Title: Anywhere But Here
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik, Raven
Rating: PG13 for language
Length: ~2500
Content notes: Imprisonment, vague references to off-screen torture
Summary: "The point is to come up with fantasies about where you'd rather be." Charles and Raven play a game. Charles and Erik have a conversation. The location's rubbish, but the company's good.

Notes: littledust basically let me write the second half of this at her over IM. ♥

"Milan," Raven says. "That cafe, the one with the waitress who fancied me. Her name was Viola."

"Mm," Charles says. "Milan was lovely, though that waitress spent so much time flirting with you that my coffee was ice cold by the time she fetched the cream. Paris, in the flatshare."

"Ugh, of course, given all of Paris you would pick somewhere musty and filled with books and Frenchmen with loose morals," Raven says.

"Many of those were first editions!" Charles says. "And some of the manuscripts--"

"You don't even read French all that well," Raven says. "You might as well say, 'Paris, the flatshare, specifically Jean Pierre's bedroom,' because I know that's why you liked that particular flatshare so much."

"It was a perk," Charles admits. "But I don't know that I'd want him around this time. He was a bit clingy."

"The ice cream shop on Martha's Vineyard," Raven says. "Phillip, who always gave us extra scoops."

"The pub we stayed in that time in Rome when our train was delayed."

"I'm surprised you remember that night at all."

It had taken Mystique all of thirty seconds to revert to Raven when they were thrown in the cell with Charles. Erik saw it happen, saw the moment her face flickered from his second in command to Charles Xavier's little sister. Her mouth twisted and then fell open into a frightened circle. She fell to her knees next to Charles, even as he said, "I'm all right, I'm all right, it looks worse than it is." They'd babbled apologies at each other, wiped away tears, and now they're curled together on the cold concrete floor, laughing like they were never apart.

Erik can't blame her. There's a treacherous part of him that wants to do the same thing, wants to hold Charles close and soothe his hurts and listen to him insist that everything will be fine, the boys will rescue them, they just need some more time. There's a treacherous, traitorous part of him that wants to carry Charles home himself and stay there and sit with him until he's nursed back to health and stay forever to make sure this never happens again.

Erik has amazing self-control. In five days, he and Charles haven't exchanged more than a handful of short, curt sentences.

Not that they've had much time for talk. Their captors don't seem interested in Raven, rather, they alternate between dragging Charles out of the cell for "testing" and dragging Erik out for torture that he assumes is some sort of testing as well. He's exhausted and sore every time they bring him back and he assumes Charles is the same, though that doesn't stop him from playing that asinine game with Raven with every spare breath.

"We used to play it when we were kids," Raven explained the first night. "Whenever Sharon and Kurt would fight or Kurt would...anyway, the point is to come up with fantasies about where you'd rather be. It was silly and distracting and...we got into the habit, I guess."

Erik thinks the whole thing is juvenile, but it's day five, there's still no rescue, and even Erik's become bored in the hours between torture.

Not bored enough to join in, of course, but bored enough to listen.

"I don't remember much of the night," Charles admits. He's leaning back against the wall. Half of his head is shaved and there are angry red welts against his scalp and temples and neck. Erik has similar marks on his own face and wrists, but somehow, looking at Charles hurts more than his welts do. Raven's resting her head on Charles' thigh, and Erik tries not to linger on the fact that he can no longer feel the weight there. "I do remember that you and I sang a lovely rendition of 'All Shook Up.'"

Raven giggles. Mystique never giggled, never laughed, and the same part of Erik that wants to hide Charles away from the world has missed the sound of it.

"Um, what was the name of that stupid little town we had to stay in when you crashed the car on our way back to Oxford?" Raven asks.

"I can't remember," Charles says. "But I do remember the Inn was called Hallsey House."

"There," Raven says. "With the cute boy at the bar neither of us could pull."

"Do you think you'll have better luck this time?" Charles asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Why, you gonna fight me for him again?" Raven asks, and Charles shakes his head.

"No, no, he's all yours, dear," Charles says.

Erik leans his forearms on his knees and listens to them go back and forth, detailing a dozen other glamorous locations from their shared past and at least half a dozen dalliances. Well, Raven does. He forgets, sometimes, how disparate their existence is from the life she led before. He forgets that, regardless of her origins, she spent fourteen years as an Xavier, with access to the best the world had to offer and a partner in crime more than willing to help her take advantage of it all.

Charles, strangely, mentions cities and countries and even rooms on the Xavier estate, but he never mentions a partner. Erik wonders if it has to do with the injury or if he's just so sick of being around people that hiding away from the world feels like the best option.

The hours pass and the guards don't come. Erik doesn't know whether to be suspicious or relieved. So far, they've been left alone for at least a solid nine hours every night. Erik suspects it has more to do with the scientists' desire to eat and sleep regular hours than a kindness on the three of them, but he hasn't questioned it. Today, however, they haven't been seen at all since guards come in with their breakfast (bread, cold oatmeal, warm water) and shots of the drug suppressing their powers. It's possible that will change tonight, that, having gotten nothing from them for days, their captors will revert to more rudimentary terrorism, but it's equally possible they're simply being neglected. He doesn't know which is worse.

He tries to appreciate the reprieve, but he can't calm his brain enough to sleep. Raven seems to have no problem, her head still pillowed on Charles' lap, her breaths long and even. He watches her chest rise and fall in the dim patches of moonlight that filter down from the grates in the ceiling high above them. Charles, he knows, is awake. He's not sure how he knows--Charles' breathing is even and measured and his eyes are closed--but he does.

They sit in silence for a long time.

"You know," Charles says, after what could be hours, "I find the most ironic part to be that I've wished so strongly to see you without the helmet. Your mind is--it's like you've died. Like you never existed. And now, of course, I've gotten my wish, but thanks to those bloody suppressants, I can't feel your mind anyway."

Erik's not sure what to say to that. He wonders if Charles is trying to guilt him or just making conversation.

"But even beyond that," Charles continues, "you look so ridiculous in it that I suppose the last few days haven't been a complete waste." Charles' lips curl up into a smile and he turns his head towards Erik, opening his eyes just a bit.

"Go to sleep, Charles," Erik says.

"No," Charles says. "I don't think that I shall."

Charles' eyes are open fully now. Even in the dark, Erik can make out their striking color. He runs his tongue over his teeth, but says nothing.

The silence is almost harder, though. He can't pretend Charles is asleep now, can't do anything but watch Charles watch him, his eyes sharp and unreadable in the moonlight. He's so pale and so damaged and hurt and he's not even letting it show. Erik hates himself more than he hates Charles, which is a laugh considering he doesn't hate Charles at all. He wants to. He wants to rail at him for choosing humanity over his own kind, for choosing humanity over his sister, for choosing humanity over Erik, but every time he finds the words, he remembers the way Charles would gaze at him from under his eyelashes, the way Charles touched him like he was precious, the way Charles believed in him above all else.

Charles let Erik go, Charles didn't stop him, Charles obviously didn't care, but it's not as if Charles hasn't suffered for those crimes, as if Charles hasn't suffered at Erik's very hand.

Erik probably wouldn't want to join the man who paralyzed him, either.

"You should really sleep," Erik manages to say. He aims for gruff and impersonal and succeeds only by staring at the cracks in the concrete and pretending Charles isn't there at all. "You don't know when they'll come back."

"If I have to choose between the sleeping nightmares and the waking ones, I'll choose to stay alert, if it's all the same to you," Charles says, rubbing his forehead.

"Fine," Erik mutters. "Don't expect any sympathy if you find yourself sleep-deprived at a time when when you need to be observant."

Charles snorts. "Yes, well, I haven't expected any sympathy so far," he says. "I doubt that will change."

"This isn't a vacation, Charles," Erik all but growls. "Some of us aren't having a good time catching up with old friends."

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik sees Charles go very still. Erik turns back towards him. He doesn't want to, but he can't stop himself. Charles is staring at him like he's speaking another language.
"'Having a good time?'" Charles repeats. "I'm bloody terrified, Erik! I'm horrified. I'm frightened for my life and Raven's and yours, but she's my little sister and I don't want to scare her. I know she doesn't need my protecting, but I can't turn it off. We can't help how we feel, can we? We don't get to choose who we love. If we did, I'm sure you certainly wouldn't choose me."

Erik tries to swallow, but it feels like his throat is full of sand.

"What makes you think I love you?" he manages to say. The words are sharp, like he wanted, but even to his own ears the threat of them sounds hollow.

"We've been here five days and you've barely uttered a single word to me," Charles says. "If you hated me, if you didn't care, there would be no need to be so careful. You forget, of course, that I'm in the same position."

"And what position would that be?" Erik asks.

"Loving you though I should hate you, needing you and hating myself for it, wanting more than anything to have you near though I should despise you," Charles says.

Erik would accuse Charles of reading his mind if it wasn't for the drugs, if it wasn't for the bitter vehemence with which Charles spit the words out.

"You should hate me," Erik says.

"Yes," Charles says. "I just said that. Do keep up. I should hate you, and yet I don't, despite how utterly unattractive self-pity is." He glares at Erik, eyes flashing, and fuck, there it is, the spark in Charles, the fire that attracted Erik in the first place. It makes his heart beat faster. "You left me. You took every one I'd ever loved and you left me and as if that wasn't enough, you left me broken and humiliated."

"It wasn't--" Erik tries to say, but it was. It was his fault. Charles can't walk, Charles can't jog or dance or feel his toes and it's Erik's fucking fault.

"It wasn't," Charles agrees, which is unexpected. "But I needed someone to blame and guess who wasn't there to remind me of his virtues?"

Charles crosses his arms. He looks all of sixteen, angry and bitter and pouting. If nothing else, the pique has put color into his grey cheeks, a pink flush spreading down his face and across his nose.

"The point," he says, "is that I deserve to be angry and I deserve to be bitter and I deserve to hate you, but I can't do any of those things so you can fucking well come over here and hold my hand because I'm so terrified I can hardly think straight."

Erik blinks.

"I--what?" he asks.

"Just tell me it's going to be okay!" Charles all but shouts, and they both freeze as Raven mumbles something and shifts slightly in her sleep. Erik holds his breath. He thinks Charles does the same, and after long seconds, it appears that Raven's still asleep. Charles' shoulders slump, and when he turns back to Erik, most of the anger has drained from his face. There's a frightening desperation in its place. "Just, please. Erik. Please tell me everything will be alright."

"I...I can't promise you that," Erik says, the words scraping against his throat.

"I don't care," Charles says. "Tell me anyway."

Erik's not sure what moves him, but he's crawling across the cell, settling against Charles and carefully, carefully, carefully putting an arm around Charles' shoulders. He's too thin and too cold and he immediately turns his face away, pressing it into Erik's shoulder. Erik slides his hand down Charles' arm until their fingers slip together as easily as they have in the past.

"It will be okay," Erik lies. "Everything will be okay."

Charles laughs against Erik's shoulder, but it's not the sound that Erik remembers. It's strained and quiet and sad and Erik wraps his other arm around Charles as well.

"Arizona," Erik says. Charles stills in his arms and looks up at him. "I--that little bungalow we stayed in while looking for the mutant who could make it rain. We spent two extra days there. I read you French philosophy while we laid in the hammock."

Charles swallows.

"With whom?" he asks.

Erik opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He thinks and then says, honestly, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with."

Charles smiles slowly and finally, finally the expression fits the memories Erik holds so dear.

"I know," he says. "I can't either."