Chapter Text
“So I have good news and bad news.” Raven sailed into the office with her scarf fluttering behind her, a red latte cup in each hand. Charles felt his eyebrows shoot up; if Raven was going twenty minutes out of her way to get him the new Christmas drink from Brooke’s instead of the watered-down shite from next door, then it must be really bad news.
“The good news first, then,” Charles said, warily accepting the beverage from her and prying open the lid. The gingerbread scent that wafted out soothed his nerves a little, steeling him for whatever madness headed his way. He took a tentative sip, batting away the temptation to dip into Raven’s mind and snatch a clue or two.
He didn’t have to wait long. “You don’t have to rush your presentation anymore,” Raven said, waving absently at the stacks of printed spreadsheets laid out over his desk on top of one another, like filo pastry. “Moira’s pushed back the budget meeting.”
“Oh!” That was good news indeed. Charles had been stressing over the presentation for the last few days, sending his staff out on fact-checking missions and data collection runs. He hadn’t told anyone that he had been worried about making the deadline tomorrow, but maybe he didn’t have to. Everyone had been commenting on his late nights at the office, and some even left him surreptitious treats on his desk. In fact, the crumpled wrapper for Armando’s protein bar was still crinkled up next to his laptop.
“So what’s the bad news?” Charles asked. The grimace on Raven’s face - as though she’d tasted something nasty - would have been comical if it weren’t for the situation at hand.
What she said next was so mind-boggling that Charles thought he had heard wrongly at first. But he could see it clear as day in her mind; it was the truth. He slumped back in his desk chair, stunned.
It took a while for the news to sink in, and Charles just stared at his latte while Raven shifted and fidgeted on the table. “I know, I know, it sucks,” Raven said.
“I need to go talk to Moira.” A dazed Charles stood up, dusting the protein bar crumbs off his pants and letting his feet take him automatically to Moira’s office at the end of the corridor.
***
When Charles stepped in, the sight that greeted him simply reaffirmed everything Raven had told him minutes ago. Moira had her feet propped up on her desk, uncharacteristically ignoring her paperwork while she cradled a glass of something dark amber. As Charles shut the door, she gestured for him to sit down while she slid out another matching glass. Her serene expression matched her mental state; her mind was as clear and still as an alpine lake.
Charles watched her expertly retrieve her private stash of whiskey deep from the bowels of her filing cabinet before she sloshed a generous amount into his glass. “So Westchester County is really bankrupt?” he said faintly.
“It’s not confirmed yet,” she corrected him. “But yes, it’s highly likely.”
“What’s going to happen? How can we be on the brink of bankruptcy?” He downed the whiskey as soon as she handed it to him. At least it burned less than the disappointment in his throat.
Moira gave him an elegant shrug. “With Stryker in charge, I have a few good guesses. But we’ll find out what happened soon enough. They’re sending in two state budget auditors from Hammer Bay.” She turned to gaze thoughtfully through her now empty whiskey glass, holding it up in front of the window. In the courtyard, Alex and Armando were struggling to put up the holiday banners in preparation for next week, caught in some mute squabble.
Right. Well, Charles would probably have to break the bad news to them that the Christmas celebrations would be cancelled. No office party this year, no Secret Santa, probably not even the little dishes of candy canes left out on Alex’s receptionist desk for visitors. In the eyes of the taxpayers, those might seem like an unnecessary frivolous expenditure in the face of a financial crisis.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Moira suggested, both her smile and tone gentle. Charles wondered what sort of vibe he must be giving off if she was subconsciously treating him like a spooked horse. “If there are any updates, you’ll be the first to hear. I promise.”
Charles couldn’t quite bear the thought of being idle all day and worrying endlessly about the budget deficit, so he said, “I’d much rather stay here, if you don’t mind.”
He had never appreciated her more when Moira simply gave him a thoughtful nod, pouring him two more fingers of whiskey without another word.
***
The following Tuesday, the state budget auditors arrived to little fanfare at the Mutant Affairs Department. At that moment Charles was still in his office, dishearteningly formatting all his spreadsheets for the nth time and trying to ignore the rows of red numbers at the bottom. When he sensed a sudden spike of displeasure and hostility from the bullpen, it was as good a confirmation as any that the auditors were here. Charles straightened his jacket one last time, squaring his shoulders before he stepped outside. The rest of the M.A.D. employees were standing in a ragged semicircle, glaring at two suits who had planted themselves in the middle of the office.
One man was older and clearly in charge, with his greying hair and a smug air of superiority. He smiled too much with his mouth and not his eyes, dispatching some charming speech about how they were here only to make things run more smoothly and efficiently, how they’d need everyone’s help, how he just knew everyone would get along swimmingly. The other man was taller but younger, his arms folded across his broad chest. He was strikingly handsome in a movie-star way that made Charles’ skin prickle with attraction. Unfortunately, the man’s stern, grim expression was off-putting, the nonverbal equivalent of a ‘STAY AWAY’ sign. Like his mentor, the man hadn’t noticed Charles’ entrance; currently his gaze was fixed on the sign above Bobby’s cubicle that said, ‘You don’t have to be M.A.D. to work here, but it helps.’
“Oh hi there.” The man who had been giving the speech had finally spotted Charles. “I’m Sebastian Shaw, from the state auditor’s office in Hammer Bay.” He gestured to the man behind him. “My associate, Erik Lehnsherr.”
“Charles Francis, Deputy Director of Mutant Affairs,” Charles said, shaking Shaw’s hand and resisting the urge to wipe off his own on his trousers. “I’m afraid Director MacTaggert will be stuck in meetings all day.”
“Of course.” The broad grin on Shaw’s face barely shifted, but Charles was taken aback at the sudden burst of vindictive glee from the man’s mind that accompanied the thought, Never trust a human to do a mutant’s job. Charles kept his mouth clamped shut, deciding to just wait and observe so he knew how much warning he needed to give Moira.
“Hello,” said a low, soft voice. Charles was embarrassed when he realised he had completely missed Erik’s outstretched hand.
“I’m so sorry, my friend.” This time Charles’ grip was firmer, as if in apology. He could sense Erik’s wariness and confusion at being called ‘friend’ so soon. But at least Erik returned his grip, and after a long moment, a brief sense of a smile.
Erik had been on this side of the table many times before. He even had a routine for it, one shaped and perfected by ten years of experience. Enduring crying employees, being lied to, getting called a colourful variety of names, even having (thankfully lukewarm) tea tossed in his face: Erik had encountered every possible worst case scenario and come out unscathed. This was why Shaw made him do this. When they worked together, Erik was forced to be the harbinger of bad tidings, the one to look after the bottom line and do the dirty work while Shaw swanned about, building network connections for his own benefit. This was fine, though. Erik was good at what he did and took pride in bringing various cities and towns back from the brink of bankruptcy. His methods never failed him; they wouldn’t fail Westchester County now.
This was Erik’s ironclad (pun unintended) routine for budget meetings with various departments:
1) Come armed with the files and binders he would require,
2) Ask the Director and/or their underlings about any areas in their department where they can trim the fat,
3) After being met with denial or outrage, tell them the exact areas that need to be slashed,
4) Wait out any ensuing drama or floods of tears. Leave if necessary. Check in 72 hours later to ensure the department has made the cuts.
5) If not, get Shaw’s approval and sign off on the cuts himself.
So after Shaw had left the office, Erik sat down with the Director of Mutant Affairs and her deputy. Everything was ready, his files all laid out neatly in front of him. He opened his mouth, about to launch into Step 2 without preamble when the deputy unexpectedly blurted out, “I really like your shirt.”
Erik gave him a quizzical stare. “I’m sorry?”
The man - Charles, was it? - had an open, flirtatious smile that seemed out of place in a government boardroom and more at home in a darkened club, or a bar. Erik had a special talent for sniffing out sycophants a mile away, but Charles’ eyes seemed to be genuinely warm as they roved appreciatively over his shirt. His eyes were that unfair quality of blue that sucked up all the attention in the room. “Your shirt. It’s from the Zegna fall collection, isn’t it?”
Erik was taken aback. “Yes, yes it is.”
Charles sat back with a faintly triumphant expression. Director MacTaggert’s mouth merely curled with amusement.
“Right,” Erik said, reminding himself not to get thrown off and to stick to the script. “So I wanted to ask the two of you where you think there is waste within your department.”
Charles and Moira exchanged a glance. “None,” Charles said with conviction. “We account for every penny and use it wisely.”
This was beginning to be more familiar territory for Erik. He opened his favourite binder - the metal-edged one emblazoned with the Genosha state logo - and flipped through his colour-coded notes. “I’ll give you an example of what we’re targeting to cut,” Erik explained. “For instance, it says here that your department spent 12% of your budget last financial year on segregated school buses for mutant kids.”
Moira only nodded, while Charles’ brow was creased in a frown. “That’s right,” he said slowly. “Is there an issue?”
“Why do you deem this a necessary expenditure?” Erik asked.
Charles sat up indignantly, but Moira placed a hand on his arm and replied, “It is for their safety. There were several reported cases of bullying and fighting on the school buses, specifically targeted towards mutant children. We found that having them ride to school in their own bus let them feel safer.”
Erik’s grip tightened on his binder. “It seems to me you're going about this the wrong way,” he said evenly. “The solution is not to segregate mutant kids and alienate them even more from the baseline children. The solution is to teach the humans that bullying is not tolerated.”
“That is all very well and good,” Charles said, “but that kind of change takes time, my friend. We were more concerned about the immediate safety of the mutant children. And combating the absenteeism rate, which is skyrocketing as it is.”
“Separate school buses are the best solution,” Moira agreed.
“Anyway it is a moot point,” Erik said, striking it off on his notes. “You do not have the budget for the buses. They’re out.”
“Can’t we do something?” Charles said, but Erik was already moving on to the next point.
“Another area we can trim the budget is personnel,” he said. “Ms. MacTaggert, you currently have ten full-time staff, plus two part-timers and an intern. Nine of them are mutants.”
“Yes.” Moira’s face was utterly impassive. This woman was good at playing her cards close to the chest.
“Since you need to trim your department budget by 48%, you must get rid at least three, maybe four full-time employees.” Erik slashed at his notes again. “I strongly suggest letting the baseline ones go, but it is your call.”
The warmth was entirely gone from Charles’ eyes. “You’re an arsehole,” he said, colour rising in his cheeks.
So the name-calling had begun. Pity, Charles had seemed entirely reasonable until now. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Francis,” Erik said, trying not to let his irritation get the better of him.
Charles made a sweeping gesture towards the bullpen outside. “Those are good, honest people out there,” he said sharply. “I won’t allow you to talk about them as though they’re just numbers--”
"'Allow' me?” Erik’s binder flew shut with a snap of his fingers. There was something so self-righteous about this Charles fellow that was getting him riled up in a way only Shaw had ever managed. “I’m not the enemy here, Mr. Francis. You would do well to remember that I didn’t bankrupt your town, your government did.”
“I know you’re just doing your job.” The contempt in Charles’ voice made it sound as though Erik’s job involved peddling drugs or clubbing seals. “But how can you go about it so callously? Taking away buses for mutant kids, really?”
There was a low, ominous hum in the room. It was only when both Charles’ and Moira’s eyes widened that Erik realised all the metal in the boardroom was vibrating with his anger. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and the hum died down. “I’ll get what I need from your spreadsheets, thanks,” he said shortly as he gathered his things, then left the room without looking back.
“Oh, cheer up.” Raven set down another gingerbread latte on his desk. “So you guys got off to a bad start, it’s not the end of the world.”
“He’s an arsehole.” And Charles stood by it. He had spent the afternoon debating whether to treat with Shaw instead, but given the duplicity of that man’s thoughts, Charles decided that Shaw absolutely wasn’t to be trusted, which left Erik as the lesser evil. At least Erik spoke his mind and he wasn’t prone to deceit. Still, Charles had been staying away from both of them all week. Moira had assigned them a corner office near the breakroom, and if Charles wanted a snack from the vending machine outside, he made himself take the long way around so he wouldn't have to walk past the door. If they had happened to bump into each other, Erik did him the same courtesy of ignoring him or walking the other way. Communication was restricted to curt, brusque emails, or through Moira.
Raven leaned in, her brunette-for-the-day ringlets brushing against his desk. “Is it true they’re going to fire people?”
Erik’s suggestion that they lay off all the non-mutants made Charles’ anger flare up again. “They can try.” He was not worried about his own livelihood, or Raven’s. His trust fund meant the both of them never had to worry about money, but he knew his staff needed their jobs. “Moira and I are going to fight them over every step of the way.”
Raven chewed on her lip. “Hank said they did the same thing in the City Engineer’s department and laid off lots of his co-workers. He’s doing the work of three people now.”
“Poor old chap.” Charles let out a sigh.
“Well, at least we have tonight to look forward to,” Raven said cheerfully. “I really need to get my drink on and my club on, and forget this whole horrible week.”
Charles stared at her with a confused expression until she was laughing. “Angel’s birthday celebration tonight at Mystique?” she reminded him. “Did you forget already? She’s going to kill you.”
“Oh!” Suddenly his mood lifted; it would be nice to just let loose and forget all this budget nonsense that had been plaguing him all week. “I haven’t gotten her a present, though.”
“We can share.” Raven bent down to plant a distracted kiss on his cheek, eyes glued to her phone. “‘Kay, gotta run. Pick me up after work, we can grab dinner first before we head to the club together, okay?”
“Of course.” Charles smiled as he watched her scurry out of his office, then picked up the gingerbread latte she’d bought him. He felt better already.
***
They arrived just after ten, when the club was starting to get full. Armando and Alex, by virtue of being early, had managed to snag a table near the bar. Angel was sitting in the middle, beaming while surrounded by friends and unwrapped presents. The club was mutant-friendly, so her beautiful wings were unfurled in their full glory. “Charles!” she called out when she saw him, pulling him in for a hug. Her thoughts were light and sparkly like a fizzy drink, and Charles figured out why when he spotted the several empty shot-glasses littered around the table.
“Happy birthday, my dear!” he shouted over the dance anthem booming through the club. When it was Raven’s turn to hug her, he excused himself to the bar to get the next round.
Tapping his credit card on the bartop, he gave his orders to the harried bartender before standing back to wait for his drinks. The atmosphere in the club tonight was generally one of happiness, excitement and anticipation, and Charles soaked in the buzz of his surroundings like a cat basking in the sun. The couple waiting at the bar beside him were still in the giddy throes of a new relationship, flirting and smiling coyly at each other, while back at their table, Armando’s mind was shining like a beacon, broadcasting fondness as he listened to Alex telling him some funny story about another department. Charles folded the thought away with a sly smile, fully intending to tease Armando about his obviousness another time.
“Charles!” He turned quickly, beaming when he spotted a glammed-up Moira dressed to the nines.
“Look at you, you look bloody amazing.” He kissed both her cheeks in greeting, trying not to feel a little dowdy compared to the effort she’d put in. He had come straight from the office and it was hard not to feel a little stale in his work clothes.
Moira pretended to toss her hair in disdain. “I can clean up real nice if I want to.”
“Temptress,” he teased her, but grew serious when he sensed the intent in her mind. “What’s the matter?”
At that moment, the bartender returned with Charles’ drinks, depositing them on the bar. Moira waited until he left, her expression calm but her mental state was a mix of determination and anxiety, which always preceded some odious task she meant to task him to do. “You might want to get something stronger,” she said, gesturing towards his standard gin and tonic.
“Why?” A wary Charles asked, before he caught a flash of the memory Moira was projecting at him: she and Angel in the breakroom earlier today, talking about the party, Erik walking in, Angel tossing him a casual invite…
“Oh bloody hell,” Charles groaned.
“Be civil,” Moira warned him with a squeeze of his bicep. “We still have to work with them for another two weeks.”
“I can be civil,” he said, which made her nose wrinkle with doubt. He smacked her on the shoulder for good measure, making her laugh.
Of course Charles would be at the party. Erik had considered the possibility when Angel had extended him the invitation to her birthday party, but in the end he had decided that he and Charles were adults and could be polite to each other outside work. Erik never had any problem with establishing a clear demarcation between his work and personal life, and he couldn’t understand people who played with the line like a jump rope.
Charles was standing at the bar with Moira, both of them conversing loudly over the music as they sipped at their drinks. Even without Charles’ cufflinks and Rolex calling out to Erik’s senses, he still found his eye drawn to the strong, lean lines of Charles’ arms, the red purse of his lips. That way madness lies, Erik reminded himself, striding towards the bar for his own drink. After a moment’s hesitation, he ordered a gin and tonic as well.
Charles’ surprise when Erik brought the drink over was satisfying. “Hello, Mr. Lehnsherr,” he said guardedly.
Moira smirked at both of them. “Hi, Erik. Excuse me, gentlemen, while I go pass on my wishes to the birthday girl.”
As Moira slinked away, Charles shot her a dismayed stare; Erik had no doubt there was some kind of telepathic conversation going on about him and Moira’s purposeful abandonment. Before he could change his mind, Erik handed Charles the drink. “A truce,” he explained. “Surely we could enjoy ourselves for a night without biting each other’s head off.”
As Erik expected, Charles was too well-mannered to ignore the olive branch. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a little tight as he took a sip from his new drink.
“I also meant to congratulate you on getting the school buses,” Erik said, setting down his drink. “Good thing that grant from the Brian and Sharon Xavier Foundation came through when it did.”
Charles didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth tugged upwards a little, making him look impish. Erik pulled his gaze away, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be staring at people’s mouths like that.
“A toast, then,” Charles said, holding up his glass, and Erik clinked it.
***
Erik had meant to politely excuse himself after making peace with Charles, but somehow they both ended up gravitating towards each other at various points throughout the night. Erik was tipsy enough to get reeled into the arguments Charles was baiting him with, like why humans should not be working with mutant affairs (although he did have to concede that MacTaggert was possibly the best, most scarily competent director he’d met) and how budget cuts were missing the point of public service. The loud music also meant he and Charles had to shout to be heard, but it was certainly no hardship having Charles’ warm breath against his ear. As the night wore on, Charles continued to imbibe a staggering amount of alcohol; this was just counting the ones Erik had seen him order.
This, however, also meant Charles leaning heavily against Erik to steady himself. At one point, his strong, square hands were firmly planted on Erik’s waist as though they were glued there.
“So tiny,” Charles said wonderingly as he stared down at Erik’s waist. Just how high was he? “Just-- um, tiny and so unfair, why do you have to look like that…”
“Look like what?” Erik wasn’t sure whether to be amused or flattered. Charles’ eyes jumped up to meet his; they were a little bleary, but no less blue as he stared up at Erik. “Charles, are you okay?”
“No.” Charles shook his head, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. And Erik really should step away, because he was auditing this man’s department and the last thing he needed were more complications. This was starting to blur the boundaries between work and play, and Erik reminded himself to keep the doors between them closed and firmly locked.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” Erik said instead. He really meant it, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to step away without Charles losing his balance. He tried taking letting Charles stand on his own, and sure enough he wobbled. “All right, I think it’s time to find your sister.”
“Kay.” Charles was now nuzzling against Erik’s chest, and Erik ignored the way his pulse was racing. He craned his neck to scan the crowd for Raven, who could be in any disguise or form she had chosen for the day. It was a pity that she did not stick more often to her natural blue form, which Erik frankly found stunning.
Navigating the tipsy, gyrating revellers around him was harder than it looked, so Erik unashamedly took to yanking people aside with their watches or jewellery, but they seemed too high to notice except for a few, ‘hey!’s. Erik took his chances with a few likely women and asked them, “Raven?” but they either ignored him or shook their heads (one gave both him and Charles a naked look of interest). Finally Erik settled on a tall redhead who was wearing familiar hoop earrings, and indeed he was right when the redhead’s eyes widened at them.
“Charles?” A flicker of blue scales as she reverted to her favourite blond form. She was shaking Charles’ shoulder worriedly. “Jesus, Charles, how much did you have to drink?”
“It’s Erik’s fault,” Charles proclaimed, making Raven raise an eyebrow at Erik.
“I didn’t do anything.” Erik held his hands up placatingly. “I bought him one drink, just one.”
Raven let out a sigh. “Did you happen to see if he’s been mixing drinks all night?”
Erik vaguely recalled two whiskey sours and a strawberry margarita that had made Charles’ lips more unfairly red than usual. “Yeah, I think so.”
“That’s just great,” she flatly said in a tone that indicated it was anything but. She was starting to shift his arm around her shoulder when Erik stopped her.
“I’ve got him.” He slung Charles’ arm around his own shoulders, hunching down so that he and Charles were of a height. Raven was eyeing Erik suspiciously, as though he might make off with her brother or her purse at any moment. Erik couldn’t help wondering what Charles must have been saying about him all week.
There was another suspicious stare when Erik waved off her insistence of calling a cab, since Charles was clearly in no state to drive and Erik thought it would be unfair to make Raven manage both the wheel and her drunk brother. Instead he led them to his Honda, which was parked nearby.
“Keys?” Raven held out her hand.
“No need.” With a wave of his hand Erik unlocked the doors and flung them open, trying not to feel too pleased at Raven’s awed, ‘Cool!’
Once they had all piled in, Erik headed towards the address Raven gave him, keeping an eye on Charles in the rearview mirror as he dozed against Raven’s shoulder. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had been butting heads with Erik all week in meetings. In sleep - with his flushed cheeks, dark tousled hair and long lashes - Charles gave off an air of innocence and vulnerability that tugged at something in Erik’s chest.
Erik forced himself to look away, reminding himself of boundaries and locked doors.
***
There were meetings with the city manager and Councilwoman Frost on Monday, so Erik spent the weekend finishing his presentation and pulling up the files he needed while nursing a mild hangover. Having spent a decade working on the road, he was used to turning the worst of motel rooms into a fairly serviceable office (as long as they had enough space for him to plug in his beloved coffeemaker, there was no way he was drinking the swill that 99% of motel rooms provided). He also spent the weekend trying not to think about Charles’ dark head resting against his chest, or the tiny smirks Charles couldn’t hold back whenever he’d won one of their inane little arguments. It should be infuriating, and Erik didn’t want to examine why it wasn’t.
On Sunday evening Erik took a break from work and jogged to the nearest park, which was a few miles from the motel. Westchester had the most well-maintained parks Erik had ever seen, and there were plaques everywhere that bore thank-yous to some generous donation or other from the Brian and Sharon Xavier Foundation. It seemed they were also the benefactors behind several interesting installations in the park, including a mutant-friendly children’s playground and a fountain featuring a beautiful winged boy (this was co-donated by the Worthington Cause). This appealed to Erik’s great love for visible mutations, and he stopped to watch a little blond girl play with her green-skinned friend.
However, Erik’s main affections were reserved for the last installation he came across: a giant chess set that had one side carved in quartz, the other in black granite. The pieces were set out as if mid-game, and Erik ran an admiring hand around the crown of the black rook. A nearby plaque informed him that this was dedicated to the Xaviers’ son, and the statue beside it bore his likeness. Erik stared at the boy’s earnest, unseeing face, then bent down to read the smaller print on the plaque. ‘Charles Francis Xavier’.
Erik laughed.
***
Before the meeting on Monday, Shaw poked through Erik’s presentation and insisted on a few changes, so Erik had no time to run out and grab a latte as planned. He was muttering under his breath and typing hurriedly in Powerpoint when he heard the door to the corner office open. “Come back later, I haven’t done your changes yet,” Erik said, not trying too hard to mask his irritation with Shaw.
There was a red takeaway latte cup set down beside his laptop, and Erik looked up with a frown. Charles was standing in front of his desk, hands in his pockets as he grinned a little sheepishly at Erik. “I love the Christmas flavours from Brooke’s,” he said by way of explanation, gesturing towards the cup he’d set down. “Gingerbread is my favourite.”
Erik’s mouth watered at the prospect of good, delicious coffee he’d previously thought he had to forgo. “Is this a bribe?” Erik’s mouth couldn’t help quirking up.
“A thank you,” Charles corrected him. His eyes looked unbearably soft and affectionate, and Erik had to look away. “I heard from Raven that you made sure we got home safely last Friday night.”
Erik cleared his throat. “Anyone would have done the same,” he said gruffly.
Charles shook his head. “Not everyone,” he said. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to try again. For a fresh start, and all that.”
Somehow that didn’t hold the most appeal for Erik. Did starting over mean that they had to forget what had happened at Angel’s birthday party? He must have hesitated too long, for Charles’ smile was starting to crumple at the edges.
“I’d like that,” Erik said a little too quickly, and Charles’ beamed at him.
END OF PART 1