felt almost unbearably good, and when that sensation combined with the throaty gasps tumbling from Charles’ throat, Erik couldn’t bring himself to care at how noisy they were being. Especially a moment later when Charles dragged a hand down Erik’s chest, catching a fingertip on his nipple. Erik bucked, letting out a quiet cry.

“sh*t,” he whispered.

::Okay?:: Charles asked, the hand on their co*cks slowing.

Erik nodded, resting their foreheads together. ::Yes, fine.:: “Really good,” he added breathlessly. “Keep… keep going.”

No further prompting was needed; Charles picked up the pace again, hooking his leg more securely around Erik’s for better control, their thrusts becoming harder and shallower. Erik felt his own pleasure spiralling higher and higher out of his control, pooling hot and insistent at the base of his spine. He knew Charles was aware of how close he was, too, but it seemed Charles had hit his breaking point also, because he didn’t slow down. Instead, he kissed Erik again, hard, his tongue slipping inside Erik’s mouth, coaxing Erik’s into action so he could suck it the same time he flicked his thumb over the tip of Erik’s co*ck, teasing at the slit.

Erik let out a choked noise against Charles’ lips and arched as he came, shocks of electricity spreading out even to his curling toes. Charles held him steady as he shuddered through it with one grounding hand on the back of his neck, murmuring things Erik couldn’t make out against his ear. When Erik began to come back to himself at last, he nuzzled a drunken kiss to Charles’ mouth. He felt lightheaded, a little like a wrung-out towel, and surprisingly tired, but Charles was still hard in his hand.

Ducking his head, he started sucking at the pulse point in Charles’ neck, earning a surprised groan and flutter of anticipation against his mind. Encouraged, Erik started in again with the fast pace Charles had set earlier, not wanting to waste any of the momentum they’d gained, wanting to make Charles feel as good as he did now. Charles must have caught the thought because he keened, bucking up into Erik’s hand to chase his pleasure, anchoring Erik’s lips to his collar bone with a hand in his hair again.

Erik could feel Charles’ throat working, the vibrations of little noises passing through his skin to Erik’s, and if he hadn’t already been so sated, he would undoubtedly be getting hard once more. As was, Erik redoubled his efforts, dragging his fist up Charles’ length and twisting gently at the top in a way that made Charles’ breath catch, and without pausing to over-think himself, brought his other hand back to Charles’ ass, slipping a finger down to brush over his hole.

Charles cried out as his whole body jerked, plastering himself to Erik’s front as he spent himself over Erik’s fingers. Erik pulled away from Charles’ throat to watch his face, his mouth open and blue eyes wide and dark, staring at nothing as his body twitched erratically, seemingly attempting to melt into Erik if such a thing were possible. Erik’s throat went dry at the sight, and he stroked Charles, pulling every last ounce of pleasure from him until his ragged panting evened out and his eyes refocused, blinking slowly across at Erik.

For a moment, all Erik could do was stare back, his gaze roving over Charles’ kiss-swollen lips, the blush high on his cheekbones, the dark curl sticking to his damp forehead and wonder what he could have possibly ever done in his life to deserve this. The inside of his chest felt strangely tight, almost so much that it was uncomfortable to breathe, but at the same time, the rest of him felt weightless, like he could stretch out in infinite directions and never stop.

Almost as a test, he reached out with his power and felt the metal in the building around them, then the iron garden gate, then the next building over and the building after that until he was unwinding into the cars on the road outside and the bus stop at the end of the block. Then Charles bumped his nose against Erik’s, and he reeled himself back into their bedroom, feeling only the brass bedside lamps and digital clock, and the two bands around their fingers made out of copper and silver and nickel.

Charles kissed him, slow and sweet, cupping Erik’s jaw with his clean hand, stroking his thumb over his cheek. Erik sighed, opening his mouth to lick at Charles’ plush bottom lip. They were both too sleepy for it to turn into anything more heated, but Erik couldn’t bring himself to pull away yet and Charles, it seemed, felt the same, so they kissed for a while longer until Erik’s eyelids started to become too heavy, and the mess on their stomachs and hands became too much to deal with. Charles allowed one last kiss before rolling onto his back and sighing up at the ceiling. Then he propped himself up on his elbow and swung his legs over the side of the bed to pad into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a wet washcloth.

Erik blinked dumbly up at him as he made his way over to the bed and sat down, wiping off both their hands and stomachs and co*cks with a gentle but almost matter-of-fact touch. Once they were both clean, Charles went to stand again, but Erik made a quiet noise of protest and wrapped a hand around his wrist, tugging him back down on the bed and against his chest.

“Erik,” Charles said around a quiet chuckle, “I have to put this back.”

Erik shook his head, burrowing his nose into the soft hairs at the nape of Charles’ neck. “No. I’ve got it.”

He reached out with his power and found the closest metal object -- a blunt letter opener -- and used the end to pick the washcloth out of Charles’ hands and move it into the tub. Charles made a pleased noise at the casual display of power and relaxed finally back against Erik, grabbing one of Erik’s hands and bringing it around to rest above his heart, their fingers linked together.

“Happy honeymoon, darling,” he said quietly.

Erik pressed his lips to the back of Charles’ neck. “Happy honeymoon.”

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

The first time Charles woke the next morning was with the sun. They had shifted in their sleep so Charles was now laying on his front with Erik draped half on top of him, but Erik was apparently awake, too, because he shifted, rolling away from Charles and taking his warmth with him. Charles groaned in protest and Erik paused, leaning down to press a kiss to one of Charles’ shoulder blades.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, tucking the blanket in closer around Charles’ arms.

Normally, Charles would have protested, but his limbs were still heavy and he was already half-asleep. He closed his eyes and drifted off again instantly.

The next time Charles woke it was to an empty bed. The sun was properly up now, and when Charles glanced at the clock, he saw it was almost half-past seven. He reached out lazily with his mind to try and find Erik, but was disappointed when he couldn’t feel him anywhere in the house or the garden. He sat up, frowning, but his anticipation quickly dissipated when he saw the note written in clean, elegant handwriting next to the clock on the bedside table. Gathering the blankets close about him to fend off the morning chill, he scooted farther up the bed and grabbed it.

Charles -
Went for a run and to stop and get a few things. Be back for breakfast.

X

Instantly, he smiled, feeling a warm surge of affection bubble up from his chest. He allowed himself to bask in the feeling for a while, snuggling into the bed for a few minutes longer, before he decided he’d better get up and make himself presentable to go downstairs. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he scampered naked into the bathroom and turned on the tap for the shower, sucking in a breath as the hot water hit his outstretched hand.

It took a moment for the water to adjust to an acceptable temperature, Charles’ skin standing out in gooseflesh in the cold air as he waited with crossed arms, but soon enough he was able to jump into the tub and stand underneath the shower head, heat seeping back into his bones as the water sloughed off him. He sighed and tilted his head back to wet his hair. If Erik was gone this morning, he was going to use his unexpected alone time to relax. It was probably going to be his last opportunity, anyway; Rosslyn Chapel opened at nine thirty and from the moment they stepped onto the grounds, Charles knew it was going to be all business and no pleasure.

He luxuriated under the spray, running his fingers through his hair and scratching his nails over his scalp, making his co*ck twitch in interest, but he ignored it for now. He waited until his fingers began to get prune-y before grabbing the shampoo and continuing on with his shower, content for the moment to let his arousal slowly pool in his stomach. It was only after he was done washing his hair that he felt the other mind coming the stairs.

Erik’s thoughts were far more focused than they had been last night, and made even more sharp from his morning run. As soon as he noticed the water running in the bathroom, he made his way towards it. Charles smiled. A moment later, there was a knock on the door, accompanied by a mental ::?::.

::Come in if you want,:: Charles sent, peeling back the shower curtain. ::There’s plenty of room for two.::

The door opened and Erik stepped in, smelling not altogether unpleasantly of sweat and the outdoors and wearing sweatpants that seemed to enhance rather than conceal the size of his co*ck, drawing the eye where they rested low on his hips. He raised an eyebrow when he caught Charles looking, but he definitely was more pleased than anything else, setting down the plastic bag he’d been holding on the toilet seat and peeling out of his clothes without any preamble.

“What’s that?” Charles asked, nodding to the bag when Erik looked up at him questioningly.

“Oh.” Erik’s cheeks glowed faintly. “Supplies.”

It was Charles’ turn to raise an eyebrow, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. “Supplies?”

“Completely, 100% necessary supplies,” Erik said seriously, kicking off his pants and practically throwing himself into the shower to capture Charles’ mouth.

Charles was more than happy to comply, wrapping his arms around Erik’s shoulders and pulling him under the spray. Erik sucked greedily on his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth to nip gently before releasing it and throwing his head back, wetting his hair and shaking his head like a dog. Water flew out in all directions, splattering against the shower curtain with quiet thumps and forcing Charles to close his eyes as he laughed.

“Watch it,” he said. He reached up with one hand and ran his hand through Erik’s damp hair, massaging his scalp like he’d done earlier to himself. It earned him a satisfied moan, and Charles smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to the column of Erik’s throat. “Good morning,” he murmured against Erik’s skin.

“Morning,” Erik replied, his voice gruff.

Charles started to nuzzle at the juncture of Erik’s neck and shoulder, moving a hand down in between their bellies to slide a finger along Erik’s hardening length. “These supplies you speak of wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would they?”

He felt Erik’s swallow and his smile widened. “Guh,” Erik answered.

Charles snorted, unable to contain himself, but he soothed away Erik’s spike of indignation with another gentle kiss. “Good,” he said. He ground himself against Erik’s thigh, letting out a quiet moan before adding, “I’m not sure we have time to make the best use of them right now, but I can think of a few other things that could be fun if you’d like to hear them.”

“I’m all ears,” Erik breathed, his hips stuttering as he sought out Charles’ touch again.

Charles tilted Erik’s head down for a kiss and he sent him an image: Erik on his knees in the tub, water hitting his shoulders as he sucked Charles off, one hand wrapped around the length he couldn’t fit in his mouth, the other snaked in between Charles’ legs, two fingers teasing in and out of Charles as he rocked himself onto Erik’s hand, his head thrown back against the shower wall.

::We could do that,:: Charles murmured. ::Or there’s--::

::No,:: Erik thought frantically. ::No, that’s good. I want to do that.::

A thrill shot down Charles’ spine at Erik’s enthusiasm, and he grinned into their kiss, petting a hand down Erik’s back affectionately before Erik broke away to slide down his body and take Charles’ co*ck into his mouth.

The water was starting to grow cold by the time they finished. Charles was trying to hold himself upright on legs that had turned into jelly, his breath still coming in ragged pants as their sem*n washed quietly down the drain. For someone who had mentally professed to have little experience while tonguing at Charles’ slit, Erik had been a very fast learner. Charles jerked as he felt Erik nuzzle another kiss to the inside of his thigh, slowly withdrawing his fingers so as to minimize the burn.

It was true that while it had been over a year since Charles had had sex with another man, he wasn’t completely out of practice. Charles enjoyed bottoming only slightly more than he enjoyed topping -- which was saying something because Charles liked topping, or any kind of sex really, quite a lot -- and he would be lying if he pretended he didn’t have a small box filled with toys hidden discreetly under his bed at home. But sex was always different with each partner, and Charles was quickly finding out that sex with Erik was in a new category altogether.

For one thing, it was extremely rare that his partners let him use his telepathy in bed. Apparently people were much more comfortable with physical intimacy than they were with mental intimacy, and they wanted the two to be as separate as possible. For Charles, the two went hand in hand, and turning off his abilities during sex -- or, more accurately, dampening them -- tended to make the whole experience sub-par on a good day, completely uncomfortable and disorienting on a bad one. Erik responded to Charles’ mental advances as enthusiastically as he did everything else, and for that Charles was still thanking his lucky stars.

For another thing, Erik was, quite frankly, huge. Not so drastically that Charles had any doubt of their ability to have penetrative sex later, but enough that he decided to put serious emphasis on prep so that the experience could be as enjoyable as possible for the both of them. Luckily, Erik seemed to have been thinking of this as well, as Charles discovered when he managed to step out of the shower on wobbly legs and look inside the drugstore bag. Inside was an almost comically large bottle of silicone based lubricant and two packs of condoms.

A towel draped itself over Charles’ shoulders, followed a second later by Erik’s hands, gently rubbing warmth back into Charles’ skin as Erik peered over his shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, and before you say anything, it was the only proper lubricant left,” Erik said. “None of that oil-based sh*t for my husband.”

Charles grinned, turning to give Erik a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, how romantic, darling. Thank you.”

They went into the bedroom to dress. Charles was relieved to see they still had almost an hour left to catch breakfast downstairs. After they ate he hoped to skim another few journal articles, too, before they had to go to the chapel. He seriously doubted Erik would let him bring anything to look over while they were there for risk of blowing their cover, and while he knew logically he’d been teaching and writing about the Templars for the last four years and couldn’t possibly learn anything earth-shatteringly new in the next hour and a half, he still couldn’t help wanting to be as prepared as possible.

“By the way,” Erik said, pulling a new turtleneck over his head, “I e-mailed Moria this morning. She doesn’t know we’re in Scotland, but she knows we’re together, and I asked her to talk to the university for you. There’s no way she won’t. She knows what you’re risking by helping us, there’s no reason she shouldn’t return the favor.”

“Thank you,” Charles replied. “At least I don’t have to worry about that now.”

He unplugged his Starkphone from where it had been charging on the bedside table and looked at the screen trepidatiously. Sure enough, Raven had texted him while he and Erik had slept. He bit his lip, unsure if he should check it or if reading the message would just make him feel more guilty than he already did. In the end he flicked the conversation open against his better judgement, ignoring Erik’s steady gaze watching his face.

1.43am: So, I guess you aren’t going to answer your phone, asshole.
1.43am: Did Erik tell you not to? Because if he thinks I’m going to kill you both for running off like that, he’s absolutely correct.
1.44am: I have to wear a boot, by the way. For three weeks, until the ligament heels.
1.44am: So when you get back from wherever you’ve run off to, you both owe me -big time- because I’m basically the entire reason you’re wherever you are anyway.
1.49am: Please, just at least text me so I know that you’re still safe and alive.
1.50am: Erik and Shaw have a pretty rough history. I’ve never asked about it and Erik has never told anyone else at the office, but I -know- he’ll stop at nothing to catch him and I’d bet anything that includes putting you in life-threatening situations.
1.50am: Erik is a good agent, but around Shaw he gets sloppy. I don’t want you paying the price for that.
1.51am: BE. CAREFUL. COME HOME IN ONCE PEACE, PLEASE.

Charles felt his throat suddenly tighten as he read. He felt awful, there were no two ways about it. Raven really had been the one to stop the entire operation from going sour when Janos showed up; they really did owe her and he really probably shouldn’t have run off with Erik without telling her where he was going.

The second-to-last text raised another question, as well. He knew that whatever was between Erik and Shaw, it ran incredibly deep, but apparently this wasn’t the kind of vendetta an agent would have after many near-misses with a long-time rival. Whatever ate away at Erik about Shaw it was something more personal than botched arrests. Charles had suspected this, but Erik had given him so little over the past two days that he’d decided maybe it wasn’t worth pursuing, especially after last night and this morning. But just like Erik, Charles couldn’t let the budding romance between them distract him from other, equally important issues that may help them catch Shaw in the end.

Unlike Raven, Charles was positive Erik would never willingly risk his life. However, he also now realized that he couldn’t just let Erik keep his secrets to himself anymore. Somehow, Charles had to get Erik to open up to him; otherwise, this mission was going to end up just like all the others: Shaw using Erik’s endless well of anger to his advantage, tricking Erik into making silly mistakes, gaining the upper hand, and getting away with the Grail. Charles wouldn’t let that happen. He typed out a response and sent it, hoping it would leave his sister, if not satisfied, at least marginally less worried.

8.07am: I’m safe. We’re officially following our lead today, but I’m positive it won’t be dangerous. I’m so sorry we left you, and you’re right, when we get home, we’re going to owe you a million times over. I promise I won’t let Erik do anything stupid until then, and you can properly berate us when we get back to New York. Put your foot up. I love you.

“Raven?” Erik asked quietly.

Charles looked up, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Yes, Raven,” he said. “You were right, she has to wear a boot for three weeks.”

“I bet she’s going mad,” Erik said, earning a quiet but genuine laugh from Charles.

“I bet she is, too,” he said.

He moved suddenly around the side of the bed and took both of Erik’s hands in his own, standing on tip-toe to give him a swift kiss. When he pulled away, Erik’s expression was equal parts concerned and confused. He looked as if he wanted to ask Charles something but wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it.

“What was that for?”

Charles shrugged nonchalantly, hoping he looked more convincing than he felt. “Nothing, love,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Breakfast was delicious. Margaret and Simon chatted amiably with Charles and Erik as they sat around the large dining room table, sipping coffee and digging into a small mountain of sausages, melon, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, and croissants. The vegetables, which Simon had indeed grown with the help of his and Joan’s powers, were just as delicious as Margaret had made them out to be, and a large portion of their conversation was devoted to the extent of Simon’s abilities, much to Charles’ delight.

Just as Charles and Erik were finishing off the last crumbs on their plates, the baseline German couple whose minds Charles had overheard last night wandered in, asking about directions for the best busses to take to get to Holyrood. Simon stood, taking them into the living room where there were several different bus maps laying out on and end table, nodding a cheery goodbye to Charles and Erik as he left.

“We’d best be off as well,” Charles said, pushing his chair back and brushing Erik’s arm as he stood. “Lots of sights to see.”

“Where are you going today, then?” Margaret asked.

“Rosslyn,” Erik replied quickly. “And then probably to the castle to shop around.”

Margaret smiled. “A very good plan,” she said, taking their plates. “Rosslyn’s a beautiful little place, and be sure to take a look at the castle ruins. That was Joan’s favorite part when she was a wee thing.”

“Thank you, we will,” Charles replied. He took Erik’s hand. “Shall we, darling?”

“Lead the way,” Erik said pleasantly.

They were halfway to the bus stop when Charles realized that he’d forgotten to double check his journal articles, but there was nothing for it now. The chapel would be opening soon and from the way the way Erik’s thoughts had now become sharper and intensely focused on the task ahead of them, Charles didn’t want to bother arguing about turning back to the B&B for a few more minutes. Whatever he’d managed to review during the flight and the train ride would have to be sufficient -- and if all else failed, Charles supposed there was always Google.

Since they were on the outskirts of the city already, the bus was relatively deserted when they stepped onto it, and the top level was completely empty. Charles led them to a seat at the very front and sat down, holding onto the rail at the front as the car lurched onto the road once more.

“Are you nervous?” Erik asked quietly.

Charles turned to look at him in surprise. “Well, yes, a little,” he said. “Archaeological digs don’t tend to have the danger of being surprise-attacked by a madman mixed into them.”

Erik snorted. “If you haven’t sensed anyone so far, I don’t think they’re following us. It would have been much easier to slip into our bedroom, kill us, and take the map if they knew we had it. They could have done it last night and I might not have even heard them,” Erik added, sounding a little bitter.

Stung, Charles frowned. “Do you regret sleeping with me?” he asked.

Immediately, Erik’s stony expression softened ever so slightly. “No,” he replied. “Not that at all. But I shouldn’t have… forgotten myself so quickly afterwards. It’s dangerous for the both of us.” He put a hand tentatively on Charles’ leg, emphasizing his last words, his thoughts a jumble of awkward earnestness that Charles couldn’t help finding both endearing and frustrating.

“No one is coming for us, Erik,” he said with a sigh, taking his hand. “If they did, I’d find out. And you aren’t going to like this, but frankly, you’re broadcasting your agitation so loudly that if Shaw decided to sic a telepath on us, he’d find us in a heartbeat.” Erik went pale and his thoughts instantly wrapped themselves in again so tightly Charles couldn’t even read their surfaces. Charles felt horrible for saying it, but it was the truth; once you knew how to read Erik, he was practically an open book.

“Just try to be calm,” Charles urged, squeezing Erik’s hand reassuringly in the hopes that it would help soften the blow. “I’m one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, we’ll be alright. But I’m afraid your anger isn’t getting us very far in the meantime, love.”

Erik deflated at that, the defiant set to his shoulders that seemed almost perpetually there pausing for only a moment before they sagged and Erik sat back in his seat, staring out the window ahead. Out in front of them, the city was slowly giving way to suburbs, mist-shrouded hills rising tall and green to the west. It was like driving through a painting, but Charles couldn’t focus on the scenery with Erik so silent beside him, his thoughts so closely bound they were almost nonexistent.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He brought their hands to his mouth for a fleeting kiss, but it didn’t seem to make either of them feel much better, so he tugged Erik’s arm more securely into his lap and pressed himself close to Erik’s side, laying his head on his shoulder, sending gentle waves of ::sorrysorrysorry.:: Erik didn’t seem especially placated, but he wasn’t pulling away either, which was a good sign, and Charles decided to just let him be for a while.

Silence pressed on as they wound through the outskirts of Edinburgh and into the countryside. Outside the window, fields began to flash by, filled with sheep and cows, and the mountains grew from a handful of hills to an entire range. It was a breathtaking sight, and Charles couldn’t help but admire it, wishing for the umpteenth time that this actually was their honeymoon and he would have been allowed to do all the normal touristy things like take pictures and gape over the scenery. The ever poised and aloof Erik would probably roll his eyes if he know how much Charles wished they could just stroll around the city, shopping for gifts and enjoying the antiquity that was so piquant compared to the sights Charles normally saw in New York City.

Eventually, Erik let out a weary sigh and rested his head on top of Charles’. ::It isn’t something that’s easy to just turn off,:: he sent hesitantly.

::I’m know, I’m sorry,>:: Charles said again. ::You wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the mission and I’m sorry if you thought that’s what I was implying. You’re a very good agent. Raven said so, too.::

::Not good enough.:: His mental voice was understandably sour. ::I’ve never been able to catch him.::

Charles smiled, tipping his head back to meet Erik’s gaze. “That’s because you never had me before,” he said. Erik made a noise of doubt, but he went along willingly enough when Charles pulled him gently down for a kiss.

It was just past 9:30 when they reached the stop for Rosslyn. Charles almost would have missed it if he hadn’t google mapped it beforehand. The town of Rosslyn was surprisingly small, and the chapel was set away from the road, so far back Charles couldn’t make the building out until they reached the end of the lane they’d had to walk down to get to it, and the spire loomed up out of the trees like something out of a gothic film. He felt his heart race faster as they opened the doors to the visitor’s center, letting Erik handle the payment of the tickets, until finally, he was able to grab Erik’s hand back and drag him out of the building and into the chapel courtyard.

Slick gravel crunched under their feet as they walked down the path, Charles unable to keep his trivia to himself. “The chapel was first built in the mid-1400’s by Sir William St. Clair, and they took about forty years or so to complete it. St. Clair came from a long line of supposed Templars -- a rumor that’s only reinforced by the number of Templar images built into the structure of the building. I’ll show you when we get inside.”

“Where do you think the Grail would be?” Erik murmured. “If it was going to be anywhere.”

Charles shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I’d think it would be somewhere underground, wouldn’t you? If they hid it in a wall or something there would be no real way to protect it should the building be destroyed or broken into by treasure hunters. I think it would be in a place that could be accessed through the chapel, but also had a definite escape route. I suppose we’ll see, though.”

They stepped over a low stone entryway and into the interior of the chapel. Charles sucked in a breath that tasted somehow simultaneously dusty and clean, the age of the building mixing with the cool crisp air that circulated in through the open doors. The chapel was deceivingly small; if one didn’t know its history, they might actually think it rather unimpressive. But Charles knew better. His eye was instantly drawn to the apprentice pillar, arguably the most exquisite piece in a chapel filled with intricate stonework, but wherever he glanced he saw art that had some tie to the Templars.

He paused in the doorway, trying to take it all in, and from behind him he felt a faint wash of amusem*nt from Erik, who was far more entertained watching him than he was by the art in the chapel.

“See something you like?” he teased.

“Many, many things,” Charles replied. He took Erik’s arm and dragged him over near the closest window, pointing at a face carved into the stone, adorned with leaves. “See this?” Erik nodded. “This is a Green Man. There are over a hundred strewn around this place, it’s a very, very big Templar symbol. And over here--” he tugged them along again “-- is the upside down Lucifer. See how he’s bound? That pillar over there is the apprentice pillar, maybe the most famous piece in here. This is incredible. I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t either,” Erik said, smiling softly. “Let’s have a look around, see if anything catches your fancy.”

Charles nodded, not needing to be prompted twice. He made his way back towards the door to loop around to the back of the chapel first. As they neared a pew by the entrance, a large black and white cat meowed up at them from his cushioned seat atop it, craning his neck to sniff at them. Charles reached out and scratched the top of his head and under his chin as they passed, smiling at the purr and approving lick he got in return. They made their way around the back of the chapel, taking their time, but nothing seemed to lead to an evident clue of where they should look or what they were even looking for.

“Darling, how about you try feeling for something” Charles said. “Maybe you’ll be able to tell if there’s something I’m missing like a trap door or-- ow!”

Erik reached out suddenly, catching Charles’ arm in a vice-like grip. His mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes distant -- distant, Charles realized, like they had been the night they met and Erik had felt the box in the archives. His heart skipped a beat with anticipation.

“What is it?” he asked breathlessly. “What can you feel?”

Wordlessly, Erik dragged them over to the front of the church, past the apprentice’s pillar and the maize arch, and down a flight of steps so tall and thin Charles almost lost his footing. The staircase opened into a small room with a high ceiling. They were in the crypt, but it seemed there were no graves anymore. Erik, however, didn’t notice any of this. He pulled Charles over to the far-right corner to a large, rusted iron ring set low in the wall. They both bent, running their eyes over the space around it, but there didn’t appear to be any obvious openings. The stones around it, however, did look somewhat newer than the rest of the stones in the crypt.

“Is this it?” Charles asked, feeling the wall, searching for cracks. “Tell me what you feel.”

“It’s just like in the archives,” Erik answered. “I felt the box from outside when Raven and I were just walking up, but only because I was reaching out, checking the building like I always do. And then I felt the metal like it was calling out to me. It’s familiar, I’d felt it before then, too.”

“When?” Charles asked. He could feel his mouth gaping open as he stared at Erik in astonishment.

“When I was younger,” Erik replied shortly.

Charles shook his head as if he was clearing away cobwebs. “What makes this metal different from others?”

Erik sighed, sitting back and gazing far away at whatever it was he was feeling. “Most metal feels… alive in some way to me. Like they have their own frequency, and when I manipulate it, what I’m working with is the waves. Rearranging them and reforming them so that it reforms the metal itself. But this metal is different. It’s like it’s electric or radioactive or something. Unstable.” He leaned forward, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the stone. “It’s right through here.”

Charles turned his wide eyes to the wall, thinking hard. He felt out with his own power, but there was no one else in the chapel yet -- only a few people heading up the lane and a handful still mulling around the visitor’s center, reading up on the chapel’s history. Biting his cheek hard, he closed his eyes, digging his fingers into his palms and hating himself for what he was about to say.

::Rip it out.::

“What?” Erik sounded scandalized and Charles’ heart clenched again, but they had to do it.

::Rip out the ring. Pull through the wall. No one’s coming. We have to follow it.:: He sighed and opened his eyes, meeting Erik’s bewildered gaze. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

Erik nodded swiftly, then jumped to his feet, helping Charles up as well. “You might want to stand back, just in case,” he said.

Then he reached out with his left hand, pushing Charles behind him with his right, and made a come-hither gesture with his fingers. The iron ring shuddered once, then ripped itself out of the wall, taking a large chunk of stone with it and spraying dust and little bits of rock into the air. Charles buried his face in his sleeve, pulling his undershirt up over his nose and mouth in an attempt to keep the worst of it out of his lungs. There was a dull cracking noise, and Charles looked up again to find Erik had re-formed the ring into a large spike and was chipping quickly away at the hole where the ring had been, steadily widening it enough for a person to slip through.

It was hardly another minute before he accomplished his task and crouched down in front of the hole once more. The gap was definitely large enough for Erik’s shoulders to pass through, and if Erik could fit, Charles was certain he could. Erik turned and gestured for Charles to join him, pulling his Starkphone out of his pocket and clicking open the flashlight app to shine through the opening. To Charles’ surprise, when Erik tilted the light up, he saw that the wall had covered up a passageway tall enough to walk upright in, and reinforced with more stone that, though it showed signs of water damage, had held up just as well as the rest of the chapel.

“We need to go in,” Erik said firmly. “Look, there’s a torch on the wall. We’ll light it and follow this wherever it leads. I know something like the box is down there.”

“Yes, yes,” Charles said breathlessly. “Go through.”

“What about the rest of the visitors? We don’t want them to follow us.”

Charles raised his fingers to his temple, an old safety blanket that he still liked to use when he was doing something as difficult as rewriting a person’s memories. He reached out and wrapped his mind around the woman who had sold them their tickets earlier, feeling a stab of remorse as he rifled through her memories of that morning, wiping away any traces of himself and Erik and implanting a new false one -- a warning that something had fallen from the ceiling in the crypt during the night, making it unsafe for visitors until the building inspector could be brought in. Charles felt her sigh in annoyance as she processed the new memory -- one more thing for me to do -- and walked out from behind the desk.

“By the way, Hannah, be sure to let visitors know they can’t go into the crypt today,” she called to the girl organizing the gift shop. “A stone fell from the ceiling and it’s not safe. I’m roping it off, but you know how some people think the rules don’t apply to them.”

“Right-o,” replied Hannah in a tedious sort of voice that suggested she’d encountered this very problem many times.

Satisfied, Charles untangled his mind from hers, dropping his fingers away from his temple and re-focusing himself back on the task at hand. “Visitors are taken care of,” he said. “They’re closing off the area. No one will follow us.”

“Exceptional, Charles,” he said. “You’d make a good agent.”

Charles smiled weakly. “Thank you. Now enough chatting. Let’s go, before I lose my nerve.”

Setting his features, Erik nodded and turned, leading the way into the dark.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

When they first started down the tunnel underneath Rosslyn, Erik thought it couldn’t be more than a few hundred feet long. The metal that had called out to him felt like it wasn't too far away, but he and Charles had been walking for over an hour now, and he was starting to wonder if maybe their torch would run out of fuel before they reached the end. Charles had been silent almost the entire time, speaking up only to ask if Erik felt the metal any closer or if he wanted to switch off holding the torch. He spoke up again, now.

“How long do you think this will go on?”

Erik shrugged a shoulder. “It could go on for another mile, it could end right around the next bend. Shouldn’t you know the answer to that? I thought secret passages in crypts were your area of expertise, professor.”

Beside him, Charles made a noise of frustration. “Well, unfortunately, most of my experience has been digging around in the dirt for shattered pottery and jewelry fragments. Secret passages are a bit beyond me.” He paused, then asked with forced nonchalance, “Suppose the tunnel collapses? What happens then?”

“Then we tunnel out,” Erik answered, trying not to dwell on the very real possibility of that scenario. “Besides, I can feel cars above us. We aren’t too far from civilization after all, it just seems like it.”

Charles let out a quiet breath. “Well, that’s reassuring anyway. I think when this is all over I’ll leave the adventuring to the other Xavier heir. I have a feeling she’s much better at it, anyway.”

Erik snorted. “Heir? What is this the 1500’s now?”

“Erm, no,” Charles said, and he sounded so embarrassed that Erik turned to look at him in surprise and saw by the low light of the torch that he was blushing bright red. He, however, wouldn’t meet Erik’s gaze. “My father ran a very large pharmaceutical company that also specialized in genetic research. After he died it was taken over by my stepfather and then when he also died it passed to me. I was seventeen when it happened, already in undergrad, and of course I have no interest in running a company, and neither does Raven, so we sold it. Or, we sort of did. We still own a large chunk of the shares. Maybe it’s silly, but I can’t completely let go of something my father built.”

Erik stopped up short, completely caught off guard, and Charles was forced to pause as well to stay within the circle of light. He shifted uncomfortably under Erik’s gaze. “It never came up, and I never tell anyone we come from money if I can help it. It seems a separate part of me anyway. I’ve been away from home since I was sixteen and there aren’t a lot of pleasant memories from before then. Please say this doesn’t effect your opinion of me.”

Erik frowned, a fierce surge of defiance welling up in him at the defeated look on Charles’ face. “Why would that effect my opinion?” he said hotly. “You’re still you. Still brilliant and talented and resourceful. I wouldn’t trade you for a thousand other agents on this mission.”

Charles smiled, rolling his eyes although he was obviously relieved and more than a little pleased at Erik’s words. “Now you’re just being dramatic,” he said quietly. “But thank you.”

He surprised Erik -- as he often did, now, Erik was finding -- by standing on tip-toe to give him a quick kiss before starting off down the tunnel again. Charles was the kind of person who gave affection openly and often, careless of who might see. This was an adjustment for Erik who had never been a fan of PDA by any stretch of the imagination, and although the casual touches and kisses he received from Charles made his heart race, they was also still a little startling -- not enough that Charles picked up on the emotion and felt the need to back off, but just enough that he was keeping Erik on his toes.

Truth be told, Erik found that he liked being touched so often in such an unthinking manner. It showed that, for all Erik had driven so many others away with his standoffishness, he wasn’t anywhere close to doing the same with Charles. That, and years of self-enforced boundaries had left Erik a little touch starved. Especially after last night, Erik caught himself wanting to reach out for Charles almost constantly, even sometimes running his powers gently over Charles’ wedding ring just to feel that it was there. In time, Erik thought he might become bold enough to return Charles’ gestures of affection even in public, but for now he was happy just to follow Charles’ lead.

They walked on in silence once more, but they didn’t have to wait long. Erik spun his power out once more, searching for the pulsing metal from before and found it startlingly close -- at his best guess maybe a hundred yards in front of them.

“Charles,” he said, his heart beginning to thump in earnest. “It’s right ahead. Come on, let’s pick up the pace.”

He started jogging, holding the torch high above his head to cast the light wider in front of him, anchoring himself to the metal drawing closer and closer the farther he ran. He wasn’t even out of breath when he reached the large archway with two torches above it and, a steel door rusted tightly shut underneath. There were strange words etched into the metal of the door, and Erik reached up on tip-toe to light the other torches as Charles caught up with him, breathing a little heavily.

“More Old English,” he said, sounding surprised. He reached over and took the torch from Erik’s hand, running the light more closely over the letters. “It’s a message, or a warning of some kind. Hang on a minute… ‘To whoever would seek the Holy Grail… Danger will come to you. Only the holy may enter and only the Chosen will leave.’ See if you can feel anything, I want to make sure there’s not a trap before you open the door.”

Erik did as he was told, ignoring the pulsing of the metal as best as he could and feeling inside the walls and overhead for anything else that felt like it could harm them. Apart from the door, there were two circular pieces of metal built into the walls right above their heads, and when Erik ran a mental finger over their tips, he found them as razor-sharp as they had been when they were newly installed. They were attached to a spring mechanism that was attached in turn to the door, ready to be tripped as soon as it was opened, bringing the pendulums down upon them and slicing anyone in their path to bits like something out of a Poe story.

Besides the swinging blades, the walls of the interior room seemed to be made of metal as well, or at least lined with it, but when Erik tried feeling along those as well, all he felt was smooth iron, nothing sharp or spring-loaded. Perhaps the Templars had simply wanted to reinforce their treasure’s hiding place as much as possible. He took Charles’ arm and dragged him back out of the way before snapping the springs of the trap. Charles gave a shout of surprise and dropped the torch to the ground as the two large, curved blades descended from the ceiling, creating a breeze as they sliced through the air right where he and Erik had just been standing.

“Good bloody f*cking Jesus Christ,” he breathed, grabbing Erik’s arm. “A little warning next time would be nice. Is that all?”

“I think so,” Erik said. He dipped his powers into the blades and melted them so they pooled harmlessly on the floor. Then he turned his attention to the door, pushing it slowly open, eyes wide and ears straining, listening hard for any other traps he might have somehow missed, but the door swung open with an ear-splitting shriek, nothing more. He turned, nodding to Charles. “That’s all.”

Charles sagged, giving Erik an unimpressed look. ::Wonderful,:: he sent. “You go first, I have the feeling you’ll be more useful if something else decides to come at us.” Happy to oblige him, Erik nodded, stepping swiftly around the wooden poles that had been attached to the blades and into the room with the metal.

Something went through him, like a shock, and he paused, throwing out a hand to stop Charles, pulse throbbing suddenly in his ears with fright. Charles sucked in a breath -- he’d felt it, too -- but surprisingly, even after a long moment filled with nothing but their sharp breathing, everything was still silent as the grave.

Tentatively, Erik crept his foot forward, apparently passing some other invisible line because a second later, the room was flooded with a preternatural white light that sprang up in a straight horizontal line around the walls. Erik flinched and dragged Charles down to the floor with him, shielding them both with his arm. But the hammer didn’t fall then either. Bewildered, Erik looked up and around the room, throwing his powers out protectively to block anything that might be thrown abrutly at them, but there was nothing.

“Is it safe?” Charles asked cautiously, straightening as well.

Erik nodded slowly, wary to speak too soon, but when he stood up a moment later, everything stayed still and quiet. “Come on,” he said softly.

The room was only about the size of their suite back at the B&B, but it was also almost completely empty, and with high ceilings that made it appear that much larger. Against the far wall there was a large Templar cross carved out of stone, surrounded by a gaggle of angels and armored knights on horseback in the same style as many of the carvings in the chapel. Looking around, Erik saw even more details around the room -- gargoyles high in the corners with the faces of demons, something in Latin Erik’s couldn't read running around the walls under the white flames that flickered brilliantly, but made no noise.

And over the door, a man wearing a helmet, standing with open arms and surrounded by four swords, their tips pointed away out and away from his body at sharp angles. Emblazoned on the man’s chest was a large, four-pronged thing that looked almost like a throwing star, with lines small pulling away from it like a child’s drawing of the sun. Something about the carving held Erik’s eye. He couldn’t think of where he had seen it before, but something about it was unmistakably familiar. It gnawed away at him, the memory just out of reach but so close Erik knew it was there, hiding just under the surface.

“Erik?” Charles asked quietly, and only then did Erik snap out of his revere and realize that he’d taken a step towards the carving, reaching out with a hand as if to touch it, though it was set too high on the wall for that.

He dropped his hand immediately. “What is that?” he asked. “Have you seen it before?”

Charles shook his head. “Only in a few pictures. It’s a very rare Templar symbol -- the man with four swords. I’ve never actually seen it carved before; mostly you find it drawn in old records and things like that written by the Templar leaders. Is everything okay? Is that where the metal is?”

Erik shook his head, turning away from the symbol with no small amount of regret which he shoved away from him, locking it away to examine later. “No,” he said, pointing. “It’s over there.”

The only other piece of decoration besides the carving on the walls was a small stone platform only a tad shorter than a lectern, the sides of which were decorated almost identically to the apprentice pillar Charles had pointed out in the chapel earlier, with twisting vines climbing up the sides. He and Charles crept cautiously up to it, their footsteps eerily loud in the cavernous space, the uncomfortable pang in Eriks’ stomach caused by the proximity of the metal growing stronger the closer they got.

At last, just as Erik’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, they reached the platform and peered in over the top. It was covered in almost an inch of dust which Charles quickly wiped away with his sleeve to reveal a metal grate set deeply into the stone, and glimmering beneath that, a well-polished metal wheel with four sharp spikes -- an incredible likeness to the thing in the carving of the man with four swords.

“There’s writing around here,” Charles said, scrubbing at the stone around the grate more vigorously. “Old English again, I wonder why… It says ‘Here is the key to the resting place of the Holy Grail.’” Charles grabbed Erik’s arm, gaping up at him with wide eyes. “Erik, this is real! I can’t... ”

“There will be time to process this later, Charles,” Erik snapped. The humming from the metal was setting his teeth on edge, and he was beginning to grow almost sick from being exposed to it for so long. “What else does it say?”

“Hang on,” Charles said, running a hand over his face, obviously trying to compose himself. He looked back down at the lettering. “‘With the map, you will find what you seek where the four rivers open to the sea.’”

Erik nodded. “Remember where the crosses were on the map? One in Jerusalem where the Grail was taken from, one in France where you found the box, one here where we just found the key, and one in the north in the Orkney Islands.”

Charles swallowed. “Where we’ll find the Grail. Take the key, Erik, there’s no time to lose.”

Needing no further encouragement, Erik lifted his hand above the grate and ripped it straight out of the stone with only a sharp clang of protest to stop him. He tossed it away carelessly, reaching inside with his power to take out the bladed key, but as soon as he lifted it, a horrible grinding noise sounded from high above them and the walls began to shudder and groan as something large and metal moved behind them.

“Erik!” Charles shouted, grabbing his arm. “What’s going on?”

Erik’s heart leapt into his throat and his stomach twisted horribly with realization. “The metal in the walls is sliding down,” he said, and sure enough when he cast a look at the doorway, it was already half-covered with a sheet of iron, blocking their escape. There was no way they would reach it in time. “There must have been some kind of non-metal mechanism I couldn’t sense--”

Above them, a pulley so small Erik hadn’t noticed it with all the other metal close by, screeched into life, and a trapdoor in the ceiling opened, releasing a torrent of water that poured in overtop the carving of the Templar cross, quickly drenching their shoes and climbing steadily up Erik’s ankles. They must be under a lake or a river, so quickly was the water filling the room.

“Erik, do something!” Charles shouted, sloshing across to where the door had once been, and pounding on the metal.

Erik floundered. Normally he had excellent control over his abilities, but under extreme pressure that control cracked and fell away almost to nothing. Frantically, he grabbed the key from where it had clattered back down into the pillar and lurched through the now calf-deep water to Charles’ side, reaching out both physically and mentally with his powers, trying to warp the metal enough for them to slide through. The metal creaked and groaned, shuddering at Erik’s touch, but he couldn’t get through it, making his heart race even faster as the water roared on behind them.

“I’m trying!” he shouted hysterically. “I can’t get through!”

“You can, you can!” Charles shouted back. He grabbed Erik’s arm, pulling him around so they were face to face, his expression strangely calm as he looked up Erik, resting a hand on his shoulder. ::Just calm your mind, Erik,:: he said. ::I’m right here with you. You can absolutely do this.::

Erik blinked at him for a moment, fighting back against the terror that mounted with every passing second as the water inched its way up his thigh. “All right,” he said. His eyes slipped closed and he reached out again pushing himself into the iron of the wall, feeling how worn it was after so many years, reaching into its foundations and tearing it apart atom by atom.

“Yes, Erik, yes!” Charles cried out beside him, tugging at his arm, and when he opened his eyes he saw a hole wide enough for them to both squeeze through had opened in the metal. Charles was already dragging him through, and when he came to himself again, he slid through to the other side, sealing it up swiftly behind them.

A small puddle had formed just outside the doorway, and Erik and Charles stood in it, clutching onto each other and leaning together for support. With the hand wrapped around Charles’ back, Erik held onto the spiked key, and he tightened his grip on it now, even though its presence -- along with the terror at almost drowning -- still threatened to overturn his stomach.

“That was brilliant,” Charles breathed against his chest. “That was amazing, Erik. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Erik laughed. “We would have died, I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“All the same,” Charles replied. He pulled away to smile up at Erik, carding a hand affectionately through his hair. “I can’t believe we just did that. We got the key to the Grail!”

“And now we’re off to the highlands after all.”

“Yes,” Charles said, his smile widening brilliantly. “Off to the highlands.”

Apparently, once you recovered from them, near-death experiences were something of an aphrodisiac, because Erik realized he couldn’t hold himself back when he felt the urge to lean down and kiss Charles’ smiling mouth. Charles seemed to feel the same way too, because as soon as their lips met, he wrapped his arms around Erik’s neck pulling him down more securely and letting his relief and excitement radiate out to mix with Erik’s. They couldn’t stay like that for too long, though, and after a few minutes, Erik pulled reluctantly away. He held out a hand and called one of the still-burning torches above the door to him by its metal handle.

“We’ve got to go,” he said quietly. “Besides, that metal might give way and start flooding the tunnel. I doubt it, but stranger things have happened.”

“Mmm,” Charles hummed in agreement, falling into step with Erik. “Stranger things like whatever went through us when we stepped into that room, and whatever was lighting the walls. Have you ever seen anything like that?”

Erik shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Maybe it isn’t so far-fetched to think the Templars were using magic after all,” Charles said, considering.

“You believe in magic?” Erik replied, frowning dubiously.

Charles sighed. “Well, no, not exactly. But I can’t think of what else to call that. Maybe… maybe some kind of latent probability trap set by an old mutant? Or something of that sort. That might be my best theory for now.”

Erik shrugged, preferring to forget about the experience rather than dwell on it. “Whatever it was let’s hope we don’t have to deal with it again.”

Charles didn’t seem to have any objections to that, and they spent the rest of the walk in a comfortable silence once more.

By the time they reached the opening of the tunnel again, Erik’s stomach was rumbling. They’d been gone for over two hours already and after all the morning’s exertions -- both mental and physical -- he found himself wondering if maybe they would have time for a nap when they got back to the Bed & Breakfast before starting off for the islands. Leave it to Charles’ self-indulgent tendencies to rub off on me in less than a day, he thought, smiling despite himself.

“I heard that,” Charles said. “And I’m sure we’ll be able to nap at some point. I want to get something to eat first.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” Erik said pointedly, gesturing to the voices of other visitors just above them.

“It’s already done,” Charles replied, already starting to shimmy through the hole that led back into the crypt. “We can walk right out and they won’t notice us. I’m just that good. See if you can keep up with me, old man.”

Erik raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “For your information, I’m not even twenty-nine yet, I’m not old,” he said petulantly as he followed after Charles’ retreating figure. He paused, one foot in the tunnel and one in the crypt. “Wait, I don’t even know how old you are. Not that it’s terribly important.”

Charles bent down, offering a hand to Erik. “I’m twenty-six,” he said, grunting as he pulled Erik out of the tunnel and upright. “We’re doing this all backwards, aren’t we? Getting married before we’ve even know how old the other one is.”

Erik shrugged. “You’re the one that proposed after knowing me for all of two hours.”

Charles made a considering face as they climbed the stairs, nodding. “Yes, I suppose I was,” he said. “And I stand by my decision.”

Heat rose to Erik’s cheeks, and he shook his head, trying to hide the way his mouth curved into a smile involuntarily. Charles saw right through him, of course, but he seemed to think no reply necessary; instead, he reached down and took Erik’s free hand, but as soon as their skin touched, he winced, and raised his fingers to his temple.

“Ugh, that metal is giving you a headache which is giving me a headache,” he said. “Perhaps we should build a faraday cage for the key. Do you think it would help?”

Erik paused, surprised that he’d never thought of that before. “It’s worth a try,” he answered.

They stopped by the cafe before leaving, Charles asking politely for a box and some tinfoil before wiping the cafe worker’s mind of their interaction, and not twenty minutes later they were on a bus back to the B&B again, a makeshift faraday cage laying in Charles’ lap. Much to Erik’s surprise, it actually did a fairly good job of blocking out whatever was radiating out from the metal. Erik found that he couldn’t even sense the key if he tried, masked as it was in tin foil.

The ride back to the city was much calmer -- at least internally -- for Erik. Charles kept up a steady stream of conversation, explaining in more detail some of the iconography they’d found in the chapel and the key room, and bouncing ideas off Erik for where they should grab lunch. Erik, for his part, was happy to humor him and relax for a while, no longer panicking about their next move, or what may lie in wait for them around the next corner. If they had the key, that meant they had to be ahead of Shaw, wherever he was, and the inscription had clearly stated that the resting place of the Grail couldn’t be unlocked without the key, and couldn’t be found without the map. Since Charles hadn’t been able to sense anyone following them, either, Erik decided that it was safe to try and reach out to Moira again and let her know to be expecting them back within the next few days.

They rode the bus a little further than their normal stop to grab some sandwiches at a nearby deli, and since the sky was actually a clear, cloudless blue above them, decided to walk back, Erik carrying the food, and Charles carrying the faraday cage. Simon was in the front garden when they approached, and he gave them a cheerful “Hiya” and a wave as they walked past.

It felt a bit odd, walking past a man Erik had shared breakfast with only a few hours ago and acting as though nothing of consequence had happened since then when he could still feel the dampness of his trouser legs, a grim reminder of what might have been if he had been unable to rip open the iron wall. Thankfully, they didn’t run into anyone else on their way upstairs, and when they finally reached their room, Erik immediately sagged into the armchair by the fireplace with a sigh.

“Worn out already?” Charles teased, tossing Erik his sandwich. “The day isn’t even half over.”

“I’ve been awake since five thirty,” retorted Erik. “And I ran six miles probably before you were even awake.”

Charles sunk onto the love seat, mumbling “Show off” around a mouthful of roast turkey.

Both of them were too hungry to do anything except inhale their food in silence. Erik let his gaze wander aimlessly around the room as he chewed. Someone had been in while they were away to scoop out the ashes from last night’s fire and start a new one and, Erik saw with a spasm of embarrassment, changed the sheets. He didn’t think they’d been too messy last night, but there hadn’t exactly been a lot of light, and by the time he’d gotten back from his run that morning, Charles had distracted him again so he hadn’t remembered to clean up. He hoped he hadn’t given Margaret or Simon any cause for discomfort.

Charles finished his sandwich first, crumpling up his used wrapper and tossing it back in the paper bag before stretching out on the love seat with a groan, closing his eyes. Erik paused, watching him, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He opened his mouth, about to ask if Charles wanted to lie down with him on the bed, when Charles’ phone buzzed loudly against the coffee table. It buzzed again and Charles sat up with a protesting groan, snatching it hurriedly up.

“It’s Raven,” he said glumly, looking up at Erik.

Erik thought for a moment, frowning, then said at last, “You should answer it.”

Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

“I was going to have to talk to Moira later today. Someone will have to be ready for the Grail once we find it, and that means notifying the lab,” Erik replied. “So you might as well answer it, I bet she’s in the office anyway.”

The phone buzzed once more and Charles picked up at once without hesitating. “Raven!” he said, relief flooding both his voice and his face, making his eyes soft and his mouth turn up at the edges. “Yes, I’m so sorry, I was completely out of my head… I know… I know, I’m sorry… Yes, he’s here, too. Would you like me to put you on speakerphone so you can berate us both at the same time?... All right, just a moment.” He grimaced at Erik, mouthing Sorry, and pressed a button on his screen.

“Hello?” Raven’s voice asked, sounding a little tinny over the speaker.

“Hello, Raven,” Erik said quietly, half-hoping she wouldn’t hear him.

No such luck. “Hello, Erik,” Raven replied, her voice dangerously even. “May I ask how you’re planning on apologizing for kidnapping my brother once you get back to the office?”

“You may ask,” Erik said, “but you may not like the answer. I didn’t kidnap him; he offered to come.”

“Oh, and you just let him follow you in blindly?” she snapped.

Charles sighed, rolling his eyes. “No, he didn’t. He wasn’t going to let me come at all, but the lead we had was written in Old English, which Erik doesn’t speak--”

“And which he could have gotten a translator for at the off--”

“Raven, Shaw showed up just after you left,” Erik cut in.

The other end was silent for a moment, Raven making a noise of disbelief before asking, “What?”

“He teleported in with Azazel. The whole thing was a set-up; Quested didn’t just happen to show up at the wrong time, he was supposed to take us out. Or me out, I suppose. Shaw didn’t expect either of you to be there. He ran off with a piece of parchment from the box, and Charles and I had to follow.”

“Raven,” Charles said softly. “We think he’s after the Grail.”

“That’s what McCoy said in the briefing,” Raven replied. “But we all know that’s just some old wives’ tale. That’s what you’ve always told me, Charles. The Grail is just a legend.”

Charles looked up at Erik, his gaze piercing and hard as stone, and even without telepathy, Erik knew they were thinking the same thing. “Actually, after today, I’m just not sure that’s true.”

Another silence descended, then Raven scoffed. “Well, even if the Grail is real, what would Shaw want with it? It’s a cup! What’s he gonna do, drink out of it?”

“We don’t know yet,” Erik said testily. “But I’d rather we didn’t have to find out, so Charles and I are going to follow this thing to the end, and we’ll get back to you once we have it in our possession.”

“Which will be?”

“Two days, maybe,” Erik replied. “Three, at the most.”

“All right,” Raven said, sounding like she was just agreeing so she could be done with the conversation, for which Erik couldn’t blame her. Only this morning he’d half-expected they’d find nothing at Rosslyn but some stone carvings. Now, an ancient Templar relic was sitting under the coffee table of the honeymoon suite he was sharing with a man he’d only known in person three days, but who had turned out to be his mysterious chess partner of over a year. If you thought about it too much, it started to give you a headache. Raven continued, “So, I should tell McCoy… what?”

“To have a faraday cage ready and probably a lot of rubber gloves,” he said, earning a smile and a thumbs up from Charles.

“Faraday cage and rubber gloves, got it,” Raven said. “Anything else you’d like to tell me? Where we’ll be picking you up, perhaps?”

“Don’t mind that yet,” Erik said quickly before Charles could answer, as he very obviously wanted to tell Raven the truth. “We’ll call you when we need you.”

“How’s your leg?” Charles asked, frowning sympathetically down at the phone in his hand.

Raven sighed. “I’ll live. This boot is driving me crazy, though. I’ll be out of the field for three weeks.”

“Quite right, too,” Charles said approvingly. “When we get home I’m going to get some tomato soup from that deli I know you like and we’ll curl up on the couch and watch bad action movies.”

“That’s a good start to the groveling,” she said, and even Erik could hear the smile in her tone. “Okay. I’ve got to go a meeting in five minutes, I’d better go. Stay safe, Charles. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Charles replied.

“And Erik, if one hair on his head gets hurt--”

“I’m sure I’ll be much more of a danger to myself than you would be,” Erik said, frowning. Then he realized that Raven didn’t know anything about what had happened the past two days.

“What?”

Oh, sh*t. He looked up frantically at Charles and saw that he was biting his lip, his expression torn between a smile and a grimace, his eyes sparkling as they held Erik’s, unable to look away. “Nothing, Raven,” he said loudly. “We’ll talk soon. I love you.”

“You’d better be serious about that. I love you too, Charles.”

“Bye, Raven.”

“Bye.”

He hit a button on the screen and it went dead as the call ended. Then he stood, crossing the space to the chair where Erik was shifting uncomfortably in two swift strides, leaning down to brace his arms on either arm rest to pin Erik in place. With nowhere to run -- and, really, no desire to run anyway -- Erik ceased his fidgeting and tilted his head up to meet Charles’ gaze.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, you know,” Charles said quietly. “I feel the same way about you, too. It’s okay.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Erik’s mouth. “You aren’t going to scare me away.”

Finally, Erik gave in, reaching up to rest his hands on either side of Charles’ waist, pulling him down ever so slightly so their foreheads could rest together. “Everybody says things like that,” he whispered, unable to keep the insecurity from seeping into his voice.

“And you don’t believe me when I do, then?”

Erik hesitated. “No,” he replied slowly. “That’s not exactly it. But… it’s difficult.” He sighed in frustration, not quite sure how to put the jumble of thoughts swirling around in his head into words, afraid he’d say the wrong thing without meaning to. After a moment, Charles took pity on him.

“Okay,” he said, straightening up and taking Erik’s hands to tug him to his feet. “That’s fine. At least come and lie down with me? I think if I sit down again anywhere I’ll just fall asleep.”

Although a large part of Erik protested that they should be packing up and getting a move on with their lead while they were still having luck, an even bigger part realized that he and Charles were in the same boat. He’d had near scrapes with death before, of course, but never combined with something as big as the possible existence of ancient magic and the very real existence of an artifact like the Holy Grail. The whole day had been rather overwhelming and the weight of it was starting to catch up with him.

“Okay,” he said, following Charles to the bed.

They shrugged out their clothes until they were down to their boxers and undershirts, then Charles peeled back the duvet and Erik sank down beside him onto the mattress, molding himself along Charles’ back as he had the night before, inhaling the soft scent of his shampoo. The sheets were cool and smelled as if they’d been drying out on the line in the fresh air, and Charles was a warm, solid weight against his chest and a comforting presence on the periphery of his thoughts. Their breathing evened out until their chests were rising and falling in tandem, and before he even realized he was drifting, Erik fell asleep.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

An indeterminate amount of time later, Charles blinked slowly awake, stretching and turning gently out of Erik’s arm still slung around his waist. He burrowed under the pillows away from the light, sweeping a quick mental finger across Erik’s mind and found he was, in fact, still asleep, although Charles’ movement had stirred him briefly. Groaning, Charles resurfaced, resting his head on the pillow so that he could look at Erik without hurting his neck. Sleeping Erik was a sight Charles suspected he’d never get tired of, he remarked fondly as he watched the flutter of Erik’s eyelashes.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get long to admire the view; when he shifted to snuggle further into the pillow the movement shook the bed minutely, but enough that Erik sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flying open as he startled awake, scrunching shut a second later against the light. Charles hummed sympathetically, raising a hand to brush his thumb over the creases between Erik’s eyebrows.

“Afternoon, sunshine,” he said.

“What time is it?” Erik asked groggily, reaching out a hand so his phone flew into his palm. He sighed. “Almost three thirty.”

Charles winced. “Maybe we should have set an alarm.”

“Probably,” Erik replied, sitting up and flicking quickly through his phone. “No going back now, though. We’d better check which train will get us closest to the Orkney Islands and when it leaves.” He paused a moment and Charles scooted closer, sitting up to peer over Erik’s shoulder as he browsed the ScotRail website. “Thurso,” he said at last, clicking open the timetable information and snorting in frustration when it loaded.

“Well, at least we didn’t miss it because we were being lazy,” Charles said. “The next one leaves at nine tomorrow, too. We’ll have plenty of time to catch it. For now that gives us a whole day to prepare.”

Erik raised an eyebrow at him, looking unconvinced. “Prepare for what? We have no idea what’s waiting for us.”

Charles nodded. “Exactly. That means I’ve got to review every little detail of what I know about the Grail, brush up on the abilities of mutant Templars, and now I want to see what sorts of artifacts have been associated with the drawing of the man with four swords.” He paused, frowning in thought and resting his chin lightly on his hand on Erik’s warm shoulder. “Curious that we’d find that symbol there when it’s hardly found anywhere else. It’s been bothering me since we saw it. Obviously, it’s much more important than everyone ever imagined if it literally has the key to the Grail on it....”

He lapsed into silence again, turning the thought over and over in his mind. The symbol was so rare it was thought to have come from just a small sect of the larger Templar population -- a certain battalion perhaps, or simply a group that had socialized together often enough to start adding their own nuances to the rituals and a bit of their own iconography. That sort of phenomenon was unusual in such a tightly-knit and well disciplined order as the Knights Templar, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

Without any better theories, historians had tentatively settled on the symbol originating from a small group of knights with ties to the French gentry, who, after being reprimanded by higher authorities, had ceased to use their subversive symbol, which accounted for the mere handful of instances of the drawing in the first place. Now, though, Charles was sure the symbol’s history was tied directly to the Grail. He needed to check to see who had written the documents that also contained the man with four swords and what, if anything, they said about the key and the Grail’s final resting place. He also needed to see if the documents mentioned anything about mutants with the ability to place probability traps that would last hundreds and hundreds of years.

“What are you thinking?” Erik asked quietly.

Charles hummed, considering. “I’m thinking that I’m going to need my laptop,” he said, hopping down off the bed and heading over to his bag. “I’m going to look for journal articles on the symbol and you can flip through the books and look for anything that mentions the Orkney Islands or a key. What did the writing in the room say? ‘The place where the four rivers open to the sea?’”

“Yes,” Erik said. “So we’ll need to look for that as well. Any ideas of where to start?”

Charles shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. You can get out a map first, if you like, before you start on the books.” He flopped back down on the bed and powered on his laptop, waiting for the wifi to connect before opening ten different search engines and getting to business.

Whenever Charles was applying himself to a question -- especially an academic one -- he withdrew almost completely from the rest of the world. Even his telepathy would become muted, only picking up the presence of people immediately around him when normally he could easily feel every mind in the Archaeology building at the university without trying. This was perhaps why Charles became a professor; he wasn’t ashamed of his mutation by any stretch of the imagination, but he did enjoy a reprieve every once and a while, and burying himself in history turned out to be the best way to achieve it. Or the best way he’d found so far, anyway.

The first few articles he managed to find about the man with the four swords were incredibly unhelpful. They only mentioned the symbol in passing while talking about the rest of the artifact they were found on, but they did help give Charles a time frame of when the symbol was being used. The first instance happened around 1310, in a letter from a Knight in Jerusalem to a Knight in France about a package he had sent containing sensitive Templar documents. The last known instance had occurred in the 1490’s in a diary entry from a Knight in the north of England who chronicled a meeting he’d had with four other Knights about acquiring a new mutant member.

This information didn’t help much except to reinforce what Charles had already been piecing together himself -- that the symbol was directly linked to the Grail and its hiding place -- but the information about the new mutant initiate in England could be useful. Charles made a note of the diary owner’s name to conduct a search on him later.

“I think I’ve got something,” Erik said suddenly. “Off the northernmost island, there’s a bay that’s incredibly dangerous to hike. It’s got four rivers that channel into it.”

Charles set his laptop aside and crawled over to see the screen of Erik’s phone that he was holding out for Charles to examine. Sure enough, four small rivers opened into a wide bay with sheer white cliffs, covered in sharp rocks and slippery seaweed, treacherous-looking enough to deter most almost any hiker.

Smiling encouragingly, Charles nodded. “That looks like as good a place to start looking as any. I think I’ve got a good start on the symbol as well, just give me some more time.”

“No rush,” Erik replied, going over to Charles’ bag filled with Templar books and choosing one seemingly at random.

Charles left him to it and went back to his browser. He steadily worked his way through several more articles, and a little over an hour later, thought he had a pretty good grasp of the Grail’s journey from Jerusalem to, presumably, the Orkney Islands over six thousand miles away, as well as why it had been so heavily guarded. He looked up and saw Erik laying on the love seat by the fire, frowning down at a different book from the one he’d started with and biting his lip as he puzzled over something he was reading. Charles smiled.

“How’s it going?” he called.

Erik blinked, his expression clearing as he sat up to look at Charles. “Okay, I think,” he answered. “Some of these are pretty dense, but I think I’m at least getting a better idea of the Templars as an organization and their reasoning behind collecting artifacts. No wonder Shaw is so attracted to them.” He stood, making his lithe way over to Charles again. “What about you? Did you find anything?”

“Lots,” Charles replied with a grin. He patted the bed next to him. “Come sit. I’ll explain.” He waited until Erik was sitting cross-legged next to him before continuing. “We can’t be exactly sure when the Grail left the Holy Land, but from what I can tell, the box where we found the map was definitely made in the early 1300’s, which means most likely, the Grail has been in its hiding place in Scotland since at least a few years before that. The symbol of the man with four swords has been used very rarely since then, and only with people who I believe knew the exact location of the Grail.”

“So not all the Templars even know its significance?” Erik asked.

Charles shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they don’t. Which means we’re probably still ahead of Shaw in this race anyway. I doubt anyone today still knows the full meaning of it, which I'm sure is exactly what the Templars wanted. I’ve been doing some more digging on the actual lore of the Grail -- the stuff historians tend to dismiss as spooky mumbo jumbo meant to keep treasure hunters out, and it actually looks much more sinister than it’s made out to be.”

Erik’s mouth set in a thin, worried line. “How so?”

“Remember the inscription we saw on the door, about how only the Chosen would leave?” Erik nodded. “At the time I thought it meant chosen Templar members, but now I think its more specific than that.” With mounting excitement, he turned his laptop so Erik could see the picture of a Templar Knight’s diary he’d pulled up to fit the screen, an image from the British museum’s collection. “This was written by an English relative of the Vicomte Frederick de Forest, the Knight who owned the castle where we found the box. It talks about the honor that was given to his family for being entrusted with a ‘great and terrible power’ by the leaders of the Templars.

“Now, the Templar box was pretty great, but I think you’d agree that it wasn’t very terrible,” Charles continued, earning a small smile from Erik. “Which makes me think that the de Forest’s assignment was larger than just protecting the box. I think it was also protecting the Grail itself. Later on in the diary--” Charles clicked a button and the image changed, and he grinned when he saw Erik’s jaw drop minutely “--he talks about traveling to Scotland. And right by the passage about visiting Edinburgh is a drawing of the same symbol we saw in the room with the key today. The entry is purposefully vague, but I believe he was checking the wards on the room with a colleague who was gifted. He doesn’t mention the mutation specifically, but if its the same mutant from earlier on in the entry, it was a woman who could astrally project herself.”

“So she’d miss the traps and still be able to check that the key was safe,” Erik added.

Charles nodded encouragingly. “Exactly. Exactly. Which means de Forest’s relative knew they were there and what they would do. So it looks like they knew once the traps were triggered, they could only be safely escaped from by someone with a very specific mutation.” He paused, biting his lip, unsure the best way to deliver this next news, but deciding in the end, it was best to just be direct. “It’s hard to say for sure, but it appears that the Chosen one the inscription was referring to was you.”

Erik gaped, his skin turning white as the blood drained swiftly from his face. “Me?”

“Or someone like you,” Charles added quickly. “Someone with your specific mutation. Think back; you said when you first came to the building to see the box you could feel it calling out to you from all the way underground, and the same thing happened with the key. You could feel it even from miles away.”

Erik nodded slowly, his eyes unfocusing as he stared past the computer screen, trying to sort through everything Charles was saying. Charles could sense all the confusion and anger and denial that was bubbling under the surface of his mind, and he felt terrible for causing Erik so much distress, but it was necessary. In fact, Charles was wondering how he didn’t see the connection sooner, as soon as Shaw had said he was expecting Erik to be in the archives at NYU.

Charles reached out a tentative hand, resting it on Erik’s bare knee, waiting quietly while Erik stumblingly came to terms with the news. There was something Charles could sense was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t peek and he didn’t pry. Erik would say it in his own time, and a few moments later, he did.

“I think there are some things you should know,” he said at last, slowly and quietly like admitting this to Charles was admitting defeat.

Charles swallowed, scared by Erik’s abrupt change in tone, a horrible sense of trepidation creeping up his spine. “You don’t have to tell me,” he blurted out.

Suddenly, he had no desire learn anything about Erik and Shaw’s past, and he knew this was what Erik was so determined now to tell him. What else could it be about? His thoughts had that distinct patina that Charles had come to associate with Erik’s long-buried memories of the man he almost completely refused to discuss out loud, but until now he’d very purposefully avoided finding out what lay underneath.

Erik shook his head stubbornly, giving Charles a glare that said he knew too well that Charles was trying to protect him from himself and he didn't appreciate the sentiment at all. “No, I do need to, Charles,” he bit back. “If we want to have any hope of figuring out this thing once and for all.” He paused, and when Charles said and did nothing, continued. “I told you I’ve been chasing Shaw for ten years, but I didn’t tell you -- or anyone else, except the Mutant Division director -- what it was that brought us together.”

Erik sighed, his shoulders sagging as he looked down at his crossed legs. “I was born and raised in Germany,” he said, picking at a stitch in the duvet cover. “My parents died when I was fourteen. They were shot and killed by Shaw, except at that time he went by Klaus Schmidt.”

Charles blinked, feeling his throat go dry. He wanted to lean forward and wrap his arms around Erik, drag him down against the mattress and hold him until the life came back to his eyes and his voice was warm and soft again like velvet instead of cold as it was now. Of course he didn’t, though. He didn’t even reach out mentally, keeping his telepathy reigned in close. Erik needed to tell his story in his own time without Charles’ aid.

“Schmidt was a teacher at my high school,” Erik went on. “He taught the sciences, and after school he hosted a club for the mutant kids where we could practice our abilities and sort of show off. My parents were always supportive of me, but they were both baseline so I think sometimes… my mom especially, I think, felt guilty when she couldn’t relate to everything I was going through. They both thought the club was a good thing and encouraged me to go.” He swallowed, blinking rapidly and deliberately. “I really liked it at first, too. For the first couple of months, Shaw would organize an activity at the beginning of meetings -- like an obstacle course where there was something that used each of our powers -- but after that he’d sort of sit off to the side, watching us, but not interfering.”

An angry flush spread across Charles’ face as he realized what Erik meant, the knowledge turning his stomach. “He was observing you,” he said, his voice shaking along with his hands, which trembled so badly he had to ball his fists until the knuckles went white .

Erik nodded. “He was. There were a few other kids in the club with abilities similar to mine. A pair of telekinetic twins and a girl who could control electricity on a small scale, mostly just to turn on and off appliances or give people shocks when she was feeling nasty. Now I sort of realize why he thought each of us might have been a good fit, but in the end I guess none of them were powerful enough. Anyway, the four of us were obviously his favorites, but after a few weeks he seemed to zero in on me. He’d take me off to the side after meetings and tell me I was special, that he wanted to tutor me in my powers privately after school.”

He looked up, but away from Charles’ gaze and at the wall, his face oddly blank except for his eyes which were far away and glassy. “I asked my parents, and like I said, they always supported me and wanted me to be my best. They gave their consent right away, and I started taking lessons with Shaw on the weekends to expand my abilities. At first we did things like hide and seek with different kinds of metal and I had to find each one in the order he told me -- copper, iron, bronze, that kind of thing. Then we progressed to creating objects like little stars and figurines. It was around the time that I started actually manipulating the metal, reshaping it, that he started to say all kinds of crazy stuff."

Slowly, Erik’s expression shifted as he spoke, the corners of his mouth turning down and deep dark lines etching themselves into his forehead and around his eyes. “He started to talk like he owned me. He saw me hanging out with some baseline students during class and he scolded me about it during our tutoring sessions. I told him to leave me alone and then I told my parents. They didn’t like that at all, of course. My mom called him that evening when I got home and ended up getting in a shouting match with him.

“I sat on the stairs and listened to the whole thing. I could tell he was saying the same vile things to her that he’d said about my baseline friends. In the end she told him she was going to call the school board and that I wouldn’t be going to his house anymore. It was horrifying,” he admitted, looking suddenly at Charles. “Knowing that I’d been opening up to this person who just… I couldn’t find the right words for it then, but I know now he just loathed non-mutants. He thinks they’re a plague. He thought my parents were--” he broke off, his breath choked.

Charles swallowed hard against the lump in his own throat and stretched a hand out flat on the bed between them, not touching Erik but reaching towards him to offer support. “He’s insane,” Charles said emphatically, his voice sturdy and strong as iron. “It’s not you or your parent’s fault that you couldn’t see that right away. It’s not wrong to be trusting, it was wrong for him to betray that trust.”

The laugh that came out of Erik’s throat was raw and mirthless, and he blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before burying his face in his hands, inhaling a sharp sob that seemed to send a spike instantly through Charles’ insides, splitting his heart in two. He couldn’t stand it anymore; he leaned forward to pull Erik into a tight hug that, to his surprise, Erik returned at once, burrowing his face into Charles’ neck. He held on while Erik shook against him, blinking back tears of his own while he rubbed comforting circles over Erik’s skin, pressing in hard the way he could tell Erik wanted.

It was growing steadily darker outside, and somehow the half-light and the silence of the room besides Erik’s hitching breaths was oddly comforting. Charles’ body ached, his mind ached, and Erik obviously felt much, much worse, but at the same time, Charles could tell it was a necessary evil. Erik had hardly spoken to anyone about this period in his life, and Charles doubted that the version he’d told his boss at the CIA was this in-depth.

It was past due for Erik to come to terms with the horrors in his childhood, something messy and painful to sort out, but Charles could already tell talking about it was helping. The thoughts tumbling through Erik’s head weren’t shaded with anxiety and anger and shame anymore. Instead, they felt raw and sore, like a scab that had been torn open again, but underneath the pain, there was relief and calm, a sense that they would heal for good this time. There would still be a scar, but nothing so debilitating as the wound Erik had carried with him for years.

Slowly, Erik’s quiet sobs began to peter out, his breathing returning to a more normal rhythm, and his fingers that were wound in Charles’ shirt flexed and stretched. Charles sighed, soothing a mental finger over the surface of Erik’s mind.

::You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to,:: he said, careful to keep his tone neutral so Erik wouldn’t bristle again. ::I appreciate that you told me this much.::

::No, no,:: Erik said dismissively, but he snuggled in even closer to Charles. ::I need to finish it. You have to know.::

“Well, let’s at least lie down, then,” Charles said. “I don’t want to let you go, but I also don’t think either of our backs will thank us if we stay like this much longer.”

Erik nodded and let Charles extricate himself gently so he could lie down flat, pulling Erik down on top of him as soon as he was situated so Erik’s head rested on his chest. Charles took Erik’s hand and laced their fingers together soothing up and down Erik’s spine with the other until Erik relaxed fully against him, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Guess I’d better press on, then,” he said, his voice slightly muffled against Charles’ shirt. “Anyway. After my mom broke it off, he’d try to corner me in the hallways after class. He said we weren’t even close to being finished and we had so much more to learn together. I just ignored him, and soon we found out he was being investigated by the school board as well, following my mom’s complaint. I didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, and things started to get back to normal. My powers had grown by then, and my parents… my parents loved watching me show off for them.

“I thought everything was going to be fine,” Erik said hoarsely. “But then he showed up one night when we were sitting down to dinner. He said he wanted to start over with us and that he’d known he’d done wrong, but mom and dad wouldn’t hear anything about it. So then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a gun and shot my father and said I had to the count of three to save my mother. But I panicked. I felt the metal but I couldn’t do anything with it. I was trying but I couldn’t move it, like trying to grab something slick underwater. It was impossible.”

He broke off, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Charles’ chest, taking in a deep breath. Charles stayed silent, carding a hand through Erik’s hair until he gathered his thoughts once more and continued. “After it happened, I was in shock. He took us away somewhere -- I couldn’t figure out the exact place because I couldn’t concentrate on anything for a while. The first few days he left me alone in my room, which was about the size of our bathroom, with just enough space for my cot and a dresser. He’d come in and leave food on the floor, and I ate a little because I knew I had to, but not very much. By the end of what might have been the second week he threatened to shoot me if I didn’t start eating more, and when that didn’t work, he hit me and threatened to hit me again. So I ate.

“Eventually, he took me out of my room and to what he called the training room, but it was really more like a torture chamber. When I couldn’t do the things he wanted me to, he’d tie me to a chair with my hands behind me and put a gag in my mouth so I wouldn’t bite through my tongue and he’d hit me or slice my skin open with a scalpel until I warped the metal.”

Listening to Erik state what had happened so matter-of-factly turned Charles’ stomach. He felt like there was a lead weight in his belly, pressing him down into the bed, but he swallowed against it and set his jaw, ignoring the wetness that tracked down the side of his cheek when he blinked next. This was not about him, it was about Erik. He just hoped there wasn’t much more to the story for both their sakes.

“With the pain, it didn’t take long for me to learn things. I grew stronger faster because I was terrified of the alternative, and in just a few months I could manipulate any kind of metal he threw at me. He was so excited, he started introducing new kinds of metals, asking for bigger and more complex things. And that’s when he started talking about how I was the chosen one and how my power was going to create a mutant utopia here on Earth. I was barely fifteen at that point and I was going to be his right-hand man in this new world he wanted to create. I never forgot what my parents had taught me though,” Erik said proudly. “I never stopped wanting to get out of there, but I had to bide my time.

“I’d been there about six months when he brought in a piece of metal that was exactly the same kind that the box and the key are made out of. It was only the size of a quarter, but it called out to me the same way the other artifacts did, and when I was able to move and manipulate it, he was absolutely beside himself. He said we were getting close and that I was almost ready. So that’s when I knew I had to get out soon.

“For the few months, the door to my bedroom was kept bolted shut from the outside with a wooden plank, but as time went on and I grew stronger, he seemed to trust that I wouldn’t leave -- or maybe he knew I was afraid of what would happen if I tried. But eventually I wasn’t scared anymore, or I guess, I was more scared of what would happen if I stayed, and I waited one night until I’d felt the bedsprings on his bed sink in, and I snuck out. There was an alarm, I knew, but I felt in the walls and I ripped it out so it couldn’t go off. I went to the kitchen and got a loaf of bread, and then I found the front door and I ran outside.

“We were way out in the country in the middle of nowhere in Germany. No one had ever come poking around and on the occasions Shaw had let me out of the house to walk outside with his supervision, there had never been any cars on the road or even nearby. But I didn’t think about that. I ran for miles and miles until I thought my lungs or my heart was going to burst, and my sneakers and pants were soaked through with dew. It had been months since I’d gotten that kind of exercise, but once I got moving, I couldn’t stop, and even though I slowed down eventually, I didn’t stop moving until the sun came up and I couldn’t take another step.

“I’d run through the woods, avoiding any road I came across the whole night, so in the morning I knew I was well and truly lost. I drank from streams and stole from people’s gardens or from empty houses. The first couple of weeks were absolutely terrifying -- I was certain Shaw was just around every corner, waiting to catch me and drag me back -- but he never did, and when I reached the city, it was easy to get lost there, too. Until the police caught me stealing some Euros out of a lady’s purse on the bus and took me to social services and I was placed in an orphanage until I was eighteen.”

Charles sniffed, wiping impatiently at his cheeks and taking a deep breath before he spoke. “And somehow you ended up with the CIA?”

Erik nodded. “The director of the orphanage was very well educated. I’d missed a lot of school -- I didn’t say how, obviously -- but she got me back on track and sent me to a counselor. I didn't really tell him the full story either, I was still too afraid that Shaw would somehow find out and come for me, but he helped me well enough with what I gave him. Eventually, I managed to get good enough grades to get into a university in London. At that point all I wanted to do was get out of Germany, but while I was in college, I realized how deep everything went. For so many years I’d tried to bury it deep down, or ignore it, but suddenly I couldn’t anymore. I wanted to find Shaw and kill him, so I started looking in all the worst sorts of places I could find, and that’s how I ran into Moira one night. She was trailing one of Shaw’s business partners -- I thought she was the business partner -- and when I tried to kill her, she explained everything. Then she offered me a job. I couldn’t exactly refuse, especially when she had a shard of glass shoved to my throat.”

Charles let out a noise half-laugh, half-cry. He had absolutely no idea how to respond to anything Erik had told him, but to be fair, he was also sure there wasn’t anything Erik expected him to say. In the end, instead of speaking he simply held Erik tighter, wrapping both arms around him and capturing Erik’s leg in between his own. Erik sighed and held him back, the storm of his thoughts gently subsiding to a low level hum behind his growing contentment.

“I hope this doesn’t come off as condescending,” Charles said slowly, “but I believe you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Erik turned, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Charles for what felt like the first time in hours. His eyes were still faintly red around the edges, but his gaze was steady as it met Charles’, taking in the look on his face quietly and calmly. Whatever he saw there he seemed to approve of, however, because after another moment he leaned down and pressed their lips gently together for a brief kiss.

“You’re a lot like her, actually,” he said when they pulled apart again. Charles raised a questioning eyebrow and Erik explained, “My mother. You’re both warm and kind, going out of your way to help people and to be everyone’s friend. I think you would have gotten along.”

Oh, brother, Charles thought exasperatedly as his eyes pricked with tears again, trying with all his might not to fall apart for Erik now. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet her,” he said honestly, petting Erik’s hair back away from his face. “She must have been an incredible woman to have raised you.”

“She was,” Erik said, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

A great swell of affection welled up from Charles’ chest at the sight, and he smiled softly back, feeling as though his heart was somehow lighter and heavier than it had ever been. Erik made a quiet noise in the back of his throat and laid back down on his side next to Charles so they were practically nose to nose. They just stayed like that for a while, watching the way the changing light cast different shadows across their faces, Charles trailing his fingers gently up and down Erik’s bicep and Erik’s hand curled into Charles’ hair.

“So,” Charles said eventually, “Shaw wants to use the Grail to create a mutant utopia and somehow he thinks you’re the key to all this.” Erik shrugged his mouth going into a thin line again, but Charles merely continued petting his arm. “If that’s the case he’s in way over his head.”

Erik frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re the one with all the power here,” Charles replied. “You said his mutation is energy absorption?” Erik nodded. “So he can’t feel the Grail at all like you can, no matter how close or how far he is to it. He’d never find it if you got to it first and took it. He’d probably spend the rest of his life looking. And,” Charles continued as Erik’s mouth fell open and realization began to dawn on his features, “even if he did get to the Grail first, he can’t use it for himself. He needs you. And you’d never in a million years do what he wants you to do. He was trying to create a weapon when he took you, but in actuality, he just created his own worst enemy.”

Erik gaped, sitting suddenly up and staring at the foot of the bed, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “You’re right,” he said at last. “You’re completely right, Charles. Why didn’t I realize that before?”

Charles snuggled in closer, pressing a kiss to Erik’s shoulder. “Sometimes we get so blinded by our emotions we can’t see what’s right in front of us,” he said. He snaked his arms around Erik’s waist, smiling into Erik’s t-shirt when Erik grasped his elbow and pulled him in tighter.

A moment later he felt a finger curl tentatively underneath his chin, tilting his head up, and he followed without hesitation, raising an eyebrow up at Erik when he saw the uncertainty just behind his eyes, his gaze flickering over Charles’ face as he thought over his next words.

“I hope you know I’m not blind to everything,” he said quietly. “I’m not good -- well, actually, I’m complete sh*t at people. I always was. But you’re different. I’m… comfortable around you. You’re very important to me, and…” He sighed heavily. “This is supposed to be easy, people already think we’re married.”

Charles beamed, a flush spreading warmth across his cheeks and his stomach fluttering happily as he realized what Erik was trying to say. It was both comforting and terrifying to know that Erik was as closely attached as he was, and Charles found himself torn between running from the room and pushing Erik back down to the mattress to cover every inch of him in kisses in response.

Before he could do either of those things, however, Erik took a deep breath and blurted out, “It’s only been a couple of days, I realize, but I think if I didn’t tell you how much you’ve changed things for me already, I’d be the biggest kind of idiot in the world. So, thank you, because I never would have gotten this far without you, and I don’t think I want to go any further alone anymore.”

“Oh, Erik,” Charles said softly. He soothed a mental tendril across Erik’s anxiously jittering thoughts and felt them shudder uncertainly for a moment before relaxing again like a muscle unclenching. “You aren’t alone. Not anymore, I promise you that.”

Erik choked out a surprised laugh, his hand trailing across Charles’ cheek to slide into his hair, his eyes sparkling in the last rays of sunlight filtering in through the large bay window. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’m holding you to that.”

Charles couldn’t stand it anymore. He leaned up, bringing Erik’s head down with a hand on the back of his neck and kissed him, hard and open mouthed, his tongue sneaking along Erik’s bottom lip. Erik moaned, tipping his head more to the side to deepen the kiss and snaking the hand not in Charles’ hair around his waist, dipping under the hem of his shirt.

The pad of Erik’s thumb and his palm just below his pointer and middle fingers were rough with callouses, and the scratch of them over the skin of Charles’ hip bone sent a jolt of molten heat down Charles’ spine and through every nerve ending. He sighed into Erik’s mouth, his co*ck giving an involuntary twitch, which he only needed to be horrified about for a fraction of a second -- was Erik even interested in sex right now? -- before the answer became clear. The fingers on Charles’ hip dipped lower, sliding just underneath the waistband of his boxers to tease at the light trail of hair that led from just under his belly button downward.

“I seem to remember another promise you made last night,” Erik murmured with a smile against Charles’ lips. “Would you be…?” He trailed off, drawing a circle just below Charles’ navel with his thumb.

“Willing?” Charles choked out. “God yes.”

And he only barely restrained himself from bucking against Erik a moment later when Erik slid both his hands up Charles’ sides, pulling his undershirt up and off until Charles was left only in his boxers, breaking out in gooseflesh from the way Erik looked at him, his eyes almost completely pupil. It was a look no one had ever fixed him with before, and it made him feel somehow indomitable, like he could draw this moment out into infinity without any effort at all.

Grinning, Charles swung a leg over both of Erik’s thighs, straddling him abruptly, Erik’s eyes widening in surprise. The change in position dragged the duvet, which had been pooled just above their waists, down to settle over Erik’s knees and above Charles’ ankles, removing any semblance of modesty as it fell away. Charles’ boxers were tented out very obviously, now. Erik’s eye was immediately drawn to his still-clothed co*ck, which gave Charles an idea. He leaned slightly backwards, bracing one hand behind himself, while the other went to his waistband, tugging it down just a fraction of an inch.

“Do you like looking at me?” he asked lowly.

Erik started, blinking quickly as he glanced up to met Charles’ gaze once more. “Yes,” he said, his voice already starting to get raspy. “You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.” He raised a tentative hand, and when Charles didn’t stop him or shy away, rested the tips of his fingers in the center of Charles’ chest above his sternum. The touch made something in Charles flare suddenly and his eyes fluttered closed while Erik’s hand dragged down his skin until it was resting on top of Charles’ hand on his waistband.

Together, they slid Charles’ boxers down, pausing for a moment so Charles could kick them free, and then Charles turned his attention to Erik’s t-shirt. Last night, Erik had enjoyed when Charles paid attention his chest, so Charles made sure while sliding his shirt off to glance a thumb across Erik’s nipples, earning a hitched breath and a quiet “Scheiße” for his efforts. As soon as Erik was free from the tangle of fabric trapping his arms, he sat up, wriggling out of his underwear with such frenetic energy that Charles thought it best to leave him to it; he’d just get in the way if he tried to help.

Instead, he sat back on his heels, heart pounding energetically as he watched, and soon enough, Erik tossed the clothing away, pulling Charles back down on top of him to kiss him wildly. Charles reached down immediately between their bodies, wanting to feel Erik in his hand, stroking him until he moaned loudly, his head tipping back against the headboard. Charles moved his mouth to Erik’s throat, kissing downwards until he reached the dip between his clavicles. He nipped gently at the skin there, flicking his tongue out to sooth away any sting, tasting salt. His hand was still working Erik’s co*ck with slow, sure strokes and he flicked his thumb over the head, remembering how it had made Erik’s pleasure spike abruptly last night. He wasn’t disappointed.

A whine rumbled up from deep within Erik’s throat, vibrating through his skin and into Charles’, making his lips twitch into a smile. When they were out and about, working on the mission or pretending to be married, Erik was stoic. He liked to act as if nothing and no one could get to him. But in bed, Charles found he was the complete opposite of his projected self -- enthusiastic and vocal and sweet, his focus narrowing down completely to the two of them as though nothing else in the world existed. Charles had never had a partner that was so tuned into him before. Other partners had been interested in his body, of course, but more as a way to enhance their own pleasure, and almost everyone had told him to stay out of their minds. Even Gabby, his longest relationship ever, had been unwilling to give him so much trust.

Now, Charles reveled in the way Erik’s thoughts flared bright with arousal and need, and a pulsing desire to feel Charles wrapped up all round him, his arms, his legs, his mind. Sighing, Charles curled mentally into the feeling, holding onto it for dear life as he trailed his lips a little further down Erik’s chest, pressing a lingering kiss right above where he felt Erik’s heart jumping against his ribcage. Erik’s hands slid gently up Charles’ sides, migrating around to his back until one cupped the nape of his neck and the other tangled in his hair.

His nails scratched gently over Charles’ scalp, sending a shiver down his spine as he breathed heavily against Erik’s chest. Slowly, he slid up Erik’s torso again, arching against him and bringing their co*cks into alignment for a slow grind. Erik groaned into Charles’ mouth, slipping his tongue inside, surprising a low noise from Charles’ throat. Charles kissed Erik back eagerly, feeling his pulse begin to quicken again when Erik thrust shallowly against him, almost as if he was testing the waters.

::Yes,:: Charles sent, his mental voice as hoarse as he was sure his physical voice would be. ::Can you… do you think you can get the lube?::

They’d left it on the bedside table along with the condoms that morning. Charles had figured no sense in being shy about it -- they were in the honeymoon suite after all -- and had only suffered a small pang of embarrassment when he realized Margaret must have seen them when she changed the sheets on their bed. He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed now, though, not when he didn’t have to untangle himself one bit for to Erik to reach over and snatch the supplies from the table, dropping them unceremoniously onto the bed before pulling Charles to him again, and pressing a hand into the small of his back to keep them close.

Charles smiled, a laugh huffing out across their mouths. “You’re going to have to let go to put on the condom,” he reminded him gently.

Erik hummed -- half in protest, half in eagerness -- and kissed Charles once more before drawing back to grab a condom and tear it open with clumsy fingers, letting himself be directed when Charles grasped his wrist gently and helped him roll it onto his co*ck. When they were finished, he sat back again on Erik’s thighs, trailing a hand up and down Erik’s arm and eyeing the bottle of lube consideringly before he raised an eyebrow at Erik.

“Do you want to do the honors, or do you want to watch me?” he asked, honestly torn between the two options himself. Erik swallowed, pausing for a moment to think. His eyes flickered up to meet Charles’ unsurely, as if this was some kind of test, but Charles merely grinned and added, “There’s no wrong answer here, darling.”

Erik licked his lips then replied slowly, “I want to do it. But I want you to stay in my head. Give me everything you’re feeling. I want to know if you’re getting what you need.”

Charles felt almost light headed. It was incredibly rare that he was caught so off guard, but at Erik’s words, he actually had to sit back on his heels, blinking incredulously for a moment. “Okay,” he said at last, petting a hand down Erik’s chest. “That sounds good to me.”

“Alright then,” Erik said.

He smiled softly, drawing Charles in again with a hand on his elbow, and Charles came more than willingly, his eyes fluttering closed as he kissed Erik hard, seating himself more fully in his mind. Erik’s thoughts were sparking brightly with excitement and nervousness, the latter of which Charles did his best to soothe gently away. It was probably a futile effort since his mind was a jittery as Erik’s, but the sentiment at least transferred, a layer of gratitude and affection overlaying the nerves for a brief moment, Erik humming into Charles’ mouth as he fumbled with the bottle.

There was a quiet, plastic-y clicking noise as the bottle opened that made Charles twitch involuntarily, but he relaxed again almost at once with Erik’s hand splayed reassuringly on his lower back. Erik kneaded his skin there briefly with his long fingers, the pressure enough that Charles to began to grow impatient again. Then the hand disappeared, joining Erik’s other behind Charles’ back as Erik covered the fingers of his left hand with lube.

Charles pulled away, sucking in a deep breath as he willed himself to relax. Erik would go slow, he was sure -- especially since they were mentally linked as he had requested and he would be able to feel any of Charles’ potential discomfort instantly -- but the first touch of cold liquid against such a sensitive spot was never pleasant and he didn’t want to jerk away and make Erik think he’d done something wrong. The mattress bounced a moment later as Erik dropped the bottle back down beside them, and Charles tipped his head back, sliding his fingers into Erik’s hair and holding on as gently as possible.

Sure enough, when the first tentative finger brushed against Charles’ hole it was just on the wrong side of room temperature, but he sighed, ignoring the coolness and focusing on the jolt the touch sent through his body. His eyes dropped closed the instant he felt the touch, but he could still sense Erik looking at him, his thoughts a whirlwind of wonder and affection and concern. Charles let out a quiet hum and flexed his fingers, scratching them softly across Erik’s scalp, the corners of his mouth twitching when he felt Erik’s emotions go deep purple with want. He rocked his hips back ever so slightly, a silent request for more and Erik was quick to oblige.

They went slowly at first. Although they had just done the same thing earlier that morning, Erik was obsessed with making sure Charles was comfortable and Charles was in absolutely no state to complain. They were pressed closely together so Erik’s wrist wasn’t in such an awkward position, which meant that every time Charles twitched his hips, his co*ck also dragged against Erik’s stomach, sending another wave of pleasure through him.

The feeling only intensified when Erik slowly added another finger, teasing at Charles’ rim for a moment before it slipped inside, scissoring him open along with the first. He groaned loudly, his breath whispering out over Erik’s mouth before Erik sealed their lips together once more, swallowing down the sound. Erik’s fingers were long and elegant, and they took Charles apart with unfair ease. Finally, with a smirk Charles could feel, Erik pushed in deeper than before, brushing the pads of his fingers against Charles’ prostate, making him cry out in surprise. His eyes flew open, and he nearly hit Erik’s nose with his chin as he threw his head back, rocking his hips to chase the burst of arousal that went through him.

“f*ck,” he whispered, glancing down to meet Erik’s gaze. “Erik, more, please.”

Erik’s grin widened, and he leaned forward to suck at Charles’ neck, just below his ear. ::As you wish, Charles,:: he replied.

A third finger joined the two still massaging gently at that spot inside him, and Charles swallowed harshly, linking their minds more securely together in retaliation. There was no way Erik was going to make him come before f*cking him, and if he did, Erik was going to go down with the ship. Erik laughed, clearly catching the sentiment, but then he turned his attention back to scissoring Charles open gently. Charles could feel his pulse racing faster and faster with every achingly slow twist of Erik’s fingers within him and soon he was panting against Erik’s lips again, unable to do anything other than plant the occasional sloppy kiss in the vague direction of his mouth.

“God,” he breathed, grinding back on Erik’s hand. He’d been on his knees for too long and his legs burned from the motion, but then all three of Erik’s fingers brushed against his prostate once more and he bucked, moaning almost embarrassingly loudly, the ache in his legs forgotten in favor of the need pooling bright and hot at the base of his spine. “Erik, I’m ready, please--”

Erik leaned forward, dipping his head to press his lips to Charles’ shoulder. “Shh,” he said, his breath tickling across Charles’ skin. “I hear you.”

He withdrew his fingers gently, the sensation odd but not painful. Charles raised up a little higher on his knees, reaching behind himself to position Erik’s co*ck, but to his surprise, Erik grabbed his wrist stopping him.

“No,” he said, blinking dazedly up at Charles, obviously putting great effort into forming his thoughts into words. “I can already feel how badly your legs ache. Let’s…” He trailed off, apparently deciding that simply moving Charles would take less mental energy and produce faster results.

Charles went more than willingly, following when Erik’s hands on his waist positioned him until he was on his back against the mattress and Erik was the one on his knees, kneeling between Charles’ splayed legs, his thighs propping up Charles’ hips. Charles shifted, settling his shoulders further into the mattress until he was completely comfortable, Erik watching patiently and soothing a hand up and down the inside of his thigh.

“All right,” Charles sighed at last as he took Erik’s hand and squeezed it softly. He smiled. “You may proceed.”

Erik rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “So bossy,” he said, but he was smiling, too. Charles could see it in the dying red light.

There was a brief fumbling when Erik shifted to line his co*ck up, but a second later he pressed forward at the same time that he pulled Charles gently towards him by his hips and Charles barely had time to suck in a breath before, after the barest hint of pressure, he felt Erik slide slowly inside. It was a bit awkward -- it always had been in Charles’ experience, getting used to the intrusion of something in so intimate a place. A few seconds passed before Charles realized he was holding his breath still and he let it out in a rush, his eyes slipping closed as he focused on relaxing against the stretch and infinitesimal burn.

He curled a bit more tightly around Erik’s thoughts to anchor himself, leeching off his sense of calm determination, petting the hand still resting on his hip reassuringly and arching his back just so until finally, Erik froze, a quiet moan escaping him as he seated himself fully inside. Charles blinked dazedly up at him, seeing with an overwhelming burst of affection the way Erik’s eyebrows knitted over his screwed shut eyes, the concentration and pleasure etched so openly on his face. He was sucking in a long breath through his open mouth, and Charles wanted to reach up to trace the edges of his lips, the creases at his eyes, but their position didn’t allow for that very easily, so instead he wrapped his legs more securely around Erik’s waist, tugging at his arm until Erik’s eyes shot open and he fell gently forward, covering Charles with his long lean frame.

The movement also shifted his co*ck, nudging it unexpectedly against Charles’ prostate and he gasped, his hands flying blindly to Erik’s waist, clutching him until the skin dented. Encouraged, Erik thrust forward again shallowly, but with the same effect. Charles let out a quiet humming moan, arching his back to chase the sensation, his own co*ck rubbing against the flat plane of Erik’s stomach and smearing a trail of pre-cum across it.

“Again,” he said, urging Erik on with his heels against his ass.

Erik did as he was told, pulling almost all the way out only to shove back in again hard, picking up the pace when Charles keened loudly, his mind spiraling out and away from himself and into Erik, looping their pleasure together so it twisted higher faster. Charles’ heart was hammering against his ribcage, his fingers uncoordinated as they danced across Erik’s back, over his sides and down his chest. He panted, the beginnings of sentences dying on his lips as he tried to speak to demand Erik lean down and kiss him but lost the ability to do anything besides breathe, the occasional moan the only sound escaping him.

Something of his desires must have slipped through to Erik, however, because a moment later, Erik leaned cautiously forward and sealed their lips together once more, opening to Charles’ tongue when he trailed it along his bottom lip. The new position folded Charles nearly in half, but Erik was still supporting him under his hips and another strong hand -- the one Erik wasn’t using to hold himself up -- had slipped around to Charles’ lower back, pressing them close. Charles keened loudly. The shift had also made Erik drive in even deeper, pleasure jolting up his spine now with every drag of Erik’s co*ck inside him. His toes curled against Erik’s skin, his breath hitching in his throat. He was almost desperate now, rocking up hard to meet each one of Erik’s thrusts, the hand not knotted tightly in Erik’s hair flying down to pump his own co*ck, a gasp from Erik when he clenched unconsciously around him nearly sending him over the edge.

“Erik,” he choked out, the hand in Erik’s hair gripping so hard a bright note of pain lit up in Erik’s mind before it was washed along into the tide of pleasure. “Erik, I’m about to--”

He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence; Erik drove in one last time, grinding his hips against Charles’ ass and then the warmth that had been building at the base of Charles’ spine exploded outward, making him bow his back up towards Erik until they were chest to chest, a sharp cry falling from his lips as sparks danced behind his closed eyes. His org*sm flowed outwards from him, catching Erik up in his wake until he too was spilling over, a surprised shout torn from deep in his chest. Charles wrapped himself tightly around Erik mentally and physically until his limbs stopped shaking and the control of his breathing returned to him.

“Charles,” Erik huffed raggedly. Their foreheads were pressed so firmly together that when Erik rolled his hips once more they both jolted against one another, the sensation too much and not enough at the same time. A bead of sweat trailed down Erik’s temple and Charles brushed it away, running his fingers over Erik’s cheek down to cup his jaw. “Charles, you’re so--”

Charles grinned, feeling a little dopey with satisfaction, and leaned up to buss a kiss to Erik’s cheek. “Don’t sell yourself short either, darling,” he said.

He shifted, planting his feet back down on the bed and lifting his hips so Erik could pull gently out, only to collapse like a dead weight back on top of him. Charles laughed and wrapped his arms around Erik’s shoulders as Erik burrowed securely into his neck, pressing soft kisses to his skin that tickled Charles from his post-org*sm over-sensitivity, but he didn’t stop him. The sunlight had all but faded by now, the bedroom left in near darkness, but it was still light enough that Charles could see the faint sheen of sweat over Erik’s back, running down to pool in dip of his spine. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Erik boneless and sated on top of him, the gentle arc of his mind as it began to drift.

“We should go get dinner,” Charles said noncommittally, trailing his hand up and down Erik’s back. “Soon my stomach’s going to start protesting and you aren’t going to find me a very attractive pillow then.”

Erik moaned in disapproval. “I always find you an attractive pillow,” he said, but he picked himself up off Charles all the same and moved to his side, pulling him in close again and arresting any of the will power Charles might have had to stop lazing about. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

Soon, Charles knew, he would start to feel the need for another shower, and soon they would need to venture out of their quiet little room to find some more food. But with Erik warm against his side, his breath ghosting out over Charles’ chest, he couldn’t bring himself to speed the time. So instead, he took Erik’s hand and laced their fingers together, bringing them to his mouth for a soft kiss, and let his eyes slide shut, enjoying the peace while it lasted.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

They were still lying tangled together some minutes later when Charles’ phone on the nightstand buzzed, breaking them both out of their sleepy reveres. Charles sat up with a displeased groan, dislodging Erik and wiping blearily at his face as he snatched the phone up to glare at the screen.

“Raven again,” he said, surprised.

Erik frowned, shifting into the warm spot on the bed where Charles’ body had been a moment ago. He stretched a hand out resting just the tips of his fingers against Charles’ thigh. “You’d better see what she wants,” he replied. “I doubt she’ll give up now, anyway, since you answered the last time.”

Charles nodded -- it was a good point -- and swiped open the call. “Raven,” he began, slightly annoyed at her for taking him away from his very comfortable place at Erik’s side. “Is it something important? Erik and I are--”

“Enjoying yourselves on your honeymoon?” she finished for him, sounding infinitely pleased with herself. “Mr. and Mr. Pembroke. Tell Erik that was some pretty fast turn-around.”

Charles felt a blush instantly flaring across his cheeks, and he looked down at Erik, worrying his lip between his teeth. “How did you find out?”

Erik sat up instantly, his frown deepening as he scooted closer, and Charles obligingly tapped the speakerphone button so Raven’s voice filled the room. “Charles, I work at the CIA. We’ve had a team looking at all the flight listings with a Charles or Erik on them out of all the major airports in the area. Took us longer to find you because Erik paid by check, but we got there eventually. I know how much you liked Diana Pembroke, Charles, I knew it was you immediately.”

“And what are you going to do now you have this information?” Erik asked testily.

“I’m on speakerphone?” Raven replied.

Charles shrugged. “I’m not the spy in this conversation, Raven. I figured Erik would know how this affects things more than me.”

There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end. “Fair’s fair, I guess,” she said. “So we know you’re in the UK somewhere -- Hank was saying possibly Cornwall -- but it would be infinitely easier if you just told us where you are now, Erik.”

“How much trouble am I going to be in with Moira?” Erik replied immediately, looking warily down at the screen.

“Not any more than usual, I’m sure,” Raven answered. She sounded like she was smiling. “Since Charles came willingly to the cause, you really haven’t broken any rules, except not waiting for a debriefing before heading out on your own assignment. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same if I’d been able to, to be honest. So will you tell me?”

Erik set his jaw, thinking hard for a moment before he snapped, “Edinburgh. We’re heading up to the Orkney Islands tomorrow. That’s where we think we’re going to find the Grail, but we aren’t sure.”

“And Raven,” Charles added earnestly, “I think this thing could be dangerous. From what Erik and I saw today, and what I know about Shaw, it could either be a complete bunch of crock or something very, very powerful.”

“Powerful how?” Raven asked.

“I don’t know,” Charles replied, frowning. “I guess we’ll know the answer to that once we find it. But I would tell whoever’s job it is to take care of this thing after Erik and I deliver it to use the utmost caution.”

“All right, then,” Raven said, drawing the syllables out the way she did whenever she was writing something down. “I’m sure Hank will be able to think up something. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“I can’t think of anything else right now,” Charles said. “Erik?”

Erik shook his head. “Nothing yet,” he said.

“You’ll hear from us soon, Raven,” Charles said. “We’ll keep you posted.”

“You’d better,” Raven replied. “Be safe.”

“We will,” Charles answered, and they rang off. As soon as the line went dead, Charles’ shoulders sagged once more and he turned, burying his face in Erik’s neck. “I suppose that means we have to get up,” he said.

It was an unspeakable disappointment to be woken up from such a blissful dozing state with Erik only to be reminded of the very serious situation they were in outside their little bedroom. Of course, Charles hadn’t forgotten entirely -- how could he, after the talk he and Erik had had earlier? -- but while they had been together the darkness had lifted for a while. It came crashing back down again now as Charles remembered the key shoved unceremoniously underneath the love seat, the long ride north tomorrow, and the danger that waited at the end of it.

The weight of what they were doing made him bone tired, and for a fraction of a second he considered trying to talk Erik out of going tomorrow. The Grail had stayed hidden all this time, after all, and they had presumably the only key to its hiding place. But of course Erik would never agree to that, Charles thought with a small sigh. And really, Charles couldn’t fault him in the least for wanting to end Shaw’s obsession with the Grail once and for all. Not after what he’d gone through at his hands.

“Come on,” he said quietly, pulling away from Erik at last and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s go get some food. Might as well enjoy ourselves while we can.”

The smell of salt in the air was so pervasive it almost choked Erik as he and Charles walked along the sleepy dockside street in Kettletoft. Though the village had less than five hundred inhabitants, it was the largest -- and possibly the only, Erik thought -- city on Sanday, the westernmost of the Orkney Islands, and the one directly beneath the island he and Charles needed to get to. They’d checked out of their B&B in Edinburgh earlier that day at eight o’clock and spent the rest of the morning traveling, catching the ferry to Sanday just after noon and checking into their new hotel barely fifteen minutes ago. Now, with the key burning a hole in Charles’ satchel, they were in search of a boat to rent to get to the island with the Grail.

Erik thought that by this point he would be chomping at the bit, completely focused in on the next step in their race against Shaw, but surprisingly, though the excitement had been steadily building in him since this morning, so had the dread. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go through with his and Charles’ plan to secure the Grail, or that he didn’t trust Charles when he said for the millionth time that no one had followed them from Edinburgh, but after the way he’d opened up to Charles last night, he realized how nervous he truly was. Normally his anger overpowered any other emotion when he was out on a job. Now, though, he had another person besides himself to worry about, someone whose well-being he cared for as much as -- if not more than -- his own, and as yesterday’s near-miss in the room with the key had proved, his anger was not enough to get them out of every tight situation.

Charles didn’t seem to be picking up on Erik’s perturbation, however; he was still quiet at Erik’s side, his eyes glued to the boats they passed as they walked down the deserted street. When they’d asked at the hotel if anyone gave ferry rides to the smaller island to the north, the woman behind the counter said it depended on the day and how fair the weather was and who was out fishing and who wasn’t. Visitors to the island were rare, she said, and the area dangerous, especially for those that were unfamiliar with the area. So here they were, walking through a steady drizzle, squinting at the sea and hoping to find either a willing captain, or a vacant boat that wouldn’t be missed for a few hours.

“There just doesn’t seem to be anyone out today,” Charles said quietly, a frown creasing between his eyebrows. “Not for pleasure, anyway.” He had two fingers pressed to his temple and his eyes were distant, two signs Erik knew meant he was miles away, dipping nimbly in and out of people’s minds. “The people in their houses don’t have boats or don’t have any plans to take them out.” He sighed. “I’d hoped we’d be able to do this the slightly more legal way, but I highly doubt we’ll find anyone to take us out even if we waited around until the sun set.”

Erik nodded, looking up to the sky. It was overcast, with no sign of letting up, but then again the weather especially this far north was fickle; it could turn again by the time they’d reached their destination. Either way, if worst came to worst and the hike to the cave with the Grail was too slippery, Erik could always try to levitate them. It was a trick he hadn’t done in a while, and didn’t like to do often as it took usually more concentration than it was worth, but in this case, Erik was sure he and Charles would need everything up they had up their sleeves in order to get the Grail. He cast his glance back down at the dock, sliding over the boats moored there.

On the far end there was a craft about the size of a two-person lobster boat with a covered cabin at the front that protected the crew from the worst of the ocean spray. It was small enough that it wouldn’t be difficult to pilot, but large enough that it likely wouldn’t get too tossed about on the waves. It had been a while since Erik had piloted any kind of ship, and what drew him to this one in particular was the metal he could feel in the rudder, all around the sides on the gunwales and underneath on the hull. Even if hurricane winds suddenly sprang up, Erik was sure he could keep it steady and upright.

“This one,” he said, pointing and leading the way down the dock. “Hurry, while we’re still alone.”

“You know I could just make them look away,” Charles said, sounding amused, but Erik could hear his footfalls as he jogged along behind him.

Once they reached the side of the boat and clambered over, Charles went to untie the mooring rope from the ring anchoring them to the dock, and Erik ducked into the cabin to start the engine. He frowned his eyes darting over the unfamiliar controls. It would be a waste of time and potentially dangerous to try every single one until he found the power button -- after all, he could accidentally hit some kind of horn and alert the whole town to their escapade -- so instead, Erik closed his eyes and reached out with his power, feeling for the engine and coaxing the pistons into life. The deck rumbled ominously underfoot as the engine spluttered and coughed its way awake, but a second later, the sounds evened out to a constant loud hum and Charles bounced into the cabin beside him, wearing a nervous grin.

“Ready to shove off, captain,” he said.

Erik reached out and found the throttle stick, and switched them into reverse. “All right,” he said, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Hold on, this might be a little rough.”

Charles grabbed a hold of the center console and braced his feet apart, and with them both as secure as they could be, Erik took a quiet steadying breath and accelerated away from the dock. Luckily, it didn’t take long to realize the water was not as treacherous as it had looked from the dock. The wind whipped the waves into choppy curves, but they had more bark than they had bite, and they merely rocked them gently as they cut through the water, Erik quickly remembering the motions of piloting. He went slowly, at first, wary of the other boats and buoys that created a small obstacle course that led to the open water. It wasn’t until several minutes later when the dock was well behind them that he let himself relax, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“I think we’re all clear,” he said. “The island should be just about ten miles northeast. If we head on this tack we’ll be there in twenty minutes or so.”

“Brilliant,” Charles replied. He moved over to the corner where a little bench was set into the wall and sat. “When we get a little closer you should try feeling with your powers. It’ll certainly be easier than trying to find the hiding place just by our wits.”

Erik nodded, casting his gaze out across the seemingly infinite stretch of water in front of them. It was all open; only a speck on the horizon to the left that was probably another fishing boat marred the emptiness. He should have felt more sure of himself, being so close to their goal and seeing no obstacles, feeling nothing but the rocking of the waves, and with Charles so near and giving off probably unconscious waves of calm like an emotional furnace. But he was not. Erik frowned, chewing on the inside of his lip.

Something was off. He could feel it deep down in his gut in the same place where he had felt the vibration of the key in Charles’ satchel, a nagging that he wasn’t quite seeing something that was just in front of him, like brushing his fingertips across something in the darkness, just out of reach. It was an unsettling feeling to say the least, and for a moment Erik actually considered turning the boat around and waiting for another day. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, he thought, and being so close to the Grail and the overcast weather were making his mind play tricks on him, which was never a good thing, especially at the end of a mission.

He was still gazing off into space, lost in thought when he realized Charles was staring at him and had been for some minutes. He turned around to meet his gaze, an eyebrow raised. “What?” he asked. “Enjoying the view?”

Charles huffed out a laugh through his nose. “Well, that’s unavoidable,” he said, a wry smirk briefly turning up the corners of his mouth. “But I was mostly wondering why you insist on beating yourself up before we can even see the island. You’ve got to concentrate now, there isn’t time for us to worry about what-ifs or alternate scenarios. We’re here now. We need the both of us be focused.”

Erik frowned. “I’m not beating myself up,” he said, but even to his own ears it sounded defensive and untrue. “This is how I work, all right? It’s how I’ve been working for years, I don’t think anything’s going to change now.”

Charles sighed shaking his head and standing up again and crossing the distance between them, taking the place next to Erik and leaning against the console so that their elbows brushed as they looked out of the cabin window. “You’re all anger and nerves,” he said quietly, “and before that might have helped, but it isn’t helping now. Remember back at Rosslyn when you couldn’t move the door? I’m afraid it’s all going to be like that today -- you’re just like a rubber band waiting to snap.”

“Well, what do you suggest then?” he asked. He was annoyed at Charles for pointing out something he so often tried to bury deep within himself, and at such a crucial time, but once Charles got an idea it there was no keeping him quiet on the subject, Erik had found.

“I find it’s easiest to focus when my emotions are balanced,” Charles replied, his tone considering. “Not entirely angry or worried or even entirely serene. Someplace in the middle, between all of them, if that makes sense. Somewhere apart from myself. Above myself, almost. That’s the way I see it anyway.”

Erik thought for a moment. It did sort of make sense in an odd way, as much as it irked Erik to admit such a thing at a time like this. If he let himself stew in his own emotions, he would be just as helpless as he was when he was a child, trying to fight through the pain and terror and anger in order to give Shaw what he wanted, but the cycle had to end somewhere. Erik remembered Charles’ words last night -- “You’re the one with all the power. He was trying to create a weapon. but in actuality, he just created his own worst enemy” -- and he couldn’t help but smile again. It was the truth, he’d realized. He was the one in power, but he was going to have to start acting like it; a thing much easier said than done, but not impossible. Not after everything else he’d seen and done in the past few days.

“You should be a motivational speaker,” Erik said dryly.

“I’m a teacher. Sometimes it’s the same thing,” replied Charles, but he was smiling again, apparently having picked up on Erik’s thought process.

Erik ran his fingers over the console, digging a nail into one of the small imperfections in the plastic that was there from years of use. “It’s not as simple as you make it out to be, Charles,” he said at last. “I wish it were, it would make life much easier.”

“Well, just try for now,” Charles said, resting a hand lightly on Erik’s back. “When we get to the Grail you can think of it as practice. Don’t think of what might go wrong, just think of what you have to do. And I’ll be there to help. We’ll get through this together, and then be back home in time for dinner tomorrow.”

Charles’ blatant overconfidence made Erik roll his eyes, but he leaned into the touch all the same, pressing himself to Charles’ side so they were flush from hip to shoulder. At the same time, he cast out with his powers, trying to see if he could feel the strange metal he was sure would be close to the Grail, but so far there was nothing. They were still several miles out from the island, however, so it wasn’t very surprising that all he could feel was the boat and the key. Still, he sighed, trying to bury his impatience underneath a layer of calm like Charles had suggested and resigned himself to the wait.

They stayed silent the last bit of their journey. Neither of them spoke even when the island began to loom up out of the mist in front of them, but this time when Erik reached out again, he felt the faint tingling in his nerves that meant the metal was near. He followed its trail, latching onto it like a lodestone and used it to guide the boat around to the west side of the island, his heart beginning to beat faster as his body reacted to the knowledge that they were were somehow impossibly close to finishing their task and the Grail was most likely within reach. He could feel Charles beginning to tense beside him, too, leaning forward against the console as if he too could feel the pull of the metal.

With every foot closer they travelled the buzzing in Erik’s bones intensified until it became uncomfortable, like an increasingly insistent itch just out of his reach. They rounded the final curve of a sandbar and a large bay opened to them, four rivers feeding out of it into the ocean and suddenly the feeling became almost overpowering. He killed the engine so they drifted forward on their momentum and gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white, fighting back a wave of nausea by breathing steadily in through his nose and out through his mouth. He felt Charles’ hand warm on his back again, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“Are you alright?” he asked, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Do you need to sit down?”

Erik shook his head slowly, forcing his muscles to relax and reigning in his powers a little more tightly so the effect of the metal wouldn’t be so strong. “I’ll be okay. It’s just… there’s a lot of it, I think. The sooner we get this thing to Hank the better.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Charles said. He gave Erik a sideways look, obviously not fully satisfied, but he thankfully decided to drop the subject, turning away from Erik to search the cove they had found themselves in. “So which way is it?”

Erik swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling out tentatively again, following the thin, buzzing thread that connected him with the metal. It was somewhere to his right, towards the land, and he turned, opening his eyes and looking for a break in the rocky cliffside that might indicate a cave of some kind, but he saw nothing. He frowned, feeling out again, but this time, along with the strange metal, he felt something else -- the faint pull of iron, familiar and clean next to the other metal, snaking underneath the water and sloping suddenly up where it appeared to join with the second metal somewhere about halfway up the side of the sloping rock face. He turned to Charles, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

“It’s underwater,” he said. He pointed to where he could sense the iron and the Grail’s metal merging. “I think it’s an underground cave that opens up inside the island. I hope so anyway.”

Charles chewed his lip, staring at the spot Erik had indicated. “Well, it had better,” he replied. “Unless you have a secondary mutation you never told me about, neither of us can breathe underwater. And there’s no SCUBA gear lying around here, either, and even if there was, I couldn’t use it. What do you suggest we do?”

Erik shrugged. “I guess we have to go under,” he said. “I’ll go first; I can pull myself along by the metal, and if it comes to a stop and there’s no air, I’ll turn around and we can think of something else.”

“You’ll turn around anyway, even if you do find air,” Charles said insistently. “There’s no way I’m letting you finish this by yourself and get all the glory.”

A smile jerked at the corner of Erik’s mouth as he steered the boat a little closer to where they needed to drop into the water. “Did you bring rubber gloves?”

Charles scoffed. “What kind of question is that, of course I brought rubber gloves. Watch the Grail just be some ragged old scrap of paper and you get it all dirty with your oily hands.”

Erik couldn’t help but laugh at that. The metal still pulled at him uncomfortably, but as long as he kept his metallokenesis wrapped up fairly tightly it was only as bad as if he was on some kind of carnival ride with an incredible amount of G-force. He could handle it for now. Charles had brought supplies to make another faraday cage in his satchel, so as soon as they reached the Grail and could secure it, the problem would be solved.

He pulled them up close to the sheer rock cliff face of the island. The water was murky, so murky Erik was sure he’d be unable to see anything once he went under, but that didn’t matter; he was latched securely onto the iron now, and could tell the entrance to the secret cave was only about ten feet underneath them, an easy distance to cover with a limited amount of air. He cut off the engine again and walked out onto the deck, toeing off his shoes and kicking them to the side, motioning for Charles to do the same. As soon as they were both ready, Erik hoisted himself up over the side of the boat and slid into the water.

It was icy cold, lancing through Erik immediately and knocking the wind out of him in one sharp gasp, goosebumps springing up all over his body. He heard a splash beside him and a cry of surprise as Charles jumped in, too, spluttering and spitting out the water he’d inhaled when he opened his mouth.

“Jesus bloody Christ it’s freezing!” he exclaimed. “Hurry up and go, Erik, I want to be on dry land again as soon as possible.”

Erik didn’t need to be told twice. Giving Charles a quick nod, he ducked quickly under the surface before he could lose his nerve, ignoring the biting temperature as he felt out for the iron thread that led up into the island. He found it immediately and reached out a hand, propelling himself towards it like a jet, his eyes shut tight against the rushing water. The iron drew closer and closer until it was right at Erik’s fingertips, and he slowed abruptly to avoid running into the rock wall. When he opened his eyes it was still too dark to see anything, but he pushed on, one hand hovering just over the iron railing as it sloped upwards steeply, hurrying so he would be sure to have enough air to make it back to the surface if he needed.

He didn’t. He followed the twisting metal for maybe another two hundred yards before suddenly, his head broke the surface of the water and he gasped in a surprised breath as the opening of a cave was abruptly illuminated around him. Blinking water rapidly out of his eyes, Erik saw that the light came from the same white fire they had seen in the room with the key, hovering in the center of the cave like a chandelier, throwing light and shadow around the space. Rising up just in front of him a was a rocky, black sand beach, and set off in the rock wall behind that, another large iron door like the one they’d found before. Erik took a moment to calm himself, trying, like Charles had suggested, to distance himself from his surprise and foreboding, breathing in deep lungfuls of air before ducking under the water again.

::There’s air,:: he sent in the general direction of the boat he could still feel bobbing on the other side of the cliff face. ::I’m coming back.::

This time, Erik followed the twanging metal of the key still hanging from Charles’ shoulder back out of the cave, popping up beside Charles again a moment later.

“Well?” Charles asked.

Erik nodded. “It’s safe,” he replied. “Come on, give me your hand, I’ll pull you along.”

Charles’ eyes went wide with excitement and he quickly put his palm in Erik’s, the other hand holding fast to the strap of his satchel. He took a deep breath and nodded hurriedly at Erik, signaling that he was ready, and they ducked under the water, Erik following the trail he had before until they broke the surface a moment later inside the cave. Charles mouth fell open into a surprised “O” as soon as he registered where they were.

“Erik,” he breathed, blinking slowly. “This is amazing. This is it? This is really it?”

Erik nodded, starting to swim over to the beach. “Definitely,” Erik answered. “There’s so much of that metal behind that door it’s giving me a headache. Come on.”

Charles followed sluggishly behind him as they made their way to dry land. Cranky with anticipation, Erik turned as soon as his feet hit the solid ground of the beach, intending to drag Charles along if need be, but as soon as he saw his face, he paused. Charles was staring around them, a look of complete wonderment and disbelief etched on his face, his wide blue eyes blinking slowly as he took everything in, and when they caught the light just right, Erik realized they were wet. He glided wordlessly towards Erik, stretching out a hand which Erik caught securely in his own, pulling Charles closer.

“I’ve been hearing stories about this place my whole life,” he breathed, his fingers curling around Erik’s. “Studying it for years. I never really thought it could be real.” He paused, then looked abruptly at Erik. “This isn’t fair,” he said. “I wasn’t even the one to find the box, it was two of my students, and then I let their project get ruined. They must be so mad at me. I wish they could be here to see this.”

“I was the one who came in and messed things up, Charles,” Erik said, tugging them gently towards the door. “If they get mad at you, just blame me. It’s the truth, anyway. Besides, this is bigger than anyone’s grades. I’m sure they’d understand that.”

Charles sighed. “I know,” he replied. “It’s just… sort of a lot to take in.” He gave Erik a small smile. “Sorry.”

Erik shook his head. “It’s all right,” he said. “Get it out of your system. I seem to remember someone telling me that they do their best work when they aren’t being ruled by their emotions.”

Charles chuckled quietly, squeezing Erik’s hand and letting go as they finally waded all the way out of the water, their clothes clinging uncomfortably to them. “Yes,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Quite right. Okay. I’m ready. What do you feel? Anything going to come down and chop us in half?”

Erik closed his eyes again, ignoring the thing behind the door and feeling for more iron, making sure this time to check for any smaller traps that might be obscured by the sheer amount of metal just in front of them. Like before, the walls of the next room were lined with iron, but unlike the last time, they were solidly stuck into the rock, bolted in place almost as if they were supporting the room’s ceiling. Surprisingly, though, he could feel nothing else, no traps waiting to fall on them, nothing sinister behind that door except the steady throb of the mysterious metal.

The silence was more unnerving than anything else Erik could have dreamt up. Cautiously, he started forward, holding out a hand in front of him, but he made it all the way to the door without incident, his heart beginning to race faster and faster with every passing second. Charles followed behind him, exuding curiosity but keeping silent, his eyes boring into Erik’s back. There was more Old English carved into this door as well, and below that, a jagged, four-pointed star that matched exactly the shape of the key.

“‘Be wary of taking what you seek, for behind this door lies a great power that cannot be contained outside its walls,’” Charles recited. “‘Knights of the Order guard it until the end of eternity.’”

Erik held out a hand and the key glided over above his palm, then to its place in the door at Erik’s command, hovering for a moment before Erik pressed it forward to click into place. His whole body went taut with anticipation as he slowly turned the key in the lock, the two of them staring, waiting breathlessly for a change. All was silent for a moment. Then, the door gave a loud, deep groan and Erik saw small cracks begin to etch themselves into the metal, spidering away from the key and widening with fearsome rapidity until a blinding light could be seen behind them.

Instinctively, Erik threw himself at Charles, knocking him several feet back and down to the ground, shielding him with his own body. Charles let out a surprised gasp as his back hit the sand and the wind was knocked out of him, but Erik pressed him down to make sure he wouldn't try to struggle and sit up. Bracing himself for the worst, Erik shut his eyes tightly, his breath caught in his chest, but several seconds passed and, strangely, nothing happened. He lifted his head, twisting around to look at the doorway, his mouth dropping open when, instead of a cracked door, he saw nothing. The doorway had become a black void, sucking in light rather than emitting it.

“What is it?” Charles asked, sitting up and shoving at Erik’s shoulder to push him off. His gaze fell on the dark doorway and he froze. “Jesus.”

Erik struggled to his feet and held out a hand for Charles. “The Grail is still on the other side,” he said breathlessly. “I can feel it. We have to go through.” Charles turned to the doorway again, but just then, a curious expression crossed his face, and he turned back to look behind them, co*cking his head to the side. Erik’s paused. “What is it?” he asked.

But Charles stayed quiet, a frown flitting across his face for a second before it smoothed out again. “Nothing,” he said unsurely. “I thought I heard something, but… I guess not.” He turned back to Erik, his jaw setting as he stared down the door. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Unsatisfied, Erik began to turn back to the water, intent on investigating, but Charles held out his arm, blocking his path and looking at him seriously. “There’s nothing there, Erik, I checked,” he insisted, tapping his temple for emphasis. “Just my mind playing tricks on me. Come on, time is wasting.”

And before Erik could protest, he crossed to the door in three short strides, sticking a hand quickly into the darkness where the door had been.

“Be careful!” Erik yelped, jumping to his side, but when Charles looked up at him he was grinning.

“It’s fine, Erik,” he said, more of his arm disappearing. “It’s just like mist. There’s room for two, you know. What are you waiting for?”

Realizing that it was useless to turn back now, Erik squared his shoulders, took a sharp breath, and stuck his hand through as well. But Charles was right. The darkness merely tickled at his hand the way the light drizzle outside had earlier, not pleasant, but certainly not unbearable, especially when Erik had half-expected the substance to melt his hand off or something equally terrifying. Cautiously, he let his whole arm slip through, then his shoulder, then part of his leg until he was standing sideways, half in, half out of the doorway.

“I think if it was going to melt you, it would have done so already,” Charles said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going through.” And without any further ado, he ducked his head through the doorway, disappearing completely, Erik following barely a second behind him.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Blackness obscured Erik’s vision, pressing in on him claustrophobically, giving the impression that he was squeezing through a tight tube rather than stepping through a wide doorway. When he reached out, slightly unnerved, to feel for Charles, his fingertips brushed nothingness instead and he sucked in a sharp breath that tasted stale and slightly metallic on his tongue. He stumbled forward blindly, everything muted, even his metal-sense, the only sound his heartbeat pounding in his ears as real panic began to overtake him. Where was Charles? What had they gotten caught in now, and how was he supposed to get out of it when he couldn’t see or feel anything?

Then, suddenly, it was over. Erik tripped forward into light again, a cry of surprise escaping him and echoing loudly around the chamber as he stumbled and almost lost his footing on the sharp and uneven floor of the cavern, Charles’ hand catching his elbow just in time. The uncomfortable tug from the metal smashed into him with the force of a sledgehammer as soon as he was free from the black void, and he sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, reeling his powers in closely to him again.

“What the f*ck was that?” Erik snapped. His hands were trembling violently and he held them together to try and steady them as he straightened up.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Charles replied. His voice was less shaken than Erik’s when he spoke, but the death grip he still held on Erik’s elbow even though they were both securely on their feet gave his nerves away.

Erik ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Well, I’d say it was another test of our abilities. And I think we passed it,” he said.

With a sigh, Erik dropped his hand away from his face and surveyed the room for the first time. Just as he had thought, the walls all around them were lined with metal that stretched up and up over fifty feet in the air until the walls came together to form an arch, in the centre of which another white hot fire burned. But the thing that immediately drew Erik’s eye -- the only other thing in the room, actually, besides the fire -- was the statue that took up the entire far wall.

It was made entirely of hand-worked iron, but though it must have been centuries old, it looked brand new. No dust gathered in its crevices as Erik could clearly see by the four large fires burning at the tips of each of the four swords and above the helmeted head of the familiar figure. As on the carving at the key’s hiding place and in the drawing Charles had shown him of the Templar knight’s journal, the man’s arms were outstretched to his sides, the swords pointing out at angles away from his body, but unlike the other versions, the man’s face was not just blank eyes and a mouth underneath a helmet.

This statue had startlingly vivid detail. The iron man snarled down at them, deep lines etched around his open mouth and across his nose, his eyes burning with fury and his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. The man’s jaw was strongly contoured underneath the edges of the helmet, and his face was thin, his cheekbones high and sharp, and startlingly familiar. Erik swallowed hard at the same time Charles gasped next to him.

“Erik,” Charles breathed, “that’s you.”

Erik’s mouth went dry as he stared up at the statue in disbelief, but Charles was right. The figure was unmistakably him, even with helmet blocking half his face. “Do… do I really look that angry all the time?” Erik asked.

Charles barked out a startled laugh, tossing his head back so the sound echoed up at the ceiling. Irked, Erik turned to frown down at him, but that only seemed to amuse him more, and he shook his head, smiling and laying a hand on Erik’s shoulder that did nothing to soothe his bruised ego. “No, darling,” Charles said, still chuckling intermittently. “Not all the time. You usually look much more handsome than that.”

“Thank you,” Erik said shortly, ignoring the accompanying suppressed snort from Charles and turning back to the statue stepping forward as he felt along it with his powers.

The room was about half the size of a soccer field, and he crossed the distance slowly, the rocky cave floor uncomfortable on his bare feet, but he hardly registered it, much more concerned with the buzzing hum of the metal that had returned in full force and grew with every step forward. It pulled at him almost painfully now, the closer he came to it and the more he stretched his power out to pinpoint its exact location. It was almost as if the metal was tugging at the very marrow of his bones, at the iron in his blood, and he wondered how Charles could not be similarly affected. A steady headache was throbbing behind his eyes now, so strong it made his teeth hurt, and he reached out his hand, focusing in on a hollow he could feel in the middle of the statues’ chest, right where the key was carved.

“There,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s there.”

“Fantastic.”

Erik froze, his heart seeming to cease its beating as a pit opened up in his insides and swallowed it whole. Beside him, Charles turned sharply, surprise written all over his face as he stared back at the doorway.

“Shaw,” he said, moving to step in front of Erik, but Erik stopped him, somehow grabbing Charles’ arm with numb fingers and turning to face Shaw himself even though every fibre of his being was screaming for him to turn and run.

To his immense surprise, Erik saw Shaw was wearing a helmet almost exactly like the one on the statue. Unsurprisingly, the grin underneath it stretched wide and mirthlessly across his face, his eyes icy and unreadable.

“I take it you’ve heard of me,” Shaw said in the tone one might use when being introduced to a mutual acquaintance at a dinner party. “All good things, I hope.”

“Hardly,” Charles growled, looking as if he was about to leap the space between them and throttle Shaw himself.

Shaw put on a show of looking disappointed, his mouth turning down in an almost comical frown as he sauntered forward, his arms thrown out wide in a gesture of mock supplication. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I always thought Erik and I got along quite well in those early days together until his baseline bitch of a mother had to go and stick her nose--”

Erik opened his mouth to scream at Shaw to shut up, but to his astonishment, Charles beat him to it. “Stop spewing your vitriol, please,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “You’ve made a serious mistake in coming here, Shaw. We’re expecting backup any minute now, and if you think you can just run from me and Erik after all this time you’re sorely mistaken.”

A slow, deep chuckle poured from Shaw like liquid mercury, making Erik’s skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Cute,” he said, smiling. “Did you get that little tactic out of a crime novel? I have it on very good authority that the CIA doesn’t even technically know where you are right now. Leave this to the professionals, professor. It can’t have escaped your notice that your little tricks aren’t going to work on me.” He tapped the metal of his helmet pointedly, his grin widening. “And I’m afraid that to me, you’re little more than an annoyance at this point. Although, I really should be thanking you. I can’t imagine Erik would have gotten very far without you in the beginning. But I’m here now and we should do just fine on our own.”

Heat spread quickly across Erik’s cheeks, anger overpowering his fear and the ever-present throbbing of the metal behind him that threatened to turn his stomach the longer he felt it. He pulled Charles roughly behind him, swallowing down the bile that rose up in the back of his throat at the movement and squaring his shoulders, setting his feet wide apart. With a tendril of his power he reached out to tug the helmet off of Shaw’s head but to his bewilderment, he couldn’t get a grip on it. A sudden memory lanced through him -- the kitchen of his family’s house outside Berlin, that same slippery feeling against his mental fingers as he tried desperately to rip the gun out of Shaw’s hands, his chest heaving in quick, deep gasps as his father shouted, then the crack of a gunshot as he fell silent, and his mother --

::Shhh,:: Charles’ voice echoed in his head, dragging him back to reality, a firm hand resting between his shoulder blades. ::Don’t go for the helmet yet. Let’s keep him talking. Remember, you have all the power, he can’t make you do anything anymore. Be calm. I’m right here with you.::

Out loud he said, “Why do you think I’m bluffing? Erik and I talked to an agent just this afternoon before we came here. You think your information is faster than ours?”

“Actually, I do,” Shaw said, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

Charles snorted derisively, and Erik almost turned around to gape at him, but then he heard a quiet, ::Calm, calm. Worry about getting the Grail. We can deal with him:: “That’s impossible,” Charles said. “There’s no way your teleporter could get into the office unseen.”

“I don’t use Azazel for that kind of thing,” Shaw said, his voice fading slightly to the background as Erik spooled out his powers once more, reaching for the metal he could still feel rattling unsteadily away inside the hollowed out chest of the statue. “She’s maybe not as powerful as you are, Xavier, but she gets the job done. She found the two of you in Edinburgh when we went looking this morning easily enough.”

Erik froze in shock once more, his focus shifting away from the Grail as Shaw’s words registered. “Emma?” he breathed. “Emma was following us?”

“No,” Shaw said, absolutely radiating glee now that Erik had joined the conversation. He had been casually closing the gap between them as they spoke, compensating for every one of Erik and Charles’ steps backwards with two steps forward of his own, and he seemed to forget himself for a moment, walking confidently at them before he remembered their situation. He held his hands up again, smiling benignly. “She wasn’t following you, she merely found your location and where you were planning to move to today before Azazel popped her off back home.”

“Oh yes, because that’s so much better,” Charles breathed. ::Erik, please, darling. The sooner we get the Grail, the sooner we can get out of here. I can’t get anything from him, the helmet is completely blocking me.::

::I know where it is, but I can’t open up the statue without him noticing, and I can’t get the helmet off without him noticing either,:: Erik sent, his hands balling into fists. ::I can’t believe Emma has been giving him information this whole time. We have to tell Moira right--::

::As soon as we’re gone, we will, I promise, but Erik, we need to stay focused. We need a plan.::

Erik frowned, stepping backward warily as Shaw crept forward, his eyes narrowing as they flickered between Erik and Charles. ::Let me think for a moment,:: he sent. ::The Grail is so close it’s hard to concentrate.::

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Shaw said, co*cking his head to the side and pausing as he considered them both. “Frankly, I’m surprised, Erik. I thought you worked solo, but I see you and the professor have formed something of an attachment.”

Dread washed over Erik, colder than the water of the sea outside, and the small bit of confidence that had begun to build within him with Charles’ encouragement wavered uncertainly. When he’d first arrived, Shaw had apparently been too busy showing off to notice how close he and Charles were standing, the way Charles’ hand was still a warm steadying presence on Erik’s back, and the way they moved almost perfectly in tandem, a natural side-effect of being so closely linked mind-to-mind. They had been silent for too long, now, however, and Shaw had seen everything. A smirk spread widely across his face again as he watched Erik tense, reaching out for the metal of the statue, the only thing that might be able to barricade them off from Shaw’s advance. He took another shuffling step backwards.

And then a sudden flash of light and motion sprang up just to Erik’s right. All three of them jumped -- Erik letting out a shout of surprise -- and turned, rounding on a scene that Erik had to stare at blankly for several seconds in confusion before it registered as real. Three figures -- two women and one man -- made of some kind of glowing greenish light stood before them, clad in elaborate armor and long capes. They had removed their helmets and were conversing in low voices that echoed strangely, as if they were speaking underwater. Their language was completely foreign to Erik, sounding Scandinavian in origin, but Erik had never heard anything quite like it before, and what was more, the figures seemed completely unaware of the other three people standing and staring at them.

::Projections,:: Charles said, his mental voice breathless. ::They’re speaking Old English.::

The tallest of the figures, a woman with short-cropped hair, appeared to be the leader, and she motioned abruptly to the man who nodded and turned to wave behind them, shouting something that sounded like an order. Erik took an instinctive step back as another woman appeared, her hand outstretched toward a plain metal hexagonal box that floated in front of her, its only ornamentation a Templar cross on each side. The newcomer’s face was set in concentration, and the others watched with unabashed wonder and fear as she walked among them, the small crowd naturally parting for her.

When she was almost underneath the shadow of the statue, she raised both her arms high and the box floated up and up and up until it was level with the statue’s chest. Then, the projection disappeared through the metal into the space Erik knew it occupied now, and the woman dropped her hands, falling forward to brace them on her knees. Two of her comrades rushed over to her, helping her stand, but the third woman, the leader, stayed far back. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open slightly, and she breathed as if a great weight had just been taken off her shoulders, which, Erik supposed, it probably had. For one long second, the scene with the lighted figures froze, suspending them all in time with it. Then the lights flickered and faded, and they were alone again.

A long, low whistle sounded from almost next to them and Erik jumped, grabbing for Charles’ arm as he whirled around again to face Shaw. Shaw had moved closer as he watched the projections until he was maybe six feet in front of them, dangerously close. Erik had seen what Shaw could do from twenty feet away with his ability, and having him this near sent a shock through every nerve in his body that almost made him double over when it mixed with the tension already there from the Grail.

Desperately, he tried to hold onto some semblance of calm, to be the man Charles believed he could be, but he could feel his energy draining away with every passing minute. He felt Charles come suddenly to his side, propping him up with an arm around his waist, and Erik wanted to protest, to push him back to relative safety, but his head was pounding and his very bones ached and he thought he was going to be sick if they didn’t find a way out soon. Swallowing, he wrapped a tendril of power around a piece of the statue, one of the bits of a sword, ready to bring it down.

Shaw watched Charles’ movements with a frown, and when Erik sagged against him, the expression deepened. “Tired already, Erik?” he asked, his disappointment evident. “You can’t be serious. We haven’t even begun! Don’t you remember any of what I told you when you were a child? You’ve been chosen by fate. You and I were meant to stand here together, to create a paradise on Earth for our kind where they’ll never be persecuted again. The Grail has the power to bring the human world to its knees. You and I will be kings in the new world we build, a mutant utopia. All you have to do is bring it to me and--”

“In what universe did you ever think you could win this fight?” Charles shouted suddenly, surprising even Erik who blinked down at him dazedly, too stupefied to do anything. “Did you think killing Erik’s human parents so you could try to brainwash him was going to work? Did you think it was going to do anything but make him hate you? The Grail isn’t yours, it belongs in a museum. You are insane, and Erik’s never going to do what you want him to do. He’s not a child anymore and he’s not alone.”

Shaw’s expression instantly dropped, his face a dangerously blank mask. “Because he’s with you now,” he said plainly. “I understand. Well, it seems that in order to make Erik see sense again I have to get my hands a little dirty.”

At that, Erik’s senses leapt into overdrive, his eyes going wide and heart leaping into his throat as he tugged hard at the iron sword, ripping it suddenly from the wall and throwing it at Shaw with all the force he could muster. But Shaw had decided to act too, and when he moved, it was faster than Erik could have ever imagined. His hand whipped into his jacket pocket so quickly it was almost a blur and when he pulled it out again, it held the grip of a pistol which he pointed directly at Charles’ stomach, pulling the trigger without hesitation.

In situations like this, Erik had always heard about time slowing down, about people watching events unfold around them in slow motion, helpless to do anything. For Erik, it wasn’t like that at all. Everything moved too quickly. He fumbled his grip on the sword so it swung too wide, imbedding itself in the floor behind Shaw with a jolt, and reached out desperately for the bullet, swatting it inexpertly away so it spiraled to the right and down like a ship caught in a sudden current. For one fraction of a second, Erik teetered on the brink of relief as the bullet missed Charles’ torso. Then Charles let out a sharp cry, clutching his leg and crumpling to the rough rock floor. Blood seeped out from underneath his fingers, staining his already wet jeans just above the right knee, and the surprised whimper that dropped from his lips went through Erik’s chest like a physical blow.

He dropped to his knees beside him, his hands shaking as he pressed them to the wound, forcing himself to keep his breathing even. “I’m so sorry, Charles,” he whispered.

Charles whimpered again, biting his lip hard, his face screwed tight with pain and going white.

“Well, maybe it’s better this way after all,” Shaw said, stepping up behind them. Now that he knew to look for it, Erik felt when he raised the gun to leveled at them again. “Erik, if you don’t bring the Grail down here in three seconds, I’m going to shoot the professor in the head, just like I shot your mother.”

Erik froze, his mind going absolutely blank with panic for one long moment. Then, miraculously, he blinked, and he found it: that elusive focus Charles had been talking about. Stuck halfway between overwhelming anger and a void of numbness when he tried to process what was happening, Erik simply took a step back and decided that Shaw was not going to win today. He and Charles were going to get out of the cave safely and hopefully never return. But Shaw wasn’t going to be so lucky.

“One--”

“Alright!” Erik snapped. He glanced at Charles. His face was pale as bone now, and his breathing pained and ragged, but his gaze was steady as it held Erik’s. ::Just stay absolutely still and keep pressure on your leg,:: Erik sent. He stood up squashing down the part of him that protested at leaving Charles’ side and turned, stretching out his hand towards the metal at the statues’ heart, and pulled.

The iron peeled back as easy as wrapping paper under Erik’s command -- a good thing too, since almost his entire concentration was taken up by the Grail. Where the key and the Templar box had buzzed uncomfortably, the Grail was absolutely radioactive in comparison. Like a mad, caged tiger it pounced at and ricocheted off its steel casing, an almost living thing made of crackling electricity and things Erik couldn’t begin to name. He didn’t care enough to investigate them further, though. This was his and Charles’ ticket to safety. He floated the box gently to him, the magnetic pull of the Grail making him stumble forward to greet it.

He didn’t touch it -- he didn’t dare, for it made him feel as if he was going to break apart -- but when the Grail in its casing hovered in front of him, it was just a hair's breadth away. His bones were vibrating from its proximity, and he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Cautiously, he turned, and walked back to Shaw, whose hold on the pistol had gone ever so slightly lax as he watched the proceedings with an expression akin to hunger in his eyes. Erik flickered his gaze quickly away from the gun, not wanting to draw Shaw’s attention back to it accidentally, and floated the Grail in its case into Shaw’s outstretched hands. As soon as it was secure, he immediately branched out again with his powers, anchoring them into every single bit of the statue he could manage -- the remaining three swords, the figures’ outstretched hands, the helmet -- and began to bend them.

“It’s so light,” Shaw said wonderingly. “It feels empty.”

“It’s not,” Erik gritted out, crouching back at Charles’ side and fumbling off his belt to create a makeshift tourniquet.

Charles wasn’t bleeding enough for the bullet to have hit an artery, which had been Erik’s worst fear, but the wound was deep and bleeding enough that if they didn’t get some medical attention soon, there could be serious consequences. Charles let out a quiet cry when Erik wrapped the belt around his leg, sharpening the prong of the buckle so it punched through the leather tight enough to be effective, but otherwise he didn’t protest.

::I’m sorry,:: Erik said breathlessly, cupping a hand to the side of Charles’ face and smoothing his thumb across the ridge of his cheekbone. ::Get ready, I’m going to have to move you and it’s probably going to hurt. Can you freeze him if I get his helmet off?::

Charles nodded minutely, taking a deep breath and visibly steeling himself, swallowing back the pain in his leg. ::I can.::

Erik frowned. ::No matter what happens, I need you to hold onto him. Turn off his power like you did to me.:: Charles blinked up at him, realization dawning on his face, and he opened his mouth, but Erik pressed on, ::It’s the only way we’re going to get out of here alive, Charles. I need you to promise.::

For a fraction of a second, Charles looked like he was going to argue. Then Shaw shifted behind them, lifting the box to examine it more closely, and Charles started at the unexpected movement. He sighed, biting his lip. ::I promise.::

Satisfied, Erik shifted so his weight was back on his heels and stretched another tendril of power out towards the sword embedded in the floor behind Shaw, melting off a piece and twisting it into a claw shape, snaking it over above Shaw’s head. It lowered slowly like a spider dropping in for the kill, while Shaw frowned down at the box.

“It’s solid,” he snapped. “Open it, or I’ll shoot.”

“Okay,” Erik said, smiling.

Something in his tone must have caught Shaw’s attention, because he looked up and his eyes instantly went wide. His mouth dropped open, ready to shout, but it was too late. Erik’s iron fingers were already wrapped around the edges of the helmet, and with one great tug, it was gone, clattering away across the floor. Shaw barely had time to draw in a breath of surprise before he was frozen, the expression on his face almost comical as he stared down at them with raised eyebrows and a slack mouth. Erik wrapped an arm around Charles’ waist and stood, dragging Charles up with him, making him gasp in pain. Erik tightened his grip, taking the majority of Charles’ weight while Charles frowned in concentration, two fingers pressed to his temple.

“Are you okay?” Erik asked.

“No, I’m not,” Charles said through gritted teeth. “You have maybe a minute if you stop talking. Just do what you have to do.”

Pushing back the guilt that was starting to well up in him the more ashen Charles’ face became, Erik turned his attention back to Shaw. “I want you to remember that you asked for this,” he said.

Then, after one last long look, he hitched Charles up a little higher against his side and began to walk them both back towards the door, at the same time turning the full weight of his power back on the statue that was halfway melting off the wall. He tugged and the three swords slid away from the rest of the statue, warping and twisting over Shaw’s head until they formed a small dome. The metal slid down and down, entombing Shaw completely, but Erik could still feel the heart of the Grail rattling away inside, cradled safely in the case in Shaw’s hands. Erik closed his eyes and took one deep, bracing breath, before ripping the top of the case away so forcefully it pinged against the inside of the dome.

The noise was like a starting bell, and as soon as it sounded Erik lifted Charles practically off his feet, sprinting across the remaining distance to the door, Charles shout drowned out from the blood pumping hard and fast in Erik’s ears. The Grail snaked out of its cage, rattling around against the new metal prison. They were almost at the door, just feet from freedom, when Erik used the last of his rapidly waning strength to finally reach into the Grail for the first time.

Instantly, the rattling of his bones disappeared to be replaced with a feeling like being submerged in warm water, and he gasped. The power of the Grail melted along every nerve, infusing with his abilities in a way Erik had never experienced before, and he stumbled, tripping painfully over the stone floor and hardly noticing it. This felt right, Erik realized, more in tune with his abilities than anything else had ever felt in his life; he and the Grail fit perfectly in every single way. It curved instantly to his whims without hardly any effort at all, and when Erik directed it to turn inward to the center of the dome where he knew Shaw was still frozen, it went happily, the sensation of it almost like a laugh tickling down through Erik’s arms and fingertips.

It isn’t going to hurt me, Erik thought wildly. I can do whatever I want with it. This is mine. This completes me.

He didn’t realize he’d actually stopped running and turned back to the mound of iron until he felt Charles’ voice in his head once more. ::Erik, please,:: Charles breathed, his telepathy ragged and strained like a rope about to snap.

The arm slung up over Erik’s shoulder tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh of Erik’s bicep, and the touch sparked something deep in Erik’s mind, at a place that wasn’t drunk off the feeling of the Grail. A memory struck him of Charles frowning down over their new travel chessboard this morning, his mind working steadily to break down Erik’s defenses; Charles two days ago at Edinburgh castle, his cheeks rosy from the cold and his eyes bright as he stared down at Princes’ street; Charles’ steady heartbeat underneath Erik’s cheek last night. Charles was not safe from the Grail. Even with Erik controlling it, if he got too close -- if it touched him -- he’d be as dead as Shaw was about to be.

Erik lengthened and twisted the Grail with a careless flick of his powers, wrapping it securely around Shaw, cocooning him completely like an exoskeleton so his body left an impression along the outside. Then, without any hesitation, he reached even further into the Grail’s makeup, finding those tiny radioactive elements and pulling with all his might. The Grail shivered a moment, then roared into life, twisting and emitting a high pitched scream like hissing wood but a thousand times louder as it broke apart, the ground shaking under its fierce thrashing, and Erik dived sideways with Charles through the doorway with a cry he couldn’t even hear over the noise of the world breaking apart.

Everything was blissfully silent for a moment in the inky blackness. Then he and Charles crashed through the other side of the doorway and the only noise was Charles screaming. Panicked, Erik looked down, but there was no wound he could see besides the one in his leg. Charles, though, seemed oblivious even to that. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, the fingers at his temple pressing in with such force a tiny trickle of blood was caking underneath the short nails. Erik didn’t have time to do anything but send out a silent request to the universe that he hadn’t made some huge mistake before the rock ceiling above them cracked ominously, and he was forced into action again. He sprinted into the water, feeling out blindly until his powers hit the metal hull of their boat. He locked onto it, diving into the water and holding a hand over Charles’ nose and mouth, relying entirely on his metal-sense to guide them through the underwater tunnel and finally out back into the fresh air.

They rocketed out of the water, droplets spraying everywhere, and Erik tugged clumsily at the magnetic currents, hoisting them sloppily up over the edge of the boat to spill onto the deck. Charles coughed, the noise sounding raw in the sudden quiet of the open air. Water spilled out of his mouth, and he gasped, clutching at his leg again. Behind them, the sheer cliff face gave an loud crack, and Erik sprang back into action, stumbling to his feet and into the cabin, slamming the throttle stick into the fastest gear and steering the boat towards the open sea. With one tenuous bit of power wrapped around the steering mechanism, Erik grabbed a tattered old sweatshirt laying on the window seat and tripped back onto the deck to sink down next to Charles who had propped himself up against the side.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s done.” Charles’ eyes were distant and glassy, his face incredibly pale and his breath ragged, and when Erik pressed two fingers to his wrist he felt his pulse beating dangerously fast. “f*ck,” Erik breathed. He ripped off the cleanest piece of cloth on the shirt he could find and pressed it to the lazily bleeding hole above Charles’ right knee, removing the belt and re-buckling it so its pressure was applied directly to the wound. Charles didn’t even flinch.

Erik gritted his teeth, ignoring the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes. “Charles, wake up,” he pleaded. “Talk to me.”

Charles blinked slowly, his gaze falling unseeingly to Erik’s face. “He just… broke into pieces,” he whispered. “Like porcelain.” He blinked again and two tears fell to track down each cheek, but he didn’t seem able to feel them or Erik’s fingers when he reached up to brush them away. “I felt every second of it.”

Erik’s blood went icy, the full understanding of what he’d forced Charles to endure hitting him like a freight train. “I didn’t… Charles, I didn’t know what else to do,” he said frantically. He took one of Charles’ hands between his, chafing it, some of his panic easing when he felt Charles holding back, albeit weakly. “You need to stay awake. Do you think you can do that?”

Charles paused a moment, then nodded sluggishly, and Erik practically sobbed with relief. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

For a moment, silence stretched on between them, then Charles sighed, his grip on Erik’s hand tightening briefly before it relaxed again. “Can I just…” he trailed off, finishing the thought by sweeping gently across the surface of Erik’s mind like a question. “I just want to feel something good. Alive.”

Erik highly doubted his mind was a very pretty place to be at the moment, but he couldn’t deny Charles this after what he’d done for them, and truth be told, he didn’t really want to be alone with his thoughts either. He gave Charles the mental equivalent of a nod, opening his mind and letting out a quiet, contented noise as Charles’ telepathy wrapped around him, cracked and clumsy with pain, but still so viscerally real. How could he ever have thought something like the Grail would have completed him compared to this? Finally letting himself relax enough that he could concentrate something beyond his own wildly racing heart, Erik leaned back against the side of the boat next to Charles and waited, feeling the metal of a dock of vacant boats draw closer and closer as they sped back to civilization.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Charles woke up with a dizzy head, a dry mouth, and a dull throbbing pain in his leg. Refusing to open his eyes to his overly-bright bedroom, he tried to puzzle out what he had could possibly have gotten up to last night to be this disgustingly hungover with a brain that didn’t seem to want to work. His left side was also incredibly warm, almost as if he had gotten into bed with a space heater, but when he tried to turn over to investigate his body was as reluctant to obey him as his brain. Something was stuck to his arm and though he shook it sluggishly, he couldn’t remove it. Moaning unhappily, he burrowed back into his strangely scratchy pillow and was out again before he knew what was happening.

The second time he woke was to raised, angry voices.

“--not leaving. I have the same level of clearance as you--”

“This isn’t about, clearance, Erik, for f*ck’s sake.” That was Raven, and Charles struggled against the drugs that threatened to drag him back under, wanting to talk to his sister.

“Just go home. Go back to your hotel room, you’ve done enough damage,” Raven spat. “He wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for you.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Erik replied hotly, and when Charles blinked his eyes open he saw Erik’s face was flushed red with anger, his muscles tense as he stood at the foot of Charles’ bed, one hand on the frame the other balled into a fist at his side. “I tried to talk him out of it in the archives, I tried to tell him not to come. Do you think I could convince Charles to do something he doesn’t want to do? Don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about. You weren’t there, you’d never come face-to-face with Shaw, you don’t know what he was like. And, if you had been there, you wouldn’t have been able to prevent Charles getting shot in the goddamn stomach so--”

“Oh, so you’re saying I should be thanking you for nearly sending my brother into shock?”

“Raven,” Charles croaked, wincing at how dry his voice sounded.

Instantly, Erik and Raven whipped around, both their eyes widening. Raven was the first to dart around the edge of the bed, bending over him and taking up his hand in both of hers, the scratch of her blue scales against his skin familiar and comforting.

“You’re awake,” she said, smiling weakly. “Do you need anything? How do you feel?”

“Like sh*t,” Charles coughed. “May I have some water? What do they have me on? My head feels like cotton.”

“Morphine,” Raven replied, nodding to an IV stand by the bed that, sure enough, when he looked down, Charles could see was attached to his right arm. She picked up a cup of water already sitting next to the bed and helped Charles struggle into a sitting position so he could drink. “You’ve been on a drip for almost nine hours. It’s just past eleven thirty, now.”

The water soothed Charles’ sore, dry throat, and he gulped it down hungrily until the cup was empty, a drop spilling down his chin. Raven wiped it away hastily before he could even lift his arm. “I’ve been out that long?”

Raven nodded. “Apparently you’ve been in and out since you got released from surgery.”

Charles flopped back against his pillows, frowning and closing his eyes as he tried to remember what had happened after he and Erik had managed to escape from the underwater cave. The memories were hazy with pain. He recalled the disorientation of being dragged through chilling water while his mind was trapped under an iron coffin, being ripped apart at a molecular level, and of finding himself suddenly in open air again, but with his mind lost, adrift somewhere, feeling raw and broken.

Dimly, he remembered Erik shouting for help as they reached the dockside and drawing the attention of a handful of fishermen and townspeople. He remembered the ragged wood of the dock underneath his still bare feet as he was lifted from the boat by two men, Erik limping along in front, tossing constantly worried glances back over his shoulder as he jogged towards the sound of sirens barreling closer. Everything after that, it seemed, was lost.

“You’re at Kettletoft Hospital,” Raven informed him. “They took the bullet out of your leg and put you on bedrest. Erik and I wouldn’t even be in here if Moira hadn’t talked to the hospital director.”

Charles swallowed, opening his eyes again and searching the room for Erik, who was still frozen at the foot of his bed, both hands now clutched white-knuckled to the bed frame. “Tell her thank you,” he said, reaching with a woozy tendril of thought to brush against Erik’s mind, his brow furrowing when he found it as stonily silent as his mouth.

“I expect you’ll be able to tell her yourself in person,” Raven said with a small smile. “She wanted to talk to you as soon as you felt up to it. Erik’s told all of us about the Grail and what it would have done if Shaw had gotten his hands on it. According to him, that thing was nastier than any bomb in our arsenal, and you played an integral part in destroying it.” She leaned forward abruptly, pulling him into a quick but fierce hug. “I’m just glad you got out of there in once piece.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Charles replied, holding her back as well as his weak arms would allow. He looked over her shoulder at Erik who was staring down at the foot of the bed, shuffling his feet as he waited for Raven and Charles to finish having their moment. “When did you get here?”

“About half an hour ago,” Raven said, pulling away so she could raise an eyebrow at him, “when I walked in here and found the two of you dead asleep. Together. On the bed. Care to explain that one?”

Instantly, Charles felt his cheeks flush. “Oh, well,” he floundered, “that would be because…. Erik and I are...”

He looked up, desperately hoping for some kind of reinforcement from Erik. It was difficult to explain what they were to each other to someone who wasn’t immediately involved and who couldn’t feel the tangle of emotions that bound the two of them together. Boyfriends didn’t seem like the proper word, and husbands, while that had been their cover, didn’t quite hit the mark either. Surely Raven had already figured out the gist of what had happened between them, why did she need Charles to put a label on it? Erik hated labels and also hated people knowing about his personal life, and Charles, even after all they’d been through together, was afraid of miss-stepping on accident and driving Erik away. But Erik looked just as flustered as Charles, and he chewed unsurely on his lip, panic in his eyes, staying silent.

“Together,” Charles finished lamely, and Erik visibly relaxed.

Raven smirked. “I suspected something was up,” she said, “but I didn’t ever think it would get off the ground. Well, don’t say anymore, I don’t want to know.” She rounded on Erik, her smile disappearing. “We are still going to have words.”

“Please, Raven,” Charles said wearily. “Erik really did save my life. I knew there were risks before I joined him and even after what happened I wouldn’t go back and change my decision. The Grail was a dangerous weapon. Who knows what could have happened if it fell into the wrong hands? It’s better off this way. And no major harm done.”

“You have a bullet hole in your leg,” Erik said incredulously.

Charles grinned sleepily at him. “Cool scar.”

Erik frowned back, clearly unimpressed, but Charles ignored him. The morphine made everything pleasantly fuzzy, once Charles got used to the way it muffled his telepathy and made the edges of his memory a little frayed, but for now he was content to sit back and thank his lucky stars that he was even alive right now. He sighed, sinking further back into the cushions, his eyelids heavy, but he highly doubted he’d be able to fall asleep again, at least for a few hours. Maybe Erik would be up for a game of chess, if they could scrounge up a board from somewhere. It would probably be absolute rubbish, but it was better than sitting here staring at the walls.

“Right,” Raven said, rolling her eyes. “You’ll be Mr. Popularity whenever you wear shorts, which, may I remind you, is practically never.” Charles grunted noncommittally. “Okay. You’re tired. I’m tired. Now that I know you’ll live, I’m going to head back to my hotel and pass out. I’ve been awake since about five this morning and we still have a boatload of paperwork to go through over the next few days.”

Charles tugged her into another hug. “Okay,” he said. “Will you be here in the morning?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I’ll be here, you couldn’t chase me off with a stick.” She brushed a kiss to his cheek before standing up, giving his shoulder one last squeeze. “I love you, big brother,” she said, her expression turning serious. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

Charles nodded, and Raven turned on her heel, walking out of the small hospital room with one booted foot clunking against the tile, shutting the door quietly behind her. As soon as the door closed, Charles turned back to look at Erik and found him already staring at him, his mouth pressed firmly shut and shoulders set. He looked like a man about to go into battle, though for what reason, Charles couldn’t begin to fathom. The expression set him on edge, however, and he shifted against his pillows, reigning his telepathy abruptly in before it reached Erik’s mind.

Something in his face must have tipped Erik off to his discomfort, though, because Erik’s expression softened at once, his shoulders sagging and mouth falling open as he sighed heavily. His grip on Charles’ footboard shifted, his fingers worrying the cream colored plastic as he looked down, apparently gathering his thoughts. Charles waited calmly as he did, bracing himself for an argument he could sense brewing from Erik’s body language.

“I thought I probably shouldn’t stay,” Erik blurted out at last, his gaze still averted. “You need your rest to get better, and I knew Raven was going to have my head if she saw me with you after what… what happened. I didn’t even know if you’d want me around. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I kept thinking, ‘What if he wakes up and I’m not there?’ So I told the staff you’re my husband and if they wanted to stop me from being with you they could… uh… shove it, and I was going to stay.”

The embarrassed tinge to Erik’s thoughts suggested that he had used much more colorful phrasing for that last bit. At least he was duly ashamed about it, Charles thought, smiling softly at Erik when he finally glanced up again. He raised a hand, palm up in invitation and at last, Erik stepped quickly around the edge of the bed, dropping down onto the mattress beside Charles, his expression cracking as he took his hand.

“Raven is right, this was my fault. I feel like I’m going to be apologizing to you for the rest of my life.”

Charles shook his head, reeling Erik in so they were less than a foot apart, his other hand coming up to rest on Erik’s hip. “Please don’t,” he said. “I meant what I said to Raven. I would have died in there if it wasn’t for you. Things might have been different if Shaw didn’t have the helmet, but we had no way of knowing about that and we found a way out anyway.”

“I made you hold onto him while he broke apart,” Erik pressed, twining their fingers together, even though his mind was screaming for him to leave before he could do any more damage. “I swear, Charles, if I had known you would be feeling what he felt I never would have--”

“It was our only option,” Charles replied firmly.

It pained him to say it -- Charles never believed in violence as a solution to problems and certainly didn’t ever want to use it himself -- but how else could they have possibly gotten out of that situation? Even if Charles had frozen Shaw until they left, Shaw would never stop hunting them or the Grail; they would have simply been delaying the inevitable. Erik didn’t regret that he had killed Shaw, and Charles supposed he could understand that after what he’d gone through at his hands, even if he couldn’t agree with it. Maybe once the haze of the morphine wore off he would be angrier. But right now he was just tired and wanted to drop the whole subject.

“You would have thought of something else,” Erik said, bringing the back of Charles’ hand to his mouth for a fleeting kiss.

Charles shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’d just been shot, I wasn’t able to focus on much else.” He pressed his hand against the small of Erik’s back, prompting him to draw even closer until he leant down and rested their foreheads together. “Darling, I know how you enjoy torturing yourself with what-ifs, but personally I’d rather not dwell on it.”

Erik nodded, wrapping his free arm around Charles’ shoulders and letting out a broken-sounding sigh. “Okay,” he agreed, the word hoarse in his throat.

Charles nuzzled gently against Erik’s nose in a lazy sort of eskimo kiss, soothing his thumb up and down Erik’s finger. “Of course I wanted you here when I woke up,” he murmured. “I always want you when I wake up. You’re my husband. Forget what Raven said about it.”

“Not your husband anymore,” Erik pointed out quietly, his disappointment nearly palpable. “The mission’s over. You’ll go back to your job at the university in a few weeks and I suppose I’ll get a new assignment.”

“And we’ll never see each other again? Is that it?” Charles replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

Erik scoffed. “Of course not,” he said. “But we won’t have to pretend to be husbands anymore.”

“Well then, why pretend?” Charles asked.

The arm around Charles’ shoulder stiffened as Erik’s body tensed in surprise, his mind giving a jolt before becoming a huge, tangled mess of emotion that Charles was currently too uncoordinated to pick apart, but that largely looked something like ::?!?!??!?!:: He pulled back, his eyes wild as they searched Charles’ face, but all Charles could do was smile softly up at him and try to hide the way his heart had begun to race suddenly in his chest. Thank God he wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor, or a nurse would probably have run in and broken the moment.

When Charles woke up that morning at their suite in Edinburgh, he hadn’t exactly planned on proposing. At least, not that day. Someday in the future, yes, as long as Erik didn’t beat him to it; Charles figured they would get there in the end. But Erik had brought the subject up, after all, and Charles decided, why not lay all his cards on the table? There was no use talking around it when he knew the way they felt about each other, and he also knew with absolute, unshakeable certainty, that neither of them was going to change their minds about how they felt. They could wait months, years even, and Charles would never be able to shake off the deep-rooted sense of rightness that he associated with Erik, and that he had felt from the beginning.

“You’re serious,” Erik said. It was a statement, not a question, and his eyes went wide as soon as the words left his mouth and Charles didn’t correct him.

Instead, Charles nodded jerkily, the morphine really not helping the way this whole conversation was making him feel light and floaty. “I am,” he said as evenly as he could. “I love you. It would be silly to deny that at this point to try and save face, don’t you think?”

Erik nodded, swallowing dryly, his hand rubbing gently along Charles’ shoulder where it rested. “I love you, too,” he said. “But… are you sure you’d want to? It’s not just the morphine talking?”

Charles laughed. “No. I like being married to you,” he said quietly. He soothed his hand up and down Erik’s thigh which was brushing up against his own on the bed. “We don’t have to do it right now. We don’t even have to do it soon. If you think you’re going to scare me away with the first big fight we have or whatever it is you’re worrying about, well, we’ll get there and I’ll prove you wrong. I just want you to know where I’m coming from.”

“Okay,” Erik said shakily. He looked a little past Charles, back at the pillows that were helping to prop him up, his brain waves spiking erratically. Charles let him think, and when he finally looked up to meet Charles’ gaze again some seconds later, a slow smile spread across his face.“I hope you know what you’re signing yourself up for,” he said. “Because when I say yes, you know I mean it. No take backs.”

“I’m counting on it,” Charles replied, his own grin so fierce it was beginning to hurt his cheeks.

Erik leaned forward, pressing their lips together for one long, deep kiss which Charles immediately returned. He slipped a hand into Erik’s hair to hold him close, only loosening his grip a few moments later when they pulled apart for breath and Erik whispered, “Yes,” into the scant space between them.

Incalculable amounts of joy and astonishment at how he could have been so impossibly lucky surged through Charles, and he pulled Erik down again, kissing the word off his lips. That kiss turned into another, and then another until their movements slowly became less frantic and more slow and measured. Erik shifted, managing to find a more comfortable position by resting one knee in between Charles’ legs, highly mindful of the bandages that lay just under the blanket. It was unbelievably nice, Charles thought, after what they’d both gone through over the past few days, to be able to just be together, kissing lazily. They were unable to go any farther tonight of course, and probably sex would be off the table for a week at least with his leg, but that didn’t matter, as long as Charles could have Erik there with him, pressed in close and sharing breath, alive and relatively unscathed.

After several long minutes, when Erik’s legs began to get sore, Charles, who was still not feeling quite sleepy enough to fall back asleep suggested a game of chess. Erik had left their chess set in their bags at the hotel, but he pulled up his phone and set up a game on the app, scooting in next to Charles and holding the phone up on his palm between them. They were only a few moves in when there was a quiet knock on the door and it opened, revealing a petite, brown haired woman who looked both very tired and still somehow very formidable in her navy blue dress suit. As soon as Erik looked up and saw her he straightened, almost like he was about to stand, but he glanced over at Charles out of the corner of his eye and leaned back against the pillows again, crossing one ankle casually over the other.

“Dr. Xavier,” the woman said, stepping more fully into the room. “I caught your sister at the hotel as I was leaving. She said you might still be awake.”

“I am,” Charles said, sitting up a little taller and brushing a inquiring mental finger over the woman’s surface thoughts. They were as clean-cut and orderly as the rest of her, and humming like a well-oiled machine despite the distinct lack of sleep Charles detected around their edges. “You must be the director, Moira. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Moira replied, stepping forward and shaking Charles’ offered hand. “I’m just on my way to catch a flight back to the US but I wanted to thank you in person before I left, if I could. I’m glad I caught you. The service you’ve provided for the world is invaluable, and we all owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Charles blushed, looking down and away, not quite sure how to react. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “but I wasn’t in this for glory. I’m sure it’s what anyone else would have done in my situation.”

Erik was radiating fondness next to him, and Charles shifted a little closer, linking their arms together and using him as a shield for his embarrassment. He felt Erik’s thoughts tinge pink with pleasure, and smiled.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Moira said, the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth as she watched them. “Thanks to you and Erik, one of the world’s most dangerous criminals is gone, and a major breach in our national security has been eliminated.”

Erik frowned as he remembered. “Emma?”

Sighing, Moira nodded. “She’s in custody now, and happily telling us everything she knows about Shaw’s connections and the network he ran in order to lessen her prison sentence. But that’s not the point.” She turned her gaze back on Charles. “I’ll be meeting with the president tomorrow. I’m sure she’d be interested in your story, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you both were offered a Presidential Medal of Freedom somewhere in the near future.”

Charles gaped up at her, speechless. Even his telepathy short-circuited for a moment in surprise. Moira smiled. “Just thought I’d warn you before you get the actual call,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. It was good to meet you, Charles. I’m glad Erik had you with him, it sounds like it would have been an absolute nightmare if he didn’t.”

She leaned forward and shook both their hands again, before swiftly exiting the room, hardly seeing Charles’ weak wave as she shut the door behind her. As soon as the latch clicked shut, Charles turned and buried his face in Erik’s shoulder, too overwhelmed to think of what to say or do. He felt Erik’s chuckle rumbling up through his chest and lifted an arm to bat at him gently, stilling when Erik caught his hand and twined their fingers together, slipping his elbow out of Charles’ to wrap around his shoulders instead.

“Surprised?” he asked. Charles could hear the smirk in his voice.

He lifted his head, meeting Erik’s amused gaze with a scowl. “I’m going to call a nurse and make her kick you out,” he threatened.

Erik merely tipped his head back and laughed, low and deep. Unbidden, the smile returned to Charles’ face as he watched the way the corners of Erik’s eyes crinkled with happiness, the spark that danced behind his irises when he turned back to Charles, still chuckling, the way his mind radiated warmth and contentedness without any underlying tinge of uncertainty anymore. Everything was just plain, unabashed joy. Charles leaned forward to kiss Erik, soft and chaste, their grins making it difficult to do much more than brush their lips together, Charles pouring all his feelings of love and comfort into Erik’s mind and receiving a wash of the same emotions back.

Erik’s fingers tightened around his own, squeezing reassuringly as he pulled back, just looking at Charles for a long, lingering moment. “I really do love you, Charles,” he said at last.

Charles swallowed, his throat suddenly tight even though his cheeks still hurt from smiling. “I know,” he said. “I really do love you, too.”

“Good.” Erik leaned forward, pressing a swift kiss to Charles’ forehead. Then he sat back, levitating the phone back in the air in front of them. “Then you’ll still love me when I tell you I have checkmate in four moves.”

Charles whipped his head around, grabbing the phone from the air to stare down at it while Erik laughed again beside him. Sure enough, Erik’s knight was poised for the kill, lurking just out of reach of Charles’ remaining rook and bishop. He frowned, hitting the button to reset the board.

“That isn’t fair,” he grumbled without any real ire. “I’m sick. You’re supposed to be nice to me. Some kind of husband you are.”

“Hey,” Erik replied, letting their shoulders brush amiably as he took the phone from Charles to rest it on his bent knee for them both to better see. “No take backs, remember.”

“Yes,” Charles answered, brushing a kiss to Erik’s shoulder before moving a white pawn forward and starting a new offensive. “No take backs.”

Chapter 15: Epilogue

Chapter Text

It was twelve o’clock in the afternoon on a crisp Friday in October, and the campus was packed with students whose noses were buried in books, rushing to class or the library in a frenzy as the final hours of midterm ticked down. Erik moved calmly through the crowd, dodging darting students, a bag of takeout dangling from his fingers as he walked down the sidewalk until he reached the Archaeology and Ancient Studies building. He climbed the steps, opening the large oak doors with a flick of his powers. Inside, things were just as busy with people rushing to and fro, but thankfully, it was less crowded, and he and the bag of Thai food made it down the hallway and into the elevator unscathed.

He’d just pressed the button for the third floor when a familiar voice shouted, “Wait! Hold it!” He grabbed ahold of the metal doors, stopping them just in time for a flustered and heavily laden Dr. Ororo Munroe to slip through. She sighed, skidding to a halt just before she hit the inside wall, the stack of papers in her arms tilting ominously before she caught them safely to her chest again.

“Good afternoon, Erik,” she said, smiling thinly up at him. Her gaze dropped to the bag in his hand, her eyebrows lifting. “Mmm. I thought I smelled something good.”

Erik smiled back, reaching out cautiously and taking half the stack of papers from Ororo’s arms when she didn’t stop him. Both her shoulders were already weighed down with a laptop case and a messenger bag that made his own shoulders ache in sympathy; he figured she could use the help. “For Charles,” he explained needlessly. “He left his lunch on the counter this morning, but I thought he could probably use a morale boost anyway.”

Ororo rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, he’s not the only one,” she replied, shifting her bags. “A bunch of us are going out for a drink after. You’re welcome to join, as always. Although I wouldn’t blame Charles if he wanted to stay home. I can tell he hasn’t been sleeping much.”

Erik nodded, frowning. “I’m confiscating his laptop this weekend,” he said. “His editor wants a final draft of the whole book finished by next Friday. No matter that it’s midterm week and Charles has hundreds of tests to grade. I’m thinking of tracking the guy down and giving him a piece of mind.”

“Give him one for us all,” Ororo said heartily as the doors dinged open. “We’re all very pleased that he’s publishing something, but Charles always pushes himself too hard when he doesn’t have to. Tell him to get some rest from me.”

“Will do,” Erik said, handing her papers back to her.

Ororo gave one final nod of acknowledgement to him before turning and heading down the hallway her bags bouncing against her sides. Erik watched her go for a moment, making sure none of the papers flew away before turning and heading off in the opposite direction towards Charles’ office. It was all the way at the end of the hallway, something Charles liked because it meant he got two windows instead of one, and Erik liked because it was much more secluded than the rest of the offices and therefore he could convince Charles to let him bolt the door and have his way with him approximately once every other week -- twice a week in the summers, if he was lucky. It had been unexpected to find out how much he enjoyed surprising Charles at work with food and sex, but then again, food and sex with Charles were two of his favorite things to indulge in, so maybe he shouldn’t have been so shocked.

He had texted Charles before he left his own office with orders not to leave for lunch because he was going to bring it to him, and as such, he’d felt a gentle presence in his mind since he got on the subway at 77th, not prying, just joining in for the ride. The presence had grown steadily with every passing block until Erik could feel his own stomach growling with anticipation. Now that he was standing outside Charles’ office, he retaliated for the bleed-over of hunger by tightening the platinum band around his husband's ring finger just a tad before loosening it again.

::Hello, darling,:: Charles sent, his voice warm with affection, and when Erik opened the door a second later, he saw Charles was already standing up from his desk, holding out a hand to take the take out from Erik’s fingers with a smile. “Thai. You read my mind.”

Erik bent down, giving Charles a quick but firm kiss in greeting. “No,” he mumbled against Charles’ lips. “You read mine and it tasted like Khao soi.”

Charles pulled back, his grin widening. “Yes, well. Close enough.”

He took Erik’s now free hand and tugged him more fully into the room, leading them over to the worn leather couch that stood against the far wall just under one of Charles’ windows. They sank onto the cushions together, Charles making quick work of the knot on top of the bag before handing Erik’s Coconut Curry Chicken over along with one of the sets of plastic silverware and chopsticks.

“How are the recruits doing?” Charles asked as he dug into his own box of noodles.

Erik shrugged, opening the top of the styrofoam lid and drinking in the intoxicating spices. Ever since he and Charles had returned from Scotland, Erik had been working at a desk job with the Mutant Operatives Division, training new recruits to use their abilities in a combat setting. At first he thought he’d hate it, but Charles’ face had gone sick when Erik mentioned the possibility of leaving on another mission during their plane ride back to the city, and the choice had been made for him. Truth be told, Erik didn’t feel a pressing need to go out into the field now that Shaw was gone, anyway. Moira had been amused by the request at first, but when Erik had come into work seven months later wearing a shiny new wedding band and an expression that showed he was entirely too pleased with himself, Erik knew she’d understood his reasons.

“They’re fine, I guess. The new one, Angel, has a very impressive acid-spitting ability. Nearly burned a hole in my tennis shoes. Should come in useful. It’s busy out there,” Erik remarked around a mouthful of chicken.

“Mmmm,” Charles hummed. He took another bite and chewed slowly, radiating pleasure at Erik as the flavors burst on his tongue. Swallowing, he leaned back against the couch and into Erik’s shoulder. “Yes,” he said at last. “I think everyone’s going to be much happier when five o’clock rolls around. At least until we remember the number of papers we have to grade before next Monday. But I have something to celebrate at least.”

Erik’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth and he turned, raising an eyebrow at Charles, who he saw was giving him an absolutely sh*t-eating grin. “What?” he asked.

“I finished the book!” he said brightly, his whole face lighting up in the way that, four and a half years of marriage later, still made Erik’s chest ache. “I had two classes to sit in on while they took their tests this morning and nothing to do, so I figured, why not put the hours to good use?”

“Charles, that’s wonderful!” Erik replied, throwing his arms around Charles’ shoulders and pulling him in for a hug, careful of the food resting precariously on their knees. He pressed a kiss to the side of Charles’ temple, smiling when Charles laughed in delight. “I knew you could do it. As soon as you’re done with work, we’ll go out and celebrate. I heard some of your coworkers are already planning something. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you invited Raven and Irene, too.”

Charles nodded, considering. “I’d like that,” he said. He took another bite of his noodles before adding nonchalantly, ::And afterwards, I’d also like it if we went home and f*cked six ways to Sunday.::

Erik should have been used to this kind of thing by now, but he wasn’t expecting it this time, being much more concentrated on his food, and as soon as the words reverberated in his mind he inhaled, choking on a bit of rice that flew into his windpipe. Smiling innocently, Charles reached over and patted him on the back, his hand lingering in between Erik’s shoulder blades, pressing into the notches of his spine and massaging there once Erik had recovered his breathing.

“But we’ll get that drink first,” he purred.

The hand on Erik’s back disappeared, and he turned to Charles, giving him an unimpressed look which Charles deftly decided to ignore. Feeling spiteful, he reached out with his powers for the metal zip of Charles’ pants, pressing it down against his crotch and vibrating the teeth slightly. Charles let in a sharp breath and whipped around to face Erik, looking scandalized.

“The door is open,” he whispered, a flush spreading over his cheeks, making Erik’s pulse quicken in expectation.

Erik grinned, raising a pointed eyebrow as he swung the door slowly shut on its hinges, the lock engaging with a click that seemed to reverberate through the otherwise silent room. “You were saying?”

For a moment, Charles seemed torn, looking down at his barely touched food then up at Erik’s face, zeroing in on his mouth and slowly widening smile. He groaned in frustration, closing up his box of food again with one hand as he pulled Erik down with the other for a searing kiss.

::You have exactly fifteen minutes,:: he said imperiously. ::Then I’m going back to the Thai.::

Erik smiled against Charles’ mouth, using a metal file organizer that had been abandoned on the floor next to him to pick up their food and deposit it safely out of the way before leaning back and pulling Charles down on top of him with a surprised but pleased squeak. ::Fifteen minutes I can do.::