For a moment, he lets himself think about how it would have been with Raven, had he got there first, before Azazel and before he met Charles. Easier, certainly. There would have been no need to hide and no fear of discovery. They could have lived together upstairs in his apartment, him shaving in the bathroom while she tried on different faces in front of the mirror, different clothes; he would cook, as she was a disaster in the kitchen, and maybe it would have been him she curled up with on long evenings with a magazine or a book, casually disinterested in having personal space. They would have worked together downstairs and everyone would think of them as an inseparable unit, a perfect pair of mutants. Her baby might have been his.
Raven is light and witty and charming, but most of all fierce and determined to stand her ground and protect what’s hers with every bone in her body, no matter the cost. She and Charles both fight him freely as and when they please, never laying down before the battle is well and truly over, and neither one of them is afraid of him or his anger. But he does not know, now, if he could ever have relaxed enough for Raven. She has so much vivacity and so little patience, sometimes. She would never have waited for Erik to come to her, the way Charles does when he’s in one of his darker moods, or known how to nag him out of it without pushing him to outbursts of temper, somehow treading that fine line between sympathy and irritation. She is beautiful, but she does not have the same way of understanding Erik that Charles does, somehow always knowing what Erik is trying to say, however poorly he says it. Charles is strong, and gentle, and fierce in his own way, a pacifist not afraid of going into battle when he must.
He still loves her, all the same, even if it is not the burning ardour it once was. Erik has never been a man to let things go. He just found somebody he loves more.
“Keep all ears out,” he says finally, once his feet have slowed from their pacing to leave him back where he started, stood over his desk, the restless energy useless without a target to aim it at. “Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”
“Don’t I always?” Raven smiles, and goes back to her yogurt, humming thoughtfully around the spoon in her mouth. “You know, you’ve really grown into this, Erik. I know you didn’t think you could do it, but look at you now. I told you so.”
He is quiet for a long moment, then he smiles, an expression that goes all the way to his eyes. “Thank you, Raven. You… know, I hope, that the same is true of you.”
“I’ve certainly grown,” she says with a wry grin, and rubs her stomach, suddenly wincing. “Ow. He’s lively, today. Hey, you want to feel?” And before he can say anything she grabs his hand and tugs him closer, laying the flat of his palm against the taut skin of her stomach through her dress, just right of her navel. “Feel that?”
There is nothing, at first, just an overwhelming moment of thinking about how close they are, and of feeling awkward, before suddenly the flesh under his hand jumps in a way that a stomach never should, and Erik is instead suddenly and shockingly aware that there is a miniature person inside of there, that inside of his dear friend is someone entirely new, waiting to come out. His breath catches in his throat, and he glances up to meet Raven’s eyes, which are very soft and fond. “Weird, isn’t it?” she asks, and Erik just nods, smiles back, everything else - politics, revolution, economics, race - put on the back burner for now, as he takes a moment out for wonder.
“You’re going to spoil this kid rotten, aren’t you,” Raven says, “you big marshmallow,” but she doesn’t sound upset at all.
XXIX
At night Erik learns Charles’ body with his hands and mouth and eyes, burns every inch of him into his memory, until he only has to close his eyes to find Charles on the inside of his eyelids, until it might as well be Charles’ name tattooed on the inside of his forearm, scrawled in messy black ink by a hand that cannot keep up with the mind that directs it.
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 134/?
Raven is light and witty and charming, but most of all fierce and determined to stand her ground and protect what’s hers with every bone in her body, no matter the cost. She and Charles both fight him freely as and when they please, never laying down before the battle is well and truly over, and neither one of them is afraid of him or his anger. But he does not know, now, if he could ever have relaxed enough for Raven. She has so much vivacity and so little patience, sometimes. She would never have waited for Erik to come to her, the way Charles does when he’s in one of his darker moods, or known how to nag him out of it without pushing him to outbursts of temper, somehow treading that fine line between sympathy and irritation. She is beautiful, but she does not have the same way of understanding Erik that Charles does, somehow always knowing what Erik is trying to say, however poorly he says it. Charles is strong, and gentle, and fierce in his own way, a pacifist not afraid of going into battle when he must.
He still loves her, all the same, even if it is not the burning ardour it once was. Erik has never been a man to let things go. He just found somebody he loves more.
“Keep all ears out,” he says finally, once his feet have slowed from their pacing to leave him back where he started, stood over his desk, the restless energy useless without a target to aim it at. “Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”
“Don’t I always?” Raven smiles, and goes back to her yogurt, humming thoughtfully around the spoon in her mouth. “You know, you’ve really grown into this, Erik. I know you didn’t think you could do it, but look at you now. I told you so.”
He is quiet for a long moment, then he smiles, an expression that goes all the way to his eyes. “Thank you, Raven. You… know, I hope, that the same is true of you.”
“I’ve certainly grown,” she says with a wry grin, and rubs her stomach, suddenly wincing. “Ow. He’s lively, today. Hey, you want to feel?” And before he can say anything she grabs his hand and tugs him closer, laying the flat of his palm against the taut skin of her stomach through her dress, just right of her navel. “Feel that?”
There is nothing, at first, just an overwhelming moment of thinking about how close they are, and of feeling awkward, before suddenly the flesh under his hand jumps in a way that a stomach never should, and Erik is instead suddenly and shockingly aware that there is a miniature person inside of there, that inside of his dear friend is someone entirely new, waiting to come out. His breath catches in his throat, and he glances up to meet Raven’s eyes, which are very soft and fond. “Weird, isn’t it?” she asks, and Erik just nods, smiles back, everything else - politics, revolution, economics, race - put on the back burner for now, as he takes a moment out for wonder.
“You’re going to spoil this kid rotten, aren’t you,” Raven says, “you big marshmallow,” but she doesn’t sound upset at all.
At night Erik learns Charles’ body with his hands and mouth and eyes, burns every inch of him into his memory, until he only has to close his eyes to find Charles on the inside of his eyelids, until it might as well be Charles’ name tattooed on the inside of his forearm, scrawled in messy black ink by a hand that cannot keep up with the mind that directs it.