Chapter Text
“Erik’s here,” Raven hisses. She grabs Charles by the elbow and pulls him closer to her, against the wall and slightly concealed from the entrance of the bar.
“What?” Charles says. He wrenches his arm away and pouts when the edges of the drink he’s holding splash over the edge. The bartender was gruff but he’d been pouring generously, so perhaps Charles’ flirting was landing better than it seemed. Charles brings the martini glass carefully to his mouth and slurps from it, peering owlishly at Raven over the rim.
“Oh my god, are you drunk already?” Raven snaps. “Didn’t you drive here? What’s gotten into you lately? And I said Erik’s here!” She whisper-screams the last part.
Oh. Charles’ stomach swoops a little unpleasantly. He takes a seat on a nearby bar stool to steady himself. “That’s bad, right?” He looks down at his drink, determining the merits of further expediting his drunkenness; it’s unclear if he should be more or less inebriated for this particular situation.
Raven shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not bad. I just haven’t talked to him since we broke up.” She doesn’t have to say ‘unceremoniously dumped me’ because they’ve been over that point many times already. It’s unclear if she’s more upset about losing Erik specifically or just at the prospect of getting suddenly dumped. Charles thinks it’s the latter, but he can’t tell if that’s actually the case or he desperately wants it to be so he won’t feel quite as guilty.
Times like this he wishes Raven hadn’t told him to stay out of her head years ago. Well, he wishes that all the time, but it would be really especially handy for situations like trying to figure out exactly how upset she was about her breakup with no particular person for no particular reason.
“Right. Do you… want to leave?” Charles says hopefully. Maybe they can leave, and then never ever run into Erik or even talk about him ever again.
Raven sighs, “No, I can’t avoid him forever. We have a meeting this week anyway. Better now than dealing with it there. Can I have that?” She gestures to Charles’ drink.
Between the speed with which her body metabolizes alcohol and her distaste for gin, Charles frowns but passes the drink over anyway. He can’t say no to her lately.
She throws it back startlingly fast and grimaces. “I hate gin.”
Charles rolls his eyes and scans the room, looking for Erik just so he knows where to avoid going. Of course. Erik’s sitting at a table with a tall, beautiful blonde Charles assumes must be Emma Frost, based on Raven’s previous descriptions of her. Charles had doubted the all-white look when he’d heard about it, but it clearly suits her. Emma is striking and elegant. Right when he thinks this, Emma Frost looks directly at Charles and smiles at him.
“What did you say Emma Frost’s mutation was again?” Charles says, hoping he was remembering wrong.
Raven gives him a long-suffering look. “Charles.”
“I was just—she’s very pretty, is all—” Charles panics. Maybe she didn’t hear him. But Charles knows from experience how blaring someone’s thoughts can be when they are specifically about you, even if it’s a stranger in a crowded room. And Charles is a bit drunk, yes, and he does tend to get rather lax with his telepathy when he’s drinking. Running into another telepath is a rare enough occurrence that this has never really been an issue before.
Raven’s eyes widen almost comically, “Charles, did you really think at her?” She has her back to Emma, so she can’t see the very obvious eye contact Emma and Charles have just shared. Emma has turned back to Erik and is saying something, looking amused.
“I don’t think so. Maybe. Not on purpose!” Charles says, flustered. “We could still leave, you know. Just because she heard me doesn’t mean that she’s going to—” he stops suddenly.
Raven’s yellow eyes narrow. “She’s coming over here, isn’t she.”
“Seriously, I think we can make it to the door faster than she’ll make it over here. Her heels are tall—Oh, she’s actually walking very fast in them, that’s—actually quite impressive, ow, Raven that hurts—” Charles clutches at his freshly elbowed ribs and glares at his sister, right as Emma walks up to them.
“Hello Raven,” Emma says.
“Hi Emma. I’m going to go get another drink,” Raven says bluntly.
“Please get me one too. Anything,” Charles begs. Raven shoots him a look and stomps away. She’ll probably get him something garish and embarrassing, but she’s not mad enough to ignore him completely.
Emma sits delicately on the bar stool closest to Charles, looking wildly out of place. She smiles knowingly at him and says, “You must be Charles.”
Charles laughs nervously, “What gave it away?”
“Let’s just say I’ve heard about Raven’s gorgeous, telepath brother.” Emma shrugs a bare shoulder. Up close, she’s even more stunning in a cold, untouchable way. Charles wonders briefly if she and Erik have ever dated—they would make an unfairly attractive couple. The thought strikes a pang of jealousy in his gut, and then a much bigger pang of guilt.
Emma’s perfectly arched eyebrows shoot up. Charles flushes and hastily throws up a mental shield, clumsy but strong enough to adequately protect his thoughts. Probably.
“I’ve never met another telepath,” he says. “Are we all gorgeous, do you think?”
Emma laughs, and it’s a pretty, tinkly sound. “There’s more of us, you know. You should come to a MAC meeting and find out.”
“Ah. This is recruitment, then? Sorry, I’m afraid Raven is the political one in the family,” Charles says, not very sorry. Truthfully, he’s not convinced that the Mutant Advancement Coalition’s brand of activism is entirely beneficial to the plight of mutants. They’re best known for holding large, disruptive protests that semi-regularly break into violence and result in arrests—Charles concedes that the violence is almost entirely instigated by the (typically baseline) police, but that doesn’t mean that mutants should stoop to their level. If anything, it seems like these protests exacerbate the growing tension between baseline and powered humans.
Still, he can’t deny that the existence of activist groups like MAC does provide a sense of community and purpose for mutants, who often find themselves on the outskirts of society, particularly if they have a visible mutation, like Raven. Since she’d gotten involved with the groups she’s been thriving, fully embracing her mutation for the first time.
She's seemed so much more confident that it chastened Charles, to not have noticed her insecurity until the absence of it was glaringly obvious. Suddenly she was radiant and blue most of the time, defiant in the wake of whatever attention it attracted. Surely, the group is doing some good simply by offering mutants a place where they can belong and blossom, even if their ideology is otherwise too radicalized for his taste.
“Right. You’re the academic in the family,” Emma says. Charles doesn’t know if this is something Raven has told her or something she’s skimmed off his thoughts in the last thirty seconds. She tilts her head and gives him an appraising look. “Law school?”
Charles shakes his head. “Biology.”
“What field?”
Genetics. Particularly the ‘X’ gene, Charles thinks to her.
Emma’s eyes light up, I can work with that.
“Excuse me?” Charles says blithely.
“Well, someone has to be the first publicly elected mutant. Erik would never go for it. But you…” Emma looks him up and down.
Charles laughs, surprised. “I just want to educate everyone on what we are and facilitate a better understanding between powered and baseline people.”
“Oh, that’s good, sugar. The altruistic integrationist thing is very electable.” Emma says approvingly. That sounds like something Erik would say, except he’d say it with scathing condemnation. Emma snorts, apparently listening in and agreeing.
“I hate to disappoint you, Emma, but I’m not planning to run for office in any capacity,” Charles says.
“Hmm,” Emma says. “Perhaps your sister, then. She’s quite impressive herself.” Raven had been making a name for herself as a mutant activist, since she’d joined the cause this year. Charles had been surprised and impressed by her passion for it, and tried to ignore the guilt for not already knowing the full extent of her ideological beliefs—that either he hadn’t noticed or she hadn’t felt she could tell him about. Both options were bad.
“Of course she is. She’s brilliant,” Charles says.
“It’s a shame she and Erik broke up, isn’t it,” Emma says blandly, like it’s not much of a shame. She’s watching him shrewdly, eyes almost silver.
“It is,” Charles says carefully, suddenly nervous. He reaches out to feel the edges of her mind, sharp and highly guarded. Charles gets the sense that it’s a natural defense rather than one she consciously built. He can’t get a read on her without exerting real effort, which would be rude without permission. The alcohol is certainly not helping him in this case either, but he has the feeling that it’s more helpful than his powers would be in this situation anyway.
Thankfully, Raven shows up with their drinks. She’s even holding a glass of white wine that Charles assumes is for Emma.
“Okay, let’s go,” Raven says immediately, inclining her head to the table Emma had come from—where Erik is sat, looking engrossed in his phone (or at least doing an admirable job of pretending he is). Oh god.
“Let’s go?” Charles says hopefully, pointing at the exit, because it was close-ish to Erik’s table and maybe that’s what Raven meant.
“What? No, let’s go sit down. I assume that’s why Emma came here, to get us so Erik and I can stop being weird around each other, and she can continue plotting to take over the world or whatever.”
“She is brilliant,” Emma purrs. “Shall we?”
Charles looks at Raven, hoping she looks reluctant or upset so he could play the protective brother role and get them out of here. But Raven’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright, almost excited. Her unfettered boldness has always been as admirable as it is alarming to Charles.
She leads the way to the table, holding Charles’ drink hostage. He takes a moment to collect himself before following. The only spot available is next to Raven and directly across from Erik. Charles slides into his seat and Raven pushes toward him what looks like an elaborately garnished pina colada. He shoots her a mostly performative glare for the ostentatious choice of drink.
“Charles,” Erik says, looking surprised and maybe pleased to see him. Charles takes a fortifying drink of coconut rum he barely tastes before he replies.
“Erik. Is this the part where I threaten to kick your arse for breaking my baby sister’s heart?” he says, and he means it to come out light and playful, but it sounds bitter instead, and Erik’s face falls almost imperceptibly.
Raven kicks Charles in the shin, rather hard and obviously. “Don’t be a dick, Charles.” She smiles cheerlessly at Erik, “You do deserve to have your ass kicked, but I can do that myself.”
Charles makes a small cry of outrage at the physical abuse but doesn’t miss the way that Erik gives Raven an almost sheepish look, completely out of place on someone normally ridiculously self-assured. “I deserve that,” Erik says evenly. “Can we talk outside?”
Raven looks surprised, like she expected Erik to joke back instead of taking her anger seriously, but she steadies herself quickly and agrees. Erik gives Emma a stern, meaningful look, and Emma rolls her eyes and then presumably replies, because Erik nods at her like they’ve come to an agreement. He flashes a quick, apologetic look at Charles, who immediately looks away.
Charles keeps his eyes down as they get up and put their coats on, and then he watches them head out to the outdoor seating area, cozy with soft, stringed lighting and private, with most of the bar patrons opting to stay inside from the crisp fall evening. They sit on a bench with their backs to the windows, shoulders almost touching, looking for all the world like a couple.
“Wow sugar, you’ve got it bad,” Emma says. “You’re not this obvious all the time, are you?”
Charles scowls at her and says, “No.” He hopes not, at least. He pushes his drink away, hopes of being pleasantly drunk dashed. His nerves are sobering him, despite his best efforts.
“Don’t worry. They’re not getting back together,” Emma says. Charles looks up at her, and she’s giving him a look that’s a little nice, but mostly pitying in a way Charles does not appreciate.
“How much do you know?” He says, with a sense of foreboding.
“Basically everything, against my will. I think I’m Erik’s best friend,” Emma says, like this is a thought that has just occurred to her. She frowns slightly.
Charles feels sick. “Splendid. Please don’t say anything to Raven, it was stupid and awful. She’ll be furious if she hears it from you before me.”
“Of course I won’t say anything,” she says, affronted. “But if you’re so worried about her hearing it from someone else first, you might want to tell her.” She looks pointedly toward the window.
“Erik wouldn’t do that to me,” Charles says, then flushes when he realizes what he’s said. He quickly goes on, “But I will tell her, I’m just waiting for things to blow over a bit, first. She’s not too broken up over this, to be honest, but her ego is bruised, and it sounds like Erik was quite… brusque.”
Emma snorts, “He isn’t exactly known for his tact.”
Charles winces. Apparently, Erik had shown up at Raven’s night out with her friends to talk to her, like he couldn’t even wait until their lunch date the following day to be rid of her. Raven had, understandably, been humiliated and pissed off, and then horrifically hungover the next morning from all the sympathy shots she’d been bought the night before.
“Well. He’s an arsehole,” Charles says, even though the words feel wrong coming out of his mouth.
Emma smiles at him, cold and terrifying. “I’d say that hooking up with your sister’s boyfriend makes you the arsehole.”
Charles leans forward, eyes narrowed and he spits, “We didn’t hook up, we just—it doesn’t matter. It was stupid and thoughtless and wrong. I feel terrible, obviously, and I will tell Raven once she stops being so pissed off about the bloody idiotic way Erik broke up with her.”
Emma stares at him coolly, unimpressed. Charles scowls. “What do you want? What’s the point of this—Look, I understand that you have some Machiavellian scheme planned but frankly, I don’t give a damn. This is between my sister and Erik and—me, unfortunately. This has nothing to do you with, so stay out of it. I won’t tolerate your plotting or blackmail or—or—”
“Oh, calm down,” Emma says finally, before Charles can work himself up any more. “You and Erik are both so dramatic. My only point is that you shouldn’t be so hard on him when you’re just as guilty.”
“I’ll be hard on both of us,” Charles says, and then tries desperately to ignore how that sounded.
“Oh!” Emma says, eyes sparkling.
“Piss off,” Charles snaps, cheeks warm.
“And here Erik had me thinking you were nice.”
“He said—” Charles stops himself and says instead, “I am nice, when I’m not being attacked by someone I’ve just met.” And what Erik has or hasn’t said about him is irrelevant, anyway.
Emma just hums and, bizarrely enough, looks pleased with him. Perhaps even more bizarrely, Charles likes her too. He likes her clear loyalty to Erik, and the unapologetic way she uses her powers. And frankly, there’s a sense of relief that’s followed Emma’s words, like he can release the breath he’s been holding, keeping this secret in.
Charles looks out the window again. Raven and Erik are still talking, their profiles lit up from the glow of a streetlight. Raven’s speaking emphatically but she doesn’t look angry, just impassioned, and Erik is listening intently. They don’t look like exes, but they don’t exactly look like lovers, either. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
“You know,” Emma says, and when Charles turns back to her she’s watching him carefully. “Erik and Raven never seemed very serious to me.”
Charles gives her a bewildered look, “I hardly think how serious they were is the point.”
“But you like Erik,” she says this like it’s obvious. Charles supposes it is.
“I do not like Erik,” Charles says anyway.
Emma looks at him impatiently. “Lying to a telepath. Really.”
“I,” Charles groans and buries his head in his hands. “It doesn’t matter. And why do you care anyway?”
Emma shrugs, “I’m Erik’s best friend.”
Charles feels wildly out of his depth with Emma. He’s tired of talking about the mess he’s made, and thinking about the eventual conversation he has to have with Raven. Emma seems to be satisfied for whatever her part is, and she obliges Charles when he asks her more about her thoughts on affecting current mutant policy. She does most of the talking, which Charles appreciates, because everyone’s thoughts in the bar are too stupid and too loud without the pleasant filter of liquor dimming his thoughts, and he’s getting a headache.
When Raven and Erik come back inside not long after, Charles is relieved when Raven says she wants to go home. “I can get a cab, if you want to stay,” she offers.
“No,” Charles says quickly. “That’s fine, darling. Nice to meet you, Emma. Erik.” He passes the keys to Raven and barely looks at Erik when they leave.
On the way to Raven’s place, when Charles asks her if she’s okay, she just shrugs, eyes trained steadily on the road. “I’m fine. I thought it was going good, but obviously it wasn’t. We weren’t together that long. Can’t be too upset.”
“It’s okay if you are upset, though,” Charles says.
“Yeah, thanks Dad.” Raven says. She sighs, and Charles can’t help but pick up the sting of rejection she’s feeling. “I mean, yeah, I thought it’d be nice to—he’s—we agree on mutant politics stuff.” That you don’t agree with doesn’t need to be said. “And, well, you’ve seen him.”
Charles hums noncommittally, grateful when Raven goes on, apparently not expecting much of a response. “Honestly, he was kind of a shit boyfriend. I didn’t realize it until after, but he was acting weird before we broke up anyway.”
“Oh?” Charles tries to sound casual, “In what way?”
“Ugh, I don’t know. It feels embarrassing now. I doubt you want to hear about my sex life.”
And then Charles remembers with a cold jolt that Raven and Erik had a sex life, and he doesn’t push the subject. “Good point. My head hurts enough, as it is.”
Raven frowns at him, “Do you want to stay at mine tonight? You shouldn’t drive if you’re feeling this sick.”
Normally, Charles would take her up on this, but tonight he just wants to go home. “I’ll be fine, darling. Unless you fancy feeling some of my headache.” He wiggles his fingers at her until she smiles, happy to drop the subject because she hates when he projects to her, however accidental.
They’re quiet the rest of the way, and when they arrive at her place, she hugs him tightly and says, “Thanks, Charles. Feel better.”
His head is throbbing by the time he gets home, and he takes medicine and curls up in bed and tries not to think about anything that happened tonight.