Chapter  Six-  An Interlude.

“Bloody buggering fuck!  Erik! Logan! It’s happening again!” He jumped up, sending the chess pieces falling to the floor with a muffled clatter. His bowl of crisps went flying the other way, scattering through the air like a greasy rainbow.

Charles felt the same tell-tale pull of pain before Rogue began to shake, almost twitching out of her skin.  Connected as they were, he felt what she felt, only muted. The mental landscape of Rogue’s mind, usually so steadfastedly ordered, began to fill with the same black shadows as before.  Logan was there in a flash, tensed and ready to fight, growling under his breath.  The shadow-monster was vicious and had caught them by surprise last time.

This time however, Erik, Charles and Logan were ready. Rogue usually imagined their consciousnesses locked up in small cages, sealed in with iron bars. Erik stood, his blue eyes cold as he pulled the bars from the doors, sending them flying with perfect precision towards the Shadowbeast.  Logan jumped, his claws extended, every muscle in his body tensed and at the ready as he attacked.  Charles put his finger to his forehead, focusing his mental energy on keeping Rogue’s mind from being subverted.  She appeared next to them as though tied up, indistinct as though made of fog. Her mind was terribly vulnerable at these moments of attack, and Charles had learned to attack and protect first, and ask questions later. He’d been almost completely obliterated by the Phoenix before.  He’d be buggered if he was going to allow it to happen again.  “Logan! Now!”

When Logan’s claws connected, the Shadowbeast hissed, morphing into something less substantial. Logan immediately whirled for Rogue, retracting his claws and pulling her slightly more solid form into one of the protective rooms, Erik sealing them inside with his mind, using all of the imagined metal in the room to form a barrier.

Charles felt the pain of the Shadowbeast’s attack as the real Rogue did, heard  the real Logan’s screaming her name as she collapsed on the settee in her flat. He ripped his mind away and attempted to focus on what he could control.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Erik as he danced back out of the way as Charles projected every single mental defense he had ever learned over a lifetime of telepathic control towards the attacking entity.  There was a mental scream that had all of them clutching uselessly at their heads and the Shadowbeast flapped its great wings, phasing out of the landscape of Rogue’s mind.

Charles blinked up into Erik’s worried face as the other man hovered over him, helping him to sit up. His head rung like a bell and Charles felt strangely lightheaded.

“Charles.”  One word, full of intensity that never failed to send the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up.

“Yes. I’m... I’m fine, Erik, thank you.” He raised his voice.  “Logan?”

“You better let us out, Chuck. Something’s fucked.”

They could hear Logan’s real counterpart panicking over Rogue’s prone, unresponsive body.  “Erik?” But Erik had already begun to undo the iron prison that he had manipulated into existence.

Charles’ head throbbed painfully.  He didn’t know how healthy this was, but it was necessary.  It wasn’t as though he had the time to ask Rogue’s permission to use her body after all. He took a deep, centering breath and bled his own psyche into Rogue’s.  It was like the other attacks.  For several moments  while Rogue’s consciousness wasn’t “home,” there was a small window of opportunity for some other psychic presence to take over her psyche.

Charles opened Rogue’s eyes, mentally tutting at the darkly frantic look in Logan’s hazel gaze. “There now. Rogue is fine. Or, rather she will be.” It wasn’t very good form of him, but he reached up and patted Logan’s cheek, stretching Rogue’s wide mouth into a smirk. He watched as Logan’s nostrils flared and he rocked back onto his heels. Fascinating. The Wolverine could detect the change in his mental signature. He knew that it wasn’t his Rogue in her body.

Warily, Charles watched as Logan eyed Charles-as-Rogue, his lips pulling into a dark frown. “Okay, bub. You better start fucking explaining yourself.”  Charles couldn’t help the way he shivered at the barely-restrained menace in Logan’s voice. Gingerly, he sat up being very careful not to make any sudden movements.  He hadn’t had much of a chance to explore the female form, but it was completely bizarre how off-balance his center of gravity was. Even as Charles cursed himself for the necessity of occupying Rogue’s mind until she came “home,” he relished the sensations of the Rogue’s clothes against her skin, of the sound of her frantic heartbeat in her chest.  It was so bloody on to have access to a body again…

Charles, Rogue looks to be extremely ill. I believe the Phoenix’s attacks are becoming more and more concentrated.

Right. Well, this will be somewhat of a long explanation. If he doesn’t gut me first. I don’t believe he’s very happy with this turn of events.

Best step to it then, old friend.  The Wolverine is not exactly known for his abundance of patience. Especially with whose body is in danger and you are occupying at the moment. Erik sent Charles an image of him raising his eyebrow with a slight smirk, and Charles felt himself flush.

Somewhat of an understatement there.  “Right then. When I rang you, I told you that Rogue was in danger. I’m afraid the explanation is rather convoluted.”

Logan sniffed at him again. Charles was hard-pressed not to laugh at the suspicious way the little dog did the same thing, sniffing briefly at Charles’ hand before growling low in its throat and backing off with stiff legs- its tail straight up in the air..  Charles watched as Logan visibly began to restrain his need for action, watching as he settled back into the sagging cushion and crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

Charles barely managed not to lick his lips.  It was damned awkward. This body’s responses to Logan’s masculinity  were almost second-nature. Somehow Charles didn’t think either Rogue, or Logan would accept his explanation if he gave into the sudden low feeling in his belly and launched himself into Logan’s arms.

I don’t think your guy would appreciate that too much either, bub.  A private thought sent to Charles from Rogue’s inner-Logan. He had the image of him curled around Rogue, lightly stroking her back as he waited for her to come back.

He’s not my--- right. Focusing. Charles ignored inner-Logan’s snort, took a deep breath and began.

“I am fully aware that this sounds utterly mad, yet I do not know how else to explain.  Rogue does not yet have the control needed for me to look properly for the answers to our questions, so what we have are mostly conjecture and hypotheses. What we know is that Rogue’s mind is not entirely her own. Erik believes that when she took the cure, she lost much of the control she had worked for on the personalities in her brain.”

“What do you mean, her mind is not her own?” There was a small muscle ticking in Logan’s jaw. Charles resisted the urge to get out of range of the quietly furious mutant and instead reached forward to take a drink of Rogue’s coke, smiling a little as the sweet taste burst upon his tongue. It truly was the simple things that he missed the most.

“Exactly that. You are, obviously, acquainted with the power that Jean had as the Phoenix?”  Charles could see that whatever Logan had been expecting Charles to say- hadn’t been that.

Logan nodded dumbly, his eyes narrowing.

“Did it not strike you as odd that Rogue would not fight with her companions? That she was content to not only sit idly by, but to allow herself to lose her mutation just when she was beginning to learn the beginnings of control?”

Logan blinked. “She… what?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Charles knew full well that Rogue hadn’t. She had not gained control of her skin, but he had felt that they were very close to a breakthrough before he’d been killed.

“No,” Logan said quietly.

“Hm. Blast.” Charles sighed, watching as Logan stood up and began pacing the small confines of the miniscule flat, his claws sliding out and retreating as he tried to contain the nervous energy that fairly sang through his body. “When I first found myself in Rogue’s head, the lingering feeling of the Phoenix was shocking. You must realize that I had become very familiar with the pathways and landscapes of Jean’s mind. I felt her destroy me, Logan. I will never forget the feeling of the Phoenix’s mental signature. There are parts of Rogue’s mind where that signature lays over everything, like some noxious dust.”  Charles took another sip of the coke.

Logan was staring at him, horrified.

How is she?

Still out. It’s taking longer than the other times, Chuck.

I can do nothing until she is ready to return.

“I can rid her mind of the compulsion. When I have my own body back.”

“Yeah? When does that happen?”

“Right now, Rogue is .. not exactly lost, but not fully cognizant in her own mind. You must understand how dangerous that is. If she is too weak, she will not be able to come back. Every time she is attacked by... well, we’ve begun calling it the Shadowbeast. As best Erik and I can determine, the Phoenix still exists in some form in Rogue’s mind.”

“...Not just hers.”

Charles blinked up at him. Logan was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, standing so his face was in shadow. “The Furball told me that they found hints of her in my mind. In lots of the X-Geeks’ minds. Shit, Chuck. I thought she was gone!”

She is. You mustn’t forget that. These are parts of the Phoenix. Not Jean.”

“Yeah. So what about Marie? How do you get her out of your head? Does she remember this when she wakes up?”

“That... is a bit of a trick. She didn’t remember this at first. However, we started to notice she was sleepwalking. Losing large slots of her awareness, not just when she was sleeping. She started to remember our conversations as dreams. We thought that her personalities: me, Erik, you, were perhaps being a bit too rambunctious, but whoever was taking over- it wasn’t us. About a week ago, I took steps. And almost lost myself in the backlash. The best I could do was set things so that we had some warning when the Shadowbeast was ready to attempt to take over her mind again.”

Logan scrubbed his hand over his face. “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, popping the ‘k’ sound.

“Indeed.” Charles stood and walked to the back of the flat, shedding his clothes as he went.  

“What are you doing?!”

Charles had to hide a small smile.  “I’m getting Rogue ready for bed.  She hates to sleep in her trousers.” Logan looked as though he had hit him on the back of the head with a large board. “When she wakes up, she’s extremely disoriented. I want her to be lying down, comfortable in her bed. It wouldn’t do for her to slip and fall while her mind reacquaints itself with her body.”

“How can you just do this? Be so calm? And ya never answered my  fuckin’ question! How  do ya get  you the hell out of her head?”

“Right. I have not.” Charles was endlessly amused to note that Logan had turned around on his boot heel, staring a hole into the faded carpet while he changed into Rogue’s sleep shorts and t-shirt. He went to brush her teeth, making a face at the taste of the toothpaste. Bloody disgusting baking soda. It was like brushing one’s teeth with a cleaning pad.

Hey, Wheels? I think she’s startin’ to come to, man.

Charles didn’t exactly need Logan’s remark. He could feel the sudden tilting, nauseating disorientation, feel Rogue’s knees buckle. Charles’ elbow hit the cup she used to rinse her mouth, sending it flying to the floor. He was too occupied with holding the connection as long as he could, terrified that if he dropped his guard the remnants of the Phoenix would take over. Just as he began to feel stretched like pulled taffy, pulled and pulled and folded in on himself, he was aware of Logan at his back and the rude shove of Rogue’s own consciousness clicking back into place, like a joint out of place, pushing his own consciousness back into Rogue’s mind.

 


Logan

 

Instinct had me behind Marie before she could knock her head against the counter. I was uncomfortably aware of the way her own scent was becoming more there, sharp and sweet.  Even the yappy little mutt had stopped its growling and was making confused, desperate noises; nervous whining as it followed behind me.  I made an effort to shove the barely restrained panic into the back of my mind as I pulled her to me, standing and turning towards her bed.

I might have held her a second longer than I meant to, just breathing in the scent of her, listening to the comforting thud of her heart in her chest. The little mutt gave two sharp barks and I felt Marie stir in my arms.

“L’gan?” Her mutter made all sorts of things I thought I’d gotten past tighten in my body.  I wanted to tuck her in and kiss her senseless, protect her and fight beside her.  

This shit was confusing as fuck.

I shifted her weight a little to free up my arm so that I could pull back the covers from her bed. She flailed a little as I swung her onto the mattress, grabbing my hand and squeezing. Her eyes opened a little, then closed like the dim light from the bathroom hurt them. She didn’t let go of my hand as she buried her head into the pillow, running her thumb lightly over my knuckles where my claws would extend. I remembered her curious question from so many years ago-- “Does it hurt? When they come out?” --and nearly choked on the way my gut tightened again at her simple gesture.  

“Stay?” I saw a sliver of her pupil again as she tugged on my hand as though to pull me into bed with her.

Oh shit.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. Comfort. Comfort I could do. She wanted me to stay with her.  This was so fucked up. I had to call ‘Ro, check in with her to see what else had gone to shit while I struck out to track down Marie. Chuck had said that she’d be disoriented. She obviously needed me to stay with her; no, wanted me to stay with her.  I felt her press a little harder on the tender skin between my knuckles and what was left of my thoughts pretty much dribbled out of my head. I felt like a stupid fucking kid with the world’s most crushable crush.   I pulled my hand away, trying to ignore the way her lips turned down.

“Give me just a sec, okay?”  

I was uncomfortably aware that I hadn’t taken a shower since late last night.  I took a step back and almost squished the little dog. Rolling my eyes, I picked him up and turned him so that I could look at his face.  He growled at me, his fur proofing up as he bared tiny little teeth.  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath as I raised my eyebrow at the little shit- feeling like a complete dumbass while I did so. I plopped him down onto the mattress, where he walked up to Marie with stiff legs, licked her nose twice then flopped down in the space between her shoulder and neck, still glaring at me with righteous puppy indignation.

I’d pretty much ignored my exhaustion until this point, but things were quickly catching up. I padded out to the main room and cleaned up the few things we’d left out. Her locks were a joke, but I secured the apartment as best that I could.  

I barely fit in her tiny shower, with my ass hitting the cold tile and having to bend a little to get all of my body under the spray, but the water pressure felt fucking amazing.  Her scent was stronger here, and with a twitch of my lips I ignored the way my body reacted to it.  I knew that everything I was repressing- the worry, the fucking terrified way I’d felt her convulse in my arms, the little bits of shit that kept popping up; that Destiny broad, Mystique and Remy “coincidentally” here with Marie, the whatever the actual fuck was happening in her head was going to bite me on the ass sooner rather than later. Maybe all the memory loss allowed me to ignore the fuckery inside my head. Whatever. Right now I just wanted to fucking sleep.

I had a pair of sweats in my saddle bags, and walked naked to her living room, growling under my breath when I noticed that that little fucking bit of fluff had pissed on my saddlebag. I might have still been muttering under my breath as I jerked the sweats out of the bag, slipped them up over my hips, and found something to clean up the leather.  I left them on the kitchen counter then washed my hands and finally- finally!- was able to slide into bed with Marie.

Her body was tense beside me for only a second before she curled into my side like she’d done it a thousand times before. The dog gave a sleepy yip he was dislodged from his comfy spot, and I should probably be ashamed of the smug little grin I gave the damn thing before I realized I was doing it. Marie’s breath was steady on my shoulder, my arms fitting around her with something very like relief as the sound of her heartbeat and even, calm breathing lulled me to sleep.


 

“Well, old friend? I would say that this has gone utterly and bollocks up.”

Erik sighs and looks morosely out of the window.  Charles doesn’t ask what he’s looking at. Truthfully, he’s afraid to know.  “Is Logan well?” He asks, instead.

“He’s surely a moody bastard.”

“He’s got reason to be.”

Erik nods. “I think he will be fine. Even here it is exhausting to be constantly on guard. We’ve all been a bit wary of late.”

Charles bites his lip nervously. He’s a little worried about what he wants to say, but knows that it’s time to clear the air.  He didn’t understand the particulars of how Rogue would return to her body; he only knew that the process leaves her vulnerable while doing so. He had persevered this time, but what of the next time? It was getting harder and harder to disengage from the stretch of Rogue’s mind from his own.

It made him singularly uncomfortable. He had never, ever intended to hurt Rogue. The idea that separating from her mind might not be as smooth as he had confidentially assumed made him worry.   “Erik, would it be okay if I had a word?”

Erik turns from the window, his shoulders tight. He has long ago perfected the skill of blanking his face.  Charles often wishes that even in this dreamscape plain of Rogue’s consciousness he would be able to better understand his friend. It hurts him that he still can’t, even after all these years.

Seeing Erik and himself as the younger men they were has its own pain. Charles has made himself forget how damnably attractive his friend is, even in the dark turtlenecks he tends to wear. Erik has opted to keep himself more aloof from himself and Logan, something which is really no surprise.  When Erik does initiate conversation, it is to fret over the danger that Rogue has found herself in. Charles knows better than to ever let on how … sweet Erik’s fatherly concern is.  Should he do so, Erik would most likely clam up, and that would do neither him nor Rogue any good at all.

“About what?”

“Come sit down?”

Erik crosses to the chair by the fire. Normally they play chess here, but since the last attack, neither has found the time. Charles notices that his old friend  is idly manipulating a coin through his fingers, and paradoxically,  the small nervous gesture heartens him.

“I suppose that this is rather overdue.”  Erik seats himself and stretches his long legs so that had the fire actually been able to burn him, the bottoms of his boots would have been in trouble.  Charles tries and fails not to notice the small flash of pale skin above the waistband of his trousers when Erik’s black turtleneck rides up.  “How you must hate me.” Erik speaks just above a whisper.  For a second, Charles doesn’t react. He is too surprised by the brief glimpse of skin and the completely innocuous, though pain-filled words.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have spent most of my life regretting my actions, Charles.”

Charles blinks, utterly nonplussed.

“I’ve known for some years that you are the better man. Your way, those ideals that I called so naive and foolish, were much more successful than my own. I truly believed that showing our own dominance would allow us to prevail over our war with the Humans. Now look at us.  You are dead. My own counterpart has lost his powers, and is wandering around broken and lost. Look how Rogue suffers for all of the struggles that we… that I put into motion.”

“Surely you cannot mean to blame yourself for every single event that has happened since…”

“Since Cuba?”

Charles’ mouth drops open just enough that he feels foolish. He watches as Erik raises his eyes to meet his, then drops his gaze again, unable to look at him directly.  He wants to reach out to touch his friend, but is unsure of the reaction should he do so.

“Part of me… quite a large part, often wonders what we could have accomplished had we worked together and not against each other for all of those years.  I even wondered if being here, in her mind like this was sort of…”

“A second chance?”

“Exactly. A chance to help her. Ironic I know given how I came to be here in the first place.”

Charles finds that he desperately wants a drink. This was so unexpected, so out of character for the Erik that he knows that for a moment he wonders if he’s dreaming.  His hands shake a little as he pours the whiskey into the glass, the bottle clanking against the tumbler with a little rattle.  He’d wanted to reach out to Erik so many times. Charles had spent countless hours in his own head, attempting to somehow justify Erik’s actions over the years. The first time that he had to preside over one of his students’ funerals, had to try to comfort the friends and teachers of someone cut down in the prime of their life because of Erik’s unwavering belief that his way of mutant terrorism was the only route open to them had stopped any thoughts of forgiveness or reconciliation cold in their tracks. He absolutely, could not be selfish. His children, the mutants that he helped to learn, and grow, and yes train needed him far more than he needed Erik.  Or so he told himself.

“You’re not dreaming, Charles.” Erik’s voice is low, closer than Charles realized.  The other man had crossed to where he stood with his back to the fire, mulling over his thoughts.  He feels Erik touch his elbow and has to press his lips together to hide their sudden trembling.

“You would be amazed at how much soul searching one can accomplish when sharing the mind of a do-gooder, highly imaginative, utterly bloody stubborn teenager.” Erik’s voice is low, his body close enough that the words from his lips stir the fine hairs on the back of Charles neck. “She wouldn’t even talk to me until I began to think about my actions. The first time I apologized to her, she told me to fuck off.”

Charles snorts at that.  Rogue did rather have a mouth on her. Scott had always blamed the fact that she shared a mind with Logan.  Charles had rather thought it was her own personality given how much she had attempted to keep Logan locked up in her mind.  He turns and finds Erik’s mouth temptingly close.

“You give me too much credit. True, a lot of what I have accomplished with the X-Men has been in reaction to your own movements, Erik, but my own paths are hardly free of regrets.”

Erik’s eyes are very, very blue.

“What regrets?”

But Charles has forgotten. He still feels like he’s dreaming as his lips brush against Erik’s for the first time. His whole body feels rather like he’s poised on the precipice of a cliff, balancing precariously on the edge of what he so desperately wants, and what he knows he should do.

Erik makes a small sound, torn from his throat as though he couldn’t stop himself from kissing back.  Charles felt Erik’s long fingers cupping his jaw, tilting his head so their mouths could better move against the other’s. At the first feel of Erik’s tongue, Charles drops the drink, sending it crashing onto the chess table. He feels Erik’s smile against his own lips, then the kiss changes, becomes deeper as Charles finally lets the years of want do what they will.

“Charles.... Charles, mein Gott....” Erik is kissing his lips, dragging his mouth away for air then diving back in, his hands holding Charles’ face to him as though he’s not exactly where he wants to be. For his part, Charles can’t even form words. It has been a long, long time since he’s allowed himself to not do anything but feel; to be greedy and take from Erik’s mouth what he needs until he is breathless with the need for oxygen.

His back is against the wall and Charles is writhing against Erik’s thigh when a disgusted “For fuck’s sake, really?” causes both of their heads to snap back, horrified gazes crashing together in shock. Charles kind of wants to die when he looks over Erik’s shoulder to see Logan staring at them with his mouth open, hands crossed over his chest with one eyebrow cocked up to his ridiculous hairline.

“Bloody, buggering fuck.” He’s making out like a bloody teenager in Rogue’s mind.

“Not quite, Liebliche.” Erik’s disgruntled mutter makes him laugh, which is utterly, completely ridiculous.

“I think we have other things to work on, but I can give you guys a couple of minutes if--”

“No. No, Logan. You are correct. This is hardly the time.” Charles shifts away from Erik, completely unaware that he is licking his lips as he stares at the hard, thick length bulging behind Erik’s sensible woolen trousers.  “We have much to...do.”

He rather ignores Logan’s rolled eyes and forces his gaze up to Erik’s.  Erik’s smile is blinding; full of teeth and something very like happiness.

“Snap to it, Charles. We can always finish our discussion.... later.”

Right. Later.  Bit of an incentive, that.

 

TBC!

 

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