Erik’s panic seemed to finally alert Charles to his presence.
‘Erik?’ he sat up in his seat and a faint smile made its way over his face. He looked calm and relaxed – the furthest thing away from appearing as if he had just found out that his boyfriend was something akin to a serial killer.
Erik felt himself slowly relax. No, Charles didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Erik was being paranoid – he was worrying for no reason. The news report was just a coincidence; a horrible, rotten coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless. As long as he stayed calm and Charles kept his promise not to dig into his head, then everything would be fine.
He forced himself to smile as Charles got up from his seat and all but bounded over to where Erik stood still by the doorway.
‘There you are!’ Charles beamed, reaching forward to embrace Erik warmly. ‘I’ve been worried, you know – first you disappear on me this morning, then I get that phone call, and now-’ he suddenly stilled. A strange expression came over his face and he took one step back. ‘Erik,’ he said in an odd voice. ‘Erik – what … what is that?’
Erik blinked and then glanced down at where Charles was pointing.
Only then did he realise the monumental mistake that he had made.
While in the diner with Shaw, Emma had shielded the both of them from scrutiny and any outside interest, making them practically invisible to those around them. No one would have noticed anything odd about his appearance. And after that he had been in too much of a rush to get to Charles to either notice other people or come into contact with them. And earlier to the both –
Well, moments before he had been picked up by Shaw he had been busy murdering Stryker and his pathetic little army of human soldiers.
Which was precisely the problem.
He had forgotten that from that moment onwards, he had been almost completely covered in blood. His shirt, his hands, his face … they were all marked with evidence of his actions. Seeing how Erik was obviously unharmed, there could be only one remaining conclusion.
Charles looked down at Erik’s front. Then he looked at his hands. Then, turning, his eyes fell on the still-running television report on the violent murder of a retired military official.
Immensely unusual injuries, the reporter seemed to be saying. A small army seemingly slaughtered by their own weapons … warped metal … almost humanly impossible …
There was a moment of stillness.
Charles turned his head and his eyes met Erik’s.
There was a pause.
Then:
‘Oh god.’
The words were whispered but they hit Erik with the force of a sledgehammer.
Then again:
‘Oh god. Oh god, no.’
‘Charles …’ Erik began but he wasn’t able to go any further.
‘No.’ Charles was shaking his head furiously, as if the sheer force of his denial would make it all untrue. ‘No, it isn’t. Say it isn’t. It can’t be. Not you. Erik, tell me it’s not you.’
‘Charles, I-’ This would be it. This would be the moment where Erik could deny everything. The moment where he could explain everything. Or make something up. Make anything up. Anything but the truth. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
‘Erik …’ Charles was staring at him, horror and betrayal mixed up inextricably in his eyes. ‘Tell me I’m wrong. Please make it that I’m wrong.’
Heat - Part 19b
Erik’s panic seemed to finally alert Charles to his presence.
‘Erik?’ he sat up in his seat and a faint smile made its way over his face. He looked calm and relaxed – the furthest thing away from appearing as if he had just found out that his boyfriend was something akin to a serial killer.
Erik felt himself slowly relax. No, Charles didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Erik was being paranoid – he was worrying for no reason. The news report was just a coincidence; a horrible, rotten coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless. As long as he stayed calm and Charles kept his promise not to dig into his head, then everything would be fine.
He forced himself to smile as Charles got up from his seat and all but bounded over to where Erik stood still by the doorway.
‘There you are!’ Charles beamed, reaching forward to embrace Erik warmly. ‘I’ve been worried, you know – first you disappear on me this morning, then I get that phone call, and now-’ he suddenly stilled. A strange expression came over his face and he took one step back. ‘Erik,’ he said in an odd voice. ‘Erik – what … what is that?’
Erik blinked and then glanced down at where Charles was pointing.
Only then did he realise the monumental mistake that he had made.
While in the diner with Shaw, Emma had shielded the both of them from scrutiny and any outside interest, making them practically invisible to those around them. No one would have noticed anything odd about his appearance. And after that he had been in too much of a rush to get to Charles to either notice other people or come into contact with them. And earlier to the both –
Well, moments before he had been picked up by Shaw he had been busy murdering Stryker and his pathetic little army of human soldiers.
Which was precisely the problem.
He had forgotten that from that moment onwards, he had been almost completely covered in blood. His shirt, his hands, his face … they were all marked with evidence of his actions. Seeing how Erik was obviously unharmed, there could be only one remaining conclusion.
Charles looked down at Erik’s front. Then he looked at his hands. Then, turning, his eyes fell on the still-running television report on the violent murder of a retired military official.
Immensely unusual injuries, the reporter seemed to be saying. A small army seemingly slaughtered by their own weapons … warped metal … almost humanly impossible …
There was a moment of stillness.
Charles turned his head and his eyes met Erik’s.
There was a pause.
Then:
‘Oh god.’
The words were whispered but they hit Erik with the force of a sledgehammer.
Then again:
‘Oh god. Oh god, no.’
‘Charles …’ Erik began but he wasn’t able to go any further.
‘No.’ Charles was shaking his head furiously, as if the sheer force of his denial would make it all untrue. ‘No, it isn’t. Say it isn’t. It can’t be. Not you. Erik, tell me it’s not you.’
‘Charles, I-’ This would be it. This would be the moment where Erik could deny everything. The moment where he could explain everything. Or make something up. Make anything up. Anything but the truth. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
‘Erik …’ Charles was staring at him, horror and betrayal mixed up inextricably in his eyes. ‘Tell me I’m wrong. Please make it that I’m wrong.’