Title: Shattered Words
Author: ethereal_vision (magnetic_powers@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13 for implied m/m
Fandom: X-Men
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Notes: Charles comes home from the hospital. Erik isn't dealing well with it.

When Charles comes home from the hospital, Erik sits across from him in their tiny house and ignores Charles' eyes, looking at the bulky contraption that now dictates Charles' life. Charles fidgets, not really sure what to say, if there is anything he can say. Words can't heal a shattered spine and make you walk again. Finally Erik moves stiffly, still not meeting Charles' eyes. Charles watches him go into the kitchen and fill the kettle with water. He wonders if the reason he drinks tea so much is because Erik makes it as something to keep his hands busy. Carefully Charles manuevers the wheelchair, not yet wanting to call it his, to watch Erik without craning his neck over his shoulder in an uncomfortable position. Erik crosses his arms and legs, leans against the counter and then meets Charles's eyes.

"What do we do now?" Charles voices Erik's question, making it sound like his own because Erik hates to sound unsure.

Erik abrubtly stands, turns and pulls two mugs out of the small cupboard. The teapot whistles, unaware of the tense atmosphere. Erik pours the hot water and rather violently dunks the tea ball into a mug, slowly darkening water sloshing over the rim. Charles sits helplessly and waits for Erik to bring his mug, realizing that he'll have to rely on other people, depend on Erik for a lot of things.

A scary thought. Erik's too unpredictable, leaving at odd times, forgetting when it's his turn to do something and overall exasperating to the point of argument. Erik brings the tea over and sits down in the chair again, drawing his knees up to his chest, mugs on the coffee table in front of him, eyes focused on the tendrils of steam rising. Charles half turns and wheels the chair over to the table, not feeling only hearing the sound of impact as his numb legs come into contact with the hard metal edge of the table. He'll have a bruise, but it won't matter.

They sit across from each other for the rest of the evening, like strangers, not sure how to start a conversation.the uneasiness is crashing over Charle like a tidal wave, which is too much, even for Erik. Charles feels like he's a pawn on a forgotten chessboard, waiting to be moved and collecting dust in the process. Finally Erik shifts to check his wristwatch.

"Late." He stands and hesitates. "Do you need help...?"

Charles stomach seems to have turned to lead. "No, I think I can do it."

Erik nods and heads to their bedroom, pulling Charles along with gentle metal leads. Charles sighs with relief as he enters, the wheelchair fits through the bedroom door.The doctors had changed wheelchairs at the last minute so there had been no way to know. After pulling off his shirt the telepath wheels close to his side of the bed and begins the struggle to pull himself up, glad Erik's in the bathroom.

Finally up, he pulls off his shoes and somehow manages to get out of his trousers. Erik comes back in from the bathroom where he had waited, not wanting to watch Charles struggle. Charles is ontop of the covers and willing to sleep without them than embarass himself in front of Erik. The other man pulls the covers from under Charles carefully, climbs into bed and bring the sheets back up over them both. The lamp clicks off at Erik's thought and Charles stares up at the ceiling in darkness, listening to Erik breath and wanting to turn on his side to face him without having to make the effort it now requires. He falls asleep with these thoughts and wakes up at the feeling of someone looking intensely at him.

It's Erik, studying him in the pale glow of the moonlight with creased eyebrows and one hand above the covers resting lightly on Charles' chest .

"S'matter?" Charles rubs at his eyes. Erik catches the telepath's hand and inspects it. Obviously thrown off, not really expecting Charles to wake up. Charles gets an odd feeling he can't quite explain.

"Erik? What's wrong?"

Erik closes his eyes, lets out a breath and opens his eyes again. Charles catches a fragment of a thought and takes a sharp breath.

"Oh God. No. Please."

He reaches for Erik, who pulls away.

Charles has dreamt about this in his hospital bed. That Erik wouldn't be able to handle the changes. Erik hates adjusting, hates the graduality of learning things over again. So it shouldn't suprise him that Erik would just give up. But he had clung the that thread of hope that Erik would try, make an exception for him. Not so.

"Charles, don't."

"Don't what? What did I do?" Charles' voice takes a high pitch.

What did he do to deserve this? He didn't want any of it, the wheelchair, the mangled life, the arguments. The lamp clicks on, casting Erik's face in odd shadows.

"I can't do this, Charles."

Charles feels dizzy, the room pitches and rolls. "Erik. We can work this out. Please."

Erik looks sad. "No, we can't."

He stands and pulls a suitcase out from under the bed. Charles notices it's already packed. The sudden knowledge of the fact that Erik had planned this made whatever was stabbing at him inside to gouge deeper.

"God. No."

Charles has never believed in God, but he'd pray three times a day and attend church if it meant keeping Erik. The other man starts to leave the room.

"I'll sleep on the couch and be gone in the morning."

Charles feels tears gather threateningly.

"Erik. Erik. Erik."

His voice reels and trips like an old record. It never occurs to him to use his powers to make Erik stay. Not that he ever would. Charles lay in bed, the lamp light stinging his blurring eyes he thinks. Erik, oh, Erik, Erik, burning the name into his mind. The door closes with a finality that echoes through the house and the chasms of Charles' mind.

-- fin

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