Come Home (Cherik fanfiction)

Chapter Eight

Erik

It all happened so fast, Erik forgot how to breathe for a minute.

One second, Charles and he were having a conversion. A shit one, at that, but still: a structured, soft conversation. And then the next second, Charles was collapsed on the bed.

He sighed. "Emma, I thought we agreed that you would only intervene when I said so?"

But really, he knew this was the only way.

Charles would not go willingly, and would probably send Emma or Azazel into madness before they left. Something dramatic enough and, still, like Charles, only temporary.

And then, Charles's body was jerked upward by Emma's connection. If Erik looked close enough at the piercing gaze that Charles's eyes were flashing Erik, he could see Emma's icy glare staring back at him.

"Sorry darling, but I'm afraid we're going to have to cut this short. Your professor is weak enough now to where we can take him, and he won't put too a big a dent into the group."

Hearing all of that come out of Charles's mouth put a bad taste in Erik's. It threw him a little, to be honest. He could hear the edge of Emma's voice creeping into Charles's accent, and the empathetic shyness he usually spoke with was iced over by Frost's cynicalness.

Still, the thing he loved (and hated) most about Charles's voice, was the soft entity it had, like he was father to the whole world and just wanted to make everything better.

And now it just sounded wrong.

"Well, we were almost done here." But 'she' gave him a look of, 'Don't even lie to me', so he changed directions. "Has Azazel got some of Charles's things that I asked for?"

Charles/Emma nodded. "And frankly, he's exhausted. We all are. Keeping those boys disillusioned downstairs is becoming harder at this distance, your professor -- weak as he is -- is fighting like a soldier, and trying to throw calm at Mystique isn't working like I thought it would."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you just come here, then? Since you're breaking all the rules anyway." It was supposed to come out as bitter, but Erik sounded, even in his own mind, mildly concerned.

Charles/Emma blinked and squinted. "You think Mystique won't come traipsing through the house, demanding to see her brother released and free to frolic on with his peace and books as he once was?"

Erik got up, seeing her point and deciding that, maybe, it was better if everything else was settled once they were at the safe-house.

He flicked his wrist, and all in one motion, the light above their head flicked on, the remainder of the lamp was unplugged and thrown away, and Charles's wheelchair was slowly wheeling itself over to their side of the room.

"Why don't you just leave her in the hiding spot?" He asked in passing, knowing Emma hadn't left Charles's body yet.

He met the wheelchair halfway, not knowing why we was even bothering with the thing. There was already a wheelchair (one, to Erik's preference, that was made of all metal) waiting for them at the safe-house. He could have just as easily held Charles the whole way.

However, he huffed a quick breath and swiftly picked up Charles's body. He used his own hands this time, just to get the feel of Charles's back into his mind again. It was wholly worth it, because it seemed like Erik's entire being sung for him.

Erik wasn't the type of person to touch or to be touched. But the feel of Charles's body (which seemed considerably smaller compared to the last time Erik saw him) pressed up against his own, something hot and sharp shot through him.