| It�s the not the scene he
expects to greet him when he exits the
stricken sub. He has Shaw�s body held out in front
of him like a
crucifix and has a speech prepared, one Charles should
appreciate. But Charles isn�t on the beach, he�s
lying in the
wreckage of the jet, can be seen through the ugly tear in
the
fuselage. Erik drops Shaw like trash to the sand and crosses to the plane, on his knees before he�s close enough. �Charles?� Moira�s hovering close by, staring at him, knives in her eyes and he understands what has happened without her needing to say a word. Still, she says, �He held on, refused to let go of him, even when you killed him.� A sound like a wounded animal is torn from him as he reaches for his unconscious friend, sliding one hand under the dark, still head. It�s shaking when it comes away, wet with blood. �Why didn�t you let go?� he yells, wrapping his arms around his friend�s limp body, pulling him up against his own. He swipes at the blood in the centre of Charles� sweaty forehead. �This wasn�t meant for you.� Shocking tears blur his sight, surprising him, slide over his face, splashing against Charles� open mouth. �Please, Charles. Please.� Leaning forward he touches his forehead to the other man�s. �Don�t leave me.� He feels something. Movement. A thumb against his arm and looks around. Charles� hand is moving, as if his fingers are trying to climb his arm. It�s a spare thought, an afterthought, but suddenly he knows what Charles is trying to do, and he does it himself, reaching up to knock the tight-fitting helmet up and off his head. He feels the rush of emotion and pain pour into his mind instantly. He gathers Charles closer, opening himself to it, letting himself be smothered in a way more intimate than anything he�s ever known. He tries to send back apology and sorrow and relief and peace in return, unsure if Charles is hearing him, and they sit, locked together, until the military launch their attack. With difficulty, he carefully lays Charles back against the metal floor and steps on to the beach. He stops every weapon, every rocket, every arm, turning them around, firing them back. They are proving his point in dramatic style and he can�t help feeling a surge of triumph. Please, don�t. Charles� voice in his mind, not pushing him, just asking, and he hesitates. If he gives in now it will be admitting defeat, in more ways than one. Erik, please. With a sigh he lets them all go. They stop or drop, explode harmlessly in the air or in the water. He doesn�t see the fireworks. He turns to look at the man playing the role of his his conscience leaning hard against the wreckage of the jet. There is blood smeared across his forehead, over his face, in his hair. He�s flushed, sweating with the effort of movement, and there are tears in his eyes but he�s smiling; proud, grateful. Thank you. �Do I need to say �I told you so�?� His smile fades. �No,� and Erik understands that he�s not crying out of his own physical pain but for the destruction of his dreams, for the pain that is to come. Then he blinks, and in a second he becomes stronger, sharper. The disappointment and hurt is gone from his eyes, the compassion is gone from his face and as much as Erik welcomes it, he knows he�ll mourn the sympathetic part of Charles that has died today. �We�ll never see eye to eye.� There�s more than a hint of warning in Charles� voice and Erik acknowledges it. �But I see we�re stronger together.� Definitely. Charles starts to slide, legs slowly giving out, and Erik goes to him, gets an arm around his waist to hold him up. �You were supposed to let go,� he says quietly, talking about Shaw as Charles leans on him heavily. �He would have hurt you,� he explains as if an explanation is necessary. �You knew what I was going to do. Still, you stayed.� �What else could I have done?� It�s too much; this unconditional devotion, the emotion pouring into his head. But when the deluge is thankfully dialled back it leaves a void he�s only just realised is there, a void he knows now that nothing but Charles will ever fill. �I want you by my side,� he murmurs, and Charles nods. �That�s where I want to be.� It�s decided then. �Now, my friend, it�s time to leave.� Azazel turns out to be an unlikely and useful ally, if only as a cheap form of transportation. |