Come Home (Cherik fanfiction)

Chapter Twelve

Erik

He didn't know if he was more surprised that Charles was actually speaking to him before he started drinking, or if it wasn't about the fact that he hated Erik.

"So the boys . . ." Charles started as Erik took his seat next to the bed, pulling it closer for no particular reason and pouring their glasses full of the tan liquid. "Since you believe that there is such a threat, are they safe?"

Erik kept his eyes on his glass as he handed the full one to Charles. "Already taken care of. When Emma put them to sleep, I had her leave co-ordinates to separate houses that we have. I'm sure Havoc took it to heart and made them scatter."

Charles didn't seem convinced. "There have been flaws, I've noticed, about these 'safe' houses that you have. They seem to have a nasty habit of getting broken into. Are you sure they're safe?"

"Charles," Erik said, trying to not get annoyed. Charles was simply looking out for his boys; the natural mother hen. "The boys are fine. They're safe. I can have Azazel look up on them once a week if you need. They were once my responsibility too, you know. I cared for them just as you did."

Well, he tried anyways.

Still, though, Charles was unrelenting. "And you just expect me to take your word for it?"

Erik scoffed. "You don't really have much of a choice, now, do you? You'll just have to trust me."

Please trust me. He shouted in his head, knowing Charles couldn't hear. If Emma couldn't hear him in this room at all when she was perfectly coherent and alert, than Charles wouldn't when he was recovering form a supposedly long stay in Cerebro and clouded by anger or resentment.

He really just wanted to shake Charles and force his trust out of him. Charles's trust was like his mind: something he didn't know he wanted before he didn't have it anymore. The lack of it made him feel empty and more like a shell than a human being.

But to his surprise, Charles just pursed his lips and took a drink instead of arguing more. Maybe he didn't want to have this conversation as much as Erik didn't want to. "It seems that you have quite the expanse of safe-houses. Just exactly how rich was Shaw, anyways?"

Erik let out a quiet breath, relief washing over him in tidal waves.

Deflection. A new trait from the new Charles. Erik didn't care. Having Charles's trust made up for a lot, even if it wasn't trust he was giving willingly.

Erik shrugged and took his own sip. "Well, you remember how well off I was when I joined you?" Charles nodded. "That was all Nazi blood money. I stole it from Shaw when I ran away. All that gold and all that cash was only what I could carry in my arms at the time. He was very paranoid and very careful, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Why did you move around so much right at first?" Charles asked, setting his glass on the bedside table.

The top of the table was granite and all of the drawers were cherry wood. Not metal. Nothing that he can have at his will. Nothing he can use.

This really gets under his skin so much, that he struggles to get every word out.

The table was Raven's doing, probably with some influence from Emma. And if he knew Raven -- which he did -- than it was probably done on purpose.

He would expect another Charles-deserves-at-least-a-little-bit-of-his-freedom speech from her in their next altercation.

He would survive.