X Men Fic for a very special person

Offered with love and appreciation. And since I've not written your boys before, advance apologies re any voice problems.

Title: Living In Hope
Pairing: Charles and Erik
Spoilers: Post the first X Men movie.
Disclaimer: Not mine, the guys belong to Marvel.
Rating: R at most.



It's hard to see Erik in a cage, even such a pristine one. But Charles can't not come to visit, reassure himself that he's still in the world, see that battered but dear face. It is hard, but Charles is the one that's free to leave and so is not the one that can ask for comfort, but has to offer what he can instead. "It's good to see you, old friend."

"As always, old friend." And looking into those knowing eyes, listening to the burnt caramel of his voice telling him that's there's someone in the world that will always welcome him, no matter the differences that come between them, Charles doesn't know what Erik could do to make that fact untrue.

He really, really doesn't want to know, but he'll face the possibilities, the realities of where those differences have taken them, but he'll never give up hope. And he'll not stop offering it either. Even when that hope lives in a thick plastic box that draws Erik's hungry eyes like a magnet. "A book."

Regret tinges Charles voice even as he rejoices in the joy on the other man's face. "It will have to wait in the box until I've left, and the guards will need to see it contained before they enter, though the metals in the inks must be negligible. But you understand -"

The rueful smile and waft of the hand tells him that Erik does understand all too well; the guard's caution and Charles' own. It's all lost in the pleasure burning through Erik's voice, "You remembered."

Pleasure that echoes in remembrance though Charles' own, "I could never forget."

Eyes locking takes him back to a long ago youth, the passionate joy of coming together, the relief in finding the other that is other but who is truly home. And even when Charles places the box on the table and takes his place at the chess board, it's not the rook that they're stroking, it's not the smoothness of the pawn that feels like heaven under his fingers it's the essence of the other half of his being.

Erik keeps his attention fixed on Charles and the board until the walkway extending tells both men it's time to put the game on hold once more. Then he grabs a look at the title and smiles. "Nelson Mandela's autobiography?"

Charles can't help smiling back, "I live in hope, old friend."

Erik's need to embrace him, to move is palpable, but both men know he can't, not when it might be misconstrued by others, so he has to be satisfied with an equally sincere, "As do I, old friend."

Their eyes lock into past, present and future - ever moving, ever rooted in the loves and pains of the past - and have to say all that can't be said in clear plastic and cameras. It's enough for now and the nod of farewell isn't that, it's until next time. There'll always be a next time.

And it's enough. It's what enables Charles to go back to his life, back to the children that need him, so they won't be lost, hurt and hurting, so they won't have to part from what makes life worth living the way he and Erik have to.

Not that Erik ever truly has left him. He's kept his place in Charles heart through light and darkness, and Charles knows he'll always be there - a troublesome load-star that lets him find his own north.

And he's found his way in on their special day just as he does on any other. Charles' return home is dominated by finding Scott and Jean examining a package with everything they can throw at it, both psychic and technological, and telling him about a mail-man with yellow eyes. He can't help the chuckle that escapes him when he says, "Nothing to worry about today," and he opens it. That it's a book grows the chuckle into a laugh.

A laugh that grows into warm remembrance at seeing, "The Motorcycle Diaries". It's been years since he had feeling in his legs, but he'll never forget the power of the Norton between his legs, the sheltering warmth of Erik's back as they toured a still recovering Europe searching for fellow freaks. He can taste once again the cheap carafes of wine drunk under hedgerows as they tried to save money, find shelter in storms and the love in each other's arms. The bite of Camel's and Gitane's in Erik's kisses still brand his own lips. The need in his hands to try to soothe the un-soothable marked skin. It's all there in the book for him, just like Erik knew it would be.

The comradeship of trying to build the school, build alternatives, find a way to keep each other, to square the circle. The disagreements on methodology that they've spent too many years trying to convince each other of - that's all there too.

Charles can't help stroking the inscription. "I live in hope, old friend."

Even as he places the book on the shelf, next to an equally inscribed DVD of Malcom X, Charles hopes Erik enjoyed the Martin Luther King biography he sent him for the anniversary, he can't help answering, "So do I."