Chapter Text
First he was aware of the pain. He shifted a little, and the pain increased, so with reluctance he urged his consciousness forward and opened his eyes. He did not see what he expected to see. And then he realized, he didn’t know what he expected.
His name was Charles, and he was in bed in a rather nice bedroom. There was warmth at his back, an arm around his waist; he knew that was Erik. Flashes echoed through his head of what they’d done last night—more pleasure than pain, want and need and mine and now, but his body was feeling its effects now, twinges and aches low in his belly, arms and legs rubbery from exertion. He was an Omega, so that made sense.
And that was the sum total of his personal knowledge.
Which seemed very bad.
Erik moved slightly behind him, and Charles froze. Then he settled down again, apparently still asleep. It suddenly felt vital that Charles not let anyone know the extent of his ignorance. Why? He didn’t know that either; it was just an instinct, and those were about all he had to rely on.
Besides, it just seemed—ridiculous, and impossible to explain. How could you wake up in bed with someone, and not know who they were, or where you were? Okay, perhaps if he’d been very drunk, Charles reasoned, trying to keep his breathing even. But he couldn’t remember anything—his last name, where he was from, his family. An evening of drunken debauchery would not explain that, would it?
He had to buy himself some time to think. Carefully he eased out from under Erik’s arm, trying to edge off the mattress with as little disturbance as possible. His cramps increased when he stood and he grabbed the bedpost for support, muffling his gasp. Everything hurt, including his head; maybe that supported the massive hangover theory.
Once Charles got his balance back he turned to make sure Erik was still asleep. He recognized the figure in the bed instantly, and yet had no context or impression of him. Broad shoulders, narrow hips like a swimmer’s—deceptively slender with a grip like steel. Where did they meet? How long had they known each other? What was his favorite color? Charles had no idea.
Something else on the mattress caught his eye: blood. A little experimental probing found the rest of it drying on his thighs. A bit of biology floated up to him—his first time, perhaps. Another twinge inside and he felt like something was dripping from him, though it didn’t seem to be literally so—wait, was he in heat? He thought that was supposed to be nice, sexy, desirable—but instead he was all soreness and vague nausea, light-headed and too warm, skin sticky with sweat. He saw an open door to a bathroom and stumbled towards it.
He was probably just disoriented. That happened, right? Exertion, heavy sleep, hormones—it took time to shake off the cobwebs. Any moment the memories would come flooding back to him, making him feel foolish for his confusion, and glad he hadn’t upset Erik with a temporary issue—
Charles saw his reflection in the mirror and stopped, shocked. One of his eyes was encircled with swollen red; he’d have a black eye soon. A corner of his mouth was tender and torn. The knuckles of one hand were puffy and sore. There was a professional-looking Band-Aid on the back of his other hand, concealing a bruise and a small puncture wound when Charles peeled it away. There was a rather serious-looking bite mark where his shoulder turned into his neck, and as he looked more closely he saw small scratches and bruises all over his body. With a sudden surge of thought he reached up to the back of his neck and felt the bond-mark there, still painful to the touch.
So, yesterday someone had hit him in the face, and he had fought back. He’d been in the hospital with an IV. And he’d gotten married, with the bond obviously consummated.
Erik was his husband. But about all the rest Charles was still in the dark.
He peered out the bathroom door—Erik was unchanged in the bed. Slowly Charles closed the barrier between them and decided to take a shower. Was Erik a good man? Had Charles chosen him, or had it been arranged? He felt like Omegas didn’t always get much say in their partners, though he had no context for this thought. Presumably Erik was an Alpha—the bite mark, having sex for the first time after marriage during heat (Charles’s first?)—it all pointed towards the traditional. Sometimes Omegas didn’t even know their Alphas before the wedding—was that why he had no memories of Erik? But he had no memories at all.
The tepid spray stung his sensitive skin, the soap burned, but he needed to be clean, and alert. Why the hospital, that was mysterious. His injuries weren’t severe enough to land him there. Everything else could be… wedding night mishaps. Well, clearly that was too innocent a term, but Charles couldn’t let his mind go down that path, that was too frightening to contemplate, that he might now be trapped in marriage to someone cruel. He felt his scalp as he washed his hair, but didn’t find any bumps or sore spots, like his mishaps had included a head injury responsible for his lack of memory.
“There you are.” Charles looked up sharply when Erik appeared at the entrance to the shower, his heart pounding and his stomach going cold. Erik was a very good-looking man: high cheekbones, dark hair, reddish stubble, blue eyes that bored into Charles. But beauty could easily hide cruelty. Though, he also had a bite mark on his shoulder, and a few scratches and bruises. Was that good or bad—mutual rough handling, or Charles fighting back?
Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Are you alright?”
Charles knew there was only one right answer to that. “Yes,” he insisted brightly. “Just finishing up.”
Erik smirked. “Don’t rush on my account.” He stepped confidently into the shower, his arms going around Charles with ease as he shared the spray. He leaned down to nuzzle at Charles’s neck, his stubble scratching Charles’s skin. “You should have waited,” he murmured into Charles’s ear. “I would have cleaned you up.”
Charles did not know how to take that, except that Erik was obviously used to handling him, and not very gently either, as he pulled Charles back against him and nipped at his shoulder. “I didn’t want to be any trouble,” Charles responded, a bit breathlessly, and Erik chuckled like this idea was ridiculous.
“Why start now?” Erik replied dryly, which Charles didn’t think was quite nice, but Erik’s lips on his shoulders and neck were very nice. There was something arousing about the proprietary attentions, and Charles’s head fell back, inviting Erik to increase the intensity. But what if he shouldn’t like it? Didn’t like it, because Erik went too far? Charles tensed suddenly, curling back into himself.
Erik did not ignore this. “Are you sore?” he asked, and his kisses became lighter.
“Yes,” Charles risked admitting.
Erik’s hold became looser, but he couldn’t seem to keep his hands completely off Charles, his long fingers kneading his hips. “I’ll get you some Tylenol, and something to eat,” he planned. “Get dressed.” He stepped back completely, letting Charles escape the shower and grab a towel. “I’ll just be a minute,” Erik promised, reaching for the soap. Charles nodded obediently and started to move away, carefully. “Charles.” He halted as Erik stuck his head around the edge of the shower. “Don’t look at the bed. I’ll change the sheets later.”
“Okay,” Charles agreed, when he seemed to want some kind of response. Erik ducked back under the water, and Charles resisted the urge to keep watching him, the bubbles sluicing down his back.
He crossed into the bedroom, avoiding the bed. There were several other doors, and suitcases were shoved haphazardly out of the way. A flash of memory made him stagger and he clutched the wall for support: the two of them tumbling into the room, clothes and bags flying as they kissed hungrily, Erik’s hands everywhere as he pressed Charles against the wall, filling up all of his senses—
An arrow of sunlight pierced Charles’s vision, distracting him, and he realized he’d brushed the curtain covering a window. Curiously he pushed it back and was nearly blinded by sunlight glinting off… snow. A huge snowy field, with pine trees beyond that as far as the eye could see. He might have been less surprised, or alarmed, by a city—in a city there would be someplace he could run to, get help from. Did he need to run and get help? In his brief memory he certainly wasn’t fighting Erik off. He was just… overwhelming. Inevitable.
Not the most ringing endorsement.
Charles heard the water shut off and remembered he was just standing there in a towel. Curiously he wasn’t that cold, which he supposed was an advantage of being in heat. He didn’t know which suitcase was his and had to read the luggage tags, which at least told him their addresses—both in New York—and surnames: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier. So now if anyone happened to quiz him on that, he could answer properly, Charles thought sarcastically as he dug into his suitcase. Well, Erik probably expected him to change his name, that being the more traditional practice.
Charles had managed to find pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt by the time Erik appeared, but nothing more substantial. There were clothes, shoes, and coats discarded on the floor where they’d left them last night, and he started to pick through them carefully. Might be useful, to have shoes and a coat in the snow. If he was in the snow. At some point.
“Don’t mess with things,” Erik ordered, sounding irritated, and Charles froze, risking a glance at him. Erik had found his own pajama bottoms and was tugging a t-shirt over his lean torso. Please don’t let him be cruel, Charles thought wildly, because he is beautiful. Which was a stupid thing to think, and Charles turned away and dropped the boot he’d been clutching. “I’ll clean up later,” Erik continued. “After I feed you.”
He walked right up to Charles, in his personal space before the Omega could even back up, and got his hands on him again, holding his shoulders steady where they joined his throat. For a moment Charles imagined those strong fingers squeezing down painfully, but they only caressed him, avoiding the bite mark. Erik’s face was unmarked, Charles realized suddenly, so maybe it hadn’t been him Charles had hit. Though that begged the question—who else?
Erik was staring at him like his eyes were mapping every inch, and Charles was acutely aware he could not look very impressive with his injuries. He dropped his gaze, afraid of what Erik would see in his eyes. After a moment Erik pulled him close—gently—and kissed his forehead, an achingly sweet gesture. He smelled nice, like wood smoke and oranges, but just as Charles was beginning to relax Erik abruptly released him.
“Come on.” Erik grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hall, tasteful but slightly impersonal décor flying past as Charles was tugged towards a staircase. Erik seemed rather bossy, but he was an Alpha and as noted previously, traditional, so he obviously expected Charles to just do as he said. Charles knew it was prudent to go along; maybe that was what he always did. But something inside rebelled against being too compliant.
“Can you—can we slow down, please?” Charles asked tentatively. Erik looked back with a frown and did not release Charles’s hand, but he did stop, and then proceeded more slowly. Charles feared he might have given something away though, perhaps been too forceful. “Thank you,” he told Erik. “I just—I felt like I might trip.”
“Do you feel light-headed?” Erik demanded, pinning Charles with his gaze at the foot of the stairs. “You should have said—“
“No, no, I’m alright, thank you,” Charles assured him, and smiled. Erik looked as though he was thinking about smiling in return, but then he dismissed the idea as ridiculous and towed Charles through a living room and into the kitchen. Charles tried to conceal his sigh, which was a mixture of relief and dismay.
Erik pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar—Charles should sit here, he practically patted the seat—and Charles eased himself onto it gingerly, unable to hide his grimace of discomfort. He caught the smug Alpha smirk on Erik’s face before the man opened a cabinet, but he pretended he’d seen nothing, as a complaint was obviously out of the question.
Erik retrieved a bottle of Tylenol from the cabinet and plunked two tablets and a glass of water down in front of Charles, then stood there expectantly. He was clearly not going to look away until Charles swallowed the pills, so he did, though he was torn between wanting to feel better and not wanting to take drugs from a near-stranger. That was a pretty basic safety thing, wasn’t it? But not letting Erik know he was viewed as a stranger was the paramount goal here.
Once Charles was medicated Erik had his hands on him again, tilting his face to the bright overhead lights, then tugging aside the collar of his sweatshirt to look at the bite mark. “Hmm, I’ll patch that up next,” he plotted, finally moving away. “I’m going to make you some eggs.”
Charles gripped the edge of the counter in a sudden panic, fortunately while Erik was occupied rummaging in the fridge. What if he was allergic to something? He could die, because he didn’t remember! He tried to take even, calming breaths—quietly—and reminded himself that Erik was his husband, he surely knew about any food allergies.
“Charles?” He jerked his eyes open, unaware that he’d closed them, and saw Erik watching him with concern. Charles forced a smile to his face. “You still feel nauseous?” Erik guessed.
“Yeah, just a bit,” Charles agreed, which was true.
“Not eggs, then?” Erik offered, holding three in his large hand.
Charles was not sure what alternatives were available, or safe to suggest. “No, eggs are good,” he encouraged. “Thank you.” He needed some fuel, anyway.
“Right,” Erik commented, with a slight dubiousness that made Charles fear he’d done something wrong. Erik cracked the eggs into a bowl, his eyes continually darting over to Charles, and the Omega desperately searched for something to say. Should he compliment the kitchen? It was a nice kitchen, but what if he’d seen it before? Unsafe.
“There’s a lot of snow,” he finally remarked, idiotically.
The look Erik gave him didn’t help. “Yes,” he replied shortly. “I might’ve known you’d decide to pop in bad weather.”
That seemed a bit crude, and a bit snide—surely Charles couldn’t help when he went into heat? “You look nice,” he tried again. He’d been going for a compliment but didn’t necessarily mean to say that; it just sort of tumbled out as he watched Erik manipulate the pan of sizzling eggs, confident and handsome in spite of his tone.
It seemed to be the right thing to say, though, as Erik gave him a slightly crazy but breathtaking grin, huge with too many teeth, and then actually laughed. Charles felt a thrill of victory go through him—he got the sense that Erik didn’t laugh all that often. A serious, brooding sort of person. “I look nice?” Erik repeated with a chuckle. “I look nice cooking your breakfast. Well, don’t get used to it.”
Of course, Erik probably expected him to do the cooking normally. Did he know how to cook? Well, surely his memory would be back before then.
Although what if it wasn’t? What if it never came back? Charles wrapped his arms around himself, feeling both too warm and chilled somehow, contemplating a future as blank as his past. He would have to confess to someone—well, Erik, he was the only one here—eventually, before they had to leave this house and go back to their daily lives. But surely that would be a few days, if they were on their honeymoon.
“Big day yesterday,” Charles commented leadingly. He assumed they hadn’t had a big wedding, if he was in heat; his mind was fuzzy on the usual options, but they had obviously gotten married in some fashion, and he hoped Erik would talk about that.
Erik was not one for reminiscing, however, and he just gave Charles another odd look as he dished up the eggs. “That’s one way to describe it,” he snorted, giving the event a negative spin.
Charles couldn’t think about that for too long, however; the smell of the eggs made his stomach flutter in a bad way, but he forced himself to dig in and think of the protein he was getting, which might ease some of his sore muscles. As Charles went for a second bite Erik suddenly touched his chin, tipping his gaze up to meet his. He looked, in a word, suspicious, and Charles felt his panic beginning to rise—he just needed a little more time, time alone without someone staring at him and grabbing him, and maybe he could figure this out and never have to tell anyone he’d been so foolish as to forget his own existence.
“Do you feel alright?” Erik asked, eyes narrowed.
“Oh yeah,” Charles insisted cheerfully. “These eggs are great, thanks.”
Erik was not buying it. “How’s your head?”
How should it be? “Um, alright.” This was slightly more qualified, in case there was something else wrong he didn’t know about. Every second Erik looked at him Charles felt like he was digging deeper, and he couldn’t let him realize there was nothing underneath. “Could I have some toast, please?” he asked quickly.
Erik gave him one last, long look before finally turning away, and Charles shoveled more eggs into his mouth, feeling like his time was growing short. “You remember the doctor said there might be side effects,” Erik explained, too casually, and Charles glanced over at him, trying to conceal his surprise. Erik put some bread into the toaster. “Disorientation, memory loss, hallucinations.” What the h—l were those side effects of, that Charles had gotten into? “You’re not feeling any of those, are you?” He watched Charles like he was a mouse nosing around a trap.
“No, of course not,” Charles replied, because that was the only safe answer. Wasn’t it? Or was he supposed to tell now? Could he trust Erik? He just seemed so very Alpha, with those muscles under his t-shirt and those laser-beam eyes. If they were married, it wouldn’t be wrong to enjoy them, would it? Charles smiled and after a moment Erik smiled too, which looked good on him if a bit rusty.
He turned away to retrieve a plate. “Betty and Carl asked us to join them for skiing next weekend,” Erik commented. “I said I’d have to check with you first, after what happened last time.”
Did Charles know how to ski? How soon was the weekend? “What do you think?” he asked Erik neutrally.
“It’ll be nice to see them again.”
“Yes, they’re lovely,” Charles tried.
And then Erik slammed his hand down on the counter, making the dishes rattle and Charles jump. “G-------t, Charles! You can’t remember a f-----g thing, can you!”
“Um—“ Charles’s mouth went dry and his heart pounded in his chest. Erik’s eyes blazed at him with fury, pretty much the exact opposite of what Charles had been trying to achieve. The toaster popped and Erik glanced away at it, and Charles did the only sensible thing he could think of—he made a run for it.