Charles has been drinking and he really needs to go, and he's trying to, but the guy at the urinal next to his is making it hard. He's thinking really loudly about Charles' dick, things along the lines of Not as big as mine, but still: nice, and it is really, really not easy to take a piss with some guy doing a running commentary on your equipment. Normally Charles keeps the whole telepathy thing at a really low volume because other people's minds are either boring or super uncomfortable like eighty-three percent of the time, but he's a bit inebriated and has less of a handle on it than he usually does, and this guy's thoughts are blaring.
"Dude!" Charles says. "Will you stop it? I'm trying to take a whiz here, you're making it kind of difficult."
"Stop what," the guy says. To the unknowing he might appear not to be looking at all, but Charles knows damn well he's still peeking out of the corner of his eye.
"Dude, I'm a telepath. I can hear you."
"Oh. Sorry," the guy says, and finishes what he's doing because apparently he's one of those guys who can pee anytime, no problem. He zips up and turns to face Charles, who's still trying to go and giving a mental pep talk to his little guy ('come on guy, do you really want to be responsible for the death of my bladder, really now'), and says, while still looking at Charles' dick, "Hey, do you want to get a drink sometime?"
What he means by this, Charles has the misfortune to know, is 'Do you want to go back to my place, fuck like bunnies and then never see or contact each other again? I'm hot, you're adorable, it would be pretty awesome.' Which is so not what Charles is looking for right now.
"I'm not really in the market for that, thanks," Charles says. "Also, I'm straight."
He actually isn't, precisely; he did the whole bi-curious thing back in college, which was okay and all (and sometimes way, way more than okay if he's honest with himself), but he's recently - as of tonight, actually - decided that what he wants is to meet the right girl, marry her, move to the suburbs and have 2.5 kids and all that jazz. Not that he couldn't do all that with a guy, but he's lazy at heart and figures it'll be a lot easier to accomplish the kids thing with a partner whose parts together with his parts are actually capable of producing children.
"Are you planning on doing anything with that, or are you just going to wave it around all night?" the guy asks.
"Dude," Charles says.
*
So Charles finally gets dick-watching-guy to leave, and five minutes after that he manages to go - though in fits and starts because he has performance anxiety like whoa now. When his bladder is finally, blessedly empty, he heads back to the booth. The gang still hasn't shown up; and sure, maybe Moira had to work late or something, but he still can't figure out how Azazel and Raven are never on time even though Azazel is a freaking teleporter.
(Actually, he has figured it out, he just pretends he hasn't because the pictures; the pictures that come into his head thinking about it. Ugh.)
"What are you drinking?" dick-watching-guy asks, as he slides into the booth across from Charles.
"Nothing else for the rest of the night," Charles says. "Also, I already told you, I'm straight."
"Yeah, whatever," dick-watching-guy says with a dismissive handwave, entirely as though he didn't have a succession of at least twenty different fantasies involving Charles' dick like ten minutes ago. "So, what do you do?" He says this with a quizzical expression, like he's not used to making small talk with people he wants to sleep with - which, considering that he is, in fact, almost as hot as he thinks he is, is probably pretty close to being the case.
"I teach high school. English," Charles says.
"Ohhh, like Stephen King," dick-watching-guy says, perking up. "Carrie was fucking awesome. The only thing that sucked about that book was that the heroine died at the end."
"...Um, okay, moving on," Charles says, wondering where the hell dick-watching-guy came up with that particularly bizarre connection from. "No, not like Stephen King because I just teach and um, I really have to tell you that your opinion on Carrie is really, totally just wrong and - you know what, what do you do?"
Dick-watching-guy produces a pair of shades from somewhere and puts them on. He leans forward and whispers, in a way that would actually be kind of a turn-on if he weren't so clearly a sociopath, "I'm James Bond. I kill Nazis."
"Really?" Charles says before he can stop himself. He can't help it; this guy is super convincing even though what he's saying is obviously total nonsense.
"...Are you sure you're straight?"
"As an arrow," Charles lies.
"If I say 'yes, really,' could I get in your pants anyway?" Dick-watching-guy sounds hopeful and a little sad, and even though Charles figures it's an act he still can't help but feel sort of bad for him. What can he say; it's a good act.
"That's a definite no," Charles says.
"Then no, not really." Dick-watching-guy takes off the shades and gives Charles a disgruntled sort of look. "Please. Idiot."
"Thanks so much for that."
Dick-watching-guy looks at Charles thoughtfully, then says, "You know what you need -"
"Not that," Charles interrupts - though he's got the telepathy thing back under control, he figures it's a safe bet that what dick-watching-guy thinks he needs is not something he so much agrees on.
"What you need - what's your name?"
"Um, it's Charles," Charles says, and immediately wishes he hadn't because dude, this guy obviously does not need any encouragement. "What's yours?"
"Erik," dick-watching-guy says. "What you need, Charles, is what every straight man needs: a gay best friend." He leans forward again, like he's confiding some really great piece of wisdom or something.
"Yeah, okay, and why is that?"
Dick-wa - Erik - makes a face. "Charles. Come on. You're wearing a cardigan."
"Well, you're wearing a turtleneck. What's the difference?"
Erik's eyes narrow and his mouth falls open, like Charles has just said something utterly appalling.
"And anyway," Charles continues, "I already have a best friend. Her name is Moira and she has a gun."
*
A few minutes later, as Erik is trying to convince Charles to watch him do some sort of magic trick involving knives, Azazel and Raven appear. Like, literally appear in a cloud of smoke that gives Charles a coughing fit, as usual.
Raven is very much blue, equally as much naked, meaning she's either having a very good or a very bad day and feels like flaunting. Or possibly just forgot to put her clothes back on after whatever she and Azazel were probably just doing, and damnit, Charles was trying not to think about that.
"Hey, guys," Charles says, so relieved to be rescued from Erik that he can't even be bothered to sound disapproving about getting an eyeful of his sister's boobs (he tries so, so hard to look anywhere else but at them).
"That was amazing," Erik says to Azazel.
Azazel puffs out his chest. "It was, wasn't it," he says, and Charles just wants to put his head down on his arms and sob. There will be no getting rid of Erik, ever, if he insists on inflating Azazel's already completely out-of-proportion ego.
"Erik was just leaving," Charles says.
But at the same time, Erik says, "Why are you naked?" and oh God, now he's going to get Raven all started.
Azazel jumps in before Raven can speak, completely flubbing her pet metaphor in his haste to help/stay the center of attention. "Would you tell a leopard to cover up its spots?"
"...Only if I wanted to get a panther?" Erik says.
Charles snort-laughs into the sleeve of his cardigan, then tries very hard to look grave and disapproving so that Raven won't murder him with her eyes.
"If she gets to not wear clothes, how come you have to wear them?" Erik continues. "That whole bamf-smoke-awesome thing would be a lot more impressive if you did it naked."
"That's what I'm always saying," Raven says, apparently not even mad about the stupid panther joke.
"Erik is gay," Charles informs her, though she doesn't seem to be paying much attention to him (not that that's unusual, mind), very likely because Azazel is unbuttoning his shirt. "Like, really gay. Like, he doesn't even care about panthers or tigers or whatever, he just really wants to see Azazel's penis right now. I mean, he's looking right at his crotch, Raven, it's so obvious."
Raven's selective hearing does pick up at least some of that, after all; and even years later, the memory of her going all Xena on Erik's ass will never stop being funny.
*
Erik leaves with some random guy an hour or so afterward.
*
Half an hour after that, Charles falls in head-over-heels-at-first-sight love with some girl. He won't even remember her name a few weeks from now, but for several hours there he's convinced she's The One. It's fate, it just has to be.
"I think I'm in love with you," he says, up on the roof of his apartment building.
She laughs in his face, then leaves. He never sees her again.
It's just as well. He should have realized: no one meets the love of their life on the same day they decide to start looking.
Charles sleeps with Erik just the once. He's known since day one that it would be a pretty bad idea, and he is not wrong in that.
*
Charles' phone rings for the twenty-third time, and for the twenty-third time he lets it go to voicemail. He's just not up for dealing with some insane Erik scheme tonight. Let's face it, he's not even up for showering - to the point where he hasn't, not in four days. He's much happier drinking at home, alone, thank you very much. He doesn't need anything. Not Erik. Certainly not Gabrielle. Gabri-who.
Charles' phone rings for the twenty-fourth time.
Half an hour later, it rings for the thirty-seventh time, and he answers it.
"What? I'm trying to drown my sorrows here, dude. This better be good."
"Charles, help," Erik says. "I just...did something...to the Brooklyn Bridge."
Oh, for god's sake.
*
When Charles and Azazel bamf onto Erik's boat in the middle of the river, Charles is all set to say, 'Have you considered not doing X to the Brooklyn Bridge on weeks that began with my being left at the altar?' with X of course symbolizing whatever Erik has done to it. Except that it looks the same to Charles as it always has, so what he ends up saying instead is, "...What exactly did you say you did to it, again?"
"I didn't say I did anything to it," Erik says. "I specifically said 'you have to come see what I'm going to do to it,' which you would know if you were listening."
"Oh god," Charles says, as Erik turns toward the bridge and raises his hands (much more flamboyantly than necessary).
Five minutes later, the Brooklyn Bridge now spells out: "Ladies! For a good time, call Charles @ 867-5309' (Erik spends three minutes getting the @ symbol just right).
"I'm not trying to say I don't appreciate the sentiment or anything - but that is not my phone number," Charles says.
"Sure it is," Erik says.
"Um, no, that's not my phone number, it's a song. 'Jenny don't change your number...'"
"...Well, why didn't you tell me that before I set the bridge on fire," Erik complains, like this is somehow a statement that makes sense - which is sort of is when Charles glances back at the bridge and realizes that, yep, it is actually on fire, starting the with the L in 'Ladies' and traveling to the right.
"There are people on that bridge, Erik!" he protests.
"They're moving," Erik says dismissively; which is true enough, but still. "So what's your phone number so I can fix it?"
Charles reaches into his pocket for his cell, only to come up empty-handed. "Sorry, I must have left my phone on the coffee table or something."
Erik shoots him an incredulous look. "You're busting my balls here, Charles," he says, and pulls out his own cellphone to look it up.
Charles glances over at Azazel, who's practically bent over in laughter, and suspects there's no way this story won't be getting back to Raven within the hour.
*
Erik manages to fix six out of seven digits by the time the helicopter is headed their way. Considering all the cop cars on either end of the bridge, it seems reasonable enough to assume the helicopter is related.
They bamf back to Charles' apartment over Erik's protests of "just one more minute," "almost got it," and "I can take a helicopter, I don't know what you're so worried about."
*
"It would have worked, you know," Erik says when Azazel has gone. "You need to get laid, Charles. Forget that Gabby chick."
Ordinarily, Charles would correct him; Gabrielle hates that nickname. But there's no point in it now. "You're probably right," he says.
*
And the more Charles thinks on it, the more it seems like a good idea, getting laid.
Only. Someone with a phone number one digit off from Charles' is getting all those phone calls from the super desperate, so for him to get laid he would actually need to actually shower and dress in clean clothes and actually, like, leave his apartment. All of which seems like way too much work.
There's really only one prospect, if Charles is going to get laid tonight. And Erik, he knows, is entirely serious every time he comes on to him. He's Erik's physical type, certainly; how many times has he seen Erik go home with some dark-haired guy about Charles' size? And it may be that only Erik is easy enough to overlook the showering issue.
Charles has never seriously considered it before; what he wants and what Erik wants are two such entirely different entities. He wants to meet someone, marry some nice girl and settle down in a gigantic house and have twenty kids (he adds one or two kids for every breakup; the house has expanded accordingly); Erik is so very much the opposite, always on the move from conquest to conquest.
But for once, Charles doesn't want anything complicated, doesn't want anything with string and emotions attached to it; for tonight, he wants something simple, physical, transient.
For once, they want the same thing.
*
When Charles pulls Erik into a kiss, he gets a flash of triumph from Erik's mind. He shuts it down immediately because really, if he's going to be Erik's fuck of the day, he's not going to listen to all the comparisons as well.
*
So turns out Erik wasn't lying any of the times he claimed to give the best blowjobs ever. Not that Erik himself ever thought he was lying, necessarily - the few of his thoughts Charles has had the misfortune of picking up on have always seemed to support the statement. But people can and do lie to themselves. Perception carries far more weight than fact when it comes to memories.
Charles finds himself wondering, at some point after the second go-'round, how in the world Erik gets rid of his conquests the morning after; why they don't all follow him around like sad little puppies with sad little puppy faces that he won't ever sleep with the same guy twice (not like, literal puppies. obviously. ew).
*
In the morning, Charles wakes up and thinks, Oh, god, because last night he thought sleeping with Erik was a valid life decision, and now he just knows things are going to be weird. Oh god, things are going to be so weird and awkward, and they're never going to be able to look each other in the eye ever again.
He has his pants halfway back on when Erik says, sleepily, "Let's get married."
It's an awful, terrible, very bad joke - and really, who the hell makes jokes like that at a time like this? What Charles should probably say, what he would usually say, is 'What the fuck, Erik? You know I just got left at the altar,' but he's so relieved that Erik can joke right now that he laughs (likely several degrees louder of a laugh than indicated) and says, "Good one. And here I thought this was going to be all awkward." He looks around on the floor for his shirt and sees Erik's turtleneck lying rumpled on the floor. He laughs again, picks it up and says, "Oh man, you were totally lying when you said you won't jump into bed with anyone until you've hung your precious turtleneck up. Don't worry though, I won't tell anyone."
Erik lurches out of bed, snatches the turtleneck right out of Charles' hands. "Get out."
Charles has never, not once in four years heard Erik use a tone like that; never seen him look like this, either, and god does Erik look scary right now. No wonder he doesn't have puppy-guys following him around constantly, if this is how he plays the morning after.
"Are you really going to be like this?" Charles asks. "Really, Erik? Really?"
"Get out."
"Um, this is my apartment. Maybe you should get out."
"Get. Out."
Charles gets out.
*
Erik doesn't answer his phone when Charles calls - not for three whole weeks.
Charles honestly thought their friendship meant something to Erik. More than this, at any rate.
And so one day he's home from work and he's been drinking, not that much, and he's just - he's dialing Erik's cell for the thirty-seventh time (he's not certain why he's counting) and it occurs to him that since he picked up on Erik's thirty-seventh try three weeks ago, that it's only fair, it's only right that Erik will pick up on the thirty-seventh try as well. God, he should have thought of it before, gotten the thirty-six other calls out of the way two weeks ago and then it wouldn't have had to be three weeks of...nothing like this.
Charles' call goes to voicemail and Charles can't believe this, he can't believe this, what the hell?
He should hang up just like all the other times - he should - but instead he finds himself saying, "You realize how, like, not-cool you're being about this, right? You know, I expected better of you, I really did. All that talk about how you're my best friend - that's obviously total bullshit. I mean, god, Erik, self-nominated best friends aren't supposed to fucking abandon you at your most vulnerable just because they've finally gotten what they wanted out of you. Some friend you are. If you were really my friend, like, at all, you would come over right now to keep me from calling Gabrielle. Because I am drunk -" he's not that drunk, really "- and as soon as I hang up on your stupid voicemail I'm going to call her -" he's not going to call her; he deleted her number and all call history off his phone last week to get rid of the temptation "- and I'm going to beg her to take me back, and I'm going to cry like a little baby and make a complete idiot of myself in the doing, and do you know why? Because you aren't here to stop me, that's why. And that's just the kind of friend you are."
There's no answer, and when Charles hangs up he sits there looking at the screen of his phone waiting for it to light up with a text or a call, anything from Erik to say that calling Gabrielle is the worst thing he could do when there are so many girls he hasn't slept with yet still waiting out there, and that Erik will be along in a jiffy with some insane course of action.
Twenty minutes later, Erik still hasn't called. Considering that he's practically married (ha) to his phone, all that can mean is that he's not going to; that Charles has made a complete idiot of himself anyway, only to Erik instead of Gabrielle. Lovely.
Ten minutes later, Charles picks up the stack of book reports he's put off grading until tonight, and starts writing '100% A+' on each of them. He doesn't feel up to the work required in reading and evaluating them individually, so he'll make this into a life lesson about why turning in homework is in and of itself a virtue. Or something.
Thirty minutes after that, Charles is flipping through channels trying to find something decent to watch, when he hears a very loud crunching noise. He looks down at the coffee table to see that his cellphone has been...well, crunched.
Then his apartment door flies open and Erik says, scowling, "Don't call her. You moron."
"I could have called her forty times by now," Charles says. "Your timing sucks."
*
"What are we watching?" Erik asks.
Charles glances toward the television, and apparently he stopped on a Lifetime movie about alcoholism. "...Not that," he says, and makes to change it, until Erik stops him by saying they could probably make a drinking game out of it. Which is horrible, but that's Erik for you.
"That is so uncouth," he complains.
*
Later, when Charles just can't stand the tension anymore, he says, "Erik, you know things really don't have to be all weird just because we slept together. I mean, I know what I'm like, but I promise I don't want anything more with you. It's totally cool with me if we just stay friends. So please don't worry about it. I don't want this to come between us."
Erik grimaces and takes a long swallow of his beer.
Charles stares with no little trepidation at the sixty-six missed calls on his cellphone, all from Erik. He forgets his phone at home just once and the world has to go and end - or so he feels safe in assuming, since Erik usually gives up after twenty or so missed calls anymore.
The phone rings for the sixty-seventh time, and Charles answers it. "Dude, what could possibly be so important that you had to call me sixty-seven times?"
"Charles, help," Erik says, and Charles thinks, Oh god, what now? "There's a baby in my apartment."
"...Say what?" Charles asks, because what Erik just said makes no sense whatsoever.
"Apparently it's mine. It has green hair."
"...Um," Charles says, because this actually makes less sense. "Green, really? I mean. Um. Yours? What makes you so sure it's yours?"
When Erik responds, Charles finds himself thinking distantly that unless Erik has like leveled up in the acting department, this, this is what he sounds like when he's actually, honest-to-god panicking. "I gave it a spoon to play with and now it's levitating it around its head."
"That's totally convincing and all, but dude - have you ever even slept with a woman?"
"...I don't know why that's relevant, Charles," Erik hedges.
"Um, because it's like Reproduction 101? Dude, Erik, you're like the gayest gay to ever gay, of course it's relevant. I mean, unless there was like a turkey baster involved, which if there was don't tell me. Because ew."
There's a long silence on the other end. "Okay, fine. Fine. Yes, Charles, I have slept with a woman. I just wanted to know what all the fuss was about. I'm not proud of it, so don't go spreading it around or -" there's a soft thumping noise on the other end, followed by a hissing sound from Erik "- and it just threw a fork at my head. There, Charles, are you happy now?"
"Um," Charles says.
"Get over here. Just. Okay?"
*
The first thing Charles processes upon opening the door to Erik's apartment is that that is absolutely, positively, most definitely a baby (complete, yep, with really unmistakably green hair).
The second thing he takes in is Erik, standing in the center of his living room in a bullfighter stance, a couch cushion held like a shield in his hands. The reason for this is immediately evident as a butter knife flies through the air and bounces off the couch cushion and onto the carpet.
After witnessing this repeat three times in short order, Charles manages to get his head together to say, "Erik, have you considered that you could use your own mutation to keep her from hitting you with your silverware like that?"
Erik startles, then stares blankly at Charles for a moment before saying, "Of course I've considered it. I was just. I was testing you. To see if you would figure it out on your own. Duh."
"Okay, Erik," Charles says.
The baby starts fussing, and Erik gives a manly little shriek. "Charles - Charles, what is it doing? Make it stop."
Charles sighs and steps toward the baby carrier. It only takes a second before he can smell what the problem is. "So have you ever changed a diaper before?" he asks, figuring that the answer will be both 'no' and 'I don't wanna.' He is not proven wrong.
"No, and I'm not going to start now. That's disgusting."
"Well, it kind of comes with the territory," Charles says, as he kneels down beside the carrier and begins rummaging through the diaper bag. "You feed them, it comes out the other end later. Rinse and repeat." He doesn't need to read Erik's mind to be aware of what he's thinking then. "And no, not feeding them is not an option."
Charles is still halfway convinced this is some sort of scheme or a joke, when in his quest for baby wipes he comes across the birth certificate for Lorna Polaris Dane. And it's not so much that he would put it past Erik to come up with something this authentic-looking, as that there is no way Erik would be able to resist listing himself as 'Erik Awesome Lehnsherr' or something on it, if this were some game he's playing. But in the space for the father's name, all it says is 'Erik Lehnsherr.'
Charles has maybe never hated anyone like he hates Erik, in that moment of realization. For all that everyone around him over the past few years has been falling in love, getting married and starting a family, for all that he burns with envy sometimes at what they have that he doesn't, he's always been able to tell himself that it's only a matter of time before he meets The One and can himself start on that journey.
He's wanted it so badly, and for so long, and now Erik of all people gets to have what Charles would give a limb or two to have. Erik doesn't even want kids. Erik has never wanted kids, long-term attachments of the romantic or familial variety. And now Charles has to wonder, if even Erik gets to have this when it's Charles who wants it so badly, if this is a sign from the universe to let him know that he'll never have it, that he may as well resign himself to living and dying all alone.
Charles barely recognizes his own voice as he looks over at Erik and snarls, "What is wrong with you, anyway? Did you even bother to use protection?"
"Uh, yeah," Erik says, still holding that couch cushion, though now it's dangling from one hand rather than held up to his chest. God, he looks like an idiot right now. "I'm not stupid, Charles. My sperm is just like this super sperm, and it had different ideas."
Ordinarily Charles would latch onto the 'super sperm' thing as hilarious (in fact, he's going to come back to that later, definitely), but instead he says, "Where's her mom, anyway. Is she coming back, or...?"
He suspects the answer to the latter will be a definite 'no'; he can't imagine most mothers would bring the birth certificate to drop off their three-month-old baby for a visit with Daddy. Although there are no actual baby supplies in evidence other than baby, baby carrier and diaper bag, this feels very...permanent.
"She'd better not," Erik says.
There's definitely some story there then, but that's when Lorna starts crying for real, and Charles figures he can ask for the rest later.
*
Changing Lorna is the easiest thing ever, apart from the gagging noises Erik makes throughout. Charles is used to dealing with Kurt, so he has what amounts to a master's degree in diaper changing. Nothing less than a tail and teleporting abilities can phase him.
"Now isn't that better?" Charles says to Lorna when they're done. Erik makes a scoffing sound from behind him, which he ignores.
Lorna waves a hand at him and says, "Ahhh gah."
"Ah. Gah," Charles says solemnly back. His anger has faded away already - he's never been one to hold a grudge, and even if he were he doesn't know that he could manage to stay angry at Erik for making this particularly adorable contribution to the world.
Some indeterminate amount of time and quite a few nonsensical exchanges later, Charles looks up to see Erik looking at him with the oddest expression on his face.
"Contrary to what you're probably thinking right now, you won't be able to use her to pick up dudes," Charles says. "Most guys will take off running the other direction, so she might cramp your style a bit."
You could give her to me, he thinks but doesn't say.
"You've got that right," Erik says after a moment. "In case you failed to notice, you grew ovaries just now. I could tell you down to the second when it was, too."
Charles rolls his eyes. "Don't listen to your Daddy, Lorna; there's nothing wrong with having ovaries."
*
A little while later, Erik asks, "Can I hold her?"
"Oh look, Lorna, you've been upgraded from an 'it,'" Charles says dryly, and hands her over - a longer process than it sounds like, since Erik panics three times and pushes her back to Charles like he's afraid she's going to bite him or something.
Even if Charles were watching a little less closely, he couldn't miss the look on Erik's face when Lorna grasps his index finger in her own tiny fingers; couldn't miss that moment when all of Erik's defenses drop, and he falls in love.
"I didn't know they could do that," Erik breathes. It's a beautiful moment that lasts for about a minute, when Erik holds Lorna out at arms' length like a recalcitrant puppy and says, "I think she just peed on me. Do something, Charles."
*
That first night, Charles says, "Erik, you really ought to go shopping. Babies need stuff. Like a lot of stuff."
"This better not be expensive," Erik says; but when they do go out, he opts for the most awesome looking of everything without paying the least bit of attention to the price tag.
*
It doesn't take long for Erik to discover that the most awesome thing about babies is getting to dress them up.
"What do you think?" he asks one day, holding Lorna up for Charles' perusal.
Charles considers the latest outfit - a tiny red denim jacket over an itty purple turtleneck, with bright yellow jeans and a blue plastic clip-on bow in her hair to complete the effect - and says, "Erik, honestly. She looks like a gender-confused Eclectus Parrot."
The cold look Erik levels at him then makes it clear that it was really more of a 'Does this dress make me look fat?' thing than an actual question.
"And a very beautiful one," Charles hastens to add, and gives Erik's little parrot a big wet smack on her cheek.
Charles can feel Lorna scrutinizing him all morning. He's tempted to look to see why, but it's been a while since she's been okay with him poking around inside her head without permission. If he thinks about that too much he gets sad - she's growing up so quickly now; why can't she just slow down for a year or two? - but he knows it's like this natural part of growing into her own person and stuff.
So he waits, and waits, and early in the afternoon Lorna finally asks, "Charles, are you really my mom?"
She sounds just as skeptical about this as she should; not a surprise, considering that Erik is always lying to her, either because he thinks it's funny or because he doesn't like to answer awkward questions. Lorna, being an intelligent girl, knows exactly which adult she should always confirm new information with.
"...Let me talk to your dad first and then I'll get back to you, okay?" Charles says.
*
When Erik gets home from work, Charles calls him into the kitchen and says, "Erik, why did you tell Lorna that I'm her mother?"
Erik actually has the nerve to look affronted. "Well, she asked. What was I supposed to tell her, the truth?"
"You could have started with that, yeah."
Erik glances all around, then leans in close and hisses, "If you want to be the one to tell her that her mom doesn't want her because of the color of her hair, be my guest. I'm not going to be the one to break her heart."
Charles is fairly certain that that's a pretty slanted view of the problem; but he is also aware that when Lorna was two, Erik actually did try to get her mom involved in her life again. Erik has never said exactly how that went, but Charles can hazard a pretty decent guess, especially given that Erik spent two months afterward watching documentaries on the mutant separatist movement of the sixties and threatening to move to Genosha.
"Point taken," he says. "But why do I have to be the mother? It's because I'm shorter, isn't it? That is so heteronormative, Erik."
Erik raises an eyebrow and looks him up and down (it occurs to Charles that perhaps he should have waited to make this point until he's not sock-footed in the kitchen wearing an apron with frills on it, covered in flour and waving a spatula at Erik to punctuate his statement). "No, you idiot, it's because I'm the actual father," Erik says. "And anyway, you're the closest thing to another parent she has, so why can't you just go with it?"
*
It occurs to Charles out on the sidewalk later that the thing about him basically being Lorna's other parent is actually true. And that most people don't spend their summer vacations practically living at their best friend's apartment to watch their kid. And probably don't spend most of their evenings and weekends there during the school year either.
Oh, god. This is all really weird, isn't it?
"I think I'm having an existential crisis right now," Charles says to no one in particular, as he steps into the aircab.
It's his twenty-seventh such crisis this century.
*
Flagging down an aircab tonight was a bit of a mistake. If Charles wasn't having an existential crisis, he would have noticed it looked like rain and gone for a taxicab instead since aircabs gum up so frequently when it's wet out. It's ridiculous.
As it is, he spends four hours fifty feet in the air waiting on the maintenance guy to show up, with nothing but the radio for company. He knows these things are computer operated and all, but he doesn't know why they don't at least put a robot or a mannequin or something in the driver's seat for stranded passengers to talk at.
After about ten minutes, he does call Azazel to come rescue him, only to learn that he's "in the middle of something, ifyouknowhatImean." Which is far more information than Charles cares to have, though if Raven weren't his sister he would certainly be jealous that she and Azazel are constantly getting it on even after fifteen years together.
He would call Moira to get her to enlist her on-again-off-again 'I do not date twenty-year-olds, so stop calling him my boyfriend' pilot dude Cassidy, except that they're off in like some warzone or the outback or something, which is so not helpful for Charles' needs here.
He could call Erik, and has when he's wound up in this situation previously, but somehow he'd rather not tonight.
*
By the time Charles gets home, he's decided: it's time to start looking for The One again. He's not sure why he ever stopped, but figures it must be because he needed a break from the stress and drama, even if he never consciously thought about it.
Maybe he's finally ready now. Maybe it's time.
It's with this thought that he spends three hours sweating over his online dating profile (the first of those hours is spent re-writing it, while the latter two are spent deciding which photo to go with). But when he goes to activate it, he freezes, because it occurs to him that if he starts dating again, if he meets some girl and they hit it off really well and marries her and moves to the suburbs and they have kids -
Well, then Lorna won't be such a big part of his life anymore, will she? Maybe she could come over to visit every so often, but that would hardly be the same as getting to see her every day like he does now.
Kids are resilient, but still, he thinks it would hurt her pretty badly. For sure it would hurt him; to the point that he's not sure that it's so much worth it to get back in the dating game. If there was a guarantee, then maybe (maybe), but -
It occurs to him, then, to wonder if Erik has ever considered dating. It's an idea Charles would have scoffed at, years ago; but then, Erik has settled so much since Lorna came on his scene. It wouldn't be at all surprising really, if Erik brought home some guy someday. And then Charles will be out in the cold, out of Erik and Lorna's lives whether or not he has a family of his own.
Charles thinks of some other guy refereeing the game of Slap Bet the kids always want to play when Lorna has friends over (Charles always, always has to veto the use of powers to administer slaps, particularly when the Summers brothers are in attendance), and he's never felt quite so miserable in his life.
Then he thinks about some other guy massaging Erik's feet late at night when he comes hobbling home from a long day at work, and - fuck that guy. He hates that guy. He can't stand that guy. He's going to make that guy think he's a Pomeranian for the rest of his life and then give him to some ten-year-old boy who really wanted a German Shepherd, who won't brush his fur so he'll get all matted and have to be shaved and look just really, really stupid -
*
Oh.
*
Charles can't exactly go up to Erik and say, 'I apparently go into a murderous rage thinking of some theoretical guy putting his hands on you. I think I'm in love with you.' He's never had trouble putting his heart out there before, but then there's never been so much to lose before. He falls for people he's just met, or he doesn't fall at all; this is very much new territory.
He thinks he'd rather never confess this than bring it up and have Erik shoot him down. Things could get so much weirder, so much worse. He's never forgotten what happened the last time, and that was just sex.
So Charles decides not to bring it up at all. It's safer. Less risky. Better to go on as they have been.
*
It's a good decision, but it's driving him nuts already.
Charles doesn't think Erik notices the way he looks at him the next day, and he doesn't seem to be concerned when Charles begs off early either.
But when Charles makes an excuse about why he has to leave thirty minutes after Erik gets home for the third day running, Erik frowns and asks, "Is everything all right, Charles?"
"Everything's fine," Charles answers, plastering a too-big fake smile on his face.
*
It takes Charles almost a week to think of reading Erik's mind.
Not that it's guaranteed he'll find an answer; if Erik has never considered Charles in that way, never had an opinion about it, reading his mind won't be helpful. It's impossible to predict someone's future reactions to something they haven't thought about; even predicting reactions to something they have is a crap shoot at best, but at least the latter would give him something to go on.
*
He figures, considering that they do actually have a history (however brief), that it is more likely than not that Erik does have an opinion on the subject; further, that it is not anything Charles wants to know.
Charles doesn't look and doesn't look and doesn't look for nearly two whole weeks.
*
Then, one night after Lorna has been put to bed, Charles is on his way out, his hand on the doorknob when he just - can't, anymore. Not knowing if there's something to know - whether positive or negative - is driving him out of his mind.
So he'll look, and if it's good or bad or nothing at all, he can go home and deal with it privately, then spend the rest of forever pretending he didn't. It'll take no more than a couple of seconds, and Erik will never need to know a thing about it.
So he looks.
*
...Oh.
*
Charles doesn't know how long he's been standing there when Erik comes back into the room.
"Oh, I thought you already -" he begins, then stops dead because - well, it has to be all over Charles' face, doesn't it? There's a reason he never got away with snooping in Raven's mind when they were growing up, and that's because of the whole deer in the headlights thing he always has going on after he does. Which is why he meant to like leave after peeking into Erik's mind.
"I didn't know," Charles says. "Erik - I really had no idea." That Erik loves him; that Erik has loved him, for such a very long time. That that was a proposal, a real one, if ill-timed. The only thing that doesn't surprise him about any of it is Erik's emotional constipation. And you know, normally he would even comment on that, but somehow it doesn't seem to be the right moment for that kind of thing.
Erik turns white, swallows hard, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse. "Look, it doesn't matter. It doesn't have to change anything. Things are good the way they are. I don't need - things are fine the way they are."
Charles recognizes Erik's fear, now. He wonders how he's missed it for so long. He lets go of the doorknob, and steps toward Erik, and tries to find the words, the right words for this.
Charles has said 'I love you' on more first dates than he's proud of. He's said it on any number of second dates too. He's said it on no few third dates. Once he even waited until the fourth date, and praised himself for his self-control.
But he's not sure how to say it to Erik - whether because words said too soon and too often become cheap or because those words don't go far enough to express what he means, he doesn't know - so instead he says, "Erik - you and Lorna, you're my life. My world. My family."
This does not have quite the illuminating effect on Erik that Charles could have hoped for. Erik offers him a flat look, then says, impatiently, "What does that mean?"
"Well," Charles says, stopping just within arms' reach of Erik, "it means you're right: it doesn't have to change anything. But it could. I - I'd like it to, very much." He waits a few beats, then adds, "Erik, you obviously need to watch more chick flicks. That was totally your cue to kiss me. I mean, unless you aren't planning to, which would be like really stupid of -"
Erik's eyes go very wide somewhere in there, and then he totally cuts Charles' sentence off by stepping forward and drawing him close. He may not have seen very many chick flicks (or very possibly none, considering the gagging sounds he makes whenever Charles mentions them), but he's got the whole passionate 'God have I wanted to do this for like this whole movie and now that we're just about at the end credits I'm going to make up for all that wasted time' thing down pat.
*
Not much later - and honestly, they barely even make it to the bedroom, and that only because scarring Lorna for life is something they'd both prefer to avoid - Erik is above him, filling him, Charles' legs wrapped around his waist, and it's so good and about to get so much better -
But Charles wants more, so badly.
Other people's thoughts are boring or uncomfortable like eighty-three percent of the time. The other seventeen percent of the time (give or take like sixteen and a half percent) is...well, sex.
Charles raises his hand, touches his fingertips to Erik's temple, so lightly.
"May I?" he asks.
Erik goes very still, then says, "...Yes, do it."
But he's gone all tense, and when Charles just peeks into his mind he can practically see the 'no trespassing' signs. It occurs to him that bringing this up during may not have been the best plan.
"We really don't have to, Erik," he says. "If it's too invasive or whatever -"
"...That's not it. Don't be stupid, Charles," Erik says. "It's just - I've never - it's the only virginity I have left, okay?"
It takes Charles a few moments to come back from the realization that he could be a first for Erik. He really, really likes that idea; he's surprised just how much, actually.
Charles spreads his fingers out on Erik's face. "My mind to your mind," he intones in his best Nimoy (with a touch of Quinto too because how awesome was that trilogy?).
Erik snorts, then laughs, and relaxes just enough.
Charles dives in, and though he's tempted to go with everything all at once, he figures that might be a little much, and so he leaves the parts of Erik's mind that would amplify pleasure alone for now, as he gives Erik everything he himself is feeling, the weight of Erik above him, inside him, the angles of Erik's cheekbones against the tips of Charles' fingers -
"Fuck," Erik says in a low voice. He presses his forehead to Charles' shoulder and begins to move.
Charles loses himself to the rhythm of Erik's body, to the pulse of his mind.
*
In the morning, Charles wakes up first, and a quick check indicates that Lorna's up too, and likely in need of someone to keep an eye on her. And maybe to feed her too. Charles never makes it over here until later, so he's not really sure what the protocol is for breakfast.
He has his pants almost all the way back on when he notices Erik looking at him bleakly; notices, too, the parallel curling between them like cigarette smoke in the air.
Was Erik even paying attention last night? Like at all?
"Erik, really," Charles says as he zips up. "I will totally marry you, on one condition: you have to tell Lorna that I am not her mother."
The air clears immediately, like someone's opened a window.
"...I'll think about it," Erik says.
*
Erik makes pancakes for breakfast that morning. He tries to get Charles to do it, but Charles refuses on the grounds that he's not even technically alive before eleven a.m. and three cups of coffee.
Lorna takes Charles' presence at breakfast seemingly in stride, while Erik lets Charles flail around in the water all by himself when Lorna asks why he's wearing one of her dad's shirts.
When they're about done eating, Erik turns to Lorna and says, "Now don't get all upset but I have something to tell you: Charles is not your mother."
Lorna pulls a face, and she's never resembled Erik nearly so much as when she says, "Well duh."
Erik blinks, then shrugs. He reaches across the table for Lorna's cup of orange juice, and swallows half of it down in a single gulp.
"Ewww, Daddy," Lorna protests.
"Whine more," Erik says.
Lorna crosses her arms over her chest. "Daddy, that is so - that is so uncouth."
She's never sounded more like her -
Well.
THE END