Vows

Charles wheels himself down the driveway of the school, smiling slightly, mind still awash with the thoughts of young, curious minds; some mutant, some human, all brilliant and beautiful.

That was what Erik always failed to see, Charles thinks. There will always be prejudices in the world, always Hitlers and Shaws – mankind used to put women down, attack people of dark skin, and now some humans decry mutants and some mutants loathe humans. The wonderful thing about children is that they're too young to hate. Everyone loves the girl who can make flowers grow. The boy with wings is the coolest kid on the block. People are gradually accepting; in this little town, it is a crime to hate a child, even if the she has scaly skin or he has glowing eyes. But Erik. Erik. Erik wants to take them away, grow them and shape them and warp them like Shaw did to him, as easily as he twists metal around his fingers, around Charles' wrists and his heart.

The silver ring is hidden under leather gloves, but it presses into his skin, the engraving on the inside of the band branding him with Erik's name. It's always there.

He is driven back to Westchester and Hank meets him at the driveway, teeth bared in agitation, twisting his thick clawed fingers together. After Charles extracts himself from the car, still clumsy and deep down embarrassed, he asks Hank what's wrong.

"We have a…visitor," he says, flicking his eyes away from Charles' face. "From, um, from the Brotherhood."

"Are they peaceful?"

"Yes."

"Hank. Is it – is it Raven?" Charles didn't know which person he hoped to see. Raven, who'd always had half of his heart, or Erik, to whom he'd given the other half, only to have it stolen from him.
"Erik."

Oh.

"Well, lead the way, then."

"I left Sean and Alex with him. No metal on their suits. Just to be safe, you know?"

"Of course. Well done, my friend."

Erik and Sean and Alex came into view, arranged in a loose triangle on the grass, each keeping the others in their sights.

Charles sighed a little – even with custom wheels on his chair, grass was a hassle – but then Erik turned.

He was wearing a long maroon cape with a dark skintight outfit underneath, his helmet – the helmet, the dreaded helmet, Shaw's helmet and the embodiment of Erik's constant mistrust, even for Charles, all for Charles – was clasped at his hip, as one would hold a toddler, cradled gently. The whisper of Erik's thoughts was a mirage to Charles in the desert, and Charles knew that if he chased it, it would merely withdraw and leave him to die exhausted.

Erik's whisper-thoughts got louder as his eyes widened, as he saw Charles in the wheelchair, crippled and broken, and Charles was distantly thinking, oh, he didn't know, as Erik throws the helmet aside and runs towards him. Hank shifts by his side, muscles tensing, but Erik's there, suddenly, falling to his knees as tears fall from his bright, jaded eyes, Erik, Erik, Erik.

"Charles, Charles," he says, voice rough and shattered and everything Charles remembers, and the helmet lies on the earth a lifetime away.

"Erik," Charles replies, and his breath hitches as he runs his bare fingertips down Erik's cheekbones, his jaw, his hairline and ears, the lines that crinkle up at the corners of his eyes, wet with saltwater. "Darling," he says. "Come back," he says. "Don't leave," he says. Pleads. They're both crying now, Erik with his face buried in Charles' withering knees, Charles hunched over with his cheek pressed to Erik's hair.

When their emotions have subsided somewhat, sobs reduced to trembling breaths, they look each other in the eyes.

"I was wrong," Erik says with a slight frown. "I was wrong. I want what you want, Charles, there is no future without you by my side. I thought it would be different, without you, that I could build something…"

"You cannot kill the humans, Erik. They are our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, lovers – they are who we are. You mustn't persecute them all for the crimes that only a few have committed."

"I see that now. Charles – Charles, I'll do anything. Forgive me for what pain I have caused."

"I forgave you long ago," Charles says. They may have been apart, they've hurt each other horribly, they've said things that can't be taken back, but Charles loves Erik. He does, and he thinks that he always will.

He looks down at Erik's hands that are stroking his unfeeling thighs.

There's a ring on his left hand, dull and steely and it looks rusted, stained with scarlet.

Erik sees him looking, and he takes Charles' left hand. The ring turns on Charles' finger, orbiting slowly, a moon caught in a gravitational field. Erik brings Charles' hand up to his temple.

"Look," he says. "I have no secrets now."

Charles presses his fingers to Erik's head and sees. There's the beach, there's Charles in the sand, there's the bullet wrapping around, God, around Erik's finger, Erik, then there's Raven and Angel with deadened eyes and Riptide and Azazel with their wordless communication, and Emma, who sees through Erik even with the helmet, and disappears as soon as they free her. There's Raven crying, Angel silent and surly again, and it's Azazel that takes Riptide's hand and before they smoke away says in his harsh accent that they'll seek out Xavier, with or without Erik, in one week, to request asylum. There's Raven crying again, Angel arguing with her and Erik holding his head in his helmet in his hands and feeling the blood-bullet-ring-vow tightening like a boa constrictor on his finger.

Charles surfaces with a gasp of air, tears threatening to fall again.

"Come home," he says. "Bring everyone. Teach them all, with me."

Erik nods, mind dazed and healing, thoughts an undercurrent of guilt and pain and sorry and, beneath it all, love. "I promise," Erik says. "And I love you."

The ring on Erik's finger cracks in two and falls.

Charles' slides off his hand and hovers, smoothly morphing into two, placing themselves into Erik's outstretched hand.

"Charles," he whispers. "Will you marry me?"

Charles picks up one of the rings and slides it onto Erik's finger.

"In sickness and in health. In living and in dying. In anger and in love. Erik. I will always be yours."

Erik picks up the other ring and cradles Charles' left hand as delicately as he'd hold gold filigree. The ring slips onto Charles' finger, warms, tightens and quivers.

"As I am yours," he murmurs.

They kiss.

Later, Charles will have his wedding under the oak tree, with Raven in a bright yellow sundress that clashes beautifully with her blue skin, the boys in t-shirts and shorts, Erik in a tuxedo and the grass dotted with new blooms – courtesy of the little girl from the primary school, who loves to make people smile.

Erik will be happier – the helmet hacked to pieces and buried somewhere far away, the bloodstained bullet disintegrated – and he will smile with all his teeth and his eyes creasing joyously as he leans down to kiss Charles' red lips.

They'll have gold, this time, that Charles bought and Erik shaped, with their joined names etched on the inside of the bands. They'll slip the rings onto each other's fingers, whispering their vows in their heads, and the rings will melt together, silver and gold and pain and contentment and separation and togetherness all in one, and they will share their hearts the same way.

They'll say,

"I do."