A/N Overwhelmingly aware that I am an awful person for updating so sporadically and irregularly. In truth, I'm just not feeling very inspired with this fic right now, so it may be a while before I update again. That said, it's just as likely I may update in a week, given how unpredictably the river of my creative juices flows. Well, here is what is likely the last chapter I'll be publishing this year. I hope you enjoy it, and please, do review, it truly does help kick the cogs of my imagination into gear.

Zephyr.

Part Nine

First Date

Busy days passed swiftly with so much to occupy themselves with. Erik's class remained a popular one and the rest of the faculty congratulated him on his success with the students, who had, behind his back, taken to calling him Professor Shark due to the wicked, toothy grin he'd flash at any student who had annoyed, angered or interrupted him, right before he'd come out with a criticism, insult or remark that would leave said student either humiliated or awfully uncomfortable.

Though Erik had started his time at Oxford with the intention of being the model professor, old habits slipped through and as he got to know his students, he relaxed the professor attitude and started behaving more like himself in lectures, bantering and even joking with the kids – for he did think of them as kids, all but one blue-eyed young man who always took the seat directly in front of the podium – who, despite his cruel streak that evidenced itself when he purposefully embarrassed them, really liked the German.

Every student in the room found physics interesting yet some had previously forced themselves through with their studies due to tedious teachers with poor imaginations. Erik made physics fun. He captivated the class with his in-depth but simplified to be widely understood explanations, his animated way of talking when he found a subject particularly interesting, his sheer passion for the subject.

He spent his days teaching and most of his free time with Charles. Even when they both intended to spend some time away from one another so as not to appear too clingy (both feared it, neither thought it of the other) they couldn't avoid one another when they lived in such close quarters. Charles would be in the kitchen making tea when Erik would come in to make coffee, thus ensuing a long debate about which was better that neither man ever won. Erik would be returning from a lecture at the same time Charles was leaving to go meet friends, and both would end up late for whatever they were doing when merely setting eyes on one another gave way to passionate making-out in the hallway.

For all his thirty years, Erik had never been quite as captivated by any individual as he was by Charles.

He had been in relationships, some short, some long, but never had they been with a man as remarkable as Charles. Charles, beautiful, innocent looking but dirty-minded Charles; chess playing, frumpy jumper wearing, tea drinking, early morning running Charles.

They took turns sleeping in each other's beds. Since his first night at Oxford Erik had not slept alone. He had intended to sleep in his own room by himself to avoid any temptation, but with Charles across the hall from him in proved impossible as his mind kept wandering back to him and refusing to allow him to sleep until there was a knock at his door. Without getting out of bed he had unlocked it to allow Charles in, hair ruffled adorably and wearing button-down pyjama's, to crawl into his bed and promise to behave himself, claiming insomnia. Neither would admit that their insomnia was due to being apart from the other.

They settled into an easy routine. They didn't always have time to eat breakfast or lunch together, but most evenings they had dinner together, with Erik either cooking or one of them choosing a restaurant. It was easiest for Charles to choose given that he knew Oxford better than Erik, but more often than not Erik refused to let him pay or even go Dutch, even though Charles had the wealth of his family in his pocket, Erik evidently was accustomed to taking the 'man' role in his relationships. It concerned Charles that he was quite clearly the one left wearing the skirt, but if anything, and he admitted this to Angel and Raven over drinks, he quite enjoyed being spoiled rotten by his German.

They didn't refer to one another as their 'boyfriend' yet. They were not even technically in a relationship: they were dating.

It was unlike any prior experience of dating Charles had ever had, to his knowledge, most people when dating did not spend every night in each others arms, did not bicker over what was for dinner, did not have the familiar patterns and habits of the other committed to memory due to spending copious amounts of time together. Erik argued that they were also friends and conveniently close ones at that, Charles kept it to himself that it was because he was falling in love with Erik like a heroine in one of his old romance novels.

Charles drunkenly admitted to Angel one night that he adored all the small things in his not-relationship with Erik. Like the way they settled into the same position on the sofa every time, either man with a book in hand, Erik idly playing with Charles' hair with his free hand in such a soothing way Charles often fell asleep in front of the fire. Or how he liked to watch Erik shave, knowing that after his morning run Erik would have just gotten out of bed to get ready and they would find themselves in the bathroom together.

He had even bought Erik a shower.

Not a shower, exactly, but a fixture that fastened to the bath faucets and could be attached to the wall, and voila, makeshift shower. Erik had almost teared up at the present.

Charles had more free time than Erik due to their schedules, and when he wasn't studying or writing papers, Charles spent time with his friends who had accused him of being anti-social, nobody but Raven and Angel knowing that he was dating Erik. It wasn't that he didn't trust his friends; only, he didn't know how to tell them and was concerned should the wrong people find out about him and Erik. He knew that it was against Erik's code of conduct to date a student and it could, he had told Charles in a light tone to try and make small of the matter, cause his contract to end and ruin his reputation.

Thus, they were careful when in public. The other teachers thought the fact Erik was more inclined to socialise with students (Charles' friends having become his own, in a way) was peculiar but put it down to his being close enough in age to them, after Hank had pointed out he was the same age as some of the students and found it easier to befriend them than the other teachers who were mostly middle-aged and older. By comparison to some lecturers thirty year old Erik was practically a child.

x.x.x

Their first date had occurred six days after meeting. Unlike the night they had met, the evening was a dry one, warm and clear-skied.

Charles chose the restaurant, a quiet French place that boasted the cities finest wine selection. It was a small establishment with room enough for up to 30 diners and as it was an early Tuesday evening there were only two other couples and a small group of females who eyed both men as they were shown to their seats, quite clearly discussing amongst themselves which man was most eligible. You didn't have to be a telepath to notice certain things.

"This is a very nice place, quiet too." Erik appreciated, sweeping his eyes over the room.

"Well, I know how much you value privacy. You really are rather anti-social, aren't you?"

Erik grinned at Charles. "Nonsense, I just keep a very select company."

Charles smiled warmly before they were interrupted by the waiter offering them menus and reciting the specials. The waiter was a tall, handsome young man with black hair and eyes, eyes that seemed sharp and cunning. After they greeted each other like old friends, Charles spoke to him in precisely accented, flawless French. Apparently, he was funny in any language, as the waiter broke into wide smiles and laughter, slapping Charles on the back and responding with a funny of his own to make Charles chuckle humorously. Once the waiter left, Erik eyed Charles curiously.

"Do you know him?" He asked with as casual an air as he could muster, nibbling at a breadstick.

"Well, sort of. Yes." Charles' blush was visible even by the weak candle light.

"Sort of yes?" Erik asked less casually.

"We dated a little. But it was ages ago." Charles waved his hand as if by doing so he could disperse all conversation on the matter of Charles and the attractive Frenchman like it was some bad odour.

"Oh. I see." Erik said quietly, taking an instant disliking to the waiter, and, therefore, the restaurant. Ever empathic Charles noticed Erik's sudden turn in attitude and reached across the table for his hand, uncaring of the loud whispers from the table of women that ensued upon them seeing the intimate action.

"It was months ago and it was awful. He was ashamed of me because he was ashamed of himself. Philip is very much a closet gay." He said reassuringly, rubbing a thumb over Erik's tense hand, which relaxed a little. "You're rather…insecure, aren't you?"

"Insecure? Me? No. What makes you think that?" Erik tried, and failed, to cover his embarrassment with self-deprecating humour, receiving a single arched brow from Charles in response. "So, are we having wine?"

"Of course. I was thinking this one," he tapped a finger against a long French sentence that doubled as a wine name on the wines list, "it is by far the best red they have."

Talk of former flames and insecurities shelved, they ordered wine and food, Erik glaring daggers at Philip as he took their orders, and spent the rest of the evening trying forkfuls of one another's dishes and drinking their way through two bottles of wine until they were both undeniably a little drunk. Drunk enough to quite forget that they were not alone in the restaurant and that their fellow diners likely had never seen a gay couple out in the open. For all the revolution of the sixties, people were still horrifically narrow-minded in regards to sexuality.

If you were fucking your way around Woodstock and spreading all manner of nasty STDs it was all well and good: that was free love. But if you were otherwise involved with a member of the same sex, well, God Save the Queen and all her righteous citizens.

In his inebriated state, Charles did not control the mental link he maintained with Erik's mind as tightly as he should. He allowed his hold over it to loosen somewhat, and by doing so, Erik's surface emotions trickled into the corners of Charles' conscience, from his overpowering hatred for Philip (Charles made a note to self: Erik is insecure and possessive) to his satisfaction at the food, his annoyance at a shred of something caught in his back molars (another note to self: buy dental floss) to one final, overwhelming feeling that Charles could barely bring himself to acknowledge.

It was faint, barely-there, as if it were a fledgling emotion finding its wings to soar to its full potential. Charles sensed that it was being restrained for some reason, and while Erik was occupied with discussing his better students, Charles silently apologised for breaking his promise and let just a tiny fragment of his own conscience inside of Erik's mind, a tendril of himself small enough to go undetected by someone without full awareness, whose mind was dulled by alcohol.

He found what he was looking for easily. Around the fledgling feeling was wrapped another, one stronger, more demanding, keeping it back, keeping it from spreading its wings.

The constricting chains bound securely around Erik's ability to give himself fully to Charles, to accept love and give love in return, was a deep-rooted sense of self-loathing.

The fledgling emotion was his love for Charles, and that alone had Charles' eyes tearing up so much so that he had to fake a coughing fit to cover them up, but the fact that it was being refused its natural ability to grow and be experienced at full capacity, that had him truly wanting to cry. Erik was denying himself love because he had long ago, it seemed, deemed himself unworthy of it, from himself and from others.

Charles excused himself to the bathroom and locked himself inside, clutching at the porcelain basin to steady himself, body broken, head hanging low as tears he could no longer restrain dripped steadily into the sink, clinging to his lashes like droplets of springtime dew and sliding down his cheeks. A sob shuddered through him, his own feelings of sadness at what he had found mingled with the resounding echo of Erik's own bitter self-hatred, his unbearably low self worth, made for a potent potion of negative emotions.

He knew precious little about Erik's past: he refused to talk about it except for the odd comment relating to his mama or a snippet about his life in Germany, and even that was impersonal and only his recent history.

What he did know was that Erik lost everyone and everything in the war, and what he didn't have to be told was that war changes a person, and it had quite clearly done immense damage to Erik's self esteem. It had, quite literally, forced him to form a barrier around his heart.

Charles didn't know what to do.

Clearly, Erik was capable of love – he was not a sociopath, which was a relief. But he was refusing himself both acceptance of Charles' feelings for him and his own feelings for Charles, feelings that were far greater than Charles had suspected. Sure, they liked each other an awful lot, but what he had felt inside Erik's mind was the beginning formation of absolute love.

That made Charles smile. Erik could love him, given time, but first he would have to learn to accept that he deserved love.

Charles resolved to do everything he could to help Erik overcome whatever it was that was forcing him to shackle down natures most beautiful gift to man. He resolved to learn everything about Erik, to make him trust him enough to talk openly about his past so that he could find out why he had such fierce determination to refuse himself love. And, with that knowledge, he would break the shackles from his heart.

Charles was nothing if not determined, stubborn and clever. He would do it, and he would do it without violating his promise again.

He splashed cold water on his face and dried it off, hoping the weak light would disguise the fact he had been crying – crying, God, how sexy was that on a first date?

x.x.x

Following dinner, they walked arm in arm through the streets back to the University, slightly more sober than they had been due to the exercise and fresh air.

"How does England compare with Germany, then?" Charles asked, venturing cautiously into the conversation he wanted to have with Erik.

"It is different, but only slightly. The buildings have a different look about them, but everything is all very much the same. Shops, parks, bars, fashion…everything is the same, and yet everything is different."

"So, say those two people over there were conversing in German, would you be able to tell the difference between them and an Englishman?"

"I should think so. Have you heard the English speaking German? I can barely comprehend a word of it." Erik said jokingly. "But what you are asking is if people differ from one country to the next. You could answer that yourself, as an American on foreign soil. You know the answer."

"I suppose I do. I have to say, the British differ vastly from Americans. But it is as you said: everything is the same and yet everything is different."

"Do you think we are the same, whatever country we hail from?" Erik asked, and Charles knew that his hopes of talking about Erik's past could well be dashed for the evening. He knew full well that once Erik started on about 'their kind' he wouldn't stop.

"I think we are a people like any other. Like humans, we, whatever we are, are influenced by the society we grow up in, and society differs from country to country."

"Are you still caught up on if we are a new species or not?"

Sighing, Charles shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands emphatically. "We can't determine the truth of it without understanding our origins first. Who knows who the first being with a mutation was, when they were born, if they still live or how old they are? We are of an age, part of the same generation, and all others like us I have met have been close in age to me or younger. I should like to meet an older mutant and see what I could learn from them. I should also like to discover a secret book full of explanations to every question I have ever asked myself in regards to 'our kind' as you call us, but it is not going to happen."

"What of our DNA? Surely is it different to humans?"

"Yes, it is. I tested mine and Raven's against human samples and there is no arguing that we differ vastly from humans, and from each other. It seems to me that each person's mutation is unique and if I were to test every mutated person's DNA against each other, there would not be a single match, so how can we be a whole, new species when we do not share the same blood? If anything, each and every mutant would be a species unto himself."

"But we are not human."

"No, Erik, as far as our genetics are concerned we are not."

"You don't like it, do you?" Erik stopped walked and cocked his head at Charles. "I can see it all over your face. You hate knowing that you aren't human, and every time I bring it up, you get all…wound up." He gesticulated with nonsensical hand motions.

"I do not hate anything." Charles refuted.

"Every time the subject of our humanity is – "

"Being human has nothing to do with our humanity. We are as human as any other man walking these streets but for the talents we have."

"And for the fact we are not human at all."

"Damn it, Erik! Why are you so hell-bent on distancing yourself as far as possible from any and all humans? You talk of them with disdain, as if they are insects to you! We may be different, Erik, we may not even share the same genetics as them, but we are human no matter what I see when I look into a microscope. We are human because we still possess our humanity, because we live, laugh, love, hate, get sad and angry and jealous, that is why we are human!" By the end of his impassioned rant, Charles was shouting loudly. Erik stared at him in shock.

"You know we aren't human. You know that our very genetic makeup is inhuman, and yet you are so desperate to be human that you deny everything you know in favour of…of what? What is it that you are so scared of, Charles? Being different?"

"I am not scared of anything, least of all being different. I have been different my whole life and it has never frightened me. What I'm afraid of is your incessant obsession with proving that you are not human, an obsession that clearly stems from your hatred of humans, but where that stems from, I can't say, because you refuse to talk to me."

"We met less than a week ago, Charles. You can't expect me to tell you every single thing about me in so short a space of time." Erik wondered how and when their date had turned into a heated argument. They stood facing each other on an empty road, the small space that separated them seeming like an endless precipice. From walking arm in arm only minute before to shouting at each other in public, Erik once again wondered how he always managed to do such things.

Charles, however, felt the astounding force of his own stupidity slap him in the face.

Six days. He had known Erik for six days and already they were arguing. Six days was not time enough to know a man, especially one as complicated as Erik, and six days was arguably not even long enough to gain someone's trust, the first inevitable step to discovering what made that person tick.

He had rushed in headfirst with no consideration, his excitement at finding the beginning foundations of love in Erik's mind fuelling him to push him harder.

Evidently, he had pushed too hard.

"Please forgive me, my friend, I was out of line. Of course I don't expect you to tell me everything, of course it is too soon. I fear I got carried away in my enthusiasm." Charles apologised humbly, eyes averted, head down, shuffling awkwardly.

A soft touch to his chin made him look up and into Erik's smiling grey-green eyes. Though his lips were decidedly unsmiling, his eyes were alive, bright and beautiful.

"Let's just put this behind us, shall we? This is our first date, and I really rather hoped it would have a more pleasant end than this." Erik said, placing a chaste kiss to Charles' lips.

That brief press of lips spoke volumes, communicating to Charles all that Erik could not say. They were outside, in public, even if there wasn't a single person in sight of them, and yet Erik had displayed his affection to Charles boldly in the open.

Perhaps there was hope for them yet.