(no subject)

[monstrousregiment]

Title: Look this Life in the Eye
Author: monstrousreg
Word count:  2757
Warnings: Childhood physical abuse mentioned, beware. Angst, becasue Erik is emotionally stunded.
Pairing: Erik/Charles.

Summary: There's a locked door in Xavier Hall to which no one has access. In making inquiries, Erik realizes he's built his opinion on Charles on the wrong foundations.

“You thought I was going to hit you?”

Charles’ eyes dart away, shoulders pulling in as if he were trying to curl in on himself. Erik feels something tight inside his chest coil in even tighter as his stomach turns.

Notes: Fill for this prompt: Erik and Charles get into a serious fight.It can be about whatever but pre-divorce please.They're screaming when Erik brings his hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes-and Charles flinches. Cue lots of H/C, guilt and protectiveness on Erik's part, and maybe Charles talking to Erik about his abusive parents.

 

There’s a room, upstairs in the top floor, that is locked under key and never opened.

Erik knows that Charles has moved on to occupy what used to be his father’s room, with its adjacent library study and bathroom, and Raven has taken residence in Charles’ mother’s bedroom.

Nobody’s touched this one.

Not even William, the old butler that practically raised Charles and Raven all on his own, goes anywhere near it.

They’ve no need of it, of course—Xavier Hall is huge and rooms are aplenty. Erik is more than comfortable in his own room, much more Spartan that Charles’ or Raven’s but still opulent in comparison to his usual lodgings. The children are fascinated with the size of their bedrooms—Sean’s gone and insisted his is bigger than his parents’ living room, which is slightly disturbing.

But the room is locked and under key and no one goes near it, and Erik is curious to the point of insidiousness.

He asks Charles one morning, and for the first time since they have met he witnesses Charles reach the one subject he is not willing to be open about. It seems to Erik that this is the pinnacle of hypocrisy—Charles has seen everything Shaw did to him—but when he points that out Charles dissolves in apologies and grows so pale Erik feels like his words were somehow akin to hitting him in the jaw.

Something doesn’t quite sit right there, though.

Erik shrugs, swallowes the unease clawing at his chest, and swiftly changes the subject. He thinks, I’ve seen that reaction before. But when?

He asks William next.

The old, dignified butler gives him a shrewd look.

“You have your traumas,” he says quietly, turning on the stove. “Young master Charles has his.”

This, unsurprisingly, does nothing to assuage Erik’s curiosity.

Opening the lock would be so stupidly simple. The mechanism is metal, and Erik is the master of metal, commands it like he commands his lungs, his fingers. Metal is a part of him and the door would not oppose him.

But he doesn’t open it.

There’s some hidden, long forgotten memory at the back of his mind trying to break free and tell him something, but Erik is not a telepath, he can’t direct his mind to do as he likes. He won’t ask Charles to do it for him, either, because he feels like this is something he needs to get to on his own.

It takes two days for Erik to jar out of a half-doze, in the darkness of his bedroom, and realize that what he saw in Charles’ eyes the day he asked about the room was fear. A deep-rooted, nearly panic-like fear.

And this is what sits heavy on Erik’s stomach for the whole of the next day, because Charles has led an easy, soft life that would theoretically not allow for that kind of fear to build inside him, to any kind of stimuli. Then he remembers William said Charles has his traumas—but what traumas could a rich, pampered boy have?

On the evening of that day he asks Raven.

She turns around, picks up her coat and says “Don’t ask again.”

By the time the next evening comes around, Erik is restless and concerned, something tight and dark having taken residence at the bottom of his stomach. And this here is the problem: Erik’s never had to deal with concern over anyone else. He’s been alone since he escaped Shaw, responsible for and accountable to no one.

He doesn’t know how to come about this uncomfortable feeling.

Charles, on the other hand, seems to have completely forgotten the existence of that bedroom. Erik is upset and in someone with his conditioning concern translates quickly into irritation. Aggression, it seems, is his default.

Charles is saying something as he opens a book, absently flipping through the pages to look for something he wants to show Erik.

It’s come to Erik that Charles hides behind a thousand masks, using the thoughts of others as blanket to cover his own. This is how he’s kept hims fear hidden and tucked away from Erik all this time, and it drives Erik insane that he might be hiding something else, to which he has no access. Erik is honest with Charles—he would only expect to have this favor returned.

Yet he remembers the way Charles reacted to his question, the look William gave him, and the way Raven paled as she turned away.

Despite himself he doesn’t dare bring up the subject, and instead latches onto something else that bothers him.

“You’re childishly optimistic,” he cuts through what Charles was saying, harshly.

Charles is startled by the vehemence with which he’s said this, and blinks at him blankly. Slowly, he closes the book and moves away from the book shelves, and oh, Erik can see what he’s doing—bracing himself to withstand the storm of Erik’s anger, as he’s done several other times, like a tree that bends to the wind but never breaks.

This man. This infuriating, soft man with a mind like diamond that isn’t afraid of Erik, a murderer by his own choice that’s made it his life mission to obtain revenge on the world as a whole. This man is afraid of a locked door.

“The humans will never see us as anything but freaks, you do understand that, don’t you?”

“Erik,” Charles looks cautious now, patient but trying to figure out what’s triggered this new outburst. “I understand it’s difficult for you to—“

“Do you really, Charles?” Erik surges up from his chair, suddenly infused with restless, fluid fury that makes it impossible for him to be still. “Sometimes I feel like we talk, and you hear me but you never listen.”

Which is unfair, and unjust, but Erik is quite beyond caring.

“I listen to you,” Charles says gently. “And I know you don’t trust easily, for which I can hardly blame you, but declaring war on humanity won’t fix anything, Erik. Violence engenders more violence, and—“

“I’ve heard this before,” Erik snaps, pacing. “It’s always the same with you, you shy away from what needs to be done, recoil at the mention of violence, but you don’t mind me being violent, do you?”

Here Charles frowns, “Of course I do. That’s my point, Erik. Violence is never the answer.”

“No, that’s not what you’re in for,” Erik says, rounding on Charles brusquely. “You’re a natural leader, did you know that, Charles? You’ve got that special sort of charisma that draws people in, makes them want to do things for you. Have you noticed that?”

Charles’s face is growing ever darker. “I’m not entirely certain I see where this is going, Erik.”

“Yes you do,” Erik snaps. “You’re comfortable making other people do things for you while you stay back, aren’t you? Like the king in the chessboard.”

Charles’ face goes chalk-white.

“You don’t really think that,” he says quietly, voice shaking. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

“This is bothering me! Stay out of my head!”

“I am not reading your mind,” Charles protests, moving forward and dropping the book carelessly on the table. “But we have spoken about this before, you would have told me before if this was really what you thought. There must be something else—“

“Must everything always have an undercurrent with you?” Erik asks venomously. “Are conversations never simple, straightforward?”

“Not when you’re concealing a concern with an aggression,” Charles replies, and seems to be getting angry.

Erik relishes the ability to ruffle the calm man’s feathers, to awaken in him something other than gentle affection and concern.

“Haven’t you ever considered it?” Erik asks, a mocking smile curving his long mouth. “You’re the leader, and we’re all the pawns. Your cannon fodder, if you’d like.”

“No. I’ve never considered it, because you’re not my pawns, as I am not your leader—“

“Don’t lie to yourself, Charles, none of this would have happened if not for you.”

Charles looks away and too late Erik remembers Darwin is dead. That wasn’t Charles’ fault at all—it was Shaw’s-0 but it would be just like Charles to feel guilty. But he doesn’t want Charles to feel guilty and sad—he wants him to be angry, alive with the fever of rage, because oh, Charles can be magnificent sometimes, but he is perpetually holding himself back, and it drives Erik mad.

“If you can’t stomach the responsibilities of being in charge, maybe step off the throne, Charles.”

“I’m not in a throne,” Charles insists, growing exasperated, which is still not what Erik wants. “Erik, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Why are you so angry?”

“I’m angry because you’re nominally so against violence, but you’ve no trouble on having us do the violence for you!”

“I would never ask that of you!” Charles raises his voice for the first time ever in Erik’s presence. Now they’re getting somewhere, Erik thinks. He hears himself and instantly recoils, stunned at the volume.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks suddenly, blue eyes sharp. “Why are trying to provoke me?”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Erik sneers. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you, I’m not in your head.”

“You know that’s a lie, you’re always in our heads—“

“Erik, just tell me what I’ve done and I’ll apologize!” Charles throws up his hands. “I’ll not let you force me into reading tour mind to get it! I don’t know what I did or said, but I assure you, I didn’t mean to bother you!”

“Stop holding back!” Erik snarls.

“You just told me to stay out of your head. Listen to yourself!”

“What I want you to do is stop hiding from me!”

“I’m not—“

Erik crowds in on him, so that Charles has to look up to stare into his eyes—which he does, because Charles might be a lot of things, not all of them good, but he’s sure as hell not a coward. Erik looks down at him, speaking directly into his face.

“Oh, yes you are, stop lying! All these masks, all these pleasant smiles, how you shrug off my words whenever I say something I know hurts you. Why don’t you ever retaliate, defend yourself? Why do you just let me get away with it?”

“Because I keep telling you—violence brings more violence! I won’t take your bait only to prove you right!”

“You say you don’t want us to hide, but you hide more than any of us!”

“You have no idea what my powers can do to people!” Charles hisses, eyes wide, impossibly blue. He looks positively furious now, face livid except for the flushed cheeks, and Erik thinks now they’re getting somewhere.

“Then show me!” Erik mocks, straightening to tower over Charles, reaching up with his hand to push back his hair that’s fallen into disarray—

Charles flinches back, brusquely and visibly.

Erik freezes.

Charles realizes his mistake almost instantly, blue eyes wide, face draining of all color.

“What…?” Erik lowers his hand slowly, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing?”

The telepath stops immediately—he doesn’t seem to have noticed he was backing away from Erik, inching closer to the door.

Realization falls over Erik like a bucket of freezing water. Anger drains away quickly as irritation morphs into shock and disbelief.

“You thought I was going to hit you?”

Charles’ eyes dart away, shoulders pulling in as if he were trying to curl in on himself. Erik feels something tight inside his chest coil in even tighter as his stomach turns.

“You—you were so very angry, I only—no matter, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Stop that,” Erik demanded savagely. “Why would you think I would hit you? I would never hurt you, Charles.”

His tone isn’t helping. Charles is pulling back, slowly and cautiously but without stopping, as if being in this room with Erik right now is absolutely unbearable. Erik backs off, suddenly all too aware of how much taller he is, how much stronger, how easy it would be to overpower the smaller man, and how very well aware of that Charles is.

There is something deeply wrong here, and Erik can’t quite figure out what it is—but he knows he’s seen that look somewhere, that reaction, that expectation to be hurt because something’s been done that shouldn’t have.

“I—I think I will go lie down for a while,” Charles says quickly. He turns and almost literally flees the room, leaving behind a very confused, increasingly angry Erik.

Erik leaves the study and hunts down William, who is normally to be found near Charles but is today conspicuously gone. He finds him in the hall, speaking with the goundkeeper in hush tones about the lawn, or something.

“Whose room is it?” he demands harshly, grabbing the older man by the arm and dragging him away.

“Sir, I do beg you contain your—“

“Whose room is it?” Erik asks again, shoving the butler into a room and slamming the door behind himself so they are trapped together, the both of them and Erik’s temper, almost a third entity.

William looks haughty in the way only an English butler could ever accomplish. “You ought to ask Master Charles, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“He won’t tell me. I want answers, William, and I want them now. Do not cross me. Whose room is that? Why is it locked? Why’s Charles so afraid of it?”

The butler seems to hesitate, torn between the need to remain loyal to Charles’ wishes and the recognition that Erik is someone that can be trusted, and that he will help Charles.

“He thought I was going to hit him,” Erik hisses. “Tell me!”

William sighs, shakes his head. His shoulders seem to slump, his arrogance fade away.

“It used to belong to Master Charles’ stepfather, Kurt. I don’t know the details, and I would not dare ask Master Charles, so I don’t know for how long it went on without my awareness. But one night when Master Charles was fourteen, Raven came knocking on my door, frenetic, and insisted I go check on Master Charles. When I found him, the poor boy was quite badly off. I had to take him to a hospital. I never knew what happened that night, but of course I pressed charges against the man, and Mistress Rose divorced immediately. I have no inkling on how much damage Kurt did that I was too careless to see, but as soon as Kurt left Master Charles locked the room and lost the key.”

Erik is torn between blinding rage and overwhelming grief, although to be honest the rage is eating up terrain fast.

“What about his mother? How could she not notice?”

William gives him a jaded look.

“If I failed to notice, Mr. Lehnsherr, you can hardly be surprised she did as well. I spent rather a lot more time with the boy than she ever did. Master Charles was always quiet and withdrawn, and his mother rarely noticed him.”

Erik throws him a wordless look, opens the door and storms out of the room and up the stairs, fueled by a flame of wrath so great he fears it might escape him and set fire to the house.  In less than five minutes he’s back in Charles’ study, across the room and at the door to the bedroom. He grabs the doorknob and pushes and—

It’s locked.

Charles has never locked his bedroom, not once, not ever, since they have known each other. Erik feels the urge to rip the door from its hinges, invade the room and make Charles face him, and oh, it would be so easy.

Except Charles, as it turns out, is an abused child. And there’s one thing Erik knows about abused children, and it’s you can’t force yourselves on them and demand an explanation.

So he takes a deep breath, reins in his temper, and makes an effort to calm down.

“Charles,” he says evenly to the door, knowing he’ll be heard. “I’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk. Just…” he hesitates, unsure of what to say. Know that I’d never hurt you? I’ll never let anyone lay a hand on you again? You’re safe so long as I’m alive? It’s not your fault—you didn’t deserve that—you were the victim?

He settles for a quiet “Good night, Charles.”