Work Text:
Erik had sacrificed many things in his quest to take down Schmidt, and had done many things even he had never counted on doing. But taking an idle stroll through the private forest on Charles's estate so he could concentrate on the serenity part of Charles's rage and serenity plan for Erik's life had never once been one of them. For that matter, idle strolls had never once featured in any aspect of Erik's life, especially not when faced with the doubtless-looming battles with the humans over the survival of his species.
While Charles rambled on about the students and plans for the future, Erik devoted himself to one of his favorite new fantasies: floating aggressively above the Empire State Building (or the Eiffel Tower, or the Sears Tower; he wasn't picky) and gloating while the groveling humans below pleaded with him to spare their beloved landmark. "Did you listen to the pleas of my brothers and sisters?" Erik would boom, his voice magnetically amplified (he was not yet entirely sure how this would work), "why should mutants show you mercy when you showed us none?"
He'd begun to revise his manifesto for brevity but also maximum dramatic effect – specifically the appropriate conclusion that would be nicely punctuated by the crumpling of an edifice – when the most horrific screeching broke into his reverie. It sounded like the cry of something both infuriated and in pain, high and shrill before tapering off into a guttural growl and then spiking upward again to a pitch that made Erik's teeth shiver.
A soft call responded a moment later and silence fell.
Just when Erik thought whatever had been in the process of being horribly murdered – Sean, maybe, after eating Alex's potato chips – had finally expired, the shrieking started up again, louder and more grating than before.
"What is that infernal racket?" Erik growled. He did not feel serene anymore. In fact, he felt a headache starting directly behind his left eye.
Charles, in contrast, lit up with delight. His eyes, Erik noted, got even more blue when he was excited.
"Erik!" Charles said. "That's the mating call of the Barbuta melodramatica rosea! Do you even realize – " And quick as that, he veered right and darted away through the trees.
Erik followed the trail of excitement and unholy screeching down a path, getting a few branches across the face for his troubles. Damn trees, Erik thought as he pushed one out of the way. They would be the next to go. At last he broke through the uncooperative forest and fetched up next to Charles, who had his head craned so his hair flopped adorably backward and was gazing, rapt, up into an oak tree.
The source of the commotion was a large reddish bird, its head (if possible) even redder than the rest of its body with, when the bird stopped bobbing long enough for Erik to see, dark purple markings on the cheeks and over its eyes. A long tail waved behind it, occasionally spreading as if to display itself. The bird cried horribly again, a series of shrieks and clacks that, considering it was a bird, came off as strangely aggravated and becoming more so. Every now and then it would launch itself into the air to float aggressively, its red-and-purple wings flapping to keep it aloft until it settled back down on its branch and clattering some more. Then it would repeat the process, occasionally turning somersaults or hovering so it could display the long, cape-like sweep of its tail again.
"That," Erik said, "is supposed to attract a mate."
"It's very determined," Charles said, sounding almost fond.
"Mag!" shrieked the bird. "Eee- eee- eee!"
"What is it shrieking at?" Erik asked. "Or is it trying to mate with the branch?"
"It's courting a Passer adorabilis oxfordiensis!" Charles actually cooed. "Also very rare!"
"A what?" Erik scowled at the tree and the big red bird.
"Don't you see it?" Charles asked. He pointed. "It's just there, behind some leaves."
Erik looked more closely. This time he saw a somewhat smaller bird, fluffy and mostly brown except for a mottling of blue on its wings and chest. It was adorable, Erik thought with some disgruntlement, and currently staring with its wide birdy eyes at the histrionics of the red bird flapping around in its face.
"And that sort of behavior is supposed to be attractive," Erik said flatly.
The smaller brown bird made a warbling sound, which made the red bird pause in its histrionics.
"Eee?" the red bird said, its tail feathers folding up like a fan. The brown bird warbled back and fluffed itself up.
"Oh yes," Charles agreed, seemingly oblivious to Erik's sarcasm and still staring at the birds in fascination. "B. melodramatica thinks so, at any rate. But you know," he said just as Erik thought it was a bit ridiculous for a bird of one species to be wooing another, "P. adorabilis is not known to be picky. In fact, it's rather promiscuous, like many of the Passeridae are thought to be… It's been hypothesized, you know, that P. adorabilis was actually the species that inspired Catullus's poem 'The Lament for Lesbia's Sparrow.'"
"I did not in fact know that," Erik said.
"Granted, B. melodramatica will display itself to any living thing that will watch it, and many that won't," Charles continued. "But the P. adorabilis does seem rather receptive." In response to Erik's silent question, Charles added, "You can tell by how it's started to preen itself," and indeed the brown bird had begun to run a quick beak through its own feathers. "P. adorabilis will, on occasion, sing to its prospective mate. I like to imagine they're compliments."
"Should I be worried that you're anthropomorphizing birds?" Erik asked. His neck had started to hurt from watching the birds, who were now preening each other. The brown bird had begun to work on straightening the red bird's tail, which appeared somewhat ruffled. It was, Erik conceded with some reluctance, almost cute, if not thought about in the context of impending bird sex. The red bird shrieked again, and the brown bird tugged remonstratively on its tail.
"If they work things out, P. adorabilis will take its mate back to its own nest," Charles explained with something of a leer at the corner of his mouth. "Unlike most sparrows, P. adorabilis has a very large nest, meant to impress prospective mates. The larger, the more attractive."
"Thank you, David Attenborough," Erik said. Charles beamed at him.
Eventually both birds flew away, doubtless to the brown bird's nest. Erik and Charles walked back home, Charles rhapsodizing on the wonders of nature and evolution the entire way (stopping to point out some of Erik's many mutations) and Erik returning to his speech.
* * *
"Charles!" Erik jumped up so he could stalk around the perimeter of the rug on the library. "Charles, when will you finally understand that the humans would see us annihilated if they could? Will you understand that when the streets run red with the blood of mutantkind? When the humans lead us off in shackles? When they come with their weapons and hatred and raze your home to the ground?"
"Really, Erik," Charles said, in the soft tone of voice precisely calculated to egg Erik on even more, "do you honestly think I would stand idly by and watch this happen?"
"They shouldn't be allowed to even think it," Erik growled as he stomped past the fireplace. He paused in front of it, briefly admiring how the firelight cast his dark, ominous shadow over Charles, who was sitting in his usual chair, hands folded patiently in his lap. Doubtless the firelight also did ominously handsome things to his profile as well. "We have the power here, Charles. We have the will. We have – "
"Of course," Charles agreed, "but surely you will – oh, Raven, what's the matter?"
"It's just, Alex is trying to make cookies," Raven said, materializing in the doorway. "The oven's acting up again."
"And that's another thing," Erik fumed. "Sloppy, substandard craftsmanship. Do you honestly think human civilization deserves to survive when the forces of capitalism and mass production produce nothing more than shoddy – what are you looking at?"
Charles was gazing at him with a strangely bright look in his eye. It was a look Erik had seen first during their road trips, after Charles had had a few glasses of something alcoholic. It had been turned on Erik a few times and a few times on pretty college students, and Erik had to confess that he was not entirely immune to it. It suggested… things. Pleasant things that drew a curl of heat up from deep in Erik's belly.
"Erik," Charles said as he stood, brushing off his cardigan and shirt and smiling a smile full of a promise that sent Erik's heart skipping, "perhaps I should show you my room now."