It was noon by the time Erik got back to the house. He had left the diner with only one thing in mind and that was to get to Charles, to make sure that Charles was all right. Emma Frost had said that she wouldn’t tell Shaw about him, but meant nothing – the woman worked for Shaw, after all, and a little white lie like that was nothing on the morally grey scale of things that she would have had to do whilst in his employ.
Erik didn’t bother with the doorbell – he was far too much on edge for that. Besides, if there was anyone else in the house besides Charles the last thing he wanted to do was give them a head start. So he silently unlocked the door and let himself in, while simultaneously sending out his power in order to sense whether there were any intruders in the house. It took a few minutes, the mansion being so large, for him to make sure that they were alone and that Charles himself was in one of the sitting rooms in the right wing of the house. Erik immediately made his way there. He needed to check that Charles was okay and that he had not had a last minute change of heart with regards to going away with Erik that night.
He entered the room, and was glad to see that everything seemed to be as normal. The room was positioned so that the door was at the back, presumably so that the occupants were not bothered by the comings and goings of others – said others presumably being the household servants. Charles was sitting in the middle of the room on a large armchair with his eyes focused on the television at the opposite end of the room from where Erik now stood. Erik halted in the doorway for a moment, taking a minute to just look at Charles. He had almost convinced himself that his imagination had sharpened the details of this man, exaggerated them somewhat in his mind, allowing him to take on an almost superhuman quality. While this ethereal quality was somewhat diminished, the overall effect of Charles’s presence on Erik was not. Charles’s skin was still as fine, his lips as red, his movements as graceful as Erik’s memory had painted them. And Erik’s entire being still thrummed with the same need and desire and affection as they had that morning and the night before when they had made love.
No, he thought to himself, he was not making a mistake here. This was meant to be. There was no way that he was going to lose Charles. He would not let that happen. Not ever.
He stood there, watching Charles intently for a few minutes. A small part of him wondered why Charles was just sitting there and why he had not turned around to greet him with a kiss and a smile. Perhaps he had dampened his telepathy and so could not sense Erik there. Maybe he should cough, or clear his throat. Alert Charles to his presence.
It was as he was debating these things that his eyes fell on the television screen. He glanced at it idly before the screen focused for him and he saw the picture.
His blood froze.
There, on screen, on the television that Charles was watching, was a news report. And the day’s top story that the news just happened to be reporting right at that moment was the shocking and brutal massacre of the highly decorated retired military commander, William Stryker at his residence earlier that morning.
Erik’s mouth went dry.
It’s a coincidence, he tried to tell himself. Charles doesn’t know anything – he can’t know. He’s just watching the news, like he probably does every day at this time …
Heat - Part 19a
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It was noon by the time Erik got back to the house. He had left the diner with only one thing in mind and that was to get to Charles, to make sure that Charles was all right. Emma Frost had said that she wouldn’t tell Shaw about him, but meant nothing – the woman worked for Shaw, after all, and a little white lie like that was nothing on the morally grey scale of things that she would have had to do whilst in his employ.
Erik didn’t bother with the doorbell – he was far too much on edge for that. Besides, if there was anyone else in the house besides Charles the last thing he wanted to do was give them a head start. So he silently unlocked the door and let himself in, while simultaneously sending out his power in order to sense whether there were any intruders in the house. It took a few minutes, the mansion being so large, for him to make sure that they were alone and that Charles himself was in one of the sitting rooms in the right wing of the house. Erik immediately made his way there. He needed to check that Charles was okay and that he had not had a last minute change of heart with regards to going away with Erik that night.
He entered the room, and was glad to see that everything seemed to be as normal. The room was positioned so that the door was at the back, presumably so that the occupants were not bothered by the comings and goings of others – said others presumably being the household servants. Charles was sitting in the middle of the room on a large armchair with his eyes focused on the television at the opposite end of the room from where Erik now stood. Erik halted in the doorway for a moment, taking a minute to just look at Charles. He had almost convinced himself that his imagination had sharpened the details of this man, exaggerated them somewhat in his mind, allowing him to take on an almost superhuman quality. While this ethereal quality was somewhat diminished, the overall effect of Charles’s presence on Erik was not. Charles’s skin was still as fine, his lips as red, his movements as graceful as Erik’s memory had painted them. And Erik’s entire being still thrummed with the same need and desire and affection as they had that morning and the night before when they had made love.
No, he thought to himself, he was not making a mistake here. This was meant to be. There was no way that he was going to lose Charles. He would not let that happen. Not ever.
He stood there, watching Charles intently for a few minutes. A small part of him wondered why Charles was just sitting there and why he had not turned around to greet him with a kiss and a smile. Perhaps he had dampened his telepathy and so could not sense Erik there. Maybe he should cough, or clear his throat. Alert Charles to his presence.
It was as he was debating these things that his eyes fell on the television screen. He glanced at it idly before the screen focused for him and he saw the picture.
His blood froze.
There, on screen, on the television that Charles was watching, was a news report. And the day’s top story that the news just happened to be reporting right at that moment was the shocking and brutal massacre of the highly decorated retired military commander, William Stryker at his residence earlier that morning.
Erik’s mouth went dry.
It’s a coincidence, he tried to tell himself. Charles doesn’t know anything – he can’t know. He’s just watching the news, like he probably does every day at this time …