Summary: Written for the following prompt at 1stclass-kink: "Charles loses his memory and Erik tries to convince him that they are lovers." Title is stolen from the (probably; I haven't actually seen it) crappy RPattz movie. I started this a few days ago and nursed it during the Great Internet Exodus of July 2011 (spoiler alert: Our Internet was down for an entire weekend; the horror, the horror), and it kind of grew legs and did its own thing. I may or may not also have a sequel currently percolating in my head. Rated PG-13.

Remember Me

Hank rebuilds Cerebro to increased efficiency and power. Charles' neurons fire faster, his mind makes connections at an even greater rate than it ever did back at the CIA base, and soon he's churning out pages upon pages of coordinates every hour. The thrill of finding more people like him is an addiction; overcompensating for the loss of his legs and his best friend, Charles soon begins using the machine well beyond when he senses that he should quit. It becomes his window to the outside world, his atrophied limbs, and it's not quite a replacement for the happiness he felt with Erik - nothing ever will be, he knows - but it helps him pretend he's happy.

At first, the other inhabitants of the mansion give him a wide berth. An ongoing joke even begins to circulate: 'When Professor X's machine starts rocking, don't bother knocking.' Still, when his presence at meals becomes increasingly scarce, and when it seems as though he's always locked away downstairs, hooked up to his virtual world to escape the real one, the jokes simmer to legitimate concern.

It's Hank who eventually finds him, slouched over the control panel of Cerebro, the helmet still affixed to his head, eyes rolled back. The plate and glass of milk that was meant for Charles' belated lunch clatters to the floor as he scurries over to rouse the professor. "Professor? Charles? Charles, wake up, it's Hank."

When he comes to, Charles peers sleepily up at his furry, blue face and squints. 'I can ... hear your thoughts,' he murmurs. Hank starts to smile a bit, and then: 'But I'm afraid I don't know who you are.'

The announcement that Charles seems to have developed amnesia sends the mansion into a veritable flurry. Soon, everyone clusters around the professor, now perched gallantly in his wheelchair, in one of the house's spacious sitting rooms, trying unsuccessfully to jog his memory. For his part, Charles accepts the fact that he owns the mansion and that it's actually a school for mutants pretty much at face value; apparently, the fact that he has telepathic abilities seems to have soused the shock that mutants exist quite a lot. Still, it's apparent that Charles' memories of Sean and Alex and Hank, to say nothing of the others, are gone, or at least well hidden by some unforeseen trauma.

"I guess we can bring him to a psychiatric hospital," Hank intones, but Sean and Alex vehemently shoot down the idea, Alex curtly reminding him that "not everyone's as comfortable with the government running everything as you are." It's almost enough to start a fist fight, and Alex has to step in before anything gets broken. Meanwhile, Charles just sits placidly in his chair, looking vaguely spaced out.

Once everyone is relatively calm again, Sean leans in conspiratorially. "I hate to say it," he proffers quietly, "but maybe if we had some, ahem, other mutants that we could ask for advice ..." Hank immediately starts shaking his head. Alex, on the other hand, looks thoughtful.

"I think that'd be the best option," he finally says. He elbows Hank playfully, a silent apology. "If you don't want to do the talking, Sean and I can."

Hank sighs, and they all regard Charles, who doesn't react when Hank finally says what they've been dancing around: "No, I'll contact Erik. I can probably reach him through Mystique." It's for Charles, he thinks, so there's basically no other legitimate choice to make.

It's awkward talking to Mystique - Raven, he likes the name Raven best - again, and at the same time, it feels like the past few months without her around, peering at microscope slides and occupying the lonely spaces in the laboratory that Hank didn't even know were there before they'd met, never happened. In the interest of professional decorum, he tries to be brief; fortunately, the news that the man she considers her brother doesn't remember who she is gets her on the same page pretty quickly. In the blink of an eye, Raven promises that she'll be there soon, and by early evening, she turns up on the doorstep, blue skin apparently ever-present, Erik in tow.

Hank gives Erik a wide berth, taking in his helmet with the best poker face he can muster. He notices that Erik hangs back as Raven winds her way through the house, eventually reaching Charles and hugging him gingerly. "Charles, it's me, it's ... Raven," she says after a bit of hesitancy. "I'm your sister, Charles. We grew up together. Maybe this will help," she says, and transforms into the golden-haired teenager that Charles knew her best as.

He smiles at her. "I apologize, Raven," he says in his usual gentle cadence; because that much hasn't disappeared, at least. "I'm afraid nothing clicks." Raven bites her lip and Charles' gaze shifts to Erik, who has been surreptitiously glancing at him since his and Raven's arrival. "And who might you be, my friend?" Charles asks.

Erik stands up and crosses the short distance to Charles, and then kneels in front of his chair. "I'm Erik," he says shortly. He stares at Charles' small hands, folded over the blanket covering his unmoving legs, and then swallows. "I haven't known you for as long as Raven." He seems reluctant to supply additional information, and Hank notices, but doesn't comment on how Erik doesn't correct Charles' affectionate terminology.

Charles looks pleased enough, in any case. "Another mutant, then?" he asks. "What is it you can do, then, Erik?"

Erik blinks as if he wasn't expecting this, and then stands and strides across the room. He holds out a hand, palm up, and twitches his fingers once; as if by magic, Charles' wheelchair slides elegantly across the carpeting, stopping just shy of Erik. Then Erik carefully turns him back to face the others. Charles beams at him: "All metal, then? How extraordinary." He cocks his head: "I can hear everyone else's mind except yours. Is that what your helmet is for, Erik? To keep people out of your head?" Unwittingly, he steers away from implicating himself. Also unwittingly, Hank finds that he enjoys watching Erik squirm as he hurries to formulate a response.

Finally, he nods, just once, his hand going to the offending headpiece. "Some telepaths are dangerous," he says, but of course, Charles looks anything but as he rewards Erik with a boyish smile that sends pangs of guilt through his chest.

Erik isn't sure what compels him to stay. It's fairly obvious that Charles' memories aren't going to be randomly triggered by heartfelt emotions or old family photographs, not that he has much of an outpouring of either to provide. Nonetheless, he makes sure the rest of the Brotherhood, sans Raven, keeps itself occupied, and takes up residence anew in the room that was 'his' when Charles first brought them all there. He tries not to get too sentimental about the fact that Charles kept everything in here the same in his absence - he can even smell himself on the bedding - but it's difficult. Being here, for all intents and purposes, was perhaps the happiest period of time Erik can remember since he was very young, and even though everything is different now, in some ways, nothing has changed.

The days pass in the languid manner that time passes at the Xavier mansion, just far enough away from the rest of civilization to be able to pretend that it doesn't exist; that, in fact, this really is some sort of Garden of Eden for wayward mutants. For the most part, Erik spends his time alone; Raven takes to following Hank around his laboratory, something that Erik can sense pleases the Harvard grad immensely, though he keeps his emotions under wraps. Alex and Sean seem to find ways to keep themselves busy, whether it's legitimate training or smoking up together in hidden corners of the immense property. Like Hank, they don't say much to Erik; whenever he catches one or both of them staring, they always hightail it out of the room just as quickly. He wonders absently where the CIA woman is, and manages to get out of Hank that Charles has wiped her memories of her time with the fledgling "X-Men" - Hank's voice is proud when he calls them this. It surprises Erik a bit, because Charles is just so trusting and naive, but at the same time, it gives him hope.

Erik doesn't purposely seek Charles out, but their interaction seems inevitable, particularly when they are recurrently the only persons awake in the mansion in the dead of night. In the too-recent past, Erik can remember with pained clarity the late-night chess games over brandy, when Charles would gift him with sparkling glances and indulgent conversation about everything and anything. In the present, however, there is only a young man in a wheelchair that he shouldn't have to use, who looks up every time Erik passes by the study, or happens to step into the same hallway. On one occasion, Erik watches Charles, his back turned, trying unsuccessfully to fish a tome down from a shelf that his fingers can barely brush. Instinctively, Charles turns to glance at Erik, and then looks surprised when the other man strides into the room, plucks the book from the shelf, and hands it to him. "Thank you," he intones softly.

"Don't mention it." His eyes sweep the room so that he does not have to see Charles' gratitude. Once again, sense memories threaten to overtake him. Unwittingly, he doesn't realize he's been staring at one particular location for too long until Charles speaks again.

"I do enjoy chess." He cocks his head, his mouth softly rounded upwards. "Do you play, Erik?"

Erik swallows, and then, finally, nods. "I do."

Charles wins a game and then Erik does, and then they stall a bit, and Erik can tell that Charles is thinking hard because, of course, he knows the other man well enough to be able to tell when Charles' fantastic mind is working overtime. When Charles announces that, "So you know, I can read minds," Erik has to bite back a laugh.

"I'm aware of that."

"Yes, well," Charles says patiently, "I mean, I've read everyone's mind here, except yours, of course." Stubbornly, Erik does not even acknowledge the helmet by touching it this time; he's rather proud of himself for this. "It's just surface-level things, mostly - I'm worried that I might hurt myself again if I try anything too wild - but ... well." Blue eyes bore into Erik's hazel ones. "When someone - Raven, or Hank, usually - thinks about you, it's always very peculiar."

"Peculiar," Erik echoes. He stares hard at the chess board, his heart pounding. "How so?"

Charles shrugs. "It's almost as if ... they feel bad thinking about you at all; like they're betraying someone or something by doing it. I've hinted that it's curious to them" - at this, Erik takes a shaky breath - "and I've even come out and asked directly. Everybody is very hush-hush. It seems," Charles says, inclining his head a bit, "that you're the mystery man, Erik."

Erik's smile is thin-lipped and barely perceptible. "I guess I am." He offers no further information on the subject, and Charles does not push. He does, however, checkmate Erik and then wheels himself rather expertly around the low-slung table and Erik's chair, proof that while his mind may not remember some of the most important people in his young life, his muscles have already taken his fairly newfound disabilities to heart.

"Well, goodnight, then," Charles says, and Erik nods and watches him leave silently.

An awkward late breakfast routine seems to develop, wherein everyone clusters around the kitchen area at roughly the same time of the morning, and it's here where Erik realizes he's needed at the mansion after all. "So I have some good news," Hank announces to everyone in the general vicinity, though he looks at Charles; Raven - Mystique, Erik corrects himself, she is Mystique, now - sits beaming at his side. "I think I can pinpoint the exact location of the amnesia in Charles' brain if I were able to scan it. I've been working on setting up for that in the lab for the past few days."

"It's brilliant," Raven - Mystique - chimes in. Like everyone else, Erik's gaze sweeps over to Charles to gauge his reaction.

As usual, Charles is prim and polite. "It sounds like the start of an excellent course of action," he says approvingly, though Erik knows him well enough to notice the somewhat skittish look in his large, blue eyes.

Hank, of course, does not, or if he does, he runs roughshod over it in the name of scientific curiosity. "Great! We'll have you come down to the lab this afternoon. It'll be a few hours, so uh, you'll probably want to cancel any dates you have planned for the evening." Hank kind of grins at his own joke, and suddenly, Erik can't take it anymore.

"He's not a lab rat, you know," he says heatedly, surprising everyone, if nothing else, because it's the first time he's said anything to any of them that morning. Hank, too, looks at him with shock and growing irritation.

"I'm ... aware of that," he sputters eventually. "But we won't know anything for sure unless I can see into his mind, and the only way to do that without hurting him is this."

Erik's eyes narrow. "Because you haven't done that already with Cerebro." It's not the highest ground to take in terms of retorts, and he sees Mystique - Mystique, not Raven - open her mouth to say as much, but Hank beats her to the punch.

"You're one to talk. You just ... left him on the beach, bleeding. Did you even know he was in a wheelchair until you came back here?" Hank seethes, and it's like a dam has broken loose. "Would you even have cared?"

"Hank," Raven - MYSTIQUE - says quietly. "Hank, stop." Her expression is hurt as she glances at Erik. "It doesn't do to dwell on this. What's done is done."

Hank's furry, blue face is still furious. "Why did you even come back?" he asks accusingly. "So you could pretend you're doing something useful? What are you accomplishing besides making everybody uncomfortable?"

"Hank." It's Charles' admonishment this time, and it silences everybody. Charles' face is etched with pain and confusion. "Raven is right," he says. "We accomplish nothing by fighting like this. I will see you this afternoon." He wheels himself out of the dining area, glancing only barely at Erik, whose jaw is clenched tightly, his fists balled in his lap.

"I'm sorry," Hank mumbles, his composure regained. Begrudgingly, he looks at Erik. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sure you have your reasons for being here."

Erik's face is unsympathetic. "Save your presumptions for science, McCoy." He stalks off in the opposite direction of Charles, and the tension in the room wavers until Sean lets out a small snort.

"Home sweet home," he mutters, and Alex pats him on the back and snickers, ignoring Hank's glare and Raven's sigh.

Outside, occupying a single spot on the vast spans of land that Charles' relatives own, Erik isn't surprised to see Charles wheeling towards him; though it was not his intention to talk about this, perhaps ever, he knows even without the benefit of Charles' telepathy what this conversation will be about.

Charles' expression is friendly, his voice soft and reassuring, like he's trying to coax a trick out of a battered circus animal. "Such an interesting conversation over breakfast earlier," he says jovially, but Erik can't be faked out; he sees the wariness hidden in the depths of Charles' big, big eyes.

Sure enough, Charles drops the facade as he rolls close to where Erik stands, half-facing away. "In complete honesty, Erik, I come to you with questions because ... I know that you might actually give me the answers. I don't sense that you're the type to lie to people."

Erik glances at him, both touched and chagrined. "What, then?" he asks hoarsely.

Charles' lips thin. "I haven't always been like this," he begins, gesturing to his legs. Erik's pulse races. "Something happened to me; something happened to us, maybe. Everybody's mind is a vice-grip around here. I get ... glimpses of things," he continues, his speech becoming more rapid. "I see ... a submarine, maybe, and you in a helmet, but not that helmet, maybe, and some people I don't know, but everyone here was there. And of course, you." Charles' eyes crinkle in the corners as he squints up at Erik. "What happened that day, Erik? What happened that made you leave? Were we friends? Are we enemies now?"

Erik's focal point is above Charles' head. "I don't know," he says softly, his mouth dry.

Charles looks frustrated; it's almost comical, how much he might resemble a small boy who has just been told he can't have another cookie before dinner, were the situation not so somber. "You know more than I do," he says angrily. His eyes are steely now; Erik can't look away. "I need you to tell me, Erik. Please. I need to know the truth."

As if not entirely of his own accord, Erik sinks to the ground on his knees, planted in front of the chair. Charles starts to speak, but Erik holds up a hand. "I can show you," he says, his voice ragged. 'It will ruin everything for me here,' he thinks, 'but it is what you need.' "I need to take off the helmet," he says. "I don't know if it will hurt you or not."

Charles takes a deep breath and seems to straighten a bit in his chair, bracing himself. "I'm ready," he says with mock-bravado. Using both hands, Erik lets out a small sigh and lifts the helmet from his head. Then, before Charles can comment on the prickling sensation he's sure they are both feeling as the other man begins to access his most shallow thoughts, Erik takes Charles' hand and presses two digits to his own temple.

"Look," he whispers, and Charles' breath audibly quickens.

"I can see," he breathes, and Erik lets the floodgates open between them, gradually at first, and then more and more, until everything is seeping out in bright, even gaudy colors. He shows Charles the beach first, the most garish memory that they've shared in real-time, lets Charles see how Erik held him and how Charles' "I'm sorry, my friend, but we do not," broke him, but how he choked on the anguish in the back of his throat and let Charles go; how ironic it was that it appeared to the others that Erik left first, because, of course, Charles had already abandoned him.

Other memories come rushing forth: Their training week at the mansion, surrounded by students and nature and feelings of love; Erik shows Charles their shared exhilaration when he moves the satellite dish, how Charles beamed and smacked him on the back and looked at him like a proud father. He shows Charles glimpses of their mutant recruitment road trip, of trying to read maps and the easy camaraderie between them and the stops at roadside diners. He shows Charles how they first met, Charles' arms wrapping around him in the icy ocean, and afterwards, on the government boat, how they sat opposite one another in plastic chairs, wrapped in blankets, shivering, yet smiling, giddy with the knowledge that they weren't alone, not anymore.

The memories are bittersweet, and Erik can't help himself: He lets Charles see the rest of it, the things they did in various hotel rooms across the country; what they did in Charles' own bedroom at the mansion, to say nothing of the study, the kitchen, a couple of the showers, and, on one occasion, the greenhouse. (Too hot and sticky, he recalls.)

He lets Charles understand just how much he, too, mourns the loss of the other man's functioning legs, because, of course, he remembers how they felt cinched around his waist, Charles pressed against a wall, his arms above his head or occasionally one hand gripping the back of Erik's neck with just the right amount of pressure. He remembers sloppy blowjobs, and Charles crawling up and over him, his face arranged in an easy grin, his hair tousled. Erik remembers grabbing him in a bear hug and propelling him onto his back, and using his own considerable weight to press him into the mattress. He remembers the constant bruising of his lips because he could never resist kissing Charles, ever, whenever they thought they could get away with it, and even on some occasions when they barely did. He remembers everything, and as the swirl of memories starts to slow, he dares to open his eyes again and glance at the man whose face he's almost cupping. Charles' cheeks are wet, and Erik's heart clenches. "Charles," he begins, but Charles shakes his head and he stops talking.

Charles breathes harshly through his nose, and Erik knows he was right about this ruining everything, because the other man won't even look at him. When he finally speaks, his voice quavers: "I suppose ... I can't say that I'm surprised. There were ... I had feelings, inklings, and I wasn't sure what they meant, but now ..." He sighs again and palms his forehead, a movement that Erik associates with a headache, the telepath's greatest foe. Instinctively, Erik leans forward to help, wanting desperately, more desperately than anything, to comfort, to help. Charles pushes him away, however, if not with his posturing, with his words: "Please. Don't." Still on his knees, Erik forces himself into a standing position and skitters backwards, giving Charles a wide berth so that he can get away. Charles' movements are jerkier than usual, tinged with frustration, and Erik turns away and collects his helmet so that Charles can retain some of his dignity. Before he can slide it back into place, his hair still matted despite the short recess, Charles' next words hit him like a silver bullet:

"I don't understand why you came back either, Erik. I'm going to go see if Hank can help me now." Erik says nothing, and soon, he is left only with his memories, fresh like open wounds.

It's Raven - Mystique; or Raven, perhaps, now, again - who finds him just as he's about to leave for good. "Erik, wait! Hank, I found him, he's still here!" she calls. Soon, his exit is blocked, and Erik vacillates harshly.

"Go away. I have no reason to be here any longer."

Raven opens her mouth to protest, but Hank beats her to the punch. "I think I've found a cure for Charles."

"That's none of my concern, as you've said yourself." Erik brandishes the small duffel bag he brought along. "Now, move, unless you want me to make you move."

Hank stands his ground, however. "I think I can hook Charles up to Cerebro again" - he holds up his hands when Erik sneers at this - "hold on. Somebody else would go into it with him. I think ... there's some part of his consciousness still stuck in the machine. He probably wouldn't be able to get it out himself - quite the opposite; we might lose him forever - but if someone were to act as an anchor ..." he trails off and waits for Erik's reaction.

Erik considers this. Eventually, he points at Raven. "She can do it. She's known him for much longer." He doesn't add the other obvious reasons, though he's sure Hank is aware of them.

Hank is persistently patient. "Raven is close to Charles, but not the ideal candidate for this. It's ... complicated. Experimental. A lot could go wrong."

"Raven's too important to lose, but I'm expendable, you mean."

"It's dangerous for Charles, too, and I don't want to lose him," Hank shoots back. He calms down again. "I'm sorry. Look, Erik, Charles' brainwaves are electromagnetic. The machine harnesses that. The person who acts as his anchor would have to be able to harness it, too, lest they also get lost to Cerebro. It would take a tremendous amount of power and control. That pretty much leaves you."

Erik still isn't convinced. "What if I don't want to risk it? More importantly, what if Charles doesn't want to risk it?"

Hank and Raven exchange a look. Finally, Raven responds, eyes tentatively hopeful, "It was Charles' idea."

The room housing the new Cerebro is much larger than Hank's old laboratory at the CIA. Erik feels the same trepidation about government experimentation staring at the familiar helmet, the wires nonetheless more elegant-looking, the design more sleek, as he did when Hank first led them up the stairs at the compound. He will never fully like the idea that Cerebro is necessary for recruiting mutants. In the meantime, however, there are more important things to worry about.

Charles is already waiting when Erik arrives, trailing reluctantly behind Raven and Hank several paces. Charles' expression is impassive. Erik wants to reach over and squeeze his hand reassuringly as Hank gestures for him to sit in a chair nearby, but he can't do it.

Hank rattles off directions once more, most of which Erik has already heard before. He takes off his helmet and replaces it with the headpiece that Hank provides. He's surprised when Charles speaks to him at all, his own headgear already in place: "Erik, you don't have to do this," the other man says quietly, blinking a lot.

Erik frowns at him chidingly. "I'm the only one who can," he reminds him. Charles nods.

"Okay," Hank says finally. "We're ready." Without fanfare, the machine whirs to life; lights flash on the large console, and Charles' helmet blinks. Then suddenly, Erik's mind is elsewhere.

At first, it's dark inside of Cerebro; then a mist is visible, and through that, after several seconds, Erik can see ... people. Mutants, he supposes. They're everywhere, suddenly, men and women, children and adults, young and old, tall and short and everything in-between. They're perfection; it's perfection, and Erik is starting to understand the appeal of the mere knowledge.

He can't feel Charles anywhere, and in complete honesty, he's not even sure he can speak in here. He tries: "Charles," he says, and it's still his voice, more or less. "Charles," he says again, and as he walks - does he walk? - further into the mist, a solitary figure stands - he doesn't sit - in a concave of what looks like bookshelves. Typical, Erik thinks.

He moves closer. "Charles," he calls again, because now he knows that it is. Slowly, the slight figure turns; his eyes glow an even more ethereal blue than usual. His expression is placid. He doesn't speak or acknowledge Erik, but he does look at him.

"Charles. You're here." Erik doesn't want to crowd him, so he remains a few feet away. "You've been here for a while. People need you out there."

Charles' expression is pleasant enough. "People need me more in here," he says admonishingly. "I'm lonely out there."

"Is that why you used Cerebro so much?" Erik asks, recalling something Raven had told him when he was first deciding whether or not to tag along to the mansion. "Because you didn't have anybody to talk to?"

Charles smiles. "I'm sure I could find somebody who would talk," he says warmly. "But it's not the same." His gaze is perceptive, and Erik is warmed by it in spite of himself. "I'm sure you know that."

"I've never been lonelier than I am without you," Erik confesses, closing his eyes. When he reopens them, Charles is still there, beaming at him. He never knew he was lonely before he met Charles, but he doesn't know how to say that. He thinks Charles understands anyways.

Sure enough: "Nor I. But I don't see how this changes anything, my friend. We have chosen quite different paths, as you well know."

Erik swallows. "I do." He considers. "I'm not the only person who needs you. There's Hank, and Alex and Sean, and all of the other mutants you'll find and bring to your school someday. Raven misses you, too." He sighs. "I would rather have you whole and despising me than wasting away in here, wasting your potential. You're everything, Charles."

Charles' expression is suddenly worn. "I don't despise you. It's easier in here, however. I can walk. You could stay, too, Erik. Everything would be perfect. Wouldn't that be perfect?" It's tempting, so tempting, but Erik knows it's not possible; he knows there's only one legitimate choice to make.

"Come on, Charles." He holds out a hand. "It's time to go back. Let's go."

Charles stares at his hand, swallows, and then sighs. "I suppose it is," he says reluctantly. Tentatively, he steps forward, close, now, his hand gradually outstretching. Erik feels Charles' fingertips on his, and then there's a blinding flash of light, and the scenery shifts anew.

Back. He's back. He can tell because suddenly Raven and Hank and Sean and Alex are clustered around him, looking curious and fearful and hopeful. The light in the laboratory is bright, but not as bright as the one shoving him back into consciousness, and he feels his eyes adjust quickly.

Finally, he glances at the man sitting opposite him. "Charles," Erik breathes. He shrugs out of the headpiece and leans forward. "Charles, are you here?"

Gradually, Charles stirs. Blue eyes blink open, and his mouth forms a small 'O' of surprise. "Erik," he starts to say, but stops at "Er," and then tries again: "E- Eriii ..." His eyes widen, and Erik hears a single thought pulsate through Charles' mind and into his: "I remember. I remember everything, Erik."

"Charles," Erik says again, his heart pounding. "You have your memories back." Everyone stirs excitedly at the news, but they might as well be back in Cerebro for all that Erik acknowledges their presence. His eyes are only for Charles.

"I - I can remem ..." Charles gets out this time, and then covers his mouth with his hand as he starts to sob. "Erik," he mumbles, and Erik lurches forward and gathers him in his arms as the floodgates break open completely and Charles gasps and keens and cries, soaking Erik's shirt and clutching at him desperately, needily. Erik holds him and whispers soothing words ("you're here, Charles, you're back, you made it back, we're here together, Charles, oh, Charles") and vows that, whatever it takes, whatever sacrifices he will have to make to come back fully, he will never walk away from Charles again.