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cerulean_sky
Recipient:quaint_camera
Title: It's Just Darkness I'm Living In
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Intended to be Erik/Charles, but that ended up not being the main focus.
Rating: PG-13
Warning Talk of domestic abuse.
Summary: "What do you know about me?" Erik asked. And Charles replied, "Everything."
Disclaimer: Someone else thought of it first. Thus: don't own it, not making money. Damn.
Author's Notes: This was written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
erik_charles Summer Fic Exchange and was originally posted there. It was beta'd super last minute by the incomparable chezvous who made a single comment that changed the tone of an entire scene. Without her this would be less. Title is from the song "You're the Only Place" by Josh Groban.
Prompt: Charles glimpsed one memory from Erik's mind while he was trying to turn the satellite, and now his curiosity is piqued. He wants to see more, to know more, so he finds the right time to ask Erik if he will open his mind to him. What will he see? Pick one memory please, one that wasn't shown in the movie. Make it up. It can be sweet or sad, whatever you like, but make it beautiful, and show both of their reactions, please. Bonus points if one of them needs comforting afterwards. :)
It's Just Darkness I'm Living In
"What do you know about me?" Erik asked. And Charles replied, "Everything."
Actually, 'everything' was a bit of an overstatement. It was true that Charles had seen everything that Erik had been through at Shaw's hands, had felt every bit of his pain, and had watched through Erik's own memories as he became a self-proclaimed monster. Erik had been projecting these memories and grievances to anyone with the skills to listen. He had heard the shot through Erik’s memories and had watched through Erik’s eyes as his mother crumpled to the ground. At the moment when Charles had thrown himself into the water after the man, and as the only telepath listening for it, that had been him.
'Everything' at that moment, had been everything that Erik had at the front of his mind, had been the memories that Emma had pulled from his mind and made him relive for a moment like reopening old wounds. They were the memories of Erik's formative years, and in a way that was very real to the man, they were everything that made him who he was. In that way, Charles had not been wrong when he replied, 'everything'.
But at that very moment, it entirely escaped Charles' notice that Erik's father was not at all in those memories.
---
Charles knew that before the war, Erik had made some happy memories. They were there, buried beneath the rage that consumed the man and drove him onwards towards his revenge. But they were buried, and when Charles asked, ”May I...?” and Erik let him back into his head without knowing what he was going to do so that the telepath could find them again.
The memory he chose was one that Erik had clung to through the beginning of the camps, before he had been separated from his parents, before Shaw had gotten his claws into him. It was a memory he had forgotten he even had, that he had convinced himself he wasn’t worthy to have anymore anyway.
But it was not the only memory that Charles found that the man had forgotten.
---
Chess had become a tradition to them, or perhaps a ritual. While they played out countless metaphorical battles on the board, the two of them talked about politics, about religion, about economics, about the children they were training to lead into war and, occasionally, about the weather. Rarely did either of them broach the subject of their pasts.
Charles wasn’t sure that he realized just how much the two of them had in common until this afternoon.
Setting his drink aside, Charles watched as Erik studied the chessboard and contemplated his next move. The telepath didn’t bother to peek into other man’s mind--he genuinely enjoyed the challenge Erik posed him in their games; cheating would make it boring. But that wasn’t what was on his mind at the moment.
“Erik,” he said slowly, waiting until the other man looked up at him, his full attention settling on Charles with the weight of his blue eyes. “Your father...?” He made it a question, partly to see if Erik would answer it, mostly unspoken though it was, and partly because he wanted the other man to know that even though he already knew, he wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t ask for anything Erik wasn’t ready and willing to give. Not here.
No one who wasn’t watching for it would have caught the way Erik’s gaze went from open to entirely closed almost instantly. Charles caught it because not only was he watching for it, but he was expecting it. He knew Erik almost better than the man knew himself, and if it was cliche to say that, it was probably true--Charles had seen all the memories that Erik himself had forgotten.
Though, with that simple question, Charles could almost see the unpleasant memories replaying themselves in Erik’s mind.
“What about him?” Erik reached forward and moved his bishop to threaten one of Charles’ knights, and Charles thought there was probably a metaphor in there somewhere if only he cared to look. On the side table next to him, the lamp on its metal base suddenly teetered.
Countering the move easily and swiftly, Charles pinned Erik with a look, eyebrow lifted not in question but to express just how unimpressed he was. Their trust had always gone both ways, and Charles didn’t believe for a moment that Erik would do anything to betray that now.
Erik sighed, leaning back in his chair and abandoning the game for a moment. “There are laws in the Torah,” he said after a moment, voice more matter-of-fact than anything else, and Charles wondered vaguely if that was a coping mechanism. “Laws concerning men who beat their wives.” When he didn’t find sympathy or pity in Charles’ expression, he continued. “Not that it mattered much, then.”
“Not then, no,” Charles said softly. And whether it was because of something in his face, or his tone of voice, or even a memory that he didn’t even know he was projecting, understanding lit up in Erik’s eyes.
“Your stepfather?” Erik asked, even though even the gentlest touch of his mind told Charles that he already knew the answer.
The telepath nodded, more comfortable talking about it now than he had ever been. Children of abusive families, Charles thought somewhat sardonically. Was it any wonder that they had found kinship with each other? “He married my mother for her money. He was not exactly pleased to discover that I was to inherit, not him or his own son.” He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “It was before I realized the extent of what I could do,” he said, suddenly feeling the need to explain how he had let it happen.
“But you got away,” Erik said, and Charles wondered if he meant it to sound quite as much like an accusation as it did.
“So did you and your mother,” Charles countered, and Erik frowned slightly, visibly bristling at his implication. “In a fashion,” Charles amended.
---
In the end, that was all it took to get Erik to open up, to talk about his childhood, to relive every happy or sad or unpleasant or angry moment of his life before the war. Charles thought that Erik might still have become the man he was today without Shaw, that his father might have taken the place of the doctor in his mind and in his quest for revenge. He didn’t share this thought with Erik, but there wasn’t much else he didn’t share that night, giving Erik as much of his own childhood as the man had shared with him.
And in this, unlike so many other areas, he and Erik were in perfect agreement.
cerulean_skyRecipient:
quaint_cameraTitle: It's Just Darkness I'm Living In
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Intended to be Erik/Charles, but that ended up not being the main focus.
Rating: PG-13
Warning Talk of domestic abuse.
Summary: "What do you know about me?" Erik asked. And Charles replied, "Everything."
Disclaimer: Someone else thought of it first. Thus: don't own it, not making money. Damn.
Author's Notes: This was written for the
erik_charles Summer Fic Exchange and was originally posted there. It was beta'd super last minute by the incomparable chezvous who made a single comment that changed the tone of an entire scene. Without her this would be less. Title is from the song "You're the Only Place" by Josh Groban.Prompt: Charles glimpsed one memory from Erik's mind while he was trying to turn the satellite, and now his curiosity is piqued. He wants to see more, to know more, so he finds the right time to ask Erik if he will open his mind to him. What will he see? Pick one memory please, one that wasn't shown in the movie. Make it up. It can be sweet or sad, whatever you like, but make it beautiful, and show both of their reactions, please. Bonus points if one of them needs comforting afterwards. :)
"What do you know about me?" Erik asked. And Charles replied, "Everything."
Actually, 'everything' was a bit of an overstatement. It was true that Charles had seen everything that Erik had been through at Shaw's hands, had felt every bit of his pain, and had watched through Erik's own memories as he became a self-proclaimed monster. Erik had been projecting these memories and grievances to anyone with the skills to listen. He had heard the shot through Erik’s memories and had watched through Erik’s eyes as his mother crumpled to the ground. At the moment when Charles had thrown himself into the water after the man, and as the only telepath listening for it, that had been him.
'Everything' at that moment, had been everything that Erik had at the front of his mind, had been the memories that Emma had pulled from his mind and made him relive for a moment like reopening old wounds. They were the memories of Erik's formative years, and in a way that was very real to the man, they were everything that made him who he was. In that way, Charles had not been wrong when he replied, 'everything'.
But at that very moment, it entirely escaped Charles' notice that Erik's father was not at all in those memories.
Charles knew that before the war, Erik had made some happy memories. They were there, buried beneath the rage that consumed the man and drove him onwards towards his revenge. But they were buried, and when Charles asked, ”May I...?” and Erik let him back into his head without knowing what he was going to do so that the telepath could find them again.
The memory he chose was one that Erik had clung to through the beginning of the camps, before he had been separated from his parents, before Shaw had gotten his claws into him. It was a memory he had forgotten he even had, that he had convinced himself he wasn’t worthy to have anymore anyway.
But it was not the only memory that Charles found that the man had forgotten.
Chess had become a tradition to them, or perhaps a ritual. While they played out countless metaphorical battles on the board, the two of them talked about politics, about religion, about economics, about the children they were training to lead into war and, occasionally, about the weather. Rarely did either of them broach the subject of their pasts.
Charles wasn’t sure that he realized just how much the two of them had in common until this afternoon.
Setting his drink aside, Charles watched as Erik studied the chessboard and contemplated his next move. The telepath didn’t bother to peek into other man’s mind--he genuinely enjoyed the challenge Erik posed him in their games; cheating would make it boring. But that wasn’t what was on his mind at the moment.
“Erik,” he said slowly, waiting until the other man looked up at him, his full attention settling on Charles with the weight of his blue eyes. “Your father...?” He made it a question, partly to see if Erik would answer it, mostly unspoken though it was, and partly because he wanted the other man to know that even though he already knew, he wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t ask for anything Erik wasn’t ready and willing to give. Not here.
No one who wasn’t watching for it would have caught the way Erik’s gaze went from open to entirely closed almost instantly. Charles caught it because not only was he watching for it, but he was expecting it. He knew Erik almost better than the man knew himself, and if it was cliche to say that, it was probably true--Charles had seen all the memories that Erik himself had forgotten.
Though, with that simple question, Charles could almost see the unpleasant memories replaying themselves in Erik’s mind.
“What about him?” Erik reached forward and moved his bishop to threaten one of Charles’ knights, and Charles thought there was probably a metaphor in there somewhere if only he cared to look. On the side table next to him, the lamp on its metal base suddenly teetered.
Countering the move easily and swiftly, Charles pinned Erik with a look, eyebrow lifted not in question but to express just how unimpressed he was. Their trust had always gone both ways, and Charles didn’t believe for a moment that Erik would do anything to betray that now.
Erik sighed, leaning back in his chair and abandoning the game for a moment. “There are laws in the Torah,” he said after a moment, voice more matter-of-fact than anything else, and Charles wondered vaguely if that was a coping mechanism. “Laws concerning men who beat their wives.” When he didn’t find sympathy or pity in Charles’ expression, he continued. “Not that it mattered much, then.”
“Not then, no,” Charles said softly. And whether it was because of something in his face, or his tone of voice, or even a memory that he didn’t even know he was projecting, understanding lit up in Erik’s eyes.
“Your stepfather?” Erik asked, even though even the gentlest touch of his mind told Charles that he already knew the answer.
The telepath nodded, more comfortable talking about it now than he had ever been. Children of abusive families, Charles thought somewhat sardonically. Was it any wonder that they had found kinship with each other? “He married my mother for her money. He was not exactly pleased to discover that I was to inherit, not him or his own son.” He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “It was before I realized the extent of what I could do,” he said, suddenly feeling the need to explain how he had let it happen.
“But you got away,” Erik said, and Charles wondered if he meant it to sound quite as much like an accusation as it did.
“So did you and your mother,” Charles countered, and Erik frowned slightly, visibly bristling at his implication. “In a fashion,” Charles amended.
In the end, that was all it took to get Erik to open up, to talk about his childhood, to relive every happy or sad or unpleasant or angry moment of his life before the war. Charles thought that Erik might still have become the man he was today without Shaw, that his father might have taken the place of the doctor in his mind and in his quest for revenge. He didn’t share this thought with Erik, but there wasn’t much else he didn’t share that night, giving Erik as much of his own childhood as the man had shared with him.
And in this, unlike so many other areas, he and Erik were in perfect agreement.