Call Me

"Now, now, Erik…*"

Schmidt brushed a few locks of the young man's dark hair from his eyes before he slowly sauntered over to one of the adjacent countertops, a sadistic smile plastered on his face. Erik wrestled against the straps around his wrists and ankles, groaning in defeat when the bonds did not give. He knew when he failed to save his mother, he was bound to Schmidt, unless he wanted to suffer the same fate.

But now, truth be told, Erik knew he'd be better off dead.

"It would be wise to stop struggling. You do remember our agreement, don't you?*" Schmidt motioned over one of the medical technicians, who quickly accepted the metal tray he'd been carrying. The tray had various surgical instruments arranged neatly atop it: scissors, knives, clamps, forceps, hooks, scalpels, and sheers. Erik's eyes visibly widened, seeing the devices Schmidt had selected for his first 'experiment'.

Erik shifted on the table, continuing to tug helplessly on the tightly wound straps. Tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks, screaming pleas in his native German tongue, even though they proved to be powerless. Schmidt tsk'ed, shaking his head disapprovingly before he returned to the countertop, riffling through a few trays, only to return to Erik's side with a thick piece of cloth. He fisted a hand in the boy's hair, roughly yanking his head upright, keeping him stilled as another technician tied the cloth tightly around his head, effectively gagging him.

"You're not making this very easy, Erik.*" Schmidt chided, releasing his hold on his hair, turning to the technician, examining the instruments on the tray. Erik clenched his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears that inevitably formed. "Part of the agreement was that you would be cooperative.*"

Erik swallowed heavily, slowly opening his eyes, only to begin wailing once more when Schmidt picked up a scalpel. Obviously, he intended to use it on him, but he did not know exactly what he was going to do. Schmidt inspected the instrument, the light from the fluorescent bulbs above bouncing off the blade. "You are going to be a cooperative boy, aren't you?*"

Erik's hands balled up into tight fists, teeth biting painfully into the gag, his pleas muffled by the offending cloth. Schmidt laughed lightly at the refusal, because ultimately, whether Erik agreed to or not, he would do whatever the hell he wanted. "Good. Now," He stood beside him, bringing the scalpel down, resting the sharp blade against his sternum. "Just relax."

Not even a second later, the scalpel punctured his skin, blood immediately beginning to seep profusely from the new wound…

Another nightmare.

Erik violently jolted at the recollection, chest aching as he shot upright in bed, a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead. His torso heaved as he attempted to catch his breath, eyes closing to hopefully block out the horrifying images. This certainly wasn't the first time, and as time went on, the nightmares got progressively worse.

"Erik? Erik, are you alright?"

Erik jumped slightly at the voice that rang through his head, but then quickly recognized it to be Charles. His brain could not process a coherent thought, nor could his mouth produce words for a response.

Erik shakily pushed the thin sheets off of him, then got up and out of bed, heading to the bathroom adjacent to the bed. Flicking on the light, he immediately went to the sink, mustering enough energy to tip his head up and look in the mirror. His face was flushed, sweat clamming his skin. He swallowed heavily, soft pants slipping past his lips as his panicked demeanor began to lessen.

Erik reached forward, turning the knob on the faucet, cold water pouring from the spicket. He leaned down, cupping his hands under the water, then splashing it onto his face a couple times before drying his soaked face with a towel hanging nearby.

He hated nights like this.

From the time he was very young, Charles Xavier had been plagued with insomnia. Though the struggle to keep his mind calm long enough for him to drift into sleep was less pronounced now than it had been in the earlier years of his life, it was still there - more often than not, he found himself lying awake for hours on end, unable to quiet the myriad of thoughts that constantly pirouetted through his head. His eyes may have itched with exhaustion and his body may have screamed for rest, but he couldn't lay still for more than a matter of minutes before he was driven from his bed and to his personal library, where he found himself spending much of his time. The books that lined the walls provided much needed comfort on those long nights, many of the stories as familiar to him as his own history.

The clock on the mantle struck two, just a pair of quiet chimes that broke the silence of the room for only a matter of moments. His attention was pulled away from the book in his lap very briefly; it was much later than he'd originally thought. While the hours seemed long when he was lying awake in bed, they passed very quickly here - it seemed like only moments ago that he was bidding the others good night in the main atrium of Division X before they all wandered off in their own directions. He'd had very little to worry about since that time; the building remained in the perpetually quiet state of calm that sleep so graciously provided from that point onward.

As his fingers grasped the corner of a page of the novel he was reading, distress broke through the placidity of the building - something was wrong. He was jolted into alertness; the book dropped from his lap and onto the rug beneath his feet. His mind searched for the reason behind the abrupt change, just moments ago things had been fine, as blissfully peaceful as they could have been. Raven was fine, Hank was fine...his mind settled on Erik last of them all, and he realized with a jolt that the tribulation was radiating from him.

"Erik? Erik, are you all right?"

The words never left his mouth, but he knew Erik could hear him - or he hoped he could, at least. If something truly was wrong, then there was no way of telling if Erik was in any fit state to project some sort of coherent thought his way. Anxiety bubbled in the pit of his stomach; though he tried his best to be rational at all times, his mind automatically leaped to all the wrong conclusions on more than one occasion. The calamity emanating from Erik's bedroom was much stronger now; he was sure that even if he weren't a mind reader he would be able to feel it.

When no response came from the other man, he found himself standing without thinking twice and moving quickly toward Erik's bedroom.

"Erik?"

His cautious greeting was again followed by silence. Charles pushed the door to his bedroom open without knocking and stepped inside. It was dark, but even with the lack of light, he could see that Erik was not in his bed - the sheets were rumpled and tangled together, as though Erik had thrown himself out of their embrace in quite a hurry. He heard water running in the bathroom and followed the sound, stepping quietly across the carpet so not to alarm his troubled companion.

"Erik?"

Charles studied the man with wide-eyed apprehension, taking in his shaken appearance. He found himself stepping forward involuntarily, reaching out a hand to grip the brunette's shoulder.

"Erik, what's happened? Are you hurt?" His voice was trembling just as his hands were, even as he continued to search Erik's face for some hint as to what was wrong.

Erik visibly tensed when Charles laid a hand on his shoulder, but he tried his best to appear as normal as possible as he folded up the towel and placed it on the edge of the sink. He swallowed thickly, lips parting to say something. Anything. "I'm fine." He mumbled, voice trembling.

His words contradicted his appearance, and he knew Charles wasn't stupid enough to believe him.

Charles didn't believe him.

Again, he didn't need to be a telepath to see that something was wrong with Erik - though his expression usually gave nothing away, panic was currently written all over his features. Charles didn't miss the way he tensed the moment his hand rested on his shoulder, and he was half-tempted to draw away from him and retreat to the doorway. He stayed where he was, though, and so did his hand.

"You're fine?" The doubt he felt rang through his tone, and he felt his eyebrows raise to match his dubious state of mind. He was still anxious, of course, and concerned for his friend, but he couldn't help but be slightly offended at Erik's assumption that he would simply believe that he was fine. "You're hardly fine, my friend. What's happened?"

Erik stared silently down at the drain, hands gripping the edges of the sink, knuckles almost as white as the porcelain. To tell Charles that he was getting this worked up over a dream would be ridiculous. He wouldn't rule out the possibility of Charles potentially laughing at him for it. He was strong, and wasn't going to let a mere memory cripple him to any point of weakness.

Erik licked his dry lips, then sighed lightly. He lessened his grip on the sink, reducing himself to a more manageable state of mind. "It is nothing that requires your concern." He finally replied back, turning his gaze to meet Charles' own. His own eyes were so piercing that it could have been mistaken for a glare, which was not his intention. Considering everything, Erik absolutely hated when anyone had any amount of pity for him. He didn't need sympathy, not from anyone.

It was times like these when Charles' resolve with the other wavered - though he'd prevented himself from delving too deeply into Erik's mind without his permission, it would have been terribly easy for him to do so now. His irritation at the stubborn way in which his friend continuously side-stepped his questions vanished, replaced instead by a stronger sense of worry; he'd never been very good at detaching himself from other people's problems, no matter how much of a stranger they may have been to him. It may have been blind naivety on his own part, but he didn't view it as the weak sense of vulnerability that Erik seemed to consider such compassion. To him, it was merely second nature.

Charles remained silent as Erik regained his composure, though his wide eyes never left the other. Slowly, the man standing beside him became the Erik he knew again - albeit a bit more shaken than usual - and Charles was able to allow a small amount of relief to fill him. Something was still wrong, this he knew, but at least Erik had regained some semblance of the control he usually mastered.

"Nothing that requires my concern," Charles repeated quietly. His hand fell away from Erik's shoulder and fell limply to his side. He felt a frown tug the corners of his mouth downward and a crease form between his brows. None of his concern. As if anything with Erik was his concern as far as the other man was making the decisions; had he been given his way, Charles would more than likely know even less about him than he already did. But there was something about Erik that drew Charles to him, more so than the usual plucking at his heart strings that occurred when he met people like him. He knew that Erik didn't want his pity though there was plenty to give.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his already mused hair. He looked at the other again, trying to placate his features into a less sympathetic expression. "Erik," he paused, gathering his words. "Won't you let me see what is causing you so much pain?"

Now, Erik was glaring daggers.

Even if Charles did see, he would never truly understand the hell he had to go through. Some things were better left hidden for no one else to see. Erik shook his head, pushing himself away from the sink. "Not a chance." He spat, venom laced through his tone as he walked past the other mutant, shoulder roughly brushing his as he departed from the bathroom.

How could Charles want to see such a thing? Why did he care at all what was bothering him? Why did he care what he went through? None of it made any sense. All of the things that Erik had to keep bottled up inside was enough to drive him insane, and if he let it out, he would reveal his weakness, as well as gain unwanted pity.

Charles noticed the change in Erik's expression and regretted his words instantly. His mind was a lockbox, one that only he held the key to - there were memories that Charles knew Erik never wanted to relive, much less share with someone else. There was little to be done in means of swaying him, and under normal circumstances, Charles would have relented and left it well enough alone. But something was different about this time; he'd seen the anguish in his friend's eyes, and it shook him deeply. He wanted to know what was plaguing him and assist him in any way possible - even if he could only offer him temporary peace, it was still something.

Before he could speak, Erik was brushing angrily past him, knocking him in the shoulder. Charles bristled, heaving another sigh as he felt the familiar sense of frustration return. Why couldn't Erik accept help from him just this once? Though the man had lived the majority of his life completely on his own, Charles couldn't fathom just why he found companionship so hard to accept - shouldn't he be clinging to it gratefully, thankful that he'd finally found someone like himself? He followed Erik quickly as the man left the bathroom, reaching out a hand to stop him from getting too far ahead. He wasn't going to lock him out completely, not tonight.

"Please, my friend." He pleaded, wrapping his fingers tightly around Erik's wrist. "Let me help you."

Erik's jaw clenched tightly, feeling his own anger begins to steadily rise. Why couldn't Charles just let this go? It was one thing that he did not feel like discussing, much less think about anymore. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he focused his anger someplace else. He wasn't going to get mad at Charles for caring. Charles considered him a friend, and he couldn't control what Charles did chose to feel.

Now that Erik wasn't completely blinded by his own anger, he decided that maybe letting Charles see into his mind wasn't entirely foolish. Maybe afterwards, Charles would understand why he did not wish to linger on that particular subject for too long, and drop it if it ever happened to come up in the future.

Erik's eyelids parted, and he turned to look into Charles' brilliant cerulean iris's. They were staring hard at him. He knew now that Charles was serious about helping him, and he wasn't just offering sympathy. Erik slowly lowered himself down onto the bed, so he was sitting on the edge, Charles still holding his wrist, but not as tightly as before. "I can't promise you that you will like what you see."

The grip he had on Erik's wrist loosened as the man sunk to the bed. He looked so forlorn in that moment that it caused another knot of anxiety to form in the pit of Charles' stomach; he frowned more deeply this time and lowered himself onto the mattress. He was half-aware of the fact that he was probably sitting too close for Erik's comfort as his knee brushed against the other's, but he didn't rightfully care. His gaze settled on Erik's face as he raised his fingers to his left temple, poising them there for a moment as he spoke. "Just relax."

Focusing on Erik's mind when he was in such close proximity was unnervingly easy - as soon as he touched his fingers to his temple, the memories came pouring in as if they had been swimming on the far edges of his subconscious waiting for him. He saw Erik as a young boy, tall and gaunt with hair so dark it appeared black, even in the harsh lighting of what appeared to be an operating room. Someone was speaking in German, the tone light and almost coddling despite what was being said. A face swam into his field of vision, one that was nearly as familiar as Erik's, even with the straight mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles. Schmidt. The young boy strapped to the operating table was screaming as he was gagged, his eyes filled with tears as he struggled against the leather bindings that cut deeper into his skin with each jerk.

Schmidt grinned as he stepped forward, pulling a pair of gloves onto his hands with a sharp snap and lifting a glinting scalpel from the tray to his right. The blade caught the light so harshly it was nearly blinding, and again the young Erik screamed as loudly as he could around the thick cloth in his mouth, fighting even harder against his constraints.

"You are going to be a cooperative boy, aren't you, Erik?"

Schmidt lifted the blade and smiled that Cheshire cat smile again, his face stretching wide beneath his glasses. Terror gripped him like a vice, but he didn't waver - the memory was too powerful, and he understood now why Erik had kept it hidden for all these years. The scalpel came down, cutting across his chest in a crescent moon shape, and it was then that Charles finally broke the connection with a sharp intake of breath, his trembling hand falling limply into his lap.

Erik fought to keep his control the entire time Charles had been reading his thoughts. It was so painful, so agonizing. It felt as if his memories were being pulled to the front of his subconscious, making him feel positively sick as he was forced to practically watch what had been done to him numerous times as a boy.

He hadn't even realized that tears had sprung to his eyes, and were now rolling slowly down his cheeks. He turned his head away, quickly swiping at the warm droplets, not daring to meet Charles gaze. The memories that Charles looked through were so bad that he couldn't even continue. He couldn't help but wonder just what he was thinking now that he knew.

There was something hot and wet on his face and it took him a moment to realize that he was somehow crying. Though he'd never been quite as wary of showing emotion as his friend, he didn't want Erik to see just how deeply shaken he was following his journey through the other's mind. He wiped quickly at his face and discovered, with a jolt, that Erik was doing the exact same thing, his face turned away from Charles and his head ducked low. Charles sucked in a shaky breath and clasped his hands together nervously; he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

"I'm so sorry, my friend." An apology was the very last thing Erik wanted to hear, he knew, but the words were tumbling out anyway in the face of his current lack of composure. Without thinking, he reached out again, resting a hand on Erik's arm. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. You didn't -" But he stopped, the words dying on his lips as he realized that there was very little he could say in means of comfort. Of course Erik had never deserved such torment; he'd never deserved to witness his mother's death or the sadistic nature of someone like Schmidt.

A surge of anger - a usually unfamiliar feeling to him - welled inside of him; he was suddenly furious, furious at the man who'd caused his friend so much pain and agony, furious at the fact that he couldn't help him more.

Erik shook his head. No. No apologies. This wasn't Charles fault, and as he said, it wasn't his fault either. He looked up, seeing the sad expression plastered on the other mutants face. It was a look that didn't deserve to be there, not on a face as beautiful as his. It just didn't suit him. Not at all. "The last person I need an apology from is you." He said to him, honestly. But then again, an apology from Schmidt wouldn't make him forgive him, either.

He bit his lower lip, the crease between his brows deepening when he saw more tears slip down Charles cheeks. The hand on his arm was comforting, but still, Charles had none. There was no way he would be able to forget everything he saw, the same way Erik would never be able to forget everything he felt. "Stop, please," He begged softly, inhaling sharply. "Please don't cry." Another thing he hated was seeing someone cry. He saw his mom cry when they'd been separated: an image forever burned into his brain.

This time, he could help it. Charles did not need to be crying, not over him. Not because of him. Anything but that.

Erik unconsciously leaned forward, his forehead soon pressed firmly to Charles' own. He didn't know what drove him to do that, but it felt right. He felt like it would help Charles somehow.

"I'm not." The lie was as weak as he felt in that moment; he was suddenly exhausted, drained of the last bits of alertness he'd clung to throughout the night. His other hand brushed quickly at his face - the very last thing he wanted was for Erik to grow upset over something like this. He'd never meant to be so deeply shaken by the memory, as strong as it was, and he felt a twinge of regret for stupidly pushing the issue so far.

Charles froze for a moment when their foreheads touched; it brought on another spark of connection, though he hadn't been reaching toward Erik again. It was comforting, though, and he found himself breathing out a sigh of what could have been relief. His free hand slid around to Erik's neck, his fingers splaying against the back of his head and tangling in his hair. He waited for Erik to pull away, to make an excuse to wane away from the touch, but neither came. Words failed him for once in his lifetime, and he allowed the silence to settle around them like a thick blanket. Perhaps, he mused, there were moments that were best suited for silence.

Erik looked fondly into Charles' eyes, finding an overwhelming sense of comfort in them. This has never happened to him before. Never had he felt so serene being this close to someone else, especially someone he had only known for a few days. He slowly leaned in, waiting for Charles to push him away.

But he did not.

Instead, a slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips. That was reassurance enough. Erik leaned in the rest of the way, soon finding his own lips on Charles'. The kiss was slow, gentle, but needy at the same time. Their tongues would languidly dance, hands slowly roaming one another's body. At this moment, it was what both of them truly desired.

Charles was the first to break the kiss, but that was only because the need for air arose. He was smiling, so Erik took that as a good sign. He dropped his hand from the back of Erik's neck, and brought it to his cheek, thumb rubbing a slow circle on the mutants cheekbone. "If you'll let me, I can help ease a lot of your suffering, Erik."

Erik closed his eyes as he mused on Charles words. Could he? Could he really?

There was a soft rustling on the sheets, and soon, Erik felt Charles kissing him again. Seconds later, Erik had his arms around the shorter man, pulling him in closer, until they both eventually collapsed back onto the bed in a tangled heap of limbs.

Yes.

Yes he could.

-End-